"And you thought something like that would
slow him down?"
"It might have. We were dealing with a
supernatural creature. For all we knew, those rings could've sucked
out his energy or something."
"Did it work?"
"Maybe. A little. Or it might have been all
the times we shot him, hit him, and kicked him that slowed him
down. Either way, it didn't hurt to try."
"I suppose it didn't."
"Do you disagree?"
"I can't honestly say that I would have tried
it myself. There's a fine line between innovation and just being
silly."
"There's also a fine line between being
honest and being an asshole."
Prescott actually smiled in a non-asshole
manner at that. "You're right. I apologize."
"And I accept your apology. Are you
guys good shots with the net gun?"
"Absolutely."
"Will he be able to get free?"
"Not easily. And by the time he does, we'll
have pumped a few darts into him. You'll be safe." Prescott looked
at Sam. "One mile away."
Sam turned onto a dirt road that
reminded George of the one where Ivan had escaped. At least the
first time.
"You're going to walk straight," Prescott
told George. "Angie and I will be on either side of you. If he runs
away, we'll give chase, but try to keep him from running away."
"If he runs, you won't be able to catch
him."
"We'll catch him. We can always track
him with the chip. He's not going to escape."
"Where is the chip?"
"Need-to-know basis. This is far enough,
Sam."
Sam stopped the van. Angie got out of her
seat and slid open the side door. George patted Lou on the shoulder
as he followed Angie out of the vehicle. He, Angie, and Prescott
went to the back of the van.
"I'd feel a lot better about this if you gave
me something to defend myself," said George.
Angie opened the rear doors, revealing an
impressive stockpile of weapons. "We'd give you a tranquilizer
gun," she said, "but they're too big for you to hide, and we don't
want him to know that we've got one. Best we can do is this." She
took a small pistol down from a shelf and handed it to him. "If
what you've said is true, it won't stop him, but it might give you
a couple of extra seconds to live."
George tucked the pistol into the
holster under his bloodstained shirt. "I'll take it."
"And I'll go you one better," said
Prescott, giving George a tiny plastic baggie. "That's a cyanide
capsule. If you find yourself about to suffer a fate worse than
death, swallow that."
"I think I'll pass."
"Trust me, we've got ours." He touched his
earpiece. "Sam, how's our connection? Good."
Angie quickly strapped the crossbow to
her back. Prescott handed her a long rifle, then took one for
himself. George tossed the baggie back into the van.
"Just walk along the path," Prescott
told George. "Stay calm. Don't do anything suspicious. If you can
get him out into the open, that'll be extremely helpful. Don't let
him know we're here--we will decide the appropriate moment to
strike."
"All right," said George. "I'm
trusting you guys to have good aim."
"We're almost perfect."
George extended his hand to Prescott.
"Best of luck. If we all survive this, I'm buying the beer. As much
as you can drink."
"I'll take you up on that."
George walked past the van, giving Lou a
thumbs-up sign that Lou returned, though neither of them seemed
sincere.
He walked down the path, moving at a brisk
pace. Prescott and Angie disappeared into the trees next to him.
George at least had to appreciate that he wasn't joining them in
wandering through a swamp, though Sam was getting a pretty sweet
deal if he was that well-paid just for hanging out in the van.
He focused on taking deep
breaths to keep himself calm. He wasn't quite on the verge of
freaking out, but he couldn't imagine that Prescott and Angie had
his personal safety as a top priority, or even
any
kind of priority. If Ivan suddenly
charged him, he expected that they'd be perfectly happy to fire the
net, entangle both of them, and let the werewolf shred him. George
very much doubted that there'd be any kind of penalty for letting
the hired thugs perish.
Still, he had to cooperate. They
weren't going to go out of their way to protect him, but it also
didn't seem as if they were going to go out of their way to kill
him, so his best bet for long-term happiness was to be their bait,
try to keep himself alive, and hope that the plan to recapture Ivan
was a great big rousing success.
And then, assuming they could ever get
hired again, George and Lou would vow never to take any kind of job
that involved cages or man-beasts. That's how he'd start every
conversation with Ricky: "Does this job involve a cage or a
man-beast? Because if it does, tell them to shove it." And they'd
never come back to Florida. Fuck Florida and its sweltering heat
and ugly alligators and evil serial killer werewolves. Fuck it
right in the face.
He kept walking. There was no sign of
Angie and Prescott. They were good at staying hidden, he had to
give them that, unless they'd lagged behind for a cigarette or a
quickie or something.
Maybe Ivan would be lying on the ground,
barely alive, huge ring-shaped burns in his flesh from being
underneath the blanket. Oh, George would love that. It would almost
be worth all of this happening, just for that moment of
victory.
Ivan grins, sliding the
blade across Diane's neck, as blood spills down the front of her
shirt
...
George tried to force the memory out of his
mind. He couldn't let himself get distracted.
He could hear the little boy
wailing "
Mommy
!"
For all George knew, the cops had
never actually been to the house. The little boy could still be in
the kitchen, sobbing while he held his mother's blood-soaked body.
Or the boy could be staring off into space, never to really see
anything again.
Stop it
.
George hadn't been just talking
bullshit with Lou. He really did plan to make things right. He
wasn't naïve enough to think that he'd become some kind of saint,
strolling from town to town doing good deeds, but he'd find a way
to make up for this. Though he'd never be able to completely clear
his conscience, maybe he'd at least be able to soothe it a bit,
silence the voice inside that was screaming at him and telling him
he was a monster.
But, again, it was not something to
worry about now. For now, he needed to worry about that goddamn
werewolf.
George thought he heard the crack of a branch
to his right. Apparently Prescott wasn't a total ninja.
His stomach really hurt. He just wanted this
over with.
If you die, that's a pretty
crappy legacy you're leaving behind. Lots of people's lives are
worse because you were born. Even if you died this morning, before
you met Ivan, there'd be no good reason for anybody to mourn,
except maybe Lou since he'd have the hassle of finding a new
partner. If an angel seeking his wings went
It's a Wonderful Life
on you and
showed you a world where you'd never been born, it would probably
be a festival of smiles and balloons and merry children.
His stomach really, really hurt. Throwing up
might actually make him feel better, but he didn't want Prescott or
Angie to see it.
He wiped some sweat from his forehead. He
looked at his hand, which seemed to have more blood than
perspiration on it.
Focus on the
positive
, he told himself.
When this is over, you and Lou will check yourself
into a luxury hotel--separate rooms--and spend the next seven days
soaking in a hot tub. You'll catch up on all of those books you've
never quite found time to read. Drink fine wine and eat grapes.
Watch porn.
He came around a slight corner and, about a
hundred feet ahead, he could see Bateman's van.
Son of a bitch. Ivan really was
here.
George forced himself not to
run.
Stay calm. Don't get too
excited.
The back doors of the van hung open,
and George could see the cage inside. Somebody was in there. Had
Ivan actually gotten back into the cage? Why the hell would
he--?
No. It was Michele, huddled into the
back corner.
Shit.
This had to be a trap. But how could
Ivan have known they were coming? He couldn't, unless the
reinforcements were actually working for the werewolf, and that
idea was really dumb.
The situation was making George uncomfortable
and paranoid, but he had to stick with the plan. The absolute last
thing he needed was for Ivan to rush off and find another
well-populated area for a killing spree. George's official role was
"werewolf bait," and he was going to play it out.
He walked over to the van. Michele was
seated, head down, arms wrapped tightly around her legs, her whole
body quivering as she silently wept.
"Michele...?"
She looked up. Her eyes were red and puffy
and her whole face was blotchy from crying.
"I'm here to get you out of there," said
George. "Where's Ivan?"
"I don't know."
"Which way did he go?"
"I didn't see."
"Michele, I need you to focus. Everything's
going to be all right. I promise, I'm not going to let him hurt
you."
"You can't promise anything," Michele said.
She sniffled, then held up her right hand, revealing a curved row
of deep puncture wounds.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Wolf's Bite
"It'll be okay," George assured her.
"That's an ugly bite but it's not too bad. Lou got clawed up a lot
worse and he's still kicking around."
"Don't pretend to be dense. You know what
this means."
"No, he doesn't play by the werewolf rules.
This doesn't mean anything."
"He said it did."
"Well, Ivan's a liar. He just said that to
scare you. Don't listen to anything he says. I swear to you that
you'll be fine."
Michele shook her head sadly. "No. I can feel
it."
"You're just stressed out. It could be
anything."
"I've been stressed all day.
This is something
horrible
. As soon as his teeth went
into me I knew what he'd done."
George hurriedly glanced around the area for
any sign of Ivan. There was none. "Okay, okay, for the sake of
argument let's say that he did make you into a werewolf. Is that
really such a bad thing? He seems pretty happy."
"He can control it."
"Maybe they all can. Maybe that's why
we never hear about werewolves--they all have total control over
their powers, so only the lunatic idiots like Ivan let out the
secret."
"You shouldn't be here." She began to sob
uncontrollably.
"Just calm down. I know you don't believe me,
but it's all going to be fine. I need to know, did Ivan set a
trap?"
"
Me
, maybe."
"Why did he leave you? Was I supposed to find
you?"
Michele shook her head. "He looked nervous
all of a sudden and just left."
"Good, good. So he's either running or
watching us."
Ivan spoke. "What the hell do you want,
George?"
George spun around. He couldn't see Ivan's
face, but he was at the edge of the trees, mostly obscured by some
tall bushes.
"I want the girl back."
"Bullshit. You wouldn't put yourself at risk
for her. Why are you here?"
"I just want her back. That's the truth."
"You weren't even around when I nabbed
her."
"It was on the news."
"Then where did I catch her?"
Crap.
"A gas station."
"Wrong. How did you find me?"
"There were several reports of the van coming
this way. You should be more careful."
"Uh-huh. Then why aren't the cops here?"
"How should I know? Maybe they've got the
area surrounded. Do you really think I work with the police?"
"George, I've had a good time ruining your
life today, but I'm tired. I know you're tired, too."
"Exhausted."
"Why don't we just go our separate ways and
work this out some other time, huh?"
"See, I'd love to, and if you give me the
girl, I will."
"What's stopping you from taking her? I'm all
the way over here."
"Not a goddamn thing."
Ivan stepped to the side, revealing
his smiling face, which was now missing a tooth. His wounds were no
longer bleeding, though his entire face was so caked with blood
that he was almost unrecognizable. "I should warn you, though, that
she's damaged goods in a big way. My recommendation is that you
just discard her."
"Why would you do that to her?" George asked.
When the hell was Prescott or Angie going to put a tranquilizer
dart into that prick?
"I guess there are a lot of
possibilities," said Ivan. "Maybe she's the first inductee into my
werewolf army. Or, this should have you quaking in your booties;
maybe she's the
thousandth
one. Maybe my whole purpose is to enslave
humanity, and you just got caught in the middle. You could be
humanity's last chance, George. Hell of a bad deal for the human
race."