Blood and Rain (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”

Pug Gettis was a small guy in his late fifties and had black, scraggily hair with a few gray streaks that told his age as much as the wrinkles around his old blue eyes. His ranch-style house was out on Old Gilson Creek Road and it neighbored Stan Springs's place.

“Sheeba, that's the mama German shepherd, has been yelping and growling all morning. Them two, the pups, been doing the same when they're not whimpering in the corner like they are now.”

Sheeba was intently focused on the woods. There was definitely something out there causing her stress.

“You say they started acting up this morning?” Joe had to shout over the barks.

“No, just about half hour or so ago.”

Joe could hear another dog barking in the distance. “You have another dog somewhere?”

“Ick, short for Icarus. He's the big daddy. He started all the fussin' and broke his chain. I got another one on him and had to put him down in the cellar. He damn near bit me twice on the way.”

Joe looked through the trees. Animals could sense these kinds of things. He shivered.

“You hear or see anything out here so far?”

“Nope, but I got old Betty ready if that monster comes rushing out at my girls.”

Joe eyed the rifle leaning against Pug's old Chevy. He clapped Pug on the back. “Why don't you go grab your rifle? We'll go have a look-see.”

Pug nodded, grabbed the gun and joined Joe. “You got anything bigger than that?”

Joe gripped his Magnum. “Worked for Dirty Harry.”

“Ain't no bank-robbin' nigger in there.”

Joe let the racist remark sluice by—s
mall-town minds
—and thought of the silver ammo in his gun. “Either way, she'll put a nice hole in whatever it is.”

The dogs continued to bark as Joe and Pug crept toward the tree line. Joe kept his gun aimed at the dirt, and peered in. The hairs on his body rose up like bodies from the dead. The blazing sunlight at their backs wasn't as comforting as he wanted it to be. Something was making those dogs lose it.

A shuffling sound just beyond them stopped Joe in his tracks. He held out a hand.

Pug stopped next to him, rifle aimed and ready. Joe noticed the barrel wavered under Pug's shaky hands.

BANG

The sudden blast of Pug's rifle knocked Joe off-balance. His ear screamed.

“Shit, Desi,” Pug shouted. “Sorry about that, Sheriff. Becky's damn cat, Desi.”

Joe fingered his ear and waited for the ringing to cease. He glanced through the trees once more before motioning for Pug to head back.

“Definitely something out there. They can sense it. Might be our mountain lion,” Joe said. “Desi might be down a few lives, coming out of there intact without taking your bullet.”

“Sorry, Sheriff.”

“Becky home today?”

“She's got church stuff. She usually comes back around four on Fridays.”

“Well, why don't you take that rifle and hole up inside 'til she gets home. Just in case.”

“Sure, sure, Sheriff.”

“I'll go swing by Sheriff Springs's place and see if he's noticed anything this morning.”

“That old loon?”

“Good day, Pug.”

Stan Springs awoke to the knocking on his door. Sheriff Fischer. He could smell the mix of cigarette smoke and Old Spice.

He grabbed a housecoat to cover his naked form but hesitated as he reached for the doorknob. His eyes. He knew the thick, sludgy feeling. Knew what it meant. Joe probably wasn't ready to see them just yet, and Stan wasn't willing to spoil the surprise he had in store for later. He put on the pair of black sunglasses from the bookshelf by the light switch and answered the door.

Sheriff Fischer raised his cowboy hat and nodded.

“Stan.”

“Sheriff.”

“Just stopping by to see if you noticed anything poking around your yard this morning?”

“Like what? A mountain lion?” He couldn't hold back the smirk.

“Pug Gettis's dogs, as you can hear, are all stirred up. Just wondering if you saw anything.”

“I haven't seen shit. I was sleeping sound as a pound before you came knockin' on my door.”

“All right, Stan. Sorry about that. If you see anything, can you just give Rita a call?”

“Sure, Sheriff.” He let Joe get to the steps. “Sheriff?”

Joe stopped a step from the ground.

“How's Mel doing?”

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Joe came back up the steps and straight to the door. Eyes intense, chest puffed out like the big hero.

Stan shoved him hard enough to knock him across the porch.

The sheriff's right hand went to his gun, his left came up between them. “Stan. If you touch me again, I'm going to have to take you in.”

He let out a gruff laugh. “You try that and you know there's going to be a fight.”

Joe's nostrils flared, his cheeks reddened.

Stan took a deep breath. The sheriff's heartbeat hammered. The emotional stimulus was intoxicating.

“That was you at Mel's house a couple weeks ago.”

“You mean the night you stuck your little faggot deputy outside my driveway?”

“I don't know what you're going through, but tonight I really don't need it.”

“Good luck with your fucking wolfman, Sheriff. You're gonna need it.”

He slammed the door shut and ran his fingers through his coarse hair. This town was in for a bloodbath.

Joe was stuck somewhere between wanting to take the old man up on his challenge and hoping he never had another reason to set foot on that property. He climbed into his truck and turned it back toward town. Joe slammed his fist against the steering wheel and reached for the pack of Camel Lights on the dash. He took a drag and tried to let the nicotine do its trick.

Shorthanded—we're not going to be enough.

Stan would have made a great ally. His knowledge, his experience. Too bad the man was batshit crazy on top of being an asshole.

Joe turned the radio on. He needed a reprieve.

“…so remember, Emerson Lake closes at 5 p.m., so keep the parties inside tonight, people. With the storm that's coming this afternoon, you won't wanna be out there anyway. This is Wild Ted signing off. Keep us cranked up, keep it safe. Rock out…”

Ted McKinney.

Joe could do a lot worse. At least he knew Jack and Ted had hunted these woods with their father when they were younger. He still had a few hours to mull it over. He could use all of the local help he could get, and Ted was already armed and certain of what was coming.

Ted headed for the station's back door. He'd had to bullshit his station manager and Tonya, the overnight girl, about the tour he never went on. He wasn't up for Freddy Daniels—Fab Freddie, as he called himself on air. Fab was always looking for the Mötley Crüe stories. Rock, coke and hos. Not today.

Fab waved and said “Hey, Ted” just as the door shut.

Ted hopped on his Rebel and cruised out onto the street, kicking up dust.

He hadn't been scheduled to return to the air until Sunday, but he woke up at 3:00 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. He figured he could distract his mind at work, and also use the platform to do his part in warning his listeners about tonight. He wasn't quite ready to shout out werewolf alerts, but he did reiterate the sheriff's curfew a number of times, along with the fact that Emerson Lake closed at five tonight instead of eight.

The problem was that Sheriff Fischer was apparently banking on the idea that the monster wouldn't show until nighttime. Ted's guts told him that what he'd read on the Monsters Among Us website was correct. He had read that the beast could stalk in the day as easily as it could by dark. He hoped he was wrong about that, but of all the things he'd read in the last few weeks, that's the one that stuck out like a broken spoke.

Ted pulled into his driveway. Upstairs, he grabbed his Glock and his silver ammo. He stuffed them in a duffle bag, along with a couple of beers, two extra packs of smokes and his hatchet. He imagined himself chopping at the wolf's head like Tommy Jarvis in
Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter

Die, Die, Die

He shook the vision away and hurried for the door.

He zoomed out on the road dead set on staking out the lake.

Sheriff Fischer's Range Rover slowed in the opposite lane.

Ted stared straight ahead. Lights lit up behind him, accompanied by the loud squawk of a siren.

Shit.

Ted pulled his bike to the side of the road and waited.

“Ted.”

“Sheriff.”

“Where you off to?”

“I was thinking about catching some rays.” He looked Joe in the eye. “You?”

“Ted, I want to talk to you about something we discussed a few weeks ago.”

Hmm. What is this?
“Is this about the real reason you're closing the lake early tonight?”

Joe crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “I was hoping you might be willing to come down to the station with me and show a little support.”

“Oh, Sheriff.” Ted shook his head. “I'm sorry, Joe, but I already made plans today.”

“The beach?”

“Yeah, the beach. Is there anything else?”

Joe sighed. “No. Would you reconsider?”

“Can't do it, man, but can I ask
you
something?”

“Shoot.”

“How certain are you that this thing can only hunt at night?”

Joe slapped Ted on the back. “Do me a favor? Don't shoot at any of my townspeople. Oh, and don't go getting yourself killed.”

Ted laughed. “Yeah, right back atcha.”

Sheriff Fischer walked away.

Ted started his bike and kicked up a little more dust. He had a date with a nightmare.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sonya sat, legs crossed, on her spread-out Mickey Mouse beach towel, sweating to death under the hot summer sun at Emerson Lake. She was getting irritated waiting for Alex to finish up at his brother's shop. She watched Kim and Heath chase and splash each other in the water and wished that Alex were here so that they could be doing the same thing.

He stopped by this morning and surprised her with coffee and jelly doughnuts from Dunkin' Donuts—her favorite. He had driven over to Hollis Oaks to get them for her. She thought it was a sweet gesture. He told her he had wanted to do something special for her, because she was so amazing and because he was grateful to have her in his life. He didn't stay very long after that—his brother needed him for a couple hours at the shop to do a job. They had all made plans to head over to the lake today, so he promised he'd meet them there right after he finished up.

They'd arrived just before noon. It was now two o'clock, and still no sign of Alex—not one single call. She picked up her phone to make sure she didn't have it on Silent. The glare of the sun on the display screen made it impossible to read. She had to find some shade.

She got up, looked around and spied the only shade anywhere, which was on the other side of the beach, by the trees. She grabbed her T-shirt from the top of the cooler they had brought with them, threw it on over her hot-pink bikini top and headed over to the shaded tree line.

Nick Bruce salivated as he watched all of the hot, oiled-up bodies laid out along the only place Gilson Creek had to offer for summer fun. He scanned the crowded beach from the little look-out hidden by the trees at the end of the beach. He tried to decide which of the pretty, young things to bring up to this shaded spot with him. A long-haired blonde headed straight toward him.
Oh man. If only.

Sonya Fischer stood in the shade of the trees that skirted the far side of Emerson Lake. Her cell phone rang just as she got ready to flip it open.

“What's taking you so long?” she whined.

“I'm leaving right now. Are you guys at the lake?” Alex said.

“Yeah, we've been here for a while. So hurry up and come hang out with me.”

“I'm on my way,” he replied. “I'm fucking sweating my balls off here.”

Relieved and reinvigorated with excitement, Sonya said, “Okay, hurry up.”

“See you in a bit.”

Sonya jumped, dropping her phone into the sand just as someone grabbed her shoulder from behind.

“Hey, what are you doing? You okay?”

“Jesus, Kim. You just scared the shit out of me,” she said with her hand held over her suddenly pounding heart.

“I saw you taking off and thought you were pissed at me.”

“Pissed at you? Why would I be pissed?”

“Because Heath and I have been off in our own world since we got here. Was that Alex on the phone?”

“Yeah, he got stuck at work, but he's on his way now. And I'm not mad at you guys. I told you, I get it. He's leaving for college soon. You two should be enjoying every second together. I know if it were me and Alex in you guys' shoes, I wouldn't let go of him until the day he left. I'm fine, you guys just never mind about me. Have fun.”

It had bugged her that her best friend had been so tied up this summer, but what she said was true. She did understand, and probably, under similar circumstances, would have been doing the same thing.

Kim hugged her and said, “You're the best. I love you so much.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sonya hugged her back. They held hands as they stepped across the hot and rocky beach, back to their spot by the water.

Damn it,
Nick cursed.
That dumb, ugly bitch had to come over and ruin everything.

Still soured over the loss of the blonde, he recognized another person headed his way. “Joel fucking O'Brien.” Oh, this could be perfect. Nick didn't see Wes Kaplan anywhere. Either Joel was going it alone, or Wes was elsewhere. Either way, Nick's thirst for blood would be sated.

Wes was right. If the officer was still here and Joel didn't see him, he was probably too busy bird watching to notice the little Mohawked dude tromping across the beach with the dark-blue duffle bag. Joel found the spot referenced in Wes's email. There was a lookout-type area at the corner of the beach. Joel couldn't see anyone up there.

He smiled at the two girls—a short, dark-haired girl and a blonde cutey in a hot-pink bikini—as they passed by him. The dark-haired girl giggled and whispered something to the blonde. Joel's smile spoiled.
Fuck you too, bitches.

He reached the incline that led up to the designated spot for their Full Moon Monster photo session. A strange, musty animal scent hit his nose. “Okay, that seems perfect.” He set the bag down on a flat, soil-rich patch between the two trees that looked out over the beach and lake. He unzipped the bag and began to haul out the equipment.

Wes had dropped him off to get this site set up similar to what they had just finished down at the park. He abandoned Joel here temporarily while he went into town to grab them some food. A fat, juicy burger sounded pretty damn good right about now.

Joel had three of the small black sensors set up when something heavy thumped down behind him. He slowly turned his head.

“Holy fucking Christ.” He jumped up and backed away slowly.
Not happening. Not happening. Wes?

Joel hit the tree at his back, and his bladder released. The urine puddled at his sneakered feet.

The man-thing crouched on the ground before him, and licked a thick black tongue over its horrible mouth of teeth. The thing's eyes—a sickly yellow-orange blaze—were starved. Its hands were on the ground, its fingers burrowed in the dirt. The jet-black hair upon its head stood on end; its unkempt beard seemed to do the same thing. The bestial man—the Full Moon Monster—unleashed a low, deep, guttural growl.