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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack The first year is available as a compilation on Amazon Kindle: https://a.co/d/gBLLL7E Audio and print versions will be available in the future. My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| It felt like hours before Vic made his appearance. In reality, it was less then ninety minutes. The vampire stepped inside without knocking, holding a bag that looked like an ancient doctors bag stolen from the set of an old Gun Smoke episode. I nodded at him and brought him towards the back, to Crash's bedroom where he lay. He nodded back and didn't speak. No jokes about me being food, about how terrible werewolves were. Just a cold business face of a doctor working a terrible case. His silence only made me more anxious, which set my simmering rage into a boil. Supplies were unrolled and laid out in a methodical manner. Medicine bottles with mysterious clear liquids were used first, injected directly into Crash's shoulder. He cried, bucked, and whimpered. Then what looked like silver puss started pushing out of where the wound was. Vic washed it away, then poured peroxide over the forming hole in Crash's shoulder. He patted it dry. "Silver is insidious for werewolves," Vic explained as he worked. "It doesn't hurt them to touch it, to hold it. Or even wear it as jewelry. But if it gets into their system, with a blade or a bullet, or sprinkled on their food, it makes their system go haywire." He injected more fluid into the wound, and Crash began to give pained whines like a dog. Those whines stabbed me straight through the heart. More puss pushed out, this time a darker red color. "Their body tries to heal, but can't. Tissue is regenerated where it can be, like the skin. But tissue inside, just begins to rot. The toxin pumps through their system. The rot accelerates, spreads. You can't see it or smell it with your human senses. But believe me, it's vile in here." More injections, then the scalpel came out. "We'll need to cut away rotted tissue. He's almost delirious and will try to fight back. We need someone stronger than you to hold him down." Elouise was closer, so I called her in to help. She promised to be over in ten minutes. She walked through the door in eight, panting. "Had to run," she said. I pointed to where Crash was in the back. "I've got to go," I said. "Where the hell are you going," she snapped at me. "To kill them." She gave me a look of pain and confusion. "I know you want revenge, but Crash needs you now." "They're not going to stop until we're dead." She glared at me for a moment. I could tell she knew I was right, and in that moment, she hated me for it. "You better come back," she snapped, then stormed back to Crash's room. Cries rose up as I stepped out of the house. I walked over to my car, my blood boiling with rage, with pain. It wasn't a complicated plan. Which is why I knew it'd work. Simplest plans almost always work. The most difficult part was going to be finding them. My first stop was the gas station. I filled a gas jug, then bought matches. I went to dollar general and bought a couple electric lighters and a couple cheap remote controlled cars. Putting in a call to Crash's boss, got me the address of a certain meth house at the edge of the county. One that had a beat up shit box of a car and a low rider in front of it. As well as a fancy dark SUV of some kind seen there regularly. "I've told them of your temporary deputy duties. Don't make me regret this," he said. "Don't worry, the bomb won't be too big," I told him. "Wait! What?!" He shouted as I hung up the phone. His next few text messages and subsequent voice mail proceeded to describe his nervousness about my plan and his fears of civilian casualties. I think the exact language was "If you kill anyone you're not supposed to, I'm going to rip your spine through your asshole." The rest of the preparations I had to go back home to make. By the time I came back, Elouise was still there, and Crash was passed out. "He looks horrible," she said. "You should be here taking care of him, not me." "They struck us. The only reason I'm okay right now is I got lucky." I was concentrating hard on the pot in front of me, finishing my bomb. The cheap stick on tile of the kitchen floor, the ancient refrigerator, it had a haunted feeling to it then. As if the bastards had drained the life from the house. She didn't say anything to that. I turned to her. "I'm nearly done here. Could you go in the back and take care of Crash? I don't want you to see this next part. Plausible deniability and all that." Her shoulders fell, and she ran a hand through her thin hair. "I wish you'd let me help you." "You are. If I fail, he's going to need you," I whispered. "It'll be days before Zack, Kris or Sean are out of the hospital." "I don't get how you can just march out there alone into this fight," she whispered back. Her words came in a rush, a rush that matched the snarl on her face. "Once you accept you could die at any time, it gets a little easier." She didn't say anything to that. I'm not sure there was much for her to say. I left the house that evening right around dark 30. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the darkness of the woods seemed to call. "Time to clock in," I told no one, and got in my car, then began to drive to a certain address off a forgotten county road, at the edge of the county. *** It was a rundown shack of some kind. A two story house that had peeling white wash, with an ancient wire fence around it that was mostly choked with trees growing up along the line. The yard was more thick weeds than grass. There was brown spots in it in the shape of one vehicle or another. In the back of the property was the glow of a bonfire, and the tell tale sound of some country rap rock mix echoing from close by. I'd parked my car off to the side of the road and was preparing to walk in. My pistol was drawn, and I had both my bombs under my arm. The gasoline had been gelled, the wires and matches pointed inward with the remnants of the electric lighters wired up specially to ignite the entire thing. It was a water bottle, wire, and duct tape mess. But it would at least ignite. I hoped. "So, what's the plan?" Elouise had managed to sneak up beside me in full gator mode, and growl the question in my ear. It took everything not to leap out of my skin. "Elouise, why are you here?" "You think Crash is going to let you do this alone," She asked incredulously. She had gone full gator mode, and her thick tail was swaying side to side behind her. "Who' watching Crash," I asked. "Relax, Charles and his wife are chipping in. Crash's boss told me to bite your head off if you screw this up, by the way. Sounded like he meant literally." Great. I was on a revenge tour with a babysitter and now Crash had two hulderfolk trying to watch him. I gritted my teeth, and looked skyward a moment. "Yeah, he meant literally. Here, your placing these. Find the gas tank, and wedge it into the car next to it. Then come back here and wait." She moved to the vehicles quickly and quietly, slinking through the weeds and grass while keeping as low as possible. Her dark form seemed to swim through the tall grass and weeds, then swam back towards me, her green thick skin almost glistening in the moonlight. I handed her the remote when she got back. I whispered, "you do the honors." She pulled the throttle on the controller. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, boom! A mushroom ball of flame and death rose into the sky. Windows shattered in the house, then flames rolled into it, engulfing ratty curtains. I had expected to hear panicked screams, of people burning inside. Thankfully, there was none. I walked low down the driveway, pistol at the ready as men started running towards the explosion. My pistol barked fire once. Twice. Two men fell, one dead before he hit the ground from a head shot, another giving soft gasps of the dying. A third came and before I could shoot Elouise attacked, snapping his neck cleanly. We got around back, the ringing in our ears had begun to die down by then. Loud music started to be heard. It was a strange mix of country, rap and metal. Like Alan Jackson and Kid Rock had started a Nu-Metal band together. There was one man left standing. Greasy, from the grocery store. He backed up, his eyes going wide. Two women, screamed and scattered away from him. He had a pistol in his hand. He dropped it, and started running. Elouise looked at me. "You can if you want. We need him alive." She sprinted after him far faster than I'd seen her run in a long time. Soon, he was on the ground, his head in her jaws. I squatted in front of him. "Milton." He winced and closed his eyes. The fire roared in the background, the house began to go up in flames. An explosion from inside, remnants of whatever meth operation they were running going up in smoke. Me and Elouise both pulled back. Greasy tried to run. She easily tackled him again, and put his head right back in her jaws. "He'll drain me, he'll kill me. He'll make me do it to myself, I've seen it!" I knelt in front of him again, a little more gingerly this time. "You're head is in the jaws of a Rougarou. I'd be a little more concerned with that, if I were you." I cocked the gun, and pressed it against his knee. "Talk." |
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