All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental (and really fucking awesome), unless it’s absolutely intentional. No zombies, zombie werewolves, or albino zombie werewolf armadillos were harmed in the making of this book. Some people were killed (but they had it coming), and sadly one chicken was molested, but we assure you that the chicken was of a fully adult age. (She made chicken sounds to the affirmation that she was eighteen in chicken years. Plus did you see her? I mean that chicken was practically asking for it. Just walking around with no panties on…you knew she wanted it.)

Hey if you want to drop by and say hello just drop by my Facebook page at https://www.facebook.com/jlm.visada I’m always looking forward to meeting new people and making friends. I even actually respond to questions and stuff. I know…weird huh.

Chapter One

“And they were never heard from again.” The camp counselor, Marvin Hempstead, tried to sound spooky. He did the quavering voiced you hear from most midnight horror movie hosts. He used his flashlight to try and seem eerie. The LED light shined up his overly large nose, giving the campers an unfortunate view of every nose hair. He even went for the scary expression. Sadly it only made him look and sound like a balding asthmatic suffering a stroke in piss poor lighting.

“Lame.” Jimmy complained.

“The lamest.” Polly groaned more in agreement with her new boyfriend than from any real complaint. They’d only been dating since he broke up with Daphne yesterday, and she didn’t want to screw it up. He was the hottest guy in camp, and by dating him she just became the most popular girl.

“Super lame.” Ryan tried to join in. He was going for the Hail Mary of social climbing. He’d been here three weeks and hadn’t made a single friend. He hoped that by supporting both of them he might finally start being included in everything. If he’d have played it cool and calm he might have succeeded. Instead he was too eager, and just too…agreeable. Even teenagers recognize a desperate brown nose when they see one. So instead of nodding in agreement, or general acceptance some rolled their eyes, and others just ignored him completely. Unfortunately for both Ryan and Marvin, most teens in this day and age have learned to multitask socially. So they were able to make it clear to both of them that neither person’s efforts were really appreciated while still being supportive of both Jimmy and his new girl of the week.

“Don’t you know any other stories?” Todd asked hopefully. More old cheesy stories meant a later bedtime. This was the first time the campers had been allowed to camp out under the stars. They normally stayed in their cabins. The young man didn’t want to admit that he was a little scared to sleep out with the wild animals. If he admitted something like that then he might end up being even less popular than Ryan. After all, nobody likes a chicken.

“How about Bloody Mary?” Marvin asked hopefully. He’d spent almost ten bucks on a book of campfire stories. He knew they were old, but hoped they were still entertaining. Honestly he didn’t much care for campfire anything. The smoke burned his eyes. The bugs practically set up a feeding station on him, and napping out on the ground in a sleeping bag was never as comfortable as snoozing in a bed. The only real perk as far as he could see was that some of the girls got scared at night and tried to snuggle up for safety. Of course the opposite was true as well. There’d been more nights than he wanted to remember when he woke up with a thirteen year old boy, or even a seventeen year old almost man, plastered up against him because they heard an owl.

The teenagers looked bored and ready to revolt. In a panic Marvin turned to the man sitting next to him. They’d met him and his son earlier in the day. They both seemed nice. The son was in his mid-thirties and clearly mentally handicapped. He had that vacant stare you only see when the person is a complete blank mental canvas. Every now and then Marvin caught a spark of intellect, but it was gone as fast as it came. The son was a fairly fat man with a childlike way about him. He tended to say things that wouldn’t be appropriate if he was sound mentally, but Marvin and everyone else couldn’t help but like his infectious enthusiasm.

The father was an older man that seemed genuinely nice as well, and he had playfully gentle blue eyes. They were friendly eyes like the kind you might see peeking out from the beard and wig of a department store Santa. He was a surprisingly muscular man for being in his mid-fifties, and he moved with the nimbleness of a much younger man. He was friendly, but really didn’t say much. Marvin asked, “Maybe Mister….I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your last name.”

“Just call me Gary, and you kids can call me Uncle Gary if you want.” Gary said in a rough voice that was somehow still warm and inviting. He then turned to the young twenty something blond camp counselor sitting on the opposite side of Marvin and said, “Now you…you pretty little thing. You can call me anything you want…just as long as you call me.”

“Well aren’t you the flirt?” She swept her long blonde hair away from her face, and in the process exposing the ample cleavage her hair had been covering like a soft and silky blanket. She smiled seductively back at the much older man. She’d stayed with him almost from the moment they all ran into one another. She’d probably have been sitting next to the man even now if Marvin hadn’t forced himself between the two. If there was anything that the camp counselor held against the man it was the effect he had on Ashley.

Marvin had been slowly working to break down his assistant’s walls in an effort to get her to see him as a possible romantic partner. He’d worked hard, and tried all the old tricks that had worked every year before with his previous new female coworkers. The other male counselors were married, dating, or gay. For three months they were all stuck out in the woods where the only option single women had as viable sex partners were Marvin or Larry the cook really worked in Marvin’s favor. Especially now that Larry lost his good glass eye, and had to use the backup that didn’t quite fit correctly. It gave Larry a lazy eye on a good day, and on a bad day that little bastard just shot right out of there without any warning at all. Even with his biggest competition out of commission, Ashley was a hard nut to crack. Ashley’s sudden affection for the much older man both confused and frustrated Marvin. So as he glared at Ashley blushing in the campfire he just felt the sudden need to lash out.

Marvin leaned over to her ear, wrapped a very possessive arm around his assistant, and whispered just a little too loudly, “Ashley…we don’t act like a S-L-U-T in front of the C-A-M-P-E-R-S.”

Ashley looked offended, but out of professionalism she stayed in her place and tried not to respond. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin these kids night of camping under the stars. It was supposed to be a clear night, and nothing was more beautiful to her than the stars in the sky. So instead of snapping back at the man for the insult, she tried to put on her best smile as though she hadn’t just heard what he’d said. It was a brittle smile, and her eyes watered up a little, but she wiped the tears away and said in a voice that cracked and broke, “Gosh darn smoke. I guess I shouldn’t sit so close to the fire.”

There was an icy quiet for a few moments. The more Ashley tried to pretend nothing was wrong, the angrier the teenagers got. They all genuinely liked her. She was kind, and tried as hard as she could every day to make sure they all had the best camping experience possible. The seconds became more uncomfortable for everyone. Marvin glared at the woman next to him. It was as though he was daring her to say anything so that he could fire her for insubordination, and considering the man had gone through six assistant counselors in the last five years…that was very likely to be exactly what he was planning. Finally, Ryan broke the silence, “Hey Mr. Hempstead?”

“Yes Ryan?” Marvin’s eyes kept boring into the side of Ashley’s head.

“You’re aware that we are T-E-E-N-A-G-E-R-S and not B-A-B-I-E-S right? So you should probably know that we can S-P-E-L-L and that by doing what you just did…you look like the world’s biggest D-O-U-C-H-E-B-A-G.”

The other kids started laughing. Ashley had always made it a point of trying to include Ryan in things, and if not for her he would have been having a much worse time. So seeing her trying to put on a brave face for all of them just lit a fire inside the young man, and Ryan’s temper got the better of him, and with that one comment he went from being the biggest loser in camp to being the cool guy that wasn’t afraid to talk back to the people in charge. Some of the girls actually took notice that he had a playful smirk, and the cutest dimples they’d ever seen. He’d moved from being the nerd loser the bad boy loner. After all his failed attempts at fitting in, it was this one moment of standing up and standing out that finally got him the acceptance he wanted so badly, and he didn’t even know it yet.

Marvin took a little longer than it probably should have before he began to understand what he’d been called. When he did finally figure it out he frowned, but kept his voice sugary sweet, “Ryan. You know we don’t use words like that. It’s inappropriate to call people names.” It was rule for all camp counselors. You could be as nasty as you wanted to anyone else, but you never said anything mean or upsetting to any of the camp kids. An upset kid meant upset parents, and upset parents took their kids away. No kids meant no money.

Ryan started to argue, “But you just called Ashley a-“

“Ryan!” Marvin snapped, and then regained his composure, “We’re not discussing what I did. We’re discussing what you did young man, and I think that you’ll probably learn that lesson best by cleaning cabin three tomorrow. Now if you want to hear this gentleman’s story then you’ll behave yourself and be quiet, or if you want to keep arguing I can send you back to the cabin to clean right now.”

Cabin three was the cabin that the really young kids stayed in. It was trashed beyond all recognition. When the wind shifted, cabins downwind usually chose to take a hiking or fishing trip. Camp counselors used the cleaning of cabin three as a threat for unruly campers. No counselor was stupid enough to go through with the threat. If they did then management would fire them before the first half eaten candy bar was peeled off the old wooden floor. Fortunately for the camp counselors most of the kids attending never figured that little bit of information out, and when they did it was usually the smart kids that didn’t cause trouble to begin with. Typically it would have been a kid like Ryan that figured it out, but it was still fairly early in the camping season, and so the young boy believed the man completely. Ryan was furious, but he still sat down quietly.

Ashley glared at the camp counselor next to her. He’d bullied the kids almost from day one, and not just the bratty kids. Marvin bullied them regardless of race, sex, or age. Some of the other counselors had begun calling him an “Equal opportunity asshole!” They just made sure not to say it in front of the kids. Ashley had always tried hard to be sympathetic to the man. He was her boss after all, and she was one of those genuinely kind people that tried to see the good in everyone. She even tried to talk them out of calling him names, but it was a safe bet that after tonight she wasn’t going to support the man anymore.

“So now that everyone is quiet and calm. Gary if you’d ple-“

“DOUCHEBAG…ha-ha!” Gary’s son laughed, and then barked a few times like a drunken Chihuahua. Marvin glared at the man, but the man’s mental deficiencies made Marvin uncomfortable with actually confronting the man about the insult.

Gary grinned, “Good job boy.” Then he looked at Marvin semi-apologetically, “The doctors said he’d never learn to spell. He’s slow, but he’s a good boy. Isn’t that right son?”

“I’m a good boy. I no make poo-poo or any’ting.” John grinned as the kids laughed. Marvin eyed the fat man, and in return John turned his attention to picking at his bellybutton before looking back up at the camp counselor and grinning happily. For a man in his mid-thirties, he just seemed like a kid. Marvin was actually afraid of yelling at the man because he thought the man might start crying, and he was pretty sure Gary wouldn’t be so nice if he made his son cry. Although making John cry might be a task in itself because no matter what happened to the man he wore that same stupid, brainless grin, and on the rare occasion when he stopped grinning he started drooling.

“Well that’s my boy. He’s got a heart of gold as big as Texas, but his brain just ain’t right. Isn’t that right son?”

John nodded excitedly. His head moved so fast and enthusiastically that most of the campers actually thought they might hear his brain rattle around like a maraca, and a few of them were actually disappointed when they realized it wasn’t going to happen. For John’s part, he was painfully oblivious to their expectations. Then in a somewhat misguided effort to make the kids laugh he screamed douchebag one last time before picking his nose.

The kids all groaned, and scooted a little away. Gary laughed at his son’s enthusiasm before gently explaining to the kids, “Hey, don’t get too grossed out. It isn’t his fault. He’s got allergies, and he ate my last handkerchief. Boy?”

“Yes Daddy?” John answered sweetly. His finger buried up almost to the second knuckle in his left nostril. He was digging with determination, and by the brief look of excitement that flashed across his face, he’d just struck green gold.

“Stop picking your nose. It’s grossing the kids out.”

“But I have snot monsters trying to get into my brain.” He said it as if he believed every word. It was just such a moment of naïve honesty that even the teens tried not to snicker at the poor backward man.

“Just do that thing I showed you.”

John had to think for a moment, and then covered one nostril. He blew his nose hard and fast. Snot flew out of his nose and into the campfire like a kamikaze pilot. It struck some of the wood and began sizzling like a tiny green steak. Then John turned his head and did it again. Even more snot flew out like it was Pearl Harbor. It smashed into the burning wood and John laughed, ”Yay! DOUCHEBAG!”

“Can you get him to stop saying that? It’s pretty offensive.” Marvin nervously asked the older man. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that the slow-witted man was still somehow making fun of him.

Gary stared daggers at the weasel-like camp counselor. For the briefest of moments his eyes went from gentle kindness to icy cold, “Do you have a problem with my boy?”

Marvin swallowed hard. His knee bounced nervously, and then Gary’s upper lip curled into a snarl and even the knee stopped moving. The other man’s ice blue eyes just froze him in place, “N-n-no sir, but you can understand that we can’t have him just blurting that kind of stuff out in front of the kids right? It’s a bad influence.”

“I guess.” Gary answered. His features softened back to the friendly and inviting lopsided grin that had won over everyone when they first showed up. Gary looked at his son, “Church mouth boy. You’re upsetting our host.”

“Sorry dad. I be good.” John grinned at his father like he was the greatest, smartest man alive.

“There…see. He’ll be a regular angel from now on.” Gary gave a Cheshire grin, and then winked at Ashley before turning back to Marvin, “So was there something you were going to ask?”

Marvin nodded, “Well they don’t seem to approve of my stories. Maybe you know a few they might like better?”

Gary thought about it, and then looked up into the sky. It was a clear night, and the stars were out and twinkling. He sighed, “They’re beautiful.” Then he shrugged and said, “Well I know a couple stories. My favorite is about the one time we were down in Mexico on vacation. It was this small town, and my boy and I were wandering around just trying to kill time until the resort bus picked us back up. We see this crowd of people being funneled off somewhere, and curiosity got the better of us. We followed them. Then this man comes up and we had to pay him five pesos. We paid it, and they took us down this alley. At first I thought we were going to see two little Beaners beat the hell out of each other, but instead they bring out this naked Mexican girl. Damn fine girl. She had big titties and an ass you could use for a pillow. Boy I tell you what…I’d let that little girl pick the ticks off me any night. At least I would have before I got to know her better, but then they bring in this donkey.”

“I don’t think that story is appropriate for tender young ears.” Marvin hissed, and then glared at the teenagers who were all sitting in rapt attention. Deep down he couldn’t blame them. He wanted to hear how it ended himself, but if he let the man continue he’d be out of a job if any of these kids got a little mouthy in front of camp management.

“But…” Gary looked at Marvin. Marvin gave his absolute best poker face, and he even tried to look ready to get up and walk out. Gary shrugged and relented, “Yeah, you’re probably right. That story is really for when ya’ll get older, but I got another story.” The teenagers looked let down by the man buckling under the way he had. Gary wasn’t particularly happy either, but he smiled a brittle smile and said, “I can’t tell you the first story. He’s right. It’s highly inappropriate, but long story short…I got my money’s worth.”

“Mayonnaise!” John laughed, and then snorted like a happy little piglet. The kids all began laughing as if he’d just told them the punch line to a very dirty joke. In his own way maybe he had.

“Boy! I said behave. Even if you are thirty-six, you’re not too old for me to take a switch to that ass.” Gary’s voice was stern but still caring.

“Yes Daddy.” John said quietly. He began playing with his hands, and popping his knuckles nervously. It was clear he really was sorry. Now whether he actually understood what he was supposed to be sorry about was debatable.

“Good boy…well I suppose I do have one campfire story that I can tell ya’ll. I mean if you really want to hear it?” With no objections Gary began, “Well my story begins way back in nineteen-sixty-three. John F. Kennedy was president. You know people love the man now, but back then there were plenty of people that disliked him. Personally, I gotta respect any man that gets to use Marilyn Monroe for a booty call.”

“BOOTY!” John laughed. “You said booty.”

“Yes boy I said booty. Now settle down, or you’ll pee yourself again.”

John gave a toothy grin, “Too late…”

“Really?” Gary eyed his son.

His son nodded unapologetically, “Little tinkle. Two drops.” As soon as he said it several of the teenagers scooted away. They didn’t want to say anything, but they were obviously grossed out by the man’s accident. The girls even turned a little green.

“Well next time ask to go to the restroom. We’re guests, and guests don’t piss themselves in front of others.” Gary spoke gently to his son in an effort to make sure the man understood what was being said to him.

“Okay Daddy!” John responded. He was completely ignorant of the fact of his faux pas.

Gary smiled, and then turned his attention back to the rest of the campers, “Like I said…John F. Kennedy was in office, but there were a lot of angry people out there that wanted to change that.” Gary adjusted himself to get more comfortable, “So that’s where this story begins.”

Chapter Two

***FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22nd, 1963 – BIG BAYOU IN LIVINGSTON PARISH, LOUISIANA***

The building hadn’t changed much from the picture taken five years ago. The paint was peeling; the windows were empty holes that made the building look like a half rotted jack-o-lantern. The front door was broken and barely hanging on one rusty hinge in the picture. Now that same door was moldy and on the ground. There wasn’t even a hint of paint anywhere, and it looked like rats or something had added a few extra holes in the decaying walls. None of it mattered. The building was just a façade anyway. As long as the walls were sturdy enough to hold the roof up, nobody would bother to make any repairs. Besides, the worse it looked the more it discouraged people from snooping around. Not that people were a big concern anyway. After all, this was just supposed to look like an abandoned gas station in the middle of nowhere. It was on a deserted road that didn’t show on any map. It had no signs directing anyone to anything. There were no markings at all that would encourage someone to turn onto it. No people lived on it…officially, and ultimately the road dead ended deep in the swamp. For all intents and purposes, he was standing somewhere that didn’t exist. Of course it was pretty standard fare for a top secret research and development programs like this at the time. There were over a half dozen of them across the country.

Even with all the effort to keep this place hidden, sometimes there were incidents. Sometimes a sightseer would turn down the road out of curiosity, run out of gas, and then go exploring the base for gas or maybe a phone. Maybe a couple of teenagers needed a place to park so that they could fulfill urges they didn’t completely understand, or at least he hadn’t understood them when he was their age. Kids seemed to be a lot sharper about that kind of stuff nowadays, and it made him uncomfortable. Of course maybe it was just nostalgia, and he was remembering things through rose colored glasses. Occasionally a vagrant would wander in looking for shelter, or maybe they’d even try to find something to steal like the copper from the walls. The program always needed test subjects. Of course that did mean there was a slightly higher than average percentage of missing persons. Thankfully, most of the vagrants were never reported or it might have raised eyebrows.

The gaunt man walked carefully to the first gas nozzle. Turning it on and off twice signaled to the scientists below that he had arrived, and after a few seconds he received a response. The attached garage opened up. It was hot, and the insects were devouring him one greedy bite at a time. The man wiped the sweat from his bald head, and then moved in. Inside the garage there was a wall plug at the back of the room. It looked loose. He reached down, and spun it clockwise one time and then counterclockwise twice. There was a distinct click, and a large rectangular area of the floor descended a few inches, and then slid out of the way to expose a platform. Carefully stepping down on the platform triggered a sensor, and the man sank into the dark black void.

It was a long descent, but most secret compounds were like that. For some reason that nobody had ever explained to him, they all seemed to share that long platform ride into darkness. Maybe it was it was some architects idea to set the mood. Perhaps he set at his desk when he was drawing this and he thought to himself that the long ride down into the bowels of earth would really drive home the point that this was a secret base. Maybe the architect was inspired by old sci-fi movies and just put it in because the thought made him giggle. Perhaps it’s even possible that there is a perfectly practical reason for being so deeply underground. It might be that they wanted to make sure whatever it was could be contained. Maybe they wanted to make sure they could seal it up if need be and never worry about anyone finding it ever again. The man mulled these and a few dozen other possibilities as he made his way down. None of them really held any particular appeal to him, but he liked to mull it all over nonetheless. Eventually it came to a stop. Only after the platform locked in place did the lights come on. They were bright, far too bright. It was just one of the many security measures the research facility had in place. The experience of complete and utter darkness being replaced with blinding light left him disoriented, and a little nervous.

“The password please Mr. Bertrand.” A cold emotionless voice came from what seemed like everywhere at once. A half second later he heard the distinct click of a hammer being pulled back on a gun.

“Bahia De Cochinos, and you can call me Clay.” Clay Bertrand responded. Everything so far had gone exactly as expected, but even still his mouth was dry, and he could feel his heart beating in his chest just a little too fast for his own comfort. When the lights finally dimmed Clay grinned with relief. His vision slowly returned and he was feeling much less disoriented. Clay watched as the man he had been speaking with tucked a small revolver back into his lab coat.

“Hello…Clay.” The man seemed disgusted by simple pleasantries. “Welcome to our humble abode. You may call me Doctor Aribert Heim.” Then the doctor grimaced, “or you may call me Aribert as you Americans seem so eager to be on a first name basis with everyone.”

“It’s a new age Doc.” Clay walked up, gave the man a hearty handshake, and a firm pat on the shoulder.

Both actions were not appreciated, and the doctor actually seemed sickened by the contact. “Yes, that is what my associates down here keep trying to convince me. Yet my work has stayed essentially the same.” He turned and walked back into the compound. It was clear from his demeanor that he considered his point made.

They moved into the underground complex. Several other doctors and scientists stood calmly waiting to greet their new guest. Five men and one pretty young female doctor where introduced. Clay shook hands as he was introduced to them all. There was Doctor Hans Von Reubens, an expert in the study of human anatomy. He was a large man, but not quite fat. He had pale blue eyes that seemed unnaturally dark in their sunken hallows in his skull. Clay chalked it up to exhaustion. Long hours, constant deadlines, and the general detachment from the rest of the world often led to workers going two or three days a pop without sleep. Even as tired as he looked, he seemed constantly in need of movement. He just never seemed to stop…even if it was only reduced to a rhythmic toe tap. He wasn’t a handsome man by any imagination. His displeasing features were only made worse by a chemical burn that covered the left side of his fact, leaving deep scars. Even now he looked to be in pain if the slight muscular twitching around the injury was any indication.

Beside him was Aaron Stokely, a theoretical physicist. The man had an infectious smile, but strangely the smile never reached his eyes. They were eyes that didn’t focus on anyone in particular, and when you did actually catch his gaze, they seemed cold and emotionless…like doll eyes. Perhaps that was one of the reasons the police still searched for him as a suspect in his wife’s murder. His version of events was that it was a happy marriage, and the only problems were his wife’s occasional bouts with melancholy. Despite all his efforts to improve her moods, occasionally she would sink into a deep depression, and that this finally led to her hanging herself after having written a lengthy suicide note. In fact they did look like a picturesque couple. With his dark eyes, well-coiffed black hair, and heavy mustache he seemed a picture of virility. Next to him in every newspaper photo was his wife with her tender eyes, long black hair that reached almost to the back of her knees, and modest bosom. They complimented one another quite well. The official version is that she died due to strangulation, and that while she was found hanging in the family home by a noose, the bruising around her throat looked to be from hands. In fact it seemed she was hung after death. Even the suicide note was suspect as it didn’t match her handwriting at all. Add that to the statements of friends and family about Mr. Stokely’s violent temper. It wasn’t hard to see why they’d view him as a suspect.

To his right was Doctor Frederick Woodhollow, an Englishman. He was a gifted chemist, among other talents. Unfortunately his fame did not come from any chemical discovery, and instead came from the scandals involving his interest in young boys. There was nothing particularly exceptional in appearance about this man. The man had dull brown eyes, and a mop of obviously self-cut hair that hadn’t seen a real barber since he disappeared from public scrutiny twelve years ago. It made him look a little dimwitted, but otherwise he was of average height, average build, and in a word…average. Those features are most likely why it was so long before anyone began to seriously consider him as the man responsible for all the children disappearing. Occasionally he’d look back down the hallway as if trying to cue everyone to move on, but introductions had to be made.

Then there was Doctor Shawn McMichaels. He was old…much older than the other doctors there. He was easily pushing seventy, but from all accounts he was still an artist with scalpel. No one questioned his skill, but his ethics were something else entirely. He had been caught red handed performing one of several illegal and unnecessary surgeries in Chicago. Whether the patient had even given consent was up for debate. Still, the medical examiner couldn’t help but marvel at the skill with which the Doctor had made every cut. It was rumored the man had even worked for Al Capone in his younger years removing bullets from some of Capone’s men, and when the situation called for it…using his gifts with a scalpel to persuade men to share their innermost secrets.

Next to him was Gunther Aardwolf, a very talented Austrian scientist. His blonde hair and blue eyes seemed almost painted on due to their brightness. They were a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He looked sickly, but he was a hard worker whose work was unquestionably impeccable, even if his addictions were notorious. The man self-medicated on opium and heroin as needed, and he always needed. Plus he took every opportunity to familiarize himself with painkillers, amphetamines, or whatever crossed his path. The panels reviewing his work often discussed his eventual overdose less in terms of if, and more in terms of a very certain when.

Finally, there was the newest addition. Samantha Collins, one of the finest young scientific minds in the world. They had attempted to recruit her a few years prior, but she was a happy idealistic woman fresh out of college with a future as bright as her platinum blonde hair that she kept dyed despite the frustrated comments her mother had made about her looking like one of those “easy” girls. Several of her papers were published, and quickly forgotten about, or ignored entirely. She quickly realized that her best solution was to have a male colleague attached to her projects. The scientific community was less dismissive of her ideas then. It worked wonderfully until her colleague took all the credit himself, and no one has seen him since. While Samantha was cleared of all wrongdoing…suspicions plagued her. It wasn’t long before she was unemployable. Even then she had been reluctant to join, but after a year of practically starving in the streets…she finally signed on. With introductions having been made, they all moved deeper into the complex. The doctors excused themselves to go back to their work, and Aribert started to give Mr. Bertrand the tour.

“How long are you here for?” Aribert asked trying to conceal his irritation at having another interloper checking into his work.

“Two days. I have to be back in Washington after that.”

“Really? I have to admit that I’m surprised. I expected you to stay longer.”

Clay laughed, “Yeah, normally this would be a bit longer of a visit, but I was down here putting the final touches on another assignment. I just got asked to swing by and check out a few things before heading back. This isn’t normally my area of expertise.”

“Really? I wasn’t aware of another complex like this one around here? Has your Uncle Sam been keeping secrets from me?”

Clay laughed again, “Secrets, Buddy…you got no idea.” Aribert eyed the man suspiciously. “Relax Doc; you’re the only complex around these parts. I just needed to be down here to check with certain interested parties that believe people should keep their promises.”

“Should I be concerned?” Aribert asked with mild disinterest.

“Not unless you voted democrat.”

“I am not a citizen. I am not allowed to vote.”

Clay looked at him and grinned, “It’s a joke. Seriously, you Germans just got no sense of humor at all.”

Aribert rolled his blue gray eyes. “Yes, I believe we surrendered that in the last war as part of the Potsdam Agreement.”

“Haha, and here I was saying you didn’t have a sense of humor.”

The doctor exhaled in irritation, but continued leading Clay deeper into the complex. Everything was maintained with extreme care. There wasn’t even a hint of dust. In a word the whole place was…sterile. Aribert plodded on without another word. His footsteps echoing in the long hallway, and the faint buzz of the lights were the only sound. His general body language made it clear that the interloper’s presence was only barely tolerated.

Clay was used to people that were difficult to work with. You can’t destabilize a few governments without occasionally running into some less than helpful coworkers. Besides, in two days I’ll be gone so what does it matter anyway. He kept those thoughts to himself. Still, Aribert gave him the creeps. He’d been briefed on all the doctors and scientists residing here. He could handle murderers and perverts…dealing with murderers and perverts was part and parcel for his job. It’s strange how they seem to congregate for some reason. It never surprised him to find out that the man being paid to shoot a foreign dignitary, strangle a governor’s mistress, or blow up a whistleblower’s car might also find that same act sexually gratifying. It rarely surprised him that if he dug just a little bit into their past he could often find a trail perversions. Many of his best men had a long list of abusing women and or children. They were degenerates, but he could accept that as long as they made themselves useful. Even monsters can be a service to their country.

Aribert was a different kind of monster altogether as far as Clay was concerned. The man was still wanted for his crimes against humanity. The report said he’d experimented on subjects by injecting various substances into their hearts. The newspapers had a field day with the documentation of his work. They called him Dr. Death. They portrayed him as some crazy but inept murderer, killing his test subjects without cause. The facts were far more disturbing. Aribert wasn’t just killing them for the sake of watching them die. He was studying death itself. The doctor was actually attempting to learn death’s secrets in the hope of making soldiers harder to kill. When Clay’s superiors had Aribert interviewed he told them that he was on the cusp of making soldiers that could survive almost any wound. Instead of being taken to a courtroom, Aribert was spirited away secretly to America to help create a new era of soldiers, and biological weapons.

Clay’s sister had married a Jewish doctor, and even though his mother had cried her eyes out every night for a month Clay thought he was a pretty decent guy. Of course when he talked about him to others he always added “for a Jew.” That was two years ago, and he was looking forward to the holidays with his nephew and his newborn niece. She was just three months old, and he still hadn’t seen her yet. As he walked with Aribert, Clay’s mind kept wandering back and forth between his sister and her husband, and the man standing next to him that once on a whim took a prisoner, castrated him, removed one kidney, and took apart the other while it was still inside the young man’s body. He’d done all this without anesthesia. Finally, he decapitated the young man, boiled his skull until the flesh was gone, and kept it as a paperweight. Clay couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be welcome in his brother-in-law’s house if he knew that Clay associated with a man like Aribert. Clay kept walking, and tried desperately to remind himself that he was a professional, and that as a professional he kept his personal feelings to himself.

“So Aribert…where’s your accent?” Clay said, trying to make small talk in order to stop thinking about Aribert’s file.

“The beauty of my native tongue is unfortunately a terrible liability for me now.” The doctor said. After a few more steps he continued, “The public just never understood my work, and I fear that I’ll be hunted for my entire life.”

“Well then it’s a good thing that you’re here right Doc?”

Aribert sighed, “When I agreed to this…I was not informed I would be trading a prison cell for what amounts to another prison cell. Although I admit my current cell is larger, and has some comforts…it is still a prison nonetheless.”

“The alternative though is having them hunt you down and put you on trial…and you know that after all this time you’ve worked for Uncle Sam there is no way we’re going to let you testify about anything…correct?”

“Is that a death threat Mr. Bertrand?” Aribert said haughtily. His eyebrow arched and he stared at the man as if daring him to take action.

“Nope, it’s just a little free advice. My time is valuable, and I don’t want to waste it hunting you down.” Clay said calmly, but firmly.

Aribert stopped and turned around. The Doctor’s blue gray eyes were so dark that they were practically black. The v-shaped scar on his right cheek twitched as he seemed to be considering his options. Finally, he grinned, “I appreciate the warning. I’ll take it under advisement should I ever attempt to flee.”The doctor didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned and led Clay to the labs. It was a long walk. Aribert opened the door and motioned Clay to step into the lab. Once inside, Clay could barely breathe over the stench. There was a drain at the center, and the room had a gentle slope designed to move everything to the previous mentioned drain. The room was built with a sprinkler system mounted onto the ceiling. The sprinklers could be turned on as needed to wash all the filth down the drain. It was a sharp contrast from everything else he’d seen up until this point.

Aribert took a deep breath and grinned as though he’d smelled a bouquet of roses, or a beautiful woman’s perfume, “The smell might be a bit much for your nose, but you’ll get used to it…eventually. Now follow me because you’ll want to familiarize yourself with the project so that you can brief your superiors.”

Cages lined the outside of the room. Some were smaller than others, and a few were reinforced. They all had walls covering three sides so that whatever was inside would only be able to see something standing directly in front of the cage. That seemed strange because there really wasn’t much to see in the room to begin with. The walls were gray and moldy, the ceiling had steel beams along the roof that were just beginning to rust. The floor was a smooth concrete stained with rust, blood, and feces. When Aribert arrived at the first cage he began giving the tour in earnest. Pride filled his voice,“This is a project based on some of my other work that you’ll see later. We are studying this subject’s ability to compensate the loss of their senses.”

“Loss of senses?” Clay questioned.

“We’re attempting to explain why a separate project is still capable of locating its food source even though it is almost certainly blind, deaf, mute, and also incapable of scenting prey. This subject is fairly early in the study, but it’s showing promise. We’ve started to build theories. Take a closer look.”

Clay leaned in, and saw the woman huddled in the corner. Her hair was a mass of knots. She had herself pressed into the corner like a scared animal.

“Miss?” Clay asked.

“She can’t hear you Mister Bertrand, but if you’ll tap the cage I’m almost certain that she’ll join us.” Aribert grinned.

Clay hesitated. “She’s deaf?”

“She’s useful. That’s all that matters.”

Clay tapped the steel bars. The woman’s head jerked. Suddenly she was aware of his presence. He tapped the cage a little more, and she edged herself around the inside. Slowly he watched as she made her way toward the front of her cage. Her fingernails were cracked, and two of them had fallen off showing infected nail beds.

“You may want to give her some medical attention. Those fingers are pretty bad.” Clay said calmly, but his sudden paleness gave away that he wasn’t altogether comfortable seeing anyone like this. He was a man that preferred his deaths clean and quick. A bullet to the back of the head seemed a much better way to die than succumbing to a slow infection.

“The subject’s general health is of no significance. I’m gathering valuable information from studying the project. Besides, if she does die then we have other uses for her. Nothing goes to waste here Mr. Bertrand.” Aribert said dismissively.

Clay ran his hand over his bald head. It was a nervous gesture he hadn’t done in twenty years. Back then he’d actually had thick brown hair. His hand slid across the smooth skin, and he tried very hard to keep his opinion about her condition to himself. His employers didn’t care what the doctor did with his test subjects, and so they’d expect the same from him.

The woman used the bars to guide herself to the front of the cage. The woman turned her head to look up, and her hair fell away from her face. That’s when Clay got his first good look at her. Both of her eyes were removed. Fleshy, pus-filled holes turned and moved like eyes searching the area.

“Oh my God!” Clay leapt back, tripped over his own feet and fell onto his back.

Aribert looked at him the way someone might look at a dog that just peed on a pair of their favorite shoes. “Mr. Bertrand! Please control yourself. This is a scientific research facility, and we can’t have you jumping around like a scared rabbit.” Aribert then walked to the nearest wall and pulled down a wooden poker.

Clay moved slowly off the floor, “I-I apologize. I didn’t expect to find…someone in such a…condition.”

Aribert rolled his eyes in disgust and then started explaining himself, “The subject here is being studied because we were having difficulty learning why other test subjects were still finding food long after their senses had failed them. If you’ll notice we removed the subject’s eyes. The tricky part was making sure that afterwards she didn’t bleed to death, but the surgeon McMichaels is deceptively talented. I would have loved to have seen his work when he was much younger. I like to think many of my patients in the camps would have survived, or at least lived much longer so that we could have better studied them. Aribert then moved the hair showing that both of her ears had been cut off leaving wounds that were so obviously infected that it seemed impossible the woman hadn’t already died. Some of the flesh only slightly hinted at the inflammation, but other parts were already oozing and dead. Clay fought to keep his stomach as he watched what could only be called an open wound that used to be an ear move as though something was alive under the remaining flesh. He was certain that it was just muscle spasms firing from the pain.

Clay was numb as the doctor pointed out the nose that was cut off brutally, a small piece of the cartilage hung down limply. It was clear that while most of the nose had been cut away, the last little bit along the bridge had been ripped out. As disgusting as it was, Clay had problems looking at the nose while the eye sockets continued to jerk and pulse as though the girl was still searching for him. Aribert noticed the man’s fixation, and without even a hint of concern, he plunged the pointer into the diseased eye socket. He must have hit a nerve because the woman jerked back and fell to the ground mewling like a dying cat.

“Get up.” Aribert commanded, and then promptly banged on the cage door.

The girl stood up quickly and moved back to the front of the cage. Her left eye socket was still clogged with puss, but now her right eye socket was oozing down the side of her cheek like clumpy macaroni and cheese. It was then that Clay realized the movement he’d perceived was the maggots feasting just under the surface layer. He wanted to vomit, but somehow he managed to keep his stomach contents even after the reek of freshly exposed rot struck his nose. He had to fight even harder not to spew his insides once he realized that the eyes weren’t the only maggot infested part of the girl. Doctor Heim put the pointer against the side of the woman’s face, and as she turned her head Clay cringed. The movements and twitches under the skin where her ears had been cut off wasn’t because of nerves, or pain. It was the maggots enjoying their feast.

“After Dr. McMichaels cut out her tongue, we quickly realized we had to keep the nose and mouth clear so that she doesn’t expire before we’ve had ample opportunity to learn from her. She kept gagging on the infection, and of course all the hungry little wonders you see right here. It’s early, but we’ve determined that she is still able to navigate somewhat by sensation. She feels the cage rattle and knows where to go. We believe that this is how some of our other projects are able to locate food as their senses begin to fail them.” Doctor Heim spoke proudly. When Clay stared at him in guarded disgust Doctor Heim grumbled, “No one truly appreciates that sacrifices must be made in the name of science.”

The Doctor moved to the next cage, “Mr. Bertrand, I’m about to show you Project Tithonus. Stay away from the bars for your own safety. We wouldn’t want you to end up being another project specimen now would we? It would be…inconvenient for us to have to explain to your superiors. They were quite fussy about safety protocols when the last person they sent had to be…contained.”

Clay followed the doctor to the next cell. The moment he stepped into view, the man inside threw his body against the front of the cage screaming. His nose mashed against one of the bars until there was an audible pop, and it folded over. Dark green blood that almost looked black started oozing down the front of his face. Immediately the man started licking the blood off his upper lip.

“And if memory serves me…this was the young lady’s husband, or is he in the next cage? It’s so hard to remember such trivial details.” The doctor leaned a little closer, and then used his pointer to continue the lesson. “You see, because the subject is so new. He has full possession of his vision, hearing, and other senses. It’s just a shame you weren’t here a week ago. He still had some fairly good verbal skills, but unfortunately those skills are some of the first abilities to degrade. It requires muscle control to form words, and as fine motor skills worsen, so does their ability to communicate. He really can’t do more than grunt and howl at this point. Maybe if he really concentrated he could say a word, but I doubt it. Although I must admit that some of the other scientists and doctors seem to have found his begging…disquieting. So perhaps it’s for the best that he’s been reduced to one word responses, and of course the groaning and moaning you’re currently hearing.”

The man threw himself against the cage door again, and his lip split against the bar. Even more blood oozed from this new wound, and he greedily licked at it like a child trying to eat a rapidly melting ice cream. His body was only slightly decayed. His arms were stretched out towards Clay. What veins that could be seen looked black under the skin. His skin even had taken on a slight purplish tint. His mouth kept opening and slamming shut.

“What’s wrong with him?” Clay asked.

“Nothing…he’s practically perfect. We keep them all in a dry cool environment so that they will last as long as possible. He’s just hungry. He hasn’t been fed in almost a week, and they all tend to get aggressive when they miss a few meals. All my hard work has finally come to this glorious conclusion.” The Doctor’s chest swelled with pride.

“Doc, I don’t mean to be rude, but I think we might have different definitions of perfection.”

“Mr. Bertrand, what you see in front of you is the next great weapon.”

Clay shook his head, “How is this…thing…”Clay’s train of thought was suddenly derailed as the unfortunate man in the cell began gnawing at the flesh of his upper lip. At first it was just a few nips, but then he began taking one bite after another. He didn’t even scream in pain. He just took a bite, chewed, and then swallowed. Then he’d take another bite, chew, and swallow. When his top lip was just a few shreds of loose flesh, he started on his lower lip. All the time his hands reached out to grab…something. “Wh-wh-what is he? You say he’s a weapon? He looks like a lunatic.”

The doctor shook his head, “He’s perfection. We infected him, and within a half an hour saw psychological changes. In that time he became prone to aggression. At the same time his logic and reasoning skills changed. Soon after his heart stopped pumping a normal rhythm, and he began hunting.”

“Hunting? What was he hunting?”

“Their diet consists of blood, flesh, and brains. They seem to enjoy the taste of the first two, but it’s the brains that they pursue the most. It’s like candy to them. We released four of them in another lab with a subject that was not infected. They would surround the target specimen, work together, and then overwhelm him. We thought it was pack behavior, but then once the specimen was down they would fight one another to get to the brain. On several of the experiments we saw them kill another infected that was trying to get into the skull. Originally we thought they were working as a pack to bring the uninfected down. Then sharing in the spoils, but after several observations we realized this just a case of predators working in concert until they could capture their prey, but once the prey is down it goes back to an every predator for themselves mentality. They are hungry little brutes, and once the infection takes over they become almost single-minded in their pursuit of human flesh.”

“They? What do you mean they? There are more of these…things?”

The doctor nodded, “Of course, all of the other cages in this room, except the female, are part of Project Tithonus.”

Clay Bertrand’s jaw dropped as he turned slowly around the room. “Each one of these holds one of…those?”

“Yes Mr. Bertrand. Although they are at various stages of decomposition so it may be best if you just take my word on it. Considering your reaction to the condition of the female, I think it would be best.”

“Decomposition? What the hell is going on Doctor?”

“You are seeing decades of my work finally coming to fruition. In these cages is a new biological weapon. In the event of another war, all we have to do is release a few dozen of these creatures. They spread their infection through their saliva, and any other bodily fluid. Since they are single minded in their pursuit of food, the transmission rate would be extraordinary. If we release them in on a beach or in farmland inside a communist country such as Cuba they would attack the locals growing in numbers, and then instinct would drive them towards the larger populations. Their true destructive potential would be realized only after they reach the cities. Think of it, one creature makes another, and then they make two more, and so on. The people quickly become their own greatest threat. Paranoia would reign. How can a society function when its people can’t trust that their neighbor won’t try to eat them.”

“My God!”

“Bah! God…God is just the whimsical thought of children. Like Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny.” Dr. Heim snarled.

“But all those innocent civilians? This is wholesale slaughter.”

“Pfft, and Hiroshima was a strategic strike? Mr. Bertrand, innocent civilians are the fuel that powers the engines of war. They have children that become soldiers. They work in the factories that build the weapons and machinery. Civilians are the farmers that provide the food for the enemy soldier. Take a lesson from Germany. Armies are destroyed, but you can rebuild them in a generation as long as you have the manpower. The only way to keep a country from rebuilding is to destroy its people. These creatures are inexpensive. You can make more simply by injecting some subjects, or just pack a room full of people and unleash one of these creatures on them. Now that you’ve seen this, I hope you’ll indulge me as I show you my greatest achievement.”

Dr. Heim walked out of the room with the other man following closely. They moved to another lab, and inside was a large cage that filled most of the room. The bars were wrapped individually with razor wire. The ceiling of the cage was also covered in razor wire. Vents lined the room. Inside the large cage was a much smaller cage. Its bars were thicker than a man’s forearm. Inside Clay could just make out the silhouette of a man.

Dr. Heim chose his words carefully, “Walk on the floor panels that I walk on. The other panels are attached to explosives. I don’t believe I have to explain what will happen if you trigger the explosives.”

“What are the vents for?”

“Originally they would spray knockout gas to subdue the subject if he breached his cage. Now that we’ve incorporated him into Project Tithonus, we’ve had to upgrade and use a combination of cyanide, nerve gas, mustard gas, tear gas, and a few other chemicals to force his bodily functions to cease.” Aribert said calmly.

“Won’t that kill him?”

“Mr. Bertrand…I believe you misunderstand what project Tithonus is. The creatures in the other room, and this one here…they are already dead.”

Clay gasped, “Dead? How? That’s not possible!”

“All things are possible through science. Now, if you’ll follow me to my office I’ll answer any of your other questions.”

“Aren’t we going to get closer so that I can see this one better?”

The doctor shook his head, “No, that would be…unwise. Danior might see it as an opportunity for escape. For everyone’s safety this is the closest that I can allow you to observe.”

“Danior? That’s his name?”

“Yes. He was one of my experiments back in the camp. Your government allowed me to keep him for further testing when I explained his significance.”

“Significance? What significance?” Clay’s curiosity was peaked.

“You are looking at quite possibly the very last werewolf in existence.” Dr. Heim said proudly.

Chapter Three

Doctor Heim escorted the visibly shaken Clay Bertrand back to his office for further explanation. Both men were quiet the entire walk. Clay was too shocked to find words, and Aribert was basking in the glow of his perceived superiority. When they made it into the office Aribert sat down at his desk, and Clay nervously sat across from him on a particularly uncomfortable wooden stool. It was clear guests were very rare, and discouraged in this office. Clay did his best to avoid looking at the skull sitting on the desk as a paperweight. He eventually had to fold his hands into his lap and stare at the doctor like a nervous student preparing to be spanked by the principal.

The doctor leaned back and began, “Project Tithonus gets its name from the mythological story of Tithonus. The man was given immortality, but not eternal youth. So he lives forever, but the ravages of time still take their toll on his body. I believe that sums up my project quite well. The others here have been most helpful in assisting me in the furthering of the project. The creatures are created by using a tiny engineered parasite that rapidly increases aggression in its victims. It stimulates the adrenal gland, the heart, and various parts of the brain. What is left is a pure predator. The parasite reproduces in the salivary glands, and spreads through biting. It can also spread through other bodily fluids, but after observation it’s fairly clear that someone is typically less likely to come into contact with blood, semen, or urine. As the parasite continues to spread through the body, organs start to fail. Then after the organs fail, the body begins to die, but something amazing happens. The brain adapts to the lack of oxygen, and then starts feeding on the sulfhemoglobin. Somehow, and I regretfully confess to still being unaware of the process, the parasite begins changing the muscles so that they also can use the sulfhemoglobin as fuel. Unfortunately, while the brain and body adapts to function on sulfhemoglobin, it does not stop the decaying process. Because of this, the creatures you saw are unable to heal. They are unable to create more blood, and therefore unable to make more sulfhemoglobin. We believe the creatures instinctively begin hunting and feeding to replenish sulfhemoglobin by taking in the hemoglobin from the victim. Obviously their digestive functions have stopped, and so we believe that as the hemoglobin changes to sulfhemoglobin…it is somehow absorbed through the lining of the throat and stomach. Decomposing gases aid the heart in transporting the sulhemoglobin through the veins and arteries back into the brain.”

“Amazing, you said it affects the heart and adrenal gland. How exactly does it do this, and what happens when they run out of the sulfawhatzits?” Clay asked nervously. He wasn’t comfortable with what he’d heard, but he’d always been a professional. He had to try to take an active interest in the project.

“The heart becomes a pump that helps to push the sulfhemoglobin through the body. It’s not very efficient, but it does aid in the transport. This is the minor function of the hearts new duties. The heart becomes a transport device to send the parasite to all parts of the body. The parasite settles into the atrioventricular node, and then spreads from there. You may not be aware of this, but the atrioventricular node sends electrical signals to the heart causing it to contract. The heart pumps without a signal from the brain because of this. Now the adrenal gland is also affected. It produces adrenaline at an extremely high level. You’ve heard of women seeing their children trapped under a car, and then lifting the car off the child. This is because of adrenaline. So the combination of adrenaline, and aggression from the changes in the brain make a walking engine of destruction. The creatures are far stronger than they ever were in life.”

“Yeah but what about the sulfah…slfhemo…sulfur?”

Aribert stared at the man like he was a particularly slow student, “Sulfhemoglobin. Once the creature runs out it starts to run down like a windup toy. If it completely ran out it might barely function, but it would still be dangerous.”

Clay thought about it for a few moments, “Okay, so they are basically the reanimated dead...they’re zombies. So they get released on a population, and within a few days or weeks that population is either completely converted, or reduced to just a few survivors that are so busy fighting for their lives that they pose no threat. How do we stop them after they surrender?”

“We don’t. My creatures are released as a final solution. The infected are fast and strong when they first arrive, and they grow in numbers quite rabidly. As their bodies decompose they become slower and weaker, but that is offset by their large numbers. Depending on weather, and other variables, the first generation of the creatures are so decomposed after a month that they most likely will barely be able to do more than shamble around. They’ll most likely be completely blind, and have lost their ability to hear or smell. The…zombies as you prefer to call them will then rely on their sense of touch to find food. Loud noises cause vibrations, and they’ll pursue those vibrations. After two months they’ll be lucky if they can do more than crawl slowly. Even then they will still be searching for food. Don’t you see, these creatures keep searching for more food, and are never satisfied. Release them into a community, and the people eventually cannibalize themselves. It’s brilliant. All the danger of a chemical weapon contained in the inventiveness and intellect of a human being.”

Clay nodded, “I…I see your point. Now, how do we stop them if these things get out? I mean surely you understand that if we use these on another country then it’s just a matter of time before they ship one back to us.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. It was clear he hadn’t considered that possibility. “We’ve decapitated one of the creatures, and while the body ceased to function, the head continued trying to bite. It even tried to drag itself across the exam table using its tongue. In experiments, when we destroy the brain all activity stops. Massive trauma to the brain would kill them. If Danior got out things might be more difficult. You might have to use a nuclear device, or burn him to ash. Damage to his brain has shown to have no effect since his lycanthropy heals any injury almost immediately. If the parasite dies, so does the creature. He does show a severe allergy to silver, but even then I’m not sure if using silver would work. We haven’t had opportunity or resources to test it yet. Generally speaking, the best you could probably hope for is to slow him down long enough to contain him, and then kill him when he can’t attack or escape.”

“So tell me more about the werewolf? Danior?” Clay asked while making air quotes around werewolf.

Aribert chuckled, “He’s a medical miracle.”

“There are no such things as werewolves.”

“Danior would disagree with you…if he took the time to discuss such things. Unfortunately he is quite hostile, but years of confinement on animals can have that affect.” Aribert grinned. “I do understand your confusion, and I’ll explain. You’re familiar with the witch hunts correct.”

“Yes.”

“Well, on a lesser note there were also werewolf hunts. Hans the Werewolf, Thiess, Gilles Garnier, Henry Hardin…all were all either executed or punished for being a werewolf. The concept of beasts that were stronger, faster, and more difficult to kill was so closely tied to the goals of my experiments that I began investigating. On the surface it looks like they are completely unrelated, but a little historical digging showed that a group of gypsies had visited each area before the problems with lycanthropy began. When I learned this little detail I began searching for this band of gypsies. Fortune smiled on me, and I learned that the entire band of gypsies had been captured and taken to one of our camps. Unfortunately, by the time my request for their transportation to Mauthausen was received, only Danior remained. He was just a young teen at that time. The others had been gassed. I still wonder why they didn’t just transform and escape. It defies logic.” Aribert said as he absentmindedly stroked the skull holding his paperwork down. “After studying him for all these years, I recently incorporated him into project Tithonus. The parasite flows through his veins. Even now he’s slowly decaying, but when he changes to a werewolf…either intentionally, or through the effect of the full moon, he begins to heal. He can heal himself almost completely, but he can never completely fight off the parasite. Also, because of his lycanthropy, he seems to deteriorate at a much slower rate than one would expect. So the man you saw is driven by the same hunger like the other subjects, but he also heals himself back at will. So as a zombie he is aggressive and hungers for blood and flesh. Of course even as a werewolf he’s driven by very primal appetites. So it just becomes a vicious cycle of healing werewolf, decaying zombie, but always hungry, and always deadly. He’s truly my finest achievement.”

A shrill alarm sounded throughout the complex. The Doctor rose to his feet and left the room. Clay quickly followed after him. They moved to the main briefing room. The other doctors and scientists had already filed in. Clay sat down next to Samantha Collins. No one seemed to know what was going on. Finally, Gunther touched a button signifying everyone had arrived, and only then did the alarm stopped. Everyone in the room gave an appreciative look to the man that silenced the shrieking alarm.

A deep male voice blasted out from the loudspeaker, “Attention! Attention! The President has been shot. His condition is currently unknown, but at this point all compounds need to be taking extra security measures.”

Clay covered his mouth with a hand as the grin grew. Meanwhile most of the others looked at one another nervously. The exception being Dr. Heim…his eyes stayed locked onto Clay, and a sly grin grew. Most of the rest of the day was tense, but uneventful. News about the president’s condition filtered in throughout the day as Clay met with the other people within the compound. He learned more about their particular roles in the project, and where they saw the project headed in the next five years. They all sounded excited by the possibilities, but Clay couldn’t help but notice how none of them really seemed to consider what would happen when these creatures were unleashed on the people. Everything to them was academic, and they just couldn’t see things in terms of the human suffering it would cause, or maybe they refused to see them that way to make it more palatable. Dinner was served later than usual, and by time they all sat down at the table it was very clear the president had been assassinated. The police had a suspect in custody. His name was Lee Harvey Oswald.

Clay seemed particularly troubled by Oswald’s capture. He became fidgety, and his eyes darted nervously as though he himself were about to be in trouble. Most of the others just attributed it to the man’s nature. They didn’t really know him, and just assumed that he was like this at all times. Only Aribert guessed the real nature of the man’s behavior. The truth was that the man was often the picture of calm. Even in the most stressful situation he always kept himself well centered. It was Oswald’s capture. The plan had been for Oswald to sneak off, and then take a car to Florida where he’d steal a boat and make his way to Cuba. Now he had one more loose end that had to be tied up before he talked. Clay was confident that somehow the other men involved would silence Lee Harvey, but would they do it in time?

Dr. Heim excused himself, “If you’ll all forgive me. The incident today has cost me my appetite.” He left without taking even one bite. The rest of the group ate quietly. There was no conversation beyond the asking for pepper, to pass the potatoes, or they muttered quietly about how surprised they were that Dr. Heim cooked so well. The man had never cooked a meal that they could remember. He’d always just ate whatever someone else cooked, or made himself a sandwich. Clay and the others ate as well as could be expected.

Afterwards the dishes were cleaned, and then everyone went to their own room. Dr. Shawn McMichaels led Clay to the spare bedroom. The spare bedroom had a very Spartan feel. It was just a simple bed, a blanket, a pillow, and a chair next to the empty closet. “Goodnight Mr. Bertrand.” The old doctor said, and then turned to go to his room.

Clay Bertrand tried to sleep, but found himself irritated by the whole situation. Someone next door, Dr. Heim most likely, was playing some German song on a record player. The melody was familiar even if he couldn’t understand the German words. Clay lay there trying to remember why that particular song sounded so familiar. Eventually Clay recognized it as the old song, “Lili Marleen”.

Clay’s laugh was hallow, “I haven’t heard that song in years. I like the English version better.” A strange frustration continued to build as he glared at the ceiling. He wanted to hit something. An intense desire to hurt someone just seemed to bubble up from somewhere inside of himself. The urge changed slowly…subtly, and the urge to rend and tear wasn’t enough. Now he wanted to bite, chew, and devour. The urge just felt right. He was in full possession of his faculties, and yet thoughts unlike any he’d ever had before were slithering through his head. He only briefly considered how strange and alien his thoughts were, but it wasn’t too long before they seemed perfectly natural. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. “What do you want?” Clay snapped as he swung the door open.

“You.” Samantha Collins pushed her way into the room wearing only her bra and panties. She shoved forcefully enough that the man smacked his head against the wall. His frustration and anger finally had a target. Clay slapped her across the face. He was furious that she’d dare force her way in here. She fell onto the bed. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. She licked it away, “Is that all you’ve got?”

He grabbed Samantha’s hair, and jerked her back to her feet. She screamed, and he shoved his tongue into her mouth. He tasted like stale cigarettes, and coffee. She tasted like blood and faintly of toothpaste. Clay pushed her against the door. His hands slid up and down her side, and then moved to her bra. He wasn’t gentle. A hard tug ripped the bra off her body, and then fell to the floor. By tomorrow there’d be bruises from the bra, but right now neither of them cared. Clay stopped kissing her long enough to suck a breast.

“Bastard!” She moaned.

Samantha pulled his ears to try to kiss him again, but Clay bit down onto her breast leaving teeth marks. She squealed in a mixture of arousal and pain, then pulled harder until he finally let go to kiss her again. Aribert turned up the volume on his record player until it was drowning out the sounds of the two lovers from anyone that might have been walking by. Meanwhile Clay’s hands were pulling at her panties until they gave an audible ripping sound. His boxers weren’t faring any better. Samantha had yanked against his boxers until the elastic band was ripped off the rest of the material. The elastic clung onto Clay like a belt, and the rest fell down below his knees.

Clay hooked her knees with his arms, and pinned her against the door. The door handle left a long scratch on her hip. Samantha grunted in pain as he forced himself inside her. She was still dry, and he absolutely refused to wait. With each pump of his hips she screamed. Her nails clawed down his back, drawing blood. Eventually she screamed as she felt herself tear a little, and then she bit down onto his shoulder. “Bitch!” Clay yelled, and pumped himself into her harder and faster.

As time passed she felt herself starting to grow wet, but whether it was from blood or arousal was anyone’s guess. The wetter she became, the more forcefully Clay drove himself into her. Clay moved faster, trying to punish her with each thrust. Rage and frustration fueled each flex of his hips. It wasn’t long before there was a distinct crack as one of her ribs broke under the constant pounding. Samantha didn’t even react to it. She was too far gone to register the pain. Instinctively she bit down onto his neck and started chewing.

Her teeth broke the skin, but instead of letting go she bit down harder until blood burst into her mouth. Clay howled, more from the shock than pain, and he started punching her in the ribs to get her to let go. She wouldn’t, and instead just kept chewing. Clay tried to pry her off, but she had both arms wrapped around him, and she wasn’t letting go. He kept trying to push her head away, and he might have succeeded if he’d concentrated his efforts, but at the same time he was pushing away, his hips never stopped lunging forward. It kept him from being able to really muster up the strength to remove her. The blood kept pouring out of his neck, and any part that she didn’t swallow was running down onto the floor into an ever growing puddle. Clay took a step to attempt to get better leverage, but instead he slipped on the blood and fell flat on his back. Samantha’s head smacked onto the floor, leaving a huge gash on her forehead that was bleeding heavily. It only seemed to excite her more.

Clay was getting weak from blood loss. As he started losing consciousness Samantha finally bit all the way through. She rose up with one of the tendons between her teeth still attached to the man. She kept pulling away until it snapped like a guitar string that had been pulled too tightly. His hands fell to the floor limply, but she kept riding him as she swallowed down his flesh, and slurped that tendon down like spaghetti. Clay’s heart was fluttering weakly. He was close to death. Samantha bent back over him again to drink the last few squirts of blood. She drank him in greedy slurps. She only paused briefly as an orgasm fluttered through her. Then she went back to drinking each weakening spray of crimson, and occasionally taking additional bites as the blood began to slow and clot. She felt his penis swell, and then a few moments later she was vaguely aware of the semen running down her thighs. That didn’t really matter anymore because she’d found something so much more satisfying. She kept gnawing at the wound. When the blood stopped flowing altogether, she began bashing his head into the floor in an attempt to get to his brain. It didn’t take long.

Dr. Heim stood just outside the security door. He was wearing a cotton shirt, and some khaki pants. It’d been a long time since he’d left the compound. The clothes looked dated, and he’d have to get new ones soon, but time and opportunity would easily remedy the problem. He typed in the code with trembling fingers to put the complex on lockdown. He was beside himself with excitement. The door secured itself, and steel rods slid into place so that nothing could enter or escape. The alarm sounded as he prepared the platform for ascent. In a few moments the other doctors and scientists ran to the door.

“What are you doing?” Gunther screamed into a microphone. His voice was deafening over the speakers, and Aribert Heim fell to one knee covering his ears.

Once Aribert regained his composure, he walked to an intercom. “Gentlemen, colleagues…I have enjoyed the time we have spent together, but now is the time for me to leave.”

“You can’t. The agreement…” Shawn pleaded into the microphone.

“Oh but I most definitely can. You see with the president’s death…nobody is going to really be concerned that an obscure research complex went on lockdown due to hazardous exposure of an unknown substance. Considering the nature of our work, they will most likely only come here to confirm that there are no survivors. It is doubtful they will even attempt entry. So goodbye my friends, we have had a wonderful adventure. A bit of advice, you might want to keep an eye on Samantha. She isn’t quite herself, and she’s deceptively tough. I slipped a little something extra into their meals, and I really and truly thought that Clay would have been the survivor of the two. It just shows you can’t judge a book by its cover. It was right then that Frederick screamed. The others turned around just in time to see Samantha was dragging the man down to the ground. Her mouth closed around the man’s throat, and with a quick twist she tore a huge chunk of flesh out. The artery began spraying blood everywhere with each pump of his heart.

“Oh Frederick, I warned you.” Aribert smiled, “Well gentleman, I recommend you run back to your rooms and lock yourselves in. I may have set the labs to release all the test subjects in…” Aribert looked down at his watch, “Five, four, three, two, one.”

There was a buzz indicating that the cells had been unlocked. The men trapped inside screamed and attempted to move around Frederick’s still twitching body. Samantha had her arms and legs wrapped around the man to hold him in place. They ran back towards their rooms. Unfortunately a gray furry blur was running at full speed back up the hall at the same exact time. He struck them and never even broke stride. The impact shattered bones, dislocated hips, and ruptured internal organs. Most of the men were left crippled at best. Some of them were already dying from massive internal bleeding. Aaron Stokely was already dead. His head had a dent in it where the skull was smashed against a wall.

The injured and dying could do nothing but wait as the other test subjects closed in to feed. Hans Von Reubens wasn’t even that lucky. The gray blur still had ahold of him. Claws were puncturing his ribs into his lungs. He could barely breathe. When the gray blur stopped moving, Hans looked him in the eyes. They were wild…animal eyes. Hans tried to scream, but the creature wrapped his claws around his throat and gave a squeeze. It wasn’t enough to crush his windpipe, but it was enough to keep him quiet. The creature glared out of the window at the Doctor…and howled with rage.

“I’m sorry Danior, we can no longer play together. You’ll have to console yourself with my colleagues.” Aribert taunted before walking to the platform. A few seconds later he began rising. Aribert walked down the dirt road towards the nearest highway. A few hours later a vehicle pulled over to give him a ride. It wasn’t much longer before he was sitting in a hotel room. He carefully planned his escape after that. He had an old friend wire him money, and soon he had a plane ticket. The last thing he did before boarding his flight was call a lawyer pretending to be Clay Bertrand instructing the man to defend Lee Harvey Oswald. As far as he was concerned, if the federal government started looking for survivors, it was much better that they search for Clay Bertrand instead of Aribert Heim. Besides, even if they did suspect that he’d escaped, they would think twice before coming after him. Afterall, it was obvious he knew enough about Clay’s involvement that he could make it very uncomfortable for government officials.

Chapter Four

***TUESDAY, MARCH 19th, 2013 – GUADALUPE RIVER, TEXAS***

“Hey! Another beer?” Mike asked.

“Fuck yeah I want another beer. What kind of stupid question is that? If there is more beer to be had, and I don’t already have one in my hand…then of course I want another.” Chuck laughed.

Mike reached down into the half-melted ice, pulled out a cold one, and winged it through the campfire at his buddy. Unfortunately it bounced off his hand, and landed snugly in between Janet’s naked thighs.

“Shit that’s cold!” Janet screamed as the cold seeped through her green bikini bottoms, causing her to leap up off Chuck’s lap, sending him backwards in on his chair. Janet jumped up and down slapping at the ice and cold water that stuck to her thighs even as the beer went tumbling down into the sand.

“Dammit Janet…it isn’t that cold.” Chuck screamed while he tried to roll over to get back to his feet.

“It didn’t land on your pussy!” Janet screamed while hopping up and down trying to get the last of the ice out of her lap.

“Quit it!” Cassie slapped her boyfriend’s shoulder.

“What?” Mike asked in a tone that made it pretty clear he knew exactly what he was in trouble for.

“Stop staring at her tits!” Cassie hissed a little too loudly into his ear.

“Well can you blame me? That top doesn’t cover much, and with her hopping up and down like that…I mean a man has limitations.” Mike responded, but he was so drunk that his volume was not what he originally intended.

“Stop staring at my girl’s boobs you douche! How would you like it if I stared as your girl’s fun udders?” Chuck snapped as he finally got to his feet. He was pretty angry.

“I think I’d be okay with it…if I got to keep looking at Janet’s sweater kittens.” Mike responded, and was promptly punched in the shoulder by his girlfriend. “What? Look at those things! I mean seriously…they’re damn near hypnotic.”

“I warned you!” Chuck said as he stomped around the campfire, readying himself for a fight.

Mike stood up. Sadly, he’d never been in a fight before, and in desperation he raised both hands over his head, and lifted one foot up in the air like he was the Karate Kid, “Don’t make me whoop your ass fatboy!”

“Bring it toothpick!” Chuck stormed forward.

Both women moved to the side to watch their boyfriends duke it out. Janet leaned over to Cassie, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassie grinned and nearly vibrated with glee as she watched the two men. “Are you kidding? This is the best thing that happened all day long. Chuck’ll kick his ass, and then Mike will reluctantly apologize to everyone before he drags me back to the tent and give me a G.T.S. to vent his frustration.”

“G.T.S.?” Janet asked.

“Good therapeutic screw. Mike might be an ass, and he’s dumb as a post, but he can fuck you cross-eyed when he’s in a bad mood. Why do you think I’ve been such a bitch all day? I’m a girl on a mission, and that mission is getting banged so hard I can’t walk right for the next two days.” Cassie grinned mischievously at her sister.

“You are so twisted.”

Cassie giggled, “Hell yes, and that’s why the boys can never have enough. Why do you think I got him to talk about your tits in the first place? He’ll be angry and thinking of your twins while I’m busy finding my O.”

Janet covered her chest in embarrassment, “Well now I feel dirty.”

Cassie snickered, “Oh come on…throw a girl a bone…er. I agreed to camping, and that means I’m subjecting my beautiful body to the advances of every fucking tick, flea, and mosquito. I’ve been bit so many times since we got here that I should have a sign saying bug buffet hanging over my ass. On top of that you just know I’m going to be sunburned before it’s over. Plus there’s the whole shitting in the woods thing. So come on, I should at least get a good sound fucking out of it.”

Janet rolled her eyes, “Some days I can’t believe you’re my sister. You’re just…wrong.”

“Oh please. Do I even need to bring up Sally’s wedding?”

“First we promised never to mention that again. Second, if I’d have known he was our cousin I’d never have let him go down on me in the coat room. Third…shut up!” Janet grumbled.

“Bring it on you fat fuck!” Mike screeched.

He was still standing in his Daniel-san crane technique. Ralph Macchio would have been proud. Chuck moved like a very angry but surprisingly nimble hippo. Faster than you can say “Sweep the leg”, Chuck bull rushed his friend. Mike was the best athlete in chess club, and so he used an amazing vertical leap of eight inches to get as high in the air as he was physically able. His leg uncoiled like a snake on roofies. Instead of a perfect strike on Chuck’s chin, Mike’s foot flopped lamely against one of his opponent’s oversized man-boobs. Mike landed flat on his back, and Chuck veered off to the side screaming about his now traumatized nipple.

“Oh, shit…something poked me in the ass!” Mike whimpered as he tried to get back up.

“Serves you right…kicking like a bitch! Damn my chest hurts.”

“Well if you weren’t sporting C-cups I’d never have been able to hit you.” Mike teased.

“Seriously…we agreed no kicking last time, and I think you scuffed a nipple.” Chuck said with tears in his eyes and a hand covering the entire areola on his man-boob. He was doubled over and wheezing. “Truce?”

“Can I still look at your girlfriends tits?”

Chuck sighed, “Can you at least pretend you weren’t looking when someone calls you on it?”

“Deal, but I’m not responsible for excessive jiggling.”

“Deal.” Chuck groaned as he continued to rub his floppy man-boob.

Both sisters looked at their dates and groaned in unison, “Idiots.”

The cooler was opened, two more beers were brought out, and both men drank to their newfound peace agreement. After chugging until both were empty, both men belched. Mike’s bellow was deep and throaty, but Chuck used finesse and articulated all of the vowels. He even belched out the letter “Y” to punctuate his skill. After finishing both men turned to their girlfriends and waited to see if their fratboy mating calls were effective. If the look of disgust on both women’s faces was any indication…they were not.

“What?” Both men asked in unison. Janet and Cassie just rolled their eyes.

“Hello?” A voice came from the bushes.

All four campers watched as a heavily muscled man stumbled out of the brush. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Chuck said noncommittally.

The man walked up, “I’m Jessup Greer.”

“And I’m…in love.” Janet whispered to her sister.

Jessup walked towards them all, and seeing the beer laying in the dirt, he picked it up, popped the top, and drank it down. Sand was all over the top, and combined with the beer as it poured down his throat. After guzzling it all down in one swig, Jessup grinned, “Mmmm gritty.”

“Hey, that was our beer.” Chuck whined.

“Don’t worry, I’m only borrowing it. I promise given enough time I’ll give it back. Would you prefer I put it back in the can, or just shoot it straight into your mouth?” Jessup grinned, but it wasn’t a friendly grin.

Chuck huffed, but the other three campers laughed. In fact Janet was laughing a little too hard, and got a mean look from her boyfriend for all her troubles. Not that it did any good. Jessup walked over the overturned chair, righted it, and then sat down.

“That’s my chair.” Chuck spat.

“You’ve got good taste…man I can’t tell you how nice it is to sit down after all this traveling.” Jessup grinned.

Chuck looked ready to fight, but self-preservation kicked in. Jessup was heavily muscled, and looked like the type of man that had won more than his share of bar fights. Meanwhile, Chuck’s nipple was still throbbing from the impact of a size ten and a half high-top. Chuck rubbed his chest and tried his best to not look like a complete pussy.

Janet sauntered towards their new guest, her hips swaying in a way that said “come get some”. She hadn’t been dating Chuck for very long, and would have broken up a long time ago if not for her sister continually pairing them up on double dates, and stupid vacations. In fact it had all started because her sister Cassie needed a “wingman” in case Mikey turned out to be a complete loser. As far as Janet was concerned Mikey was enough loser to fulfill all the loser needs of a small village, but Cassie seemed to like him. He was scrawny, he had bad hair, and worked a dead end job. On top of that he was the type that got voted most likely to know the Klingon word for rutabaga back when he was in high school. Apparently he had one redeeming quality in Cassie’s eyes. The man was practically a human tripod.

It was great for her sister. Afterall, even when they were kids and played monopoly with their grandparents…Cassie always did want the horse. They bought a game a few years ago to play together like old times, and Cassie threw a fit. They’d removed the horse piece. She pouted and refused to play until they finally ordered a horse from e-bay. Meanwhile Janet couldn’t help but look at Chuck and think that she’d gotten stuck with the thimble again.

“Travelling, where did you come from?” Janet said while reaching down into the cooler. She made sure to bend over at the waste so that Jessup might appreciate the view.

“New Orleans.” Jessup said. His eyes were locked on Janet’s swaying derriere.

Janet stood up, and slid the cold can of beer across the top of her chest, “New Orleans? There isn’t a New Orleans anymore since the terrorists attacked.” She brought him the beer, and leaned over so that he’d get a great appreciation of her…assets. “Were you there?”

Jessup didn’t answer initially. He was too distracted by the nipples standing out just under the fabric of Janet’s bikini top. “Terrorists? There weren’t no terrorists. It was the army that blew up most of the state.”

Mike nudged Chuck and whispered, “Man you better get over there. He’s taking your girl.”

“No shit. What am I supposed to do about it? The guy is built like a fucking pro wrestler.” Chuck snapped.

“Well you could start by not being a pussy. At least get over there and mark your territory. Remember the plan dude.” Mike whispered.

Unfortunately Cassie was standing right behind them both, “Plan? What plan?”

Both men turned around like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. They tried to deny it, but after Cassie gave Mike “the look”, he folded like a deck of cards. “We were going to get you girls drunk and maybe…if you didn’t mind…and if the mood was right…and if you didn’t really object…we were…going to maybe switch out?”

“So let me get this straight…you two…both of you…got it in your head that you were going to what? Get me and my sister to strip naked out here and the woods side by side while you two idiots took turns plowing each of us at your leisure? Well here’s the closest you’re going to get to that. Fuck you, and of course fuck you!” Cassie spat and then made her way over to her sister.

“Oh come on, it was just a thought.” Mike groaned.

“Don’t even talk to me now.” Cassie snapped back. She then walked over to her sister and Jessup and started telling everything.

“I don’t think the swapping thing is going to happen dude.” Chuck grumbled.

Both sisters eyed Chuck and Mike angrily, and then turned their interest back to Jessup. Mike groaned, “And there went my sex life. Shit…should have just kept my mouth shut.”

“Do you think if we beg?” Chuck asked. Just then Janet sat down in Jessup’s lap and started playing with his chest.

“No dude, I think we just got our license to bang revoked, or at least suspended temporarily.” Mike grumbled.

“What now?”

“Well, let’s go over there and maybe try to smooth this over. Maybe once that dude leaves we might be able to get them drunk enough to take us back.”

“Good plan.” Chuck said as he started making his way over to the girls.

“So you really came from New Orleans?” Cassie asked.

“Yep, when the soldiers showed up I knew it was time to get the fuck out of Dodge. I started hoofing it, and I haven’t stopped since.” Jessup said with a playful grin.

“Oh poor baby, you must be so tired. You know, I have a tent over there if you’d like to lay down and rest for a little bit.” Janet twirled her finger in his shoulder length brown hair and tried to ignore her sister mouthing the word slut just out of Jessup’s field of vision.

“Thanks…I might just take you up on it.” Jessup answered.

“Hey? Where am I supposed to sleep?” Chuck asked.

“With Mike. After all, we already know you two don’t mind sharing.” Cassie snapped.

“But, where will you sleep?” Mike asked.

“It’s a big tent, I’m sure my sister won’t mind sharing.” She said with an evil grin before she put an arm around Jessup. “Besides, it gets cold. Jessup honey, do you think you’d mind if we both snuggled up to you to stay warm.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Jessup’s grin stretched out as broadly as humanly possible.

“Aww man!” Both Mike and Chuck whined at the same exact time.

“You’ve got nobody to blame but yourself.” Cassie hissed.

“Mike, I don’t think your plan is working.” Chuck whispered.

“New plan, we tell this douche nozzle to leave. Then we remind the girls that we’re their only ride out of here.” Mike whispered back.

“Really? You think that will work?”

Mike hissed quietly, “I don’t give a flying fuck if it works or not. I’m not going to spend the night listening to my ex-girlfriend getting banged in a three-way that was supposed to be our four-way. That’s just bullshit! Do you really want to hear your girl cumming on some other guy’s cock?”

Chuck thought about it, “You mean some other guys cock other than yours right?”

“It doesn’t count if I do it, because we were sharing. This asshole is bogarting the pussy. That is unacceptable.” Mike said as he stomped over to Jessup. “Sir, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Noooo! He can stay with us.” The sisters answered for him.

“Yes…we paid for this campsite. He didn’t. So he needs to get up off his ass and get the fuck out. Right Chuck?”

“R-r-r-r-r-right…don’t make us beat your ass.” Chuck’s threat was more of a whiny pleading for Jessup to just take the hint and leave. All Chuck could think about was that Jessup was about to give them both a serious beat down in front of the girls.

“Guys, I’m just catching a breather. It’s been a long walk from Louisiana, and frankly I just needed to sit down a bit.” Jessup grinned.

“We don’t buy that New Orleans bullshit. Come on, everybody knows it was terrorists that attacked the city. That they just dressed up like that to increase the terror and confusion. We all know they detonated stolen Russian nukes at the Joint Reserve Base in New Orleans. It was on all the news.” Mike spat.

“Well, then the news is wrong. It wasn’t terrorists. It was a bunch of backwater bayou zombies and zombie werewolves.” Jessup said matter-of-factly.

“What? Now you just sound stupid. Bayou zombie werewolves…you couldn’t make up something better than that?” Chuck laughed.

Jessup stood up, “I know how it sounds…but let me explain.”

Jessup put one foot on the chair, and then started rocking back and forth. One hand began strumming, and the other started moving back and forth like it was working frets on an old Fender, and then started to sing,“Down on the bayou, where the women all got big titties, I got bit by a zombie werewolf, and then made my way…back to the city. The zombies came a rolling, right down through the streets, but the soldiers dropped them bombs…and sent us all back in defeat. Woooooooow-wickety-wickety-woooooow-orrrrroowwww-wickety-wacket-woooorrrrrooowwww.”

By this time Cassie and Janet had both stepped away from Jessup and quickly got behind their boyfriends. Mike laughed, “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

“Nobody appreciates the skill involved in a good air guitar.” Jessup shook his head.

“I think you need to leave mister.” Chuck said. “You’re creeping us out.”

Jessup shrugged, “But Digger just got here.”

Mike asked, “Digger? Who the fuck is Dig-“ Before he could even finish his sentence grunting came from the bushes. “What the fuck is that?” Mike screamed.

“That’s Digger.” Jessup smiled.

“Digger? Is he your dog?” Chuck asked nervously.

“Dog? Hell no. Digger is an albino zombie werewolf armadillo.” Jessup laughed as though the thought Digger could be a dog was just hilarious.

Mike snapped, “Zombie werewolf armadillo? Okay, I thought zombie werewolves were stupid. You really expect us to sit here and believe there is something that stup-“

Suddenly, out of the bushes came a tiny white armadillo about as big as a very small dog. It ran straight at Mike and leapt at his stomach. It hit like a sledgehammer, and Mike was knocked on his back. Almost immediately armadillo began digging. Claws shredded through Mikes stomach. Diggers’ pink eyes were focused on the mangling of its prey, and its’ tail actually wagged a little in pleasure.

“AAAAAAH! Chuck help me!” Mike screamed as the creature was destroying his midsection. Blood sprayed everywhere like a fine mist. Scraps of skin fluttered to the ground as claws tore them from the body and flung them willy-nilly. A piece of belly button slapped Janet in the face, and she ran to the truck. She dove inside and locked the doors. Digger kept digging until he finally tore through the skin and reached the organs. As claws and teeth found organs the scent of blood grew stronger. Chuck took one look and ran off. Cassie was frozen in place.

Digger was gnawing through innards as he dug. He bit through an intestine, and the air was filled with the scent of blood and shit. Digger never stopped digging down until he finally was able to start pushing himself inside. Mike kept shaking and screaming as the armadillo worked its way up to his heart. The ribcage swelled out to accommodate Digger. Once he reached the heart, Mike’s screams stopped. Digger lingered for a few moments before progressing his way further up the body of the now very dead man. There was a bulge in his throat as the armadillo attempted to force his way into the skull. When it became obvious he could go no further, Digger began to swell. Mike’s throat grew like a balloon until skin started to split. Then, suddenly the neck ruptured like a hotdog cooked in the microwave for too long, and Digger kept growing. As he grew, white hairs started extending out from everywhere. Everything kept growing. His teeth grew longer until they dragged against the ground. He was as roughly as big as a large dog when he stopped growing, and he looked like a giant cotton ball dipped in blood.

Digger pushed his triangular snout against Mike’s head a few times before he started chewing his way through the bone. A few bites later had the armadillo burying his face deep into Mike’s skull trying to strip away the last few scraps of brain. Meanwhile Chuck had run away from the campsite, and was now halfway down the road. He was still screaming.

“Don’t run! You’ll just piss him off! Digger hates fast food!” Jessup yelled to the fat man.

Digger let out a much deeper grunt followed by a squeal before he started off after the fat man. It was like watching two separate objects. His legs were stubby and moved in what could only be called a waddling prance, but his upper body showed no hint of movement even as those legs churned faster and faster. His claws bit down into the ground as he accelerated. Digger grunted with excitement as he gained ground.

“Oh Jesus...oh shit!” Chuck screamed repeatedly as he ran as fast as possible. He tripped over his own feet and face-planted in the center of the road, sliding a few feet before he finally came to a stop. Digger was halfway to him, and gaining speed. Twenty miles an hour became thirty, and that became forty, and so on. When he reached the fat man Digger was doing close to fifty miles an hour. He was a blur of white fluff. He never slowed down, and impacted right into Chuck’s unwilling asshole.

“Noooooooo!” Chuck screamed even as his pants gave way to the impact. The armadillo’s snout struck right on the sphincter and it tore open. The man’s butt cheeks spread so quickly that for a moment they flopped open, and then “clapped” back around Diggers head. The impact drove both Digger and Chuck forward another five feet. The sudden anal intrusion of Digger’s pointy face caused Chuck to panic. He was so worried about having something working his way up his butt that he actually forgot that the creature was trying to kill him.

Panic and confusion helped Chuck to get back to his feet, and he started running again. Every time Digger bit down a little harder Chuck leaped into the air screaming at a pitch only the woodland creatures could hear. The armadillo grunted in frustration as he kept trying to dig his way inside, but he couldn’t find footing and instead was stuck with his head buried in the fat man’s butthole. His four legs kicked in all directions as he kept trying to find some way to climb further into the man.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Chuck screamed as he ran in circles trying to swat the creature away. With his short arms and fat, stubby fingers he couldn’t reach all the way back. He’d considered bending over so that his arms might be able to possibly grab the beast clinging to his prostate for all it was worth. He even thought of dropping onto his butt and dragging across the ground like a dog, but both these options meant he might give the armadillo the opportunity to find traction.

Digger was holding on for dear life with his teeth. The fat man wouldn’t stop running. His chubby legs kept slapping Digger back and forth so quickly with each step that he was starting to get a little bit woozy. If the fat man didn’t slow down Digger was going to lose his last meal, and he was fairly certain girl scout tasted much better going down than coming up. Eventually Chuck tripped over his own feet, and flopped face first. Digger seized the opportunity, and he dug his claws into the ground to give a mighty shove. He ripped through the asshole, the taint, and even part of Chuck’s ball sack. Then he began climbing his way inside.

“Nooooo! Noooo!” Chuck screamed in agony as he tried to crawl away. His fingers digging into the dirt road for all he was worth. Digger surged forward again. This time he reached all the way into the stomach. His claws pushed through the flesh and dug into the road. Chuck was now pinned with nowhere to go, but he still kept trying to claw his way forward. Two of his fingernails ripped off from the effort, but he didn’t even notice. Digger gave one more surge, and there was a distinct popping sound as ribs gave way from the strain. Digger ate the heart in two bites, and then started choking. In his greedy effort to feed he’d forgotten to chew. The armadillo lurched a couple of times before vomiting one of the pieces of heart back up. Without hesitation he started chewing on the piece again. By this time Chuck’s eyes were dull, and he was finally quiet. After swallowing the heart, Digger once again moved his way toward the brain.

“Please don’t hurt us.” Cassie begged. She kept telling her legs to move, but they refused.

“Hurt you? Oh no, I’m going to give you both a gift.” Jessup grinned.

Jessup leaned back and let the change take him. The bones in his face shifted, and his teeth fell out only to be replaced with large razor sharp fangs. His whole skeletal structure began to adjust. His arms and legs grew longer, his chest broadened, claws ripped out through his fingertips. It was agony. Bones broke and reset, muscle mass grew almost as quickly as the fur that was now ripping its way through his skin. He thought to himself as the last bit of his old skin fell off that this must be what shedding feels like for a snake. His weight doubled, and the chair collapsed under him. He didn’t even notice the impact of the ground. When it was over he got to his feet and started over to Cassie. The walk had been a long one, and as much as he had grown to like like Digger, he still wanted companionship.

Cassie looked up at what used to be Jessup. He was furry, eight feet tall with claws that were longer than most kitchen knives. His fangs looked sharp and menacing. He looked ready to shred her at any moment. Drool was dripping from his muzzle, and his newly grown tail was swaying back and forth. He was truly terrifying. “Wh-wh-what do you mean gift?”

Jessup looked down, and had to fight the hunger building up in him. He could always eat Janet, or snack on what’s left of Mike and Chuck, but right now he needed to stay focused. A quick bite or scratch and she’d be just like him. He thought about how she would understand once he infected her. At least he’d have company, and very sexy company at that. If he could control his hunger long enough, he might just be able to infect the other girl. Both girls were easily a solid eight and a half to a nine. If they could settle for those two losers, then they could certainly get used to the idea of being an undead werewolf, and they’d already been okay with the idea of jumping his bones. Besides, if they don’t like it he could always just kill them and find someone else. Jessup thought about all the nights he might get to spend with one or both of them and felt himself stiffen. It’d been a few months since he’d been with a woman, and he allowed himself to take a few moments to fantasize.

“What do you want from us?” Cassie asked. The werewolf had a far off look in his eye and didn’t say anything. “What? For God’s sake what do you want?”

It was then that she saw him grow erect. He was over two foot long and as thick as her ankle. The whole thought was too much for her. Cassie’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she passed out. Jessup looked down at the woman and thought to himself. Maybe I need to work on my communication skills? Since she was unconscious, he leaned down and gave her a very careful bite so that she wouldn’t get mangled by his teeth. He’d picked her for her looks, and it would be pretty stupid to ruin that beautiful body now.

Eventually she’ll wake up, but by that time the parasite will have already spread. Then Jessup planned to lead his new mate on a hunt. Either they could go find some inner tubers in the river, or they could both eat Janet. Jessup would wait to see how well Cassie handled the change, and then he could decide what to do with Janet. She couldn’t go anywhere. The keys were laying on the ground beside Mike. They must have fallen out while Digger was attacking. With nothing left to do but wait, Jessup wandered over to Mike and started eating. After stripping Mike clean he flopped down next to the unconscious, but changing woman. He pulled her up close in one arm, and waited. Digger eventually made his way back. He’d changed back from his much larger were form. The little albino armadillo snuggled up to his master’s other arm and went to sleep. Meanwhile Jessup petted the little pink-eyed freak on its leathery shell and thought about everything that happened up to this point.

Chapter Five

“Sir! That is absolutely not acceptable.” Marvin was so upset by the subject matter that some spittle flew across the fire and landed on some of the campers. All he could think of was what would happen when they mentioned this in front of management, or worse…what if they told it to their parents.

Gary put his hands up to calm the man down, “Okay, okay. I just thought the kids might like a little bit more spice in their story.”

“Children should not hear such filth!” Marvin was practically frothing at the mouth. He wasn’t really offended, but in the back of his head he kept hearing his boss firing him because some little brat couldn’t keep their pie hole shut.

“Oh come on.” Gary said to the man before turning to the kids in order to plead his case, “How many of you have cable television?” About half the hands went up. “Satellite?” The other half the hands went up. “How many of you have a computer?” All the hands stayed up. “Well it seems to me that I’m not telling them anything they probably haven’t seen a half dozen times or more in one way or another.”

“That isn’t the point.” Marvin growled. He tried to intimidate the man into being quiet, but instead of the throaty growl he hoped for, he gave out something that might only be heard from an asthmatic poodle.

“What is the point?” Gary asked, and without any effort at all Marvin was intimidated. The worst part of it was that the man wasn’t even trying. He was even patiently waiting for Marvin to respond.

All Marvin wanted to do was walk away. He would have just about done anything to get away from the man. Unfortunately he couldn’t think of any legitimate excuse to leave, and so he just sat there waiting for someone to say something to get Gary’s blue eyes to turn away from him. He even hoped Ashley might show the man more cleavage, anything to make him stop staring. The quiet weighed down on him, and Marvin knew he had to say something. His mouth was dry, and he was fairly sure anything that he said would sound squeaky and nervous. Then, as if God himself came down to answer the man’s prayer, John said in a decidedly panicked voice, “OH NO! I NEED GO POOPY! GO POOPY NOW!”

Gary looked at his son and shook his head, “It was the tacos from earlier wasn’t it? I told you those things would give you the squirts.” John’s head bobbed up and down like a fat bobble-head doll. He stood up, and began nervously hopping and turning in a circle, and he seemed to be trying to clench everything to avoid messing himself. His arms and legs twisted and his eyes pleaded for someone to help him. Gary turned to the camp counselor, “Marvin…you’re right. I need to tell them a much more age appropriate story. So I’ll tell you what. If you’ll take my son back to use your restroom, or at least take him out into the woods...then I’ll clean up the story a bunch. Deal?”

“Can’t he just go out in the woods?” Marvin asked. A part of him wanted to jump at the opportunity to get away from the man for a moment. Sitting next to Gary made Marvin feel…emasculated. That being said, he felt like somehow someone was pulling a fast one on him. He couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was being done, but something deep inside him said this was probably a bad idea.

“He tends to wander around if you don’t keep your eyes on him.” Gary gave a lopsided grin and shrugged. When Marvin didn’t move the grin turned into a broad smile as he said warmly, “The kids want a story. I get why you don’t want to leave them. Their great kids, but you’re the one that asked me to tell them a story. I can’t tell them the story and take my son to the restroom. I mean I could but dragging a bunch of teenagers around to watch my son crap might be a little traumatic. So if you’ll keep my an eye on my boy while he uses the bathroom, and then when he’s done you both come right back. They’re happy, and more importantly my son isn’t stinking us all out of here. Everybody gets what they want then. You can even leave Ashley here to make sure I don’t say anything too inappropriate.” Gary gave Ashley a playful wink while Marvin stared at the older man’s fat son.

It all sounded so reasonable. “Okay.” Marvin stood up and started walking back to the camp bathrooms. “Come on John. I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

“Yay!” John laughed and flapped his arms. He got so excited that he bounced around like a kid after too much sugar. He kept flapping and hopping around behind Marvin before gasping and coming to a dead stop, “I almost had an oopsie.”

“Great…I should have never taken their offer for us all to camp together. I should have known better.” Marvin kept muttering about the man and his son as he trudged back towards the cabins.

“DON’T FORGET TO WIPE!” Gary yelled to his man-child.

“OKAY DADDY!” John screamed back, his voice already being muffled by the thick forest.

“Well…” Gary slid over to get a little closer to Ashley, “I guess we should get back to the story right kids?”

“Yes!” They all said enthusiastically. After all the time they’d spent on wholesome family entertainment during their stay at camp, every one of them wanted to hear something that wasn’t g-rated.

“What happens if Marvin gets back?” Ashley asked as she felt Gary’s hand brush against her bottom on its way to wrapping around her.

“Oh that’s not gonna happen. I think we should all be surprised if we see Marvin again at all tonight.” Gary grinned as he draped his arm around the pretty young counselor.

“What makes you say that?” She asked trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. She genuinely liked the man. She genuinely liked most men that were older than her. Her own father never paid much attention to her, but she found out pretty quickly that other men her father’s age would be more than willing to spend time with her. She was pretty…almost beautiful even. A lot of her friends teased her about her always having boyfriends at least a decade older than her, but she knew what she liked and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Besides, there were perks to dating older men. They often had better cars, better homes, and what they sometimes lacked in overall sex drive they more than made up for in skill.

“My son eats a lot of fiber…a whole lot of fiber.” Gary winked.

“So?” Todd asked. It was clear by his and all the other teens reactions that they were still too young to truly appreciate the unholy magic a bran muffin might work on a grown man’s digestive tract.

“So…my boy’ll still be taking a shit when you’re naming your firstborn.” Gary said playfully. He had a teasing twinkle set in his blue eyes.

“So it’s going to be just us then?” Ashley asked hopefully as she snuggled up into the crook of the older man’s arm.

“Yeah Baby. It’s just you…and me…and these guys. So let’s enjoy it while we can.”

Ashley smiled and let her head rest dreamily against his manly chest, “It sounds wonderful to me.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!” Marvin screamed.

“What was that?” Todd asked nervously. He was trying not to panic, but his voice came out a grinding squeal.

Gary grinned and gently looked the young teen in the eyes, “It sounds like your camp counselor was standing downwind of my son’s latest bowel movement. I sure don’t envy that poor bastard.” Todd thought about it for a moment, and then relaxed.

“Are you sure he’s okay?” Ashley asked. It had sounded like the man had been terrified of something.

“Yeah, he’s fine. I promise. Although his nose hairs might be a little singed.” Gary teased. The teenage boys all giggled, and the teenage girls all turned up their nose as though disgusted, but even they smirked a little.

“Okay, so let’s get this out of the way. Anybody want to hear a boring ass story about a giant lizard that loves you if you love him?” None of the teenagers raised their hands. Gary waited to make sure the kids, and that’s what they were to him, had plenty of time to make their decision. When he was sure that none of them wanted to hear anything about that kind of stuff. “Okay, now who wants to hear a dirty little campfire horror story about zombies, and zombie werewolves?” Every hand shot up. “That’s what I thought. Well then I’d better get my thumb out of my ass and start telling the story. It’s a long one, and I’d hate for ya’ll not to get to hear it before we have to say goodbye. I mean if your Uncle Gary can’t tell you a dirty story that corrupts your innocence and upsets your parents, and more specifically pisses off that asshole Marvin, then what good am I right?”

The teenagers laughed and cheered, and even Ashley giggled. She even pretended not to notice his hand tracing the outline of her bra with his thumb. She pressed in closer and purred, “So tell us the story...Mr. G.”

Gary teased the outline of her bra strap a few more moments before continuing, “Well, like I said. Jessup was all stretched out on the ground with a hot babe in one arm, and that damned little albino armadillo in the other. He just lay there thinking about how it all began. He thought back to before he was a zombie werewolf. It’d been awhile, but he still remembered the day everything changed. He recalled most of it as clearly any man could be expected to…”

Chapter Six

***TUESDAY, JANUARY 22th, 2013 – THE BAYOU IN LIVINGSTON PARISH, LOUISIANA***

Creedence Clearwater Revival was blasting out over the cheap battery operated radio. A prematurely balding man was digging to the beat. Occasionally he’d stop and pretend the shovel was his microphone while he sang to a crowd of applauding fans. Sometimes he’d wink with his one good eye at the imaginary women, and sometimes he’d even wink with his dull glass eye. He even pretended to catch the imaginary panties thrown at him, and wipe the sweat from his brow with them. The few hairs left on his head swayed back and forth as he bobbed his head to the music. Sweat stains covered the front and back of his old gray shirt that said, “You bring your Vagina Monologue to my Dick Soliloquy and we’ll have us one hell of a conversation.”

“That’s it…I’m done.” Bubba said as he stuck his shovel into the clay for the last time. “Jessup? I’m done. You ready to go?”

Jessup Greer stepped out of the nearby camper and walked over to his brother, “What the fuck is that supposed to be?”

“Shitter hole.” Bubba said proudly.

“Bubba? How do you make an outhouse hole?”

Bubba looked exasperated as he pointed at the hole like it should be self-evident, but after a few moments of Jessup waiting on an explanation, Bubba spat and then said, “Ya dig a hole six by three. Then later we build an outhouse over it.”

Jessup looked up in the sky as if asking “Why me?” Then he shook his head and said, “Yeah, only problem is you dig it six feet deep by three feet wide. You doofus…what good is a hole six foot wide by three foot deep. What? Do you think the shit needs somewhere to stretch its legs?”

Bubba slowly realized the mistake, “We can still use it right?”

“We’re gonna have to dig another one unless you just are hellbent on having the first shithouse with a porch.”

“It might be kind of fancy?” Bubba said. He was still hoping he could avoid digging another hole. He hated digging. You never knew when water might start seeping into your hole whenever you were digging, but if you ever had to dig anything substantial you could almost always count on having to make a few attempts before you made a dry hole deep enough.

Jessup eyed his brother, “If you want to build it then what the hell, knock yourself out, but don’t cry to me if a ‘coon bites you on the ass. Of course you realize we’ll need to dig another outhouse hole in about a month with it that shallow.”

“I like hitting nails better than digging shitholes any day.”

“The smell will be pretty bad.” Jessup countered.

“I’ve been behind you after taco night. It’s bad anyway.” Bubba grinned.

“There’ll be flies.”

“Fly strips.” Bubba responded defiantly.

Jessup sighed in defeat, “Fine, but if I hear anything shuffling down there after we get the outhouse built then you’re going to be the one that has to kill it.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to dig the next one.” Jessup grinned.

“But I just dug this one. We agreed to switch. I dig the first one, and then you dig the next one.” Bubba protested.

“Yeah, and you still haven’t dug the first one. Now come on, we can’t hang around all day while you play with yourself. Give me a hand with the inside of our new junkyard slash garage office.” Jessup picked up his tool belt and headed for an old abandoned building.

“I still can’t believe you bought this crappy place? Couldn’t we have gotten something closer to the city?” Bubba grumbled.

“Listen, we’ll be the only tow truck company for miles along this stretch of highway twelve. That’s practically a license to print money, and once we get this old garage fixed up we’ll be able to bring them back here, and charge whatever we want for parts and labor.”

“What keeps them from calling another tow truck and having their vehicle dragged off somewhere else?” Bubba asked.

Jessup grinned, “Who’s gonna pay a hundred and fifty to two hundred to bring their vehicle here, then pay maybe three or four hundred to get to the nearest garage? They’ll pay whatever we charge just as long as our markup is still cheaper than the tow somewhere else. We have them over a barrel. Now come on, we just have to finish installing the new garage door and then everything will be perfect.”

It wasn’t long before they had the door up. Both brothers were in a mood to celebrate. Bubba ran over and got his portable radio. He set it on their newly acquired Craftsman tool chest that they somehow had pushed right out of the Sears, onto the loading dock, and into the bed of their pickup without anyone noticing. It was right next to the air compressor they “borrowed” from an old neighbor just before they moved. Everything in the garage had been “appropriated” from their original owners without their knowledge or consent up to and including both the radio and the Metallica mix tape that Bubba had “liberated” from a car they'd towed while working for their old boss. Of course Bubba and Jessup had “liberated” quite a few things from the cars they towed, and once their boss found out, he immediately “liberated” them from their jobs.

Metallica was blasting out of the garage at “instant deafness” levels. Both Brothers were in particularly good moods, and it showed. Heads bobbed up and down at a frantic pace, air guitars were cranked to eleven, and they stomped around with an attempt at rhythm neither man possessed. They were just two white trash Cajun morons that were having a good time. That’s when the batteries began to die on the radio in the middle of “All Nightmare Long”. James Hetfield’s voice went from growling and intense, to sounding sleepy and drunk. Finally, the tape stopped all together.

“Shit.” Bubba grumbled.

“Well ain’t that thing got a chord?” Jessup asked.

“Yeah, give me a second.” Bubba took the chord and plugged it in.

“Well?” Jessup asked impatiently.

“Well what…socket must be dead.”

Jessup shook his head, “I thought you fixed the wiring.”

“I did, but I didn’t go around checking every wall plug. I mean usually either the power works or it don’t.”

“Well I guess it’s just one more thing we gotta fix. Go flip the breaker, I’ll get a screwdriver and see what’s wrong with the plug. Maybe we’ll be lucky and it’ll just be a loose wire.” Jessup said as he searched through the tools.

Bubba walked around the outside of the building. When he reached the breaker box, he flipped everything to off. Then he made his way back to the garage. Jessup was already on his knees trying to remove the cover. The screwdriver turned, but the screw wouldn’t loosen.

Jessup finally leaned back and groaned, “Shit, the screw is stripped. We’re gonna have to…what the hell?”

“What?” Bubba asked, trying to see over his brother’s shoulder.

“Back up! You’re blocking my light.” Jessup snapped. After Bubba took a few steps back Jessup leaned closer to get a better look. “Well shit, this whole thing is loose.” Jessup spun the wall plug around, “Looks like I’m going to have to yank this whole damn thing out.”

Jessup got up and started searching the tools. Meanwhile, Bubba felt the need to put his two cents in. He got down on the floor and took a closer look. It was just as loose as his brother had said. Bubba spun the faceplate around once, and then he turned it again in frustration. “Yep, damn thing is looser than Sally Mae’s cootch.”

“You banged Sally Mae?” Jessup asked.

“Who ain’t banged Sally Mae? If that gal’s pussy was a tire the rubber’d be all worn off and she’d be running on the rim.” Bubba laughed.

“When did you bang Sally Mae?”

“Remember about two months ago when I went to the doctor?”

“Yeah.” Jessup answered.

“About a month before that…bitch gave me chlamydia.”

“No shit?”

Bubba groaned, “Yeah, and the crabs.”

“Seriously, crabs?”

“Yeah, I felt so stupid combing my junk. It was like I was some faggy hair dresser…but for peckers.”

Jessup laughed, “Well it’s good to have a skill. We know you can’t dig a shithouse hole to save your life. Maybe you got a future as a pecker stylist. We could set you up a booth in the corner to earn some extra money.”

“Don’t even joke like that.” Bubba shuddered.

“So you and Sally Mae?”

“Yep, behind the dumpster near the Baskin Robbins.” Bubba laughed. “Girl will do damn near anything for some Jamoca Almond Fudge.”

“Yep.” Jessup laughed.

“What? You got some of Sally Mae too?”

“Brother like you said…who ain’t banged Sally Mae.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. Of course I didn’t have to go to the doctor later. All it cost me was a scoop of Rocky Road, and a few dozen mosquito bites on my ass.” Jessup doubled over laughing.

“Well she does like her ice cream. You’d think she’d be a chubby gal, but she’s skinny as a rail.”

“All the fat just goes to her tits…not that I was complaining.”

Bubba snorted, “Yeah that is the best thing about her. She’s got a face a bulldog would have to get drunk to fuck, but those titties are un-fucking-believable. They damn near made the crabs worth it, and when she does that thing with her hips.”

“She is flexible.” Jessup grinned.

“Hell she bends in ways that’d make Gumby scream.”

“Yeah it’s hot as hell, kind of makes up for that godawful sound she makes when she cums.”

Bubba nodded, “You heard that too huh. Sounds like a ninety year old man taking a really painful shit during an asthma attack.”

“I know right….AAAAAAAAAAAAAA-hooo-RRRRRRRRRRRRR-haaaaa-GGGGGGGGGGG-eeeeeeept” Jessup did his best impersonation of the girl. “I swear to God I thought she was gonna shit on my nuts. I would of stopped right then, but the girl fucks like a damn wildcat on meth.”

“I know…shit. I wonder what she’s doing tomorrow night.” Bubba grinned.

“By the look on your face…she’ll probably be giving you herpes.” Jessup said, and then his eyes turned to the center of the room.

“Hahaha, yeah but it might just be worth it. Girl’d get a gold medal in…what you looking at?” Bubba turned and saw a rectangular area had lowered in the center of the room.

“What in the blue hell?” Jessup questioned.

“You think it’s foundation problems?”

“Ain’t no foundation problem I ever heard about did this.” Jessup said, and then he stepped onto the rectangular area. The platform started lowering. He gave a panicked, “Oh shit!”

Bubba hopped down onto the platform with his brother, and they sank down into the darkness. It took a while, but eventually they reached the bottom. Bright lights flashed on, blinding both men. After a few moments they dimmed to something more tolerable. Finally, after their eyes adjusted, they could see everything. Of course seeing everything pretty much just amounted to three walls, a platform for them to stand on, a huge steel door with a glass window, and a keypad. There really wasn’t much else.

“What the hell is that?” Bubba asked.

Jessup shrugged and moved towards the security door. The window was still clear as the day it had been sealed. Jessup and his brother pressed their faces to the glass to see inside, but all they could see was a long hallway. Bubba looked around and found the controls.

“This says it’s on security lockdown? Any idea what that means?” Bubba asked.

“It means we need to figure out a way to get through this door. There might be something valuable in there. Hell, worse comes to worse we can at least tie in to the electric down here and save some money on our bill. Plus maybe we can find some shit we can sell, pawn, or scrap.”

“The button here says disengage lock.” Bubba pressed it, but nothing happened.

“Shit. Hey, do we still have that old welding set?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it still works.”

Both men went to the platform. It took them a few minutes to figure out how to make the platform rise again. Once they got back up they ran to the trailer and found the welding set. They then pulled it all the way back, hopped onto the same spot and…nothing.

“What the fuck man? How do we make it go down?” Jessup screamed.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s like one of those trick doors or something. What were we doing when it went down the first time?”

“We were talking about Sally Mae’s cooter.”

Bubba shook his head, “No, before that.”

“We were working on…THE BROKEN WALL PLUG.” Jessup screamed excitedly. He ran over and spun it once. Then turned around and…nothing. “Well shit.”

“Wait…then I did this.” Bubba turned the faceplate twice. He stood up just as the rectangle in the center of the room lowered.

“YES!” Both men screamed as they loaded onto the platform with the welding supplies. Once down there it took Bubba an hour to cut through the door, but eventually he had an opening big enough that a person could walk through comfortably. He’d have been done sooner, but Jessup made him make the opening large enough that they could carry anything they found back out.

“Are those bodies?” Bubba asked nervously.

“Well shit!” Jessup groaned. “This is all we need. Cops’ll investigate, then they’ll start looking at our garage. Then you and I will be in jail getting poked in the ass.”

“Nuh-uh.” Bubba responded. Of course his answer was less to do with the police and more to do with whether or not he’d be on the receiving end of prison rape.

“Well what do you want to do? We can’t just leave all these bodies down here. I’ve watched enough movies to know it’d be just a matter of time before somebody stumbles onto this place. Face it Bubba…you and I are fucked with a capital eff-yoo-see-kay-ee-dee.”

“Listen Jess, the way I see it there are two ways this can go. We can run up and hide all our stuff, then call the police.”

“Aww man, but-“

Bubba held up a hand, “Let me finish. We can either hide all that stuff up there, or we can get rid of the bodies.”

Jessup looked down at the bodies, and then shook his head, “We can’t do that. I mean I’ve done some fucked up shit, but hiding bodies.”

“Think about it man. Just look around. This place is ancient. However these guys died, it was a long time ago. So you can whine about it, or you can help me load them up and take them to the boat. Then we’ll toss them out in the bayou somewhere. If they ever get found then nobody will know they came from here.”

Jessup groaned, “It’ll never work.”

“Of course it’ll work. We just have to take them out deep into the middle of nowhere, and then dump them out. Trust me…what’s the worst that could happen.” Bubba grinned.

***ONE HOUR LATER***

“I don’t know man. Do you think it was okay to just leave those last two in the craphole until we get back? I realize that we can’t fit them in here, but what if someone sees them laying there?” Jessup answered.

“You worry too much. They’ll be fine. Now pull your panties out of your crack and quit whining.”

“Keep talking smack and you can drag the next batch of bodies to the boat yourself.” Jessup muttered.

“Oh stop being a pussy. It’s just-“

Bubba was interrupted by a loud hiss as an alligator’s head rose up out of the water and started moving towards the boat. Seconds later, a second alligator rose, and then two more, and then five more, within a span of ten seconds there were fifty hungry alligators making a beeline for the boat, and another twenty were still apparently trying to decide whether to make the effort to come after the men, or accept that there were already so many that they’d never get a scrap.

“Well this is bad.” Jessup screamed.

“No shit.” Bubba groaned.

“What do we do?”

Bubba yelled, “We do what we came here to do you idiot! So now let’s toss these bodies to the gators and get the hell out of here while they’re busy eating.”

Both men worked like mad, tossing the bodies into the water. As they hit the water the gators attacked the dried up bodies like Randy Savage snapping into a Slim-Jim. The men kept tossing bodies as fast as possible. Some of the bodies didn’t even hit the water before gator teeth were sinking into them. The sounds of jaws snapping shut, and brittle bones breaking echoed out in all directions.

“Hurry up, they’re getting closer!” Bubba screamed. He reached down, and grabbed one of the bodies by the head. His fingers using its mouth as a handhold to lift the corpse up and, with the help of his brother, throw the body into the waiting jaws of a very hungry gator. “Ow! Son of a bitch!”

“What happened?” Jessup asked while still trying to toss another body overboard.

“I cut myself on its teeth.”

“Bad?”

“Nah, it’s barely even bleeding. Now shut up and keep throwing them out.” Bubba screamed and grabbed another by the head.

“One left.”

“Thank god.” Bubba grabbed the feet, “Hairy bastard though.”

“Yeah, barely even looks human.” Jessup leaned down to grab him by the head. “And what’s with those teeth. Shit…was his dad part german shephard?”

“I know right. I mean that’s a face only a really drunk mother could love, and even then only if she had cataracts.” Bubba laughed as they both lifted the body.

“Ow! Motherfucker!” Jessup screamed and dropped his part of the body.

“What?”

“Damn thing bit me.”

“Don’t be an idiot. How could it bite you? It’s dead.”

Jessup held up his hand, “Look, a bite mark.”

Bubba rolled his one good eye, “Oh you big fucking baby. You just cut your hand on its teeth. I did the same thing on that other one.” The other dull glass eye just stared slightly off to the left.

“It bit me!”

“It did not! That was just your imagination.” Bubba snapped. “Now move your ass and help me get him in the water before these hungry bastards decide to climb up in our boat and show you what a real bite is.”

Both men lifted, and then flung the body as far out into the water as they could. The sudden shifting of weight made the boat sway back and forth violently. Jessup fell back on his butt, but Bubba fell halfway out of the boat. When Jessup was able to get his bearings, he looked over and saw his brother hanging over the side at his waist struggling to get back in. The man’s face was kept bobbing in and out of the water as his legs kicked in all directions to get enough momentum to go back in the boat.

That’s when a gator rose up out of the water just a few feet from Bubba. Jessup had a perfect view, but he was too far away to pull his brother in. The gator went right for Bubba’s face. Jessup panicked, and twisted the handle to give the boat gas. The engine smoked and sputtered, but the boat started moving forward. The gator lunged as the boat started picking up speed. Its mouth opened wide ready to chomp down.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Bubba screamed. His arms and legs flailing in all directions as the gators’ mouth closed with a very audible snap.

“Bubba!” Jessup screamed.

“Ho-lee-Shit!” Bubba slid back into the boat. Then in a panic he started feeling around his face. “Nose, ears, face…thank God. Aww shit!”

“What?” Jessup screamed over the boat motor.

“Damn gator got my cap!”

“Damn gator nearly got your head. Be thankful that you are still alive!”

“Yeah but that was my favorite cap. It let all the ladies know I was an orgasm donor.”

“It was just a hat.” Jessup groaned.

“The hell it was…it was a way of life, and Sally Mae liked it.”

Jessup laughed, “Sally Mae likes it because that way she don’t have to see the moonlight shining off your bald head when you go down on her.”

“I think the important part of that sentence was me going down on her.” Jessup grinned. The men would have continued their argument, but just then the boat struck land and ran aground. Both men were thrown forward, and landed unceremoniously. Jessup landed at the water’s edge, but Bubba hit the ground hard, bounced twice, and then rolled to a stop face down. After a moment, both men rose to their feet.

“What in the hell kind of driving was that Jessup! You could have gotten us killed!” Bubba grumbled. Jessup looked at his brother, bit his lower lip, and tried hard to fight the urge to laugh. “What’s so damn funny?”

“You’re face. You got shit all over it.” Jessup couldn’t hold it back any longer. The laughter came out like a wheezing cough.

“Asshole!” Bubba grumbled as he wiped the crap off his face. When he was done there were still brown smears that sent his brother into giggling fits every time he looked at them, and every time Jessup giggled, Bubba would call him an asshole and start wiping again.

“Just go wash it off.” Jessup laughed.

“Fuck you. I ain’t getting in that water. That gator’s probably just waiting on me down there.”

“You think the gator followed us all the way here?”

“I’m not ruling out the possibility. Now let’s get the boat back in the water and…SHIT!”

“What?” Jessup asked.

“There’s a big ass hole in the boat! We’re gonna have to walk. This is your fault.”

“My fault? Well next time I’ll let the gator eat your face. Would that make you happy?” Jessup snapped.

“Hell, it might be better than the four miles I’m gonna have to walk now.” Bubba grumbled as he started plodding off towards home.

“Bitch…bitch…bitch.” Jessup followed his brother. After a few steps Jessup gasped, “Whew! Dude, did you shit yourself?”

“Well what did you expect me to do while I was getting a closer look at that gator’s tonsils? Now shut up because a gator tried to eat me, we got four miles to walk home, I lost my favorite hat, my boxers are squishy, and all I can smell is ‘possum shit!” Bubba screamed as he stuck both middle fingers up in the air and started turning in a circle.

“What are you doing?”

“Flipping off my guardian angel…that was a hell of a time for him to take a smoke break.”

Jessup shook his head, “Yeah, piss him off. That’ll end well.”

Bubba turned, “Oh come on…you know there ain’t no such thing as God.”

“What I know is you just survived a gator attack. So it might not be such a good idea to poke the man upstairs whether he’s real or not. It’s bad karma. Now how’s your hand?” Jessup asked with genuine concern.

Bubba looked at his hand. The wound was already looking red and possibly a little infected. “Burns like hell. What about you?”

“It tingles. I still say that body bit me.”

Bubba laughed, “That’s stupid. It’s dead. Dead things can’t bite you.”

“Okay fine. If it makes you happy then I made it all up in my head. It didn’t bite me. I cut my hand on its teeth. It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Jessup grumbled. “Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Can you…stay downwind? You’re pretty damn ripe.” Jessup said, and started turning a little green as the breeze carried his brother’s scent right to him.

“Asshole! See how well you smell with your pants full of shit!” Bubba snapped.

“You could take them off. Then maybe just pull your pants back on and go commando.”

“Fuck you! With my luck a pack of horny raccoons would sneak up and molest me. I’ll keep my mudbutt until I get to the safety of home thank you very much.” Bubba growled.

“Yeah…mother nature really doesn’t seem to like you at all. It serves you right for never recycling…ever. Now about that being downwind?”

“Fine! You and your fucking eco-hippie bullshit.” Bubba snarled, and then moved downwind of his brother.

Meanwhile back in the bayou the gators were happily chomping on the corpses. Many of them had bits of scientist in their stomach, while others had chunks of doctor sliding down into their stomachs. For the most part, the gators were happy for the meal, even if it was dry. However there were a few that almost immediately started thrashing in the water. The gators tried to swim to the bottom and escape, or at least hope the water pressure stopped the pain, but it didn’t. They swam to the surface, rolling and flopping the entire time in the hopes they could dislodge whatever it was that caused such agony. They didn’t know what it was, but they felt a gnawing sensation moving down through their bodies. They desperately tried to find some way to make it stop, but couldn’t get away because the pain came from so deep inside. Finally, exhaustion set in and all they could do was float at the top while something inside kept biting and chewing.

Chapter Seven

An old beat up Ford pickup came to a stop beside the brothers just as the sun was setting over the horizon. It’d been a long walk up until now, and they had at least another thirty to forty-five minutes of walking before they’d turn down the road back to their land. Both men were in a bad mood, and had been arguing the last few minutes.

“Can you give us a lift?” Jessup yelled over the knocking of the pickup.

“That depends on where you’re going?” The man screamed back, but his voice could only barely be heard over the distracting combination of engine noise and country music. Jessup gave directions, and then the man popped his passenger door open. “Alright, hop in.”

“Thanks.” Jessup smiled as he hopped into the passenger seat.

Bubba was just about to slide inside when a gust of wind carried his scent over to the driver. The driver covered his nose and gagged, “Hoo-boy! I think you better sit in the back and air out some. My truck might look like a piece of shit, but I’d still prefer if it didn’t smell the part as well.”

Bubba grumpily waddled towards the back of the pickup, and then scowled when he reached the back. Part of his discomfort was the combination of chapped ass, tired legs, and Play-Doh factory hiding in the back of his pants. The other part was the hodgepodge of bumper stickers all over the tailgate.

“I love Jesus, but he says he just wants to be friends.”

“My other car…is a real piece of shit!”

“Jesus died for your sins, not your stupidity.”

“Stop riding my ass, this ain’t San Francisco.”

“Warning: In case of rapture this truck is either unmanned, or manned by a really pissed off driver.”

“Wanted: large breasted women…many positions available.”

“I hate (insert current president here).”

“If Scientology was real, don’t you think Tom Cruise would be taller?”

“The only religious nuts I want to be around…are the ones in my pants.”

There were roughly twenty more bumper stickers covering everything on the back of the pickup except the taillights. The very center of the tailgate was an Acadian flag with “Where Y’at?” written in big block letters underneath. Bubba put his foot on the bumper and lifted himself into the bed of the pickup. Once he was inside he had no real choice but to sit down, and he cringed as he felt the contents of his underwear squish and conform to his butt cheeks.

Bubba turned his head to look into the cab of the pickup, but a sticker was blocking his vision. It was Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes on his knees praying, “Lord, forgive me for peeing on everything.”

“Why can’t people keep their stupid opinions to themselves.” Bubba grumbled just before the pickup began rolling down the road. “Well at least the breeze’ll take the stank away.”

Jessup looked at the man. He was in his mid-forties, rail thin, with a blonde crew cut. The man had a warm, friendly smile, and blue eyes so playful they made him look a little crazy. One of his hands had a tan line from a wedding ring, and the other was missing a pinky. The man noticed Jessup staring at the pinky, “It was from tossing firecrackers when I was a kid. A short fuse, and some slow reflexes cost me the pinky, but at least I still got the hand.”

“I bet that hurt.”

“Nah, I was too shocked to feel it. I just stood there like an idiot wondering where my pinky went. By the time I actually was able to feel anything, I was already on painkillers in the hospital. My name is Bobby…Bobby Mullins, but most my friends just call me Coonass.” Bobby was genuinely friendly towards the man. Of course he was friendly to most people. There weren’t many in the parish that had a bad word to say about the man, and the ones that did were usually the ones in the wrong.

Jessup was grateful the man had pulled over. He was saving the brothers a long walk. He grinned and asked, “So you live around here?”

“Yeah, it’s just me and my daughter B.J. Of course she’s in college now.” Bobby grinned with pride as he tapped a picture hanging down from the rearview mirror. Jessup looked, and caught himself before he gave a whistle that probably would have had him put back out of the truck. B.J. had a smile that even made Jessup grin. She had short black hair in a pixie cut, dark caramel skin, and curves that made Jessup have to remind himself repeatedly not to say anything that got him tossed out.

“So B.J. stands for?” Jessup asked, and then had to fight to hold his tongue because his smart mouth nearly slipped up and said exactly what he hoped it might stand for. Of course with those soft full kissable lips he was pretty sure she’d have no problem living up to expectations if given half a chance.

“Bobbie Joe. She’s a junior at LSU in biological sciences. B.J.’s gonna be the first person in our family to graduate college. She’s gonna be something big just you wait and see.” Bobby sounded practically giddy. He didn’t completely understand what she did in school. He honestly didn’t understand much about school in general. What he did understand was opportunity and hard work. College would give her opportunities he’d never have even considered, and as for hard work…she got her work ethic from him.

“Well someone’s a proud poppa.” Jessup laughed, but irritation was already setting in. The country music, the happy-go-lucky attitude, and the bragging about his daughter all came together to somehow infuriate him. “Hey, would you mind turning down the radio. I don’t mean to be rude, but I got a helluva headache.”

“Sorry, it’s broken. CD got stuck in it Christmas before last, and last Halloween B.J. broke the controls when her milkshake leaked down onto it from the dashboard. I keep meaning to get a new stereo put in, but I’ve just been too busy.” Bobby smiled sheepishly.

“Lazy ass.” Jessup spat.

“What’d you say?” Bobby asked as he leaned over to hear better.

“Christmas…I was asking about how it got stuck in there last Christmas.”

Bobby looked embarrassed, “I lost my temper. It was a damn foolish thing to do. I punched it, and broke two fingers in the process.” Bobby held up his hand and two of his fingers were still slightly bent at funny angles.

“Well hopefully you felt better afterward.”

“No, it didn’t help at all. In fact I spent the next couple weeks being reminded about how stupid I was every single day at work.”

“Really? What do you do?”

“I own a company that installs and maintains septic tanks. We clean them, or fix them if something goes wrong.”

Jessup rolled his eyes, “What the hell could go wrong with a septic tank? It’s just a big box where you send your shit right?”

“Most people think that, but no…stuff can definitely go wrong with a septic tank. Remember that last really bad winter.”

“Yeah.”

Bobby grimaced, “I had eight frozen septic tanks we got called out on. You have to send a steamer through the pipes to thaw it out. Plus two of the tanks were overflowed, and so we had to repair that. Of course the overflow was so bad that we had to dig through the frozen overflow to build the new leach lines that would fix the problem. Have you even had to spend three hours chipping through frozen sewage?”

“No.”

“I don’t recommend it. Talk about your shitty jobs.” Bobby laughed. He worked hard. He wasn’t ashamed of what he did, but he wasn’t above poking fun at himself either. It was the willingness to laugh at himself that won over so many clients. When you dig through sewage every day you really only have two options. You can either hate every second of the job, or smile and handle it the best you can. Bobby fell into that last category. It’s hard to find a man that’ll shovel shit with a smile…and Bobby Mullins was that rare man.

“So you’re the boss?”

“Yeah, I started out in construction when I was sixteen, but I found out I could make pretty decent money like this. So I started putting in septic tanks when I was eighteen. Twenty-seven years later I own one of the biggest septic tank companies in Louisiana. Maybe you seen my commercial on television.”

Jessup thought about it, “Is it the one where they have the animated blonde chick?”

“Sue the sewage girl…yeah that’s us.” Bobby chuckled, but he didn’t look particularly happy.

“Why’d you make her have that huge rack? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Go big or go home.”

Jessup laughed, “Seriously?”

Bobby laughed, but it never reached his eyes, “No, actually it’s a caricature of my ex-wife.”

“Carry cat what?”

“Caricature…a fancy word for saying someone drew a cartoon of my ex-wife.”

Jessup thought about it, and despite trying to keep his mouth shut, he just had to speak, “So the cartoon hottie is your ex-wife?”

“Yep.”

“And she’s white?”

Bobby’s knuckles went white as he started gripping the steering wheel, “Yes.”

“So you’re white, your ex-wife is white, but your daughter is-“

“She’s my daughter.” Bobby said through gritted teeth. He had the steering wheel in a death grip.

“Sure, sure, but even you have to admit she is…”

“She’s MY daughter.” Bobby growled.

Jessup wanted to let it go, but something inside just had to push forward. It was as if something was just whispering in his ear to keep talking about the obvious differences. Something was egging him on from inside, and with each passing second he felt his restraint slipping away. “I mean dude, seriously…you want me to believe that hot little piece of ass is your daughter? Is she adopted?”

Bobby gripped the steering so forcefully that it deformed a little. Instead of a perfect circle, he had a misshapen oval. He was angry and pictured Jessup’s throat between his hands as he choked the life out of the steering wheel, “She’s not adopted. SHE IS MY DAUGHTER!”

“Aaaah, now it all makes sense. So did the ex-wife catch you in the act, or did she find out when the baby showed up?”

“I did not cheat on my ex-wife.”

Jessup whistled, “Wow…never thought I’d meet a swinger around these parts. Guess it just goes to show you never can tell a cover by its book.”

“I’m not a swinger.” Bobby growled, and fought back the urge to correct the man’s complete butchery of the expression.

“Well then either you’re a liar, or I’m really confused.”

The pickup slowed to a stop, and Bobby popped open his door to step outside. Jessup watched the man spin back towards the pickup and start searching behind the driver’s seat.

“Everything okay?” Jessup asked nervously.

When Bobby stood back up he was holding a Remington 870 shotgun, “I think you can walk the rest of the way.”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jessup yelled as he started crawling across the seat towards Bobby.

“Holy shit!” Bubba hopped out of the truck and landed on his feet.

Bobby backed away. He was absolutely sure the two men would have run away, and the fact they were fearlessly coming towards him scared the crap out of him. Bobby swung the shotgun back and forth between the two men. “Don’t make me use this.” Bobby said nervously. His voice shook but he tried to sound in control.

Jessup slid out and fell had onto the road before rolling over and rising to his feet. “What, did I hit a little too close for home you?”

“Shut up and get back!” Bobby screamed as he stepped around the front of the pickup.

“How about we both just kick your ass instead?” Bubba laughed.

Both men slowly paced after Bobby. It was like a slow dance. The man stepped back, and the two brothers moved in closer. They moved around the passenger door, and then rounded the back of the pickup. As Bobby got next to the tailgate he lifted the handle so that he could open it, but he was careful not to let it fall until he rounded the corner to head back to the driver’s side. As soon as the tailgate fell it put a little more distance between Bobby and his pursuers. They’d either have to make their way around the tailgate, or take a half-second to close in order to close the gap. Bobby wheeled around and ran for his driver’s side door.

Instead of going around the tailgate, Bubba leapt into the bed of the truck, and Jessup sprinted for the passenger door. Bobby leapt into the front seat, his forehead banged against the top of his truck. Blood started running down the front of his face almost immediately. The Remington flopped across his lap as he slammed the door closed and stomped on the gas.

The old ford engine knocked, and sounded as though it was going to choke itself out, but the wheels started biting into the road. Smoke boiled out from the rear wheels just as Jessup reached the passenger door. The pickup began moving forward even as the passenger door opened. Bubba screamed and fell backwards, rolling fudge factory over pie hole until he caught onto the tailgate. Both of Bubba’s knees hit the road, and as the truck moved forward he began a mad scramble to try and get back into the pickup.

Jessup had half of his muscular body inside the pickup by the time the tires quit smoking. Bobby looked over and screamed. Jessup’s eyes weren’t even human anymore. Two yellow wolf eyes stared daggers at the driver. In a panic Jessup turned the wheel towards a street sign. The steel pole struck the passenger door and crushed it down on Jessup’s body. Jessup’s ribs popped, and his pelvis broke. For a moment Jessup slumped over into the seat, but then rose up with a guttural howl. Bobby screamed and fumbled for his trusty Remington. The Ford swerved all over the road while the man tried to get ahold of his trigger. Jessup’s face began to swell, and bones started to shift.

“Jesus Christ!” Bobby yelled as he began lifting the shotgun.

Jessup grabbed the barrel, but his hand already looked more like a claw. He shoved the shotgun back at his prey. The butt of the Remington struck Bobby in the face, breaking his nose. Even more blood started running down, and it was driving Jessup wild. Bobby watched in horror as the skin on Jessup’s face split, exposing fur just underneath. Skin continued to give way as bone and fur ripped its way out from under the flesh. Jessup tried to hit him again with the butt of the shotgun. Bobby shifted, and the butt knocked out the driver window. By now the truck was moving fast enough that the wind blew some of the glass back inside the pickup. Some of the glass fell into Bobby’s lap, and some went down his shirt, cutting his chest as he moved around.

The back window shattered, Bubba’s hand clamped around Bobby’s throat. The brothers were trying to kill him, and he knew it. In desperation Bobby pulled the trigger. Eighteen lead pellets exploded out of the front of the shotgun. The barrel was just inches from Jessup’s face, and when the pellets struck, they turned his head into a red mush. Blood, brain, and hair covered everything in the passenger side with a wet splat.

“Jessup!” Bubba screamed, and started trying to pull Bobby out through the rear window.

Bobby’s hands were pulled away from the steering wheel, his feet could only just touch the gas. Jessup’s body slipped out of the passenger door and rolled down the side of the road. Bobby’s vision was blurring out, and in desperation he stretched for all he was worth and stomped onto the break. The pickup screeched to a stop, but Bubba continued forward through the air. His momentum carried him over the roof of the pickup, over the hood, and he landed roughly twenty feet in front of the pickup.

Bobby might have felt bad for the man, but at that time he was still fighting with Bubba’s arm. When the truck stopped, momentum carried the man forward shoulder first into the roof of the pickup. The combination of his momentum and bodyweight proved to be more than enough to tear the arm off at the shoulder. The ripping caused the muscles to spasm, and Bubba’s hand tightened around his throat. Bobby’s choked screaming continued while he fought to wrestle the hand from his throat.

Bobby had to break the thumb to get the arm’s death lock to release. He pulled the arm off and watched in horror as the muscles kept working the fingers. The hand kept opening and closing mindlessly as if it was still trying to carry out the command it had received before being ripped off his body. It was all reflex, but it still made him shudder. Bobby tossed the arm out and watched as the fingers continued to spasm like the legs on a dying cockroach.

“Motherfucker!”

The words lifted Bobby’s eyes from the arm. Bubba was already standing. The skin on one side of his face was peeled like a potato, and one arm was bent at a bad angle. He tried to point at Bobby, but his forearm was broken cleanly. The broken forearm flopped around before pointing straight down.

Bobby was terrified as he caught an image of movement in his rearview mirror. “Oh God!” He screamed.

Jessup was already on his feet. His arms and legs were lengthening. Fur was ripping its way out from his flesh in all directions. There was even a mass of flesh and bone growing up from the shoulders where his head should have been. Bobby slammed on the gas, and tore forward into Bubba’s chest. Both legs shattered like glass, Bubba’s spine twisted and snapped as the oil pan caught the man’s shoulder and refused to give as it torqued his body one-hundred-and eighty degrees.

Bobby never slowed down. His pickup fishtailed down the road into the night. Bubba rolled onto his stomach, blood pouring out from his mouth. He tried to speak, but could only spit up teeth. Blood gurgled up into his throat until he was gagging. Bubba’s stomach lurched once, twice, and then vomit flooded up into his mouth, and then overflowed. He didn’t have the ability to turn over in order to get the puke out of his mouth. Blood and bile choked off his air, and with a broken spine all he could do was force out bloody air bubbles.

Jessup walked towards his brother. Fur still shredding its way out of his body, and a wolf’s head had grown where Jessup’s head once had been. Sharp teeth pushed their way through the gums, and claws split through the flesh of his fingertips. Jessup’s mind was disoriented from all the pain as he endured his bodies last few changes, but he did know one thing…hunger.

Bubba had trouble focusing his vision. Lack of oxygen was causing him to black out. He was vaguely aware that someone was standing beside his head. Bubba tried to see who it was, but blood was leaking out from his mouth, nose, and a few other areas he preferred not to think about. Breathing was impossible. Even if the blood and bile hadn’t filled his mouth, a few ribs were broken and puncturing his lungs so that they were quickly filling with blood.

Jessup went to a knee, and looked at his brother through cold, predatory eyes. He was vaguely aware that the mangled man on the ground was his brother, but he was even more aware that the copper smell of blood was making his stomach rumble. Bubba tried to beg for help, but the blood and vomit just turned his pleas into a red frothy gurgle. Jessup’s claws curled around his brother. He lifted him tenderly up until his body was sitting up. Jessup took a look at his brother’s body. His upper half was vertical, and if not for the fact that his lower half was facing the other direction, the average person might have just thought he had decided to sit down on the ground for a breather.

Blood drained out of his mouth, and some clarity peaked through Bubba’s haze. “Jessup? What just happened? What’s wrong with your face?” Jessup’s mouth opened wide, his tongue rolled out the side of his mouth. Drool dripped off his tongue onto his brother’s forehead. He took a long look at his brother before dragging his tongue along the side of Bubba’s cheek. Bubba wanted to ask him what he was doing, but the combination of pain, and punctured lungs caught back up to him. All Bubba could do was manage a pained, “What?”

That’s when Jessup’s mouth snapped shut over Bubba’s head with the suddenness of a mousetrap. Teeth tore through muscle, sinew, and finally vertebrae. In one powerful bite, Bubba’s head was removed cleanly. Blood gushed out, and Jessup put his mouth over the decapitation wound so that the blood wouldn’t escape. Meanwhile Bubba’s head sat in the back of his throat. Bubba’s mouth kept opening and closing while his tongue tried to lap up the blood running down his brother’s throat. When the blood slowed, Jessup rolled his brother’s head around in his mouth like a giant jawbreaker. Bubba’s expression was a vicious snarl inside his brother’s mouth. He kept trying to bite Jessup’s cheek and tongue, but he couldn’t get himself positioned correctly. Bubba was still snapping at his brother’s tongue when Jessup trapped the head between his teeth. Without hesitation, Jessup bit down with a loud pop and crunch as the skull and jawbone broke. Bubba’s fake eyeball popped out and slid down his brother’s throat like an aspirin. Jessup chewed awhile before finally swallowing the rest of his brother’s bald head. Then he began working on the body.