Authors: Allan Burd
All Hell (5 page)
“No, but they carried American Express,” says Sidekick.
I chuckle
. I can’t help myself. The asshole actually makes me laugh. “I hope you used it better than just buying this piece of shit. Where’d you shop, Ikea?” I open the draw and see an impressive array of ammunition. There has to be ammo here for every different weapon that they captured. And plenty of it too. Only me and my pa had more. “Holy Shit,” I mutter.
“Memb
ership has its privileges,” says Silver Joe.
I picture werewolve
s walking into a gun store. Doesn’t seem plausible. So, either some of these guys can revert back to full human or they have human runners. More likely the latter. I grab a few boxes of ‘nines’ suitable for the Smith & Wesson. “Anything in silver?” I crack wise.
Silver Joe sho
ots me a look that could kill. I shrug. The guy spared my life and here I was, still being a prick. And, of course, there wasn’t going to be any silver ammunition. At least not here. I don’t yet know why they’re arming me, but they certainly aren’t stupid enough to give me something I might use against them.
Silver Joe opens another draw. He pulls out an iPhone 5 and tosses
it to me. “Call whoever you’re supposed to. Tell them to stand down. We are not at war.”
“Well, fuck me, a werewolf with a cell phone. Now I’ve seen everything. Kinda gives a whole new meaning to call of the wild. Do you use Sprint or AT&T?”
“Do you want to be at war with us?” says Joe, tiring of my shit.
I tap the phone a
nd get a dial tone. “You get reception out here. Well, fuck me twice.” I start dialing.
“Tell ‘em you won’t be back as planned either,”
Sidekick says, before I finish pressing all the digits.
That got my panties in a bunch. “Why? You gonna kill me after I make the call?” I ask, staring intently into his eyes for the real answer.
“Not directly after. Another time,” Sidekick answers, approaching me, glaring back at me with the intensity of the killing machine that he is.
Silver Joe steps between us. He looks
at me. “We don’t want there to be any
misunderstandings
. We all know you’re going to head straight for the graveyard,” he says. “That’s why we’re giving you guns. You’ll need to be able to defend yourself against what you’ll find.” Then he turns to Sidekick, “And you’re going to escort him there.” Joe steps back but speaks again before either of us could protest. “We know the land better as well as the dangers that lurk. And I don’t want any of our kind getting in your way. On your own, you’re as good as dead. Together, you’ll get there safely and we need to know what’s going on as well.”
Silver Joe knew me well. If this started because some lone wolf went to the graveyard, I had to check it out and make su
re whatever threat still exists there is dealt with. And I strongly suspect the answer to why Old Man Jones was laid out like my brother would be there as well. I nod. I look at Sidekick. “Well, look at that… you’re my official tour guide.”
“I’ll get you there. But I’m not bringing you back,” Sidekick snarls. Joe snarls louder and Sidekick gives in. “Fine… you’re going to need more than the pistol. Load up. Anything but what was once yours.”
I go to the rifle rack. I reach for my pa’s then as Sidekick reacts to my gesture I flip him the bird and grab the Rugen, using the strap to sling it over my shoulder. My pa’s rifle could wait for another day. Next, I rummage through the draw and grab its matching ammo, along with a few more additional magazines for the SD9. I open the draw below it and see a selection of knives and other sharp hand-held weapons. But, unfortunately, not the ones I came in with. They stripped me of those before they woke me and must’ve hid them elsewhere. I grab two daggers, an axe, and put a machete in my belt. Then I go back to the gun table and grab the Colt. I don’t need any ammo for it. I have no plans to use it. Once this is over I’m going to sell it. A second generation, in as good condition as this one, is worth around a cool ten grand.
I call Sheriff Martaan and tell him I’m as okay as Wyatt Earp at the OK Corral. Only he and I know what that really means. I give him the rest of
the sitrep, hearing the relief in his voice as I do, then Sidekick and I are off to grandma’s house. The other wolves are glaring at us. They look mean, but they always look like that so I can’t read their true intentions. But with Sidekick next to me they leave me alone.
We hit the woods, the light of the full moon piercing its way through the treetops enough where I can see my way. I figure the graveyard’s about a two-mile hike so I decide to make some small talk. “So, where
are you from?” I ask, like we’re two travelers randomly meeting on vacation.
“What the fuck is that sup
posed to mean?” Sidekick replies.
“I mean originally. What were you in your previous life? Before you were this. Before yo
u were bitten,” I ask.
“Bitten?” He snorts. It was a guffaw, yet with the throaty growl of a wolf. “You have no idea where werewo
lves come from, do ya?” he adds, trotting ahead of me as if I was insignificant.
I could tell his opinion of me dropped a notch. Not hatred wise—he hated me worse than anyone could—but knowledge wise. He thought I was smarter. But he was right. Other than knowing how to kill them
, I really didn’t know much about ‘em. Maybe werewolves weren’t turned by being bitten. Still, he was pissing me off and I never properly paid him back for pissing on me.
His arrogant rump was a
few yards ahead of me. I think about testing the accuracy of the SD9, plugging him one where the sun don’t shine. But no silver meant he’d heal in seconds and I don’t cherish the thought of him returning the favor. He wasn’t looking at me. I could ditch him too—I knew I couldn’t fully trust him—but Silver Joe put me in a smart box. If there were other wolves out to get me, or other things that Sidekick knew about that I didn’t, Sidekick was my best chance for survival. The enemy of my unknown enemy was momentarily my friend. Any petty revenge I could plan would have to wait until later.
I catch up to him like a puppy running to follow its mommy. “So, no one ever bit you?” I ask, figuring I might as well learn more.
He chuckles. “When one of us bites you, we don’t leave anything big enough left to live. We’re at the top of the food chain. It’s the natural order of things.” He smirks.
Okay
, I think. “But before… before you were someone, someone human?”
“Some of us remember. Some of us don’t. Some of us don’t care to. All I know is before I was like this
, I was like you…
weak
,” he sneers.
Conversation was going nowhere. I clam up and we walk for a while in silence. When we reach the edge of his
territory I start to prepare. I check the guns making sure the barrels are clear, spinning and clicking the mechanisms to be certain they aren’t going to jam on me at an inopportune moment. Everything appears to be in working order. I lock and load all but the Colt and make sure the handhelds are easily accessible in case the need arises.
“Things are going to start getting interesting,” Sidekick says.
My senses go on high alert. I constantly scan my 360. About 20 yards to my left, I spot a grey rabbit bouncing around. I jam the butt of the Ruger into the pocket of my shoulder and line it up in the square of the crosshairs.
“I wouldn’t,” warns Sidekick.
“Why not? Am I taking your breakfast?” My finger is on the trigger, but I’m not going to shoot it. I’m not big on killing the innocent. Instead, I look for a spot a few feet to the left of him I can use as a bullseye, a place where I can test the accuracy of the weapon then watch the bunny skitter off. Then something funny about the rabbit catches my eye… a glimmer of the fading moonlight reflecting off his face. I zoom in with the scope. Not his face…
his front teeth
. Two mini buck fangs are protruding out of the center of its mouth. It sees me and snarls and I’m shit sure not looking at the Easter Bunny. This wasn’t Brer Rabbit. This was were-rabbit.
It darts toward me, the complete opposite of what a normal rabbit would do. I fire a round but its movements are quick and dart-like. The bullet splashes the ground, kicking u
p the dirt a few feet behind where it just was. The sucker can move. I reacquire him about ten yards from me, coming in fast. I immediately recognize the zigzag pattern of attack from my years of hunting predators, anticipate his next move, and place a bullet in his mid-section that shreds his gut. But it doesn’t even slow down. He lands, pushes off his back legs and, just like that, his teeth are a foot away from my throat. With no time for another shot, I swing the rifle like a baseball bat. I miss by a country mile. Then a furry black hand snatches it out of the air an inch in front of my face.
“Cute little fella,” Sidekick says, watching it wildly snap its buck teeth within his fist. Then he squeezes it tight until it stops struggling and bites its head off. “Not very tasty though.” He spat it out as he said the words. “The closer we get, the more unnatural fun like this we’ll encounter. Try to stay alive. I want the pleasure of killing you for myself.”
His eyes light up as he says it. He’s enjoying this, the crazy fuck. And he’s warning me about ‘unnatural’ things as if he’s the natural one. I scan the immediate area. A white rabbit is sitting there off to my right, this one missing half its face. One of its eyes is popped out, hanging loosely over the muscle tissue on its jaw. A large section of its yellow-hued skull is exposed showing off its back teeth, a complete row of mini fangs that would make a piranha jealous.
Zombie were-rabbits
. This was Alice Cooper in Wonderland, but I had no interest in following this furry fuck down his rabbit hole. Sidekick tosses the headless rabbit body he was holding at it. It takes the hint and scurries off.
I pick up some wolf prints ahead of me. A quick inspection shows me different lengths and different depths. In the mud
, I spot a brown strand with a reddish cast. It had to have belonged to Fire. “Hell Pack’s been here. They went this way.” I nod in the proper direction and Sidekick follows, though I’m beginning to feel that he wasn’t anyone’s sidekick. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m his.
We walk for a bit. Some scratches in
a tree catch my eye. One of Hell Pack must’ve marked it on the way… probably without even thinking about it. I hear a faint hiss and glance up. Sidekick’s leaning against a tree. Above him, a snake is slithering down for the kill. I pull out a dagger, fling it with expert accuracy, and it plunges through the head of the snake just as it’s about to strike, pinning it to the tree right beside Sidekick’s neck. Yet, despite the sharp blade through its brain, it’s still flailing around like a stuck pig. I’m amazed. Here we were next to a graveyard and nothing seems to die.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Wasn’t a concern,” Sidekick responds, just as another snake lashes out whip-like at him from above. Without looking, Sidekick reaches up and crushes its head in his paw. “Nice to see you care though.” Then Sidekick’s standing tall on his hinds, sniffing the air like a hound dog. “We’re close. I can smell the rotted human flesh. Past that ridge. Keep your eyes peeled. The main event is coming.”
The way the bastar
d grins unnerves me. Like he knows all the secrets and enjoys keeping me in the dark. But based on what I’d seen so far and where we were headed, I had a fairly good idea what was coming next.
We reach the tree line with sunrise just minutes away. The graveyard looms large before us, carrying on for as long as the eye can see. Tombstones are spread out like a mile-long cornfield, their granite exteriors weathered, tilted, and broken from years of neglect. An eerie crimson haze hovers menacingly above, like a coating of blood on the sky. I notice a partial paw print on the nearest grave and follow it onto the hallowed ground.
We walk forward, following the faint trail left by Hell Pack, the stench of human remains and decay growing thicker with every step.
Despite the morning dew, the rotted grass crackles under my feet, as if it’s as dead as everything else here. As we make our way deeper, rows of granite dominate the view, like we’re in the middle of a spider’s web and the graves are the threads that spiral out in all directions. The sun peeks out behind the mountains to my west, casting an all-encompassing shadow, and it dawns on me that this just might be the one true Valley of Death.
“Fear no evil,” I mutter.
“Losing your balls?” prods Sidekick.
I reload and recheck the SD9 and make sure I have easy access to my machete. “Getting ready to protect ‘em,” I answer. The entire place reeks of evil, like a thick invisible cloud that sends every fiber of my being into overdrive. The hairs on the back of my neck stand out like antennae. “This place must be God’s cesspool,” I comment, eyes darting about. I catch a whiff of sulfur in the air.
Sidekick smells it too. He’s on his hinds, tiptoed, sniffing the air like it’s a cool summer breeze. He stops, gazes at me hard. “Actually, it’s Hell’s beach front property,” he says with a pointy ear to pointy ear grin. “Get ready. Here they come.”
I look around and don’t see anything.
But that’s to be expected. The zombies will be coming from beneath. Yet, despite the fact I’m ready for ‘em, something grabs my ankle before I react. I look down and see rotted flesh hanging from bony fingers that grip me. The zombie’s other arm punches through the dirt. It bends at the elbow, and I don’t plan on being here when it fully pushes itself free. I hack the wrist until it severs and jump back, prying the dead fingers off me by hand. I’m eye level with the head that emerges. It’s worn and gray with a few straggles of tangled blond hair. One of its eyeballs is hanging to the side by a sliver of muscle tissue. Part of its forehead is peeled back partially revealing its skull.