Paradise Lots 9 Dean & the Werecoyotes
Born to be Wild
A bright red F250 crewcab pickup stopped in front of the driveway to Paradise Lots. It was dark, the moon not yet risen. The sign was turned off, and the welded-pipe gate locked, blocking the driveway. A sign hung on the gate: Private Party.
“Have fun, boys.” Dean Dreher laughed. “I’m going to get Lurleen.”
Five men jumped out of the truck. One of them went over to the gate, sniffing. He jumped over the top pipe of the gate.
“Hey, they put some wolfsbane on this little birdie!” He unzipped his pants and peed on the flamingo. The urine had no effect on the flamingo, but it made a shimmer in the air.
“Oh, how adorable,” another one said, “they put up wards against us. Now how do they expect to stay in business if they keep customers out?”
Dean revved the engine and let the boys decide what to do. He’d see the witch first, and then find out where Lurleen was hiding. Then he’d show her what happened to runaway bitches.
As the shifters stepped through the wards, they were covered in sparkles, making them stand out in the dark.
“Look at me, I’m an elf!” one of them crowed. He pirouetted and did a silly dance as they scampered toward the office.
No light showed anywhere, except for their own sparkles. As the moon rose above the trees, they shifted, staying out of range of any weapons in the office.
The sparkles did not go away, but made each coyote glow in the dark.
“We can see you,” Marie-Ann said over a loud-speaker. “Go on back home. You are not welcome.”
The coyotes howled, walking back and forth, deciding what to do. At once they rushed the office, meeting a spray of buckshot.
The ones who were hit lay on the ground, waiting to heal, but the others surged on.
More gunfire, more injuries. The one who reached the door of the office got a .45 slug in his brain.
“She’s not here,” Marie-Ann said. “Go away.”
The coyotes milled around, sore from the buckshot, but healing. They could not get close enough to Gary, the coyote missing the back of his skull, to drag him away from the office. They howled their anger, getting another volley.
They pulled back further.
The compound set deep in the piney woods was surrounded by an eight-foot fence, which they could easily jump, but it was the office they needed to reach. They ran away from the office down beside the fence to the far end of it, out of range except for a high powered rifle.
Leaping over the fence, they hid between the small campers and crept up to the back entrance.
They heard nothing inside, only smelling gunpowder, coffee, and fearful humans.
With a howl, they charged against the door, breaking it in. Repeated shotgun blasts drove them back, whimpering. A .45 rang out, exploding the head of the one called Jim. At that, they retreated out of the office, limping to scale the fence and out to the woods.
Dean hadn’t said anything about guns, only the whores there. Dean hadn’t come along, either, looking for his stupid bitch. The last three loped out of Paradise Lots, their wounds healing. They swore revenge, with Dean's help or not.
Marie-Ann took a cleaver and chopped off what was left of Jim’s head. His human body was thin and scarred, a pitiful sight. The other man, Gary, lying in his blood in front of the office, looked much the same. A larger man, but still thin and wasted, as if only the were-coyote held all his strength and power.
“Put this one in a big garbage bag.” She said to Mac and Shorty, pointing to Jim. “We’ll have to wait for morning to get the other one, but he’ll need to be taken care of too.”
“Are they gone for sure?” asked Marlene.
“I don’t know, but we need to get that door blocked up just in case.”
Marie-Ann opened a storage room and took out several short pieces of 2x4, a hammer, and nails.
Marlene pushed the door back into the broken frame as best she could, while two of her sisters started hammering.
“That won’t hold long,” Shorty said. “We’ll need more ammo and a better door.” He and Mac got the body into the bag.
Someone threw up in the darkness.
“I just hope they don’t come back tonight,” Mac rolled the garbage bag onto another bag so it could be dragged away.
Shorty began mopping up the remains with bleach.
“I wonder how Bridget is managing,” Marie-Ann said. "She doesn't have this much firepower.
Bridget’s ancestors had been Scots warriors, Indian fighters on both sides, and more recently, bootleggers. She had stowed as much of her supplies as possible in her underground bunker, where she could hide if he tried to burn her out.
She loaded her cache of weapons with silver tipped shot, cursed with wolfsbane and nightshade. She’d put a matte black trip wire across the walk to the porch, not likely to be seen in the dark, even with enhanced vision. She’d scattered a few old-fashioned tarnished silver caltrops around as well.
She’d put a sawbuck barrier across the driveway, and a spike strip beyond. Anyone driving across the barrier would have to get new tires. Maybe Dean’s magic was stronger than hers, maybe he had reinforced his truck, maybe he had surprises she hadn’t prepared for, but she’d rather have him on foot. Easier to shoot if necessary, man or beast.
She strengthened her wards, knowing they would not be enough, but they would slow him down. Then she sat on the porch, shotgun across her knees, .45 on her hip, and a bowie knife in her boot, waiting.
No lights would make the cabin harder to find, although the gibbous moon would light things up just fine when it rose over the trees.
Twilight deepened into dark silence, but for the hoot of an owl. She’d told her animal and bird friends to stay away tonight. For once, they seemed to listen.
Finally as the moon made shadows in front of the cabin, she heard the rumble of a truck crunching gravel as it turned off the main road and headed up the driveway.
She made sure of the clips of ammo, centered herself, and tugged at her bullet proof vest.
The truck rumbled up, lights off. It made enough noise to be heard a mile away in the woods.
She chuckled.
The truck stopped at the barrier, still running. The passenger side window rolled down. Maybe Dean had more sense than she thought.
“You know she ain’t here.” Bridget said, “Get on out from here, and no problem. You got no business here.”
“I ain’t leaving ‘til I find her.” He began to shuck his clothes, throwing them in the truck as he prepared to turn.
“Suit yourself, but you are trespassing. These woods are posted. Get on out of here.” Bridget raised her shotgun. “I will shoot you.”
He howled, sniffing the air. He sniffed the ground, nudging the spike strip. He jumped over it, loping around the yard. Then he froze. He shifted back, his fists clenched against the strain.
“He was here? You let that old bastard take her? What the fuck were you thinking?” Dean started walking towards the cabin.
“Stop right there. I don’t know where she is, but she ain’t here.” Bridget sighted along the barrel. “You git.”
“You won’t let me have her, but gave her to him?” He spat. He crouched, shifting again.
As he leaped for her, Bridget shot him, buckshot knocking him back. She pumped the gun and shot again.
He howled, blood spattering as he shook himself to throw out the buckshot. He bounded again toward the porch, over the trip wire, but landing a paw on a silver caltrop.
Bridget shot again. She couldn’t kill him until he got close enough for the .45 to take his head off. But she could hurt him. She shot again. “Get off my property.”
He pulled the sharp metal from his paw with his teeth. He howled again, limping. His healing magic was slowed by the silver and poisons.
Bridget pulled the .45 and aimed.
The coyote vaulted over the truck, faster than lightning. He shifted again.
“This is not over, Witch,” Dean yelled. He got dressed and climbed in.
The engine roared as the truck spun to go back to the highway. Only one of the spikes caught a back tire, but then the truck lumbered back down to the highway.
Bridget reloaded. It would be a long night, she didn’t know if he would be back that night, and who he might bring with him. She hoped things were all right at Paradise Lots.
She wondered if she should get a landline phone after all.
Cattywampus honked. Time to leave.
Bridget swept up the caltrops, and picked up the spike rail. Cattywampus raised her tailgate, and Bridget loaded her weapons and the spike strip. Stepping carefully over the trip wire, she went back inside for some healing potions that might be needed.
She sealed the cabin door, hoping it would still be there when she got back. Cattywampus drove her down to the highway where she set up the barrier across the driveway with the spike strip and the caltrops.
Then she headed out to Paradise Lots. She had no idea where The Man of the Woods had taken Lurleen, but she had gone freely. Marie-Ann might need help, and there was nothing else to do here.
Nice truck full of were-coyotes!