Lycanthrope Ch. 02

"Get off me," Travis laughed and shoved him away, eliciting more suspicious looks from the men seat around them. He shrugged and pointed at Carter apologetically, "He hasn't had his meds yet today."

The old timers of the town frowned through their glasses; their disdain so blatant it was almost clichéd.

"Oh man," Carter smiled, oblivious to the consternation of the older generation around him "T, you done good for yourself. Is it serious? How the fuck did it happen in the first place?"

"I don't really know," Travis began and then was cut off by the microphone on the stage at the front of the center being turned on. Sheriff Walsh stood tall on the stage and looked down at the gathering of citizens, his heavy brows furrowed as he adjusted the microphone stand.

"You tell me all about it later," Carter whispered as he and Travis sat at attention.

"Okay," Travis nodded.

"Thank you for coming," Walsh said into the microphone. A sharp whine of feedback echoed through the hall and attacked their ears as the speakers adjusted. Walsh stood back and hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. He looked the part of any small town sheriff, from his polished boots to the tan uniform and badge to the heavy brown coat and hat. His ancient, lined face was full and rounded, but he had a hard edge that seemed to diminish his weight.

"As you all know," he went on, "We had a hell of a storm last night. Power was lost here, in Mount Shasta and in Castleton Springs. We're the lucky ones and we have most of the city up and running again, but the roads are slow on the go and we're not going to have any outside help for at least a few days. It's a real mess out there.

Yesterday evening, just before the first snow really began to fall, Mary Carson called in and reported her husband and son overdue. They had been out cutting wood on the old Crest Logging Trail in the north end of town. In a few hours they'll have been gone for twenty-four hours. Since the state boys can't get in here right now and the neighboring departments have their hands full, I'm asking all of you to help me and Deputy Briggs in a search and rescue."

There was a mild murmuring of discussion among the men in the room as the sheriff's words were considered. In the front row, a tall lanky man with blonde hair stood up. He spoke with an eloquent English accent, and no one had to ask whether it was Nick Miller speaking or not. He said, "Sheriff, isn't possible they drove out to another town before the snow hit? If David Carson were cutting wood, then he would have had to have taken the logging trail back to Mount Shasta before heading home, yes?"

"That's true," Sheriff Walsh nodded, "But either way, it's not like him to simply disappear. He had a cell phone on him, and he would have checked in with his wife."

"I see," Miller said and sat down.

"The fire department has spared us six of their volunteers and equipment to use," Walsh explained, "But listen here. The odds are Dave and the boy are just sleeping in the truck and waiting for help to come. I don't want any of you smart-asses hauling guns out there and mistaking him or the boy for a damned deer, understand?"

"Isn't Dave Carson related to you?" Travis asked Carter from the side of his mouth as the sheriff went on.

"Yeah," he said, "Married to my cousin."

"We'll split into five groups and search accordingly. Deputy Briggs is waiting in the back of the hall with assignments. He'll tell you where to go and how to get there. The city boys have cleared the roads as best they can, but it'll be chains and four-by-fours on the trails, and probably by foot for a lot of it."

The sheriff looked around at the group and waited for a moment, "Any questions?"

No one said anything.

"Good," he said, "Let's get going. Daylight is wasting and there's supposed to be another storm tonight."

***

By the time Travis, Carter and Nick Miller arrived at the jeep trail leading to the logging road, it was already four in the afternoon and the sky had grown dark again with billowy clouds. The air was frigid and reserved, as though the world were waiting for something to happen. The three men stepped out of Travis's truck and walked to the snowed over road. There was no way Travis was going to risk getting his truck stuck on the hill. If it did and the incoming storm dumped as much snow as the one previous, he'd have to wait until spring to get it out.

"Do you think Sheriff Walsh gave us enough shit to carry?" Carter asked flatly as he adjusted the red strap of the first aid kit he carried. Each of the volunteers had been given a walkie-talkie and a flashlight, along with the first aid kit and a flare gun for each group. Travis carried the flare gun in his jacket pocket while Carter had been given the task of being the medic for their three-man team.

"Be prepared," Nick said. Travis had always the quiet Englishman looked a lot that actor from the "Warlock" movies, Julian Sands. He was tall and attractive (even being as straight as Travis was, he could see Nick was an eye-catcher for the ladies). A thick wool cap covered his neatly trimmed sandy blonde hair, his bright blue eyes looking into the ever-darkening woods. He said, "We've got a long trek ahead of us."

"Yeah," Travis nodded, "But it's good for the heart."

"Carter," Nick asked, "Any idea where your cousin-in-law normally went looking for wood?"

"Shit," Carter shrugged, "I got no clue. I was never into the whole "rugged-nature" bullshit."

"There's a clearing about a mile up the road with a lot downed trees," Travis suggested, "It would be a start."

"Then let's go," Nick smiled enigmatically and began treading through the snow, sinking in to his knees. He added over his shoulder, "This is going to be fun."

Carter looked into the woods and shivered. He almost jumped out of his boots when Travis put his hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, man," he said, "I guess I'm a little edgy."

"We'll find them," Travis reassured him as they began walking, "Like Sheriff Walsh said, they're probably huddled in the truck waiting for help."

"It's not that," Carter looked down as they entered the snow covered logging road and worked their way uphill after Nick.

"What is it?"

"It's just," he fell silent for a moment, allowing the dead calm of the woods fill the air between them for a moment, broken only by the crunching of fresh snow under the boots, "I feel bad."

"Why?"

"I didn't give a shit before I found it was Dave and Michael missing," he admitted, "It just sounded like an excuse to get out of helping Dad overhaul the engine on the garbage truck."

"It's cool," Travis said quietly, "You didn't know."

***

As the search parties fanned out, starting from the south end of town to the north end, flakes of snow began to fall quietly from the gray expanse above. Waning daylight became a dusky prelude to the night beyond as the five groups of men steadily worked towards each other, their voices echoing through the woods. Winter was dead time here, when all the leaves that could fall fell and the evergreens were lost in a sea of white. The world was quiet save for the progress of the infinitely small men journeying into a once familiar landscape that was now as alien as the horizon of Venus.

From the cover a large fallen cedar tree waited something else entirely foreign to them all, save for Travis. He hunkered down under the massive trunk, legs and arms drawn tight to his muscular body in an effort to stay warm. Even through the thick coat of his pelt, he could feel the wind carrying a stinging cold to his flesh. With reflective green eyes, he waited and watched them with a patience he had not possessed in the life previous. Despite the pain in his body from the night before, he remained silent and motionless as a group of the men drew near.

He had discovered that traveling by means of the tree branches above, he could move without leaving a track to follow. Leaving prints in the snow would lead the men to him, and then he would have to turn and fight them. He would have to kill them. And while the thought of tasting fresh blood again was tempting, even arousing to him, he knew he must be patient. As powerful and as quick as he was, men were not to be underestimated.

On the air came a scent, and thus a reminder of his prey. He remembered the scent from last night and thus when he identified it, it became all the more difficult to remain still and silent. The scent was undeniable and feminine, and he realized as the small group of men passed him, shining their lights about and shouting out, that it was one of these people that had been with the woman last night.

The woman.

His woman.

Why he felt the need for her this strongly was beyond his reason for the moment. So much of the last stretch of time was a blur to him, and only recently had he discovered himself in the turmoil within. Memories would come back to him like flashes of lightning in a storm, vivid and powerful to spur his emotions. Through the feral rage and inhuman instincts he had acquired in the becoming, he had also been handicapped with a fragmented memory. He didn't so much think as he felt the memories.

The scent grew stronger, and he recognized the sweet smell of her on his skin. It was faint, and it was growing more so with each passing moment. But it was there. The heavy muzzle covering his snap-trap jaws pulled back in a sneer of hate and envy as he focused on the man the scent was coming from. This man was a competitor, a rival for the woman.

He hated him.

As the small group passed by, he backed out of the small cover created by the broken tree and began climbing a thick pine next to him. His claws dug into the bark as he ascended the truck, as quiet as any jewel thief and as invisible as the air itself.

***

"Mrs. Goldsmith," Catalina felt her heart bottom out as Travis's mother stepped into the clinic. She had no animal with her and she wore a pained expression across her pale face. Cat composed herself, still upset from the incident with Sheryl Chirique and even more distressed over her odd and sudden rage. Eve, thankfully, was in the back of the storeroom doing inventory of the medications and vaccines. The last she needed was Eve slipping up and mentioning Travis.

"Dr. Hughes," Mary Jo Goldsmith smiled and stepped up to the counter where Cat had decked Sheryl with a beautiful right hook not more than two hours ago, "Can we speak for a moment?"

"Absolutely," Cat smiled and gestured to the chairs in the lounge. Either by a twist of fate or simple irony, Mary Jo sat in the same chair that had seen not only Cat and her son have sex several times, but also was stained with the mutual nectar of their passion. Cat cringed inwardly as Mary Jo sat down, but smiled. She asked, "How can I help you? Is Buster sick?"

"No," Mary Jo waved her hand, "No, the dog is fine. But, there is something I must speak with you about."

'She knows,' Cat's brain screamed, 'Somehow she knows I fucked her son last night...'

"Did everything go okay last night?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," Cat replied, "Except an animal ran out in front of the truck and we hit it."

"Travis mentioned that on the phone," Mary Jo said, "But after that everything was fine."

"He made it home okay?"

"No, he called me from the community center," Mary Jo replied, "There's a search being organized for David and Michael Carson."

"Oh my," Cat frowned, "How long have they been gone?"

"Since last night," she said, "But they'll find them. Nobody knows those logging trails like Travis."

"He is handy to have around."

"Yes he is."

"Travis was a perfect gentleman," Catalina chose her words carefully as blood threatened to blush in her cheeks, "He wouldn't risk driving in the storm when it got bad, so he took me here. He's such a nice boy."

'Such a nice boy,' Cat thought to herself, 'Such a nice cock...'

"He is, isn't he?" Mary Jo agreed and then that pained expression crossed her plump features again, "Uhm, I don't know how to approach this so I'm just going to come out and say it."

'Oh God,' Cat thought dismally, 'Can this day get any worse?'

"Your car got hit by a plow this morning," Mary Jo said flatly, "I am so sorry."

"My car?" she repeated, a feeling of relief rushing in, "Someone hit my car?"

"A plow," Mary Jo added sorrowfully, "Took the driver side door off along with most of your paint."

"Well that's great," she heard herself happily say. She caught herself and frowned, trying to recover as Travis's mom eyed her. Cat said, "I mean, no one was hurt?"

"No," Mary Jo said, and then, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Cat reassured her, "I've just had a rough day. If I don't take bad news with a smile, I'll probably cry."

"Oh sweetie," Mary Jo placed her hand over Cat's, "It'll be okay."

Cat smiled, forcing a hint of depression into her eyes, "Thank you."

***

Travis was thinking about the animal from the night before.

He hadn't wanted to say anything to either Nick or Carter about the creature he and Catalina had hit with the truck. Vain efforts at trying to write the thing off as a freak bear or some kind of dog were met with his own doubtful fear. It had stood on two legs and was built more like a man than an animal. He even tried to label it as a man in a costume. He supposed it was possible some lunatic was out running around in a snowstorm wearing a damned authentic wolf costume on the old highway. Sure, it was possible.

'Sure,' he rolled his eyes, 'Get real.'

Besides, no man could have moved as fast as that thing on the road did last night. No man could have imitated those sounds and no man earth had eyes that glowed green like that. The eyes were what ended up frightening Travis the most. They had been reflective, like a cat's eye was in the dark when you flashed a light on them. But beyond that strange iridescent quality, there had been an inner fire behind those feral orbs that burned bright enough to peer into Travis's soul. He had been downright scared to death, and had Catalina not been there he might have screamed and jumped back in the truck.

"Travis," came the cool, smooth voice of Nick Miller, "How far along the road do you think we are now?"

"Oh," Travis shrugged, "Maybe a mile. Why?"

"We're losing daylight and the rate this snow is coming down worries me," the Englishman said as he flashed his light into the silent woods, "Should we turn back?"

The three men stopped in the middle of the road, feet cold and their bodies rapidly becoming chilly. Travis breathed deep and expelled the visible, used oxygen in a whispering cloud. He wanted a cigarette badly. His lungs ached from stress and he felt like shit, but he needed one anyway. He unclipped his radio for the side of his belt and raised it to his mouth. He spoke, "Sheriff Walsh, this is Travis Goldsmith, over?"

"Listen to you," Carter laughed, "All official and shit."

Travis smiled and flipped him the bird. Carter was joking, but inside he was torn up over David and Michael being lost out here. Travis supposed he could understand that feeling. What if it had been his mom and dad out here? What if it had been Catalina? Or Eve?

"Hey Travis, this is Walsh," the radio crackled, "What's the word?"

"We're about a mile up the road and the snow is coming down thick," Travis said, "If we stay out too long, we might get stuck out here too. What do you want us to do?"

There was a moment of silence and then, "Pack it in, Travis. Frank Hubbard is heading towards you from the opposite end of the logging road with a snowmobile. He can make up the difference."

"Sounds good," Travis replied, "We're turning back now."

"Well, that's that then," Nick looked at his companions, his blue eyes heavy in the dim illumination from the flashlights, "Shall we?"

"Wait," Carter said and grabbed Travis's arm. He shined his flashlight off in to the woods to the east and whispered, "You see that?"

Travis squinted and looked into the woods, adding his own light Carter's. Nick did the same and they peered into the dark. Through the sagging branched, weighted down by snow and the shadows from the thick trunks of ancient trees, Travis saw a shiny red streak of metal. His heart leapt into his throat as Carter shouted out, "It's David's truck!"

Before Travis or Nick could say anything, Carter was trudging his way into the thicket of underbrush and snow. They followed behind him, sinking into open pockets of space were the snow had piled up over dense leaves. Several times, Travis nearly lost his footing and fell forwards as they navigated their way towards the buried Dodge Ram pickup.

The streak of red they had seen from the road was the hood of the truck. A large section of the snow pack had lost its grip on the slick paint job and slid off to the ground, leaving it exposed. Carter reached the truck first, his gloved hands pawing at the mound of snow where the cab was hidden. He cleared out a space of glass and on the driver's side window and flashed his light inside. He saw the blue ice cooler, so half eaten food and the thick jacket David always wore over his flannel shirts.

"David!" Carter shouted into the night, "Yo Dave!"

"David Carson!" Travis joined in.

"How many Davids do you think are out here?" Nick said slyly and smiled at Travis.

"Dave!" Carter shouted again.

They waited for a reply, listening intently as the echoes from their yells died out and silence claimed the world once more. Off in the distance, a semi truck down shifted on the grade of Interstate 5 and rumbled the small canyon in which Breystaff sat. Carter slowly circled the truck, flashing his light around on the top of the snow pack. He mumbled, "No footprints."

"With this much snow, I doubt you'd find any," Nick reminded him.

"I guess you're right," he nodded absently.

"This is getting weird," Travis peered into the cleared away section of windshield with his flashlight, "No one home."

"Maybe someone picked them up?"

"Maybe," Nick replied, "But why wouldn't they have called into Mrs. Carson by now?"

"Sheriff Walsh," Travis said into his radio.

"That you again, Goldsmith?" the radio crackled.

"We found David's truck," he said, "Its buried under a ton of snow. No sign of David or his son anywhere."

"Shit," Walsh sighed, "Stay put, Travis. Keep someone out on the road. Hubbard should be by any minute now."

"Will do."

Nick rubbed his gloved hands together and looked at Carter, "Why don't you take the first watch on the road."

"Yeah," Carter said absently, his eyes focused on the partially buried truck, "Yeah, good idea."

Once Carter was out of earshot, Nick said to Travis, "I don't think he's handling this well."

Travis looked back to the road where his friend stood quietly, flashlight on and eagerly awaiting the arrival of help. He said, "No argument here."

"I do hope that David was able to hitch a ride somewhere," Nick said.

"If he had," Travis took his pack of cigarettes out from his coat pocket and offered it to Nick, "He would have called by now."

Nick nodded gratefully and took one of the smokes. He said, "It is entirely possible we've already passed them."

Travis pulled a cigarette out from the package and put it to his cold lips. He lit it and hoped that Frank Hubbard was speeding along faster than the snow was falling. The idea of David and his little boy being dead and buried under the snow chilled him more than the harsh weather ever could have done. Nick's suggestion presented him with the grisly visual that they might have already passed wherever David and Michael had succumbed. The image of walking over their frozen bodies, hard and crystalline under the snow pack, made his stomach feel queasy.

"Jesus, I hope not," he inhaled deeply and passed the lighter to Nick.

"David Carson is one of the most responsible men in Breystaff," Nick said as smoke jetted from his nostrils, "I've known him since I moved here and he's never been anything but safe," he shook his head and added, "Even to a fault."