Beneath a Winter Moon (43 page)

Jack growled. It was a different sound…like the dog was unsure of his own intentions toward whatever was making the noise inside the bedroom. He was posturing as if ready to fight, his tail was tightly curled, ears erect and turned forward, fur standing straight up along the ridge of his back…Thomas had seen the look before, when Jack played with other dogs, but never when he was upset.

“Easy, boy. Easy.” Thomas whispered. They were just outside the bedroom door, now.

A strange popping sound came from within the bedroom, along with more thuds. A sound not unlike the tearing of cardboard followed the popping noises, followed by a loud grunt. Thomas resisted the urge to call out to Alastair. What if the thing were really in there after all? It seemed impossible…there simply were no more entries into the cabin…but
what if
?

Thomas decided to open the door and use the element of surprise while he had it. He nodded to Delmar, who stood ready, then reached out to grasp the doorknob. He never had a chance to open the door, however, as it suddenly splintered and broke free from its hinges, crashing into him with incredible force. At that very moment a tremendous roar shook the cabin. Thomas was slammed to the ground and the door, completely off its hinges, landed on top of him, smashing painfully into the left side of his body. Jack had leapt aside and was now caught opposite the door as it lay across the leash, pinning it to the floor. The door lay halfway across Thomas’s body, and because much of the leash was pinned, Jack was unable to get to Thomas or to get away.

The creature came through the door, putting all its weight on the door as it did so, and Thomas, who was pinned underneath, took the full force of the creature’s bulk as the breath was squeezed from his lungs. The creature roared again as it stepped off the door, turning to face Delmar.

Thomas was reeling in pain and shock, and trying to catch his breath…but then held his breath involuntarily as he got a good look at the beast towering above him. There was no doubt, as to what this thing was. Werewolves were creatures of impossibility, of course—and yet one was there—standing over
him
, roaring at Delmar, its huge jaws extended with lips curled in a snarl to reveal large, razor-sharp canines. Jesus, God, Thomas thought, he realized the implications. This thing was real. The animal was Alastair. The beast was Alastair. The creature wore the torn remnants of his clothing, some pieces falling off as its muscles flexed and twisted as it moved.

Jack lay in a submissive stance, his whole body low to the ground as he whimpered softly. It was staring at Delmar. The werewolf paid no attention to Thomas or the dog, but focused on Delmar, who stood frozen in place, rifle at his hip…but he was not firing. Mere seconds had gone by, and to Thomas it seemed to all be happening in slow motion, feeling more like minutes. The beast didn’t attack the big man, and Thomas screamed for his friend to fire the rifle.

Delmar looked as if he were in a trance as the werewolf fixed his stare on the tall, still man. Delmar’s eyes did not blink, his mouth did not move, and the expression on his face was not one of horror, but was one of puzzlement. Thomas thought of a private, standing at attention in formation, being quizzed by his platoon sergeant as he fought to find an answer. Delmar’s face bore the same struggling expression.

Jenny was screaming and probably had been the whole time, but Thomas had only now begun to lose his tunnel vision and open his sense up to everything around him. The creature was still so close to him that he could have reached out his right arm and grabbed the thing by one of its massive calves. The werewolf’s legs and feet were grotesque. The knees appeared to work in the reverse, bending in the opposite fashion of a human, and the feet…now a cross between wolf and humanoid, were huge and misshapen.

Thomas believed they were all dead. He was pinned uselessly under the door while Delmar simply stood staring at the werewolf, his rifle at his side but not firing a single round. The beast merely had to decide whom to murder first.
Why isn’t he shooting? Why isn’t the creature attacking?
Something had to give…and just as Thomas prepared himself for the consequences of shouting at Delmar, for him to shoot the beast, gunshots rang out from a
different
direction.

Jenny had stopped screaming…Thomas hadn’t noticed until the shots rang out…one….two…three and on until Thomas heard nothing but empty clicks. Black blood sprayed from the creature’s chest and from its right thigh. The third bullet slammed into the wall very near Thomas’s pinned left foot.
Jenny
had fired…her first shots had been perfect, but the last two had dropped low. Delmar still stared blankly, doing nothing as Jenny cursed loudly. Thomas knew she was working with her rifle’s breach, trying to either clear a jam or load another round. He could not see her as she was around the corner, in the living room, and a part of him did not want to see her, as the werewolf turned and moved toward her.

For that is what it was, Thomas accepted…and it was moving for Jenny. The beast did not leap or run toward her…but rather it stalked slowly, one massive, grotesque hand pawing at the wound in its chest, the other held high and poised to strike. Thomas flailed with his free hand, trying to get to the D-ring on his belt so that he could free himself….and Jack. Thomas’s hand found the metal clasp and he quickly snapped it open, releasing it from his belt as he shoved the door aside. The werewolf still ignored him…and suddenly every fiber of Thomas’s being shouted for him to run—to use this opportunity to escape from the nightmarish beast that stood before him. Instead, he gathered himself and shouted at the beast. He cursed it, screamed at it, and
dared
it. Still it ignored him…and was so close to Jenny. Jenny shouted a slew of curses and it occurred to Thomas that she seemed like a completely different person, neither the one he knew from before, nor the timid, wounded woman she had become after Steven’s death. She threw the rifle at the werewolf—but the beast slapped the weapon in midair and it thudded harmlessly into the opposite wall. She had backed herself into a corner and the beast was now on her. The werewolf grabbed her and pulled Jenny’s face to his and she went limp in the creature’s arms. That angered the werewolf, that he would not feel her fear as he clamped his massive black jaws around her neck. With one twisting, sickening crunch, the beast decapitated her. Delmar looked at Thomas, then at the werewolf, who was now clamping down on Jenny’s neck, chewing and making grotesque slurping and sucking sounds as it feasted on the warm blood and tissue.

Adrenaline flooded into Thomas as the fear left him, replaced by sheer hatred. “Come on you bastard!” He turned and leapt for the double-barreled rifle. It lay behind Jack, in the corner of the hallway. He jumped back over the door the moment the weapon was in his hands, and leaned against the wall where it met the living room. Delmar had lowered his rifle completely and now stared at the floor, apparently unable to do anything more. Thomas yelled at Delmar to
do something
...and then he pulled the trigger as the werewolf dropped Jenny’s lifeless body and came for him.

The stock hammered into Thomas’s shoulder with such a force that he fell backward, hitting the hallway wall behind him. He hadn’t prepared himself for the strength of the recoil from the 10-guage, which, unlike that of the rifles Thomas was used to, was the equivalent of firing a small cannon. The deafening blast from the old rifle seemed to wake Delmar from his stupor, but he still did not raise his rifle.

Thomas felt a twinge of optimism…he had hit the monster. The werewolf had been blown back by the force and twisted to lay with his head almost inside the fireplace. Thomas could see black liquid all around the werewolf, on the floor, the walls…but the 10-gauge was useless unless he could dig two more shells from his cargo pocket. He opened the breach and bent the double-barrels downward. The two spent shells clattered to the floor. Thomas groaned and raised himself to his knees to reach for the shells….and then lost all hope as the werewolf roared and began to stand.
How the hell could it survive that?
But the beast was indeed recovering, slowly rising to its feet. There would be no time to reload.
The pistol!
Thomas dropped the 10-gauge and pulled the pistol from its holster and used both hands to fire all six rounds from the hip, his left hand cocking the hammer back after each pull of the trigger, just as he’d seen in so many westerns when he was a kid. He saw the beast stagger and knew he had hit him. “Give me your rifle,” Thomas shouted at Delmar, dropping the pistol. Delmar nodded and tossed the rifle. Thomas caught it in one hand, but before he could bring the rifle up to fire, the werewolf leapt, but was off-target, landing to the right of Thomas.

The wounded beast swung a powerful, clawed hand but Thomas had instinctively begun to throw himself to the right. He landed sideways on top of the crumpled door, almost hitting Jack who had backed into the far corner of the hallway. Thomas brought the rifle up and cursed the werewolf, pulling the trigger again and again until all five shells were spent. The werewolf howled in pain and stopped, then turned toward Delmar, as if it would attack. Delmar unsheathed his K-bar and held it up, for the first time appearing ready to fight the creature, but the wounded werewolf merely stared at him. After a long moment, it leapt again, this time crashing through the door of the cabin as if it were made of paper….and was gone.

 Delmar ran to Thomas’s side and helped him up.

“Jenny,” Thomas shouted. “Delmar…
Jenny
.”

Delmar lowered his head.

It was then that Thomas saw that the hallway was on fire. A lantern had come off the wall inside the bedroom and now both the bedroom wall and part of the hallway were in flames. Delmar shouted curses, and Thomas had to resist the urge to grab his friend and shake him…to curse him and demand he explain what the hell had happened to him and why he didn’t help.

For Delmar, it was as if he had awoke from sleep. He tried to ask Thomas questions and tried to apologize, trying his best to explain. Thomas waived him off, though, and went to Jack, speaking softly to him and sliding his leash from under the remnants of the door. “We’ve got to go, boy. It’s all right. We’ve got to get away from this fire.” He clipped the D-ring back to his belt and picked up the 10-gauge.

“We’ve got to put out this fire,” Delmar said.

“No,” Thomas replied, shaking his head. There’s not nearly enough water…and besides, I think we should let it burn. We don’t give that thing…
Alastair
anything to come home to. We let it burn and hopefully we can use the flames to protect ourselves.” He paused and stared at Delmar. “The werewolf is still out there and it’s going to be a long night. The flames will help.” He stood there for a moment, watching as the flames took hold of the hallway and bedroom.

“That’s really what it was, isn’t it?” Delmar asked. “It was Alastair all along…he really is a…werewolf.”

Thomas decided to ignore the question. There was no time for discussion. “Get all the weapons and ammunition. Get them outside…and watch for the damned thing…and Delmar?”

Delmar nodded.

“Load your rifle first, and for Christ’s sake, use the damned thing if you see that bastard.”

Delmar nodded. “I will. I’m sorry, Thomas. I don’t understand what happened to me…” he stopped when he saw that Thomas had already turned his back.

Thomas unhooked Jack’s leash from the harness and crammed it into his cargo pocket. He decided it would be better for the dog if he were to have the chance to run away. He petted him for a moment, then went to the living room.

The amount of blood was staggering. The 10-gauge had done serious damage, as most of the blood had an almost pure, black color. Jenny’s body lay twisted into an unnatural position where the werewolf, hit by the massive 10-guage rounds, had dropped her. “I’m sorry, Jen,” Thomas whispered, then reached down and grabbed Jenny’s and, trying not to look at her torn throat or into her pale, lifeless face, dragged her body to the door. Her blood mixed with the black blood of the beast, forming a wide, black trail, dotted with red as he pulled her body to the door.

Delmar gathered the rifles and stepped around Thomas, quickly taking them outside so that he could help Thomas. Together, they carried Jenny’s body through the door and outside, where they lay her gently down in the snow. Neither of the men wanted to look, but they couldn’t help it.