* * *
Not knowing who else in her small department was still alive, Heather had tried Sheriff Hintze’s home first. It was near the station, by itself at the end of a long driveway, but Harbinger’s truck was barely sufficient to get even that far without chains. No one who lived in Copper County was a stranger to snow, but this storm was absurd, even by Michigan standards. The only reason the roads were still passable at all was because the howling wind was pushing most of the accumulation off the flat spots. There had to have been two feet in the last hour.
The lack of radio and phone was infuriating. Help was as close as the next county over, but there was no way to reach them. As soon as she had some help, she’d send somebody on a snowmobile, but until then she was on her own. She had left a note at the station, just in case somebody else came in, but she doubted that anyone would. Copper County was a relatively unpopulated place and had a correspondingly small sheriff’s department. There weren’t that many deputies to begin with, and she knew that almost half of them had been killed in the last few hours. Heather had a bad feeling about the others.
Heather knew that she was too late as soon as she arrived at the sheriff’s house. His front door was wide open, already lodged in place by a fresh drift. The beam of her flashlight found what was left of Sheriff Hintze right inside the front hall, wearing pajamas and missing most of his neck.
A few hours ago, that sight would have scared her, perhaps even made her nauseous. Now she just felt anger. She crouched next to the body, with her Winchester 1300 ready to blast anything that moved, but the house was quiet except for the creaking of old boards. The thing that had done this was long gone. She caught herself sniffing the air, shook her head, and retreated to the porch.
Harbinger had said that it was a coordinated attack. Of course they had eliminated the sheriff. Her boss had been a sharp man and would have stood in their way. Yet why did she believe Harbinger? He was a mystery. And if she were to believe what Harbinger told her about the attack, then why shouldn’t she believe him about the other things he had said? Her shoulder itched, but it didn’t even hurt in the slightest. She was scared to look at it.
The night had already been so emotionally draining that the sight of her dead boss hadn’t even disturbed her. Heather simply returned to the still-running pickup truck and set out for her next destination. She was so hungry it hurt. Heather could smell the food in the backseat and dragged Harbinger’s cooler around. Barely slowing to rip the packaging off, she started stuffing her face, not even caring what it was, as she drove back down the sheriff’s driveway. Regardless of what Harbinger told her, she still had responsibilities to attend to. She’d taken an oath to protect and serve, and she took that oath very seriously.
* * *
A few lights were on at the corner grocery.
It was a relatively small building. The kind of locally owned, overpriced, but convenient place that managed to hang on despite competition from big chain stores. It had already been decorated for Christmas. The signs said this place was called Value Sense Grocery, sixpacks of Dr. Pepper were on sale, and there was a werewolf noisily devouring the contents of some poor sucker’s chest cavity right inside the front door by the shopping carts.
Earl crouched behind the oblong block of ice that he suspected was concealing a mailbox and watched the windows. He was downwind, and even if it suddenly shifted, as it kept on doing, he’d put the wolfsbane back into a pocket. Other than the one visible target, there was at least one other member of the pack in there. He wanted to make sure he got as many as possible, as fast as possible. Anything that ran meant he would have to chase them down, and that would take time. Time spent chasing was time that could be better spent proactively killing these upstart punks before they murdered too many innocents.
The dark brown fur of a second enemy was briefly visible as it moved past the cash registers and a plastic Santa Claus. It joined the first, lighter-colored werewolf over the human remains. The two began to snap at each other, competing playfully for the tastier bits. The lighter-colored one was dominant, and the newcomer moved to the other end and started chewing on a leg.
“Enjoy that last meal, boys,” Earl said to himself as he came out of the snow and walked for the front door. Lifting the Thompson, he waited until he was just on the other side of the heavy glass door and couldn’t possibly miss.
Seeing those two there, just having a good old time, really irked him. He’d worked hard for over eighty years to make up for his own early mistakes, and these youngsters thought that they could come along and do whatever the hell they felt like. Earl realized he was grinding his teeth together. Wanting them to see their punishment coming, Earl raised the muzzle of the Thompson and banged it hard on the glass. “Hey!”
The two heads snapped up instantly, dripping blood and chunks of flesh, glaring at him.
The Tommy gun roared as Earl mowed them down. He worked the subgun back and forth, emptying an entire stick magazine of silver .45 bullets into the two werewolves, a continuous stream of hot brass flying out the side. A row of soda bottles behind them exploded as the monsters jerked and twitched. The werewolves fell as Earl ducked under the door rail and through the broken glass, already yanking the spent mag from the Thompson.
The light one was dead. The dark male was trying to crawl away, its body perforated multiple times. The wounds were closing. “Oh, a new guy, huh?” Earl shouted as he pulled the bolt back on a fresh mag. “I guess nobody told you about the two rules?” The werewolf had reached the check stand and was using it to pull himself up. Earl let the hot subgun hang by its sling as he drew his bowie knife.
The werewolf turned, snarling. Earl swung the heavy blade, cleaving through half the throat in one mighty swing. The werewolf fell back, blood squirting everywhere. “And rule number one is no killing”—Earl raised the blade again and slashed it through the other side; the werewolf’s head spun free and landed, bouncing down the rubber belt of the check stand—“innocent people!” The body tottered for a second before falling. It hit the floor with a dull thud, one leg kicking spastically.
Earl lowered his dripping knife. He could hear a generator running in back. The lights over the check stands were on, giving him a good look. The now-headless body still had the tattered remains of a red grocery apron tied around the midsection. Another poor sap, turned today. Earl spat on the floor.
“What’s rule number two?”
Raising the bowie, Earl turned toward the voice. It had come from the middle of the store, somewhere between the aisles, but he couldn’t see anyone. Most of the store’s lights were still off. “Who’re you supposed to be?” Earl asked evenly.
The voice was calm, almost friendly, and oozed confidence. “I’m the one you’re looking for.”
It wasn’t Nikolai’s voice, that much was certain. Earl wiped his knife off on his leg and returned it to the sheath on his belt. He took up the Thompson. “You the leader of this pack?”
There was a jovial laugh. “I’m the leader of all werewolves.”
“Uh-huh. And if I had a nickel for every asshole that told me that…” Walking to the side, Earl peered down the next shadowed aisle. They were perpendicular to the check stands. Even in the dark, he’d be easy enough to spot. He’d find this guy, shoot him full of holes, and finish this.
“Those were mistaken. I don’t make mistakes. I’m the king of werewolves, the next step in our evolution. The future, if you will. I am the Alpha.”
The voice seemed to be coming from the left side of the store. Earl kept walking, gun up. He had to keep him talking. “Why are you doing this? Seems kind of stupid to pick a fight you can’t win with humanity.” Next aisle. Clear.
“Don’t assume man will win this one. Perhaps, the better question is, why are you here, Harbinger?”
Next aisle. Clear. “I came here looking to finish Nikolai Petrov. I figure once I clean your clock, I’ll go kill him and be back in Alabama before supper.” There were only a few aisles left.
Oddly, Earl’s superior hearing couldn’t pin down exactly where the voice was coming from. “Yet you don’t know why Nikolai’s here, either, do you?”