Ultimate Supernatural Horror Box Set (85 page)

George gently kicked Lou under the table. They did not have an elaborate plan to trap Ivan. They’d tried to come up with one, but all of their ideas seemed like plans that could go terribly wrong. So they’d settled for the following scheme: if they decided that they had no other choice, George would give Lou the signal by gently kicking him under the table, at which point they would pull out their guns and pump several rounds into Ivan’s face. Hopefully that would surprise and weaken him enough for them to throw the blanket with the silver rings over his head and drag him out to the cage. If he got a chance, Lou would also try to stab him.

It was far from subtle, and it wasn’t something they really wanted to do in front of a tavern full of witnesses, but they didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

They pulled out their guns.

Moving faster than George would have ever expected possible in his human form, Ivan slid below the table. He was an arrogant prick, but apparently not such an arrogant prick that he hadn’t anticipated that he might be in physical danger. As he disappeared from sight, George and Lou shoved their guns underneath the table and squeezed the triggers. They were blind shots but almost point-blank ones.

The table went flying into the air, sailing across the bar and crashing into the dancing couple, knocking them to the ground with what looked like a spatter of blood, though George caught this only in his peripheral vision and couldn’t be sure.

He and Lou opened fire on the fully transformed wolfman, pumping bullets into his face and chest. The “shoot and shoot and shoot” portion of their plan was working nicely.

Blood sprayed and Ivan recoiled with each shot, throwing up his clawed hands to defend himself. One shot got him directly under the left eye. Another broke off most of a talon. At least three got him in the heart.

In the background--the faint, distant background--George heard people screaming. Lots of commotion.

Lou’s gun ran out of ammunition a couple of seconds before George’s did. They both kept pulling the trigger for a few clicks after bullets stopped firing, staring at the blood-soaked monster that stood before them.

Ivan let out a howl of animalistic fury.

No way were they going to get the blanket on him. George didn’t even make a move for it. Better not to let Ivan know they had it.

Lou, who’d taken out the silver cross so quickly that George didn’t even see him do it, put their emergency backup plan into action: he lunged forward with the weapon, thrusting it toward Ivan’s heart.

Ivan swiped at Lou’s hand, striking it with such force that George thought he might have snapped Lou’s wrist. The cross flew across the bar, striking the wall and falling to the floor. Lou was lucky that the same thing didn’t happen to his hand.

Though Lou cried out in pain, it didn’t slow him down. He punched Ivan in the chest, hitting him hard enough to create a shower of crimson from Ivan’s blood-soaked fur.

George threw his own punch, aiming for Ivan’s neck but hitting him in the shoulder. The bastard was solid as hell, and George felt as if his knuckles burst inside his skin. Both George and Lou could throw mean punches, but though their blows clearly hurt Ivan, they didn’t knock him down.

God, he wished they’d had silver bullets. What kind of irresponsible scumbag would send you on a trip with a werewolf and not provide silver bullets?

Ivan balled his hand into a fist and punched Lou in the face, sending the big guy crashing into the bench, against the wall, and onto the floor. At least Ivan hadn’t tried to kill him--had he used his claws, Lou’s face would be splattered across the bar next to the silver cross.

The werewolf slammed its hands against George’s arms, pinning them to his sides. He tried to knee Ivan in the groin but though his knee connected with its target it was just a glancing blow that seemed to have no effect. Ivan squeezed George’s arms, just until it hurt, and then he...well, he didn’t quite
throw
George, but George definitely didn’t hurtle across the room of his own volition.

He struck a table, knocking it over and sending a couple of beers flying. He grabbed for a chair to stop his fall, but it toppled along with him and he crashed to the floor, a leg of the chair bashing into his kidney, hard.

The pain was unbelievable. He’d be pissing blood for sure.

He blinked away the wave of dizziness, and took a half-second to survey his surroundings. People were screaming and running for the exit in a mad panic, with at least two of them on the floor being trampled.

The twenty-one year-old knelt on the floor, wailing and cradling her older dance partner in her lap. Blood gushed from a laceration in his forehead and his neck was bent at a hideous angle.

A man behind the bar cocked a shotgun.

Lou, dazed and confused, was trying to get back up.

George wanted to get up as well, but he needed just a few seconds for the worst of the agony to fade before he’d be of any use to anybody. Just a few. Not long.

The man behind the bar pointed the shotgun at Ivan, but Ivan was at the counter before he could shoot. Ivan knocked the barrel of the gun upward just as the man squeezed the trigger, firing into the ceiling, creating a cloud of plaster, and eliciting a scream of pain from above.

Holy shit. Had he actually
shot somebody upstairs
?

Ivan wrenched the shotgun out of the man’s hands and shoved the barrel in his face. The man held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot!”

The werewolf seemed to consider that. Ivan moved the shotgun barrel away from the man’s face, fumbled a bit with his claws on the trigger, then fired into one of the man’s upraised hands, blowing it completely off. The man’s shriek was silenced a moment later as Ivan tossed the gun aside and swiped off his entire lower jaw.

Before the impact of that could even sink in, Ivan pulled the man forward by the front of his shirt, opened his mouth wide, and then bit down on what remained of the man’s face. Ivan spit the bloody chunk onto the counter, let the man’s corpse fall, and then turned toward George.

Ivan held up his index finger and wiggled the talon.

The message was clear:
That’s one...

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Massacre at the Cotton Mouse Tavern

George and Lou both got up. Despite the agony, George was able to find his voice, if not his wit. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you!”

Ivan beckoned.
Bring it on.

But instead of waiting for George, Ivan ran over to the formerly dancing couple, pouncing on them with his claws and fangs bared. The girl died first, unless the old man was already dead when the werewolf got there, which was entirely possible. Ivan didn’t try to be inventive--he just ripped their bodies apart in a matter of seconds, tearing off flesh with such speed and intensity that George couldn’t be certain which piece came from which victim.

Lou patted his pocket, then frantically looked around on the floor, presumably for his switchblade. Had he lost it in the fall? Lou quickly gave up the search and went for the cross.

About half of the patrons had made it out of the bar already, but there was a bottleneck at the doorway. Panicked drunk people shoving each other was not conducive to an efficient exit.

An overweight bearded man pushed a skinny girl out of the way, his hand cupping one of her small breasts in the process. She bashed a beer bottle against the side of his head, spraying glass and Bud Light everywhere. The bearded man fell, taking the two people in front of him down with him.

Another man, clean-shaven, his eyes wide with terror, had apparently retained his sense of chivalry and pulled a blonde woman out of the way before she could get trampled.

It didn’t surprise George that Ivan went after the nice guy.

Ivan leapt off the two mangled dancer corpses, knocked another man out of the way, and grabbed the nice guy’s arm. As the guy cried out and tried to pull away, Ivan gave it a brutal yank. It wasn’t enough to rip off the limb, but it was clearly enough to pop his arm out of its socket.

With the second yank, the skin split. The arm remained attached. A third yank, and the arm came most of the way off. Ivan quickly finished the job with his teeth.

Lou crawled around on the floor, searching unsuccessfully for the cross.

George slammed his foot down on the wooden chair, breaking off the leg that had bashed his kidney and creating a makeshift wooden stake. Even if it didn’t kill Ivan, they might be able to injure him enough to finally subdue the creature.

Ivan shoved the one-armed nice guy toward George. The guy, spurting blood and almost completely drained of color, dropped to the floor before he could get in George’s way. George leapt over him, tried to fake a swing to the left, but took a werewolf fist to the face and stumbled backwards, almost but not quite losing his footing.

Ivan snarled and tossed the severed arm aside. There was so much gore in his fur that it was hard to say for certain, but his gunshot wounds no longer seemed to be bleeding.

Most of the bar patrons had finally made their way out of the place. Aside from the bearded guy and the two people on the floor with him, only a man and woman who looked to be in their early twenties remained at the doorway. They were presumably a romantic couple, since they were dressed in matching cutesy light green shirts.

One of the people who’d been trampled had apparently made it outside to safety. The other, a middle-aged lady with pigtails, lay dead on the floor, her body broken and bloody.

Ivan ran to the doorway, bashed the cutesy man out of the way with his right hand, then grabbed the cutesy woman with his left. Instead of killing her, he tossed her over with her lover, then pulled the door closed.

The bearded guy scrambled away, his ass dragging along the floor as he did a clumsy version of a crab-walk. George ran at Ivan again, focusing all of his attention on Ivan’s heart, but the werewolf knocked him aside once more. George’s landing was not gentle.

As he got up, he noticed two other people in the bar, hiding underneath the table of a booth. Assuming the nice guy with one arm hadn’t bled to death yet, that left eight potential victims in there, not counting George and Lou. Ivan might very well make his body count goal.

George caught a glimpse of silver as Lou found the cross and quickly palmed it. Lou got up and wobbled a bit on shaky legs, but didn’t fall.

“Hey, Ivan!” George shouted. “You hit like a ferret!”

Ivan let out what was clearly meant to be a derisive laugh. George tried to think of an animal comparison more rage inducing than “ferret” but nothing immediately came to mind.

George had hoped that Ivan might change back just to offer up a snappy retort, but he didn’t. Instead, he looked around the bar, still smiling, as if joining George in tallying up his potential victims.

Ivan’s ear perked up a bit as he noticed the people under the table in the booth.

The man and woman who were dressed alike grabbed each other’s hand and sprinted away from Ivan, running toward a plate-glass window covered by neon signs. Ivan followed, taking down the man before they made it halfway across the bar. The woman bellowed and desperately pulled on her boyfriend or husband’s arm, refusing to let go of him even as Ivan slashed at his legs and back.

“Just leave me!” the man shouted, gurgling the words. George winced as Ivan ripped out a particularly meaty strip of his leg, exposing bone.

George picked up another chair.

Lou moved cautiously toward the werewolf, not revealing the cross. His breathing was as heavy as if he’d run a marathon and George hoped that he wouldn’t have a massive heart attack before he made it to Ivan.

Ivan extended all ten of his fingers, then slammed his claws deep into the man’s neck all at once. The woman finally let go of her lover and ran for the window again.

The two people who’d been knocked down by the bearded guy--another man and woman, also in their twenties, but hopefully not a couple considering their complete lack of interest in assisting each other in a moment of crisis--got the door open again. It slammed into the man’s shin and he let out a grunt of pain as the woman opened it, but they both rushed through the doorway and out of the bar.

Two more survivors. If this upset Ivan, he didn’t show it. The woman who’d just lost her boyfriend or husband ran straight at the window, arms extended.

Lou took another hesitant step toward Ivan. The werewolf’s attention was directed toward the running woman, but it was pretty hard for a guy the size of Lou to sneak up on somebody in a wide-open bar.

George threw the chair as hard as he possibly could, so hard that he thought he might have injured his shoulder. His intent was for the chair to smash directly into Ivan’s head, distracting him from the woman long enough for her to escape, during which time George would figure out how to deal with a murderous werewolf whose attention was now on him. The chair didn’t hit Ivan’s head, but it smashed into his side with enough force to stop him in his tracks.

The woman struck the window. The glass did not shatter. She bounced off, careened to the side, and doubled over in pain.

Taking advantage of Ivan’s distraction, Lou picked up his pace and held the cross like a dagger. George hurriedly grabbed another chair to keep Ivan’s attention focused on him.

“Did that hurt, you hairy bitch? Did you get a boo-boo?”

Lou was only a couple of steps away from being able to slam the cross into his back. They were, of course, assuming that the silver cross would do a lot more damage than just stabbing him with a regular old sharpened object, and if that turned out not to be the case, Lou was in a lot of danger.

“C’mon, Ivan, you feeble little fuck! We kicked your butt back in the other house, and we’ll kick it here!”

Without taking his eyes off George, Ivan suddenly reached out his arm, grabbing Lou by the throat.

Shit...

George was about to rush him, but Ivan held up a hand, palm-out.
Don’t move.
George decided not to move.