The Witch and the Werewolf (7 page)

As it died it reverted to
its human form. The eight foot tall humanoid wolf had been a
skinny, dingy looking teenager.

The wolves outside
screamed at their cohort’s demise and the boy cried.

“
They’re going to come get
us,” he whispered.

“
I think they are about to
have bigger problems,” Cassandra said, pulling the swords out of
the dying beast and driving them into the center stud of the house.
She pulled the boy to her just as the wave of water hit the
house.

Dutch helped drag the still prone but breathing body of the
wolf across the church’s polished wooden floor, again marveling at
the priest’s deception. The interior of the church was much like
the outside. It appeared old and, if not run down, then very well
used. Dutch was surprised at how empty the church was. He knew
other churches were packed to overflowing with people praying for
salvation. Why wasn’t this one?

“
Where is
everyone?”

“
Who?” the old Irish
priest asked.

“
You know, people hoping
Jesus is riding in on a white horse with a flaming sword to smote
the beast and save the day. I figured you’d be at
capacity.”

“
Aye,” the priest told him
as they rounded a corner and entered what was, apparently, a broom
closed. “We’re packed to the rafters with the faithful. I’d push
more in but there just isn’t any more room.” The priest told him,
his Irish accent thick to the point he wanted to offer the man a
drink.

“
Okay…” Dutch said,
flummoxed, as he pulled the werewolf into the closet.

“
Close the door, son.
Don’t ya know there be a flood a comin?”

Dutch hazarded a glance
back at the front of the church where the first of the actual
tsunami was washing through the streets of downtown Houston. The
water was already above the window seal and little streams pushed
through the cracks in the building and door. The waves were
building and the old church groaned in response.

“
And we’re going to hide
in the broom closet? What about that bunker you promised?” Dutch
asked.

“
Patience, lad, patience,”
the priest replied, opening a concealed panel and throwing a lever.
Dutch listened to the hiss of hydraulic pistons and watched as an
opening in the floor slid away, revealing a well-lit stairway
down.

The entire affair with the
priest had been weird. Dutch hadn’t particularly believed the
priest when he’d taken the job of capturing Wilbanks, but the man’s
story was interesting enough that he had agreed to take it. What
else was he going to do for the end of the world? The stairway led
down into a large, open room that was indeed packed with people.
Dutch dropped their load in the middle of the floor and the crowd
backed away as if he’d come down dripping with plague. The priest
worked a second set of controls at the base of the floor and the
panel at the top of the stairs slid back into place.

“
How we lookin’
Alex?”

A nerdy looking kid, horn
rimmed glasses topping a hawkish nose, consulted a tablet. “Looks
good, Father. The seals are in place and the positive pressure
system is putting out at ninety-eight percent.”

“
How long will we
have?”

“
Sir?”

“
How long will this church
stand in the wave coming from the coast?” the priest asked and, as
if cosmically pointing out the seriousness of the question, the
church roared in agony above them. Dutch imagined the walls coming
in and water washing everything away.

“
I don’t have any way of
answering that, Father. We designed the system to withstand a lot
of things. Being permanently underwater was not one of them. On the
plus side, the water shouldn’t stand long. It will push in and
then, once it loses that force, recede back to the
ocean.”

“
But what will be left,
dear boy?”

The werewolf stirred and
Dutch saw one of his eyes open. Now in its man form the thing
squirmed in the burning silver ropes.

“
Please take these damned
silver ropes off me,” the thing growled. “The pain is quite
excruciating.”

“
I would imagine so,” the
priest said, kneeling that he was nearly face to face with the wolf
man. “Hello, David. How are you?”

“
I’ve been better,
O’Leary. I see you’ve conned someone else into doing your dirty
work.”

“
Dutch had done a right
fine job, indeed. He took you, did he not? Regardless, you are
here. All you have to do is tell me where he is and I will set you
free.”

“
How do you even know it’s
a he?” the wolf man asked. “You think if you kill the first one we
will all perish?”

“
Its’ but a feeling. Are
ye saying’ your kind answers to a bitch? The pack is run by a
female?”

Dutch wasn’t sure where
their conversation was going and didn’t actually care, at that
point. He was exhausted and wet. “So what do you want me to do with
this thing?”

“
Come,” the priest began,
“we’ve got a place for him.”

“
You should have left me
to die in the street,” Wilbanks said, staring Dutch in the eye. “It
would have been better than what this thing has planned for
you.”

He leapt atop another building just as his
previous resting spot, a wooden house, crumbled in front of the
wall of water. He hoped the brick home would stand better, but
there was no fighting the tsunami. He and the remains of his pack
had already been pushed far from the neighborhood where the witch’s
cub hid. They would not have their revenge that night and he was
lucky to hold onto anything at all. The bitch’s cub had already
managed to kill two of his pack without even trying.

The beast howled at the
night sky. The human’s missiles had struck the monster, only
wounding it, but not stopping it. Wormwood looked like a second
moon now, reflecting the sun’s light through the flood ravaged
ruins. The beast howled again, at the second moon, not only for the
loss of its pack mates but for the new world it had been born into.
The second moon would give the pack a life. No longer would they
cower in the shadows, fearing mankind’s vengeance. They were the
masters of the world now.

Though the pack had fed,
they’d also expanded. The converts were safe in human basements
being watched over by the pack’s females as they changed. He felt
their minds awakening, becoming one with the pack’s. The pack would
grow and again they would be the dominant species on the
planet.

On the two moon dawn man
would be nothing more than meat.

The Sydney Sherman bridge, Interstate 610 over the Houston
ship channel, rocked violently as the tsunami passed underneath.
Robert watched, in horror, as the ships along the ship channel’s
docks were ripped from their moorings, rising up over the banks
with the wave. The ships, and their scattered cargo, slammed
against the bridge’s pylons. Robert held onto the side of the
Corvette, trying to steady himself.

“
We’re going down man! The
bridge is going to collapse!” the prisoner with the arm full of
gang tattoos screamed. Robert laughed at the man’s
panic.

“
But what if it holds?” he
asked the man and his friend.

“
What the hell do you
mean, man?” the other man, the Chicano in the leather vest,
asked.

“
What if it holds?” Robert
repeated. “What if we’re still here in the morning?”

He felt more alive than he
had in years. Because the world would be different in the morning
and it would be a world custom built for people like
him.

“
What if it holds?” Robert
asked the two men. “It could, you know. We could survive this
thing.”

The top of the wave lapped
the bottom of the bridge and, looking south, Robert stared in awe
as the waves covered the surrounding neighborhoods. The water was
awash in corpses and junk. The bodies didn’t bother him any. It
would be that much less competition for what was to come. The
people still alive, clinging for their lives to the tops of
floating debris, were a bit disconcerting, but he also knew that it
meant that many fewer mouths to feed afterwards.

“
You’re crazy man,” the
Chicano said. “This thing ain’t gonna hold,” he screamed as the
bridge shook again, a fifteen feet wide chunk of concrete
dislodging from a section a couple of hundred feet from them. A
car, the family inside, went with it. “And even if it does, so
what? It’s the end man. The end of the fucking world.”

“
But it will hold,” Robert
told them with confidence. “And just because it’s the end of the
world doesn’t mean it’s all going to end.”

The tattooed man grinned.
“You think we’re going to survive this. And then you’re thinking
something big afterwards.”

Robert grinned. “What are
the three things we have to survive if this bridge
holds?”

“
Booze, guns, and girls,”
the tattooed man responded.

“
Girls are easy, booze and
guns are going to be tougher. But I was thinking more basic. Food,
water, and shelter. The rest comes later.”

“
Okay. So?”

Roger pointed at the
BigMart truck just across the bridge, in the northbound lanes. Why
the company had sent a truck out on the last night of the world was
a mystery, but it was also pretty handy.

“
It’s a truck,” the
Chicano man said and Robert was sure the other thug was the
brighter of the pair.

“
It’s a truck packed with
stuff heading to a BigMart, fool,” his buddy told him and then
turned to Robert. “Okay, so what’s the play?”

“
We dump the driver in the
drink,” Robert said. “And then we sit on the truck. If the bridge
holds and we’re here when the water recedes, then we branch
out.”

The tattooed man stuck out
his hand. “Hank. And this idiot is Ricky.”

“
Robert,” he said,
returning the shake. He felt much like the contestants on a reality
survival show making alliances at the beginning.

“
I’ve got this,” he said,
showing the guard’s Desert Eagle. “You take the other
cop’s.”

Hank grinned, looking at
the little pistol. “Damn straight.’

“
Good enough,” Robert
said, turning to head across the lanes and the divider
median.

The bridge shook again and
Robert was thankful for having something to do. The trio headed
across the six lanes and over the median, weaving in and out of
cars. The car’s occupants rarely gave them a second look. Many sat
there, hands clenched on the steering wheel, staring blankly ahead.
Others prayed. Very few had even stepped out of their vehicles. The
BigMart driver was standing on the diesel tank of the truck,
staring at the rushing waters below.

“
Hello friend,” Robert
said, pistol in hand. “I’m going to need you to get down from that
truck.”

“
What?” the driver asked
and then saw the gun. “You’re robbing me on the last night of the
world? What the hell? Here, take my wallet. Take anything you
want.”

“
I want the truck,” Robert
said. “And I want you to get down now.”

The driver’s eyes went
wide with realization. “Man, you’re not taking this truck. It’s
full of canned goods and bottle water. I’m taking it to a relief
camp up north.”

Robert smiled. “You’re not
going to make it. The relief camp is right here.”

The man started to turn
around and reach into the truck. Robert pulled the trigger and the
big pistol jerked in his hand. The .44 caliber round blew out the
man’s back, leaving a gaping hole. He fell to the steps, but
despite the wound, still tried to crawl away.

“
Would you look at that?”
Hank said in dismay. “Fucker is still going.”

Robert pulled the trigger
again, obliterating the man’s head. “Toss him over,” he ordered and
the two men complied. He liked that. He didn’t think he was going
to have to kill one to show them who the boss was.

He climbed in the cab and
pulled the keys out of the ignition. Then, after his two cohorts
had tossed the headless driver over, went to the back of the truck
and unlocked it. Just as the driver had said the back was filled
with canned goods, camping supplies, and bottle water. It wouldn’t
last the survivors of the bridge long. He was going to have to
whittle down that number.

“
What do you think you’re
doing?” a man asked, behind them, a small boy at his
side.

“
Appropriating supplies,”
Hank answered, gun in hand. “What the hell is it to
you?”

“
You…” the man stammered.
“You shot the driver.”

“
And now I’m going to
shoot you,” Robert said, aiming the pistol at the man’s head and
pulling the trigger. The bullet blew out the back of the man’s
skull, covering the boy in brains and gore. He smiled at the kid
and motioned him to come to him. The little boy, in shock, stepped
cautiously forward as his father’s corpse collapsed to the
ground.

“
What’s your name,
sport?”