Bonus Post: The Final Fate of Abel Cochrane

(I wrote this chapter weeks ago as a joke for fellow Supernatural fans Serena and Rebecca. Just thought I’d share.)

Cochrane gaped at the two men standing before him. “What do you mean, no?”

“You want me to draw you a picture?” the hard-eyed older one said. “Because it’ll look like this: a big black N and a big black O, with a nice heavy line underneath. Any other questions?”

“But you’re hunters,” Cochrane said. “You’re supposed to be the best in the business. There’s a town full of shifters out there. Monsters. They’ve got a mad scientist turning normal people into even worse monsters. Didn’t you hear what happened out on Route 15?”

“We heard,” the tall one said. He was not as hostile as his brother, but just as adamant. “We know who caused it, and we know who stopped it. It’s over. Let it go.”

“Are you kidding me? Talbot’s Peak has been taken over by those—those animals. You want to wait until they start branching out? Killing innocent people instead of each other? How can you just let it go and still have the gall to call yourselves hunters?”

“Watch us,” the older one said.

“We’ve been to Talbot’s Peak,” his brother added. “We know the situation there. It’s best to leave it alone. Even our father warned us to stay away from there. If you were there and they let you go, then you’re ahead of the game. I’d take it and run.”

“Your daddy’s dead and gone,” Cochrane said with a sneer. “And you two have lost your edge. I don’t know why I bothered. With or without you, I’m cleaning up that pit. You two can—”

“That’s it,” the older one said. “You’re lucky I don’t consider you worth the jail time. Cas?”

Cochrane whirled at a fluttery sound behind him. A man in a trench coat, who hadn’t been there seconds before, reached out and touched him.

The motel room disappeared.

A frigid wind nearly knocked him off his shaky feet. The room’s walls had been replaced by open sky of an eye-blasting blue, pierced by towering, snow-laden mountains. Make that MOUNTAINS. These made the Rockies look like speed bumps. Three men bundled in thick wool clothing and surrounded by a herd of goats stared at him. The goats barely blinked.

“What the hell?” Cochrane cried in rising panic. “What the hell? Where the hell am I?”

One of the men cleared his throat. “Tibet.”

“Tibet?”

“Yes, yes. Tibet.” The men hurried their goats away.

“Tibet?” Cochrane repeated weakly. The wind whipped the word away. Gradually he realized his feet were wet. He looked down and discovered he was standing up to his shins in snow.

“Goddammit,” he snarled. Those two lunatics weren’t hunters. They were witches. Had to be. That meant when he was done with Talbot’s Peak he’d have to kill them too. But first …

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.” It wasn’t the end of the world. Well, technically, but still. He had his sheepskin coat and the weapons concealed beneath it. Snow was just really chilly water, so thirst wouldn’t be a problem. There looked to be plenty of daylight left, time enough to find shelter. Cochrane started walking.

Tibet. The Himalayas. Yetis. Some village out in this snowy waste must have a yeti problem. He could earn a living here. If not here, India. That swampy jungle mess was rife with shifters and djinns. Or Japan. You couldn’t take three steps in Kyoto without banging into a demon.

It wouldn’t take him long to work his way back across the Pacific. Then they’d see some action, just you bet.

Saving people, hunting things. Making the world a cleaner place, one continent at a time.

Restitution

Cochrane glanced around Talbot’s Peak’s center square and tried not to let his horror show. It looked like the whole misbegotten population had turned out. To honor him, the wolf-man Dante said. Yeah, right. They were still shapeshifters, and they still outnumbered him, and they had still confiscated his weapons after the fight was over. This better not be the honor accorded the victim right before the sacrifice.

At least they’d left him his clothing this time. That was a step in the right direction.

A lean, gangly man with a twitchy nose stepped up to the podium. He’d been pointed out to Cochrane earlier as the current Mayor. “Fellow Peakites,” he spoke into the mic, “by now you’re all aware of the monster that threatened us and our town. We came together in the face of peril, and we triumphed. I’m proud of all of you.

“Today we honor those who directly risked their lives and safety to defend us. Dante.” The wolf man seated near the podium stood and bowed modestly to the cheering crowd. “Duff McDuff and his cohorts.” From out of the crowd the Scotsmen and -woman raised tankards of liquor and roared something in Gaelic. “Rafael Golden.” The Mayor nodded skyward, where an eagle circled. “The Turkle family, who politely declined to join us this afternoon. Ditto for Syprelli, a newcomer to Talbot’s Peak, who nevertheless put her life on the line for us. I hope you all help to make her feel welcome here in the days to come. May I also extend our gratitude to a young man who played a vital role in our defense, yet chooses to remain anonymous.” Cochrane spotted Deuce standing with a bunch of glowering wolves dressed like Twilight wannabes. He was the only one smiling.

“Ewan Carter and Maureen Starkey.” The blond man standing at the front of the crowd hastily yanked his hand off his girlfriend’s rack. The girl in the glasses just laughed and left her own hand where it sat comfortably on his ass. Cochrane tried not to scowl directly at them. That damned coyote still owed him for that bite on the wrist, even though the cast had come off a while back. And her. She was a hunter, or supposed to be. She’d clearly thrown in her lot with the enemy. Women. Couldn’t trust ‘em.

“And a special thanks and our undying gratitude to another stranger to our town, who nevertheless literally leaped into the jaws of hell to save us all. Abel Cochrane.” The crowd broke into thunderous applause. Numerous hands propelled him toward the podium. The Mayor stepped back and motioned to the mic.

Cochrane stared out at the sea of faces confronting him. Shifter faces. Monsters, every last one of them, hiding behind faux human features. Clapping and chanting his name.

“Just doing my job,” he mumbled into the mic, and tried to make his escape.

“Just a moment.” The Mayor caught his arm. “I’ve been told you initially came to Talbot’s Peak for a specific reason. We’d like to help out. Mr. Lincoln? Mr. McMahon?”

Cochrane stiffened. He recognized those two old geezers stepping out of the crowd. Purple paint, cardboard fairy wings, public nudity and the cops. He wasn’t going to forget those sons of bitches any time soon.

“Mr. Cochrane,” the aged ape who’d once been Mayor of Talbot’s Peak boomed within earshot of the mic. “Last time you visited our fair hamlet, Vern and I—well, we did something mean that I know now we shouldn’t’ve. We’d like to apologize for that. No hard feelings?”

He held out his hand. Cochrane just stared at it. “Take it,” Lincoln murmured through a politician’s smile. “Otherwise Vern here’s liable to shift, and that’ll put his big wolfie jaws right in line with your dingle. We wouldn’t want any accidents to happen in front of the children, would we?”

Goddamn shifters. They’d trapped him good and proper. Cochrane seized the ape’s hand and pumped it once, then repeated the gesture with the grinning old wolf’s. The audience went wild. Short trip for them, he thought scathingly.

The high school band raised their instruments and broke into the ceremonial music from the end of the first Star Wars movie. That appeared to signal the end of the gathering. The crowd broke up, most headed toward the center square’s various eating establishments. Better that than him, Cochrane reckoned.

Oh Christ, here came the coyote, with Maureen at his side. Probably after the rest of his arm. The hunter tensed for battle.

“Mr. Cochrane,” Ewan said, amiably enough. “As long as everybody’s apologizing, I want to say I’m sorry for the bite. You sorry you tried to kill me?” Cochrane didn’t respond. The coyote shrugged. “Told you,” he said to Maureen.

“That’s why I didn’t take the bet. Sir?” Maureen addressed Cochrane. “I quit.” She walked off arm and arm with the coyote, now and forever a traitor to humanity. Picked a monster over her own kind. Typical woman.

Once he got his weapons back, she could die along with the rest of them.

“Mr. Cochrane.” Now that the mic was shut off, the Mayor also shut off his joviality. “You saved a ton of lives at the risk of your own, and we’re forever grateful. Just the same, I think it would be best all around if you left Talbot’s Peak right now and never came back. I’d even go so far as to say stay out of Montana altogether. There are plenty of other places in the world for you to ply your trade. I’m sure you can find one.”

Cochrane studied the Mayor’s hard eyes, then those of Dante, just beyond his shoulder. The Scottish contingent had clumped together and watched the hunter warily. The two old bastards went on grinning, like they couldn’t wait to get their mitts on another bucket of paint.

“How can you do this?” he muttered at the Mayor. “You know what these things are.”

“Better than you can imagine,” the Mayor growled back. “I was born human, Mr. Cochrane. We have more in common with ‘these things’ than you believe. I’ll take their kind over yours any day.” He smiled thinly. “Thanks again. Have a nice day.”

The Mayor, with Dante and the Scots as backup, escorted Cochrane to his car. He got in without a word and drove out of Talbot’s Peak. And that was that.

For now. In spite of everything that had happened, the basic threat posed by a town full of shapeshifters remained. As soon as he replenished his weapons stash, he’d be back.

One final tribute awaited him as he drove down Route 15. The Turkle clan had gathered at the side of the road. As Cochrane motored past they raised various weapons in salute. A grinning Abram Turkle hefted his newly-arrived bazooka.

Cochrane slowed and saluted. When he returned to clean up the town, he would spare this bunch. He would never hunt turkeys again. They were true Americans.

The Battle of Schitt Creek

“Here he comes,” Turkle said calmly. “I got this.”

He could afford to be calm, Cochrane thought enviously. Turkle had the grenade launcher. It had been agreed he’d take the first shot at the monster mammoth. If the grenades didn’t bring it down, he and Cochrane would attack with their elephant guns. This, Dante had theorized, would buy time for other, stronger Peakies to arrive, with some of those spacey weapons they were said to possess. He and Turkle were expected to provide no more than a delaying action.

Cochrane sneered. Dante was just a werewolf. He didn’t know squat about what a real hunter could do.

Turkle walked placidly down the road toward the charging Hellephant. He knelt and settled the grenade launcher on his shoulder. “Welcome to the Peak,” Cochrane heard him say, just before he fired.

They all heard the boom and the whistle, then the second boom when the missile hit the monster on its hairy shoulder. Smoke and a bit of fire bloomed in its fur. The mammoth reared back with a screech of obvious surprise that its would-be victims could hurt it.

“And now that we got the range,” Turkle went on, “we finish the job. Sorry you got pulled out of bed for this,” he called back to Dante. “Lunch is on me.” He loaded another grenade and took careful aim at the mammoth’s skull.

The former Atcheson stood firm and waited, glaring at them from his scarily human eyes. Turkle fired his killing round.

Atcheson eyed the approaching grenade like a batter at the plate. An apt analogy, Cochrane realized seconds later when the mammoth-thing raised his trunk and swatted the grenade aside. It exploded harmlessly far out over the open meadow. The mammoth trumpeted what sounded like triumphant laughter.

“Scat,” Turkle said. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Nor was anyone expecting the beast to lunge forward in a high-speed charge. Turkle dove for the safety of the high weeds at the side of the road, too late. Atcheson caught him up in his trunk. He sniffed at his captive, then thrust Turkle into his mouth.

“No!” Cochrane screamed. The old bird was a shapeshifter, inhuman, the kind of thing Cochrane had come here to kill in the first place, but over the last couple of days they’d found enough common ground to become fast friends. Nobody was going to make a turkey dinner of him while Cochrane had air in his lungs and a gun in his hand.

He raced toward Mammoth Atcheson, heedless of his own safety. When he figured he was in range, he started firing. It took only seconds for Cochrane to realize an elephant gun wasn’t going to do squat on a creature three times the size of an elephant and protected by a thick mat of hair. Not unless he got right up close and personal.

He was hastily reloading when he heard a series of muffled pops. The mammoth stopped and shook his head violently. The pops paused, then picked up again.

Cochrane grinned fiercely. The wily old bird. He must’ve had a pistol on him, and was now shooting directly inside the monster’s mouth. “Chew on that,” Cochrane snarled.

Instead of chewing, the mammoth spit. Turkle tumbled out of his mouth. Before he could hit the ground he shifted. The wild turkey streaked for safety, trailing ripped ribbons of camo. Atcheson snaked his trunk hungrily after him. Cochrane raised his gun.

The roar of Dante’s motorcycle warned him just barely in time to jump out of the way. The alpha wolf sped toward the monster, his pockets stuffed with grenades. Rafe, the golden eagle shifter, also soared mammothward, a grenade clutched in each taloned foot for an aerial assault.

Cochrane nodded. It might just work. They’d proven the grenades could hurt it. If they could knock out its legs, that would give Cochrane his chance. He hung back and let the shifters take their best shot.

For a while it looked like they had him. Dante lobbed his grenades at Atcheson’s legs, aiming for the vulnerable knees. When the mammoth went for Dante, the eagle tore a pin loose with his beak and dropped a pineapple as close to the monster’s skull as he could aim. The explosions probably caused the mutant beast’s wolf-sensitive ears more pain than the actual grenade. He certainly had a lot of roars and headshakes going on, and vigorous trunk-swipes at the circling eagle, but nothing seemed to be doing him any real damage.

Unfortunately, Rafe could only tote two grenades at a time. The eagle swept back toward Turkle’s pickup truck to reload. Free of that distraction, Atcheson turned on Dante. Cochrane had to admit Wolf Boy could work some serious maneuvers on that hog of his, but sooner or later either his skill or his luck was going to run dry, and then—

And then the Hellephant’s trunk dealt a glancing blow to the rear of the bike. Dante went skidding onto the berm and was thrown into the grass. The mammoth lifted one enormous foot and scanned the ground for his victim.

“Hey!” Cochrane shouted. He ran out into the center of the road and waved his gun over his head. “Atcheson! Yeah, I’m talking to you, you psycho shit! You remember me? You want a piece of me? Well, come and get me, motherfucker! You’re no hunter and you never were! You’re just one more friggin’ monster.”

The mammoth turned. His little eyes squinted at Cochrane. It took a full minute for recognition to set in. The monster loosed a roar full of hatred and charged him.

Cochrane got off two shots before the trunk wrapped around him like a huge hairy python and lifted him into the air. The hunter’s arms, along with the gun, were pinned to his sides. No matter. Cochrane was counting on all that insane hatred in the mammoth’s blue eyes and the rumble in his empty mutant tummy. “Go ahead, fuzzball. Do it,” he taunted. After the monster swallowed him, he figured he’d have just enough time to do some serious internal damage with the elephant gun before he suffocated. Maybe he’d even be lucky enough to hit a vital organ or two. It was how all hunters dreamed of cashing it in—in action, guns blazing. Who the hell wanted to die in bed like a pansy boy anyway?

“Come on!” Cochrane shouted as well as he was able with the trunk squeezing all the air out of him. “What are you waiting for?”

Atcheson glared at him, long and hard. Then he swung his trunk and hurled Cochrane up and away, at a high and no doubt fatal terminal velocity. The hunter didn’t even have a chance to get off a shot.

Cochrane had time to reflect that when he landed he was probably going to make the biggest, messiest splat Talbot’s Peak had ever seen.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Dante Takes a Stand

Dante managed to squeeze in a couple of hours’ sleep before the first frantic reports flooded in. There were calls from Deuce and Hoover on his personal phone, and dozens of others on the public “hot line” in the bar. The trouble with being Talbot’s Peak’s unofficial alpha wolf was that people tended to treat him like their personal 911 unit.

This time, that panic might be justified.

He only needed to listen to a handful of calls to get the gist of the peril. Still aching from the wounds he’d sustained in the Philippines, he nevertheless rolled out his motorcycle and roared it down the road toward what sounded like a major disaster.

“Ewan,” he muttered under his breath, “what the hell did you do?”

One look at the hybrid mammoth monster lumbering up Route 15 and Dante shifted blame to where it belonged, onto Dr. Morloxian’s shoulders. He got his bike fairly close to the beast before it tried to stomp him, but that was near enough to see the mutant werewolf perched on its skull and controlling its progress. A second rider saw him and tried to jump. The werewolf caught her in one brawny arm and crushed her struggling body against him.

Dante’s mouth thinned. Hostage. The seriousness of the situation rose another notch.

He swung his bike around and sped back up the road, scanning for the best place to mount a counterattack. The most defensible spot—if a defense could even be devised against something like that mutant pachyderm—was the bridge spanning the unfortunately-named Schitt Creek. “They were an early settler family! It’s a legitimate name!” the town historians had sworn when Mayor Gil questioned them. Like the Mayor, Dante had his doubts on that score. However, he didn’t doubt that if the mammoth made it past the bridge, all of Talbot’s Peak would be up Schitt Creek in more ways than one.

Movement overhead caught his eye. Two winged beings swooped down from on high and landed before him. One was one of the golden eagle twins—Rafe, by his scent. The other caused Dante’s brows to climb. He’d heard of Pegasus shifters, but had never seen one until now.

The winged horse shifted into a slender, lovely young woman with a waist-length mane of red hair. She introduced herself as Syprelli. “I’ve been following the monster since it broke out of the earth down by the interstate,” she said. “It’s definitely headed for the town. The creature directing it has a hostage. A young woman. I tried to get close enough to help her, but … ” She waved her arms. “It’s difficult. My other form has no hands, and this form has no wings.”

“Same for me,” Rafe, now in his human form, added. “Not to mention that trunk is a bugger. I made a dive at the werewolf on its back and Dumbo nearly nailed me. If you’re going to bring it down, it’ll have to be from a distance.”

“I have access to weapons that could stop it,” Dante said, “but I’d rather not use them until we get the girl off its back. Provided we can.” His mouth tightened. “She’s the mate of a friend of mine.”

Syprelli nodded. “I saw them. Two wolves. They’re following the monster in a car.”

“Then Ewan has a plan.” If he didn’t, he would when he got there. Coyotes were more seat-of-the-pants types. As long as it worked, Dante would back it.

The sound of a motor on the road from the Peak side made all three of them turn. A dusty camo-painted pickup truck trundled down the road and rolled to a halt before them. Dante recognized the driver as Abram Turkle. His passenger Dante only knew by his bad reputation: the human hunter, Cochrane.

“Heard you had some trouble brewing,” Turkle said. “We’re here to help.”

Dante glanced at Cochrane and let the “we” slide by. Any port in a storm. “Do you know what we’re up against? Did you bring sufficient weapons?”

Turkle snorted at the obvious. “We’ve got two elephant guns and a grenade launcher,” Cochrane said. “We just need to figure out how to get close enough.”

“If that doesn’t do the trick, I can run home for the cannon,” Turkle said. “The aim ain't accurate, though. We only fire it on the Fourth of July.”

“There’s a hostage on the mammoth’s back.”

Cochrane looked at him. "And there's a mammoth headed for your town. Let's stay focused on the big picture here."

Dante bit back a growl. He truly detested the hunter, but the man seemed honestly willing to help. “We think the mammoth may be a genetically-mutated human. One of yours, in fact. Does the name Atcheson mean anything to you?”

Cochrane’s expression darkened to downright murderous. “It means I get the first shot. Ass-kissing psycho, that’s what he is. I should have punched his clock a long time back. I hope you aren’t planning on taking him alive. From what we heard on the police scanner, that doesn’t sound like an option.”

“First we rescue the hostage. I’ve got a man working on that.” He hoped. Dante turned back and peered down the highway. The beast had not yet become visible from the bridge, but its hate-filled bellows could be heard for miles. “Come on, Ewan,” he murmured. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.”

Convergence

Overture, curtain, lights. This is it, the night of nights. The players have been introduced, the plot is rolling, the stage is set. That stage is Talbot’s Peak.

# # #

Out at the exit, the police release the Scooby Gang at dawn. They have no real charges to hold them on—everyone agrees Cochrane, currently MIA, was the only one with a gun—and the cops need the cells for the drunk drivers and brawlers that litter the strip every Saturday night. Even Barry receives a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. While the others were ditching their knives, he was flushing his last bag of Panama Red. Barry’s from California. He knows the drill.

The cast assembles at the far end of the cop shop parking lot: Atcheson (“Freddie”), Barry (“Shaggy”), Ted (“Comic Book Guy”), and Lowenstein (“Agent Mulder”). Atcheson tries Cochrane’s number and gets no response. Ditto for Maureen and Pete. He pockets the phone with a vicious oath, his face contorted in frustration.

“What now?” Lowenstein says. “Breakfast?” Ted asks hopefully.

“Screw breakfast,” Atcheson says. His eyes are glittering. This is his chance to seize command, and he grabs it with both hands. “We have to find Cochrane. The werewolf bit him. He’s a monster now, just like the rest of them. He has to die. For his own good,” he quickly adds, noting the expressions of alarm on the faces of his team. “Nobody wants to live as a monster. He’ll thank us, believe me.”

After a moment, they reluctantly nod. Like Ewan before him, Atcheson reaches the conclusion his partners aren’t very bright. That doesn’t dull the thrill of power becoming their new leader gives him. Hunting and killing monsters is what he was born to do. Especially the killing part.

He gives his first orders. “Cochrane’s bound to head for Talbot’s Peak. That’s where we need to go.” He gazes around the parking lot. The motel’s at least a mile away, and the van may not even be there. On the other hand, half a dozen cop cars are parked on the lot, just sitting there. “How are your hot-wiring skills?” he asks Lowenstein. Lowenstein wriggles his fingers and grins.

Ted stares longingly at the string of fast-food places that line the commercial strip, and sighs. There goes breakfast. Maybe they can stop for something on the way.

# # #

Already miles along the road to Talbot’s Peak, Cochrane floors his Chevy, throttles the wheel and grits his teeth. He got away from the alien bunny probe-free, only to discover his arsenal in the trunk was gone. Goddamn freaks. However, they missed the pistol and full clip of ammo he had hidden under the driver’s seat, and the three grenades in the glove compartment. That’s all he’s got left to wipe an entire town full of shapeshifters off the map.

And he’s naked. Again.

“Sons’a bitches,” he snarls. If that’s all he has to work with, so be it. They’re monsters. One way or another, they’re going to die. Vern and the Mayor first. He’s going to twist their heads off their necks with his bare hands. More satisfying anyway. As for the wolf boy, Cochrane can’t wait to beat his head in with the cast on his broken wrist. Wolf Boy gave him that cast. It has symmetry.

A rabbit takes a tentative hop onto the side of the road. Cochrane swerves to run it down. The rabbit makes a frantic dive back into the underbrush, inches ahead of the Chevy’s tires. The car rockets on up the road.

“They’re all gonna die,” Cochrane vows. Yeah, even the bunnies. Especially the bunnies.

# # #

Some miles behind Cochrane and ahead of the Scooby Crew, Ranjeet Patel, aka Pete, aka Silent Sam, drives his own stolen vehicle at a moderate pace along the road to Talbot’s Peak. His trained eye spots the “checkpoints” he’s been warned about. He keeps well within the speed limit. The wolf clan will have agents stationed all along this road. He does not want to draw their attention.

Zhere Ghan’s empire has long employed human servants, even before the tiger lord came to America. Ranjeet’s family has served the House of Ghan for generations. Somebody has to keep the poachers away from the tigers’ pelts. The Ghans were the first shifter clan to recognize the need to fight fire with fire.

Now the wolf lord, Damien Hancock, has stolen that idea. He’s found a human willing to turn other humans into beasts. Lord Ghan wants this human. Ranjeet is to see that he gets him.

The Doctor will not be in Talbot’s Peak itself, but those who know where he is will be. Ranjeet has a name and a species (Ewan the wolf) and a place to start (Dante’s bar). If Vishnu favors him, he will accomplish his mission without the need for violence. Violence is messy, and ruins one’s day.

Violence is what the Tiger Yakuza is for. At a single phone call a dozen ninja will swoop in and do what they do best, once Ranjeet provides them with a location. He himself will secure the Doctor. Some things must be handled personally, to ensure success.

He spots the gleam of saffron eyes by the side of the road, reflected off the headlights. He’s not worried. Cochrane will be travelling this same road, if he isn’t already. The man is insane, and so will make an excellent diversion. While the wolf lord deals with him, Ranjeet can slip in and accomplish his task.

He turns on the car’s radio and whistles along with the tune that comes on. One by one he passes the checkpoints, unhindered.

# # #

These are the pawns. The two kings in this chess game, Zhere Ghan and Dante, stand alert in their command centers and direct their men across the board. Dante gulps coffee. Zhere Ghan sips tea. No one knows where Damien Hancock is, or where he’s hiding his Doctor. Securing that knowledge is the top priority for both sides.

The sun rises on a Talbot’s Peak teetering on the brink of assault from numerous directions. Its populace has no clue. If Dante has his way, they never will. Zhere Ghan is less caring of the pawns. If some of them, including the Doctor, die in this skirmish, so be it. That’s all pawns are for.

# # #

Ewan and Maureen? They’re down in the kitchen of the Pleasure Club, feasting on sandwiches cobbled together from whatever’s been left over from the dinner rush. Maureen wonders if she’ll ever become a real werewolf. Ewan wonders if he’ll ever get to see her tits. They’re the only players on the board not looking to kill anybody. Poor bastards, they haven’t a chance.

Hasta la Vista, Baby

(We now rejoin our regularly scheduled serial story, already in progress)

Cochrane knew better than to put up a fuss when the police charged their motel room. An old hand at dealing with the law, he tossed his gun under the bed and then demanded to be taken to the hospital, citing his broken wrist. The rest of the team took their cue from him and dropped to their knees with their hands clasped behind their heads. An ambulance was duly summoned. The cops took statements and checked IDs while they waited for Cochrane’s transport.

Cochrane knew searching the room would come later, after they’d been hauled off for questioning. Let ‘em find the gun. It and the team’s knives were nothing, small fry in the order of ordinance. The real arsenal, with which he intended to assault Talbot’s Peak, remained hidden in the trunk of his car. As long as the cops missed that, his plans could proceed with only minor delay.

Around this time the desk clerk and the manager showed up and informed Cochrane and his henchmen they would have to vacate the room immediately, no refunds. Cochrane told them the sheets hadn’t been clean anyway. Then the ambulance arrived and Cochrane was carted off to the hospital, while the others were conducted to the police station.

At the end of the X-rays, shots and bandaging Cochrane announced his pressing need for a toilet. The doctor pointed him down the hall. His police guard had gone to get coffee. Cochrane detoured at the first side corridor, found a stairwell, and followed it to an emergency exit. He emerged into an empty night. Small-town cops, gotta love ‘em. They weren’t paid enough to be good at their jobs.

Shortly, safe in a Denny’s half a mile from the hospital and with half a cup of coffee in his belly, Cochrane took out the cell phone the cops’ pat-down had missed, and called Atcheson. His big blond aide-de-camp answered on the fifth ring. “Sir! Are you safe?”

“For the moment,” Cochrane said. “What about you? I take it you boys are in the hoosegow. This line secure?”

“Yeah, they’re questioning us. I’m alone right now. That damn dog in the parking lot, it … well, the cops are pretty much leaving me on my own until I can catch a shower.” He lowered his voice. “They didn’t get all of us. Pete and Maureen are still on the loose.”

“Have they charged any of you with anything?”

“Barry, maybe. Depends on if he had any weed on him. We all ditched our knives when we realized there were cops on the way. You were the only one with a gun.”

“Then you should be good where you are. Sit tight and don’t tell them anything. I’ll see if I can get in touch with Maureen and Pete. One of them will be by to bail you out, assuming the police don’t just release you. Technically we’ve done nothing.”

“Except fire a gun in a motel room.”

“They’ll have to catch me first.” Which was unlikely. Cochrane took a sip of his coffee. This might be the perfect time to dump his half-wit helpers. They’d proven marginally useful up until now, tracking down monsters for him to kill and doing far more tedious research than he would have himself. When it came to the crunch, however, none of them truly had a hunter’s heart. Except perhaps for Atcheson, who could be a bit too enthusiastic sometimes.

Yeah, he’d be better off cutting them loose. He knew what he’d be facing in Talbot’s Peak, and he’d always worked better alone. “Just keep your mouths shut,” he told Atcheson. “I’ll be in touch.” He cut the connection and deleted the team’s numbers from his phone.

Better fuel up. No telling when he’d get a chance to eat again. Then hike back to the motel and pick up his car. Then on to Talbot’s Peak. Once there … Cochrane scowled at the cast on his wrist and put a new name at the top of his list of freaks to wipe out first.

# # #

In the restroom of the diner across the street from the Rocky Top Motel, a stocky young man with glasses and dark skin took out a cell phone and punched in a number on speed dial. His name was neither Silent Sam, as Ewan Carter had dubbed him, nor Pete, as he was known to his cryptozoologist companions. They would have had trouble pronouncing his real name, or questioned the accent he hid by keeping silent as much as possible.

He spoke now into the phone, in terse Urdu. “The mission has been compromised,” he informed his true employer. “The team has been taken into police custody. The hunter has been taken to hospital with a minor injury. I doubt he’ll stay there long.”

“I agree. He’ll head straight for the Peak and wreak havoc. Let’s let him go about his business. Havoc fits well with my plans.”

“There’s more, lord. The wolf they captured spoke of a Doctor who created Hancock’s mutant werewolves. He later denied it, but still. This is the first true confirmation we’ve had regarding Hancock’s pet scientist.”

The other hissed in a quick breath. “Where is the wolf?”

“He escaped, lord. Apparently he had a cohort. I assume he’s on his way to Talbot’s Peak.”

“It always comes back to that cursed town, doesn’t it? Very well. Return to Talbot’s Peak. See if you can find that wolf, and keep an eye out for the hunter. Hancock’s scientist holds the key to creating an unstoppable army. I will have that scientist, and that key. And Talbot’s Peak, in due time.”

“Pete” bowed minutely over his phone. “Yes, Lord Ghan.”

Extra Thursday Post: The Great Escape

“I have to use the bathroom,” Ewan said.

“Come on, son,” the hunter scoffed. “That’s the oldest trick in the book. How stupid do you think I am?”

In percentage points? Ewan thought. Aloud, he said, “Not dumb enough to fall for that, and we both know it. That doesn’t change the fact I’m seconds away from turning this here mattress into my own personal newspaper. You let me dump my load, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Including,” he added, with a jerk of his chin toward the grainy photo Agent Mulder had left on the nightstand, “what those beasties are and who made ‘em.”

Cochrane flicked a disinterested glance at the photo. His full attention stayed on Ewan. Chaos bite his prick. The hunter wasn’t after answers, like the rest of the Scooby Crew. He was out for blood. If he ran across Hancock’s monster hybrids he’d shoot them, and every other shifter he happened on. Ewan wouldn’t miss the mutants, but he had good friends in the Peak.

He looked toward Velma and added, “C’mon. You seem like an honorable sort. Would you really make me humiliate myself in front of a lady?”

The hunter rolled his eyes. “You do know how to pile it on.” He gestured to Silent Sam. The man left his post by the door and approached the bed. He drew a knife big enough to gut a rhino with. Ewan tried not to flinch while Silent Sam slit his bonds. All the while Cochrane kept his gun trained on Ewan. Velma stood by the window. Her glasses magnified her eyes to dinner-plate dimensions.

“There any windows in the bathroom?” Cochrane asked. Both Silent Sam and Velma shook their heads. “Okay. You get five minutes. No tricks. Maybe I should blow out a knee, just to play it safe.”

“That’d make it tough for me to aim. No need to get messy. I won’t do anything tricky. You have my word.”

“A shifter’s word,” Cochrane said with a sneer, but he let Ewan enter the bathroom and shut the door. “Five minutes!” he barked.

That sat fine with Ewan. He only needed three.

As promised, the bathroom had no windows. He could probably throw himself through a window in the main room, and slice himself to tatters in the process. Nope. It would have to be the door.

He had no weapons; they’d patted him down when they caught him. A shifter’s weapon was their animal form and whatever natural advantages came along with it. Ewan’s human form had only one advantage, and the coyote in him couldn’t wait to use it.

But first, prep. He stood by the toilet, shut his eyes, and thought about Velma. Her short, soft hair, her big brown eyes. The fun he could have feeling under her t-shirt in a leisurely search for her tits. The loud, barky sounds he could coax out of her. She looked like she might be a biter. Ewan liked biters. He pictured her bony body writhing beneath him while he covered it in love-nips. He reached for the buttons on his shirt.

“One minute!” Cochrane shouted at the door.

Ewan threw the door open. “All done,” he announced. “I’m ready to talk. I got nothing to hide.”

Indeed he did not. He was totally naked. His enormous dick stood stiff at attention, blatantly pointed at the room.

For one shocked second, all three humans froze. In that second, Ewan shifted.

Being an Eastern coyote, or coywolf, he lacked a wolf’s full size but shared the jaw muscles that made crunching the bones of big prey such an easy deal. The coyote’s legendary flexibility added on made him hell on four paws. Best of both worlds, really.

He dove straight for Cochrane and closed those wolf’s jaws on the wrist of the man’s gun hand. Bones snapped. The hunter howled and dropped his gun. Ewan swung toward the door before he remembered the downside of wolf jaws and wolf paws, especially when confronted with a doorknob. Looked like it would have to be the windows after all.

No go. The barricade that was Silent Sam blocked his way. He changed direction yet again, and almost got his ears blown off. The bullet cut a notch in the doorjamb.

Chaos bite it. Cochrane had the gun in his left hand. He must be ambidouchious, or whatever the word was.

“Keep him away from the windows!” Cochrane barked. “He can’t work the door unless he shifts.”

No shit. Ewan scurried for cover. Silent Sam tried to tackle him and missed. Ewan leaped onto the bed and off again just as Cochrane fired another round. The pillow went up in a flurry of fiber stuffing. Before Ewan could dodge Velma caught hold of his hind end and threw them both to the floor, with her on top. Normally Ewan enjoyed this kind of play, but with a hunter pointing a gun at him it kind of lost its thrill.

Ewan’s jaws and Velma’s throat were close enough to say howdy. He had to get her off him fast, and there was only one way.

He lapped his tongue straight up her face, with an extra-thick swipe over her glasses. “Eeeeyyyeeeewww!” Velma screamed. She threw herself away from him. Ewan scrambled under the bed. The hunter’s third shot clipped hairs off his tail.

“Move the bed!” Cochrane yelled, presumably at Silent Sam. “We’ve got him trapped!”

At that moment the door flew open. “Mr. C?” Shaggy the supporter of Free Weed said. “We got problems.”

Perfect timing. Ewan clawed out from under the bed and charged Shaggy. His near-wolf weight knocked them both into the hallway. Shaggy made a perfect cushion, shielding Ewan from impact.

Pity he couldn’t be used as a shield, because Freddie, Agent Mulder, and Comic Book Guy were also out in the hall, between him and the exit. They looked a bit frayed around the edges. Freddie stank of canine urine. Suits you, Ewan thought as he hustled in the opposite direction. The bark of Cochrane’s gun and ping of a bullet followed his retreat. Ewan slewed around a corner just ahead of the shot.

Fortunately the door to the inside stairwell was a push-bar deal, no shifting required. Ewan fled downstairs and burst into the lobby.

The lobby was crawling with cops, and they’d all heard the gunshot. They bounded up the stairs. Ewan pressed himself against the wall until the wave of uniforms subsided. Those boys upstairs were in for a lick of trouble, sure enough.

He glanced toward the front desk. Hoover was on, thank Chaos. He had a dingo with him—the source of Freddie’s new cologne, to judge by his personal odor. All three shifters nodded acknowledgement to each other.

Hoover took a careful sniff. “Ewan,” he ID’d him. “Let me guess. Those jokers in room 103?” Ewan barked affirmative. “I had them pegged for trouble the minute they came in. Dante’s already aware. You better scoot.” Ewan barked again and let himself out the fire exit.

The back lot had cop cars scattered all over, but with no cops in them. Shouts of, “Hands behind your head! Down on the floor!” and a lot of inventive swearing came from the second floor. Ewan flashed a big doggy grin at room 103 and trotted across the lot.

Then Thor hit him with a strike of lightning.

At least that’s what it felt like. One minute he was on his way to freedom, the next a blast of painful energy zapped him from out of nowhere. He fell to the tarmac and writhed like a landed bass, with a high howl of absolute agony.

It lasted only seconds, but felt like forever. Then small but strong hands yanked the Taser’s wires out of his flank, wrestled him off the blacktop and started to drag him toward a vehicle.

One last quiver of electrical impulses and Ewan lost control. He shifted to human.

“Oh, poop!” Velma. “You couldn’t stay wolf, could you?” Still semi-swearing, she adjusted her hold to under his armpits and resumed her drag. The vehicle was the Scooby Gang’s van. He’d been so busy patting himself on the back he hadn’t even noticed it, or Velma hiding behind it.

She struggled his human body into the passenger seat. After strapping him in she climbed behind the wheel. The van coughed to vehicular life and charged out of the lot.

Ewan blinked dazedly against the unending pulse of neon on the commercial strip’s main drag. His head pounded like a son of a dog, and most muscle control had gone bye-bye. He managed to wet his throat. “We going to your place?”

“Shut up.” Velma kept her eyes determinedly fixed to the road. “You just took me hostage.”