“LOOK OUT, LADY!”
Miles threw himself onto Miss Bonnie, knocking her to the ground just in time to miss the piano as it flew over their heads.
Mr. and Mrs. Anderson weren’t so lucky. Curious about the commotion, the old couple stepped in front of the window just in time to be eviscerated, the collision causing little pieces of blood stained glass to rain down on the redhead and her unlikely hero.
The boy stood up and backed away. Miss Bonnie watched as the henchmen rose to their feet. They spread out their arms. Their clothes were torn to shreds as their bodies grew larger, nastier, and hairier.
It was sensory overload for Miss Bonnie. She trembled as she stood up. Her derringer was empty. She had no idea what the monsters before her were or how to fight them.
Miles was petrified. He had only seen two werewolves before – his father and himself in a mirror. He had never seen a werewolf that intended him harm. The sight caused his body to freeze stiff.
The drooling wolf men trudged closer. Hewitt raised his hand in the air, ready to bring his claws down on Miss Bonnie when he roared out in pain. A silver bullet tore through the beast’s cheek.
The hole did not close.
The hench-wolves turned away to see Joe Freeman cranking the lever of his rifle. Joe steadily delivered shot after shot, ripping his opponents apart. When Joe’s rifle ran out of ammo, he drew his pistol, but dropped it when Becker’s paw connected with his jaw. Joe was launched down the road, only to land on his feet.
The fire that engulfed what remained of the Bonnie Lass raged until the rest of the structure collapsed. The flames lapped at the surrounding buildings until they too ended up in a blaze.
Joe took off his silver bullet laden bandolier and dropped it along with his weapon. He wolfed out and roared. Werewolf roar translations are never easy, but it was a safe assumption that Joe was taunting Becker and Hewitt to come at him.
Hewitt, Becker and Joe crashed into each other – clawing, growling and biting like rabid animals.
Miss Bonnie grabbed Miles’ arm. He didn’t move. He wasn’t able to.
“Come on!”
Nothing.
Carefully, Miss Bonnie stepped over the Andersons’ mangled remains and located the store’s robust firearms display. She seized a double barrel shotgun off the wall then ran behind the counter, tossing every item she could get her hands on until she found a box of shells. She loaded up, then tucked a few more shells in her garter for safekeeping.
“Kid, you need to get out of here,” Miss Bonnie said to Miles as she cocked the shotgun and walked out of the store.
“No,” Miles said, unable to look away from the three-way werewolf brawl. “You need to.”
Joe slashed away at Becker, pushing his head into the dirt. Hewitt’s teeth tore a chunk out of Joe’s arm. It grew back.
Miss Bonnie never intended to aim for any particular werewolf. To her, they all looked the same so one monster was as good a target as the other. She pointed her shotgun at Joe, only to have the barrel smacked away by Miles at the last minute, sending the blast into the air.
Undeterred, Miss Bonnie pointed her gun at Joe again. Miles’ eyes turned yellow. Hair sprouted out of his face. His voice grew deeper.
“NO!”
Before Miss Bonnie’s eyes, Miles morphed into a towering werewolf. He wrapped his paw around the shotgun barrel, but not before Miss Bonnie panicked and pulled the trigger.
Like a puppy, Miles whimpered. He clutched his stomach then ducked into the store.
Miss Bonnie reloaded.
In his mind, Miles could hear his father’s voice.
“You’re all right,” Joe said.
Miles looked at his stomach. It was fine. Even the blood in his fur was evaporating.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Miles said to Joe. “You were right. I should have left.”
“I know,” Joe said. “Now get back out here.”
“I can’t!” Miles said.
“‘Can’t’ stopped being an option when you stayed.” Joe said. “You’re in this now. Pick up the woman.”
“Huh?”
“PICK UP THE WOMAN!”
Miles poked his furry body out through the broken window just in time to see Miss Bonnie. Yet again, she was taking aim at Joe.
Miles picked up Miss Bonnie like she was a rag doll and threw her over his shoulder.
“Let me go!” Miss Bonnie smacked and kicked Miles repeatedly but to her, it seemed to be of no use. To Miles, it was annoying.
Becker had Joe locked in a hold. Joe struggled to break free, but Hewitt threw slash after slash across Joe’s snout.
“Get the bullets,” Joe said to Miles. “And the guns. Get them… to Slade.”
“Pa?”
Miss Bonnie used her shotgun like a club, whacking Miles repeatedly with it. She might as well have been a pesky mosquito.
“Tell him everything he needs to know,” Joe said.
“Pa!”
“GO!”
Miles grabbed the bandolier and his father’s rifle and bolted, Miss Bonnie kicking and screaming all the while.
Then he heard a gunshot and a pained roar. He stopped.
Miles watched as Becker threw his father’s limp, lifeless body down on the ground. There was a gaping hole in Joe’s head. It was put there with a silver bullet delivered by the pistol held by a naked Hewitt, now in human form.
Joe’s pistol. Miles’s heart pounded as he realized that amidst the chaos, he had forgotten to pick it up.
And now Hewitt was pointing the weapon at Miles as Becker, still in werewolf form, looked on.
