The Witch and the Werewolf Page 3

  “He’s not here to rob us, dear,” the man began. “He’s here for me.”

  Dutch kept the shotgun leveled just in the center of the two sitting across from him. If he’d pulled the trigger then, he’d get both of them. The man relaxed on the leather seat, crossing his legs, and smiling with perfect white teeth. His crystal clear blue eyes cut straight through Dutch and, with the man’s good looks and carefully cropped blonde hair, he could see him being an actor or politician before Worm Wood reared its ugly head.

  “So since you know what I’m here for, can I get you to come with me all nice and easy?” Dutch asked. “I’d rather not shoot anyone on the last night of the world. It doesn’t seem fitting.”

  The man laughed. “Indeed. Not that I mind dying. In fact, I relish it. But not by your hands. Not by a stranger. Who sent you, mercenary? You operate like a witch and are carrying the tools of their trade. I smell the silver about you like a plague. Tell me. Who’s sent you to corner the big bad wolf this, the last night of the world?”

  “It doesn’t matter who my employer is,” Dutch began. The man smelt the silver on him? Impossible. “You’ll get to meet him soon enough.”

  “Surely you jest,” the man replied. He spoke like he’d time traveled from another world, another generation. “I can’t talk you into just telling him you couldn’t find me? Can we not enjoy the end of the world in peace?”

  “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, partner,” Dutch said.

  “I can offer you more money that your current employer. More than you could have ever imagined.”

  “I’m not sure what good money is, at this point.”

  “You do know we are about to die, correct? I came to this city to do just that. I am comfortable with it and, at this point, look forward to it. My death is your employer’s ultimate goal, whoever he is.”

  “How would you know that?” The priest hadn’t been specific in why he wanted the man he thought was a werewolf and frankly Dutch didn’t care.

  “It is always the case. My death has been wished for since well before your grandfather’s oldest ancestor was born.”

  Too weird, Dutch thought. The guy actually thinks he’s a werewolf. He was tempted to just bolt and let the end of the world play out how it would. But surviving the end was a bigger desire. It didn’t matter if crazy people were involved or not. He was getting into that shelter.

  Dutch turned to the woman. “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “If you want to enjoy what’s left of the night I suggest you get out.”

  “David?” the woman asked, turning to the man in the suit questioningly.

  The man shrugged, carefully reaching for a bottle. “He’s on a mission, a fanatic. Who knows what he will do? Please go. There’s no reason to die by silver laced buckshot. Worm Wood will take you soon enough. I enjoyed our time together.”

  The woman climbed out of the limo in a huff and Dutch watched out of the corner of his eye as she hit the street with a thud, breaking a heel. Maybe she’d find the boy who needed a drug partner, Dutch thought. They could live happily ever after together, however long that was.

  “So, Sir Mercenary, tell me what brings you to me on this night of nights? I assume this wasn’t some random occurrence. You weren’t just wandering down the street and thought ‘Oh, look, there’s a werewolf. We should talk? I ought to take him home and feed him and cuddle with him. Please mommy, I promise I’ll walk him?’ I don’t get the feeling you actually believe in werewolves.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I can’t taste your fear.”

  Dutch shrugged. “It’s not personal. They guy who hired me thinks you’re a werewolf. And while I certainly don’t believe in werewolves, the offer was intriguing. So he wants you, I bring you, and they have a shelter I get to ride this out in. We all have a little fun, play like we’re all someone else, and maybe survive the night. Afterwards? Who cares, right? It will be a brand new world.” He didn’t mention that it would most likely be a world that a man like him would thrive in. People would always need gun hands, especially in the dark days to come.

  “So that’s it, Sir Mercenary? Your payment is survival?”

  Dutch shrugged once again. “What can I say? I don’t feel like dying tonight. I’ve seen the bunker. We’ll be safe. You’ll survive this as well.”

  “Has it occurred to you that perhaps I don’t want to be safe? Perhaps I came out here, this fine summer evening, with the intention of dying?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I’ve lived a very long time,” Wilbanks began. “I’ve lived long enough I know that I do not want to see what comes next. I do not want to see what my kind are truly capable of. I do not want to see what the others will do.”

  The guy really thinks he’s a werewolf, Dutch thought for the second time. “Tell you what. Come with me, easy and nice, and I’ll make sure you die afterwards. How about that?”

  “No,” Wilbanks said, sipping from his glass. “I don’t think I’ll spend the apocalypse being tortured by some zealot who seeks to control my kind. That is who sent you, is it not? The crazy priest from the Church of the Dead Wolf? He’s the only one I can think of, offhand, who would do something like this now. And he does have quite the fallout shelter, no? The man is not what you think he is. He is not some saintly patriarch trying to rid the world of wolf kind. Quite the contrary, actually.”

  The Church’s sign read Saint Michael’s, but the man had the rest of it right. “Yup,” Dutch said with a grin. “That’s him. Crazy old coot, but his offer is good. I’m sure he’ll have drinks and those little weenies they have at all the cocktail parties. Like I said, we’ll go spend a couple of nights with him, he’ll prove that not only are you not a werewolf, you ain’t the wolf he’s looking for, and we’ll all go our separate ways, no harm, no foul.”

  “Like I said, Sir Mercenary, I do not want to spend the end of the world with Father O’Leary. He was crazy even before the Spanish Inquisition, before he changed.”

  “What?” These fantasies go deep, Dutch thought. I wonder if they all got together and played those table top games. Was Dutch hunting down the Dungeon Master’s arch nemesis? Was it all some sort of game? Still, it didn’t matter. The priest’s bunker meant survival. He didn’t care about the particulars of their combined craziness.

  The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve already spoiled my evening. I cannot remember her name, but I had grand visions of making love to that sweet woman as Worm Wood rained death down on the planet. I was planning on going out with a bang, so to speak. That’s ruined, thanks to you, Sir Mercenary, but there is still my death to look forward to. I’ll give you this one opportunity to exit the vehicle, at once, and leave me in peace.”

  “Well, partner,” Dutch told him with a laugh, holding up the shotgun. “I reckon I’m the one with the gun here…”

  Dutch started to say something else but was speechless as the man in front of him, a man he was sure was just that, began to transform. The man’s face bean to elongate, his teeth growing. His arms grew in not just length, but girth, and muscles tearing through the expensive suit. Brown hair began sprouting all over the man, growing wildly. His entire body elongated and he grew in the limo’s seat.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Dutch said, awed. “I guess werewolves are real.”

  “Do you fear me now, Sir Mercenary?” the beast growled at him. Its voice was deep and guttural and sounded much like a dog attempting speech. It was hard to make out but it sent jolts of primal fear racing up and down Dutch’s spine.

  He pulled the trigger.

  The wolf dodged to the right, but in the closed confines of the limo it was hard to escaped the blast of silver buckshot. The flying silver caught the wolf in the abdomen, slamming it back into the seat. It howled so loud that the windows in the limo splintered and shattered. Smoke poured from the creature’s wounds. Dutch took the opportunity to crush the capsule in his hand watch
ing as a silver mist filled the cabin. The wolf was locked in place, unable to move. It growled at him nevertheless.

  “I will kill you, Sir Mercenary.”

  “You might,” Dutch said, pulling the silver blades from the hidden pockets in his coat and laying them out on the seat next to him. “I have no doubts, now, about your kind.” Everything had changed for him in an instant. He wasn’t the sort of man to look at what his eyes saw and not believe it. “You probably shouldn’t have shown me that little trick. I thought the Father was full of it. But now? Now I have more than a job. I have a mission.”

  The wolf convulsed in the seat, the silver mist very painful. Its fur smoked and it howled at him again.

  “Right up to the point you turned into a giant puppy dog I was convinced I was just doing this to pass the time. One last bang, you know? I had no illusions. I might live through the night in his bunker, I might not. But now… your kind, all that crap the Father told me. It’s all true. And your kind is coming, isn’t it? After Worm Fall you’re going to bury the survivors in blood.”

  Bright light filled the night time sky. Dutch had to force himself not to look up as the first of the nuclear missiles slammed into Wormwood, knowing the wolf would use his distraction against him. Never mind the fact that looking at a blinding nuclear explosion wasn’t particularly good for the eyes.

  “Party’s starting. How about you turn back into a man and we head to church? Pray for our souls and all that sort of stuff? No?”

  The beast howled in pain, his muscles contorting reflexively, trying to squirm away from the silver death floating in the limo’s cabin. The mist singed its fur. The beast leaned forward, reaching across the cabin, and knocked the shotgun away. It picked Dutch up by the neck and shoved him through the open sunroof, standing beside him. The wolf, its fur burning, held the mercenary above his head like a basketball.

  “Come on now, champ,” Dutch began, “let’s talk about this.”

  The wolf rose to its full height, nearly eight feet, and tossed Dutch across the street like a child’s toy. He landed in a roll, losing the shotgun somewhere in the mix. The beast didn’t so much as exit the limo as he destroyed it, pushing through the roof in a shower of sparks and twisted metal.

  “I just wanted to enjoy the night and die,” the beast roared, its voice guttural and canine. “Why can’t you people leave me alone? I do not want this life any longer.”

  Dutch got to his feet, drawing the .45 Colt 1911 at his hip. The old preacher had given him a magazine of silver rounds for it and he hoped that the old movies were right. He pulled the trigger, but his aim was off as the monster darted to the side, shoving people out of his way like dominoes stacked to fall. The round caught the werewolf in the shoulder, however, and spun him around backwards. The beast tripped over a person and landed on the pavement. The crowd surged away, trying to scatter from the beast. Dutch took the opportunity to put three more rounds into the beast. It howled in pain as blood flowed freely from the smoking wounds.

  Dutch recovered the silver rope and walked towards the beast. It spasmed as if exposed to nerve agents. Drool ran down its long snout and the beast’s body began to twitch, changing back into its human form.

  Hope he isn’t too dead, Dutch thought, looping the silver rope around the thing’s hands and feet. And damn is he going to be heavy.

  “Nothing to see here, folks,” he told the gathered crowd. “Go back to watching the end of the world.”

  The explosions lit the night sky as the UN’s nuclear missiles slammed into the comet. He resisted the urge to look up, knowing what might result. The crowd oohed and awed, impressed with the fireworks show as missile after missile slammed home. Then he began to hear the screams and the crying, the outrage as people’s eyes melted out of their faces.

  Don’t look up, he thought, hefting the heavy load of the bleeding and unconscious werewolf across his shoulders. Don’t look up and get going.

  “It’s falling into the Gulf!” he heard someone scream and tried to pick up the pace. A rock that big formed the Gulf of Mexico and many scientists said that’s what had caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. This isn’t going to be good.

  “Wonderful,” he breathed, carrying his heavy load. “You could have been drinking a beer somewhere…”

  “They’ll lick it champ,” Jeremy’s father said. “I wouldn’t worry about it in the least. Everything will be just dandy. You wait and see.”

  He and his father sat atop their home in La Porte, Texas on Houston’s south east side. Jeremy had been glued to the television for the last three years, watching as Wormwood was first discovered and then progressed towards their world. He’d read every ounce of post-apocalyptic fiction he could get on his Kindle since AGT-1475 had been spotted in the night skies. He knew, without a doubt, that everything would not be all right. He felt it in his bones.

  “I don’t know that we ought to be up here, Dad,” Jeremy told his father. “The man on the television said you shouldn’t watch it. They said it will hurt your eyes.”

  “Hurt your eyes? You can look at the sun without hurting your eyes, can’t you?”

  “No,” he said simply. “That hurts your eyes.”

  “Blah,” his father said, popping the top on another beer. “Man up boy. How many times in your life are you going to see nuclear missiles go off on a damn rock from outer space? This is the best movie you’re ever gonna see!”

  Man up. That’s what his father always said. Mom died of breast cancer and he cried. Better man up. Beaten at school for being a little different, better man up. Manning up was his father’s solution to everything though it rarely turned out to be an actual solution to anything. Jeremy didn’t want to be on the roof of their little house watching the world’s solution to Wormwood. He wanted to be hiding somewhere. He had an inkling of what came next.

  The first of the missiles struck Wormwood and Jeremy looked away. His father growled, looking down at him. “I told you not to be a pansy boy. Look at it.”

  “Dad, I really don’t want to,” he told his old man but his old man was drunk already. Drunk meant showing everyone what a big man he was. Showing what a big man he was invariably meant picking on Jeremy.

  “You’re gonna look at the single greatest thing man has ever done, boy. You’re going to look at it so you can tell your grandchildren you were there when they saved the planet. When they pull this off it will be like flipping the bird to the universe. Forget the dinosaurs. If they’d have had nukes, we might all be reptiles.”

  He half understood what his father was trying to say, though the man made very little sense. His father stood, coming to him, and held his head towards the brightening night sky as missile after missile slammed into the approaching asteroid. He clenched his eyes tight, unwilling to look up.

  “No, damn it boy, you’re going to look.”

  His father kept him pinned to the chair with his elbows and then forced his eyes open with his fingers. He saw a missile strike the asteroid, the light so bright it hurt his eyes. Once he started watching, however, he couldn’t stop. The light show was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. The colors were more vibrant than any he’d ever seen in life. His father let go, finally, staring up at the spectacle himself. He felt genuine power course through him, a feeling of gentle warmth and tingly electricity. For a moment he thought everything was going to be all right after all. After a few moments of watching the wonder Jeremy’s world went black and he felt hot, gooey liquid streaming down his cheeks.

  “Dad?”

  “Oh my god,” his father said drunkenly. “Oh my god.”

  “Dad, I can’t see,” Jeremy said, suddenly very afraid. The darkness was all encompassing and absolute. It was worse than turning off the light switch at night. When he reached up and felt his eyes he found hollow sockets.

  “I can’t see either, son. I can’t see anything. Oh my god… I am so sorry Jeremy. I’m sorry I made you look. I’m a jerk. I’m always such a jerk.”


  He wanted to say something to his father but light began fading back into his vision. It wasn’t so much that he could see. It was just color. Dull shapes were outlined in supple grays. He could make out the house next to them, slightly phosphorescent. He turned and looked at his father. The man was outlined in a dull purple aura and mostly blurry. But Jeremy could tell he had his hands up to his face, holding the empty holes where his eyes should have been.

  “Dad,” he said softly. “I can see something.”

  “I don’t have any eyes,” his father replied. “My eyes are gone. I can’t see anything. How can you see anything?”

  “It’s just colors,” Jeremy said, standing and looking at his newfound world. Everything glowed with its own color. The house across from them was gray but he could see the people inside. Mrs. Smith, who always made the kids in the neighborhood cookies and was just about the nicest person he’d ever met, glowed with a bright blue. Mr. Smith who tended to scream at kids on his lawn and trap stray dogs and cats, was a bright red. The nuclear missiles continuing to plow into Wormwood made a golden colored star and the comet itself, including the piece he saw falling to the Gulf of Mexico, was a dark, crimson red. The color itself gave him the shivers and he felt something with it. Danger, fright… it was hard to put his finger on the exact emotion but he knew Wormwood was evil in the truest sense of evil.

  “Jeremy? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah dad. I’m here.”

  “And you can see stuff?”

  “Sort of.”

  “But your eyes are gone too, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Jeremy didn’t answer, instead looking south. A giant wave of water, the aura strangely green, was racing up from the Gulf. Funny that he could see it from so far away, he thought. It was like his mind was pointing out danger to him. The water was coming to them, he knew.

  “I think we hold on right here for a while dad.”