You know, sometimes life can be really difficult. Take mine for instance. Before I did what do now, I thought my life was pure hell. I lived in what I had to say was the worst part of New York state. Fulton was absolute garbage. The lowest of the low, people who only rely on food stamps and absolutely refuse to work. You know? Racist hicks who drink Pabst Blue Ribbon like water. I lived with my mom, which wasn't really a bad thing. Mom isn't really a bad person, it's just really difficult for her to find work where we lived. Plus I had a sneaking suspicion that for the longest time she was really sick. Odd thing was, she never missed a car payment, or a bill payment. My dad who is a gunnery sargent in the United States Marine Corps had divorced her years ago. My step-mom Marlyn kicked ass, and I desperately wanted to go and live with the two of them. Currently they lived on the Marine base in Fort Bragg with my two half-siblings Jillian and Anthony. Unfortunately, my mom had gotten custody by some condition in the divorce hearings. Like I said before, it wasn't a bad thing really, I just wanted to go and live with my dad more than I wanted to live with my mom. I mean yeah, I got to see dad from time to time, but the last time I really saw them was when I was 15. That was at my Grandpa Wood's funeral
Then my life took a good turn. I was out of high school, I got accepted into Syracuse University thanks to my dad pulling the strings. Still there was something that really pissed me off that happened before I left. My dad told me that my grandpa had left me something in his will. His 1968 model Mustang, and his house in Manhattan. I was kinda mad that mom had never told me about what Grandpa Woods had left me in his will. Okay yeah let's be honest, there was a pretty bad argument between me and mom. She said that we couldn't afford to live in Manhattan, and the taxes we would have to claim the house and car would have set us in the hole real deep -I know, phrasing.- By then I was staying in a small apartment close to campus, splitting the rent with my friend Matt Reese. For some odd reason, when I went to claim what Grandpa Woods had left me in his will, there weren't any tax implications. I didn't have to pay one cent for that car.
There's a small little shooting range just outside Baldwinsville New York. Matt is a huge gun nut just like his father, and had gotten me hooked as well. It was the spring semester of our junior year at SU, but it was still cold out, so I was wrapped up in a black UNSC hoodie. Don't judge me, I love the Halo franchise. I killed the engine of the Mustang that my grandpa left me in his will, and shuddered when the cold air hit me. I think I liked the warm temperature of my car than the cold weather outside. Matt's late model Ford Crown Victoria was right behind me.
"Whoo! Damn it's cold!" Matt exclaimed before he popped open his trunk, and I did the same.
My trunk had an assortment of things. My backpack, that had my laptop, and a few course books. Classes had just ended for the day. When Matt and I didn't have work after class, we'd always stop by this little range. Kind of a daily ritual so to speak. There was a duffel bag with clothes that needed washing, and another filled with ammo, that had a small little padlock around both zippers. Underneath that were my gun cases. I had a pair of lever action 1887 shotguns in one case, I had a love of Old Western movies, and an 1887 shotgun was the closest I was gonna get to an Winchester repeater rifle with the budget I had. I also had a single-shot variant of an AR-15. I say single-shot, being that it was illegal to own an automatic weapon in New York State. But probably the most expensive weapons I had were my pistols. I had a Glock-19 9mm, and a Browning, also another 9mm. I had another pair of pistols as well. A pair of of Colt Peacemakers that my grandpa had left me in his will along with the Mustang, and his house in Manhattan. I still had no idea what I was going to do with that house. There was no way I could afford to live in it. Hell I could barely afford my last handgun.
"You good Jimmi?" Matt asked taking his gun cases out of the trunk of his Crown Victoria.
I rolled my eyes. Matt had continuously called me Jimmi Hendrix since our Freshman year in high school. I wear a Jimmy Hendrix shirt one day, and it sticks for six goddamn years. It stuck, and it sucked for the first couple of weeks but I eventually got used to it. "Yeah Hayden. I'm good."
"Oh you son of a bitch." Matt said laughing. My friend had a striking resemblance to Hayden Christiansen. The guy who played Anakin Skywalker in the Star Wars prequal trilogy. "Come on, enough standing around here freezing our nuts off. Let's go shoot some guns."
CRACK! My AR-15 hit its target what seemed to be millimeters from the bulls-eye. I exhaled once again, at the same time squeezing the trigger. My rifle expended its final round with another loud CRACK!
"Damn I wish I could shoot something automatic." Matt said, as he unloaded a shortened FAL into a target of his own.
"As long as that gun law exists, civilians like you and I won't ever get our hands on automatics. At least not legally." I said, as I unloaded my rifle, flicked its safety back on, and switched to my Glock-19. I squeezed off the fifteen rounds that I had loaded into the pistol's magazine.
"Yeah. That's the sucky part. Oh hey check this out, I bought it from Intimidator's, and the paperwork just came back on it." Matt pulled out a H&K Tac 45 tactical variant. Ten round magazine, elevated sights, desert camo finish, and a threaded barrel for a mounted suppressor.
"You lucky bastard. How the hell did you afford that?" I asked, as we worked in the same place. We worked part time at Dinosaur Barbeque downtown to help pay rent, pay off student loans, oh and the most important thing which was purchasing guns. "Plus why did you buy it? I thought you didn't like H and K weapons."
"I had to save up for a few months." Matt replied. "Trust me it was a bitch and a half, but the wait for the paperwork to come back sucked worse than saving up for it. But it's my dad that doesn't like H and K. He calls 'em 'over-hyped and over priced German garbage'. But me, I think they're reliable. They're well made, and they rarely ever break."
"That's German engineering for you." I said, as I reloaded one of the two 15 round mags I had for my Glock. Oh sure, it wasn't legal to keep a full 15 rounds in a sidearm magazine -the limit for a civilian is 7- but seriously who is gonna say anything? Now don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my Glock, but I would have really loved to get my hands on a sidearm that was chambered for .45 ACP. Matt's dad had a beautiful set of twin 1911's, that he had let me shoot when he taught me how to fire pistols. I was in love with those sidearms at first shot, and was desperately looking for a .45 of my own, preferably a 1911.
"Hey," Matt began, as he loaded the 10 round magazine of his new Tac 45. "Why don't you ever fire your grandpa's peacemakers?"
"Because." I explained. "His will stated that for some reason or another, I should only use it in an extreme situation, and that I would know when that was."
"Oooo cryptic." Mat said, as he fired his new sidearm.
It was late in the afternoon, when we decided to call it a day at the range. Our weapons were put on safety, and secured in our cases. We made our way back to our cars, when we heard loud growling from behind us. And that made us pause. The owners of the range never had any dogs, so what was growling? There was nothing there when we turned around, but then I saw Matt shake my shoulder. He pointed to the roof of the range's main building. Standing there in a low crouch, was a dark brown furred…
"If I'm seeing things correctly, that's a goddamn werewolf…" Matt said his voice shaking.
"And… I think we're in its sights." I very slowly undid the clasps on one of my 1887 cases. The werewolf noticed, and with a long howl, it launched itself at us. My case thudded against the ground, and my shotgun was in my hand. I pulled the trigger, and the werewolf sailed over our heads, with the exception of its left arm. That came off at the shoulder.
"Dude you fuckin' shot it!" Matt's tone was a mix of shock, horror, and excited.
"I don't think it's dead. I might have just pissed it off." I replied with my tone matching Matt's.
"How the hell do you know that!?"
"You don't know about supernatural creatures!?" I asked incredulously, as Matt shook his head. "You need silver to kill a werewolf!"
"We don't have anything silver!" Matt yelled, as the werewolf got back to its feet, growling in a way that meant it was incredibly pissed off. "And I think we're in trouble!"
The werewolf launched itself at us again, and I pulled back on the lever, and blasted at the one armed werewolf. Buckshot caught it in the abdomen, and it sailed over us again coming to a rolling stop several feet away from us. I tossed my 1887 to Matt.
"Keep an eye on that thing." I said placing my keys into my trunk, pausing to look at grandpa Wood's peacemakers. Out of curiosity, I took one out of the holsters, and looked at the chambered rounds. They were a real bright, shiny metal. I took the second one out of its holster, as Matt said something about the werewolf getting back up.
"Whatever you're doing back there, hurry the hell up!" He pulled the lever on my 1887 down, then back up to chamber the next round.
I was back at Matt's side aiming one of the Old Western revolvers at the werewolf that was slowly getting back up, but bleeding everywhere. "I think grandpa had these things loaded with silver bullets. Only one way to find out though." I pulled the hammer back, and pulled the trigger. The werewolf dropped with a surprised and painful yelp, and this time it didn't get back up.
"Silver bullets… Dude your grandpa knew what he was doing." Matt said, as he placed my 1887 back into it's case, then back into the trunk of my car.
"Matt I don't think we're done yet." I said, as I raised both Peacemakers. I heard more growling coming from behind the main building. I was right saying that we weren't finished. Four more werewolves jumped onto the roof, growling clearly infuriated that one of their pack had been killed.
"Feeling up to sharing Jimmi?" Matt asked back at my side, and I handed one of the silver-loaded revolvers to him. The wolves launched themselves at us, and the both of us opened up on the werewolves. Two werewolves dropped, but the other two scattered. They began to circle us, and we didn't fire. We only had two guns with silver bullets, and we didn't want to waste them. One of the wolves launched itself at us, and we ducked. I got my revolver up just in time to shoot it in the jaw. The silver bullet exited through the top of it's head, and it dropped to the ground dead. Then there was one wolf left. It was hiding behind Matt's Crown Victoria, and in a stroke of brilliance, Matt fired twice, catching the wolf in the legs under the bottom of the car. The werewolf collapsed to the ground as the silver bullets tore through its legs.
"Hey, hey. Let's finish it off with some style." Mat said as we moved in for the kill.
"What do you mean?" I asked, taking caution to stay out of reach of the wolf's claws.
"Ever seen the Boondock Saints?" He asked, and a smile crossed my face. We placed my grandpa's revolvers against the back of the werelolf's skull, and recited the MacManus brothers prayer.
"And shepards we shall be.
For thee, my Lord for thee.
Power hath descended forth from thy hand, that our feet may swiftly carry out thy command.
So we shall flow a river forth to thee.
And teeming with souls shall it ever be.
In Nomine Patris, et Fili, et Spiritus Sancti"
The two of us pulled the trigger once each, and the fifth werewolf dropped to the ground dead.