Greg Krojac - WTF?

Trevor stood on the far side of the room; he and Tracey – who were gradually becoming friends again – would feed in the evening, at Tom and Edna’s house. That way, Tracey could continue to avoid Arnold completely.

Once the feeding was completed, Harold bade Trevor goodbye and left without saying a word to Arnold. Trevor felt sorry for his zombie friend – he understood better than anyone that Arnold would never have hurt a hair on Adrienne’s head if he hadn’t been taken over by the werewolf psyche. He knew that Arnold had probably loved Adrienne but he also understood other people’s reactions. If he had been less informed about werewolf lore he would almost certainly have reacted the same way. But he’d watched his father’s tears mingle with his mother’s blood as her life was literally ripped out of her in the most grotesquely horrific way imaginable. His mother couldn’t bear to live with the guilt of what she had done to friends and neighbours and had begged her husband to kill her, much as Arnold had begged Trevor to kill him. The killing of the werewolf would be more an act of mercy than an act of attrition.

Three weeks later, the sun set, the moon rose, and nightfall drifted across the landscape. The only sound was the ticking over of car, pickup, and motorcycle engines as the donor group waited for darkness to set in.

Tracey knew what was going to happen that night but didn’t feel that she could take part in the killing. For her, it would have been an act of retribution, not mercy, and she didn’t know if she had the inner strength to cope with the aftermath. Trevor had enough helpers – twenty or so – and whether she was there or not wouldn’t make any difference to the outcome. She’d spend the evening at a friend’s house, eating popcorn and watching movies on Netflix.

Jared and Trevor were sitting in the lead vehicle when Arnold’s bedroom window slid open. Arnold stood looking out of the window, as if he was trying to absorb the full moon into his body, before disappearing from view again. Something didn’t make sense to Jared.

“This may sound a stupid question, Trev, but why didn’t you just chain him up in his room, let him change, and then kill him when he changes back?”

The vampire looked at the skateboarder.

“Do you know how strong a werewolf is?”

“No.”

“A German Shepherd dog can easily maul a human to death. A regular wolf is about one and a half times the size of a German Shepherd. And a werewolf is about ten times as strong as a regular wolf. Add the killer instinct to that mix and you’ve got a terrifying killing machine.”

Jared glanced towards the cottage.

“But still—”

“Look, the truth is that Tracey wouldn’t let me. She said she’s just got the house how she likes it and she’s not going to risk it getting smashed up.”

Jared pointed at the window where he could see Arnold’s shadow apparently tidying up.

“Dude, what’s he doing?”

Trevor shook his head, knowing that what he was about to say would sound crazy.

“He’s taking off his clothes, folding them neatly, and putting them on the bed. He’s still human – well zombie – at the moment, although the werewolf in him is beginning to take him over. In a couple of minutes, any vestige of what he was will be gone.”

Sure enough, about two minutes later, the group’s communal jaw dropped as a large semi-decomposed wolf leapt out of the bedroom window and onto the neatly trimmed lawn.

Clutches were dropped, and engines roared as the vehicles raced off in pursuit of the fleeing beast, which zigzagged along the road, leaping over hedges and low fences, and cutting through gardens making it difficult for the cars to keep up with him. This is where the motorcycles came to the fore; they were far more agile than the cars and kept the animal in sight, relaying any changes in direction to the rest of the pursuers.

A message came through from one of the motorcyclists, as he drilled through a bed of early flowering daffodils.

“It looks like he’s heading towards The Green.”

Trevor knew who Arnold’s next target was.

“It’s almost as if he has a sliver of human memory that’s guiding him to targets. I don’t know what importance the Great Oak had in his life, but he went to Adrienne’s house and now he’s heading in the direction of The Green.”

Jared couldn’t see the significance.

“What’s at The Green?”

“That’s where he used to live. And that’s where his wife and daughter live.”

Only one word was needed to express the thought that was going through both men’s minds.

“Shit.”

Trevor issued an order.

“Try to head him off before he gets to The Green. He’s going after his wife and daughter.”

One of the motorcycles accelerated away before Trevor had even completed his sentence, edging closer and closer to the wolf. The wolf was fast but even he couldn’t outrun a dirt bike, especially when it was being driven by the county cross-country champion, Tyrone Billings. Weaving in and out of parked cars, changing the direction of the bike effortlessly, he began to gain on the animal.

But the wolf was not to be diverted. It couldn’t see who was chasing it but it knew that it was being pursued by something, so it suddenly veered to the left and sprinted towards a tall chain-link fence, maybe fifteen foot high. Tyrone, fueled by adrenaline and bravado, knew that he had the animal cornered – there was no way that the animal was going to get over that fence.

The wolf stared at the motorcyclist, the stare from its good eye piercing Tyrone’s crash helmet. The rest of the vehicles pulled up behind the motorcycle, and the occupants got out and ducked behind car doors for protection.

Nobody knew what to do. In the USA, the beast would probably have had half a dozen high powered rifles trained on it, but this was rural Britain and the only weapon available was a shotgun belonging to one of the local farmers, Bill Selby. It was loaded with rock salt and might be good for scaring the odd fox, badger, or feral dog away from chicken coops, but would have as much impact on a super-strong wolf as beating the animal with a feather duster.

Common sense suddenly took over Tyrone. The chase had been fun, but he certainly didn’t fancy a standoff with a giant wolf. He let his bike drop to the ground and backed away towards the safety of the cars.

Suddenly the wolf lunged towards him.

All thoughts of a slow and controlled retreat were thrown to the wind as he turned and ran towards the cars as if his life depended upon it.

When it reached the fallen bike, the wolf turned around and ran as fast as it could back to the fence. Not breaking step it threw itself into the air, latching on to the wire mesh at a height of around nine feet, hauling itself up to the top of the fence before allowing itself to drop down on the other side.

Tyrone was bundled inside one of the cars, car doors were slammed shut, and stone chips were thrown into the air as wheels spun on the loose gravel.

The posse arrived at The Green, a normally tranquil cul-de-sac containing twenty-six pleasant modern cottages, in time to see the wolf approaching number eleven. The animal prowled up and down the façade for a few seconds before hurling itself through the glass of the front room window and landing in the middle of the living room he’d shared with his wife for fifteen happy years.

Gillian was upstairs with Keira watching a movie on the girl’s TV. Arnold hadn’t been in favour of his daughter having her own television, believing that it would be too much of a distraction from her school homework, but Gillian had persuaded him to relent. The crash of breaking glass downstairs shocked the two out of their quiet evening’s entertainment and Gilliam leapt to her feet.