All Hell (8 page)

But then why did he lay Jones out like that? I’m reminded of what he said to me before I put a bullet through his skull by the lakefront.
‘Just sending a message. The old man made a good piece of paper.’
I asked him from who. I think the question I should have asked was
for
who, because if he, and the entire werewolf population knew, then that message had to be for us… or more specifically
for me, my pa, or Miguel
. We were the only three I knew of who knew exactly how my brother was killed. But it was clear the lone werewolf also knew.

My leg feels wet. It’s my blood. My adrenalines been pumping so fast I forgot about the wounds Sidekick inflicted on me. I’m well into his territory now. My gun’s at the ready for when any of them get in my way. But something feeIs off; the forest around me is quiet…
too quiet
. That means every werewolf that lives here is either at the den preparing for the attack order or they’re already in town with Balzuzu. I’m already too committed to my course of action. I can only hope it’s the former and I’m not too late to stop them. I quicken my pace as best I can.

My mind goes back to my working t
heory and it dawns on me. Lone Wolf was leaving us a warning. He killed Jones to prevent the devil’s ascension into this world then laid out the body so we’d investigate and learn the truth. Jones
was
a lure… but not to lure me into a trap, to trick me into discovering the truth. And when Silver Joe and Sidekick found out what Lone Wolf did, they sent a kill squad to eliminate him. But the six of them, Scout and his crew, found me instead. It’s starting to make sense to me now and I’m more the fool for understanding. It was brilliant stratagem. Lone Wolf got me to see the real threat and Silver Joe was smart enough to turn the situation around by making me the new sacrifice. The solution fills me with clarity, a newfound sense of purpose to correct my mistakes.

I hear a cacophony of how
ls reverberate through the morning sky, a prelude to the coming bloodshed highlighted with the cadence of a battle cry for a war I thought I averted. I’m thankful for it. It means they’re still here and their hollers cover up my footfalls.

I sneak close, finding a spot on higher ground that affords me a
clear view of their den. They’re all there; a hundred of them, maybe more. They’re lined up, ready to march. The ones near the front are on their hinds, fully upright. The ones in formation are all wolf. They’re all so busy hooting and howling, not a single one of them senses my approach. Silver Joe is in front. I find a perfect hiding spot to spy on them just as he raises a paw to quiet them down. I could blow his head off from here. End his life right now then kill as many of these bastards on their home turf before they have the chance to get to ours. Instead I listen.

“The time has come. Today is the day we do what we were created to do,”
says Silver Joe with a snarl. A few wolves bark their approval. Joe settles them down. The word
created
settles in my head. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s just talking about killing, but Sidekick scoffed when I mentioned he was bitten. He said I didn’t know a thing about werewolves. So if people didn’t become werewolves because they were bitten by one then someone had to
create
them to make them the way they were.

Silver Joe continued. “The devil has come to Los Agros…”

Or
something!

“…The devil has come to this world.”

Balzuzu! Balzuzu made them…

“It’s time to do what the devil born us to do,” yells Silver Joe to the howls of his pack.

Fuck this!
I run out from my hiding spot, my M27 cocked and ready. I step into the den of wolves, halt at the perimeter, the semi-automatic pointed directly at Silver Joe. In a second, all feral eyes are on me. Joe sees he no longer has their attention, turns to see why, and sees me. Surprise registers on his face. Then primal anger takes its place.

A werewolf moves forward, preparing to attack. I redirect the rifle at him and he pauses. Joe starts forward then I train the rifle back on him and he stops. “All my ammunition is silver,” I shout. “Which one of you bastards wants to make me prove it first?” I can see the gears turning in Joe’s brain. He’s thinking
all
of them. They’re all thinking all of them.

  “There are two ways this goes down,” I shout. “We can slaughter each other to pieces right here,
right now. Or… you can join me”

Silver Joe looks baffled. But only for a split second… then he’s all leader again. “And what makes you think we would ever…
join you
?” he spits out with a snarl.

“Quite frankly
,” I start. “You never struck me as the type to be anyone’s bitch.”

Chapter 15

“I know the devil who created you,” I shout out to the lot of them. “Only he’s not the real devil at all. His name is Balzuzu. He’s a
lesser
demon who likes to make himself appear more powerful than he actually is. Silver Joe’s snarling, but I can see his entire demeanor has changed. I’m guessing the words
lesser
and
bitch
hit him right between his oversized alpha nuggets. I push it. “You go out there and do Balzuzu’s bidding… that doesn’t end your service to him. It begins it. You want to truly do what you were born to do. You were born
free
.”

Two werewolves try to break through the lines to attack me. I could shoot ‘
em, but I don’t have to. Silver Joe grabs one by the scruff of its neck and commands the other one to get back.

“See that, Joe,” I prod. “They’re already listening to
Balzuzu
instead of you.” I make sure I say Balzuzu instead of the devil to take the stigma away.

Joe approaches, slowly, unthreatening. “The devil made us,” he insists.

I keep my gun pointed at him, holding onto my position of strength. “Balzuzu made you. That doesn’t mean he owns you. You aren’t his
pets
,” I throw in, another zinger to help change their minds. “I can’t see you…” I look to the entire pack and raise my voice “…I can’t picture any of you living as his slaves.”

There’s a long pause. Silver Joe paces back and forth, looking into the eyes of his clan to gain a sense of their take on my words. I try to do the same
, but I can’t get a feel for them.

One of the wolves comes forward, a large black one with eyes of stone. He’s almost as intimidating and powerful looking as Silver Joe. I believe he was the one that carried Scout’s body back to the fold. “Balzuzu…” he snorts, mulling over the name. “Balzuzu may be a
lesser
devil, but he is still a powerful one. What is your plan?” he asks, the words dripping from his tongue like saliva.

“Balzuzu’s raised an army of zombies. They’re heading into town to rip us to shreds. I say we get there and rip them to shreds first.”

“And what of Balzuzu?” he asks.

I narrow my angry eyes. “You leave that big red fuck to me.”

The black one and I lock eyes. He knows I killed seven of his kind by my lonesome just last night, an act he views not with resentment, but with respect. Now he wants to take my measure for himself. I make sure I give him everything he’s looking for.

Silver Joe says, “You’re asking us to fight
for
you.”

“We’re going to war either way. The only question you have is, which side
do you want to be on?” I respond.

The black one approaches me again. “The winning side,” he snarls.

“Do you really think we’re going to let him win?” I ask. “Even if he takes over Los Agros today, do you really think we’re going to let that stand tomorrow? That’s when our military gets called in; battalions of trained men, attack helicopters, fighter jets, missiles. We have nukes for…” That’s when it dawns on me. My voice becomes a whisper. “…god’s sake. Hell on earth.”

All of a sudden I’m Sherlock fuckin’ Holmes and Balzuzu’s master scheme unravels itself before me. My expression changes from awe to shock and they notice.

“
Hell on earth…
that’s what he wants,” I continue, stunned at the thought of it. The big picture scrolls through my head like a horror movie. I see it. It starts in my hometown then spreads out across the globe like an epidemic. Each battle escalates into a larger one, each one the consequences more terrifying, more deadly, the stakes and the body count continually raised until utter annihilation is the only possible outcome. Death and destruction on an unimaginable scale. The fall of mankind… and if it’s followed by a long season of nuclear winter so much the better. Balzuzu’s victory… not ruling the world, but ruining it. Judgment day. He might as well be the real devil. “Hell on earth,” I shout louder. “And you’re his pawns. He asks you to kill for him, but what will be left for you?”

A moment passes. A moment they take to think about it. It makes too much sense for them not to.

“Nothing,” says Silver Joe.

“That’s right… nothing. A barren wasteland empty of anything to hunt. You’ll exist without
any purpose, except to serve him,” I say.

The b
lack one steps toward me. “And if we
do
fight for you, what will you ask of us?”

I lower my weapon. “I could use a ride.”

Chapter 16

“You’re a feisty little bastard, ain’t ya,” the black werewolf says.

He’s halfway between upright and wolf, running through the forest gorilla style and I’m holding onto his neck for dear life. T
he ride’s bumpy as heck but I manage. There’s no way I’m allowing myself to fall off and look ridiculous, especially since we’re smack dab in the middle of the pack, one hundred plus strong, stampeding like a wild herd of buffalo. I look to my right. A brown wolf races by us on all fours. To my left, a gray one is keeping pace, grinning at me like the Cheshire Cat. I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or glad to be with me fighting on the right side. I just grin back giving him the best crooked smile I can muster.

“I think he’s hoping I drop you so he can grab a bite,” says the black one.

I whisper back into my carrier’s ear. “You know what they say… the littler they are, the harder they are to make fall.”

He chuckles. “I was li
ke you once,” he says. “A little person. Cept I didn’t have your brass. I allowed myself to be bullied into doing things by the wrong folk, which eventually got my ass into all kinds of trouble. Guess that’s why I ended up in Hell. Now, I’m big. Nobody fucks with me.”

“Balzuzu probably made you like that so you’d be more appreciative,” I surmise.

“Yup! Cept now I see he’s just another asshole who’s bigger than me thinking he can pull my strings.”

I’m beginning to like this werewolf. In my head I call him Rebel. He quickens his pace, making it tougher for me to hold on. I grab a chunk of his fur in my fist and lean myself closer into his back. In the distance we hear the sound of gunfire. A lot of it. The war’s started without us. There’s no break to the staccato of gunfire we hear, the pattern of which smacks of fear and desperation. We pass the tree line into the open field and now I hear screams
, too. And not the kind that’s excited to fight back, but yells of horror crying out for salvation.

Before we left I told Silver Joe that the zombie’s hearts were their weak spots. That that’s how you take them down. He gave me another cell and told me to phone ahead to Maartan so that his pack doesn’t get taken down as well. Last time I spoke to Maartan I used the Wyatt Earp code word. That meant no immediate danger but to get prepared in case that changed. This time I called him to tell him to hold onto the silver bullets. No werewolf was to be fired upon unless it attacked first. I sincerely hoped he listened and that Silver Joe wasn’t planning on double-crossing me again because we were that salvation. If anything went wrong, if any one from either side didn’t act accordingly, the screams were going to get a lot worse.

I tighten my grip, pull myself closer to Rebel, and ask, “What’s your top speed?”

He grins, says, “Hang on,” and accelerates. We dart through the pack, the others now increasing their pace to keep up with us. We near the front lines and I see it all... all the unspeakable death and madness happening right before my eyes. Zombies are swarming Los Agros like bees after someone poked the hive. They’re attacking everything in their path. They’re everywhere, coming in continuous waves like rats following the Pied Piper, feeding on the fallen like cockroaches on year old salami.

The townsfolk, people I once called my neighbors, are spread thin running through the streets, shooting at the walking dead with any gun they had in their arsenal. But they are completely overwhelmed. I recognize Mrs. Garrity, the owner of the town bakery, as she unloads a shotgun blast into a zombie. It crumbles. She cocks the weapon about to fire again, but three zombies tackle her from the side and start ripping her to pieces. Mr. Garrity steps forward with an ax, hacking at them in a desperate attempt to save her. Two zombies grab him from behind and chew into his neck.