That there were no missing persons reports continued to bother me. Were the werewolves only killing transients? I had a hard time accepting that.
In wolf form, werewolves were hunters, like me. When presented with a weaker entity, they attacked.
They might posses human level intelligence, but I'd never known them to be able to pound back the bloodlust.
They saw people in the woods and they killed them. Plain, simple, to the point. I doubt they stopped long enough to ask for a resume.
I put the thought aside and headed to my apartment. I had more pressing concerns.
The route into the woods was as familiar as the array of cars surrounding the tavern and the wail of jazz through the open windows.
I glanced at my watch. Coming up on 5:00 a.m. Did anyone ever go home around here?
I retrieved a spare .22 from my glove compartment and shoved the smaller gun into the waistband of my jeans. They were too tight to hide the thing, but I wasn't going anywhere without a silver bullet-firing weapon again. I might be slow, but eventually I caught on.
Dirty, hungry, tired, I needed a shower, food, and bed in that order. But before I climbed the steps to my lonely room, I wanted to check behind the Dumpster one last time. Maybe the gun had fallen into a hole or something.
I was grasping. Pretty much anyone could have taken the gun while I'd been inside the tavern. Of course he'd have to have been watching me hide the thing... a fact I didn't want to examine too closely.
As I approached the garbage bin, a fat raccoon shot a glare in my direction and waddled away. Better than a rat, though I bet a few of them made regular visits here as well. I wasn't afraid of animals. How could I be? But rats made me shudder. What was with those hairless tails anyway?
I'd brought the flashlight from my car, and I shone the beam back and forth across the front of the Dumpster, across the paper-strewn ground, then behind. Not a single gleam of gunmetal made my life any easier. It was bad enough I'd have to admit taking Damien's gun; I didn't want to tell him I'd lost it, too.
Kneeling next to the wall, I reached into the crack between the building and the steel container.
Something skittered out the other side and ran away.
"I did not hear that," I assured myself.
I continued to feel around but came up with nothing.
The shriek of a dying animal shot my heart straight into my throat. Whatever had run from me had slammed straight into something else. Bummer for him.
I retrieved my hand, sat back on my heels, scowled at the scum under my nails. A growl rumbled along my spine like sandpaper. Slowly I straightened, then turned.
"One, two, three, four, five. Shitty odds," I muttered, and drew the gun.
I didn't know how many bullets I had. Not enough. Who'd have thought I'd need more than a clip's worth to get from my car to the house?
The wolves advanced, legs stiff, hackles raised. My first bullet kicked up dirt in front of the lead animal.
His lip curled; then he threw up his head as if laughing at me.
I shot a glance toward the staircase that led to my apartment. A wolf sat on the bottom step, tongue lolling as he panted like a great big dog.
I could shoot him and try to get to my apartment, but there were five - I looked back just as several shadows detached themselves from the trees and crossed the parking lot - make that ten wolves behind me. Thank God none of them were white. Still, I was in serious trouble.
The main wolf pack was between me and the tavern. I could yell for help, but the music was too loud.
They'd never hear me.
My mind raced as fast as my heart. I cast a glance toward Damien's cabin. Nothing between it and me but grass. That building was the only chance I had.
I fired another shot, actually hit one of them this time. The flames, the stench of burning flesh and fur, the howi of the dying distracted the others long enough for me to achieve a small lead.
I'd take what I could get. They were going to catch me. There was no way I could outrun close to a dozen wolves. Hell, I couldn't outrun one, but I had to try.
A chorus of howls rose behind me, so loud I flinched, stumbled, and nearly fell. Their footsteps echoed mine. The warmth of their breath brushed my calves. The scent of predator after prey cascaded through the night - a sharp and gamy aroma reminiscent of fear and death.
I couldn't recall if I'd locked Damien's door after I'd picked it. If I had, I was dead or soon to be furry.
Either way, I'd take a few of them with me.
I reached for the knob, but the door swung open. I smashed into Damien's chest.
"Oomph," he said, and caught me.
My momentum propelled us inside the cabin.
"Shut it! Shut it!" I shouted, kicking back, managing to catch the door with my heel.
I tensed, expecting bodies to thud against the other side. Glancing at the window, I waited for the shadow, the crash, death.
Nothing happened.