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The chest lid banged open. This time with startling finesse, the corpse jumped from the chest in a sagging splash of organs. Arms wide, one kidney and part of his stomach flopped against his thigh, James flashed a chipped grin. “If you’re praying for a miracle, here I am!”
I heard in his voice echoes of my grandfather and froze.
Water dripped down my neck. I glanced up to Caelan’s snarl over my shoulder.
The teen’s remaining eye soured emerald. He frowned. “Can’t allow me to lead a single parade without storming in, can you? And not even an umbrella for the lady.” James smoothed the remains of his skull into place, then crooked one clotted finger. “Now you, my ravening rainbow, the wait for you has been worth the lightning’s bite.”
Caelan tackled James. The teen was in six pieces before I could find my scream. The teen was in six pieces, and still his lips moved.
“Spitting image of Gen, stained dress and all,” he continued despite the physical mechanics shredded and scattered in a ten foot radius. James, rather, the thing possessing him, wormed his tongue through a hole Caelan’s fang had punched through the bottom lip. “Let me take you home, doll. You’ve been too long in circulation. I’ll change your clothes, brush your hair, play with you the way you were meant to be enjoyed—”
Caelan’s jaws closed over the sight. He dropped the head into the pool. It bobbed up a lifeless, blue-eyed teen.
Near the van, watching through pearlescent eyes, the burned wolf broke into a panting grin. One of James’ detached arms lifted at the elbow, waved, and pointed behind us, where three bloody shadows rushed the rear fence.
A stare and lowered haunches was all the invitation required for me to scramble onto the sheriff’s back. I ditched the gun, there was no hope of fitting it in my dress pocket and no holding both it, the truck keys, and the giant wolf. My arms clung perhaps too hard around his lacerations, because the wolf gave a jostling shake, then he’d blown past the fence and we were in the street as a horde of undead condensed.
Time dragged like the feet of the dying. Every step Caelan made to stretch the gap between us and them bristled with endless worry. Legs and shoulders, hands and paws, collided in a black mass as the dead barreled from yards and alleys into the center street.
The truck and opened gates loomed on the horizon, but the monsters were gaining speed and mass. There was no outrunning the surrounding dark.
A woman with a fluttering red scarf perched on the stag statue. She screeched, white eyes enraged, thin, triangular ears pinned against her greying pompadour.
As she sprang for us, Caelan skidded to a halt so hard I flew over his head and slammed into the pavement. He caught the half-human by the neck and flung her into the fountain, clearing the path to the truck. Rolling to my feet, cursing through a bloody lip, I found the keys and stumbled to the driver's side. Head snapped back and bouncing between her shoulder blades, the drenched corpse ran after me.
Caelan leaped into the back. The wolf hunkered down as I turned the key.
Headlights flashed across lathered fangs and shining eyes, then I'd floored it through the gate, remembering at the wobble we were rolling on a flat. A shape wet and hissing smashed against the hood with a sickening crack and bounced over the windshield, but I refused to stop, didn't do more than tilt the rearview mirror to see if I had the right werewolf in my bed.
Over Caelan’s shoulder, in the shadow of the gate, a massive, ruddy werewolf extended its arm. Dragging whatever parts they had left, the undead broke rank and receded into the village depths. The monster loped into the dust of our tire tracks. Its head lifted. There was no way I could’ve heard the howl, and yet my head was filled with a resounding cry of, “Come home!”
As though a puppet severed, the animal collapsed on the ground several yards past the shriveled daffodils and tulips.
I’d attended several funerals with Gram. While paying respects, she’d rest her hand on the coffin or headstone and whisper, “Now you know something I don’t.”
Tonight, I was glad to leave answers to rot.
I turned on the radio, unable to sit in silence without hearing my name sighed against my ear. I'd gotten through a litany of commercials when a sticky fist pounded the truck's rear window.
I eased on the gas and pulled over. Naked as the day he was whelped, the sheriff jumped over the side and was at the door waiting as I opened it.
Jagged punctures and scrapes congealed at the base of his throat. Concerned, I reached for him, but as the wolf settled into human expression he wore a lip-curled glower. I tossed him the boxers and pants and slid over to let him drive.
As the sheriff changed, a radio host announced an acoustics hour in Keith’s mellow tone.
I groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I cleaned my hands with wet wipes from the glove compartment and changed the station.
Caelan leaned over and fixed my headband. “You okay, Marcy?”
“No.” I shivered. Stains marred the dress anywhere my jacket hadn't protected: child’s blood, I thought, knocking a smudge off the top of my one remaining shoe and onto the floor liner. “What was that?”
“A monster I’ve been hunting.” The man rubbed the quick-knitting flesh of his throat. He was covered in a mix of blood and fur, but after James, Caelan’s appearance didn't bother me, not even when his arm bumped mine as he pulled on his shirt. When he'd gotten enough buttons to look respectable, he brushed his thumb over his bottom lip and added, “Got a little something there.”
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “A 'hey, we're braking' would've been nice.”
“Woman on top is a new experience for me," he said with a cool smile. “In the heat of the moment, instinct is difficult to control. I needed to stop so I stopped. Werewolves aren't meant for hurtling down sidewalks with human women on their backs.”
“Cowgirl can be dangerous,” I agreed, passing him a stack of wet wipes. Blood trickled over my swollen smile. If I didn’t laugh I’d cry. If I didn’t make light, I’d be consumed by the dark or the hungry, green-eyed devil waiting inside it.
