Blood and Rain (19 page)

He slammed on the brakes of the Range Rover, jumped out of the truck and opened fire at the atrocity standing atop Alex McKinney's car.

The bullets whizzed by the beast as it managed to duck and swerve, evading the first series fired. The monster spun around to retreat. It was slammed in the back with the heat of the last two bullets. These two shots hurt more than the shotgun blast that had nearly ripped its shoulder off. Something wasn't right. It knew it had to escape. The beast leapt from the roof of the car and tore off running into the safety of the woods behind it.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Deputy Dwayne Clarke pulled up behind the sheriff's Range Rover, able to make out the sight of the sheriff grabbing hold of his daughter. She looked to be okay.

He grabbed the shotgun off the passenger floor, donned his hat and stepped purposefully out into the storm.

The sight of the two motionless bodies stopped him in his tracks. The first was Deputy Randy Hines. He couldn't make a positive ID on the second body from where he stood, but considering that Alex McKinney's Camaro sat off the side of the road, battered to hell, he assumed the torn-up body was the boy.

The thing that had done this to them could still be around. He gripped the shotgun a little tighter and stepped toward Joe. “What can I do, Sheriff?”

Joe Fischer held his daughter tight. The thought that he had come so close to losing her made him grip her as if the storm could pull her away at any moment. He'd be damned if he'd ever let that happen.

Sonya clutched him just as tightly. Her all-out cries had turned to nonstop sobs, quiet but deep enough that her entire body seemed to hitch with each one. She was scarred by something he could never take away. She'd seen the monster haunting this small town. It was no longer merely a drunkard's tall tale or some stupid rumor passed about during a junior high school Halloween dance. She was now cognizant of the unfathomable evil he'd tried so hard to keep from her.

He knew Deputy Clarke was standing behind him and that he had just asked him something. “Clarke?”

“Sheriff?”

“It's gone.”

“Gone?”

“I got it, but it still made off into the trees. I'm not sure how bad it's hurt, or how far it can get, but I landed two silver bullets right into its back.”

“Should I go—”

“No. I don't know what shape it's in. If it's still strong, I don't want you in there alone with it, and I'm sure as hell not about to leave my daughter out here. Call Glescoe and tell her to come pick up Sonya.”

“You got it, sir.” Clarke ran back to his car.

Joe pulled his daughter toward his truck. He felt her resist at first, but then go flaccid as she figured out what he was doing.

She felt the heaviness of her wet clothes, the nearly unbearable weight of something she had no way of comprehending. She couldn't quite put together how or why one minute Alex had been driving her from Hollis Oaks, then the next he was dead.

She wanted to be out of the rain. She let her father guide her to his truck, watched as he opened the passenger door and then climbed in. She looked out through the windshield and saw Alex's mutilated body. The tears came again.

Joe stepped up behind Clarke. “Where is she?”

“At your house. She's still got Mel with her. I guess the door is locked.”

“The spare key's under the welcome mat. Tell her to let Mel in, tell her—hell, give me that.” He grabbed the radio from Clarke.

“Glescoe?”

“Hey, Sheriff, you boys okay?”

Joe knew that Mel was probably sitting there right beside her, listening. “Yeah, we'll be all right. Tell Mel the spare key's under the welcome mat; tell her to make herself at home and to stay put. I need you to come out here and pick up Sonya.”

“You got it, Sheriff.”

After making sure Melanie Murdock made it inside the sheriff's house all right, Shelly Glescoe backed out of the driveway and radioed Deputy Clarke.

“Clarke?”

“Go ahead.”

“Dwayne, are you and Joe okay? Is Sonya all right? Where's Randy?”

“I'm fine, the sheriff's okay, Sonya's going to be all right, but…Randy and Alex McKinney…they're both dead.”

Melanie Murdock found the sheriff's home a lot cozier than she had imagined it would be, although Sonya, who he'd said would be here, was not.

Maybe she's in her room?

Mel didn't feel like yelling up the stairs, but figured she should. “Hello? Anyone home? Hello? Sonya?”

The place was dead quiet. She decided to have a closer look around.

She expected to see the head of a 30-point buck stuffed and hanging over the fireplace. Instead, there was a print of Winslow Homer's
The Gulf Stream
. Her heart ached at the sight and tender surprise of the painting. The portrait's depiction of a man on a small boat, all alone, surrounded by a massive storm on a raging sea, was enough to break her heart. Is this how he felt? Losing a wife and raising a young girl alone?

She stared at the painting, lost in an overwhelming sadness brought about by the lonely scene. She stood there, looking at it for a long time, longer than she realized. She broke herself away from the painting and moved on to the computer desk. Across the lone shelf that sat over the monitor, there was a Boston Red Sox bobblehead of Manny Ramírez, a picture of Joe and Sonya at the beach, a copy of
Irish Thunder: The Hard Life and Times of Micky Ward
, another picture of Joe with a much younger Sonya at a Portland Sea Dogs game and a paperback copy of a book called
The Encyclopedia of Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Monsters
.

Must be Sonya's. Kids these days, with their
Harry Potter
and their
Vampire Diaries
, and their
Dawn of the Dead
.

She saw a note. It was from Sonya, who had apparently gone out to Heath's…
Must be Heath Jorgensen
. He was going with her friend Kim. They'd all been at the café together at least a hundred times over the last five or six months.

She walked over to the flat-screen television, turned it on and sat down on the end of the royal-blue suede couch. The couch was as comfortable as it looked.
NCIS
was on. Mark Harmon was a good-looking man. Joe kind of looked like him. She smiled at the sudden realization.

The note said that Sonya would be back before dark. She was late. Mel decided to veg out until one of the two Fischers came home. She hoped it would be Joe. She'd feel awkward if Sonya came in to find her lounging in their living room like this.

The rain had stopped, but the wind was now swirling hard enough to bend the trees over the road. Deputy Shelly Glescoe could feel it trying to push her patrol car around. She slowed to a stop behind Dwayne's. She could see him standing with the sheriff as they conversed over something lying covered on the wet ground—

Oh no.

She got out and went straight to Joe's truck.

Sonya stared blankly at the dash. Shelly decided to leave her be for the moment and walked over to where the two men stood.

“No time to fill you in, Shelly,” Joe said. “Sorry, but I need you to get Sonya home right now. I don't want her out here.”

She looked from Joe to Dwayne.

“It's out there,” Dwayne nodded toward the woods behind the crumpled Camaro. “We need you to take her so we can see what happened to it.”

“What happened to it?”

“No time, Glescoe. Get Sonya home,” Joe said.

“Yes, sir.”

Joe watched as she walked over to the truck, helped Sonya out and led her over to the cruiser. She turned the car around and headed back toward town.

Joe turned to Dwayne. “I hope you're ready for this.”

“To be honest with you, Sheriff, I'm scared shitless.”

Joe shifted his gaze back to the clump of trees he'd seen the beast run off into after he'd shot it full of silver. He watched for a moment as the tall pines swayed wildly with the storm.

He turned back to Deputy Clarke and said, “To be honest with you, Deputy, you should be.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Stan Springs stalked the night in bestial form. He thought of the first set of kills this summer. Of those, the man in the car was pretty fun, but shutting up that old drunk in the park thrilled him to the core. Before the start of this killing season, it felt like an eternity since the beast had been at full strength and able to hunt humans. Even when it had last attacked, over seven years ago, the kills had never been as exhilarating as these.

The beast felt stronger, smarter, better at perpetrating its acts of violence. It stopped and howled at the full moon as it appeared, disappeared then reappeared from behind the clouds above. This night had only gotten started.

It wondered how its neophyte was fairing? Becoming the beast had filled Stan Springs with anxiety and shame, but its lust for blood was insatiable and far too strong to be ignored. Perhaps they would meet tonight.

The beast's priorities turned to Mel Murdock and Sheriff Fischer. It howled into the fierce wind blowing against its thick fur. The werewolf crouched back down on all fours and continued on to its next destination—the home of Sheriff Joe Fischer.

Shelly Glescoe rubbed Sonya Fischer's arm in a feeble attempt to comfort the poor girl who had just witnessed the brutal death of her boyfriend. She appeared to be asleep.

Probably the mind's way of saving itself from going completely off the deep end.

Even as she tried to pass on some compassion to the fractured girl, her thoughts were of her own boyfriend and his safety. At this very moment, Dwayne was heading into the dark forest, pursuing the beast responsible for all of this.

“Please, God, watch over Dwayne and Joe and help them destroy this creature. Don't let us lose anyone else,” she said.

Shelly didn't pray very often—mostly as a last resort against impossible odds—but as she turned off Old Gilson Creek Road and onto Park Street, she was praying harder than she ever had before. She feared the horrors of this night were far from over.

She hoped and prayed that she was wrong.

The rain began to fall again. Dwayne Clarke heard its pitter-patter as the heavy droplets hit the canopy of leaves above his head. He and the sheriff made their way through the black forest, one soft step at a time.

“I can't see a fucking thing,” Dwayne whispered. He was ready to have a panic attack.

Who is actually crazy enough to go looking for something like this?

You, dumb ass, that's who.

Joe's arm halted his forward progress. The sheriff put a finger to his lips and forced him to crouch to the ground.

Dwayne strained to focus his eyes. A large shape came into view. It was less than twenty feet from them.

If it could have attacked them, it would have by now. Surely the monster would catch their scent on the air before
they
were able to find
it
. It lay slouched against a pine and did not move.

Joe reached for the Maglite on his belt, aimed it toward the beast and flicked it on. He watched the rise and fall of the beast's massive chest. Then he reached for his Glock G22, unholstered the weapon, drew it up and aimed it directly at the beast's head.

Deputy Dwayne Clarke saw the thing that should not be lying in front of him. It was massive, covered with a thick black fur. It was lying on its back as the rain poured down upon it. The sheriff had his gun aimed at the creature. Clarke raised the shotgun he'd carried out with him, moving into position next to Joe.

“Is it—”

“I don't think so. Not yet, anyway.”

Together, they began to creep forward. They stopped ten feet from the thing.

Dwayne couldn't believe his eyes. This was something from a Stephen King novel. Yet there it was, fighting for breath, dying before them—a werewolf.
A real, honest-to-God, fucking werewolf.

“It's dead, Sheriff.”

Joe aimed his gun between the creature's closed eyes.

Dwayne looked at him. “I think it's dead, Sheriff.” He reached out with his right leg to kick the massive body.

“Get back, Dwayne.”

Despite Joe's direct order, Dwayne stepped forward and kicked the beast. “See, it's dead.”

The beast clutched on to his calf.

Dwayne screeched.

Joe stepped past his deputy, placed the gun directly to the monster's forehead—its yellow eyes opening as he did so—and pulled the trigger. He emptied all ten rounds of .40-caliber silver bullets into the head of the beast.

The loud explosions barked then died against the soundtrack of the storm raging against the forest. Deputy Dwayne Clarke lay on the ground curled into a fetal position, his hands over his ears.

Joe's normally steady hand trembled. There were a series of clicks as he kept pulling the trigger of the empty weapon. He couldn't believe he had killed this wicked thing again.

His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Barlow Olson,
“You can't just shoot these things. The silver will fuck the shit out of 'em. Drop 'em out of commission for a long-ass time, but it's not enough..”
Joe's authentic Masahiro Yanagi Katana sword was laying in the backseat of his truck.

He looked down at Deputy Clarke, who was only now uncurling himself. Joe waited until the Deputy got back to his feet and handed him his keys. “Go to my truck. In the backseat is a duffle bag. Inside the bag is a samurai sword. I need you to grab it and bring it back here as quick as possible.”

Dwayne was looking at the crimson-splattered area the creature's face had once occupied. It was like looking down at a mess of bloody hamburger.

“Dwayne. Go. Now.”

Dwayne pulled his eyes from the gory sight. “Right. A sword. In your truck? I can do that.”

“Well, stop fucking staring at this pile of shit and go.”

“Yes sir, Sheriff. Are you sure you want to stay out here…alone?”

“I'll be fine as long as you get your ass in gear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Joe stared down at the body of the werewolf. It seemed an odd thought, but for some reason, as big as this thing was, he couldn't shake the feeling that it had been even bigger before. He guessed it could have been altered in its rejuvenation period, between when he buried it and when it rose from the dirt grave, but that didn't feel right. It wasn't possible that this could be a different werewolf…was it?

A deep cold spiraled through his soul and spun a knot in his ulcer-ridden stomach.

Deputy Shelly Glescoe pulled into the sheriff's driveway and she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Some kind of large animal disappeared around the corner of the house. She thought of the werewolf. Her hands shook as she reached for the radio.

“Sheriff? Dwayne?”

“Shelly?”

It was Dwayne. She tried to keep her voice low and steady. “Dwayne, I think it's here.”

“What's there? Where are you?”

“I'm sitting in the sheriff's driveway. Something huge just darted behind the house. I think it's the werewolf.”

“Uh, I don't think so. I just watched Joe blow its head into oblivion. We found it half-dead, laying a little ways in the woods here. You probably just saw a dog. I think Joe's neighbor has a—”

“Listen to me, Dwayne Steven Clarke. I know what I just saw go behind this house was too fucking big to be a Goddamned dog. Hell, it was too big to be a fucking bear. The werewolf is here. It's here. What the fuck do I do, Dwayne?”

“Back the fuck out of there and go wait for us at the end of Park. Just get yourself and Sonya out of there. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but just get out.”

“But Mel…Mel is in there, alone.”

“Get Sonya out of there, and then go back for Mel…or wait…fuck…just get Sonya out of there. I'm on my way.”

Shelly put the car in Reverse as the guilt of leaving Mel in the house alone nibbled at her guts. She sped down Hilton Street backward, stopping at the end of the block. Sonya was out cold. She grabbed her shotgun from the floor by Sonya's legs, got out of the cruiser, locked the doors and started back to the sheriff's—back toward the werewolf.

“Sheriff!”

Joe heard Deputy Clarke yell. Another chill swept over him. “What is it?”

“Shelly just radioed. She says the werewolf is behind your house. I've got to go. You'll have to come get your sword.”

“Dwayne?”

“Sorry, Joe, it's Shelly. I have to go…” His voice trailed away.

Joe knew there was another one. That's why this one looked different—
it was
.

He knew he should finish the job with the one lying at his feet, knew that if he didn't he ran the risk of it not being here when he returned, but the overwhelming fear for his daughter's safety overrode every sensible thought on the subject. He broke into a run. He'd have to hope blowing half of the damn thing's head off would do the trick.

Less than a minute later, he was burning down the wet road after Deputy Clarke, racing to protect his daughter from a real-life monster. It would take him at least ten minutes to get to his house from here. He hoped that wouldn't be too long.