Death Hunt for the Last Werewolf

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST SNOWFALL

A winter chill saturated the early hours of a late October morning. Freshly fallen snow covered the land. Bright stars complimented a glowing harvest moon and added their incremental brilliance to a clear navy blue sky. The roaring wind had died down to a quiet whisper, gently caressing everyone and everything in its path. Twilight patiently waited to make its brief sojourn, signal the arrival of the coming day and then gracefully fade away. Within a couple hours, the first signs of dawn would gradually emerge.

Beneath the bough of a birch tree, at the edge of a vast hardwood forest, a solitary hunter crouched. Only his breath was visible against the white background. Buck Lanark had been there most of the night and appeared to be half frozen. He persevered the bitter cold and all the other associated discomforts in eager anticipation of glimpsing his dreaded enemies. The potential prospect of slaying more werewolves kept him warm inside despite the severity of the outside atmosphere. Fully focused on his mission, Buck did not mind the harsh weather. Although, they had not yet made their appearance, Buck knew that, sooner or later, the incarnates would materialize before him. The longer he persisted, the more the odds of visual contact shifted in his favour. He was ready to greet the abominations with silver death.

Buck perused the rolling meadow that stretched out for at least the length of four football fields. A width of two hundred yards could easily be measured across the blanket of snow flanked by uneven borders. An abundance of maples, oaks and birches marked the jagged left perimeter. The hardwoods formed a continuous flow encircling the field on three sides. Whereas, the right bank sloped upwards for a good hundred yards and terminated in a pronounced crest. Large, grey coloured boulders and sparse, dwarfed vegetation populated the acute, otherwise barren, incline. It was the only edge that did not culminate in a deciduous forest.

The first snowfall is always the most dramatic and the most pulchritudinous. A glistening white blanket extinguishes the dull colours of autumn and permeates the land with a dreamlike softness. Reflecting and magnifying the available light, it strips the night of its coveted cloak of darkness. None can hide once the forest floor has been illuminated. A talented artist’s brush could never paint a prettier picture than the one created by nature on this late October morning. The beauty was awe inspiring. Even experienced, gifted writers could not capture the magnitude of this moment.

Snow gear concealed the stalker lurking in the bush. His apparel consisted of a white camouflage, one piece insulated suite with an attached hood drawn tightly over a white wool baklava. White thinsulate mittens with index fingers warmed his hands. Two pairs of thick gortex socks and white arctic boots lined with felt covered his feet. Underneath the outerwear, Buck was dressed in thermal underwear, an insulated wool shirt and heavy track pants. Irrespective of all of the above, the cold still penetrated his winter clothing and cooled his body. Numbness started to creep into the extremities. Maintaining his position, the stoic individual could not be noticed with the naked eye unless he moved. Buck’s garb blended into the surrounding landscape and made him the invisible man.

He stroked his Euromark Weatherby three hundred and forty caliber magnum rifle which housed four cartridges; one in the chamber and three in the magazine. The original lead bullets had been individually replaced with two hundred and fifty grains of silver. Buck Lanark and Bruce Onebear, his last remaining friend, had painstakingly cast each of the innovative projectiles and had fastened them with meticulous precision. Only silver could kill a werewolf. Lead proved to be totally useless in this enterprise. The vile creatures possessed the uncanny ability to dissolve internally the latter substance and rejuvenate the injured flesh almost instantaneously. On the other hand, silver inflicted permanent, irreparable damage. Its ageless purity destroyed anything touched by evil. A full box of ammunition, numbering twenty rounds, protruded from his left pants pocket. An additional twelve loose bullets occupied the pocket on his other leg. Buck had brought more than sufficient silver shells for the grim task that lay ahead.

Risking no impediments to his shooting, Buck had detached the viper sling from the weapon. It lay curled up in the fluffy snow beside the birch. He planned to reattach the leather strap after the encounter ended. A flat black Schmidt and Bender scope was firmly mounted on the long range firearm. The model was a variable three by nine power that currently rested on six. In Buck’s opinion, Schmidt and Bender manufactured scopes with the best optics and eye relief. Also, the magnifying devices gathered significantly more light than any of their competitors, allowing the hunter to see clearly in even very dim lighting. Unfortunately, the disproportionately high cost of these superior sight devices limited their market share. Only a few of the affluent hunters could afford the luxury. However, despite their price, they were indeed the Cadillacs in their field. Buck recalled the day that he bought this fine item and the scare that the shop keeper had given him.

Two weeks ago, on a rainy, cloudy day, he climbed on board his black Ford Bronco and drove to Pushkin. His female friend, Billy Jo, accompanied him. She was tall, slim and shapely. Although their leg length was the same, Billy Jo was four inches shorter than Buck. Her long, straight blond hair flowed half way down her back, accenting a tanned, finely chiseled face. Sky blue eyes sparkled as she moved closer to Buck and placed her arm on his right shoulder. Even at the age of forty two, she was still an extremely beautiful woman. Buck considered himself very fortunate to have her by his side. He regretted having left her so long ago. Perhaps, this was his second chance at true love and ultimate happiness in life.

The nearby town of Kerth had a hardware store which only sold ammunition. Firearms and accessories were not stocked due to insufficient demand. Pushkin lay eighty miles due north and had two licensed firearms dealers. Bartons, located on the main street, boosted a larger variety of every sportsman’s needs. Several days before, Buck had decided to replace the damaged Tasco scope on his Weatherby rifle with a Schmidt and Bender model which, according to him, was the top of the line. Few gun stores carried this brand. He hoped to find what he required at Bartons sports shop.

It was approximately nine o’clock on a dismal Wednesday morning when they departed from the gravel road and turned onto the paved highway. During the week, at this time of day, there was little traffic. Buck wished to pass unnoticed. He was overly careful not to exceed the posted speed limit. A police officer’s company had to be avoided at all costs. Buck was labeled a fugitive at large, fleeing from justice. He had escaped from prison roughly three months prior. His picture had been published in all the major newspapers and his face had been televised on newscasts nation wide. Someone could easily recognize him and report his whereabouts to the local authorities.

Balancing the desire for a good scope against the prospect of capture, Buck set forth on what he knew to be a potentially perilous journey. He had always selected his own equipment and had never delegated that task to anyone. This time was no exception. Calculating that Pushkin was far enough away from all heavily populated cities and that no one personally knew him there, Buck had picked that mid sized town to make his purchase. He dared not venture into the city of Jamesville where he had been tried and convicted, despite its nearness, convenience and numerous huge gun stores. Someone was surely apt to identify him there.

Billy Jo waited until Rita McNeil had finished singing her song ‘Old Flames Never Die’ on the truck radio and then spoke softly with an impish smile.

Well, old flame. What kind of scope are you going to buy for that elephant gun of yours?

Rita is right, you know. Old flames never die. You rekindled my embers and now my love for you is a raging fire, honey-bun., stated Buck. His vision jostled back and forth from watching the road to looking at Billy Jo. He felt the warmth of her closeness.

I love you too, sweetie. I always have. You know that. What kind of scope?, she said, leaning over and kissing him tenderly on his right cheek.

Schmidt and Bender. Three by nine variable., he answered, experiencing the temperature in his body rise.

Oooooh, expensive. Got enough money, honey? I can give you some., Billy Jo commented. She was well aware of the prices of various hunting products on the market, irrespective of the fact that she had never used a scope. Sighting and effectively employing one was beyond her. However, Billy Jo had mastered iron sights on rifles and beads on shotguns with unbelievable accuracy. She had out shot every crack shot in Brigham County. No one had ever bested her in open sights competitions.

Open the glove box., Buck motioned to the compartment in the passenger’s side of the dashboard. Billy Jo complied with the request.

Wow! Look at all that money! What did you do? Rob a bank?, she exclaimed, seeing a mass of bundled one hundred dollar bills bulging out of the compartment.

There must be over forty thousand dollars here., she gasped, examining and handling the brown paper stacks.

Ha. Ha. Ha., laughed Buck noticing the surprised disposition of his loved one.

No. I didn’t rob a bank and there is closer to fifty thousand dollars there. I came by it honestly. I made a lot of money practicing law. My business was very prosperous. And when everything fell apart, my ex-wife, Marlene, sold all of our joint assets. Then, she gave my share to Bruce Onebear. That amount exceeded four hundred thousand dollars. I spent close to a hundred thousand getting outfitted, but Bruce is still holding about a quarter of a million bucks for me, for us now., Buck explained.

He briefly recalled how his once opulent lifestyle shattered like a delicate crystal glass falling on a merciless marble floor. Everything was lost on that fateful night when he killed his first werewolf. Regrettably, no one believed him upon the discovery of a dead, naked body belonging to a seventy nine year old lady. Everyone thought that he had gone insane. The bizarre truth of the matter was far beyond their simple comprehension. Thus, the legal system branded him a murderer and condemned him to live with the rest of society’s criminals behind iron bars and stone walls. However, he had escaped and here he was.

Wow! I’ve never seen so much money all at once. And here I was worrying about how we would make do financially., Billy Jo commented, still dumbfounded by the sight of the large quantity of cash. She fingered the bills one more time to confirm that they were real and then closed the glove box.

Darling, we’ve got enough money to live happily ever after. Especially out here., Buck reassured her, placing his arm across her shoulders as she moved in closer to him on the bench seat. Her hugged her firmly. She put both arms around his neck and embraced him dearly. Thereafter, she kissed him several times on the lips. Seeing that he was staring to weave on the road, Billy Jo ceased her passionate activities and settled in tight beside her beloved.

Buck, you are full of surprises, but this one takes the cake. I love you for who you are. I never even dreamed that you came complete with wealth., Billy Jo cooed, resting her head on his right shoulder.

I know you do, Billy Jo. I love you too, very much, just the way you are. Money only makes life easier. It cannot create any emotions that do not already exist. It has no value in that regard. So, relax and let’s enjoy the rest of our lives together., concluded Buck, feeling the radiance of Billy Jo’s hot emotions.

Within an hour, they arrived in the town of Pushkin. Another fifteen minutes brought them to Bartons’ parking lot. Having shut down the engine, Buck jumped out and hurried around to open the passenger’s door for Billy Jo, but, she had already left the vehicle and was standing alongside waiting for him. Arm in arm, they casually walked up four concrete steps. At the front entrance, he received a second chance. Pulling forward the heavy steel security door, he allowed her to enter and followed directly. Inside, Buck strode to the nearby glass counter and greeted the person behind it. Billy Jo sauntered off to examine a few other items hanging on her left. The man seemed to be the only one minding the store and there were no other customers about. This situation proved to be better than Buck had expected.

Gidday., replied the salesperson, nodded his head and continued, How can I help you today?

He was a short, stocky man in his mid forties. His oval face, wrinkled by the cruel hands of time, sported a neatly trimmed, dark brown beard speckled with grey and white. It diplomatically offset his baldness. A few strands of similar coloured hairs, unscathed by grey and white, clung vigorously to an otherwise shiny convex plateau. Goldrimmed glasses endowed with thick lenses evidenced poor eyesight. Nevertheless, irrespective of the transparent optic shields, his brown eyes reflected a jovial nature. Meaty hands with curled fingers rested on the counter.

Yeah, what do you have in Schmidt and Bender scopes?, asked Buck, reviewing the assortment of scopes in the glass case and attempting to avoid eye contact with his host.

Well...Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?, remarked the little man from behind the counter, scrutinizing his customer.

Naw, I don’t think so. I’m not from around here., answered Buck, trying to hide his anxiety and render the appearance of being calm. His heart had accelerated at the clerk’s inquiry. Fear welled up inside of him. His imagination went wild.

Hmmm. Well, I got a straight six, a two by seven, a three by nine and a...

Whoa. Stop right there. Let me see the three by nine., Buck interrupted, trying to maintain an even disposition.

The salesperson reached down into the counter, retrieved the requested scope and handed it to his prospective purchaser. Again, Buck attempted to avoid eye contact with the seller as he accepted the proffered box. He removed the object inside and looked through the scope, pointing it at the back wall. The optical quality far exceeded his expectations. Buck felt probing eyes staring at him throughout the entire process.

Yup. I’m sure that I’ve seen you somewhere before., stated the clerk emphatically. Buck almost fumbled the scope when he heard those words.

I probably look like someone that you know. This is fine. How much?, responded Buck, offering a plausible explanation and quickly changing the subject. He hoped to pay the fellow and leave as soon as possible.

Two thousand, one hundred dollars. But, I can let you have it for an even two grand, plus PST and GST. Can’t do anything about the tax. Gotta keep the government happy., replied the clerk.

That’s fine, I’ll take it., Buck said, repackaging the scope and handing it back to the clerk. Then, he reached into his right pocket to pay for this product of remarkable German engineering.

Will that be Visa or MasterCard? We don’t accept American Express. Too high a premium, you know., inquired the salesman, having outlined the available options for payment.

Neither, I’ll pay cash., answered Buck, producing a handful of brown, one hundred dollar bills.

Buck did not possess any credit cards. In fact, he did not have any documents whatsoever with respect to who he really was. After Buck had offered to pay in cash, he realized that this gesture probably aroused even more suspicion concerning his true identity. However, the damage was already done. Nothing could remedy the situation. He glanced over at Billy Jo who was calmly looking through some camouflage clothing. She sure knew how to fill out a pair of tight fitting jeans. Buck took a moment to admire her beauty. ‘What a gorgeous ass.’, he thought to himself. Then, he refocused his attention on the bald headed clerk in front of him.

Holy cow! I’ve never seen anyone carry around that much money before. But, okay, cash is good. That’s two thousand, three hundred even including the taxes for both governments., responded the counter person, surprised at seeing so much cash all at once. He rang up the stated amount on the computerized cash register. Buck counted out twenty three one hundred dollar bills and handed the sum to the vendor who accepted and recounted the money. Thereafter, the clerk wrapped up the scope in a beige paper bag and handed it to the purchaser along with a receipt stamped ‘Paid in Full’. Buck pocketed the receipt into his Jean jacket and turned to leave, grasping his package.

You know. I never forget a face and I’m positive that I’ve seen yours somewhere before., insisted the clerk as he let go of the scope.

No, I think that I probably remind you of someone you know. I would have remembered you. Thanks for taking a hundred bucks off the scope. I appreciate it. Bye for now., replied Buck, desperately trying to conceal his agitation and leave without causing alarm. Staying cool and calm throughout this nagging interrogation had not been easy, but it was almost over. Buck tucked the scope under his left arm and, catching Billy Jo’s eye, motioned for her to accompany him as he prepared to make his long awaited exodus.

Stop! Now, I know who you are! Stop right there!, yelled the clerk, leaving his post and rushing towards his departing guests.

Buck froze in his tracks at the sound of those terrifying words. He envisioned a subsequent arrest and thereafter being sent back to penitentiary to serve the remainder of his sentence for the double murder that he had been convicted of. More time would be added for the jailbreak. He may never see the light of day again. Standing two feet in front of the exit, Buck inched his right hand towards the doorknob. In his mind, he pictured his escape from the persistent little man who had finally recognized him. If he rushed out the door, reached his truck and quickly drove away, he might evade capture.

Deciding to execute his formulated strategy, Buck seized the door handle. At the same time, Billy Jo gripped his right arm. She was standing beside him. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Looking into her deep blue eyes, Buck felt reassurance that everything would be all right. Billy Jo gave her head a slight shake and Buck knew that it was best to stay.

Can I have your autograph? You’re Barney Burnet, the tire guy on television, aren’t you?, requested the clerk, handing Buck a notepad and pen.

Ha. Yeah. I didn’t think that I was that well known., sighed Buck with relief, playing along with the little man. The short fellow was definitely mistaken, but Buck was not about to attempt to convince him of his error. Buck intended to sign the paper sheet and leave immediately thereafter. He wanted to get out of this place before his true identity became known.

I knew it. I knew it. I told you that I never forget a face., the clerk radiated with excitement as he spoke.

How would you like me to sign it?", inquired Buck, feeling the tension dissolve and dissipate. He experienced an uncontrollable urge to burst out laughing.

To Jimmy and Judy Johnston., came the hasty reply and then the offer of a complimentary gift.

Say, I would have given you a better deal on that scope if I had known who you were. I didn’t recognize you in your Jean outfit and cowboy boots. You always wear a suit on T.V.. Its too late now. That sale has gone through our computer, but I can give you some shells free of charge., mentioned the salesperson, eager to give something to the one that he assumed to be a celebrity.

Yeah, how about a couple of boxes of Winchester thirty-thirty shells, one hundred and fifty grain silver tips?, requested Buck as he completed signing the notepad.

Oh, sure, sure. I got lots of them., complied Jimmy Johnston and scurried away to another part of the store to obtain the ammunition. He returned shortly with two boxes of the specified cartridges and exchanged them for the autograph of the presumed tire guy.

Best wishes to Jimmy and Judy Johnston from Barney Burnet., read Mr. Johnston, thanked Buck profusely for the autograph and then turned to Billy Jo.

Say, are you a movie star too? Maybe I should get your autograph also, while you’re here?, he queried.

No, I’m just a plain ole country girl who keeps Barney out of the bars, off the street and out of jail.", she chuckled.

Then, all three burst out laughing. They laughed hard and loud. It felt great to be able to laugh. Suddenly, movement across the snow covered field cut short the remembered laughter. Buck instantly snapped back into present reality and the smile quickly disappeared from his face. They were here. His perseverance had paid off and now Buck would reap his rightful rewards.

CHAPTER TWO

SLAUGHTER BEFORE SUNRISE

Six black oval shapes had emerged from the far end of the forest and now dotted the glistening white snow. A distance of three hundred yards separated the wary hunter and the unsuspecting hunted. The marksman quietly removed the mitten from his shooting hand. A delicate feel for the trigger mechanism was an absolute necessity in order to ensure pinpoint accuracy. Buck knelt on his right knee, placing his left foot solidly on the blanketed ground. Snow crunched beneath his weight. He rested his left elbow on the elevated leg and peered through the scope. The optical device magnified and sharpened the images. Clear outlines of the individual members of the pack could be seen.

Buck calmly set the cross hairs on the closest wolf. Allowing for the triple football field range, he raised the intersecting lines. Then, Buck moved the aim point

slightly to his left, placing the estimated lethal trajectory of the silver bullet squarely on the shoulders of the first beast. He did not wish to slay the first animal, only to cripple it sufficiently to prevent escape. His reason was simple. Buck desired more information concerning the nature of werewolves. Since dead creatures do not talk, he decided to mortally wound one of the incarnates instead. The remainder of the black horde, Buck intended to kill systematically. His right index finger encircled the trigger and methodically exerted pressure.

KABOOM

The Weatherby spit fire and silver. A two hundred and fifty grain projectile shrieked through the morning air, leaving behind a thunderous roar. The front wolf yelped in pain as the sudden, unanticipated force sent it flying upwards. Landing two yards closer to the pack, it could not regain its upright posture. Mobility and co-ordination had been snatched from the werebeast. The silver slug had shattered the incarnate’s spine below the shoulder blades, approximately two inches to the right of the projected mark. Only a loathsome head jerked up and down. Blood seeped forth and soiled the virgin snow.

Alarmed by this horrifying incident and shocked by the sight of their incapacitated comrade, the remaining members perused all directions for the source of their friend’s misfortune. Standing still and maneuvering only their heads, they unknowingly presented themselves as stationary targets for the shooter. Buck, having recovered form the punitive recoil and having reloaded, took full advantage of their momentary confusion. Intending to slaughter the balance of the pack, Buck set the cross hairs on the

foremost werewolf’s heart, adjusted for the distance and fired.

All individuals of the tight group witnessed a huge fireball illuminate a darkened corner of the bush. The targeted wolf screamed in agony as the molten metal exploded through it heart. Chunks of bloody meat, bone and fur followed the mutilated bullet’s exit from the flesh. A cone shaped scarlet array decorated the white valley floor. As they helplessly watched their cohort slowly die, the survivors heard a loud report of the death dealing silver’s source.

KABOOM

Although bullets are not faster than the speed of light, they do exceed the velocity of sound. Buck had forfeited the advantage of concealment. Presently, his prey knew his location. Angered by his audacious actions, the hellhounds charged at him. Snow flew in all directions as they rapidly ran towards their assailant. Undaunted by the ferocious black horde avalanching upon him, Buck, with a forward motion of the sliding steel, shoved another round into the chamber, snapped shut the bolt and aimed carefully. The advancing wolves temporarily disappeared behind a dip in the valley floor. When they reappeared, Buck selected the lead wolf and gently squeezed the trigger.

KABOOM

The silver bullet easily penetrated the leader’s thick neck, tore through its chest and disintegrated in its lungs. An accompanying high velocity impact caused the animal to vault skyward and crash violently to the ground below. A cloud of white powder arose from the contact of the carcass with the surface. The three remaining members, unaffected by the loss of another comrade, rushed on, hell-bent on killing the slayer of their kind. Buck yanked back the bolt and ejected a hot smoking casing. He rammed the bolt forward, chambering his last round. The spent brass sizzled when it struck the snow.

Suddenly, a wolf broke from the pack and ran towards the incline on Buck’s right side. The hunter quickly altered his strategy and aimed at the renegade animal. There could be no survivors to tell the tale of what had transpired today. None were permitted to live. Buck compensated for distance and the estimated speed of the fleeing werewolf. He lightly touched the trigger and then added the necessary pressure to discharge his final missile. KABOOM

Somersaulting backwards, the hit incarnate rolled to the bottom of the slope and lay there curled up in a ball. The shooter pulled back the bolt, but the spent round did not come out. What happened? Buck was dumbfounded. He worked the bolt back and forth twice more. Still, the same result persisted. Then, Buck saw the problem. The ejector had chipped the lip of the casing. Probably, a defective alloy had been employed in the manufacturing process and had cracked under the explosive force of the discharge. Having nothing to grip, the ejector could not remove the brass. The casing would have to be rammed loose with an aluminum rod through the muzzle. Buck did not have his cleaning kit with him. No one ever carried this apparatus when they went hunting. This situation could only be remedied at home. Currently, the Weatherby three forty magnum was dysfunctional.

Two wolves hurried to end his mortal existence. Buck had no visible means of defense. Their broad paws tore up the snow underneath them in their hasty approach. Buck noticed their red eyes burning like hot coals in a darkened hearth. Each leap and bound brought them closer. A mere twenty yards separated the adversaries. Sharp fangs flashed. Saliva dripped from their anticipatory maws. Soon they would have him.

Anytime! Now is good!, yelled Buck, throwing down his rifle and unzipping his one piece suit.

CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK A Marlin thirty-thirty sang loud and clear. The wolf in front dove downward and ploughed snow with the nose on its massive head. Its momentum caused the corpse to skid forward for a considerable distance. Finally, the lifeless carcass came to a halt, two feet before hitting Buck. Otherwise, the two adversaries may have collided with one another. The second abomination suffered a similar fate. Both were dead on arrival. Buck saw two small overlapping crimson circles in the centre of the closest black beast’s forehead. The bullets had punctured its brain. Blood oozed forth and trickled onto the pure white snow.

Nice shooting., Buck commented, standing up and turning towards the alabaster barked tree behind him.

Overhead, Billy Jo made her descent through the thick branches of the tall birch. She had been perched approximately twenty feet above ground level. Her apparel resembled Buck’s outfit, other than the fact that a white woolen toque substituted for a baklava. With a Marlin thirty- thirty lever action carbine in her naked right hand, she continued coming down the tree. She had also removed the glove from her shooting hand and had tucked it into her right hip pocket. The oncoming werewolves had not spotted the second shooter hidden in the overhead limbs. Her camouflage clothing and lack of movement created the illusion of non-existence against a white backdrop.

Crushing the snow underneath, her right foot touched the forest floor. A grin appeared on her rosy red face when she turned to look at her intimate friend. Buck stepped forward and hugged her dearly. They kissed passionately for a few minutes. Warmth returned to their chilled bodies. They had endured over six hours of cold for the opportunity to murder half a dozen lycanthropes. Their efforts had not been in vain. The incarnates were terminated, all except for one which lay wounded. Five corpses of the deceased littered the field.

Were you worried?, asked Billy Jo, looking directly into Buck’s sparkling eyes. Her own blue eyes twinkled like stars.

Hell, no! However, you did cut it a bit close. A few more seconds and that wolf’s cadaver would have collided with me. No. I wasn’t worried. I have the utmost faith in your judgment and ability. But, I was a little scared. Especially after my Weatherby malfunctioned., answered Buck, removing his baklava and sticking it inside his unzipped suit. He bent over, picked up his mitten and relocated it beside the former item.

You know that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, sweetie. I just needed a clear shot., justified Billy Jo and then queried, What’s wrong with your rifle?

"Aw, a casing is stuck in the chamber and I can’t get it out. I’ll have to wait until we get home.