Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman (12 page)

Colton
tipped his head to Randall. In response, Randall pursed his lips and made a
high-pitched buzzing.

“
Zee-zee-zeeee. Zee-zee-zeeee.”

Randall
smiled at Dallas, every inch of him oozing smug. “Just one of my many talents.”

Dallas
rolled his eyes in response. “Oh sure, you’re very talented. I can see why they
keep you around.”

“Not
now, you two,” Colton snapped in a harsh whisper. “When you hear that, Dallas,
you bang on that pot like nobody’s businesses for a few seconds and then get
back and stay out of sight, got it?”

Dallas
nodded. “Yep. I sneak up, Randall does his mating call, I bang the pot, then
get back under cover.”

“Right.
The boo hag should bolt from the tent. Randall and I will pounce and stake it.
If it slips past us or doubles back toward the tent, I’d strongly encourage you
to not engage and let Tia catch it. The girl’s faster than a jackrabbit after a
double espresso. If you’ve got the option, let her handle it. I’d rather it got
away,”

“Not
going to happen,” Aletia stated flatly.

“Understood,
but
if
it by some unimaginable
possibility it
does
get past you,
we’ll track it and get it later. I don’t want the newbie getting hurt.”

Dallas
snorted, but kept his mouth shut. With a final nod from Colton, the group split
up. Colton and Randall made their way through the trees toward the riverbank,
while Aletia and Dallas continued toward the campsite. Dallas covertly watched
her as she moved catlike through the brush, eyes glued to her shapely behind.

Too
soon, they reached the point where she would hang back and Dallas would
continue on his own. While disappointed that he wouldn’t be enjoying the
scenery nearly as much, he stepped past her with a reassuring nod. Moving as
quietly as he could, which made him feel like an elephant in a room full of
cymbals compared to her, he trekked toward site eleven.

It
wasn’t long before he saw the large, fancy tent. Typical of the type city folk
liked to buy so they could be in nature without the inconvenience of really
being in nature, it was an imposing collection of polyester and Gore-tex framed
with carbon fiber poles. It looked innocent enough, but even if Colton hadn’t
told him where to go, Dallas would’ve known this was the place. The
burger-Fritos-tabasco fart smell was close to overpowering. He had yet to hear
Randall’s bird call but knew they’d be in position soon.

Dallas
slipped his flask from its pouch on his tool belt and took a long swig. Replacing
it carefully, he crouched behind a wide tree and reminded his jangling nerves
that he was one hundred and ten percent bad ass.

“
Zee-zee-zeeee. Zee-zee-zeeee.”

Dallas
raised the pot and ladle and set to rapidly banging the two together. Before he
could even count to four, a scream split the air. Something lurched inside the
tent, causing the side to bulge, and the whole tent to lean precariously.
Another scream was followed by a rending sound as polyester was torn asunder.
The boo hag had apparently decided the front entrance was too easy and was
tearing its way out of a window panel instead. Dallas watched two hands poke
through a small hole and quickly rip a larger one. Arms pushed through,
followed by a man’s head. Terrified eyes looked left and right as part of his
torso and a leg pushed through the growing rent in the tent’s side. Stumbling
on the fabric, the man fell forward and landed solidly on his belly.

The
man lay face down for a moment, stunned by the fall, and Dallas knew they had
made a mistake. This wasn’t a monster. Just a middle aged camper they’d
obviously startled from a deep sleep. A tube sock-clad foot kicked
ineffectually at the sleeping bag that the poor guy had dragged through the
tent’s torn wall. His faded Chicago Bears tee shirt, plaid boxers, and rumpled,
blond hair were the least monstery things Dallas had ever seen. At worst, the
guy was a FIP. Those fucking Illinois people were always coming up to his woods
and taking up space in his bars, but that didn’t make them monsters.

When
the startled camper looked up from the dirt, his eyes were confused and
frightened. Dallas felt his face go bright red in response. If the guy had been
a buddy of his, it would’ve made for a fine prank. In this case though, Dallas
just felt like a jerk. Dropping the pot and ladle, he started to walk forward,
hand extended to help the poor guy up.

“Dallas!
No!
” Colton’s voice cracked like a
whip as he and Randall broke from the brush. They charged the tent, stakes
drawn. The camper saw them, too. With a snarl, he turned and locked eyes with
Dallas.

The
next few moments moved in surreal slowness. Dallas saw the man’s mouth stretch
as if to scream, but what came out sounded more like a strong wind through a
tunnel. The man’s teeth were bared, and the lips were sliding further and
further up the gums. Soon, they’d slid far enough up that the man’s eyes
disappeared beneath the skin of his cheeks. As he pushed himself up from the
ground, a glistening skull wrapped in a lace-like web of red and blue veins crowned
in the mouth. The head’s abandoned skin slipped down and flopped back like a
blonde-haired hoodie, lips ringing the neck like a gummy worm necklace. The
man’s arms seemed to deflate, and odd shapes rippled and distended his chest.
First one, then two, then a whole collection of fingers and thumbs worked their
way out and stretched the lips impossibly wide so shoulders and arms wrapped in
twisting muscles and pulsing, blue veins could shrug free. With a final shake,
the skin sagged down the hag’s torso like a falling bathrobe, revealing a lean
and completely skinless woman.

“Run!”
Colton screamed. “Dammit Dallas, move your ass!”

Before
Dallas’s shocked brain could even begin to process the complex instructions
someone was yelling at him, the boo hag closed the gap between them. Even
without eyelids, Dallas was sure a look of recognition passed over the
monster’s staring eyes before it lurched in the opposite direction like a gory,
overgrown fifth grader doing the shuttle run in gym class.

No skin.
Dallas’s brain skipped on the same
thought like a busted record.
Like, no
skin.

The
boo hag screamed another rushing-wind scream and charged straight for Colton
and Randall. At the last instant, Colton dove into a sideways roll while
Randall thrust out with his stake. It was a well-practiced move, but the boo
hag was impossibly fast. Ducking, it grabbed Randall below the armpits and
lifted him into the air. Still running toward the river, the boo hag carried
Randall aloft like an Olympic torch, immune to his kicks and screams.

“She’s
got me! She’s got me!” he cried out in a high pitched voice. “Holy crap, the
bitch got me!”

Dallas’s
trance was broken by a sharp whistling past his ear. A split-second later, a
knife handle appeared in the boo hag’s back, causing it to stumble. Randall
sailed like a discarded rag doll through the air for a few more feet before he
slammed into a tree trunk. Dallas clearly heard the crack of Randall’s skull as
it connected with the tree and watched him fall like a sack of stones to the dirt.

By
this time, Colton had regained his feet and was charging the boo hag from
behind, stake raised high above his head. The hag’s arm reached back impossibly
far, a double-jointed nightmare, and red fingers wrapped around the handle of
the knife embedded in its back. Pulling the blade free, it pivoted and lashed
out as Colton’s arm came down in a killing blow. Parrying the stake with the
knife, the hag’s free hand curled into a fist and caught Colton beneath the
jaw. The blow sent the hunter reeling to the ground, and the stake skittered
away from his hand. Seeing an opening, the hag swung the knife down, blade
heading straight for Colton’s chest.

Dallas
was roughly knocked aside as Aletia crashed past. Another blade sped from her
hand and impaled the boo hag’s forearm, causing it to drop the knife. Instead
of stabbing Colton straight through the heart, its empty hand thumped him hard
on the sternum.

“Hands
off, puta,” Aletia growled while freeing her own stake from her belt. The two
squared off, Aletia clad in black and moving like a panther, the boo hag’s
glistening muscles rippling like a collection of bloody garter snakes.

After
ripping the new blade free from its forearm, the hag bent to pick up the fallen
knife. Feinting with both blades, it danced around Aletia and knocked aside the
woman’s thrusts. The hag’s own slashes and stabs came from every direction.
Aletia moved like David Carradine’s hot sister but couldn’t gain the upper
hand. Dallas watched in horror, knowing that at any moment, one of the hag’s
blades would score a hit.

As
that terrible thought rolled through his brain, a glint of light slashed across
Tia’s stomach. Her tight black shirt split open, exposing a bright line of red.

Whatever
thread had been holding Dallas in thrall snapped when he saw Aletia crumple,
drop her stake, and grab her lacerated stomach. With an infuriated roar, he
charged toward the battle.

“Now
you done it!” he yelled. “You done poked the bear and got it all riled up. You think
you can jump out all freaky and skinless and start roughing up my friends, you
got another thing coming.”

Swinging
a fist like a wrecking ball, Dallas connected with the hag’s face. A second
punch caught it solidly in the gut, lifted it off its feet, and sent it
stumbling backward.

“Listen
up, haggy thing. You done poked the bear. And this bear, he’s like a bear that
ain’t had enough to eat. He’s real ornery-like, and he’s got these claws and
these teeth and he’s all sorts of pissed. You poke that bear, you’re gonna end
up nothing but a pile of shit in the woods, ‘cause this bear, he’s gonna rip
you apart and eat you up and shit you out. You hear me? This bear’s gonna shit
you out right here in the woods. This bear’s gonna shit in the woods!” Closing
the distance, he started firing off more punches and swings at the hag,
ignoring the unpleasant sensation of slimy mucus coating his fists.

“What
are you doing?” the hag hissed at him, retreating from his furious attacks.
“You’d seriously go after one of your own?”

“One
of my own? You sure as hell ain’t from Wisconsin,” Dallas shot back. “Something
as ugly as you has to be from Minnesota.”

The
hag shook its head, scattering droplets of mucus in a halo. “What’s this world
coming to? Serves me right, thinking a little time in the woods would make for
a nice vacation. Hunters I can deal with, but now I have to worry about one of
my own? It’s enough to break a girl’s...”

A
wooden stake exploded through the hag’s chest. Colton wrapped his arm around
its neck and cut off its wind, so its scream was just a hoarse rattle that
faded to a wheeze, then a sputtering cough. Dallas dropped his fists and
watched a slow burn start around the stake and work its way outward.

Like Herb,
his rapidly cooling mind thought.
Thing’s gonna burn from the inside out, just
like Herby.

Colton
released the boo hag and yanked the stake out, letting it drop to its knees and
fall on its side. Lidless eyes stared up at Dallas, mouth wide in shock and
pain.

“Why?
You’re one of…” it gasped. “One of…”

The
rest of its intended words came out as puffs of ash. The fire that had started
in its chest worked its way out along the arms and legs, blackening the exposed
muscles, popping the tendons, and reducing bones to charred sticks which
collapsed into dust. The head was the last to smolder away, leaving two bright
orbs staring straight at Dallas before they finally blackened to ash.

For
a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the various pained gasps and
grunts from the injured group until Colton limped over, placed a hand on
Dallas’s shoulder, and said, “It’s official. You’re one of the Society, and
that’s a fact.”

Chapter 18

Dallas
couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this drunk. Dallas was also having
trouble remembering where he was, what he’d done with his favorite beer koozie,
and if his name was actually Dallas, or if it was Donny, or maybe Deluco.
Deluco sounded nice.

“I’m
Deluco! Buffted up some boo rag! Whisha stake. Stake and bake! Hooah!” he cried
out in answer. At least, he thought he was answering. Didn’t someone ask a
question?

A
hand tousled his hair. In response, his head swung loosely on the soft noodle
someone had replaced his neck with. It lolled around and pointed his face at
the person the hand was attached to. Squinting for good measure, Dallas took in
a gorgeous, smiling face. Dark hair framed smooth cheeks, full lips, and two
dangerous eyes that looked into his from beneath long lashes.

“Damn.
You’re hot,” he observed.

“You’re
not so bad yourself, Dallas,” Aletia replied. “You’re also muy, muy drunk.
Maybe you should slow down, so we can keep this party going back at your
place.”

His
place. He had one of those. Damn straight, he did.

“I
got one’a those!” he crowed. “A place,” he clarified. With a conspiratorial wink,
he whispered loudly, “I got one.” Nodding, he tried to look into those endless
eyes, but his head was too heavy. Much easier to stare at the gorgeous
cleavage. Much, much easier.

“Boobs,”
he reasoned, quite proud of himself for making that connection.

They’d
been at Weasel’s for about two hours, and every minute had been occupied with
drinking. After quickly cleaning up around the campsite, they’d hustled back to
their waiting vehicles and made a hasty getaway. Despite the collection of cuts
and bruises, the group was in high spirits. The new recruit was barely out of
training and had already knocked off a boo hag. It was time to celebrate.

“You
did well today, Dallas,” Colton said, words accompanying another pour of
whiskey into Dallas’s well-used shot glass. “Most folks, they see something
like what you saw, they just wet themselves and run, but not you. You were
meant for this, Dallas.”

“Gundamn
herosh!” Dallas thumped his chest, forgetting his hand was holding the shot
glass and soaking his shirt with a fresh layer of Wild Turkey.

“Monshters
‘n doo gages ‘n I shtake ‘em with a shtake. Don’t take no shift. Na’ me! Not
from no hoo dag or vampers. Not from no one. Not from Herby. Not from my besht
friend Herby. I shtake ‘em and they get all burned up and Loish hates me.”

Dallas’s
head dropped for a moment. Suddenly, it shot up, and he gave voice to a
wordless cry. Maybe he was wailing at the ceiling, maybe at the night sky
beyond, maybe even at the very heavens where some cruel god turned bowling line
cooks into blood sucking monsters so their best friends had to kill them.

“Gundamns
herosh Trapperswill!” he yelled and slapped the bar hard. The force knocked him
off his stool to the wooden floor, and everything went dark.