Don Lopez stopped the SUV alongside the ancient gas pumps. As he got out, he wondered if the place was even open this late, being nearly eleven o clock. He decided it was, as the front door was still open and the lights inside on. Grabbing the nozzle, he unscrewed the gas cap.
His two buddies, Mike and Gerald got out of the other side of the outfit and stretched. It had been a long drive from the back hills of New Mexico to here. It'd been a great weekend vacation. An isolated back country cabin, a good fishing lake, and enough guns and ammunition to last 3 days.
Actually it had been a partial work weekend, as the three always went up to the cabin every few months to maintain it, and check the stores around the area. The cabin and land had been a joint purchase by them, all hardcore survivalists. The cabin had been bought, a thousand gallon water cistern installed alongside the spring, along with a underground fuel storage and generator. A woodshed held a years worth of wood, while food stores were held in a stone and log cellar. A perfect retreat if the world ever went to hell.
And the best part was, it required a one day walk just to get there. So far not a single person had stumbled across the cabin, and they intended to keep it that way.
"Hey Gerald, grab anything cold in there for me, I don't care what," Don called as he held down the gas nozzle, it's ancient mechanism literally dribbling fuel into his tank.
"Yeah,yeah," he mumbled, going inside, still half asleep.
Mike came around the front and leaned against the ancient wooden post sunk alongside the pumps.
"Long weekend," he said, "Looking forward to civilization and Jenny again?"
Don nodded and then smiled. As much as he was prepared for a shit hits the fan scenario, he didn't mind the world as it was. Especially his girlfriend. His FIRST girlffriend actually. Or at least the first one he'd ever gotten serious with. Before that all he'd had was one night stands and his guns.
At the last thought his hand strayed down to the handgun in it's thigh holster. A lot of people dismissed and ridiculed the thigh holster as "Uber tactical", but in some instances, it was handy, and kept out of the way. The Springfield .45 was still firmly in it's holster, 8 round magazine and chamber fully stocked with XTP's, while his left leg carried three extra magazines.
His buddies were also armed, all three carrying handguns, Mike and him openly, while Gerald's was concealed.
The gas tank finally filled and Don set the handle back on it's stand. Noting the price on the gauge, he opened the SUV's door to get his wallet.
.BANG. A trio of shots rang out from inside the store.
Don dropped down behind the SUV door and pulled the 1911 from it's holster. He glanced over and saw Mike had already drawn his Smith & Wesson .44 magnum from his shoulder holster, and was aiming into the doorway.
There was silence a moment, and then another flurry of shots, followed by an inhuman howl, a scream and then sounds of a fight.
"DAMNIT," Don lept from behind the car door and towards the building, "MIKE, GRAB YOUR RIFLE." He didn't bother glancing back, knowing that Mike was already uncasing the .308.
Don got to the front steps of the aging store and cautiously stepped onto the first one, .45 pointing ahead of him towards the lit up doorway. The noise inside had died down, and it was quiet. Too quiet. He edged forward and paused outside, moving back and forth to look inside without going in.
As he got to one side, Don felt his stomach go queasy. He saw Gerald stretched out on the wooden floor. He was face down, unmoving in a pool of blood, and he could see the long gash in his back, blood pouring from it. One arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, while the other held his Sig 239, the slide locked back.
"Shit," he muttered. Easing forward, he heard something approach behind him. "Just me," Mike spoke softly, as he came alongside Don and looked inside.
"Damn. Gerald?" Mike leaned towards the doorway, the PTR 91 wavering slightly at the sight of the body.
A squeak was the only warning they had before the doorway was filled with fur. Mike only had time to pull the trigger once, hitting the werewolf in the leg, before he was hit with an arm and thrown from porch. The creature then turned and opening his mouth, charged Don.
Don gaped a split second, before the .45 barked. At contact range, nine 230 grain slugs ripped into the werewolf's upper torso. The creature jerked and slowed as the rounds impacted, then a slight moan came from it's mouth as the wounds quickly slipped together and disappeared.
Empty, Don punched the magazine release, and reached down for another magazine. He just inserted it into the 1911, when the werewolf tore at his gun hand, stripping the pistol from his grip, along with a finger, sliced easily away by the sharp claws.
He barely dodged a massive swipe as the werewolf was on him. Ducking underneath another swing, he reached to his belt with his left arm. Grabbing the Ka-bar knife, Don pulled it from it's sheath and stabbed upward. Although low, the razor sharp blade cut upward from the werewolf's belly, opening a long gash before stopping at the rib cage.
With a howl the creature's clawed hand hit his knife-wielding left arm and pulled it free of the knife, then gripped it, and threw him through the railing.
Don landed hard amidst the wood splinters. He tried to stand, but nearly collapsed as his entire chest turned to fire. It felt the same after his motorcycle crash. Cracked ribs.
Staggering to his feet, he gasped in pain, then tried to fight it out of his mind. He watched as the werewolf grabbed the knife and glanced at it a moment before throwing it viciously. It hit blade first into the supporting beam at the porch's corner, sinking it to it's hilt.
With a howl, the werewolf lept from the porch and trotted towards him. Unarmed, he watched as the creature came, and took an exaggerated fighting stance.
"Come and get me asshole," he growled at the creature. It seemed to smirk at him, then gathered itself for a leap.
In a blur of movement, it bounded beside him and in one swift motion, knocked him away, the claws slashing his chest. Between the pain and the cracked ribs, Don could barely make out the werewolf as it trotted towards him. Just as it was about on him, the creature ducked, as if a sixth sense alerted it. At the same instant, Don could hear the rapid fire of Mike's .308.
Don tried to stand, but only managed to barely get to his knees. Pain, that was all he felt. His chest and ribs hurt from the impact, while he could feel a dizzy sensation from the blood loss. With a final effort, he hauled himself up, swaying drunkenly.
Mike's first round missed, but most of the remaining magazine hit the werewolf squarely in the torso. It didn't kill it, but the impacts staggered it, and it took it valuable seconds for the wounds to flow together. The PTR ran dry and Mike clawed for a spare magazine, hastily stuck in a back pocket. The werewolf dropped to all fours and bounded towards him. Mike got the magazine in, and the bolt slammed ahead, but he only had time to drop the muzzle, and touch the werewolf's chest, before the creature's jaws wrapped around his right arm, crushing the bones and allowing the rifle to fall free.
The werewolf clutched tightly at his prey and shook harshly on the limb. Muscles ripped, and the shoulder joint popped out as Mike was shaken like a rag doll. The monster dropped the arm and stood over the body. It glared at him, and then opened it's mouth, directly over his throat.
"...st," Mike let out a rattling cough, "La...haff, mother fucker."
His left hand touched the S&W .44 mag against the werewolf's belly and rapidly pulled the trigger. The six bullets went straight through the monster's belly, two breaking it's spine and sending it into a thrashing frenzy.
It went still for a few seconds, and Mike tried to reach for his rifle with his good left arm, but the werewolf was solidly on top him. His blood chilled when heard the bones pop and crackle, reforming into their original shape.
The werewolf staggered to it's feet. Somewhat wobbly for a second, it glared at Mike, then slowly and deliberately bit his ankle. The man screamed as the sharp jaws neatly snapped the bone, sending his foot rolling from the body. It then stood over him again, and moved towards his throat.
"RRAAAGGGHH," Don collided with the werewolf, using all of hs strength to knock him off Mike. He wrapped an arm around the creature's neck as they fell, and he hauled back, using his increasingly weak muscles to try and hold it. He raised his right hand, the mutilated limb barely able to hold the recovered 1911 and stuck it an inch from the monster's ear, and pulled the trigger. Four bullets ripped into the creature's skull, sending it into a twitching mass. He emptied the magazine into it's neck, shattering the vertebrae.
This time, it took several seconds for the bones to start reforming. A time advantage Don lept at. He bent over Mike, and clawed at his belt.
"Th...this?" Mike asked weakly, holding up the opened Buck Knife.
Without answering, Don grabbed it and fell on to the werewolf. Literally. Blood loss was taking it's toll on him as he struggled, and then cut the 'creature's throat. It let out a low growl, but was struggling nearly as bad as him. The bloody wounds just inflicted were slow in repairing themselves, barely moving inwards around the slashes.
Don struggled, then with a final lunge, put the last of his strength into a slash, which severed the werewolf's head, ending it for good. He then turned, and before he could even speak to his battered friend, blacked out.
Around an hour after the fight, a small figure trotted down the road. Humming a tune and carrying a small pack, the Ergene carefreely wandered the roads edges, examining bushes as he passed.
Coming upon the gas station and surrounding carnage, it stopped. Seeing no movement, and sensing nothing, it edged closer and surveyed the scene. He finally gathered up the courage and edged towards the bodies.
One moved, and the little creature squeaked and hid underneath of the SUV. One of the two men crawled up from the ground. He looked at his arms and body almost incredelously. After flexing his muscles, the figure stood and looked at the other man's body. The first hesitated, bent down, then without looking back, turned and trotted off into the desert.
After a few more minutes, the small figure crept from underneath the car and walked up to the other body. It was bloody, still bleeding, albeit slowly. Unconcious, but still alive.
For several minutes the creature looked at him somewhat hesitantly, then walked over to the werewolf's body and examined it a moment. Noting the heavy damage that had been inflicted on it, the figure hopped back to the human. He withdrew a jar from his backpack and quickly, but effeciantly covered the slashes and holes in the man's body. The goo covered the wounds and immediately clotted the blood flow. Withdrawing another bottle, the figure pulled apart Don's mouth and squeezed several drops into it, then pushed the mouth shut again.
Satisfied it had done all it could, the creature walked over to the werewolf head. Withdrawing a pair of pliers, he wrenched and pulled, finally stripping all the teeth from the mouth. Taking several seconds for rest, the little creature checked on his "fixed" human. Although he was still unconcious and looked bad, he'd probably make it.
Satisfied the thing went inside the gas station. Scurrying around the store, the Ergene gathered several sacks of chips and bottles of soda from the shelves and put them in his bag. As he was about to exit from the door, he paused and looked at the human body laying inside the store, and then at the pistol still stuck in his hand.
The Ergene shook his head, trying to shake the impulse, as even he shunned at stealing from the dead. 'Then again,' a little voice inside him said. Overcome by the siren's call, he plucked the little Sig from the man's grip, and searching around his waist, withdrew the two spare magazines for it. It took him a minute to figure out the gun's mechanism, and finally ejected the spent magazine and inserted a new one. It took all his strength to release the slide and chamber a 9mm round. The little guy burrowed a hole in his packs contents and nestled his new acquisition inside.
Upon completing his task, he quickly trotted outside and past the carnage. Stopping just a moment to check on the one human, he then set off down the road.
It had been several hours when he finally awoke. His whole body roared in pain, and he could barely move his limbs. How he didn't bleed to death, he couldn't figure out, all of his wounds had seemingly clotted, although he had lost alot of blood beforehand.
He looked around and didn't see Mike's body, which had been laying alongside him, the werewolf was still there, the head several feet away. He shuddered at the sight. If he hadn't seen the body, and been incredibly chewed up, he would never have believed what had happened.
Had happened. Who'd believe him? Who could he trust? If this was true the government would probably cram him away in some Area 51 or whereever they held people who knew the truth.
However struggling to stand, Don didn't care. He couldn't move. Any, all that responded was his left arm. To top it off, his cellphone was in a right hand pocket. Figured. After a dozen minutes of careful movement, his hand snagged the phone and drug it out.
"Let there be a signal, let there be a signal," he muttered to himself.
He flipped the top open, but in his condition, he couldn't even see the screen. Concentrating a moment, he hit the #1, then send, the speed dial for 911. A moments silence scared him that there wasn't a signal, but then a ringing followed by a "This is dispatch what is your emergancy."
Don only managed to croak several words before again passing out.
