Michael Werewolf

The Final Yard
1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 979-8-3509-2280-6
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 25 Seiten

A pro NFL quarterback at the height of his career is investigated for performance drugs. When the investigation leads to him being hunted as a serial killer just as the playoffs approach, a darker horror is discovered: the real culprit is the werewolf that he turns into every full moon.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Michael, John

Leseproben

THE PRO   John Perry was not looking for a relationship; the last thing he kissed was the tip of a gun. It was his comfort with the taste of metal that got him here, on a mountain in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of rehab wanderers who got the brilliant idea to spy on a monk commune in the middle of the night. Despite his immunity to the warmth of passion, right now, this girl with six platinum records and pink braids, was breaking a lot more trespassing rules with her skin-to-skin manner of conversing, than any of them were on this mountain path in the dead of night. Being a professional athlete comes with a lot of choices for bed buddies, which only added to the brewing stew of bad choices in John’s head. But there was something about this one he’d just met, Figgy Lee, she was something else and she wasn’t about to take any prima donna crap from him. Perhaps that’s why she was able to get through; because she wasn’t after him for the celebrity of it – her music provided way more of that than John’s NFL career with the LA Rams. Was it possible that she actually saw something human in him? He had a hard time believing that. Regardless, John was hoping that this secluded break from suicidal thoughts would be a place to empty his head, not fill it with more nonsense, no matter how intoxicating. Maybe it was the monk commune he should’ve signed up for and not the addiction treatment program. There was something provocative about how that rehab counselor described the monks, ‘there was no talking allowed, no interaction with them allowed,’ that intrigued John, it sounded more like the respite he really needed as opposed to this Kumbaya Kombucha with Kimchee shit. Which brought him to this moment, and why he agreed to this unlawful excursion at this ungodly hour… The distraction of checking out the monks’ compound in the middle of the night seemed like a good idea – at the time, he entertained the idea of joining them and leaving the others to go back to their cucumber waters and group therapy sessions. The way the monks walked by; stone-faced but happy, indicated to John that they weren’t doing any Kumbaya Kombucha with Kimchee shit. Figgy wasn’t the only thing that had John’s attention and was distracting him. He couldn’t believe that there was a place this close to Los Angeles, so isolated from other human beings. Living in So Cal (which encompasses all of the areas surrounding Los Angeles to the Mexico border) meant whether you had a tiny apartment or a huge estate you could you look out your window and see millions of others, even if they couldn’t see you. But someone, or some being, could always see you. For among the Golden State socialites, paparazzi, and celestial Hollywood beings, walked mountain lions, bears, and coyotes – among other things. And in the center of it all – the La Brea tar pits. Smack dab in the middle of the city of Los Angeles there is a prehistoric sludge field – disguised as a museum, where saber tooth tigers and mastodons are forever entombed. In between the sidewalk of stars, palm trees, spotlights and predatory wildlife (human and otherwise), there’s always traffic, there’s always people, no matter how good the security. And here, barely an hour or so north, John stepped out of the rehab facility and was consumed by wilderness that was lit only by the full moon. In its subtle seduction, this secluded come-hither Kumbaya camp became like a moment of birth. Either that, or he really needed a drink. “Like the Amazon here,” Figgy tried to get in John’s head. “Without the temperatures.” He rubbed his bare arms. “Damn, shoulda grabbed my hoodie.” She pressed into him. “Let me help.” He didn’t resist. The sounds of wildlife made her squeeze a little tighter. “We’re in their backyard now.” “Who, the monks’?” “The animals, people in Malibu always bitching that mountain lions and coyotes are snatching their Shih Tzus and Frenchies off their patios, but we’re on their turf out here.” “I’m pretty sure we’re on their turf in Malibu too.” “They’re watching. I bet something is just on the boundaries crouched real low, waiting to pounce.” John finally took the bait and swallowed her in a kiss. “You’re not afraid?” “You’ll protect me, won’t you?” Figgy asked. “I think the bigger question is who is going to protect me from you.” She looked for the others, they were leading the quest, about ten-yards up the hill as a group in solidarity. “Looks like even up here you have a defensive line.” “That would be offensive.” “Sorry.” John couldn’t help but laugh, but then he noticed she didn’t. “Hey now, LA girl like you knows enough about football…” She jumped in his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “I know enough that to say that you’re in the pocket.” “Guys, come on,” Dave called from the front line. John ignored him and stepped off the path toward a tree, with Figgy wrapped around him. “It used to be that it took eleven men totaling thousands of pounds, charging at me loaded with padding and helmets hard as rocks to make me feel this alive.” “So this is a good thing after all?” “I don’t know, I’m just saying my senses are wired. Maybe we should let them go on and we head back.” “What are you afraid of, those monks going to ban us to purgatory forever because we snuck on their land? I’m good right here.” Figgy snuggled up to him nestled his neck. I’m pretty sure that the monks had other things on their mind than a couple of lovers under the stars who wandered off the path. “Oh my God.” Julie shrieked from up ahead and broke the moment. A cacophony of “oh my god” and “what was that?” grew in volume as the rest of the group hurried back toward John and Figgy, the peppering of some choice curse words let John know this wasn’t because of a joyous discovery. John and Figgy peeled out of their embrace. A loud guttural snarl, accompanied by not a roar, but the gnashing of teeth, and what could be assumed as the ripping of flesh, echoed down the path. “Oh shit.” Figgy scattered up the nearby tree. John said, “What are you doing?” “Come on. I don’t know them; I just met them two days ago. Whatever’s out there is on them.” “I’ll see what’s going on. Stay there. I’ll be right back.” John darted into the path and then thought better of it. He stopped and listened closely for any sound of impending attackers. The wild sounds of the night were eerily quiet now; no critters not even the scurrying of an owl or insect. To John that meant one thing; all the smaller animals were hiding. He picked up a big branch as his only choice of weapon and took a few cautious steps along the edge of the pathway – trying to stay out of the light of the moon. Kevin Darden ran past, “Get the fuck out of here now.” “What’s going on?” John asked. Just as the question left John’s lips, Kevin’s jaw smashed into the rock on the dirt path and his body was yanked backwards, as if being feed into a shredder. Blood sprayed John. He barely heard Figgy yell, “run!” Kevin grabbed onto John’s big branch to save his own life, instead he pulled John into the pits of hell. A rush of monks charged down the path, sidestepping the shredded bodies of the other rehab wanderers. John faded in and out of consciousness – his right side is clawed – mauled. He made a feeble attempt to bat off the animal with the branch in his left arm. He didn’t stand a chance. The last thing he heard was a gunshot that reverberated across the night sky.   John opened his eyes and had to blink from the bright fluorescent lights overhead. All he could hear was a low hum and beeps of machinery. “What the hell?” John tried to move his arms but they wouldn’t. They were strapped down to a hospital bed? His legs were too. “Where am I? What’s going on?” His mom ran to his side. “Baby, oh it’s so nice to see you awake.” “What is going on?” “It’s okay. Everything is okay, relax. Don’t put yourself out, you were just asleep for a little while, while they worked on you.” “They? A while? What happened? Get me out of these restraints. Why am I laying in prison?” “Oh no, the doctor just did that for a precaution, so you don’t hurt yourself in your sleep.” “Why would I hurt myself?” He searched his mom’s face and could tell she was being careful with her words. “Somebody better start talking before I start freaking out.” “Nobody’s going to freak out.” “When was the last time you were strapped down to a bed?” “I see you’re feeling better, I’ll leave the doctor to talk to you about what’s going on.” She leaned over and kissed him on the head, gave his hand a squeeze and turned to the doctor as he entered. “You can untie my son now.” Mom stepped aside while the doctor gave John and his vitals a once over. “We’re quite pleased with your progress.” “Would you mind telling me what it is I’m progressing from?” “You suffered some serious lacerations, but you’ve healed quite nicely, and quickly, I must say.” “Lacerations? What kind of lacerations? “That, we’re not entirely sure of, some sort of animal. We’re going with the assumption it was a mountain lion.” “How long have I been in here?”...