Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy (16 page)

The men went to bed at lights out. None of them stirred until Harris’s snoring broke the silence. Marcus drew the curtain and moonlight filled the center of the room. The pack huddled in close and transformed.

“What’s going on?” Harris asked, sleepy-eyed.

Marcus smelled the fear as Harris’s gaze circled his bed. The beasts surrounded him, a wall of teeth and claws. Harris swallowed hard and when the scent of urine wafted to his nostrils, Marcus barked and the pack descended.

* * * *

“Congratulations, men, you have survived Basic Training.”

“Sir, thank you, sir.”

“It’s a shame Harris decided to go AWOL. I expected better.” The sergeant looked to Marcus. “He could have learned something from you. Third time’s the charm, right, soldier?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Tell me, what career choice have you made? Where will you be going for advanced individual training?”

“I don’t know about my squad, but I’ll be staying right here for infantry, sir. I think I’d be best suited on the front lines.”

“We’re staying too, sir.” The rest followed in.

“Excellent. With more soldiers like you, we could win this war.”

Marcus smiled.
That’s the plan.

* * * *

“No. I can’t.”

Damn it, Francesca
. “I thought you were ready,” Paul said, leaning in, putting his weight behind him in an effort to try and stop her from pushing him off. “I never would have taken you up here if you hadn’t said—”

“I know . . . I am . . . but I don’t want my first time to be in a car. And especially not with others around.”

“A
car
?” He pulled away. “This isn’t just a car, babe, it’s a classic ’67 Mustang Fastback fully restored.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. You know that.” She put her hand on his chest and rubbed it in a circular motion. “My first time’s supposed to be special. It should be in a bed.”

“I suppose you want candlelight, too?” He took her hand by the wrist, pulled it away from him, and placed it on her thigh. The gesture wasn’t helping matters; it only increased his arousal.

“I’m serious,” she said, dragging the word.

“As for the other cars, what did you expect? It’s the weekend.”
What a waste. She looks so good.
He looked down at her chest and had to consciously stop himself from licking his lips.
Just two buttons standing between me and those perfectly shaped
—

He propped himself upright in his seat and turned the ignition on.

“Where we going? I can still . . . you know.”

“If you’re serious, I think I know a place.”

“Where?”

“My brother told me about a cabin up on Blue Ridge.” He pointed across the cliff to a neighboring mountain. “He used to take his dates there. Says he’s only seen the owners there two or three times a year and they keep the key in a potted plant behind the house.”

“You think it’s empty now?”

“Worth a look, right? Unless you want to try and sneak past my parents.”

“No. That’s out of the question. I’m not doing anything like that with your parents around.”

“The night’s still young, your dad said to have you home by midnight. You wanna chance it?”

Francesca smiled with her dimpled cheeks and said, “Why not?”

That’s my girl
, he thought, then revved the engine. Paul put the gear in reverse and backed away from the lookout.

“I hope no one’s home,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh. She glided it back and forth, coming oh so close to his happy place, then falling away.

You and me both, babe
, he thought as he drove down the mountain.

Though Francesca didn’t know it, Paul was still a virgin as well. She had assumed he was experienced with the ladies given the reputation of several of his exes, but he was too embarrassed to correct her. He didn’t lie, nor led her to believe he wasn’t. He just let it slide and never mentioned it. Tonight was the first time he actually pushed for it, but only after she had whispered her desires in his ear while they watched
Blood of the Dead
, the new zombie flick playing. He had read the book and enjoyed it immensely, the first part of a trilogy, and had waited months to see it on the silver screen, but despite his love for the shambling ghouls and their never-ending lust for living flesh, the need to become a man triumphed, and they left the theater before the half-way mark.

Her boldness in the theater proved that even after seven months of dating, Francesca could still surprise him. She had shocked him when she sent her best friend, Abigail, over to him during a lunch break to ask him out. He had admired her from afar the entire school year, her beauty making him, and several other guys who were man enough to admit it, apprehensive. He accepted without thought. She had surprised him three months into their relationship the first time she performed oral sex on him, and he hadn’t even asked or hinted that he wanted it. He remembered the feeling of wanting to marry her at that moment, then remembered the joke about that little cliché.

She amazed him in all she did: her kind-heartedness, her intellect, her dexterity. Though he had no clue as to what he had done to deserve her, he was thankful. He was not the best looking, best dressed, or best anything. He was of average build, a borderline ‘A’ student, not involved in any sports, his only highlight being the Mustang he and his father refurbished over the summer between junior and senior year and she had made it painfully clear she could care less about it.

Nobody’s perfect
, he thought.

Feeling a greater appreciation for her, he took his attention off the road for a brief glimpse and was disappointed to see her long black hair had fallen over her shoulder, concealing her ample cleavage at this angle.

Soon
, he told himself, then returned his attention to the road in time for the bend.

“I think I see it,” Francesca said with enough enthusiasm for the both of them.

“It’s pretty big for a cabin, huh?”

“I’ll say. And I think it’s the perfect place for you know what.”

A heat permeated from his cheeks and he couldn’t resist the smile forcing its way on his face. He hoped she didn’t think him a dork for it.

The road circled around the log cabin and down a slope. He followed it, hoping to keep the car out of sight of passersby. As he drove, he marveled at the structure. The light of the full moon was hindered by clouds, but that only added to its charm. The cabin was a rustic beauty built into the side of a hill. Paul pulled up close to the building, just a few feet from the door.

“The lights are on,” Francesca said.

“They’re probably on a timer. If you’re scared, you can wait here and I’ll go take a closer look.”

“Okay, keep the engine running just in case we need to bolt.”

“Good thinking,” Paul said before he stepped out of the car. He thought about not closing the door, then realized how foolish that was because if someone was home, they had already heard the car.

Mindful of his footsteps, he approached the back door and peered through the single-pane glass. He had a clear view into the cabin’s kitchen and great room.

No one’s here, man. Get on with it. There’s the pot Jimmy mentioned.

It was a rather large, but cheap, plastic pot meant to look like terracotta with a variety of marigolds and pansies. He strained his neck as he scanned the foliage until a metal tin, propped against the inside rim, caught his eye.

Perfect
, he thought as he popped the lid and revealed a brass key. He opened the door and stepped inside. “Anybody home?” he asked. “We mean no harm.”

Paul walked through the kitchen and into the great room.
This is beautiful
. He took notice of the vaulted ceilings and a stone gas log fireplace centered on the opposite wall.

“Hello!” he asked again, fully expecting someone to jump out and grab hold of him, but no one responded. He shrugged his shoulders and walked outside to fetch Francesca, on the way returning the key to its rightful place.

“Well?” she asked, leaning her head out the open car window.

“It’s clear, babe.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, c’mon.”

Together they entered the cabin. Paul gave Francesca a minute to gawk and fantasize about owning such a place. He could see her desire written plainly on her face, her wide eyes and drooping lower lip. It was as if her head was on a turnstile, swiveling to and fro trying to see everything.

There aren’t many properties like this in Virginia.
“Let’s go upstairs,” he said, taking her hand in his.

“Lead the way.”

The master bedroom was located right at the top of the stairs with an adjoining bathroom. The bed frame was a carved mahogany with wrought iron accents.

“Is that a Jacuzzi tub in there?” Francesca asked, stretching her neck to its max.

“I don’t know,” he said, releasing her hand. “Go find out.”

She darted off, giggling.

“It is,” she squealed.

“What was that?” he asked after hearing a metallic clang.

“I didn’t hear anything,” she said, returning to the bedroom.

“Listen.” He leaned over the handrail outside the bedroom.

Ching-ching.

“There it is.”

Ching-ching.

“It’s coming from downstairs,” she said as she approached him.

Ching-ching.

“We better check it out,” he said.

“No, we should probably get out of here while we can.”

“It’s probably just an animal, Francesca. Do you really want to give up this easily?” He puffed his lips and opened his eyes wide.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, turning away.

“C’mon,” he said, dragging the word.

“Okay, we’ll check it out.”

Ching-ching.

“It’s getting louder,” Paul said as they took their first few steps down to the main level.

She gripped his arm. “What do you think it could be?”

“Probably a raccoon or something. Sounds like it’s coming from behind that door.”

“You go first,” she said, stepping behind him.

He smiled and reached for the door handle.

“May be we should just go back upstairs and ignore it?” she said.

“Seriously? You know you won’t be able to.”

She nodded. He opened the door.

Odd
, he thought. The basement light was already on and though he tried to step lightly, the stair creaked under his weight. The metallic sound’s intensity increased and became a constant clatter. Paul picked up the pace and took the steps two at a time.

When he was at the bottom, he said, his voice barely audible, “Francesca . . . I need you.”

She came down the stairs. “What is it? Is it bad?”

She gasped.

The sound had been coming from a woman trapped inside a steel cage. She was bent low at the knees, with her palms pressed against the concrete floor. Paul would have found her beautiful if not for the toothy grin and white foam clinging to the corners of her mouth. Tongue flopped out, she panted as if she was a dog.

“Are you okay?” Francesca asked as she approached the cage.

Why is she here? And where’s the bastard who put her in there?

Francesca checked the lock on the door. “It’s okay. We’ll help.” She reached in for reasons unknown to Paul.

“No. Don’t!”

The woman lunged at the cage and swiped at Francesca.

“Oww!” Francesca clutched her arm and stepped back.

He stepped toward her. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” she answered, inspecting her arm.

He saw three thin lines running down the inside of her forearm with a faint trace of blood on the surface. “It’s just a scratch.”

“I know. I’ll be all right.” She turned toward the woman in the cage and asked, “Who did this to you?”

The woman said nothing and continued to pant.

“Probably some ugly, redneck hillbilly in overalls and a few missing teeth. Someone who couldn’t get a date if his life depended on it.”

“That’s a little harsh,” Francesca mumbled as she looked away from him. He let it slide.

Paul scanned the room. The basement was one open room with two support beams staggered along the center. The cage was centered on the backside wall of the cabin. On the left hand side was a workbench with a vinyl surface and the biggest vice he had ever seen, the wall above covered in pegboard and housing a variety of tools. He made note of the hacksaw should they not find the key to the padlock on the cage door. On the other side of the room was a gurney and medical cabinet. Scattered, broken pieces of brown glass were on the floor just a few inches from the cabinet.

It was a bottle . . . but of what
, he thought as he approached the largest piece; the sticky paper label had kept it intact. He picked up the piece and turned it over to read it.
Tranquilizer.

“Well . . . this’ll explain her behavior,” he said, holding the piece out to Francesca. “He’s been keeping her drugged. Who knows how long she’s been down here.”

“He’s treating her like an animal, but it looks like the effects of the drug are wearing off. I imagine she’d be more docile if he had just given it to her. Either way, we have to help her.”

“I don’t know . . . maybe we should go and get the sheriff.”

“We can’t leave her,” she snapped.

Paul looked toward the cage. The woman was motionless, crouched down and panting. “What if he comes back?”

“Exactly! The sheriff might not make it here in time.”

“If he was going to kill her, he’d have already done it.”

“How do you know? This could be his tenth victim for all we know.”

“Fine!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. The look on her face, the glaring eyes and pursed lips, told him arguing was futile. “Help me look for the keys. Check the cabinet, I’ll look over here.”

While Francesca searched the medical cabinet, Paul searched the workbench, opening all its drawers and tiny compartments. He came up empty. Nothing but nails, screws and screwdrivers, pliers, and ratchets and an assortment of socket adaptors.

Looks like it’s gonna be the hacksaw
, he thought, eyeing it once more.

“Any luck?” Francesca asked.

“No. But there’s this,” he said, holding up the saw for her to see.