Friday, July 25, 1997, 9:32 am

San Antonio, Texas

Wagner had just got into the office when the phone rang. He picked it up, wondering why no one ever bothered calling the receptionist first. They just assumed he wasn’t busy.

He thought, Or maybe they’re listening on the bug and know I’m not.

He said, “This is Wagner.”

“Hi, this is Jobe, with your daily report.” Jobe’s voice was full of what Wagner assumed was fake cheerfulness. “We didn’t find our big fuzzy friend yet, but he’s still in the area. In slightly related news, I’m at the sheriff’s office, and we’re faxing around a set of prints. Last night, someone showed up at the lake, and after they gave us the slip, the sneaky bastard doubled back and ate our dinner.”

Wagner snorted, but Jobe remained quiet. “What? Seriously?”

“Yeah, and then he stole my beer.” Jobe chuckled. “He did us a favor there, since he didn’t bother with napkins. There’s a full handprint on the side of the bottle. A human print, I might add. So I guess the bear isn’t an alcoholic.”

In the background, someone laughed.

Wagner frowned, a knot forming in his gut. “There’s another werekin?”

“Yeah. I think the bear must have tagged the new guy before we ran into him.” Guessing that Wagner was agitated by the news, Jobe added, “It’s okay, Wagner, really. With the full print, I expect that we’ll have him tracked down by the end of the afternoon. I was just calling to give you an update.”

“Why isn’t Gavin making reports?”

“Gavin is…he’s going through changes. Keeping track of his obligations is hard for him right now. Last night, I suggested meditation to help with his focus problems, but we haven’t tried any techniques out yet. For now, you need to be patient with him. Also, expect reports from me until he’s able to be more…useful in investigations.”

Jobe lowered his voice. “I think his heightened hormone levels are giving him a one-track mind. You get one guess at who he’s—”

“Stephanie,” Wagner said.

“Yep. Might want to think about that before planning any reunions.”

“What about the others? How are they adjusting?”

“Pretty good. As of tonight, George will be back to making patrols, and Rosa was working in her room when we took off. I’ve got Gavin and Rachel with me here at the sheriff’s office, and we’re mooching all the free coffee and donuts we can get before the prints come back.”

In the background, somebody laughed and said something that Wagner didn’t catch.

Jobe commented, “John, I said I’ll get the next box. Good lord, man. They’re donuts, not crack.”

Sighing, Wagner asked, “Did you want to fax the prints here?”

“Nah, this guy’s a local for sure. If he’s got any prior arrests, it’s going to be here or with the Boerne police department. There’s no need to bother your guys, when they’re probably already busy with serial killers.”

Wagner nodded again, even if Jobe couldn’t see it. “Yeah, we’re swamped. Our new allies have explained why this is happening, but at present they aren’t in a position to deal with the threat.”

“I gotcha.” Jobe paused, and then said, “It’s the same for us. I can tell you what we’ve got. I’m just not sure how we’re going to deal with the big guy. He’s not been spotted by anyone, and I think he’s avoiding people.”

“Do you have any speculative plans?” Wagner asked.

“Yeah. If we don’t find him by the next lunar cycle, I’m loading everyone in the back of George’s truck, and we’re going north to invade his hunting territory. He’s a territorial hunter, so I expect our invasion will provoke a response.”

Wagner had to admit, the plan sounded reasonable, given the circumstances. He said, “Will you want any equipment?”

“The pack doesn’t need anything, but I’d feel a lot more comforted if you’d clear me to carry something with kick. I’m talking about a strong sedative to put a furball to sleep for a day. Do you think you can round up some darts and a rifle within the next day or two?”

Wagner opened his mouth and closed it. “Let me get back to you later. I’d say I need to run this up the chain of command, but we both know they’re already listening, right?”

“Of course.” Jobe snorted and asked, “How did your boss take it when he realized the ruse didn’t work?”

“I haven’t seen him in person yet, so I have no clue. But he knows a lot about you, so I can’t imagine why he would think you could be fooled, when all it would take is one visit from me to blow the whole deal.”

“Yeah, but it’s the little details that screw up the best laid plans.” Jobe sighed. “Anyway, I’ll call you back if we catch this other guy. If not, I’ll call you tonight in a much more humble mood.”

***

Friday, 9:58 am

Boerne, Texas

The beeping fax machine drew John away from his post at the counter, and he crossed the front office to the table where the fax machine shared space with a backup computer station and a coffeemaker.

Both the deputies had left on calls, and Bert was talking to Gavin and Rachel with the door closed.

Jobe had left to pick up another box of donuts.

Picking up the first page as it finished printing, John turned the page over. He read the name at the top of the record and fought to suppress a groan.

He gathered the second page from the report and went to his stool behind the front counter.

Glancing back at the door of the sheriff’s office, he grabbed the phone and dialed a number.

“Yello?” his cousin’s voice drawled blearily.

“Dave, it’s me,” John whispered. “You’ve got to get out—”

Dave’s laugh cut him off. “Dave’s not here, man.”

John smacked his forehead. “Shut up, bonehead, and get out of the trailer now. Someone just faxed your prints into our office, and the feds are looking for you.”

“What?” Dave’s voice was disbelieving, but in the background, John heard more springs creaking as his cousin got out of bed. “What are you smoking, man? I ain’t done nothing to get the feds on my tail.”

“Dave, I’m looking at your prints, and there’s people from the FBI in the office. I overheard Jobe talking. He’s a consultant working for the FBI, and he told his boss that last night you were out at Rosa’s. You took their steaks and stole a beer. They just faxed out a full handprint to the police department, so I’m sure it’s you they’re looking for.”

Dave hissed, and the sound shifted into a curse, “Shit!”

John listened to feet thumping on the other end of the line. Dave was pacing.

“Dave, I can’t sit on the fax. Just get out and find some place to lay low.”

Dave huffed and said, “All right, I’m going to Leon’s for the weekend. Don’t tell anyone you’re coming, but call up Howie, and ask him for the elephant gun.”

John frowned, glancing around at the sheriff’s office when the door opened. Nodding to Bert as the old man poked his head out, John called, “What you need, Bert? More coffee?”

“Nah, just checking to see if any fax has come in yet.”

John pointed to the empty tray. “Nope, not yet.” As soon as the door closed, he turned and hunched over the counter, rubbing his forehead with agitation. “What do you need a gun for?”

“There’s a wild animal in the area, and it’s big.”

John asked, “How big?”

“Flip my truck big,” Dave said.

John didn’t bother making a snide joke. The feds were tracking the same large animal. George had been attacked by it, and he’d mistakenly called it a sasquatch. And now his cousin had survived an attack, and he was going hunting for the beast as well.

John recalled Jobe’s phone call with his supervisor, I think the bear must have tagged the new guy…

He asked. “Dave, did it injure you?”

There was a long delay before Dave said, “It clawed my eye.”

Blowing out a tense breath, John said, “All right. I’ll see you on Saturday, but be careful, and lay low. If you’re hunting what I think you are, the feds are looking for it too.”

“Big shock,” Dave said. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

He didn’t wait for a confirmation before he hung up.

John grabbed the fax and went back to Bert’s office to knock on the door. He tried to look calm as he walked in, and he looked over at the two FBI agents. “That fax you were looking for just came in.”

Gavin stood up to take the fax and read it. “Great. Jobe was right. It is a local, and a small time criminal.”

Rachel raised her hands in a fake celebration. “Yay, an easy case.”

“Looks like it,” Gavin said. “If this is his full record, he’s had only one arrest for public intoxication, and that was six years ago.”

“Who is it?” Bert asked.

“Dave Carson,” Gavin said.

“Dave?” Bert frowned at John. “That’s your little trouble-makin’ cousin, right?”

“He hasn’t caused any problems for close to four years now. He’s kept himself straight.” John shrugged, his skin hot and clammy. When he looked at Gavin and Rachel, they were scowling with near matching expressions of confusion.

He looked back at Bert. “You can’t really call him little anymore either. He’s taller than me by close to a foot.” John smiled weakly at Gavin. “I can’t imagine what you’d want him for.”

“He took some food and a beer last night, but we don’t really care about that. We just need to talk to him. He was hanging out by the lake last night, and we think he might have seen the creature we’re looking for too.”

“Oh…” John relaxed, but he clamped his mouth shut on his near attempt at a confession. “Well…that’s not so bad, is it?”

Behind him, the electronic beep from the front door chimed, and he stepped out of the office.

Jobe stood at the door, his face filled with a look of annoyance as he stared at John. He dropped his head to look at the box of donuts, and when he looked at John again, he shook his head. “Thanks a lot, John. Just for that, you’re getting the whole wheat donut.”

***

Friday, 10:22 am

Bert watched Jobe wheedle a confession out of John by sitting him down in the chair in front of Bert’s desk. Jobe silently glared, and the dispatcher asked what was wrong.

He lasted less than a minute under Jobe’s disapproving gaze before he broke down and admitted to sitting on the faxed report, and to calling his cousin to warn him.

In all his fifteen years working as the sheriff, Bert had never needed to deal with any of his people tipping off a person of interest in a case, and he felt the pangs of a headache coming on.

He’d made the mistake of asking how Jobe had collected the handprint, learning that Dave had robbed Rosa’s front yard.

“Stealing food from his blind ex.” Bert sighed and rubbed the knot in the middle of his forehead. “Yep, I think that’s a new low for Dave.”

Gavin asked, “His ex?”

“Dave and Rosa went to high school together,” Bert said. “They were friends for a long time, but if I recall, their relationship soured after they started dating.”

“Yeah, that was Dave’s fault,” John said. “Rosa caught him sleeping with some other girls.”

Gavin’s eyebrows bunched together. “What? You mean multiple times?”

“No, he was in bed with three cheerleaders when she walked in. I know…because the party was at my parents’ house. Dave talked me into hosting it.”

Bert frowned at John’s confession, heaving a sigh to let go of his irritation. “That kid…he’s not bad, I suppose, but he’s always thinking of himself. I’ve been tempted to drag him in for jail time, but he’s always made sure he isn’t really guilty.”

Gavin held up the fingerprint report. “But he’s only listed for one crime.”

“Sure, according to the report,” Bert said. The left corner of his mouth rose in a lopsided smirk. “If you ask some of the parents of this town, Dave is the worst kind of scoundrel. I don’t mean to be airing out other people’s closets, but Dave and Rosa were friends because they were both…they slept around a lot.”

Jobe frowned, suddenly feeling uneasy. “So, he’s a lover, but not a fighter.”

Jobe groaned, and Bert gave him an odd look before he answered, “He’s both, actually. He doesn’t have an assault record, because he always lets the other guys get in a free punch. Then he’s just defending himself. He never uses excessive force, so I can’t book him on that charge either.”

Jobe saw a potential for a silver lining. “He’s a street brawler, right?”

“No, not exactly,” Bert said. He scratched the side of his head, trying to coax his memory. “He took wrestling in high school, and his dad let him enroll in some kinda Young Key Chi classes—”

“Tai Chi,” Jobe said, cutting him off. “Yang Tai Chi.” He shut his eyes and snorted. “Great.”

Gavin asked, “Jobe?”

“I studied Cheng Tai Chi,” Jobe said, smirking at Gavin’s confused expression. “They’re rival styles, so I might have a shot if we were equally trained. But with his background in wrestling, I think he’s had more training than me.”

“Oh.”

Jobe looked at the sheriff. “He’s a hunter?”

“Yes, that too.” Bert agreed.

Gavin was still confused when Jobe groaned and nodded. “Jobe, what’s wrong?”

“What do you mean, what’s wrong? It should be obvious to you. He’s always sleeping around with whatever catches his eye, and he’s quick to throw a punch if he’s threatened. He’s trained to fight, and he lives for hunting.”

Jobe glowered at Gavin, shaking his head. “You used to be good at making connections. Will you please get your brain away from your balls and think harder?”

Gavin frowned, resenting the comment. But he took Jobe’s advice and forced himself to think of what he knew about Dave.

Then it hit him. The one type of person who shouldn’t have been infected with the druid curse was walking free without a collar.

Worse, his formidable fighting and hunting skills meant that he outclassed everyone in the pack, including Jobe. Assuming they could capture him, he would quickly assert dominance to become the alpha male.

Gavin blurted, “Oh, fuck!”

“Yes, Watson, exactly.” Jobe pointed at John. “And now he’s made our job harder by tipping Dave off to be wary of us.”

Bert’s frown grew, but he was confused over what was going on. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about stolen steaks or a wild bear chase?”

“Probably because it’s not,” Jobe said. “It’s about Dave potentially carrying a new kind of disease and not knowing it yet.”

Jobe leaned over John. “Look, John, I don’t have time for family politics. Just tell me where he’s hiding, and then I’ll leave you to whatever punishment the sheriff prefers to dish out.”

“I…I can’t.” John sighed and dropped his head to avoid Bert’s disappointed stare. “I’m sorry, but if this isn’t about the steaks, then you can’t drag people in for questioning for no reason.”

Jobe said, “We’ve got reasons, John, good reasons that we’re not at liberty to share with you. We don’t have to either, because we’re with the feds, and you’re a nobody piss-ant dispatcher who just shit on our case. If we wanted to, we could eat you alive, and Bert would have to look the other way.”

Jobe set his hand on John’s shoulder, making the nervous dispatcher flinch. “But you’ve already told me where Dave is. So we’re going to find him and have a chat. You won’t call up Leon’s cabin to warn him again, will you?”

Stunned, John shook his head.

Jobe grimaced in a mocking smile and clapped John’s shoulder. “Good job, Johnny Law! Way to save the day, asshole.”

***

Friday, 10:48 am

Dave was just turning his truck onto the dirt road that led back to his great-uncle Leon’s hunting cabin when his skin got hot and prickly again. His pulse sped up, and he didn’t ponder the change for more than a second before he stepped on the brake pedal and shifted into reverse.

John probably slipped and gave himself away. It was the only conclusion that Dave could come to.

But if he couldn’t hide out on his great-uncle’s property, there weren’t many other places he could go without roughing it.

Dave conceded that he would have to risk the trip into the woods. He had no idea what the feds wanted, but it was his fault for drinking the beer and not taking the bottle with him.

He turned the truck around and took off back toward town.

Now the feds were on his trail. They’d already converted Rosa and George somehow. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t want to find out either.

Dave glanced up at the rearview mirror, checking to make sure a line of squad cars didn’t roll out to follow him. Only one car did, a Mustang. It started to catch up, and his skin got hot and clammy again.

Dave glanced left and decided the ditch wasn’t too steep for the tires. He slammed on the brake pedal and spun the steering wheel, swerving the truck into a dusty slide before the four wheels gained traction.

The truck bounced hard in the drainage ditch, throwing Dave’s head into the roof twice in rapid succession.

He had the urge to grab the throbbing bumps, but he kept his hands locked on the wheel while he accelerated across the pasture.

In his rearview mirror, the Mustang didn’t bother to cross the ditch. The doors were open, and two men stared at Dave’s truck as he got away.

***

Watching the truck cross the ditch, Jobe shouted, “Jump it!”

Gavin slammed on the brakes and got out.

When Jobe got out, he turned to glower at the half-ton truck tearing through the pasture.

He turned his head to look at Gavin, who asked, “Whose name is on the lease?”

Jobe sighed as he got back into the car. “Well, he sure isn’t going back home now.”

“I know.” Gavin turned in his seat and started to back up the car fast.

Jobe said, “He might sneak off to the woods, and we won’t find him until after he’s killed someone.”

“He might, yeah. Probably the orc.” At the intersection Gavin spun the wheel, sliding the car right onto the dirt road before he shifted gears.

“So why aren’t you growling or gnashing your teeth more?”

Gavin smirked as the car shot forward. “Guaranteed job security.”

“What?” Jobe asked.

“With me being cursed, Wagner can’t fire me no matter how badly I screw up. I answer to a higher power now.” Laughing, Gavin turned left at the next intersection of dirt roads and sank the accelerator to the floor. “So long as we maintain a low profile, Damien will fund our operations from the back of the books. So who cares if we lose Goober for a few days? The worst that he can do is form his own pack.”

Jobe snorted and looked out the passenger window. The trees blurred by too fast for his preference, and his hand tensed on the door handle so tight that his fingers cramped. “Well, put in those terms…”

Spotting another intersecting dirt road ahead, Gavin eased his foot off the gas pedal. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” Jobe asked.

“The old bridge,” Gavin said.

He spun the wheel, sliding the car into another left turn.

Jobe asked, “What bridge?”

“You have to figure, we’re in a sports car in the backwoods. Statistically speaking, there has to be at least one old bridge to jump.”

“You’re funny, Bo.” Sighing, Jobe sat back in his seat. “Let’s get Rachel—”

“Yeah, hold that thought, Luke,” Gavin said, swinging the car into a turn.

But there was no road in front of the car. Instead, Gavin accelerated the Mustang into an open, unfenced pasture, and the ride became even more bumpy.

Gavin said, “Or actually, buckle up.”

“Why?”

Gavin grinned wickedly. “We’re insured, right?”

“What does—?” Jobe grabbed the seat belt and pulled it over his chest.

He’d just locked the clasp into place when Dave’s truck flew through a line of trees. The Mustang slammed into the right front wheel, and both vehicles fused together before they began an ungainly slide into the ditch on the other side of the pasture.

Jobe heard a door click, and he glanced over to see Gavin getting out. He heard another click, and through the web of lines obscuring the windshield, he saw a man get out of the truck and take off at a full run. He couldn’t see them clearly through the glass, but as fast as the man recovered, it had to be Dave.

Jobe got out and hunched over, suddenly aware of the tightness in his chest from where the belt had snapped taut across his body. Gavin and Dave were unaffected, and they were already fifty yards away when Jobe looked up again.

Jobe clenched his jaw and thought, All right berserker, let’s see if you can help me catch up.

His body began to swell, and before the process was complete he took off running.

Despite his enhanced strength, Gavin wasn’t having much luck in gaining on Dave. Dave was much taller, and his long legs were giving him an advantage in the long grass. With every step, Gavin was pulled at by the weeds, and with every step, he fell back a few more inches.

Dave stumbled over something and went down.

Grinning, Gavin sped up.

He was almost to the right spot when Dave shot up out of the grass and spun the tree branch that he’d tripped over.

The knobby top of the branch caught Gavin in the forehead, and the force of the blow fractured his skull. His senses unplugged, and he dropped to the ground without so much as a groan.

Dave spun to face off with Jobe. Sliding to a stop, Jobe panted as he relaxed into a stance. He thought, Life was so much easier when I was the only special person that I knew.

Dave’s eye flicked down to appraise Jobe’s stance, but he gave nothing away in his expression as he returned to staring down Jobe.

Dave said, “You must be Jobe. You don’t look like an FBI agent, and you don’t smell like a human either.”

Jobe fumbled for what to say. Dave would have been trouble as a normal human, but his strength and senses were enhanced, and his limbs were rock hard trunks of rippling muscle. He had four inches in height over Jobe, and probably thirty pounds.

Plus, he had a weapon.

The way Dave gripped the limb bothered Jobe. The bulky blond didn’t wield it crudely, like a club, but more like a short staff. His stance was perfect, leaving him room to advance or retreat without overextending himself.

Rubbing spittle away from his mouth, Jobe said, “We just want to talk, Dave.”

“Sure, and we’ll talk with me in cuffs,” Dave said. “Fuck that, I’m not joining the cult like George and Rosa.”

“Oh, bad news, Dave. If the werebear took your eye, you’re already a member of the pack.”

“Shut up!” Dave swung the branch, and Jobe sank to duck under it. He wound up for a kick at what he thought was an opening on Dave’s side.

But Dave had left himself open to bring Jobe in closer. As soon as Jobe started to raise his leg for the kick, Dave dropped the branch and chopped Jobe’s other leg out from under him.

Jobe hit the ground on his side. Rolling onto his back, he raised both of his forearms in time to block the branch coming down to smash his head. Pain shot across both of his arms, and before he could recover a steel-toed boot slammed into his side.

It was followed quickly by another, and once Jobe dropped his arms to block the next kick, Dave smacked him along the side of his head with the branch.

Dazed, Jobe dropped his hands. Through his blurring vision, he saw Dave draw back for another swing, and he closed his eyes.

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... I write dark fiction in a variety of genres. My blog contains my rants and rambles, and some short fiction that can only be found here. I can be pretty fucking offensive, so viewer discretion is advised.

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This entry was posted on Monday, July 6th, 2009 at 3:33 pm and is filed under Blind Rage, Dark Fantasy, Werekin, my writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.