Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set (99 page)

Where was Ivan?

The main desk where you paid for your game and got your shoes was to the right, so Ivan probably would’ve gone in the other direction. George turned to the left and walked, bracing himself for a werewolf attack at any moment.

There he was. In the game room. Seated in a stool in front of
Ms. Pac-Man
. Facing George and not the video game.

Ivan held up his hands to show that they were empty. His voice sounded tired, resigned. “Why are you still following me, George?”

“We’ve already been over this. You’re a killer.”

“And I’m going to continue to be a killer as long as you follow me. How many people do you think are in this bowling alley?”

“It doesn’t matter. What you did before--it’s never going to happen again.”

“Look, George, we both have the potential to be reasonable men. This is stupid. You don’t want me to kill any more innocent people, and I don’t want you following me trying to blow up my car. Remember when you wanted to cut a deal? I’m ready to cut a deal.”

George shook his head. “We’re not giving you any money.”

“I don’t want money. I want peace. Just a few hours of peace.” He smirked at George. “Oh, by the way, are those grenades in your pocket or your testicles for safekeeping?”

“They’re grenades.”

“So why don’t you throw one at me?”

“I’m here to talk, just like you,” said George. That wasn’t even remotely the truth, but if he was going to successfully use the grenades, he’d have to catch Ivan unaware. The last thing George needed was to throw a grenade and have it batted right back in his face.

Or he could shove one down Ivan’s throat and pull the pin. That idea worked, too.

“We’re two sides of the same coin, you and me,” said Ivan.

“No, we’re not.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said it. Just trying to connect. However, I really do think we can talk this one out, because you’ve got something I want, and I’ve got something you want. Those are the two elements in a successful deal, my friend.”

“So what is it you want?” George asked. “For me to just let you go? That’s not going to happen.”

“I’m not asking for a permanent treaty. I just want you to tell me where the tracking chip is, and then I’ll leave. Nobody else dies today.”

“It’s in your leg.”

“Wrong. See, I can tell when you’re lying to me. That’s how close we’ve grown. They didn’t tell you where it was, huh?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“Figures. So my next request is to watch you smash the tracking device. Take all of your frustration out on it. Pretend it’s me. I know Bateman and Dewey can still follow me, but all I want now is to get you off my tail.”

“You don’t have a tail.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m thankful for that.”

George cleared his throat. “Well, Ivan, despite my appearance, I am indeed a businessman. You’re right, we both want something from each other. My question is, how can I trust you? You can watch us stomp on the tracer, but if we’re supposed to let you go, how do I know you won’t turn the corner and start killing people?”

“Well, that’s a tricky one. The answer is that I don’t
want
to kill anybody else tonight.” Ivan held up his arms, revealing a mostly healed but still hideous gash on each of them. “I’m tired. I’ve got all of those bullets in me that have to be taken out. I’ve murdered a lot of people today, more than you even saw, and it’s like an Olympic athlete setting a world record--they don’t want to jump right back in the pool and try for another one.”

“I’m not sure that metaphor is correct, but continue.”

“All I want to do is hide out and rest for a while. My promise to you is that I won’t kill anybody else. I’m not even planning to stay in the country.”

“Neither are we.”

“Well, shit, let’s just make sure we’re fleeing to different countries and everything will be fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Then how about we settle this over a game of
Ms. Pac-Man
? You get high score, I’ll surrender myself to you. I get high score, you leave me alone. Fair?”

“Now I feel like you’re stalling.”

“You know, George, I’ve tried to be friendly during this little discussion. Make a deal, go our separate ways, and end this in a reasonably pleasant manner. But I don’t get the impression that you want to work with me.”

“I wonder why?”

“Because you’re a fucking idiot. If they can find me wherever I go, then I have nothing to lose. Do you think I want them to hunt me down in a cheap motel and take me out while I sleep? Fuck that. If you’re not going to cut a deal, then I’m just going to go out in a big-ass blaze of glory and kill every fucking person in this place.”

“All right,” said George. “We’ll destroy the tracer.”

“Thank you. Call Lou.”

“You don’t want to see it in person?”

“I’m sure he’s got video capability on his phone. Tell him to video himself stomping the tracer to pieces and then send it to you.”

A little kid, maybe seven or eight years old, walked into the game room.

“The arcade is closed,” Ivan informed him.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Are you really going to argue this with me? It’s closed. Get out of here.”

The little kid gave Ivan the finger and left.

“You know,” said Ivan, “there was a time when kids would respect their elders. They don’t even respect their parents anymore. If I’d flipped off an adult when I was that age, my middle finger would be in a cast.”

“Mine, too.”

“It’s really sad where society has fallen. I mean, I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m helping society in any way, but compare the impact of me killing a few people to the overall damage done by the fact that our nation’s youth no longer has any shred of respect for their elders. If you could trade my killings for a generation that doesn’t give adults the finger in arcades, wouldn’t that be a good deal?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about? That’s like your whole vagina-with-teeth speech.” Either the werewolf was having a mental breakdown, or he was trying to distract George from some sneaky plan that he was working out. George needed to cut this conversation short.

He took out his cell phone and punched in Lou’s number.

Ivan seemed to visibly relax.

That was good. Real good.

George knew that Ivan could not be trusted. The second Lou trashed that tracing device, Ivan would change into his wolf-self and go on another slaughter spree, laughing the entire time. “Oooops, sorry, George! I thought you knew not to trust a homicidal lycanthrope maniac! Better luck next time!”

Let him go, even without destroying the tracer, and Ivan could rack up another twenty, thirty,
fifty
corpses before they found him again. 

He just needed a moment to catch the werewolf off-guard.

This looked like a good one.

George did not have the advantage of being able to transform into a literal wolfman, but he’d stored up a shitload of anger today. There was absolutely no reason to try to control it anymore.

“Lou? I’m going to need you to destroy the tracer and video it. Don’t argue with me! Goddamn it, Lou, just do it! Send me the video the second you’re done.”

He hung up.

“How about a quick game while we wait?” George asked, stepping over to the video game. “I didn’t think you could find
Ms. Pac-Man
anymore. That’s pretty cool. I suppose you were a fan of that werewolf game.”

“Which one?”

“That one from the 80’s. With the werewolf.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s that one where--” George grabbed Ivan and threw him to the floor. As Ivan transformed, George dropped onto him, knees landing on his stomach, and pulled the grenade out of his pocket.

He slammed the grenade against Ivan’s mouth, breaking off another fang. Ivan snarled and twisted his wolf-head to the left and right, struggling against the attack, but George summoned every ounce of his rage and jammed the grenade in there.

George took a claw to the arm. He didn’t let that distract him from his purpose. Ivan was much stronger, but George only needed to hold him down for a few more seconds...

The grenade was in there deep enough for the son of a bitch to choke on it, but Ivan’s head was thrashing so violently that George couldn’t get at the pin.

He grabbed for it, not even caring if he lost a couple of fingers in the process. Ivan’s tongue slid over his hand as George’s index finger curled over the grenade pin.

He yanked it out.

And at that moment, Ivan’s rage surpassed George’s own. He pushed himself up, sending George tumbling to the floor, then spat the grenade at him.

It landed on George’s chest.

He scooped it up and tossed it. He was suddenly more concerned with getting the explosive off of his chest than taking out the werewolf, so his throw went wild. The grenade bounced against the console of a classic
Centipede
machine and exploded, shattering the screen and sending debris flying.

Ivan flexed his claws.

George quickly dug the other grenade out of his pocket.

Ivan ran out of the arcade.

George got up. His legs, burnt from the dynamite, now felt like they were actively on fire, but he pushed through it. He’d have plenty of time to wallow in agony later.

He ran out of the arcade after him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The Final Fight

The explosion had already started a flood of terrified people fleeing for the exit, and the werewolf running out of the arcade added to the screams. George was right behind him.

Though he didn’t want to waste his last grenade, if Ivan went for kills rather than escape, this might be George’s last chance to use it before Ivan started slicing his way through a bunch of innocent people. If he could at least keep Ivan from going out the main entrance, the werewolf might try to run out the back, in which case Lou could take care of him.

A heavyset woman nearly knocked George over in her stampede to get out of there. Ivan was not going for the entrance--he was going for a crowd of people at the snack bar.

George had only a few seconds before a grenade would cause collateral damage. He pulled out the pin and lobbed the grenade at Ivan’s back.

It came up short, but not
too
short. The grenade went off as it hit the floor, spraying Ivan with incendiary material. He stumbled, lurched forward, and fell.

George rushed at him.

The werewolf was back up before he got there, but Ivan changed direction, jumping down a few stairs to the actual bowling lanes. Every step felt like his legs were being pressed against a hot grill, but George continued to follow him.

George jumped down the five stairs. With the impact, he literally believed that his legs were going to collapse underneath him like an accordion, but they mercifully remained intact.

Ivan ran onto the lane.

Then he slipped.

He didn’t fall, but the slip was all George needed. He scooped up a bowling ball and did an overhead throw, hurling it at Ivan’s back.

Unlike the grenade, this throw did not come up short. The ten or twelve pound ball struck Ivan in the center of the back, knocking him down onto the shiny wooden lane.

George jammed his fingers into the holes of another bowling ball and ran onto the lane with the werewolf.

If he ever got to retell this story, George would enhance this portion, laughing gently as he told his grandchildren about how he rolled the ball down the center of the lane, bashing the werewolf in the face.
And then I shouted “strike!”
he’d tell them.

Instead, he adjusted his grip so that he held the bowling ball with both hands, and brought it down upon Ivan’s head.

Though Ivan’s skull didn’t crack open, the force of the blow definitely left a dent.

George bashed him again. Then once more.

The ball popped out of George’s hands and rolled into the gutter.

Ivan scrambled forward. George wrapped his arms around the werewolf’s leg, forcing him to drag George along with him. George tried to rip off chunks of fur as they moved down the bowling lane.

He was losing his grip on Ivan. He couldn’t let that happen. What if the werewolf ran back the way they’d come, rushing out the main entrance and hacking up new victims left and right?

Ivan got one of his legs free, and kicked George in the face. It definitely drew blood. George didn’t care.

Several pins fell. Was some idiot really still bowling?

No, it was Lou, coming to the rescue.

Lou kicked away the remaining pins and crawled through the back entrance to the lane. Later--again, if he survived--George would thank him profusely for deviating from the plan. If Lou had been in here and George had heard explosions, he probably would’ve come in to make sure everything was okay, too.

Lou picked up a bowling pin as he got back to his feet.

George made another grab for Ivan’s legs. Ivan caught George’s wrists and gave them a powerful tug that sent twin bolts of pain all the way to his shoulders. Both of George’s arms flopped uselessly onto the lane. He would’ve expected it to hurt twice as much as when he’d had one shoulder dislocated earlier, but it hurt a lot more than that.

Ivan ran at Lou.

Lou swung the pin, bashing it so hard across Ivan’s face that the pin broke in half in a shower of wood chips.

George couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he might be having a heart attack. Considering the amount of pain he was in at the moment, that sounded almost relaxing.

* * *

Lou slammed the broken pin into Ivan’s chest, trying to use it like a broken bottle. The splinters wouldn’t kill him, but Lou just needed to hurt Ivan enough to make him run away. If he ran away, Lou was confident that he could get him with the dynamite that was currently wedged into the waist of his pants.

Mostly confident, anyway.

He really hoped that stuff was stable.

* * *

Ivan had no intention of running away.

He was going to fuck these guys up.

* * *