The Ultimate Werewolf (15 page)

And the woman? She still had to be alive, if you could call it that. She hadn't been able to handle what had happened. Somehow, though, he had learned from it, and survived.

He managed to push himself up to a sitting position. "You shouldn't have touched me," he said.

"Well, it's too late now, isn't it?" she said, taking his bloody arm. "Somebody had to stand up against all those men." She pulled the ragged cloth of his shirt away from the wound, and brought the damp sponge up to clean off the clotted blood. "I don't know what's gotten into them. You'd think this was the middle ages."

She stopped and looked more closely at the area of his skin she had just cleaned with her sponge. "This wound isn't as bad as I thought."

They never were, was his silent reply. Hie didn't have the energy, or maybe it was the emotion, for an explanation.

"It doesn't look like it was more than a scratch." She looked up at him. Her face was very close to his. She was young, maybe in her twenties. Of course, everyone looked young to him. She wasn't bad to look at, either. How long had it been since he had kissed a woman?

"That makes me feel a little better," she went on. "I can't imagine them locking you up like this, not even letting you see a doctor."

To his own surprise, he found he wanted to smile. "That sort of thing happens," he replied. "I seem to bring that out in people."

She continued to stare into his eyes. "Are you what they say you are?"

"No, not exactly," he answered as honestly as he could. "What about you? What brings you to this fine community?"

She blushed at the question. Yes, she seemed very young. "The story of my life is far too boring. A bad marriage, a job lost thanks to the recession. And here I am, trapped in the suburbs, living with my brother Arnie. I never should have moved in here. He treats me like a child, or his own personal maid! You're the first interesting thing that's happened in the six months since I got here." Her smile broadened then to show her teeth.

She considered herself an outsider, too, then; but she didn't know the meaning of the word. He shook his head. "I'm afraid you're a little bit too trusting."

She laughed softly. "What's to be scared of? Even if the whole world's turned upside down, and you're what they say you are, that won't happen until the full moon tonight."

There was something about her eyes, and that way she kept on smiling, that made him want her to be the first to know in a long time. "No, you don't understand. It's too late. Everything is already—"

He stopped. How could he possibly explain? He didn't have the words.

He looked deeper into the woman's eyes and remembered Lorraine.

▼▼▼

They were the liberators, a fancy name for a bunch of frightened kids who somehow ended up as soldiers marching through France, chasing the last remnants of the Third Reich.

It had been a great patriotic march, and it had been hell. When they weren't scared, they were tired. And if they weren't either of those, they were dead. They had lost half their battalion in nameless villages across the blasted countryside. And that day, that goddamned day, Stuart Samson was tired, and scared, and sick of nothing but K-rations. But he was also horny as a bastard.

And that day they had liberated a brothel.

Most of the whores had fled during the battle. The locals explained they had been good French girls, from the local farms, forced into service by the German occupiers. Stu and a couple of the other boys had joked about the women who were gone, wondering why they hadn't stuck around to show their gratitude. Even the Lieutenant had joined in on the laughter.

And then Stu had found that cell in the basement. And in that cell was Lorraine.

What had brought him to do it? What had he been feeling then? Even now, Sam remembered. He hadn't been angry. Or scared. Or happy. Or sad. He was nothing. That was what those endless weeks and months and years of war had done for him; killed the feelings inside. Or so he had thought then. He hadn't felt anything or wanted anything for a long time—until Lorraine.

And Stuart Samson knew what he wanted to do with her.

The other guys had found other things to do, elsewhere in the building. Even the lieutenant had pulled the cigar out of his mouth to mention, "Boys will be boys." Then he was gone, too.

So Stuart Samson went in alone, closing and locking the door behind him. A hero needed to have a little fun, didn't he?

She screamed at him in German. Hell, he didn't understand German. He bet his lieutenant wouldn't, either.

There was something about her—he'd thought about this a lot in all of the years since—something primal. If he had had any doubts about what he was doing before he got in there, they were all gone when he got that close.

Sam remembered it even now. In that moment, he had realized that all his anger, all of his fright, all of the hundred emotions that he had thought he had lost had only been locked deep inside him, waiting for the right moment to burst out, and that moment was now. Maybe that sudden rush of emotion should have made him back away, but, somehow, it only served to increase his desire.

He had to have her.

He undid his belt, pulled down his fly.

She should be goddam grateful. It wasn't like she wasn't used to it. And this was the last time she'd ever have to do this sort of thing. But.

right now this liberator needed to liberate something from between his legs.

She fought him at first. But then she started to laugh. At first he thought the bitch was enjoying it.

Later on, he realized she was laughing at what Stuart had brought on himself.

▼▼▼

She kissed him.

It startled him. He didn't realize how deeply he had been lost in his memories.

"No," he said. He was different now.

"Don't argue," Debbie insisted. "I can see that you want to."

He found himself kissing her back. Why should he pull away from her now? It was too late for her, too late for this whole place. Why not just enjoy it?

He thought again about Lorraine.

He pushed himself away. "There's things you don't understand," he began, "about what's going to happen to this town—"

She laughed harshly at that. "Do you think I care at all about this whole damn town? A bunch of self-important men who think they have it made, because they live in this crummy place? And their wives aren't any better, let me tell you, with their holier-than-thou attitude about some woman who couldn't hold onto her man." She giggled; an innocent sound, like the laugh of a little girl. "Let's just do it to spite them all."

He kissed her, then. If that's the way she wanted it. They were the two outsiders, together. They kissed some more, and then they made love on the dirty floor of the shed.

It had been nearly fifty years since he had made love. Fifty years since he had discovered who he really was, and what happened to those who got too close.

Afterwards, he remembered Lorraine's laughter. But there was nothing now he wanted to laugh about.

Why had he let it happen?

Debbie and he were both outsiders. Surely, that was an easy excuse. But he had made sure they would always stay that way. This was the only way that would make a difference.

He sighed. Feelings had come and gone again, leaving him nothing but tired.

▼▼▼

He had tried to stop it from happening again.

He had moved into his new suburban home without much of a fuss. The Realtor had a bit of difficulty when he wouldn't shake hands, but he had used the old excuse of a "skin condition." It wouldn't do to wear gloves in the summer, especially when he was trying to appear as normal as possible. In certain parts of the city, you could wear pretty much what you wanted. But this new place had its advantages, too. Here in the suburbs, he thought, you could stay invisible, as long as you mowed your lawn.

So he had moved into his new place without touching anyone, flesh on flesh. And he would stay anonymous, hopefully for many years, in that house at the end of the street.

The boy and girl had been playing in his back yard the evening before, but they were so quiet he hadn't known they were there, until he had heard the screams. High, piercing animal sounds. Not thinking, he had rushed out to see what was the matter.

The two kids had cornered a raccoon, and what they thought was a cute animal with a mask had shown them nothing but teeth and claws. The two kids screamed then, and the boy ran right into him.

He realized what had happened. There was no way he could take back his touch. Maybe if he got the boy inside the house, he could keep death away.

But he was too frightened. He didn't reason with the kids, but only grabbed. The boy and girl, already upset with the raccoon, panicked at what must have seemed like the bogeyman to them. They ran into the woods that bordered his backyard. He had gone after them, calling to them, but night had fallen fast, and he had gotten lost among the trees.

A half hour later, the full moon had risen in the sky. And with that, he knew, the little girl—Jenny, that was her name—didn't have a chance.

He cursed himself. He lost all track of time as the moon fled across the sky toward morning. The woods were silent around him. The animals kept away. The crashing he finally heard was the search party, as they discovered Jenny's corpse. After that, the search party had turned into a mob.

▼▼▼

There was a pounding on the door.

"Debbie!"

The voice shocked them out of their languor.

"I'll be out in a minute, Arnie!" she called through the door as she quickly slipped back into her jeans.

"What's going on in there?" the angry voice demanded. "Is he doing anything to you?"

"My brother," she whispered as she rolled her eyes heavenward. "This man is hurt in here!" she answered in a louder voice. "What could he do?"

She looked back at Sam as she buttoned her blouse.

"What happens to us?" she asked. "Especially after you turn into a wolf?"

"I won't turn into a wolf," he said. "And neither will you."

She kissed him lightly one final time and banged on her side of the door. "What's the matter, Arnie? Why don't you open the door?"

Arnie did what his sister asked. Sam saw a brief flash of daylight, then the door slammed again, as if the very sight of him might corrupt those outside.

And what about Debbie? It might have been the second most foolish thing he had ever done in his life. But she had touched him. And now she was safe. Safe, and changed.

Somehow, though, he doubted she would thank him.

▼▼▼

It had grown dark in suburbia, and soon they would see the moon.

The door opened, and in the dimness, he could see three men in the doorway. One of the three held a Coleman lantern. With that light, he could see that the other two men carried guns.

John smiled over his forty-four. "We're ready for you now, whatever you are." He waved at the man on the far side of the lantern. Sam recognized him as the fellow who had spoken reason earlier that morning. "Mark here has managed to make some silver bullets."

"Three of them," Mark agreed. "Melted down some old jewelry, including a couple of crucifixes. And I felt damned stupid doing it."

"Now all we have to do is wait," said the man with the lantern, whom Sam recognized as Arnie. "If you do turn yourself into some kind of monster, it'll be the last time it ever happens."

He wondered if he should tell them. But they wouldn't listen, any more than he had, almost fifty years ago.

"What's that?" John shook his head. "Damned flies."

"Flies?" Mark asked. "Where?" "I hear 'em too," Arnie agreed. "God! What a noise. It's making me itch all over."

The moon was rising.

John started to shake convulsively. Arnie dropped his lantern.

"What's the matter?" Mark called. But neither John nor Arnie could talk in coherent sentences.

Soon they began to growl, and change.

Mark yelled at them to stay away. It wouldn't do any good; Sam knew. The transformation always left the new wolves very hungry. Mark shot them both, using all three bullets in the process.

He glanced once, open-mouthed, at the unchanged Sam. Then he ran from sight.

He screamed a moment later as Sam heard a new chorus of growls. Mark would have needed a lot more than three bullets to stop all the wolves.

It was time for Sam to go. He would stop by his new house and pick up the important things.

The neighborhood outside was as bad as any he had ever seen, city or country. Those he had touched were busy killing those he had missed, ripping apart their neighbors with claws and teeth and eating their fill. A wolf cub, the same boy who had killed Jenny the night before, growled as he gnawed on a dead man's leg.