The Howling III (28 page)

Ramsay hesitated for a near-fatal moment. He could not erase the image of the vibrant, sexy woman who had been there a moment ago. The oversize hands caught him, the claws digging through his jacket into the flesh of his back. The creature’s jaws creaked open. The teeth came down toward his throat. Her breath stank of carrion.

Ramsay pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was muffled against the huge body of the werewolf. She gave a shriek of mingled pain and shock. The grip of the claws relaxed and she staggered backwards.

Blood pumped in a steady stream from a hole in the belly of the wolf. The green eyes fogged over and the creature fell, raising a puff of dust from the trail. The jaws opened a last time in a long, wailing howl, then the head dropped back lifelessly.

Ramsay stood for a minute or so looking down at the dead thing that had been a woman. The revolver was still in his hand. He was surprised to see it shaking.

He put the gun away and turned his gaze up the trail into the hills. Finding Holly would be a tough job now without Lupe to guide him. But he knew she was up there, and he was not going to turn back. As he concentrated on choosing one of the two trail forks before him he heard a voice high in the hills and off to the left. Howling.

He knew now which direction to take.

Holly Lang leaned her back against the rocky face of a cliff. The ledge where she sat was some thirty feet wide. Beyond it the trail sloped sharply down the hill through heavy brush. The silence was broken only by the chirping of birds off in the forest. Holly shivered with the chill of the morning. She hugged her knees and waited.

They were all waiting. Derak with his arms folded, his eyes on the spot where the trail came out of the brush, the rest of them sitting, standing, crouching. There was little conversation. They were waiting. Waiting for Malcolm.

Holly looked around, studying the people gathered on this rocky ledge in the Inyo Hills. There were men and women ranging in age from young to very old. Some were thin, others fat. To all appearances it was a group of normal people spending a day in the mountains. Their faces betrayed nothing beyond a mild anxiety. Nothing at all was remarkable about them. Nothing, except that they were all werewolves.

When Derak had taken her from the motel last night, Holly fully expected to die. Instead she had been brought here, given coffee and a candy bar for breakfast, and told to be still and she would not be hurt. She understood now that she was the bait that would lure Malcolm back to these people. Whatever happened, they still might kill her. She simply could not let herself think about the possibility.

She had considered running, and actually made an attempt shortly after Derak brought her here and left her alone. When no one seemed to be watching she had plunged down the steep grade toward the trees. They let her flounder thirty yards or so into the forest, then two of the women had simply come and got her and brought her back. These people moved in the wilderness with a natural ease that she could never hope to match. After the aborted escape attempt she had sat quietly like the rest of them. Waiting.

At noon he came. Malcolm walked straight up the trail with no attempt at stealth. His eyes flicked over the assembled people and came to rest on Holly. She thought he looked a little tired, and somehow older.

The boy started toward her, but Derak stepped into his path.

“The woman has not been harmed,” he said.

Malcolm faced him coolly. “Why did you bring her here?”

“So you would come. I tried to make you understand that this is where you belong, but you were stubborn. Taking the woman was the only way.”

“And now you expect to keep me here?”

“I expect you to stay.”

“What if I don’t?”

Derak’s mouth compressed into a tight line. He looked over to where Holly now stood against the face of the cliff. “You are fond of the woman, I think.”

“Are you saying you would hurt her?”

“What happens to her depends on your decision.”

Holly spoke up then. “Don’t let him destroy you, Malcolm. You can be helped. I’m sure you can.”

Derak looked over at her with a bored expression and turned back to Malcolm. “You see, she doesn’t understand the realities of our life. She doesn’t know that there is no turning from the course that is set for us from birth. And she also doesn’t know what we can do to her.”

A muscle twitched in Malcolm’s cheek.

“But you know, don’t you, boy,” Derak continued. “You know, but you have been unwilling to face the truth.”

“I was told you are my father,” Malcolm said.

For the first time Derak’s poise slipped a little. “Yes, but that makes no difference here. Don’t expect any special treatment.”

The slim young man and the stocky older man faced each other. Malcolm said, “If I stay with you, will you set Holly free?”

“I’m glad you’ve decided to be sensible.”

“I want your word first.”

Derak’s face clouded. The green eyes glowed from some inner fire. “I don’t make bargains with pups.”

Malcolm pulled at his shirt collar as though it had suddenly grown too tight. “I want you to let her go.”

“You want? You… want? Do you think it matters to me what the devil you want? You like this woman, do you?

Maybe you would like her even better if she were one of us. Have you thought about that?”

“No!” Malcolm cried. He took a step forward and flexed his shoulders. The muscles bulged and pulsed until the shirt stretched tight across his upper arms. He spoke to Derak through bared teeth. “It’s your fault that I’ve never known who I am… what I am. You’re my father. You should have told me things. You withheld the truth from me.”

“I was waiting until you were ready. That’s the way it is always done.”

“I was ready! You should have told me.” The seams of his shirt split with a loud tearing sound. “There are things I should know. What am I? Why am I this way? How do I control it? What can hurt me? You never told me the third way a werewolf can die. Fire, a silver bullet, and what else, father?”

Holly and the others stood in a semicircle mutely staring at the confrontation. Malcolm’s teeth began to grow, pushing out through the gums. His nose and mouth stretched into a muzzle. The dark fur sprouted as he ripped away his clothing.

“You fool!” Derak growled. He pulled off his own clothes and laid them aside as his body began the shape change with a popping of bone and tendon. The fur that grew over the older man’s flesh was sand-coloured. His face twisted into that of a wolf. It bore the scars of old battles.

When he spoke his voice had deepened into a hoarse rumble. “The third way we can die is never spoken of because it is unthinkable. It is the one unforgiveable crime for our kind. We can die by fire, as you remember from Drago. We can be destroyed by a weapon of silver, as mankind learned long ago. And the third, most terrible way… one werewolf can kill another.”

There was a soft moaning sound from the others. They shrank back a step from the father and son. Holly’s throat was dry as she watched the two figures evolve from men into huge and terrible beasts.

It was the first time Malcolm had completed the metamorphosis. As a wolf he was the taller by a head than his father, but Derak was more muscular, more sure of his body. They circled each other warily.

The dark wolf attacked first. He lunged wildly at Derak and was batted aside by a clawed hand. He lunged again, and again Derak evaded him, dealing a painful blow as he did so. The son bellowed in anger and frustration. The father was watchful, conserving his strength.

For an hour the battle continued much in the way it had begun. Malcolm, younger and quicker struck time after time, but Derak’s experience and cunning made him miss repeatedly. Before long the blows struck by the older wolf were taking their toll. Malcolm’s lunges became more clumsy, his own wounds deeper.

Holly bit into her knuckle as she watched. She had once seen two chimpanzees fight to the death during an experiment on the animals with PCP. It had been agony to watch, but this was more terrible by far. Not only was it beast against beast, it was father against son. And the son was losing.

As Malcolm slowed perceptibly, Derak began to go to the attack. He moved in with teeth and claws and drew howls of pain as he slashed through fur and flesh. Once Malcolm fell and Derak stood over him, teeth bared for the kill, but he backed off and gestured Malcolm toward him like a taunting prizefighter.

As Malcolm pulled himself erect, blood trickling from a dozen wounds, Holly had to look away. As she did so, she saw a man emerge from the brush along the trail. Gavin Ramsay. She ran toward the tall sheriff, ignored by the others who were intent on the battle.

Ramsay stared at the two beasts. He opened his arms and gathered Holly in as she came to him.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

Ramsay could not take his eyes off the wolves. He drew the revolver and levelled it at them.

Holly seized his wrist, forcing the arm down. “Don’t,” she said. “One of them is Malcolm.”

“Jesus.” Ramsay looked around at the others, who had now taken note of him. Normal-looking people, but in their eyes lay a threat. “Are they all…?”

“Yes,” Holly said. “You might be able to kill some of them, but the rest would get us.”

“Jesus,” Ramsay said again. He put the gun away, and the others returned their attention to their leader and the young challenger.

The battle continued. Big patches of dark fur had been ripped from Malcolm’s body. A tooth was gone, leaving a bloody socket. One of his ears was nearly torn away. It seemed only a matter of time before the more experienced of the two would finish the fight.

Then with shocking suddenness, Derak sprang at him. The killer teeth of the older wolf tore through his chest. Malcolm fell, blood streaming from this last and deepest wound. Derak poised for a moment over his fallen son, then cracked his jaws wide and bent down for the kill.

But Malcolm was not quite through. With an effort that brought blood pumping from his chest, he twisted where he lay so that when Derak came at him, his own throat was seized in Malcolm’s jaws.

The muffled crunch of bone drew gasps from those who watched. The powerful wolf-body of Derak thrashed and bucked but the teeth of the younger beast were sunk deep.

With a last strangled cry from Derak, it was over. Slowly the jaws of the son opened. The father lay limp and silent. The fur of both creatures was matted with blood. Malcolm turned his battered head to look over at Holly. She reached out to him.

Dragging himself painfully a few inches at a time, Malcolm came to her. Ramsay started again to reach for the pistol, but held back. Holly dropped to her knees as the beast that had been a boy reached her. He rested his great torn muzzle against her for a moment, then he died.

Holly stroked the tangled fur of his head, smoothing it down. After a minute she stood up. “It’s over, Gavin,” she said.

He looked back along the ledge and frowned. “Where are the rest of them?”

Holly followed his gaze. The two of them were alone. They and the dead beasts. “They must have slipped away into the trees.”

“Should we report this back in town? Send out a search party?”

She looked deep into his eyes. “What do you think?”

“No,” he said after a moment. “They’d put us away.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand.

He said, “We’d better try to make it back before dark. Are you ready to walk down?”

“I’m ready,” she said.

Gavin circled her waist with an arm and they started down the trail. From somewhere in the hills behind them they heard it one last time.

The howling.

They did not look back.