All Hell (2 page)

Rage bubbled within me
. This thing had a lot to answer for. The sheriff wanted to know why it broke the truce, Mrs. Jones wanted revenge, and I needed to know what it had to do with the death of my brother. I told the sheriff I would hunt it tonight. He’d have enough on his plate trying to keep the townsfolk from full panic. The quicker we knew what was going on the better. I raced home, got what I thought I’d need, and returned.

“
I’ll be back in the morning with answers,” I said to the Sheriff. “If not, well, that’s an answer too.”

“You don’t want
backup?” Martaan asked.

“You know I
work alone. But be prepared to call in all of your reserves. This could be the brink of war.”

I saw his adam’
s apple undulate before he steeled himself. Werewolves were nasty business that no one wanted a part of. “Damn, let’s pray it’s not. Good luck.”

“
Good luck to all of us,” I responded.

I lowe
red my nose to the grindstone and followed the trail. The bastard made it easy, like he either had nothing to worry about or didn’t care. Even so, once I hit the woods things got a little trickier. I had to be careful. I didn’t want to encounter any werewolves other than this one. My hope was that the lone wolf wouldn’t be going back to the den. I made sure I stayed downwind at all times.

Yet, something went wrong.

Though, as my eyes peer out from the manure pile, as I wait for the pack’s imminent arrival, I still can’t figure out what. I hear the howls again. They’re louder and the echo drags on. They’ve moved into open space. I figure it’ll be less than a minute til we see how this all pans out.

Chapter 3

A minute’
s a long time when you’re waiting for death. Given the line of work I’m in, I should have figured my last words would be with a monster.

I
had tracked the lone werewolf for hours. Only once did his path cross with others of his kind and those tracks were a lot older. I was more convinced than ever I was dealing with a stray. That was the best case scenario. I just had to kill it and life returned to normal. I could tell by the spacing and depths of its tracks that I was closing in. I climbed a tree, found a perch, and scouted the area. There he was, lapping up lake freshwater not more than 20 yards away.

He was making it real easy. Killing him wo
uld have been a snap, but I wanted him to talk. That meant not doing too much damage where he couldn’t cooperate, but doing enough so he couldn’t fight back. I needed to operate. I silently reached for my Cat. With the crimson trace laser sighting I could shoot with the precision of a surgeon. I slipped the suppressor over the threaded barrel and started with the right hind leg.

The bullet
sliced through its joint and anterior ligaments, almost completely severing his leg below the knee. It dropped with a muffled yelp. My next shot turned its front paw into pudding. It was squirming on the ground, trying to get away. I placed another in his ass to settle him down. Both of us knew his time was up. The only question was whether his secrets would expire with him. I jumped to a lower branch then swung to the ground. His green eyes glowed, just as Mrs. Jones said, and the scar ran longer than I imagined. I pressed the barrel of the Beretta against his floppy ear.

“Fuck you, Silas,” snarled the wolf.

I was only mildly surprised the bastard knew who I was. I had a reputation and this wasn’t my first time in wolf country. “Glad you know me,” I replied back. “On the other hand, I couldn’t give a shit to know you.”

The wolf grimaced, more laughter than p
ain. “Well, ya ain’t gonna forget me now.”

It
s teeth snapped at me. I pulled my arm away and cracked him on the side of the head with the Beretta. My bullets were made of silver. The handle of my gun was not. The blow hardly hurt him, but it did get my message across. “Why’d you kill him?”

“Tha
t’s the food chain, dipshit,” he said.

I pushed the barrel into his ear. “Why like that?”

He grimaced again. “Just sending a message. The old man made a good piece of paper.”

“
From who?” I demanded.

“
Someone who cares,” he snarled.

“
Are you going to get specific or do I end this now?” I put a pound of pressure on the trigger, knowing he could hear it.

His
green eyes locked with mine. “You really don’t know. And I can’t tell you.” We both heard leaves rustle in the background. “Better hurry up and kill me now before you’re deader than me,” he added.

The fucker grinned and m
y eyes widened with the realization that I’ve been played. I heard a twig snap not too far away. Mr. Jones was more than a message. He was a lure. “Fuck!” I muttered.

Scarface was laughing so hard he started choking. It really pissed me off. I put a bullet in his brain and
rabbited. They’ve been on my trail ever since.

Now I’m in deep shit
and who knows how many pounds of it. I hear them snaking their way through the brambles despite what I’m covered in. I spit out, trying not to think about the crap that just crossed my lip. I ready my Lupara. The first one enters my field of view. Everything I’m sitting in is about to hit the fan.

Chapter 4

The full moon and
open sky make it easy to see the death that comes my way. The pack leader has a coat of shiny brown fur that reflects the moonlight. He looks healthy and well fed which means he gets what he wants when he wants it. I mark him the alpha dog and give even odds he’s going to be the most dangerous. He whiffs the ground, nodding in the direction of the stables. The leader and the point man. In my head I call him Scout.

I have
a habit of naming the monsters I encounter. Being a paranormal assassin is an inhuman business. I like to make it more personal. Behind Scout is a stocky wolf whose brown coat gives off a reddish cast. This one doesn’t like to stay on all fours for too long, bouncing up frequently as he looks around. Jittery and red. I nickname him Fire. He overshadows the smaller wolf next to him. Nothing about that one stands out to me except for his size. He’s little like me. Fuck him. He’s Runt.

Three more round
out their war party; a white one with a snarl you could crap your pants from, a big black one with a long scar across his snout, and a fat brownie who continually scratches his back. In my mind they were now Ivory, Ebony, and Fleas. Of the following five, the piano keys looked to be the strongest, but Fire was the one I was most worried about. It was practically impossible to catch the nervous ones off guard and stealth was the only way I was making it out of this alive.

Scout le
ads them to the stable door, noting the fact it’s slightly ajar. I didn’t leave it like that on purpose, but if they figure I went inside instead of doubling back into this shit pile that’s a helpful advantage. I angle the Lupara outward, pointing it in their direction without activating the laser sighting that would reveal my position. If they all go inside then I won’t have to use it. I’ll just retrace my trail and be home before they figure out how I got away. However, if they turn toward me, I’ll at least take a few of the bastards with me.

Then Scout surprises me. He jumps up on his hinds and
motions his hands like a military commander. Maybe that’s what he was in his previous life, maybe not, but either way he knows his business. And even six on one, he isn’t fucking around. He sends Fleas and Ebony around back to guard the rear door. After waiting a moment, he sends Fire around the side. Then he and Ivory enter the stable. Runt is left guarding the door.

I hear
the horses whinny. The poor animals are fucked. I imagine their fear as I scroll through my own options. I could blow Runt to smithereens and make a mad dash. But that would only grant me the minute it would take the other five to catch up to me. I could bolt now on the one-in-a-million chance that Runt, with his enhanced senses, won’t hear me. Neither option is even mildly appealing so I stay put. Then Runt starts sniffing around. He picks up my double back and eyes the shit pile I’m in like he’s struck gold. He approaches, cautiously. I’m royally fucked, but so is he.

He’s only
a foot away, his eyes scanning everywhere. He’s recoiling from the smell, unable to confirm my scent through the overwhelming stench. The manure covers me well. He has no idea I’m right in front of him. I could see the wheels turning behind those angular yellow eyes. He knows I’m in here, but he isn’t overly eager to come in and find me. I decide to make his life easier. But only for the split second it takes me to end it.

I step
out. “What’s the matter? You don’t like shit on your food.” Then I pull the trigger, letting loose two buckshots filled with pure silver pellets that explode his head like a dropped watermelon.

Now things a
re going to happen fast. Gunfire has that way of alerting people. I don’t even have the chance to shake the shit off me before Ebony and Fleas round the corner. I quickly ditch my Lupara and reach for the Bobcat. They’re charging equal parts velocity and ferocity. I raise the Cat and charge back. My first shot severs Fleas front right leg. He face plants and my aim is already on my next mark. I use Ebony’s scar as a target and put two rounds in his face. His head snaps back as his body slides forward at my feet. I’m pretty sure he’s dead, but when I’m facing life ending situations I tend to get a little anal. I put another round in Ebony’s gut as I jump over him. Fleas is trying to get up. I give him a permanent cure for his itch by pumping three into him as I run past.

I don’t miss a stride as I reach
my destination, a dumpster on the side of the stable that makes a good first step on my climb to the roof. There are still three left. I need the high ground but my height disability is making this a challenge. I roll atop the dumpster easy enough, but my arms can’t reach the roof. I grab a pipe that is sticking out of the rotted wall and pull myself high enough to gain a foothold on the window sill. From there, I swing my other hand up and grip the ledge. I pull myself up, but the extra time it takes cost me.

I was
n’t the only one who understood the advantage of high ground. Scout knew it as well. He hadn’t sent Fire around the side like I first thought. He sent him up on the roof. That jittery bastard was his best lookout. Now instead of me getting the drop on them, Fire’s got the drop on me. I plant my knee, and roll to my back as he pounces. I get one shot off before he’s on top of me, knocking the gun from my hand and driving my shoulders into the cheap thin wood. Aside from his berries, Smithfield was known for one other thing. He was a cheap fuck. He only took care of the things that made him money. The stable roof wasn’t one of them.

The
rickety untreated wood cracks beneath our weight and buckles. We plunge the fifteen feet to the sound of dilapidation and wild horses. I land in a pile of hay, a vast improvement from the last pile I lay in. Must’ve been god’s way of evening things out. Fire’s fall, and his back, break against the topside of a stall. He probably would’ve healed from it quick enough had he not already been dead. The shoot I got off was a lucky one. Black cherry blood oozes out of his chest as he hangs there like a fur coat on a drying line. My bullet hit him right in the heart. His eyes still look at me, though they are as dead now as much as they were alive when he thought he had me.

My guns a
re saving my ass tonight. I reach for the last one I have, my Storm, only to find it missing. It must have dropped when I was falling. I feel the haystack beneath me. It isn’t like looking for a needle, but still, I’m not going to have time to search. The horse in the stall we fell in is bucking wildly and I hear growls from both sides of me. I’m boxed in with nowhere to go.

A horse two stalls
away let out a long neigh. I see its front two hooves high in the air then hear a sickening wail and a crunch as it drops to the floor. The smell of fresh intestines hit the air hard enough to overpower the manure that is still caked all over me. I hear another death cry followed by the increased intensity of horseshoes on the ground as fear runs wild. Scout and Ivory are turning this stable into a slaughterhouse and I’m the cream filling.

Chapter 5

My only chance i
s to take them on one at a time hand-to-hand. There isn’t a man alive that could take one of these beasts in a fair fight, let alone a little guy like me. Fortunately, I never fight fair.

I
dump the contents of my backpack, ignoring the chaos of stomps and snarls all around me. My assortment of small weapons spill out but I’m only interested in one, a pair actually. I immediately find them, slip my fingers through the eight rings, and clasp my fist around them with my free thumbs. My hands are now wrapped in spiked metal bands with daggers that extend out to the side, all made of pure silver. They’re worth a pretty penny on the open market. Worth a helluva lot more to me now. They make the ordinary brass knuckles I have at home look like a child’s toy. Still, I know I’ll need more to even the odds.

I scoop up my canteen. Most survivalists like myself fill their canteens with water. But they don’t face the same ha
zards I do. Mine contains gasoline. I flip open the top and pour fuel on Fire. I grab a matchbook, scrape one stick then fold it in on itself lighting up the entire package. I toss it onto the dead werewolf, inwardly chuckling at the irony of the nickname I gave him as his fur bursts into flames. This evening’s been a smorgasbord of the worst smells known to mankind and I just added charred flesh to the menu.