Werewolf Moon Ch. 04

Brianna checked her pistol. It was loaded with the safety on, ready for her if she needed it. Didn't hurt to take precautions. They hadn't been given the chance to check the woods around the parking area where the bodies had been found this morning. If nothing else, she wanted to satisfy her own curiosity, and make sure they hadn't missed an important piece of evidence.

The sun was sinking lower as she climbed out of the Saturn. It was getting dark earlier now in late August, but it was still light until around 8:30. Brianna was confident she could hike up and back well before then.

She locked the car and headed up the trail into the woods.

*****

Chief Deputy Sheriff Clay Palmer was royally ticked off.

Nobody had heard from Sheriff Tomlinson all afternoon. He had dropped off a couple of boxes of ammunition at the sheriff's office and said he was going to take a long lunch. Everyone knew what that meant; he was going home to screw his bimbo wife Susie. Granted, one of the perks of being sheriff was that he could set his own hours, and God knew that Jeff Tomlinson put in a good 60 to 70 hours a week and had earned the down time. But every once in a while these "afternoon delights" dragged on a little too long. And today of all days, when they were trying to hunt down the whatever-the-hell-it-was that had raped and slaughtered two young women, and gutted and killed a boy. It wasn't like the sheriff to so blithely kiss off his duty.

Palmer glanced at his watch as he pulled onto the private drive that would take him to Tomlinson's house. Christ -- it was 5:15! Tomlinson had left for lunch at 11:30! Palmer knew better than to disturb the sheriff when he was "out to lunch," but he needed to check with him about some adjustments to the night shift. He had been unable to reach Tomlinson on his radio. Gravel crunched under his tires as he drove up the winding wooded driveway to the house.

Suddenly he slammed on the brakes.

"Hol-ee shit!"

Sheriff Jeff Tomlinson's police cruiser was scattered all over the driveway. It had been violently dismantled, almost down to chassis level. What was left of the body of the car was upside down on the gravel. The doors, trunk, and hood had been torn off. The engine had been ripped from its moorings; puddles of fluid leaked all over the ground, and there was shattered glass everywhere. The wheels had been yanked off their axles, the tires shredded. The mangled steering wheel hung from the branch of a tree. It looked as if the frame of the vehicle had been twisted and bent!

There were deep gashes in the fenders, claw marks, which had slashed completely through the metal.

Clay Palmer's stomach churned. What kind of strength could have torn apart an automobile as easily as if it were a few pieces of paper? How sharp were those claws that they could slice through metal as if it were swiss cheese? He thought of the victims whose bodies had been discovered at the parking pulloff this morning. What incredible agony they must have suffered in the last few moments of their lives!

He hoped they had died quickly.

He willed his hand to move and grabbed his radio microphone.

"All units -- officer requires assistance. I'm at Jeff's house -- and I'm afraid our critter has been here. The sheriff's cruiser has been destroyed!" He cursed the quaver in his voice. He was a police officer, for crying out loud!

"Sheriff's Department -- Ranger Commander here. Clay, would you like us to help out, too?"

"I'll take whoever I can get, Jace. I'd take the frickin' National Guard if I could! If you could see what this car looks like....." He repressed a shudder.

"What about........Jeff and Susie?"

"Don't know," Palmer replied. "I'm not going in there without backup."

"Understood. All units -- use silent approach," Jace Morgan commanded. "Let's not stir things up until we see what's going on. If it's still there, we don't want to scare it off."

Palmer grabbed a short-barreled 12-gauge semiautomatic shotgun and cocked a shell into the chamber. Icy sweat trickled down his back. He couldn't have been waiting more than five or six minutes, but to Palmer it seemed like a lifetime before the squad cars pulled up the driveway, with lights flashing, but no sirens blaring. Twenty-four assorted deputies and rangers assembled in the driveway, staring goggle-eyed at the remains of Tomlinson's cruiser. Jace Morgan squinted at the claw marks.

"Jesus Christ -- think what those would do to a human body! No wonder those poor kids we found this morning looked the way they did." He turned to Palmer. "It's your show, Clay. What do you want to do?"

"Surround the house," Palmer snapped. "Everybody be careful. You saw what it did to the car."

The sound of ratcheting shotguns shattered the drowsy, late-afternoon stillness. The officers moved out, surrounding the ominously silent house. Palmer and Morgan went around back, and halted abruptly when they turned the corner of the house.

The back door stood open. Palmer's heart sank; there were splashes of blood on the ground, more inside on the floor.

And there was a trail of the huge, wolf-like tracks they had seen this morning, leading back into the woods.

Palmer and Morgan eased inside, weapons at the ready. The staircase was splashed with blood as well. Palmer slapped his shoulder radio. "All units - converge on second floor staircase at the rear of the house," he ordered.

When they were all together, the officers cautiously climbed the stairs two abreast, in a solid assault wave, led by Palmer and Morgan. They made their way to the master bedroom, and Clay Palmer's stomach lurched. Someone vomited behind him.

"Ah, Jeff...." Palmer groaned, his voice cracking.

He had never seen so much blood in one place in his life; there were dismembered body parts strewn all over the room, and it was difficult to tell which belonged to Tomlinson, and which belonged to his wife. The sheriff's severed head was barely recognizable.

"Jesus Christ!" Morgan muttered. "Somebody call Sam D'Amato!"

*****

Meryl Shuman had wandered much deeper into the woods than she had intended. She could barely hear the noise and commotion coming from the Hotel Royale's swimming pool, and it was dark and a little creepy up here. She sniffed and stifled a sob.

Well, her freshman year at U of W/Blanton had started with a resounding 'thud!' She had so looked forward to the start of the school year; she had made the cheerleading squad, and had been invited to join the 'Bikini Babes.' Her older sister Kim had been a cheerleader and a 'Babe,' and last year, Meryl had come along to watch the team in action in its annual pilgrimage to the swimming pool. The expressions of frustrated lust on the faces of the boys and dirty old men had been hilarious. Meryl loved to tease boys with her sexy body, and she had eagerly awaited this week all summer.

But she hadn't counted on the jealousy of Janice Curtiss, the captain of the cheerleading squad.

Now she was certain she no longer wanted to be a 'Bikini Babe,' and she wasn't even sure she wanted to be a cheerleader any more, either. Why was Janice being such a bitch?

Suddenly she heard the bushes rustle about ten feet off the trail, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Something was back there -- something big! 'A deer?' she hoped.

"Meryl!"

She turned and looked back down the trail. Janice was coming! The last thing in the world she wanted to do right now was talk to Janice Curtiss!

"Meryl, honey, it's me -- Janice. I'm sorry I embarrassed you. Please come back down to the pool!"

Janice's voice dripped with honeyed insincerity. Meryl glanced in the other direction. There was a trailhead about a dozen yards further on. It was a side path. The sign read, "Hotel Royale - .7 miles." She cast an apprehensive glance toward the area where the foliage had moved, drew in a deep breath, then hurried on and cut down the branch toward the pool.

Janice Curtiss strode up the trail, clad only in her reclaimed white bikini and a pair of "aqua socks." All of the delightful parts of her lithe body were in sensuous, undulating motion. It burned her ass that the other girls had ganged up on her and forced her to come up here to find the little auburn-haired slut and apologize to her! Meryl was going to be trouble, she could see that. Her sweet, "Little Miss Innocent" expression had the boys wrapped around her pinkie -- and the other girls liked her, too. It pissed her off; she craved being in the spotlight, and she was damned if she was going to relinquish it to Meryl Shuman!

"Mer-yl!" she called, forcing as much sweetness into her voice as she could.

The underbrush quivered off to the side of the path. So the little bitch wanted to play games, did she?

"There you are!" Janice cooed as she ventured off the path. She pushed aside the undergrowth and walked right into the outstretched arms of the werewolf.

Janice flailed in helpless terror, but her piercing scream died in her throat almost as it was born. The beast's long ivory fangs sank into the soft flesh of her neck like a hot knife slicing through butter. He sucked and tore at her ravaged throat while one huge paw ripped open her belly, then sliced through her face and breasts. Her struggles excited him; he could feel his burgeoning erection swelling, standing up hard against his abdomen. The girl's frenzied kicking quickly subsided. He tore away her bloodied bikini, completely stripping her, slashing her tender flesh, shredding the limp body with his claws in a bestial fury.

The werewolf licked her blood from his muzzle. There was a fullness in his chest; he wanted to howl, to proclaim his victory over his helpless prey, but some instinct told him no......it would be too dangerous. Instead, he reached down and grabbed one of the dead girl's bloody wrists. There was a copse of trees nearby where he could ravish her, and then enjoy his grisly feast in peace.

He dragged the mangled corpse toward the trees, leaving in its wake a horrible, gory stream of blood and entrails.

*****

Judy Rifkin had her eye on a cute blond lifeguard who was trying not to stare at her from behind his mirrored sunglasses. She wanted to put the moves on him before Janice and Meryl got back, so she smiled seductively at him as she massaged sunscreen into her full breasts. Then her fingers dipped under her skimpy white bikini top, and she teasingly smeared some of the cream on her nipples. She ran her tongue across her upper lip and moaned for the boy's benefit as she tossed her long black hair over her shoulder.

Then she stiffened and sat up straight.

"What is it?" asked Tara Kepler, a buxom redhead who had just lay down next to her on a beach towel and unfastened her top.

"I...I thought I heard a scream. It sounded like Janice."

"Damn, you have good ears, girl!" Tara exclaimed. "I can't hear anything for all this commotion!"

Judy frowned.

"I don't hear anything now. Maybe it was a bird."

"Or maybe Janice got scared by a snake!" Tara grinned wickedly. "You know how she hates snakes!"

The two girls laughed, and Judy resumed her conquest of the blond lifeguard.

*****

The werewolf bent his back and climaxed; slowly his spasms subsided, and he pulled out of the dead girl's gutted body. He turned over her bloody corpse and lifted it toward him, almost drooling at the sight of her succulent breasts.

He bit deeply into one of them and was rewarded with a gush of brackish fluid.

The beast dropped the girl's body as if it were electrified and spat out the stinging, briny liquid, coughing almost uncontrollably as the salt stung his sensitive taste buds. He stared through streaming eyes at the slashed breast and saw what looked like a torn, bloody plastic sac embedded in the midst of the mangled flesh.

Implants!

He hooked the shapeless bag with a talon, and the last of the sodium solution dribbled out. Then he yanked it out and flipped several thousand dollars' worth of a plastic surgeon's art into the weeds.

The werewolf settled back on his haunches. Killing the girl had released much of the tension that had built up within him. He could control the Change now. He was contemplating reverting to his human form when, suddenly, a familiar scent reached him, and his tingling fur stood on end.

Brianna Lang had entered the woods, about a mile and a half away!

With all the emotional turmoil he had been through this afternoon, he had totally forgotten about the beautiful forensic investigator! He could easily intercept her; he knew where she was heading, and he would arrive first.

He exploded into a blur of brown fur and sped off over the matted grass of the deer run, his latest kill lying torn and bloody on the grass, already forgotten.

*****

Sterrett, Kansas

Gabriel Van Helsing's breathing slowly returned to normal as he cooled down back inside the air-conditioned comfort of the doctor's office in the Eglon headquarters complex. The obstacle course was the last leg of the grueling Eglon physical fitness test. He had given it his best shot, but he was afraid he already knew the verdict. He could tell by the expression on Dr. James Collins' face. Collins resembled a wiry little bald cherub, his skin remarkably unwrinkled for someone his age. His blue eyes, which normally twinkled, were narrowed in concern just now. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Gabriel. You did quite well overall -- your performance was well beyond the best score a trained athlete ever received on this regimen -- but your score was 3.69 out of 4.00. The minimum is 3.75."

"You're going to keep me grounded for a measly six hundredths of a percentage point?" Van Helsing exploded. "That's ridiculous! Who came up with those parameters?"

Collins smiled wryly over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses.

"Why, you did, Gabriel!"

Van Helsing sagged back against the wall, defeated. "Yes, I did, didn't I?"

"The biggest problem is that you haven't quite recovered your full range of motion in your back, turning and twisting," Collins continued. "A little more rest, and..."

"I don't have time to rest!" Van Helsing shot to his feet and urgently gripped the physician's arm. "Look, Jim -- we have evidence that there's a werewolf in this little town of Winslow Junction in Washington. I'm convinced it's the one we've been tracking for the last year and a half. Last night was just the first night of the cycle of the full moon. If I can get out there, I can catch the bastard before he leaves town and kill him!"

Collins removed Van Helsing's hand from his forearm.

"I'm sorry Gabriel -- my hands are tied. Unless you can get a waiver from the Vatican, you're still off the track until you make up those six hundredths of a percentage point."

Van Helsing pounded his fist against the wall in frustration.

"Damn it, Collins -- people are dying! And there will be more!"

"The Vatican, Gabriel. Remember -- they're your rules. I'm just the messenger!" He picked up his clipboard and left the room chuckling.

"Unfeeling bastard!" Van Helsing spat. He burst into the corridor, brushing past his assistant, Miranda Tyler.

"Uh, I take it that didn't go too well?" she queried.

"He's grounding me over six hundredths of a rating point!" he grated. "I've got to get hold of Cardinal Morelli; I need a dispensation from the Vatican!"

"Oh, that should be interesting! Cardinal Morelli thinks you're about as much fun as a canker sore!"

Van Helsing whirled on her furiously and leaned in nose to nose. Miranda backed away, startled by the towering rage in his blazing eyes.

"Listen - I don't have any choice!" he shouted. "Everybody's treating this like it's some big, fucking joke! Ha-ha-ha! Well, you know what -- I don't think those three people who were killed last night are laughing very hard!"

He stormed into his office and slammed the door, leaving a stunned Miranda Tyler in his wake. He plopped down in a chair at his computer console, wearily rubbing a hand over his eyes.

'That had been uncalled for,' he thought. He would apologize to her later. Right now he was on a mission. He cued up a satellite phone and punched in an overseas speed dial number. The speaker on his computer crackled as the connection was made.

"Get me Cardinal Morelli!"

TO BE CONTINUED...