yellowhorde (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yellowhorde) wrote2008-02-25 10:40 pm
yellowhorde) wrote2008-02-25 10:40 pm
(fic) The Hunted - chapter 10/? - PSoH
Disclaimer: I don’t own Petshop of Horrors and I make no money from this or any other fanfic I write.
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
The sun had well passed its zenith by the time everyone had gathered, turning the once quite parking lot of the Acton Plaza Liquor & Market in Acton, California into a small circus of activity. Police officers milled about restlessly and the droning buzz of the police radios was almost drowned out by the agitated barking of the three scent dogs in harnesses sitting in the shade of their trailer with their owner. Patrons clustered inside, peering out through the plate glass windows with a small town mixture of suspicion and curiosity. And while many of them might have wanted to come outside and find out just what in hell was going on, the dogs, restless and snappy, kept them at a respectable distance.
“Come on, people!” Leon had to shout to be heard over the god awful din, “Let’s get this show on the road. We’re wasting daylight.”
Jill wandered up, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her red windbreaker. “We’re just waiting on Henderson, Leon. He called and said he’d be here in a few minutes.”
“Christ on a stick! You sent him out there hours ago to get something the dogs could use to track Fletcher,” With barely contained impatience, Leon pushed his hand through his hair. His hands were shaking, but he ignored them. As his irritation grew, so did his desire to light up a cigarette. Nicotine is what he needed, that and something bearing Fletcher’s scent. But he didn’t have either and it was pissing him off. To work off some of the anger and tension, he paced. “What in hell is taking him so long?”
“It seems that the director was being less than cooperative. Acting like a spoiled prince, if you ask me,” she replied. Her voice was as calm, the small frown line forming between her brows the only indication that she was just as frustrated as everyone else with the delay. “He kept insisting that we needed a court order to come barging in there.” She snorted in disgust. “A court order, can you believe it?”
“Well, fuck him!” Leon barked, jerking to a halt and swiveling to glare at his partner. “If he and his staff had done their job right in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be out here.”
“I know, I know.” Jill raised her hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture. And then she produced a brand new package of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter with the flourishing grace of a magician. “Here, I thought you might need these, right about now.” She said in way of explanation. “You’re looking tense.”
“You’re a life saver, you really are,” Leon gratefully accepted the offering and quickly tore off the clear plastic cover. He shook out a cigarette, lit it up and greedily sucked the toxic smoke into his lungs. “Not my usual brand,” he confided happily, as he stuffed the cigarette pack and lighter into his shirt pocket, “But any port in the storm.”
“You and your nicotine,” Jill shook her head in mock-sadness. “It’ll be the death of you, you know.”
“Maybe,” Leon exhaled a stream of smoke, making sure to blow it away from his health-conscious partner, “Unless this job doesn’t do me in first.”
“Tell me about it.” Jill snorted and turned her gaze out to the distant horizon. “Henderson patched me through and I explained the situation to the director in terms he would be sure to understand – that if any harm befell anyone, whether they be policemen or civilians, because one of their werewolves had escaped their facility, then he could be looking at a class action suit that would probably bankrupt the institute and put him out of a rather cushy job.”
“Bet that set a fire under his ass,” Leon grinned savagely.
“Mention lawyers and suing and those guys go running with their tails between their legs every time. It’s pathetic. But he was very cooperative after that, believe me.”
“I bet,” he scanned the parking lot, his blue eyes squinting against the harsh light of the mid-day sun. In the distance he thought he could make out a plume of dust coming their way and raised his hand to block the sun so he could see better. Sure enough, it was one of theirs and, from the look of things Henderson was burning some serious rubber to make up for lost time.
“Hey, Jill,” he mumbled, cutting her a sidelong glance, “How much does that director guy make a year, do you think?”
She offered him a tired, one-shoulder shrug. “More than we do, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and ground it out under his heel.
The patrol car pulled up and the engine was cut off. A tall, black man got out before the dust his tires had kicked up had even had a chance to settle. Athletically built and imposing in his dark uniform and tinted sunglasses, Michael Henderson strode over to Leon carrying a medium sized plastic bag in his large hands. He handed it over to him with a tired smile. “The best they could give us was a pillowcase, Detective.”
Grinning up at his fellow cop, Leon accepted the plastic baggy. “That director must have balls of steel if he wanted to dick around with you, Henderson. Hell, you could probably break his spindly ass in two.”
“I thought about it, but I didn’t want anyone screaming ‘police brutality’.” He shrugged good-naturedly and flashed a very white smile. “The best I could do under the circumstances was stand there and intimidate him with my bad-ass glare.”
Chuckling, Leon strode over to the trailer with Jill at his side. Bobby was sitting on the shaded pavement, surrounded by his three dogs. He wore a short sleeved red tee shirt and a pair of faded coveralls. An odd assortment of dirt bikes had been unloaded from the back of his trailer and they were lined up nearby like dusty sentries. Bobby’s scent dogs could cover a fair bit of distance at a trot, and had been clocked making up to nineteen miles on a full run. If they were going to have a prayer of keeping up with them during the hunt, they’d need the bikes to make it over the rough terrain.
“If I charged you by the hour, boy,” Bobby grinned, “I’d have already made a tidy sum and all I’ve done was sit here in the shade.”
“Hey, I’m really sorry about that, man.” Leon said, handing the baggy and its contents over, “We had some unexpected hang-ups.”
“Not a problem, not a problem, whatever it takes to get this wolf back home.”
Bobby accepted the plastic bag, then hoisted himself to his feet and swatted dust off the seat of his coveralls. He slipped the leads attached to the dogs’ harnesses over his right wrist to free his hands and then Leon watched as he reached into his pocket and removed a pair of latex gloves, which he slipped on over his hands to prevent his scent from contaminating the scent already on the pillowcase. His admiration for the other man went up a notch – he certainly knew what he had to do without being told and it was obvious that he and his dogs had a lot of experience in finding people – and werewolves.
As if sensing that it was show time, the dogs pulled themselves to their feet and began milling around their owner, tails wagging in excitement. They were big dogs, with long legs and powerfully built bodies, but not purebred by any stretch of the imagination. Their coats were a short and glossy with a white base coat with brown and black patches similar to that of a beagle and the droopy face and jowls of bloodhounds. Despite their saggy, soft skin, Leon knew that these dogs were strong and muscular. Their ears, long and floppy, a common trait among many breeds of scent hounds, helped collect scent from the air and keep it near the dog’s face and nose.
Jill eyed the dogs as Bobby opened the plastic bag and removed the pillowcase. She watched carefully as he held the cloth down for the dogs to sniff at. On their drive up to Acton she had admitted to Leon that she had never worked an investigation where scent dogs had been used and she wasn’t sure what exactly to expect.
Leon had tried to explain as best he could, but he wasn’t a dog person and probably only knew a little bit more about the whole tracking process than she did. He had seen dogs in action and knew they had a fantastic success rate, but he hadn’t been able to explain things well enough to answer her questions or to ease her mind as to their chances of successfully tracking down their fugitive before anyone got hurt.
“So, what’s the scoop?” Jill asked Bobby, placing her hands on her hips. “How are these dogs going to help up find Fletcher? I mean, he’s been on the run for almost two days. His scent’s got to be cold by now, right?”
“That won’t make much difference to any scent dog worth its kibble, ma’am.” Bobby replied easily, and then added, “Have you ever seen a TV show where they used search and rescue dogs to find lost children or adults in the wilderness?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few in my time.” She admitted with a smile.
“Well, the principle is the same here as it is on television. What I’m doing here,” he nodded toward the pillowcase in his outstretched hand and the three dogs that were sniffing at it eagerly, “is giving my dogs an uncontaminated scent article that belongs to our boy wolf.”
“To Joshua Fletcher,” Jill corrected.
“Yes, ma’am, the very same,” Bobby agreed amiably. “Now, my dogs, once they get a good whiff of his scent, will follow our boy’s scent and none other. And no amount of field contamination, that is, the scent of other people and animals, will affect their work or ability to find their prey. These three dogs here are young, only a year old, and not as experienced as my other dogs. But they’re from good, brave stock. They won’t have any problems finding this Fletcher kid.”
Smiling down at his dogs with an obvious sense of pride, Bobby returned the pillowcase to the plastic bag, zipped it up and handed it back to Leon. The dogs’ had their noses to the ground and were already trying to cast about for a scent, pulling at the leashes attached to their harnesses and dragging Bobby a few steps with them in their eagerness to be off.
“My boys here can track him wherever he goes,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the excited barking, “No matter what sort of surface he’s traveling over – pavement, streets, grass, water, it won’t make no never mind to them. If he’s out there, they’ll find him. If you got a good scent article and a point where the person was last seen, a trailing dog can be the fastest way to find your guy. We happen to have both, and that will make all the difference because without those two things, no dog could work effectively.”
“You two better tell the others to get geared up and on those dirt bikes now.” He ordered, pulling the dogs in closer and preparing to unfasten their leashes, “Once my dogs are loose, they’ll move like greased lightning. The only way we’re going to be able to keep up is to ride along behind them. You’ll lose them in two shakes of a lamb’s tail if you’re on foot.”
“You heard the man,” Leon called to the small gathering of police officers, “Gear up, guys. We’re ready to do this!”
The actual hunting party would consist of only five people, Leon, Jill, Bobby, and two uniforms by the name of Charlie Matthews and Nick Parkinson. Matthews and Parkinson, young officers with thin, athletic builds and California surfer boy good looks, had extensive experience in riding dirt bikes through the mountainous trails in Southern California and knew their way through the Sierra Pelona Mountains like the back of their hands. Matthews was a gear-head who knew the ins and outs of dirt bike maintenance and would be in charge of taking care of any engine or part troubles. Parkinson had worked as an ambulance assistant before joining the force and would be their first aid man if anyone got hurt.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t need either of their skills, but it was always better to be prepared in this line of business. It was also their job to make sure that the party didn’t get lost. Bobby, of course, controlled the dogs, and Leon and Jill would take care of any and all werewolf aspects of the job.
Henderson, along with a few other uniforms, would be staying behind in the gas station parking lot. If anything unforeseen should happen, an accident or a sudden change of plans, they would contact him via walkie-talkie and he in turn would contact the necessary authorities over his CB radio.
Leon and Jill walked together headed toward her car to pick up the protective gear stowed in Jill’s trunk - helmets, gloves, boots and jackets. There wasn’t any point in going after this werewolf if they weren’t going to take basic safety precautions. And Leon, who had been a dirt bike aficionado in his teen years, knew better than to go out without protection. If he had even thought of it, his dad would have kicked his ass from LA to Taiwan and back again. The number one rule for hunting was the same number one rule that applied to almost every other aspect of his life. No on gets hurt.
Of course, Leon thought with a lopsided grin, recalling all the many times he had been hurt while on duty, it never stopped me from taking my share of hits.
Matthews and Parkinson had already been geared up and ready to go and were now mounting the dirt bikes. The roar of their engines mingled with and then overpowered the barking of the dogs, if only for a few moments.
“Did you bring the stuff I asked for?” Leon asked, as he shrugged into his jacket. The zipper snagged for a second and he cursed under his breath, yanking until it started moving again.
“Yeah,” Jill grunted, stuffing her long legs into a pair of very unflattering biking boots. “I brought your hunting kit – shotgun, silver bullets, you know, the works.”
“Good,” Leon pulled out the battered leather backpack that contained his hunting supplies. “And the ketamine hydrochloride, did you remember to grab that?”
“Sure did. And the tranquilizer gun, too.” Jill straightened up and grabbed both of the helmets from the trunk before slamming the lid. She glanced over at her partner. “Look, Leon, thanks for coming out here with me. I know you hate werewolves-“
“I don’t hate them, Jill,” Leon began, suddenly defensive, “I just-“
But Jill overrode him. “Yeah, okay. You have your own reasons for not liking werewolves, Leon, I get that. Most hunters do.” She meet his blue eyes firmly, her expression calm. “I’m just grateful that you aren’t going after this boy intent to kill just because he is a werewolf.”
Sighing heavily, Leon shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders. “Believe me, Jill,” he said, keeping his voice soft and calm, “If it were the full moon instead of three days before, that’s exactly what I’d be doing - going after him with every intention of killing him. And it wouldn’t be just because he was a werewolf, but because as a werewolf during the full moon, he is a danger to everyone around him. And I will not sit by and allow one of those creatures to destroy another innocent person’s life just because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jill’s expression hardened at his words, but he bulled onward, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “However, it isn’t the full moon and we still have time. If I can get close enough to shoot him with a dart, the ketamine will take him down fast and then we can transport him back to the Institute. That way, no one will get hurt. And rule number one in the hunting business,” Leon finished, holding up one finger, “No one gets hurt.”
“Then let’s do this,” Jill said. She pushed the other helmet into Leon’s hands, then turned abruptly on her heels and made her way toward the last two remaining dirt bikes.
“Now we’re talking,” Grinning, Leon followed. He threw a leg over the leather seat of his bike and turned the ignition key. The engine rumbled to life causing the entire bike to vibrate with barely restrained power. Experimentally, he revved the engine, it responded with mechanical eagerness. “Oh, yeah, now, that’s what I’m talking about!”
“I’m going to have helmet hair,” Jill sighed, securing the chin strap and leaning over slightly to grab the handlebars.
“You’ll still be one of the prettiest detectives in LA,” Matthews said, pulling his bike up along hers and offering her what he no doubt thought was his most winning smile.
“Why thank you, Charlie,” Jill replied, then to Leon, “See? Some men still know how to treat a woman.”
This earned her an eye-roll of epic proportions.
“You guys ready to ride?” Bobby yelled back from where he still held his dogs, though they strained mightily against their leashes in a vain effort to get things started.
The officers called back their readiness, their spirits high now that the wait was finally over.
With quick, efficient movements, Bobby released his scent hounds, one after the other. They leapt forward, noses low to the ground. In no time at all they had a scent and then they were off and running.
“Then let the hunt begin!”
*****
Joshua’s dark eyes snapped open in alarm when he caught the sound of dogs barking. He bolted upright, leaves and bits of grass clinging to his hair. The sun was slanting its way toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow upon the world. The tree limbs above stretched out blue, claw-like shadows toward the east and he guessed that he had maybe an hours worth of sunlight, perhaps two at the very most.
Taking several deep breaths in an effort to calm his racing heart, he cocked his head to one side and listened. There it was again. It was still far off, but the sound was unmistakable for all that. He was hearing dogs barking, no, baying… and the wasp-like droning of some sort of dirt bike engines. And they were coming closer.
While the human part of him normally wouldn’t react in such an unfavorable to such a familiar sound, his wolf instincts knew better. He was a fugitive, after all and worse, a werewolf. The sounds of dogs baying in the unknown distance could only mean one thing: he was being hunted.
“They’re coming to take me back,” Josh whispered fiercely. They’re coming to take me back! I won’t let them. I won’t let them take me back to that hellhole!”
He peered off into the direction he heard the dogs coming from and, sure enough, far in the distance he saw three dogs following the path he had taken early that morning. Trailing slightly behind was a group of five dirt bikers in what appeared to be full protective gear.
Sweat began to bead down Josh’s forehead despite the cool air and he began to tremble. “What am I supposed to do now?”
No human being could outrun a dog, it just wasn’t possible. He’d have to be an Olympic runner, and even then he wouldn’t stand a chance. And even if he could outrun these dogs, it wouldn’t do him any good. As far as he could tell from this distance, they were hunting dogs. Hunting dogs didn’t need to see him to hunt him down. All they had to do was to follow his scent trail and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do about his natural scent… it was simply there, trailing behind him like an invisible shadow – a shadow that would lead these dogs, these hunters, right to him. And they’d be upon him soon enough if he didn’t do something quickly.
Uncertain of what to do, Josh paced back and forth furiously, chewing on the ball of his thumb and trying to wrack his brain for some way to get out of this mess. He couldn’t see a way. If he couldn’t run and he couldn’t hide, then there was only one option left – he had to fight.
But how am I supposed to fight off three dogs? He fretted, his fingers tangling themselves in his dark, wavy hair. One would be bad enough, but three? Impossible! They’ll tear me to ribbons, rip my throat out! Unless…
He pushed the idea away almost as soon as it formed in his mind. No, he thought, no, I can’t do that. It’s too early…days too early.
Surely it would work, and why not? He was a naturally born werewolf, not one born of infection. It might work… it might work. He’d read a lot about werewolves during his three years of confinement, studied every document and piece of folklore they had at the Institute’s library. He had never seen it done before, hell, he’d never done it himself, but that didn’t mean the some of the legends weren’t true. Behind every legend, every fair tale was a grain of truth. Perhaps it would be this truth that would save his life.
Figuring that it was worth a shot, and that it would be better to try an fail than to stand there wringing his hands until the dogs caught up with him and tore him limb to limb, Josh fell to his hands and knees in the grass.
His heart hammered in his ears and the baying drew nearer, taking on a more urgent note, as if the dogs knew they were closing in on their prey. Panic nibbled at his mind, a vicious animal gnawing at a fraying tether. Any minute now and it would be free to consume him.
Bowing his head, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He dug his fingers into the soil, feeling the cool, dry earth, its grainy texture. Eyes closed, he inhaled its primitive aroma, rolling it over his tongue, so rich he could almost taste it. Focusing every sense on the natural world, he blocked out the frightening baying of the hounds, the buzz of the motors. He felt himself becoming one with the soil, the wind, the sky… and then…he felt it. A twinge of tingling pain that radiated from his chest, along his spine, racing to his extremities. His fingers dug into the earth as the first convulsion struck and his fingernails began to elongate forming sharp claws.
Writhing with the familiar pain, welcoming it, embracing it for the first time, Joshua let out a cry of triumph that became a howling roar.
And then, he began the Change.
*****
Leon pulled his bike up short, his eyes scanning the rocky horizon with a look of puzzlement on his face. Jill must have seen him first reduce his speed, then stop, because she pulled up beside him and cut her engine as well.
“What’s up, Leon?” The sun lit up her visor, obscuring her worried expression, but having no effect on her voice.
“Did you hear that?” He asked, pulling his helmet off and cocking his head as if listening.
“Hear what?” She asked, following her partner’s example and removing her helmet as well. Her hair, having come free of the hair tie she had used to pull it back, tumbled around her shoulder. With an impatient gesture, she pushed it off her shoulders. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the distant baying of the hounds and the buzzing roar of the other’s dirt bikes as they pulled ahead.
Leon motioned her to silence then listened once more as the wind brushed invisible fingers through his sweaty hair. In the distance, he could see the three dogs making their way up the steep mountainside, frantically sounding the alert. A short way ahead of them was a level patch screened from his view by some yucca and a few stunted oak and maple trees, their colorful autumn leaves the only vibrant color in this dun-and-brown landscape. But no matter how hard he strained to hear, the strange sound was not repeated.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I thought I heard some sort of animal.”
“Well, we are out here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you heard a coyote or a mountain lion?”
This was greeted by a shake of the head. “I don’t think so. Mountain lions are afraid of people and are seldom, if ever, seen in this part of the mountains. Too many people use the trails for recreation. And coyotes don’t really come out until nightfall.”
“Well, hell, I don’t know,” Jill muttered, “I’m a city girl born and raised. I wouldn’t know a beaver from a raccoon if it came out and took a bite out of my ass.”
“That’s because you’re just that pathetic,” Leon teased.
“Hey!”
The wind gusted strongly, throwing grains of sand and grit up into their faces. Both raised their arms to protect their faces from the stinging assault. Leon’s nostrils flared as he unconsciously scented the air. He gasped harshly and the color drained from his face.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “No, that can’t be. It’s impossible!”
He dropped his helmet to the ground and, gripping the handlebars as if for dear life, gunned the engine and tore off ahead of his partner.
“Leon! What on earth is the matter with you?”
But Leon wasn’t listening. Recklessly he tore over the uneven ground until he overtook the others, who were riding in close formation. He pulled along side them and waved one arm frantically to get their attention.
“You need to call off your dogs, Bobby!” Leon shouted, trying to be heard over the combined roar of three engines.
“What?” Bobby glanced his way, and frowned.
“Call off your dogs!” Leon shouted again, “There’s a werewolf up ahead.”
“Well, of course there is,” Bobby yelled back impatiently, “We’ve been hunting him for the last couple of hours.”
“Goddamn it! You don’t understand!”
With a burst of speed, Leon pulled up ahead of the others and then suddenly darted directly in front of them, slamming on his brakes. Cursing, Bobby, Matthews and Parkinson twisted their bikes to a stop, sending up large billows of dust into the air.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Matthews roared, jumping off his bike and stalking up to Leon. “You could have killed someone pulling a stupid stunt like that!”
“There’s a werewolf up ahead.” Leon repeated, trying to keep control of his temper, his impatience, his fear. “Now, I want the three of you to just stay put, you hear me? And that’s a fucking order!”
Without waiting for an answer, he gunned the engine of his bike and roared away, gaining ground on the baying hounds. The wind whipped the hair out of his eyes, carrying that scent on its back. It couldn’t be what he thought - knew – it was, it simply couldn’t be. And yet, there was no mistaking that particular, hateful scent - that impossible scent of full blown out-for-blood-under-the-full-moon werewolf.
His heart beat a frantic tattoo in his heart and adrenaline whipped uncomfortably through his body. Up ahead, the dogs disappeared into a small grove of trees with colorful leaves that temporarily screened them from his sight.
A werewolf! A goddamned werewolf and it wasn’t the full moon, not yet. So how could this happen? He’d read everything he could on werewolves growing up and had listened to his dad and his fellow hunters telling stories around the campfire on cool autumn nights. He’d never heard of a werewolf being able to transform without the help of the moon. At least not a normal one…
Leon’s mind flashed back to the day before when he and Jill had gone to D’s pet shop to ask him a few questions about this particular werewolf. D had admitted that he knew a great deal about lycanthropes and had even had some questions of his own, more specifically if the boy’s family still lived in California or if he had been born with Lycanthrope Disorder or had been infected by an attacking werewolf…
I must warn you both, Detectives, it will not be as easy to apprehend this young man as you seem to think, even if you do find him before the full moon.
“Goddamn you, D!” Leon snarled, “You fucking knew that something like this might happen, didn’t you?”
Fierce snarling and barking broke out in the trees up ahead and Leon knew that Bobby’s dogs had found Fletcher. The sounds of battle rent the cool mountain air for several minutes. There was a loud yelp of pain, followed shortly by another one, but he couldn’t determine if the pained sound had come from dog or wolf, partly because of the approaching whine of another engine. Praying that the dogs were coming out ahead in their encounter, he tried to push the taxed engine even faster, hoping to get the drop on the werewolf while he was preoccupied with the dogs.
Finally, he reached the grove of trees, and came suddenly upon one of Bobby’s dogs, lying limp in the middle of the trail, its throat torn open. Blood seeped from the gaping wounds to form a spreading pool of blood.
“Fuck!” Shocked at the sight, he tried to swerve the bike to avoid hitting the animal, but as he did, the tires skid along some gravel, throwing the bike out of into a wobbly slide.
Desperately, Leon tried to hold on, to regain some control, but the front tire smashed into a rotting tree stump partially hidden by dry grasses. The jolt of the impact threw him over the handle bars and he crashed heavily into a young sapling oak. A blinding pain ripped through his head and left shoulder and for several moments he lay there on the uneven ground, writhing, too dazed and disoriented to move or even remember that his life was in peril.
A low, guttural growl and the hot stench of blood brought him to his senses almost as effectively as a slap to the face. When he opened his eyes, everything was blurry, but he didn’t need twenty-twenty vision to tell him that Fletcher, in impossible werewolf form, was towering over him and angry as hell. A dozen vicious gashes covered his arms and torso. Blood, probably his but it was possible some of it belonged to the dogs, splattered the remnants of his sweatshirt and blue jeans.
Leon tried to sit up, to reach for his rifle, to do something, but pain exploded in his head with even the smallest movement and his vision faded in and out alarmingly. The monster reached down and, taking hold of his shoulder with one clawed hand, he hoisted him to his feet. Leon screamed as the claws buried themselves into his flesh and unreality washed over him. For a moment he thought he was seven years old, facing the biggest terror of his life. Only that monster had been destroyed, only to come after him eighteen years later. And this time there was no John Orcot, father figure, to save him.
Fletcher’s snarling teeth dipped forward to crush and tear the life out of his victim, but the teeth came to a halt, mere millimeters from Leon’s throat. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, scenting, tasting the air. The golden wolf eyes blinked first in surprise then narrowed, a look of almost human understanding on his distorted face.
With a warning growl, he abruptly released Leon, allowing him to fall back to the leaf-strewn ground. The impact knocked the air out of the wounded man so that he could not even give voice to the pain that tore through him.
The werewolf knelt over him, his snout working to form coherent sounds. In a thick, growling voice, it forced two words out with great difficulty.
“Not. Human.”
“Fletcher!” Jill’s voice rang out through the small clearing, but it was dull, muted to Leon’s ears.
Responding to his human name, Joshua whirled around, taken unaware by this new danger. He glared at the woman who stood a few yards away, her service pistol out and fixed on her target. He growled at her, a clear warning for her to back away from him.
With a look of grim determination, Jill squeezed the trigger, the burning stink of gunpowder filling the clearing. Fletcher jerked back as a bullet ripped through his shoulder, his howl of rage and pain ringing through the trees and bouncing off the rocks. And then, in a blur of movement, he was gone, leaving only a trail of blood behind him.
Jill rushed over to her fallen partner and knelt by his side, her hands moving to cover the bleeding wounds, to apply direct pressure to staunch the heavy flow.
“Hold on, Leon, just hold on!” She begged him in a voice that shook and eventually broke. “The others will be here in just a minute with the first aid kit. So just hold on.”
Leon stared up at her with his blurry vision and wanted to tell her that he had no intentions of going anywhere, but he couldn’t find the strength of mind or body to form the words. His consciousness faded in and out making thought difficult and moving damn near impossible.
Two words, however, kept repeating over and over in his mind though, trailing him down into unconsciousness. Were they a threat or promise? Or were they perhaps a glimpse into the murky future? He didn’t know but he wanted them to disappear, to leave him alone. He didn’t believe them, didn’t want to even begin to comprehend the terrible significance of those two little words.
Not. Human.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 11
Pairing: Leon x D
Category: Supernatural/Alternate Universe
Rating: R
Warning: Violence, Language, Sexual Situations and Hermaphrodite!D
Title: The Hunted
Author: yellowhorde
Notes: This was written for NaNoWriMo 2007
The sun had well passed its zenith by the time everyone had gathered, turning the once quite parking lot of the Acton Plaza Liquor & Market in Acton, California into a small circus of activity. Police officers milled about restlessly and the droning buzz of the police radios was almost drowned out by the agitated barking of the three scent dogs in harnesses sitting in the shade of their trailer with their owner. Patrons clustered inside, peering out through the plate glass windows with a small town mixture of suspicion and curiosity. And while many of them might have wanted to come outside and find out just what in hell was going on, the dogs, restless and snappy, kept them at a respectable distance.
“Come on, people!” Leon had to shout to be heard over the god awful din, “Let’s get this show on the road. We’re wasting daylight.”
Jill wandered up, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her red windbreaker. “We’re just waiting on Henderson, Leon. He called and said he’d be here in a few minutes.”
“Christ on a stick! You sent him out there hours ago to get something the dogs could use to track Fletcher,” With barely contained impatience, Leon pushed his hand through his hair. His hands were shaking, but he ignored them. As his irritation grew, so did his desire to light up a cigarette. Nicotine is what he needed, that and something bearing Fletcher’s scent. But he didn’t have either and it was pissing him off. To work off some of the anger and tension, he paced. “What in hell is taking him so long?”
“It seems that the director was being less than cooperative. Acting like a spoiled prince, if you ask me,” she replied. Her voice was as calm, the small frown line forming between her brows the only indication that she was just as frustrated as everyone else with the delay. “He kept insisting that we needed a court order to come barging in there.” She snorted in disgust. “A court order, can you believe it?”
“Well, fuck him!” Leon barked, jerking to a halt and swiveling to glare at his partner. “If he and his staff had done their job right in the first place, we wouldn’t have to be out here.”
“I know, I know.” Jill raised her hands in a ‘calm down’ gesture. And then she produced a brand new package of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter with the flourishing grace of a magician. “Here, I thought you might need these, right about now.” She said in way of explanation. “You’re looking tense.”
“You’re a life saver, you really are,” Leon gratefully accepted the offering and quickly tore off the clear plastic cover. He shook out a cigarette, lit it up and greedily sucked the toxic smoke into his lungs. “Not my usual brand,” he confided happily, as he stuffed the cigarette pack and lighter into his shirt pocket, “But any port in the storm.”
“You and your nicotine,” Jill shook her head in mock-sadness. “It’ll be the death of you, you know.”
“Maybe,” Leon exhaled a stream of smoke, making sure to blow it away from his health-conscious partner, “Unless this job doesn’t do me in first.”
“Tell me about it.” Jill snorted and turned her gaze out to the distant horizon. “Henderson patched me through and I explained the situation to the director in terms he would be sure to understand – that if any harm befell anyone, whether they be policemen or civilians, because one of their werewolves had escaped their facility, then he could be looking at a class action suit that would probably bankrupt the institute and put him out of a rather cushy job.”
“Bet that set a fire under his ass,” Leon grinned savagely.
“Mention lawyers and suing and those guys go running with their tails between their legs every time. It’s pathetic. But he was very cooperative after that, believe me.”
“I bet,” he scanned the parking lot, his blue eyes squinting against the harsh light of the mid-day sun. In the distance he thought he could make out a plume of dust coming their way and raised his hand to block the sun so he could see better. Sure enough, it was one of theirs and, from the look of things Henderson was burning some serious rubber to make up for lost time.
“Hey, Jill,” he mumbled, cutting her a sidelong glance, “How much does that director guy make a year, do you think?”
She offered him a tired, one-shoulder shrug. “More than we do, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He dropped the cigarette butt to the ground and ground it out under his heel.
The patrol car pulled up and the engine was cut off. A tall, black man got out before the dust his tires had kicked up had even had a chance to settle. Athletically built and imposing in his dark uniform and tinted sunglasses, Michael Henderson strode over to Leon carrying a medium sized plastic bag in his large hands. He handed it over to him with a tired smile. “The best they could give us was a pillowcase, Detective.”
Grinning up at his fellow cop, Leon accepted the plastic baggy. “That director must have balls of steel if he wanted to dick around with you, Henderson. Hell, you could probably break his spindly ass in two.”
“I thought about it, but I didn’t want anyone screaming ‘police brutality’.” He shrugged good-naturedly and flashed a very white smile. “The best I could do under the circumstances was stand there and intimidate him with my bad-ass glare.”
Chuckling, Leon strode over to the trailer with Jill at his side. Bobby was sitting on the shaded pavement, surrounded by his three dogs. He wore a short sleeved red tee shirt and a pair of faded coveralls. An odd assortment of dirt bikes had been unloaded from the back of his trailer and they were lined up nearby like dusty sentries. Bobby’s scent dogs could cover a fair bit of distance at a trot, and had been clocked making up to nineteen miles on a full run. If they were going to have a prayer of keeping up with them during the hunt, they’d need the bikes to make it over the rough terrain.
“If I charged you by the hour, boy,” Bobby grinned, “I’d have already made a tidy sum and all I’ve done was sit here in the shade.”
“Hey, I’m really sorry about that, man.” Leon said, handing the baggy and its contents over, “We had some unexpected hang-ups.”
“Not a problem, not a problem, whatever it takes to get this wolf back home.”
Bobby accepted the plastic bag, then hoisted himself to his feet and swatted dust off the seat of his coveralls. He slipped the leads attached to the dogs’ harnesses over his right wrist to free his hands and then Leon watched as he reached into his pocket and removed a pair of latex gloves, which he slipped on over his hands to prevent his scent from contaminating the scent already on the pillowcase. His admiration for the other man went up a notch – he certainly knew what he had to do without being told and it was obvious that he and his dogs had a lot of experience in finding people – and werewolves.
As if sensing that it was show time, the dogs pulled themselves to their feet and began milling around their owner, tails wagging in excitement. They were big dogs, with long legs and powerfully built bodies, but not purebred by any stretch of the imagination. Their coats were a short and glossy with a white base coat with brown and black patches similar to that of a beagle and the droopy face and jowls of bloodhounds. Despite their saggy, soft skin, Leon knew that these dogs were strong and muscular. Their ears, long and floppy, a common trait among many breeds of scent hounds, helped collect scent from the air and keep it near the dog’s face and nose.
Jill eyed the dogs as Bobby opened the plastic bag and removed the pillowcase. She watched carefully as he held the cloth down for the dogs to sniff at. On their drive up to Acton she had admitted to Leon that she had never worked an investigation where scent dogs had been used and she wasn’t sure what exactly to expect.
Leon had tried to explain as best he could, but he wasn’t a dog person and probably only knew a little bit more about the whole tracking process than she did. He had seen dogs in action and knew they had a fantastic success rate, but he hadn’t been able to explain things well enough to answer her questions or to ease her mind as to their chances of successfully tracking down their fugitive before anyone got hurt.
“So, what’s the scoop?” Jill asked Bobby, placing her hands on her hips. “How are these dogs going to help up find Fletcher? I mean, he’s been on the run for almost two days. His scent’s got to be cold by now, right?”
“That won’t make much difference to any scent dog worth its kibble, ma’am.” Bobby replied easily, and then added, “Have you ever seen a TV show where they used search and rescue dogs to find lost children or adults in the wilderness?”
“Yeah, I’ve seen a few in my time.” She admitted with a smile.
“Well, the principle is the same here as it is on television. What I’m doing here,” he nodded toward the pillowcase in his outstretched hand and the three dogs that were sniffing at it eagerly, “is giving my dogs an uncontaminated scent article that belongs to our boy wolf.”
“To Joshua Fletcher,” Jill corrected.
“Yes, ma’am, the very same,” Bobby agreed amiably. “Now, my dogs, once they get a good whiff of his scent, will follow our boy’s scent and none other. And no amount of field contamination, that is, the scent of other people and animals, will affect their work or ability to find their prey. These three dogs here are young, only a year old, and not as experienced as my other dogs. But they’re from good, brave stock. They won’t have any problems finding this Fletcher kid.”
Smiling down at his dogs with an obvious sense of pride, Bobby returned the pillowcase to the plastic bag, zipped it up and handed it back to Leon. The dogs’ had their noses to the ground and were already trying to cast about for a scent, pulling at the leashes attached to their harnesses and dragging Bobby a few steps with them in their eagerness to be off.
“My boys here can track him wherever he goes,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the excited barking, “No matter what sort of surface he’s traveling over – pavement, streets, grass, water, it won’t make no never mind to them. If he’s out there, they’ll find him. If you got a good scent article and a point where the person was last seen, a trailing dog can be the fastest way to find your guy. We happen to have both, and that will make all the difference because without those two things, no dog could work effectively.”
“You two better tell the others to get geared up and on those dirt bikes now.” He ordered, pulling the dogs in closer and preparing to unfasten their leashes, “Once my dogs are loose, they’ll move like greased lightning. The only way we’re going to be able to keep up is to ride along behind them. You’ll lose them in two shakes of a lamb’s tail if you’re on foot.”
“You heard the man,” Leon called to the small gathering of police officers, “Gear up, guys. We’re ready to do this!”
The actual hunting party would consist of only five people, Leon, Jill, Bobby, and two uniforms by the name of Charlie Matthews and Nick Parkinson. Matthews and Parkinson, young officers with thin, athletic builds and California surfer boy good looks, had extensive experience in riding dirt bikes through the mountainous trails in Southern California and knew their way through the Sierra Pelona Mountains like the back of their hands. Matthews was a gear-head who knew the ins and outs of dirt bike maintenance and would be in charge of taking care of any engine or part troubles. Parkinson had worked as an ambulance assistant before joining the force and would be their first aid man if anyone got hurt.
Hopefully, they wouldn’t need either of their skills, but it was always better to be prepared in this line of business. It was also their job to make sure that the party didn’t get lost. Bobby, of course, controlled the dogs, and Leon and Jill would take care of any and all werewolf aspects of the job.
Henderson, along with a few other uniforms, would be staying behind in the gas station parking lot. If anything unforeseen should happen, an accident or a sudden change of plans, they would contact him via walkie-talkie and he in turn would contact the necessary authorities over his CB radio.
Leon and Jill walked together headed toward her car to pick up the protective gear stowed in Jill’s trunk - helmets, gloves, boots and jackets. There wasn’t any point in going after this werewolf if they weren’t going to take basic safety precautions. And Leon, who had been a dirt bike aficionado in his teen years, knew better than to go out without protection. If he had even thought of it, his dad would have kicked his ass from LA to Taiwan and back again. The number one rule for hunting was the same number one rule that applied to almost every other aspect of his life. No on gets hurt.
Of course, Leon thought with a lopsided grin, recalling all the many times he had been hurt while on duty, it never stopped me from taking my share of hits.
Matthews and Parkinson had already been geared up and ready to go and were now mounting the dirt bikes. The roar of their engines mingled with and then overpowered the barking of the dogs, if only for a few moments.
“Did you bring the stuff I asked for?” Leon asked, as he shrugged into his jacket. The zipper snagged for a second and he cursed under his breath, yanking until it started moving again.
“Yeah,” Jill grunted, stuffing her long legs into a pair of very unflattering biking boots. “I brought your hunting kit – shotgun, silver bullets, you know, the works.”
“Good,” Leon pulled out the battered leather backpack that contained his hunting supplies. “And the ketamine hydrochloride, did you remember to grab that?”
“Sure did. And the tranquilizer gun, too.” Jill straightened up and grabbed both of the helmets from the trunk before slamming the lid. She glanced over at her partner. “Look, Leon, thanks for coming out here with me. I know you hate werewolves-“
“I don’t hate them, Jill,” Leon began, suddenly defensive, “I just-“
But Jill overrode him. “Yeah, okay. You have your own reasons for not liking werewolves, Leon, I get that. Most hunters do.” She meet his blue eyes firmly, her expression calm. “I’m just grateful that you aren’t going after this boy intent to kill just because he is a werewolf.”
Sighing heavily, Leon shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders. “Believe me, Jill,” he said, keeping his voice soft and calm, “If it were the full moon instead of three days before, that’s exactly what I’d be doing - going after him with every intention of killing him. And it wouldn’t be just because he was a werewolf, but because as a werewolf during the full moon, he is a danger to everyone around him. And I will not sit by and allow one of those creatures to destroy another innocent person’s life just because they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Jill’s expression hardened at his words, but he bulled onward, not wanting her to get the wrong idea. “However, it isn’t the full moon and we still have time. If I can get close enough to shoot him with a dart, the ketamine will take him down fast and then we can transport him back to the Institute. That way, no one will get hurt. And rule number one in the hunting business,” Leon finished, holding up one finger, “No one gets hurt.”
“Then let’s do this,” Jill said. She pushed the other helmet into Leon’s hands, then turned abruptly on her heels and made her way toward the last two remaining dirt bikes.
“Now we’re talking,” Grinning, Leon followed. He threw a leg over the leather seat of his bike and turned the ignition key. The engine rumbled to life causing the entire bike to vibrate with barely restrained power. Experimentally, he revved the engine, it responded with mechanical eagerness. “Oh, yeah, now, that’s what I’m talking about!”
“I’m going to have helmet hair,” Jill sighed, securing the chin strap and leaning over slightly to grab the handlebars.
“You’ll still be one of the prettiest detectives in LA,” Matthews said, pulling his bike up along hers and offering her what he no doubt thought was his most winning smile.
“Why thank you, Charlie,” Jill replied, then to Leon, “See? Some men still know how to treat a woman.”
This earned her an eye-roll of epic proportions.
“You guys ready to ride?” Bobby yelled back from where he still held his dogs, though they strained mightily against their leashes in a vain effort to get things started.
The officers called back their readiness, their spirits high now that the wait was finally over.
With quick, efficient movements, Bobby released his scent hounds, one after the other. They leapt forward, noses low to the ground. In no time at all they had a scent and then they were off and running.
“Then let the hunt begin!”
*****
Joshua’s dark eyes snapped open in alarm when he caught the sound of dogs barking. He bolted upright, leaves and bits of grass clinging to his hair. The sun was slanting its way toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow upon the world. The tree limbs above stretched out blue, claw-like shadows toward the east and he guessed that he had maybe an hours worth of sunlight, perhaps two at the very most.
Taking several deep breaths in an effort to calm his racing heart, he cocked his head to one side and listened. There it was again. It was still far off, but the sound was unmistakable for all that. He was hearing dogs barking, no, baying… and the wasp-like droning of some sort of dirt bike engines. And they were coming closer.
While the human part of him normally wouldn’t react in such an unfavorable to such a familiar sound, his wolf instincts knew better. He was a fugitive, after all and worse, a werewolf. The sounds of dogs baying in the unknown distance could only mean one thing: he was being hunted.
“They’re coming to take me back,” Josh whispered fiercely. They’re coming to take me back! I won’t let them. I won’t let them take me back to that hellhole!”
He peered off into the direction he heard the dogs coming from and, sure enough, far in the distance he saw three dogs following the path he had taken early that morning. Trailing slightly behind was a group of five dirt bikers in what appeared to be full protective gear.
Sweat began to bead down Josh’s forehead despite the cool air and he began to tremble. “What am I supposed to do now?”
No human being could outrun a dog, it just wasn’t possible. He’d have to be an Olympic runner, and even then he wouldn’t stand a chance. And even if he could outrun these dogs, it wouldn’t do him any good. As far as he could tell from this distance, they were hunting dogs. Hunting dogs didn’t need to see him to hunt him down. All they had to do was to follow his scent trail and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do about his natural scent… it was simply there, trailing behind him like an invisible shadow – a shadow that would lead these dogs, these hunters, right to him. And they’d be upon him soon enough if he didn’t do something quickly.
Uncertain of what to do, Josh paced back and forth furiously, chewing on the ball of his thumb and trying to wrack his brain for some way to get out of this mess. He couldn’t see a way. If he couldn’t run and he couldn’t hide, then there was only one option left – he had to fight.
But how am I supposed to fight off three dogs? He fretted, his fingers tangling themselves in his dark, wavy hair. One would be bad enough, but three? Impossible! They’ll tear me to ribbons, rip my throat out! Unless…
He pushed the idea away almost as soon as it formed in his mind. No, he thought, no, I can’t do that. It’s too early…days too early.
Surely it would work, and why not? He was a naturally born werewolf, not one born of infection. It might work… it might work. He’d read a lot about werewolves during his three years of confinement, studied every document and piece of folklore they had at the Institute’s library. He had never seen it done before, hell, he’d never done it himself, but that didn’t mean the some of the legends weren’t true. Behind every legend, every fair tale was a grain of truth. Perhaps it would be this truth that would save his life.
Figuring that it was worth a shot, and that it would be better to try an fail than to stand there wringing his hands until the dogs caught up with him and tore him limb to limb, Josh fell to his hands and knees in the grass.
His heart hammered in his ears and the baying drew nearer, taking on a more urgent note, as if the dogs knew they were closing in on their prey. Panic nibbled at his mind, a vicious animal gnawing at a fraying tether. Any minute now and it would be free to consume him.
Bowing his head, he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He dug his fingers into the soil, feeling the cool, dry earth, its grainy texture. Eyes closed, he inhaled its primitive aroma, rolling it over his tongue, so rich he could almost taste it. Focusing every sense on the natural world, he blocked out the frightening baying of the hounds, the buzz of the motors. He felt himself becoming one with the soil, the wind, the sky… and then…he felt it. A twinge of tingling pain that radiated from his chest, along his spine, racing to his extremities. His fingers dug into the earth as the first convulsion struck and his fingernails began to elongate forming sharp claws.
Writhing with the familiar pain, welcoming it, embracing it for the first time, Joshua let out a cry of triumph that became a howling roar.
And then, he began the Change.
*****
Leon pulled his bike up short, his eyes scanning the rocky horizon with a look of puzzlement on his face. Jill must have seen him first reduce his speed, then stop, because she pulled up beside him and cut her engine as well.
“What’s up, Leon?” The sun lit up her visor, obscuring her worried expression, but having no effect on her voice.
“Did you hear that?” He asked, pulling his helmet off and cocking his head as if listening.
“Hear what?” She asked, following her partner’s example and removing her helmet as well. Her hair, having come free of the hair tie she had used to pull it back, tumbled around her shoulder. With an impatient gesture, she pushed it off her shoulders. She strained her ears, but all she could hear was the distant baying of the hounds and the buzzing roar of the other’s dirt bikes as they pulled ahead.
Leon motioned her to silence then listened once more as the wind brushed invisible fingers through his sweaty hair. In the distance, he could see the three dogs making their way up the steep mountainside, frantically sounding the alert. A short way ahead of them was a level patch screened from his view by some yucca and a few stunted oak and maple trees, their colorful autumn leaves the only vibrant color in this dun-and-brown landscape. But no matter how hard he strained to hear, the strange sound was not repeated.
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “I thought I heard some sort of animal.”
“Well, we are out here in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you heard a coyote or a mountain lion?”
This was greeted by a shake of the head. “I don’t think so. Mountain lions are afraid of people and are seldom, if ever, seen in this part of the mountains. Too many people use the trails for recreation. And coyotes don’t really come out until nightfall.”
“Well, hell, I don’t know,” Jill muttered, “I’m a city girl born and raised. I wouldn’t know a beaver from a raccoon if it came out and took a bite out of my ass.”
“That’s because you’re just that pathetic,” Leon teased.
“Hey!”
The wind gusted strongly, throwing grains of sand and grit up into their faces. Both raised their arms to protect their faces from the stinging assault. Leon’s nostrils flared as he unconsciously scented the air. He gasped harshly and the color drained from his face.
“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “No, that can’t be. It’s impossible!”
He dropped his helmet to the ground and, gripping the handlebars as if for dear life, gunned the engine and tore off ahead of his partner.
“Leon! What on earth is the matter with you?”
But Leon wasn’t listening. Recklessly he tore over the uneven ground until he overtook the others, who were riding in close formation. He pulled along side them and waved one arm frantically to get their attention.
“You need to call off your dogs, Bobby!” Leon shouted, trying to be heard over the combined roar of three engines.
“What?” Bobby glanced his way, and frowned.
“Call off your dogs!” Leon shouted again, “There’s a werewolf up ahead.”
“Well, of course there is,” Bobby yelled back impatiently, “We’ve been hunting him for the last couple of hours.”
“Goddamn it! You don’t understand!”
With a burst of speed, Leon pulled up ahead of the others and then suddenly darted directly in front of them, slamming on his brakes. Cursing, Bobby, Matthews and Parkinson twisted their bikes to a stop, sending up large billows of dust into the air.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Matthews roared, jumping off his bike and stalking up to Leon. “You could have killed someone pulling a stupid stunt like that!”
“There’s a werewolf up ahead.” Leon repeated, trying to keep control of his temper, his impatience, his fear. “Now, I want the three of you to just stay put, you hear me? And that’s a fucking order!”
Without waiting for an answer, he gunned the engine of his bike and roared away, gaining ground on the baying hounds. The wind whipped the hair out of his eyes, carrying that scent on its back. It couldn’t be what he thought - knew – it was, it simply couldn’t be. And yet, there was no mistaking that particular, hateful scent - that impossible scent of full blown out-for-blood-under-the-full-moon werewolf.
His heart beat a frantic tattoo in his heart and adrenaline whipped uncomfortably through his body. Up ahead, the dogs disappeared into a small grove of trees with colorful leaves that temporarily screened them from his sight.
A werewolf! A goddamned werewolf and it wasn’t the full moon, not yet. So how could this happen? He’d read everything he could on werewolves growing up and had listened to his dad and his fellow hunters telling stories around the campfire on cool autumn nights. He’d never heard of a werewolf being able to transform without the help of the moon. At least not a normal one…
Leon’s mind flashed back to the day before when he and Jill had gone to D’s pet shop to ask him a few questions about this particular werewolf. D had admitted that he knew a great deal about lycanthropes and had even had some questions of his own, more specifically if the boy’s family still lived in California or if he had been born with Lycanthrope Disorder or had been infected by an attacking werewolf…
I must warn you both, Detectives, it will not be as easy to apprehend this young man as you seem to think, even if you do find him before the full moon.
“Goddamn you, D!” Leon snarled, “You fucking knew that something like this might happen, didn’t you?”
Fierce snarling and barking broke out in the trees up ahead and Leon knew that Bobby’s dogs had found Fletcher. The sounds of battle rent the cool mountain air for several minutes. There was a loud yelp of pain, followed shortly by another one, but he couldn’t determine if the pained sound had come from dog or wolf, partly because of the approaching whine of another engine. Praying that the dogs were coming out ahead in their encounter, he tried to push the taxed engine even faster, hoping to get the drop on the werewolf while he was preoccupied with the dogs.
Finally, he reached the grove of trees, and came suddenly upon one of Bobby’s dogs, lying limp in the middle of the trail, its throat torn open. Blood seeped from the gaping wounds to form a spreading pool of blood.
“Fuck!” Shocked at the sight, he tried to swerve the bike to avoid hitting the animal, but as he did, the tires skid along some gravel, throwing the bike out of into a wobbly slide.
Desperately, Leon tried to hold on, to regain some control, but the front tire smashed into a rotting tree stump partially hidden by dry grasses. The jolt of the impact threw him over the handle bars and he crashed heavily into a young sapling oak. A blinding pain ripped through his head and left shoulder and for several moments he lay there on the uneven ground, writhing, too dazed and disoriented to move or even remember that his life was in peril.
A low, guttural growl and the hot stench of blood brought him to his senses almost as effectively as a slap to the face. When he opened his eyes, everything was blurry, but he didn’t need twenty-twenty vision to tell him that Fletcher, in impossible werewolf form, was towering over him and angry as hell. A dozen vicious gashes covered his arms and torso. Blood, probably his but it was possible some of it belonged to the dogs, splattered the remnants of his sweatshirt and blue jeans.
Leon tried to sit up, to reach for his rifle, to do something, but pain exploded in his head with even the smallest movement and his vision faded in and out alarmingly. The monster reached down and, taking hold of his shoulder with one clawed hand, he hoisted him to his feet. Leon screamed as the claws buried themselves into his flesh and unreality washed over him. For a moment he thought he was seven years old, facing the biggest terror of his life. Only that monster had been destroyed, only to come after him eighteen years later. And this time there was no John Orcot, father figure, to save him.
Fletcher’s snarling teeth dipped forward to crush and tear the life out of his victim, but the teeth came to a halt, mere millimeters from Leon’s throat. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, scenting, tasting the air. The golden wolf eyes blinked first in surprise then narrowed, a look of almost human understanding on his distorted face.
With a warning growl, he abruptly released Leon, allowing him to fall back to the leaf-strewn ground. The impact knocked the air out of the wounded man so that he could not even give voice to the pain that tore through him.
The werewolf knelt over him, his snout working to form coherent sounds. In a thick, growling voice, it forced two words out with great difficulty.
“Not. Human.”
“Fletcher!” Jill’s voice rang out through the small clearing, but it was dull, muted to Leon’s ears.
Responding to his human name, Joshua whirled around, taken unaware by this new danger. He glared at the woman who stood a few yards away, her service pistol out and fixed on her target. He growled at her, a clear warning for her to back away from him.
With a look of grim determination, Jill squeezed the trigger, the burning stink of gunpowder filling the clearing. Fletcher jerked back as a bullet ripped through his shoulder, his howl of rage and pain ringing through the trees and bouncing off the rocks. And then, in a blur of movement, he was gone, leaving only a trail of blood behind him.
Jill rushed over to her fallen partner and knelt by his side, her hands moving to cover the bleeding wounds, to apply direct pressure to staunch the heavy flow.
“Hold on, Leon, just hold on!” She begged him in a voice that shook and eventually broke. “The others will be here in just a minute with the first aid kit. So just hold on.”
Leon stared up at her with his blurry vision and wanted to tell her that he had no intentions of going anywhere, but he couldn’t find the strength of mind or body to form the words. His consciousness faded in and out making thought difficult and moving damn near impossible.
Two words, however, kept repeating over and over in his mind though, trailing him down into unconsciousness. Were they a threat or promise? Or were they perhaps a glimpse into the murky future? He didn’t know but he wanted them to disappear, to leave him alone. He didn’t believe them, didn’t want to even begin to comprehend the terrible significance of those two little words.
Not. Human.
TO BE CONTINUED…
CHAPTER 11