Avenging Autumn: Seasons Change Book 1 of 4 (12 page)

“
Jack,” he shouted, “where are
you?”

“
Over here,” he heard Jack call
back from his right.

“
Keep talking, I’m coming to find
you.”

“
Hurry up, Dad, I need your
help.”

Frank moved through the stalks as fast as he
could and a few rows over, nearly ran into his son.

“
Jack, are you alright?” Looking
around, Frank saw two dead werewolves back the way Jack had
come.

“
I’m fine,” Jack replied, “for
now.”

The old man followed Jack’s gaze and he could
make out the dark shapes of five more werewolves closing in on
them.

“
C’mon,” Frank said, “back the way
I came.”

But as the two men turned, they found more
monstr-ous figures moving through the stalks toward them. Frank
grabbed his oldest son by the arm and turned back toward the
graveyard, but again their path was blocked. They were com-pletely
surrounded by the beasts.

“
What…What do we do now, Dad?” Jack
whispered. “What do we do?”

Frank could tell he was on the verge of losing
his composure. The Old Man quickly stowed his sword back in its
sheath. “Guns!” he exclaimed, trying hard to put some meas-ure of
confidence in his voice. “Put your back against mine and start
firing. Don’t stop until we’re the only motherfuckers standing in
this cornfield. Do you understand?”

Jack swallowed hard, “Yes,” was all he
said.

“
And whatever you do, don’t let one
of them bite you.”

“
Right,” Jack said, replacing his
sword on his back and pulling two 9mm semi-automatic pistols from
their hol-sters. Frank thought his oldest boy sounded a little
surer of himself.

The Old Man pulled an Uzi that was strapped to
his back and began to fire, holding the grip of the weapon with his
left hand in an effort to control the kick.

The Uzi spoke in short barks, tearing through
cornstalks and werewolves alike. Frank could hear the rapid fire of
the two 9’s Jack held as well as the satisfying cries of pain from
the creatures moving in on them. They may just make it out of this
one.

Just then, Frank noticed something that turned
his blood ice cold. The werewolves they shot were falling dead, but
there were more moving in behind them, only these were not
creeping, but running at full speed.

The clip on Frank’s Uzi went empty and he
dropped the gun and pulled two .45’s from his belt. The werewolves
were getting closer and there seemed to be an endless stream of
them hiding in the giant cornfield.

Frank turned to his right in time to see a
large were-wolf leaping toward him. He raised the .45 in his right
hand and the cannon like blast sent the creature reeling back the
direction it had come with the top of it’s head torn
off.

Jack kept his pistols blazing until they were
both empty. He then tossed the guns aside and pulled two more 9’s
from shoulder holsters. The werewolves were unlike anything he had
ever imagined. Oh, how TV and movies had lied to him. These things
walked on their hind legs and at full height were nearly ten feet
tall. Now that they were on full attack they weren’t bothering to
lay low and hide in the stalks. Be-sides, there weren’t a lot of
stalks left to hide behind, especial-ly where Frank had used the
Uzi.

As the werewolves drew closer, they began to
swipe at them with long, hideous claws. They didn’t seem to be
mindless killers at all, but organized, intelligent
beings.

Suddenly the werewolves were coming at them in
waves, and Frank and Jack both knew the next time they ran out of
bullets, they were dead.

One of Frank’s .45’s blew a gaping hole in a
were-wolf’s chest, while another’s eye exploded from Jack’s 9mm
slug. This one’s throat erupted in a volcanic shower of blood. That
one’s crotch caught a searing round and it let out a high pitched
squeal as it fell. This one got the 45 point blank in the mouth,
covering the monster behind it with brain and shattered teeth. That
one got the 9mm point blank and it’s heart disintegrated in it’s
chest. On and on it went until finally, Frank and Jack’s guns were
clicking on empty chambers.

This was it.

Both men knew they were about to
die.

Jack closed his eyes, while Frank only stared
up de-fiantly at the werewolf in front of him, it’s claw raised in
preparation of tearing the old man’s face off.

With the suddenness of a lightning crash,
there was an eruption of automatic gunfire and the werewolf that
was about to strike Frank was being riddled with bullet holes.
Frank and Jack (as well as all of the werewolves surrounding them)
turned to see were the shots had come from. A smile came over the
Old Man’s face as he watched the hearse plow through the cornfield
with his youngest son laying flat on the roof and firing an AR-15
into the large crowd of werewolves.

Frank was not one to let an opportunity like
this pass by. “Swords!” he yelled pulling his sword from its sheath
once more.

Jack followed suit, and the two men began
hacking away at the surrounding creatures as they cleared a path to
the hearse.

The oldest Writeman boy could feel all the
fear start-ing to rush from his body as it was replaced by pure
adrena-line. Now that he had the sword in hand, and for the first
time noticed the ease at which it sliced through their attackers,
he knew he was lost to the total carnage. Although it shamed him to
admit it, killing werewolves was something he could get used
to.

After turning back toward the graveyard, the
hearse came to a stop well clear of the pursuing werewolves. Benny
jumped off the roof and yelled to his Father and Brother. “Get in
the back, I’ll cover you.”

Frank and Jack opened the door and jumped in
the back of the car while Benny picked off the werewolves with
amazing accuracy.

After the two men were in the back, Benny ran
for the passenger side door and jumped in.

“
Go!” he shouted.

Autumn laid her foot on the gas and the car
wheels began to spin in the soft soil of the cornfield.

“
Shit!” Benny exclaimed, “Just try
to pull out slow-ly.”

Autumn let off the gas and then began to press
the peddle back down, lightly. She glanced into the rearview
mir-ror and could see the monsters were closing in fast.

Looking in the back, Benny saw his Father hand
Jack an AK-47 and then grabbed a belt that had six fist sized balls
hanging from it.

“
Ha ha, watch this,” Frank shouted
maniacally, throwing the belt out the back window. Two seconds
later, there was a large explosion and about twenty werewolves fell
dead.

“
Holy shit!” Jack
shouted.

“
Silver shrapnel grenades,” the old
man said, still grinning.

Autumn had the car moving well now and soon
they were back in the graveyard’s narrow, winding road. She felt
the car pull as they hit a curve and knew she had to slow down or
they would end up hitting one of the many surrounding
trees.

The werewolves were not letting up in their
pursuit despite the constant blasts from Jack’s gun. Autumn had to
slow down again as they rounded another sharp curve and that was
all it took for two of the creatures to leap onto the roof of the
car.

“
Get down!” Frank shouted at the
others as he pushed Jack to lay flat on his back. An instant later,
an earsplitting ripping sound filled the interior of the hearse as
sharp, black claws tore away the metal of the roof.

Jack tried desperately to pull his rifle up to
fire, but had somehow pinned it underneath his leg when his father
had pushed him backward.

A heavy explosion sounded to Jack’s right and
he knew the Old Man had gotten his hands on another .45. A shower
of blood rained down on the two men in the back of the car and Jack
caught just a glimpse of the creature‘s body as it rolled off the
back of the hearse. A large, bloody hole had been made in it‘s
chest.

The sound of crashing glass caught both of the
men’s attention and their blood covered clothes were quickly
forgot-ten. The second werewolf had put a hairy, clawed hand
through the passenger side window and was trying to pull Benny out
of the car.

Frank quickly stood up and peered through the
new moon roof the first wolf had created. He took the only shot he
had and a second later the creature was yelping from the slug that
entered it’s ass.

Using it’s claws to steady itself, the
werewolf turned it’s attention on the Old Man. Another shot from
the .45 sprayed werewolf brain across the colorful leaves that
littered the road side. The creature’s headless body tumbled off
the hearse and Frank dropped back down through the
opening.

Autumn had finally pulled onto the main road
and was beginning to pick up speed. A few of the more determined
werewolves stayed on their tails but were quickly disposed of by
Jack’s AK-47.

Soon there wasn’t a werewolf in sight and the
Writemans were back on the road, all of them breathing hard and
letting the adrenaline drain from their bodies.

Frank looked around at his family and abruptly
shouted; “I don’t know about you guys, but that was about the most
goddamned fun I’ve had in my whole life.”

The others looked at the old man in disbelief
for a moment, but their faces soon gave way to relieved laughter
and Autumn kept driving west until dawn.

9. Anderson, Fields, and Sanctuary

Molly Holden had been cleaning the Writeman
bank building for five years now and she’d gotten to the point
where she moved through her work without much thought. Her job was
far from glamorous and the shear monotony was enough to bring her
to the edge of insanity at times. So, when she found the four dead
bodies on the floor of Mr. Writeman’s office, her shock was
accompanied by a shameful feeling of glee at the prospect of some
excitement in her otherwise dreary life. She still managed a scream
as she ran from the office to the receptionist area to dial
911.

Detective Gloria Perez of the Triloville
Police De-partment arrived on the scene an hour later, when the
forensics team was well into their investigation. Her partner,
Detective Eric Peterson (who was still a little wet behind the ears
in his second year as a detective) was currently combing the
streets for Mr. Frank Writeman and his two sons, who, as it so
happened, no one had heard from since Saturday afternoon at the
conclusion of Benjamin Writeman’s wife’s funeral.

Detective Perez went through the violent mess
with the proverbial fine tooth comb, taking great care to search
every inch of the large office. When she had finally finished,
nearly four hours had passed and she was left with more ques-tions
than answers. When she saw the security tapes, things began to
become clearer. Unbelievable, yes, but clearer none the
less.

She was in the middle of combing the crime
scene for a second time when her partner showed up. “Gloria,” he
yelled, stepping off the elevator.

“
Hey, Eric, did you find out
anything useful?” she asked.

“
I don’t know if it’s useful, but
there is definitely some weird shit going on in this
town.”

“
I’m going to have to agree with
you on that one. You go first.”

“
Okay, first I sent a squad car to
each of the Write-man’s houses. No one was home at any of them, but
Frank and Ben’s trucks were found parked at Jack’s
House.”

“
And Jack’s car?”

According to his secretary he had a pimped out
hearse in the garage, it is the only vehicle missing.”

“
I’m sorry, did you say pimped
out?”

“
Yeah, you know, customized. Flames
down the side, cool rims.”

“
Alright, I got it.”

“
Also, Ben Writeman’s house had
been disturbed since his wife’s murder investigation.”

“
Burglars?”

“
Doubtful, nothing of value was
missing, mostly just cloths, strangely enough, a lot of them were
Autumn Write-man’s cloths.”

“
Do you think the husband took them
for sentimental value?”

“
It is a possibility, but after I
arrived at the house other evidence was found that pointed to
anoth-er…possibility.” Detective Peterson looked unsure of how to
proceed.

“
Go on.”

“
There were very faint, muddy shoe
prints inside the house, coming in from the front door, into the
kitchen, and finally up the stairs to the master bedroom, which is
where we found the muddy shoes.”

“
And?”

“
Size six, women’s dress shoes.
From there we en-tered the master bathroom where we found the muddy
dress that Autumn Writeman was buried in.”

“
Strange,” Gloria said.

“
Yeah, it gets worse. We then
proceeded to track the prints back to the source. As we walked down
the sidewalk the tracks became more and more defined, and there was
more and more mud around them. The tracks took us to the foot of
Autumn Writeman’s empty grave.”