Blood and Rain (21 page)

With every bit of her strength, she swung her arms wildly, she flailed her feet, she tried to buck beneath the weight of the monster, but to no avail. The beast was too large, too powerful. As a last-ditch effort, she reached for its leg. She caught hold of a fistful of fur and yanked as hard as she could.

The beast let out a howl of pain as her hand pulled free with a patch of black fur. Her small victory only enraged the creature. She clenched her eyes shut and prepared for its retaliation.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Joe and Dwayne rushed around the back of the house, hearing the screams and thrashing coming from just ahead of them. As they rounded the corner of the home, they noticed two things—the body of Deputy Shelly Glescoe lying facedown in the puddle of mud next to the fence that divided the Fischers' property from the Nelsons' and the large hole in the side of Sheriff Fischer's home, from whence the screams came.

Joe spun around in time to see the werewolf slam its fist into the back of Melanie Murdock's skull. Her screams fell silent. Joe hesitated long enough for the monster to take notice of him and propel itself in his direction.

Dwayne could no longer hear or see anything around him. He saw nothing but Shelly lying facedown in the muck. He felt weak, he felt useless. He stepped toward her with his hand out; the rain began to fall harder, heavier. That's when he heard the gunshot just before something crashed into him, sending him sprawling to the fence and into the mud.

Joe's shot had missed. The werewolf was on top of him. His gun fell from his hand, disappearing into the mire. The beast clawed through his jacket. It slashed him across the nose and then across the left side of his head, scraping half of his left ear off. Explosion upon explosion of searing pain burst to life in the wake of each strike. The creature was toying with him, like a cat with a moth. He was no match without his weapon, and it knew it.

The werewolf grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket, lifted him into the air and stared into his face. Joe reached behind his back with his left hand, searching for his backup pistol. It was gone.

The monster held him there, his feet up off the ground by a good foot, and stared at him.

What the hell is it waiting for?
Joe thought.

He watched the beast looking at him as the rain mixed with the blood from his facial wounds and flowed down his face. There was something about the thing that felt familiar. He was certain that this was the werewolf he had shot, burned and buried all those years ago. The thing he witnessed kill young Brett Curry. The monster responsible for the deaths of Michele Stahl and the rest of those poor kids. This beast killed Jack and Kelly McKinney.

But there was something else—Joe could swear he recognized something else in its yellowy eyes. Something far more revealing than this beast being the beast from seven years ago. He couldn't quite grasp it.

Before he could ponder on the thought any longer, or try anything else to get free from its grip, he was sent backward, his body hurling through the air and through the red wooden fence that he himself had built. He tried to get to his feet before the beast could get to him, but it was too fast. As it slashed out at his chest again with its wicked claws, he grabbed a broken piece of the fence lying next to him, sat up and jammed it into the monster's side.

Dwayne picked himself up out of the mud. His head was fuzzy. He had no idea what had hit him. He just remembered rounding the corner of the house, and the werewolf—then he saw Shelly lying in front of him. Tears filled his eyes as he crawled through the rain-drenched ground, over to her body. As he rolled her over and looked into her battered face, he heard the howl of the werewolf. It shook him back to the here and now.
Joe.

Sonya's thoughts were all over the proverbial map. She thought of Alex. She thought of the creature that took his life, of its yellow eyes, of her father and of Deputies Clarke and Glescoe. What had her father said?

Shelly had seen another werewolf?

He had also told her to stay put, to stay here…alone. Her thoughts returned to Alex. She would never get to see him, kiss him, talk to him… Her chest started heaving again at the realization of the true loneliness that was now upon her. A howl pierced the rage of the storm.

Daddy.

She opened the glove box, reached in and pulled out the gun. It was heavy in her hand. If she got the chance, she wouldn't hesitate to fire. Not after witnessing the horror… She wiped the tear rolling down her cheek, pulled the hood of her light-blue sweatshirt up over her head, and stepped out into the once-again blustery wind and pouring rain. She ran, gun in hand, down the sidewalk and toward the sound of the beast. For the second time tonight, she was disobeying her father's wishes.

Joe felt the werewolf's howl of pain and violent anger hit him like a shock wave. He felt its energy reverberating down through its hind legs as it stood over him. He needed something else—his gun, his bag. He needed silver. He had none of those things. He scurried out from beneath the beast as he watched it pull the piece of fence from its side. He scrambled to his feet. The Nelsons' backyard was suddenly flooded with brightness.

The werewolf turned its attention to the source of the new light. Joe used the diversion to make his play. He ran, diving past the monster, back into his own yard. His green army duffle bag was on the ground before him.

As he reached down for the zipper, the beast crashed into him. They both slammed into the side of his house. Joe felt his right arm and shoulder shatter as they were pinned between his body and his home. The impact, knocking the air from his lungs, caused Joe Fischer to see black dots.

The werewolf grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up over its head. Joe couldn't breathe. He felt the crushing strength of the beast depleting him of his own.

“Hey!” Dwayne's voice broke through the nightmare.

The beast turned its head and felt the blast of two shots slam into its left leg. It spun around, flinging the sheriff at the deputy who had fired the shots.

Joe crashed into Dwayne, sending both men tumbling to the ground. Dwayne recovered almost instantly as the sheriff rolled off to the side.

Dwayne raised the revolver again, but the beast swiped at the weapon as soon as he did. The gun, along with his trigger finger, went sailing into the night. The werewolf pulled its arms back, bent down inches from his face and let loose a ferocious roar.

Blood and spit sprayed Dwayne's face, temporarily replacing the cold rain. His life flashed before his eyes.

“Daddy!”

The beast spun at the sound of Sonya Fischer's cry for her father. It could already feel the poison from the wounds in its leg spreading and creeping up through its veins. The werewolf made its way down the fence toward the distraught girl, the two men on the ground behind it already forgotten.

Dwayne pulled his damaged hand to his chest and moved as quickly and quietly as he could over to Joe's green duffle bag. He struggled to unzip it with his left hand. He had to bring his damaged right hand down to the bag to get it open. Reaching in and fumbling around, he found what he was looking for—Joe's .44 Magnum.

He looked up as Sonya let out a scream, followed by number of gunshots. The monster continued, undaunted. Either she had missed hitting it completely or the bullets weren't silver. It was totally possible that Shelly hadn't thought to load it with tonight's ammo.

The beast was almost to her. Sonya was backing away.

“Run!” Dwayne strode forward, pointing Joe's massive gun at the beast.

“Daddy!”

Joe's eyes opened, his mind registering both the pain and the voice of his daughter. He lifted his foggy head and saw Dwayne running at the werewolf. Sonya was just beyond the beast, stumbling back toward the road, screaming for him.

Dwayne couldn't take the shot. The monster was almost upon Sonya, but he didn't feel confident pulling the trigger of the small cannon in his left hand. Not with Sonya so close. If he didn't do something now, Sonya would be next. He lowered the gun and ran at the beast.

The werewolf limped its way toward the sheriff's daughter. It relished the fear and pain in the girl's desperate and useless cries for her beaten father.

As it reached out for the broken angel standing before it, the beast heard the footfalls of the approaching deputy coming up from behind.

As the officer jumped through the air, the creature spun and backhanded him. The deputy's eyes rolled up in the back of his head—he was sent to the ground and knocked unconscious.

The werewolf focused its attention back on the screaming beauty.

Inside, the beast that had been Stan Springs thought of the ways he was going to devour this young one. He crept his way closer to his prey as she fell to her knees, drenched in rain and complete defeat. She was his—

“Holy shit, what the fuck is that?” Heath said.

Kim stared through the rain. Sonya was stumbling toward the road with a gun in her hand.

“Oh my God, Sonya!” Kim said. She felt the car begin to slow. “What are you doing?”

“That's, that's…”

Kim stretched her foot over and pressed the accelerator. The Jetta shot straight for the beast.

This time the monster didn't have a chance to move. The black car seemed to have come from out of nowhere. As the werewolf broke its salacious gaze from the girl in the road, toward the speeding black vehicle darting in its direction, it attempted to let out yet another enormous howl—

Kim held the wheel with one hand and braced herself with the other against the dash. Neither she nor Heath was buckled in.

Sonya barely saw the car coming until it smashed into the beast. She flung herself backward. The gun slipped from her grip. She covered her head as the vehicle crunched into the creature and then spun out of control. She looked up as it smashed through the tall red fence that skirted her house.

The compact Volkswagen plowed through the fence to the Nelsons' driveway and came to a halt as it crashed into Mr. Nelson's Chevy Suburban.

Sonya lifted her head. Water dripped from her face. The beast temporarily forgotten, she stared through the shattered fence toward the driveway. There was a black Volkswagen Jetta—
just like Heath's
.

“No…no…no…”

She picked herself up off the waterlogged road, feeling all of whatever life energy she had left fleeing her as she baby-stepped her way over to the car's passenger side.

She brought her hand to her mouth. Her knees weakened. She fell into the door and began to sob. Kim's lifeless eyes stared straight at the bloody and splintered windshield. Over Kim's shoulder, Heath's bloody face lay slumped against the steering wheel. Sonya steadied herself enough to grab the door handle and open the door. She reached in and clutched her best friend's shoulder. Kim's head rolled toward her hand as her lifeless body shifted and slumped toward the door, Sonya dropped down on her knees and put her arms around Kim. The girl had been her closest confidante since her mother passed away, and knew all of her gravest fears, all of her aspirations, and was the only person who knew she had almost been raped in eighth grade by her sophomore boyfriend, Jake Collins. And now, she—along with Alex and her mom—was gone. She reached down, found Kim's cold hand, and held it tight. “Why, why, God?”

She was grabbed by the hair and yanked up and backward. Her feet left the ground as she was sent somersaulting through the air. She landed hard, coming down on her left knee. Something in the joint popped.

Forced onto her back by the strong arms of the beast, she wanted to reach for the pain that was bursting to life in her back. As she looked away from the disgusting face of the creature, and gazed at Kim who was now spilled out onto the wet driveway. Sonya had no fight left in her. She just lay there as its saliva dripped down onto her cheek. She closed her eyes.

The werewolf reached down and grabbed the young girl's leg. It was getting weaker by the minute. The poison in its leg from the silver bullets was working on its internal functions.

The sheriff's daughter cried. It lowered its mouth to within inches of her nose and lapped at her tears. Still, she did not fight, did not move.

The monster started to rise and then stumbled. Between the silver ravaging its inner workings, and the injured hip from the impact of the vehicle that had struck it, the beast knew it was in trouble.

I can still rip this little bitch in two from the inside out.

It raised its snout into the sky, letting out a howl.

The katana blade slammed into the side of the monster's neck and continued straight out the other side. Joe Fischer's momentum spun him around. He stumbled to his knees. The decapitated body fell and landed next to his little girl. He let the sword fall into the mud, shuffled forward on his knees, and placed his hand to his daughter's face.

Her eyes remained closed.

“Sonya? Baby girl, it's all right. Everything's going to be okay. Can you hear me?”

She opened her eyes, pursing her lips tightly together as the tears flowed from her eyes. She looked into those of her father and nodded.

Upon seeing her nod, Joe felt the last of his strength fade as he collapsed to the ground beside his daughter.

A moment later, he opened his eyes and found them staring into the dead face of the beast.

“Daddy, you're hurt. We have to get an ambulance.”

Joe Fischer grinned.

As her father lost consciousness for the second time, she heard the sound of sirens fill the night. She laid her head upon his chest and wept for all that had been taken from her. She was glad that it was over, but devastated all the same.

Epilogue

The midnight hour leaned heavily on the tired eyes of Sonya Fischer as she sat at the computer desk trying to finish an essay for her senior English class. It was titled “Christianity in Today's America: A Matter of Convenience”.

Prior to the events of the past summer, she had never really given much thought to who, or what, she actually believed in. She'd occasionally gone to church with her dad, always making an appearance on the big holidays, mostly just Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving. She even liked the way Pastor Lionel Peabody ran the whole holy shindig, but she never talked with him about her personal life or beliefs. She never really gave a thought to God, or Allah, or Yahweh, before the tragic deaths of the July Blood Moon.

She remembered praying to the
higher power
for help, for understanding, for intervention. In the course of that one dark and stormy night, she lost nearly everyone in her life that she cared about.

The official death toll at the hands of the “wild animal” (that's what the media outlets were told) tallied twelve. The deaths of Kim Donaldson and Heath Jorgensen were reported as accidents due to inclement weather.

There was also a fifteenth unofficial victim, Nick Bruce. The former
Crypto Insider
writer
had disappeared from the town altogether. His body was never found. Officially, he was just a missing person. The select few who knew the real situation included him in the tally of victims of the unnatural force that tore through this small community.

Families and friends of both the official and unofficial victims mourned together in a candlelight vigil led by Pastor Peabody at Saving Grace Baptist
two days after the tragedies.

Now, seven months later, the city had returned to normal, but her father had resigned from his post as sheriff. Deputy Dwayne Clarke had since taken up the well-respected position. A new crop of deputies was transplanted from surrounding towns in order to replace the small force that had served Gilson Creek. Her father had used his savings to acquire Melanie Murdock's café, taking over as owner/co-manager, splitting managerial duties with Mel's top cook, Vinnie Castagno. She wasn't sure what kind of relationship her father had entered into with Mel before her death, but knew that it must have meant something tremendous to him. He even kept the name Mel's Café.

For the most part, life in Gilson Creek went on. It had no choice.
They
had no choice.

Sonya decided that she wanted to join the force. She wanted to take up arms and defend her town, which surprised her as much as it did her classmates and her father alike. She had once aspired to be a singer, or a doctor, or a marine biologist, but those aspirations died with Kim and Alex.

Shortly after coming out of the five-month haze of depression that sat upon her heart and mind following that tragic night, she discovered an inner strength she never knew she possessed. It was inherited from her father, no doubt, and it—along with her equally surprising newfound relationship with God and the church—gave her the empowerment she so needed to lift her chin, raise her head and reopen her heart to the world.

As Sonya was finishing her paper, there was a soft knock on her bedroom door.

“Mind if I come in?”

“Sure, Dad.”

He stepped into her bedroom.

She moved to the bed.

He walked over and sat down next to her. He gazed at her for a long time. He wore a smile upon his face comfortably, lifting his left hand up and tucking the loose strands of her long blonde hair behind her ear. “You're as beautiful as your mother was on the day I married her. You know that?”

“So you've told me.” She returned his warm smile as her eyes drifted from his to the prosthetic arm he'd gained from his battle with the monster.

“C'mon now, we both know that we suck at lying to one another. What is it?”

“It's just that sometimes…when I notice your arm…it…it…”

“It all comes back?” he said.

“Yeah.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

Joe wiped it away. “It's over, dear. You know that.”

She managed a smile. “You made sure of that.”

“Yeah, I sure as hell did.”

She hugged him as they both allowed themselves to relax and laugh together.

When she let go of him, he stood up, kissed her on the forehead and went back to the door. “If you're done singing my praises as being some big monster hunter, I want you to hit the hay. I'll be doing the same myself in a little bit.”

She smiled at his attempt at comforting humor. “I will. I finished my essay just before you came up. I've been ready to close my eyes for the last two hours.”

“Well get some sleep then, kiddo. I'll see you in the morning. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Joe pulled her door closed, and his smile immediately evaporated from his face. He'd never been very good at lying or keeping things from her. That was, until that awful night. Since then, he'd become quite adept at putting on the perfect smile and being the rock she needed to lean on whenever her rebuilt strength and confidence wavered.

He never said a word about leaving the body of the other werewolf in the woods off Old Gilson Creek Road that dreadful night, to come rescue her…and Mel. He never spoke of the fact that he had not driven the steel katana blade across the throat of the first beast they encountered that night. He kept it to himself. He should know better by now. Whenever he lied—to himself, to the town or to the people who he cared for most in this world, it always, always came back to haunt him.

Joe Fischer dreamt of blood-red moons, walking beasts and a slaughtered community. The recurring visions woke him up every morning at 3:00 a.m. Under the last full moon of February, rousing from the latest of his nightmares, he heard something that commanded every hair on his body to rise—a single howl rang out through the darkness.

Spring was coming—the time when all that was dead returned.