Red's War

Red's War

On day sixty-seven since the arrival of the Beast of Lozére, Jackie “The Huntsman” Red took a short break from hunting. He was discouraged by how the day was ending. He had only seen two wolves drinking at Lac de Villefort. He had been watching them through his rifle scope from fifty meters away, lying across an outcropping of boulders on the hill. They were both grey with a black streak running across their backs. Rare twins, probably. Blood crusted their jowls but it was from a rabbit the larger one had killed. The carcass was mostly just a spinal column, half buried under the roots of a tree on the shore.

He sighed, stood up, and brushed himself. The wolves stiffened with their snouts submerged in the lake. Their ears were lying flat and their tails were perfectly parallel to the ground. They were afraid of something and that had been clear since he came upon them- the agitation only grew with each passing minute. There movements were hurried and at the same time in a steep lag, as if they had been running for days without stopping. The kill was perfection but their behavior surrounding it was evidence that something was driving them to eat on the run. Slowly, the smaller one lifted its head and backed away from the water, going to the rabbit carcass and carrying it away. The larger one drank quickly and loped after its mate.

When they were both out of sight in the trees he picked up his rifle and made his way up the hill. His truck was parked on the shoulder. He had to crawl over a guard rail. After putting the bag in the back, the rifle between the seats, and securing the revolver in his shoulder holster, he was almost ready. All he had to do now was make sure the knife in his hip holster was comfortable as he sat down. He unsilenced his cellphone and drove back towards town. The land was mountainous with tall “steps” of granite and bands of connecting trees. His phone pinged at him in the cup holder. It was two voicemails from his daughter three hours ago.

“Really?” he asked the phone. It was always doing that to him. He had not been watching the wolves for three hours. He was on the rocks for only forty minutes or so.

He smiled. Twelve hours had gone by since he left that morning in the dark, but she had woken up to say bye and wish him good luck and safe passage. The first message was five hours ago. “Hi Daddy, I’m at grandma’s house. She was going to bake cookies today. But she forgot the vanilla extract and is going back to town. You should come by later, it’ll be fun.” It’ll be fun… It’ll be fun… She said it like it would be the truth but he knew it was lies. Mother-in-Law… does have really great baked goods, he had to give that to her.

Message two was three hours ago. “Grandma’s not back yet and there’s a man coming down the driveway with blood all over him. He keeps yelling that the Beastattackedhim. Pleasehurry! He just said it’s following him here!” Panicked, some of her words ran together. Her panic started a minor tantrum in his own heart and he slowed the car down to get himself together. It was a jarring change from her bubbly personality to terror. Why'd the old bitch have to live in the middle of the highlands?

He stopped completely on the side of the road, careful to not be in the way of any car that came around the bend. Red immediately called his daughter to check up on the situation. It rang four times. He was as worried for his daughter as he was for the man who had been attacked. This was a huge boost

She didn’t say anything. “Emily, is everything alright?”

“I’d say everything is well Mr. Red.” The voice was male, guttural and distorted.

“Who is this?”

“I am the Beast you seek.” The Beast chewed on something squishy before speaking again.

“I was hunting wolves. You’re a human…”

The Beast laughed. “No. The greatest sin of man is to eat the flesh of another man. I have indulged many times in three centuries but do you know? I have never seen this act firsthand from a man who does not starve. Please indulge me Mr. Red. Will you eat your own daughter, or will your daughter eat you?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Jackie shouted.

The Beast groaned, “Find your daughter and we can discuss it face-to-face. In the meantime Mr. Red, I must admit to you how close I was to falling into temptation. Your daughter’s succulent hand would have made an excellent snack.”

Jackie swallowed. What were you chewing on? He didn’t ask the question because he didn’t want to fully understand. He did not want to bait this creature into telling him he was currently chewing on his daughter’s hand. Jackie’s early lunch almost sprayed all over the steering wheel.

“You know, this was nearly coincidence I arrived. I almost missed this little house. Adorable isn’t it?”

Keep him talking, don’t lose your cool. “What are going on about?”

“You’re rather famous. I was famous, three or four centuries ago. I was looking through her phone and found a picture of you and I thought, well, I recognize you! You're all over the television. Our great hunter. Save our cows Mr. Hunter! Save 'em, we're pussies. We need a fucking American. I’ll make this fun. You hunt me, I’ll hunt her. But I’m more dangerous than your deadliest game.”

"You'll have to let her go to hunt her,"

The Beast laughed. "In all your years of hunting the big game of the world, have any of them ever played fair? Have any of them played by the rules?"

The Beast seemed to wait for an answer. "No," Jackie finally said.

"That's what I thought. So here's what I'll do Jackie. I'm not going to harm her. Not yet. I've got a stew in the pot. I already have the meat of an old woman. Rather stringy. Not much fat or muscle on her. I'm looking forward to chewing on you."

The Beast hung up. Hand’s shaking, Jackie started the car. “Pretentious asshole,” he gasped. He almost pulled in front of a speeding truck that roared around the bend because he wasn’t looking. His body was numb with adrenaline. His limbs felt airy and nimble and floating but the muscles were coiled up and ready for violence.

Jackie “The Huntsman” Red was back and hunting a different kind of game. He had never killed a human before; only lions, bears, water buffalo, and various other big game- and even with his daughter in trouble, killing a human set off different consequences.

He was careful for two miles as the land gradually receded to a flat valley. Red pulled up past a shoulder and into the trees. And then he thought about why that was a dumb idea, all things considered. If the Beast was a difficult man to hurt or kill and they got into some serious trouble, he wanted to be closer to the car. As he strategized, watching the forest on the side of the road, a bump rocked the front of the car.

Swearing, he jumped and pulled the .357 Magnum out of his shoulder holster. A wolf stood on the hood, panting at him through the windshield. Its fur was pale and it weighed at least 110 pounds. Cold sweat ran down his neck. He stared at its chest and its long lolling tongue dropped into view like a hypnotist’s watch. The wolf tapped his window with a dust colored paw; its claws scraping away at the glass. It left marks on the windshield.

“Go away!” Red shouted. He smacked the palm of his hand against the window.

The wolf, unflinching, continued its slow scratching.

He hit the window again and again and again, and still the damn thing stood there scratching. It was taunting him. It had to be. A thin smile was spreading its lips apart and showing its teeth, but that was a common misconception. It was most definitely not happy with him right now- and he was most definitely not happy with the wolf either. He honked the horn. The wolf snarled and rammed its head into the windshield before backing away and shuddering.

A howl started in its throat and quickly rose to a deep wail. Almost thirty seconds after it started the wolf’s neck snapped 180 degrees. Horror didn’t come first, confusion did. Why did the wolf snap its own neck? Horror blackened his vision when the wolf stared at him with its head upside down and opened its maw far wider than a normal wolf should be able to do so. Deep in its throat two fiery eyes looked out at him, the pupils lonely and floating.

It took him a few seconds to register this before he screamed, “What the fuck? What the fuck?”

He jerked the car out of PARK and drove through a section of trees, breaking off the driver’s rearview mirror and throwing the wolf off the hood. It rolled away on the road. The wolf was already standing, with its head still upside down when he ran it over. The car didn’t get too much momentum but he did feel the wolf crunch under the tires. Red stopped and rolled down the window. Keeping his foot on the break, he removed his seatbelt and shoved his large frame through the window and peered out at what he hoped was a corpse. He switched the revolver to his right hand and stretched his arm for a better angle.

The wolf was lying half under the rear left tire. It was snarling and spitting blood onto the concrete. Jackie shot it in the head, liquefying the base of the spinal column. Its brains emptied out through the gaping hole in its chin. There was a quick spray from its mouth. The shot echoed and everything was muffled as he squeezed himself back in. He controlled his breathing. He felt more than heard the engine rumbling. Turn around.

He opened the door a crack and peeked out at the dead animal. Thick grey smoke was billowing out of the wounds. That was not supposed to happen. And then he remembered the night before, when he had asked a local gunsmith to melt a few silver plates into bullets for him. All night he had hoped he wouldn’t need them. Even the gunsmith was joking him as he paid for the bullets. He put two and two together. Silver bullets plus neck-snap wolves plus smoky, unnatural wounds equals fucking werewolves. “Oh my god,” he breathed.

The revelation defied the entire reason he was in Lozére. His mother-in-law had recommended his services to the country. Mayor Dubois liked the idea of an outsider working for them. There would be no internal bias with the media. He was here to dispel superstition and fear that what had eaten twelve Aubrac cows was in fact a werewolf. And here was proof. For the last mile he drove slowly to check on his hearing. Three quarters of the way there he turned on the radio and was relieved to hear a stupid commercial. He only paused to refill bullets- unfortunately those weren’t silver. Four to go, he’d better make them good.

A few minutes later, he reached his mother-in-law’s driveway. The house was a few hundred feet into the woods and out of sight of the road. He slowed to a trawl, started a three-point turn, and stopped the car. He opened the passenger window so he could set his rifle on a tripod. He dug around in his bag for earplugs. The hard part was finding a comfortable position to fire. Shooting from a car was a first.

After fiddling around he opened the driver’s door and hunched over in the seat on his knees. He was ready. Now, to goad the Beast out of his mother-in-law’s cabin, he was going to call. The cabin was made of stone, one story- a tiny two bedroom one bathroom accommodation. As he blindly reached for the phone, his elbow bumped into the steering wheel. The horn went off, startling him. His finger slipped into the trigger guard and fired just as the front door opened.

Red saw it through the scope. A very tall, lanky man in dark clothes had opened the door. He was soaked in blood, just as Emily had described. The same instant, the back of his throat erupted. His body jerked at impact and his head lopped to the side, tendons and sinew briefly hanging in the open air before he fell face first. Red climbed out of the car without the rifle and ran to the front door.

On his way he saw that the hood of Emily’s red convertible was ripped open and gutted. Inside, past the smell of fresh blood, was the smell of boiling vegetables. Steam bubbled out of a large pot on the stove. He looked down at the dead body. “Hunting's not fair," he said softly. The Beast’s spine was intact but everything surrounding it was on the floor in front of him. They would need to replace the door and the hardwood flooring. Maybe werewolves didn’t need to go down with a silver bullet. Maybe it was already over.

“Emily?” he called out. The door to his mother-in-law’s room was closed. Emily was screaming inside. He jumped over the Beast and tried the door. It was unlocked. She was tied to the headboard by old, frayed rope. Red ran to the bed and freed her with his hunting knife. He set it on the bedside table as they hugged tightly.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her away. She was in shock. She would not move from her place on the bed. Her nose was broken, crooked and purple and blue. There was no other blood. "What happened?" he asked, a little breathlessly. He was trying to keep his cool so she would not steep further into panic.

"He forced himself in. All I did was unlock the door. He kicked it in. He tied me up and then brought grandma inside. I don't know what happened after that. I haven't seen him since. He was watching TV and grandma was screaming."

"Okay," he said gently, "Okay." He pulled her away again. They needed to move.

She pulled in the opposite direction. Her mouth was wide open in terror, looking high over his head.

Fear ran down his spine like the claws of a werewolf. Emily screamed and scrambled backwards off of the bed. It wasn’t until she was in the closet and the shadow passed over him when he finally felt the blood welling out of deep gashes in his back. He felt hot, rancid breath wash over the back of his neck. The pain almost buckled his knees. Wheezing, he slowly turned to face a creature’s barrel thick chest. Deep, oily black fur covered its entire body. A smell like wet dog and mud wafted off of it. The hand it was delicately licking his blood off of was the size of a basketball, the fingers as long as piano keys, and the claws only half as long.

It was a full foot taller than him, topping at least seven and half feet. The Beast looked down at him with eyes as red as fire, the lone black pupils swimming around to watch his daughter. “Lucky bastard. I did not see that coming.”

"Hunting's not fair," Jackie repeated.

"No, it is not." The Beast smiled. "I enjoy close quarters. I can tenderize you. Everyone laments..." It fell silent; seemed to realize there was no point in talking.

He almost passed out in the full glory of the Beast. He didn’t get much time before it wrapped the fingers around his throat and lifted him high, almost cracking the crown of his skull against the ceiling. It howled, temporarily deafening him, and threw him to the ground. He screamed when it stomped on his solar plexus. Two of his lower ribs cracked.

He lifted the revolver and fired three rounds into its chest. The bright explosions gave the creature a strobe effect as it danced back and three holes erupted through the fur. One of the wounds leaked smoke. Silver needs to be a killing shot, Jackie understood. The Beast howled again. It hurt Red a lot to drag himself up using the bed but he needed the knife lying on the table. He reached it as the werewolf yanked on his ankle and pulled him to the floor. He fell, dizzy, but before the werewolf could recalculate he slashed the air in a wide arc. The blade lodged itself deep into the werewolf’s left femur.

The werewolf yelped and swatted his face with an open palm that felt more like a rock. His eardrum ruptured in the right ear. He looked around, dazed, as the werewolf pulled the seven inch blade out of its leg. It slipped on the bloodied floor as it approached him. “Daddy!” Emily screamed. Both he and the werewolf watched her run out of the closet and towards them with a large, heavy ax in hand.

The werewolf huffed.

Emily lifted the ax high over her head. The werewolf understood his mistake too late- it was crouched, hands low to the ground, and was just fast enough to prolong its suffering as Emily buried the ax deep into its shoulder. The werewolf kept the knife in hand. Emily struggled to tear the ax out. The creature’s attention was turned to her. It slashed at both of her arms and she dropped the knife in shock. Weak cuts, not much damage, but enough for to leave the ax. Jacques bent forward, gasping, and took hold of the knife. With no hesitation, hands shaking, he plunged the blade up under the soft chin, through the roof of the mouth, and deep into the brain.

There was no sound as the Beast slowly closed its eyes and slumped to its knees. Emily pushed it over on its side. Both of them were covered in blood but at least she was relatively unharmed. The Beast had also given her a nasty gash on the forehead during their struggle for the ax, and the wound dripped blood into her eyes.

He pointed to the revolver. She picked it up and knew what to do. Weakly stepping over to the Beast, she put the last two bullets into its head. This time it was definitively gone. They were silent for a moment, looking at each other. Shivering with shock and adrenaline. Finally, he weakly smiled. He held his hand out, “Help me up.” He groaned when his broken ribs scraped together. "I'll call the mayor. He'll bring us an ambulance. I need to get my car out of the way though."

"I'll move your car," Emily offered. "Grandma is in the cupboard, next to the washer and dryer room. I heard her screaming after he tied me up. I don't know if she's alive or not."

"Okay, I'll find grandma."

Emily went outside, and he stood staring at the corpse. The dead werewolf did not change back into a human form. He had no idea how he was going to explain this. The first thing he realized was this: the public, under no circumstances, could find out about what had really been eating the Aubrac cows. He stepped over the body and into the living room. A rather large TV for such an old woman, and two overstuffed couches. To the far right was the kitchen.

A thick brown broth was boiling over in a large pot on the stove. He turned it off without looking into the pot. He glanced carrots, and diced tomatoes. That was all the information he needed. A plastic cutting board and a cleaver were the only items on the counter. Everything else, coffee pot, bread maker, and spices included, was piled in the sink or on the floor. On the cutting board was a clump of pale human skin, and an old woman's foot gnawed to the gristle. It was mostly bone. "Fuck me," he breathed out in disgust. There was a thick trail of blood smeared across the floor leading into the adjoining hallway. One of the silverware drawers was opened. On the left were the washers and dryers. To his right was a closed folding door and the end of the trail of blood.

"Agnes?" he asked loudly, knocking on the door with his knuckles.

There was a noise he could not identify. And then a can dropped to the floor. He opened the folding door and found Agnes on the floor, jabbing a large filet knife in his direction. She was dressed in an old pink sweater and pink sweatpants. Her right leg was sawed off at the thigh. It was wrapped neatly in bandages and cloth- wrapped well enough that only a little blood had seeped out. She had crawled to the kitchen for a knife and crawled back into the cupboard. His brows knitted together. She blinked at him and immediately started crying. She dropped the knife.

"Can you get up?" he asked. "I can help you, but my ribs are broken."

She struggled, but she pushed herself up using a rack of towels on the wall. Her long, curly grey hair was all over the place. She smelled of sweat and blood, but that was to be expected and normal. He acted as her crutch, arms tight around her shoulders, and they slowly made their way to one of the couches in the living room. "Strong little lady," he panted. She smiled and leaned back into the couch, eyes closing. He was reluctant to sit down because he knew he would never leave the couch. Emily was nowhere to be seen. He briefly glanced werewolf feet in the bedroom, and then went to the window and pulled down on one of the blinds. She was finally moving the car. She eventually stopped and got out. Her body was heaving with the sniffles of a good cry and her eyes were red and watery. The werewolf had probably traumatized her in more ways than one, but she was safe.

"He wanted to keep me alive," Agnes said quietly, "Said he wasn't done with me yet."

He finally took out his phone and called Mayor Dubois. "Hello?" the Mayor asked in a thick accent.

"The Beast is dead," Jackie said.

"Excellent! And the rumors?"

"I'm sorry to say they had firm ground with the truth."

This led to silence. "I know it may be confusing Mr. Dubois, but I urge you to come down here yourself." He walked over to the corpse. "I am staring at a dead werewolf. You cannot allow the press to enter. At all. Do you understand?"

"Of course I understand!"

"I also need an ambulance for three."

"Jesus," Dubois said. "I will organize the proper care. Where are you?"

Emily stepped in, hesitant. She saw Jackie on the phone and then saw Agnes on the couch. She gave him his rifle, andThe two ladies hugged each other.

Jackie told Dubois the address. Afterwards, Dubois stated, "A man is going to want to meet you before care arrives. He is with the American CIA."

Jackie grunted, a little confused. "Okay."

"He will arrive in five minutes."

Five minutes later, Jackie was sitting on the couch between the two ladies of his life. A car pulled up. A man entered without knocking and gazed at the three of them. He had a badge lifted, but it was most definitely not CIA. "The Mayor said you were CIA," Jackie said.

"I'm part of a branch of the CIA. I came in through the American Embassy. My name is Harry Chamberlain."

"Jackie, my daughter Emily, and my mother-in-law Agnes."

"Pleasure," Harry flashed a smile so brief it could only be caught on a slow motion camera, "Where is the body?"

Everyone pointed to the first bedroom. "Oh," Harry said. He stepped over to the body, nodding, surveying the damage. Everyone could hear sirens in the distance. "I heard what you said to Mayor Dubois about keeping the press out of this. Excellent job. That cuts out part of the conversation we need to have, all four of us. This is a new chapter of your life. You see, I do this kind of work all the time in America but we're about to enter France into a new outreach program. This was the final straw. I sincerely thank you Jackie."

Harry Chamberlain flashed a longer smile. Jackie thought the man looked like a wolf in human skin.