《The Patchwork God | Cryptid Progression Fantasy》


 Chapter 1: The Emperor, the Bum

    Woodrow Brown stared down the tip of a needle as it went through his eye. There was a slight pop as it broke through the membrane, and he could feel the cold metal moving towards the back of his head. But any pain that he felt subsided quickly, and before too long, he couldn¡¯t feel a thing on the whole left side of his head.


    ¡°Allllright, Mr. Brown,¡± Bill Jones said in a calm, even tone ¡ª a mocking impression of a doctor. ¡°Just hold reeeal still.¡±


    Bill Jones was not a doctor, and they were not in an operating room. Woodrow laid on an old white fold-out table in the middle of his garage and his eye was held open with strips of duct tape. The only legitimate things they had for this operation were a syringe full of lidocaine they bought from an unscrupulous doctor, a scalpel they bought for a few dollars on the internet, and the replacement eye.


    Bill Jones flipped through a composition book with ¡°Surgery Notes¡± handwritten on the cover, nodded to himself and brought the scalpel towards Woodrow¡¯s face.


    Carefully, he cut around the eye with a steady rhythm of short incisions. Warm blood trickled down Woodrow¡¯s cheek. Bill Jones cut a circle into the eye, perfectly around the iris, and picked the severed lens up with a pair of tweezers and put it in a little stainless steel bowl that sat on a stool beside him, leaving the inside of the eye exposed to the open air. Then, he stuck the scalpel in the opening, cutting around the inside of Woodrow¡¯s eye, loosening its contents so that he could pull them out with a pair of tweezers. It took a little bit of elbow grease, but the eye was soon nothing more than an empty white-and-red pocket. Woodrow felt something he couldn¡¯t describe when he saw the insides of his own eyeball hanging off the end of the tweezers. There was a clear jelly-like substance surrounding the bits of eye that he was more familiar with, and it conjured images of an olive suspended in Jell-O. Bill Jones tossed it into the bowl and took the replacement eye out of a cooler that sat at his feet.


    The eye was big ¡ª much bigger than Woodrow would¡¯ve thought. He wasn¡¯t sure how exactly it was going to fit into his eye-pouch, but Bill Jones assured him over and over that it would work out just fine.


    ¡°Might be some stretching, a little bit of tearing, but it¡¯ll fit,¡± he said.


    In addition to being much larger than normal, the eye was peculiar for a couple of other reasons: it was bright yellow; it had long, slitted pupils; and it used to be inside the head of a Wampus Cat before Woodrow and Bill took it for themselves.


    Bill Jones squirted a bit of contact lens solution into the eye pocket to clear out the blood and other mess that had accumulated, and then inserted the eye of the Wampus. It fit snugly ¡ª a little too snugly ¡ª causing the white of Woodrow¡¯s eye to push against his skull. After that, it was only a matter of stitching it all together, connecting the new eye to the optical nerve, and sewing the eye shut so it could heal. Bill Jones peeled the bloody latex gloves off of his hands and let out a deep sigh.


    ¡°Whelp, there ya go, Woody¡± Bill Jones said, clearly satisfied with his work. ¡°You¡¯ll have yourself a brand new Wampus Cat eye in a couple of weeks.¡±


    Woodrow turned his head slowly and gave Bill Jones a thumbs up.


    ¡°Nice work, Dr. Jones. Never had any doubts. Now, when can we do the rest of them?¡± he said seconds before blacking out.


    <hr>


    Woodrow¡¯s new Wampus Cat eye healed without any hiccups. He actually wore an eye patch on his old human eye because of how blurry and useless it felt in comparison to the ocular marvel on the right side of his head. It was disorienting to try to see out of both. He had been slightly farsighted since birth and needed reading glasses starting at the age of thirty or so, which is earlier than most, but now he could read a street sign a mile away just as clearly as he could see his hand in front of his face. The world had suddenly become bigger, more detailed, and more brilliantly colored. It reminded him of when he got his first pair of glasses as a kid and could see the individual leaves on the trees on the way home. The oversized leather recliner he spent most of his days on was now a mahogany mass of textures ¡ª waves, ripples, ridges, and lumps. He gingerly rubbed the arm as if to see if it was really the same chair, and it felt the same as it always had.


    The enhanced eyesight wasn¡¯t as wonderful when he looked in the mirror. Aside from the wrinkles and open pores that now stuck out to him, the eye itself did not look right sitting in his head. It bulged out slightly, giving him a permanent look of suspicious bewilderment, and the bright yellow color that looked so fierce on the Wampus Cat as it stalked through the woods just looked silly and sickly when paired with his rounded, human face. Still, he was satisfied with Bill Jones¡¯s work, and couldn¡¯t wait to put a second ill-fitting eyeball in his head.


    ¡°Woody, you know we gotta wait for a couple more weeks at least. I reckon those cats are still pretty pissed off at us. If we strolled into the woods right now looking for a second Wampus Cat eye, they¡¯d tear us apart. Plus, we need to wait and see if your body is gonna reject that eye. It¡¯s lookin¡¯ good so far, but even human-to-human transplants will have rejection issues a lot of the time. I know you want to get this all done as quickly as possible, but it¡¯s gonna take some time. You gotta trust the process.¡±


    Woodrow sat in his recliner and talked to Bill Jones on the phone. Some documentary about the War of Two Gods hummed indistinctly on the TV.


    ¡°I¡¯m just about sick and tired of wearing this damn eye patch,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°I feel like a pirate.¡±


    ¡°I could cut that other eye out for you now if you really want me to. It wasn¡¯t half as hard as I thought it was gonna be,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°Nah, it¡¯s fine. Wouldn¡¯t want to inconvenience you. Just make sure I¡¯m awake for target practice tomorrow. Haven¡¯t had a chance to really test this eye out yet.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing. See ya soon.¡± The call ended.


    With nobody to talk to, there was nothing to distract him from what was on the television. A ragged looking man with a neatly trimmed beard, crazy eyes, and tattoos covering him from head to toe, was being interviewed. Woodrow recognized him, of course ¡ª he was the Emperor, after all.


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    ¡°Emperor Augustus.¡± A stiff-looking man with an even stiffer comb over spoke into a microphone. ¡°When did you first know that the war had been won?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t, and it hasn¡¯t,¡± Emperor Augustus snapped. ¡°The country has been torn into two, Mickey¡¯s still out there, and you call that a fucking victory? Dumbass.¡±


    The stiff man looked like he was about to soil himself. He was paler than a week-old cadaver.


    ¡°S-sorry, Emperor Augustus. I didn¡¯t mean any ¡ª¡±


    ¡°For the love of fucking Christ, stop calling me that! All of you!¡± Augustus shouted. The crew could be heard clamoring for places to hide off-screen. The interviewer sat where he was, not moving, not even breathing by the looks of it, while Augustus stared him down like a lion staring down a wounded squirrel. For a moment, all he did was stare with his wild eyes. The interviewer looked sure that the floor was going to open up and he¡¯d be sucked straight down to Hell. Then Augustus closed his eyes and shook his head, and his expression transformed into something less animalistic, but more pained, frustrated.


    ¡°Just call me Gus, please,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m not an emperor. I¡¯m a protector, protecting us all who oppose our great nation, protecting us all from that motherfucker in the west. Please don¡¯t grovel at my feet. I¡¯m not a god. I¡¯m just a bum with a dream.¡± He flashed a yellowed smile that somehow made him look even more bitter, and looked directly into the camera. ¡°A dream of uniting the United States of America once again. A dream of freeing the people of¡­ Micktopia¡­¡± he spat the name out with disgust, ¡°¡­from his reign of tyranny. A dream of returning this nation to its rightful place as the best and most powerful nation the world has ever seen.¡±


    The camera crew all clapped and whistled off screen, and the shot faded to a title card that read From Bum to God: The Rise of God Emperor Augustus with a subtitle that said The God of the People. It went on to tell the inspiring tale of Augustus McCall, a former homeless man that climbed the ladder of government through sheer determination and ingenuity, and how, through his unfettered devotion to Jesus Christ, he was gifted the powers of a god himself. It was an old film at this point ¡ª Woodrow remembered watching it in elementary school ¡ª but it was a good one. It was truly the ultimate rags-to-riches story.


    It was also a steaming crock of horseshit.


    <hr>


    Woodrow had just turned eighteen when his father called him into the dining room where his mother, Aunt Bea, Uncle Frank, Uncle Martin, and even his old Mee Maw were gathered and waiting for him. He hadn¡¯t seen his Mee Maw outside of the retirement home in years, with her being ninety-one and barely able to move, and all of the grave looks on their faces worried Woodrow greatly.


    ¡°Son, I need to talk to you about something,¡± his dad said. ¡°Sit down.¡± He let out a big sigh and rubbed his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m going to be seeing the Emperor real soon. He asked for me specifically.¡±


    Woodrow was confused. ¡°That¡¯s great, dad!¡± he said, and Aunt Bea burst into tears. Her turkey neck jiggled with each heaving sob.


    ¡°Son,¡± his dad repeated, ¡°When someone gets called up like I did, they don¡¯t come back.¡± His voice was even, controlled, like he was working hard to make sure not even a hint of weakness showed through. But Woodrow could see, hidden under the beard, that his lip quivered ever so slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    None of this made any sense to young Woodrow.


    ¡°Dad, what are you talking about? Is he sending you somewhere?¡±


    ¡°No, not exactly. He¡¯s¡­ going to kill me.¡±


    Woodrow was stunned by the matter-of-fact way his dad said this, and it took a moment for him to form a response.


    ¡°Why¡­ would he do something like that?¡± Woodrow finally said, struggling to pull each word out of his mouth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± his father replied. ¡°He always acts like he doesn¡¯t want to, yet he does it all the time. I saw him do it at least a dozen times in the two years I served after the War. I¡¯m surprised it took him this long to call me up, if I¡¯m being honest. I thought I would¡¯ve been one of the first, with how much I saw. But he must¡¯ve reckoned I¡¯d never talk about it, and I didn¡¯t ¡ª or he didn¡¯t think anyone would believe me if I did.¡±


    This was all starting to sound ridiculous, Woodrow thought. His dad had suffered from a couple of traumatic brain injuries while fighting in the War, and his mom said he hadn¡¯t ever been the same since. This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d told some crazy story about the Emperor doing this or that. His mom would always say to ¡°Just ignore him, honey, he¡¯s drunk,¡± and ¡°Remember, your father is a great man. He just has some troubles.¡± But he wasn¡¯t drunk this time around, and usually his entire extended family didn¡¯t come over to hear these tall tales.


    ¡°Why would he want to kill you, or anyone else he didn¡¯t have to?¡± Woodrow asked. ¡°He¡¯s a conduit of God!¡±


    ¡°He ain¡¯t a conduit of shit!¡± his dad shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Uncle Martin, his dad¡¯s older brother, put a firm hand on his shoulder to calm him down.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what he is, but he ain¡¯t channeling God,¡± he said more quietly. ¡°He¡¯s closer to a devil, if anything. The things I saw that man do, Woody, you wouldn¡¯t believe. Once, I saw him kill a thousand men in a minute, dissolving their skin with waves of black tar so big they blocked out the sun. The smell of their burning fleshing, the sounds of their screams ¡ª oh, it was horrible. And he didn¡¯t care who he killed, either. If any one of us talked back to him, we¡¯d get the tar, too, or worse. I saw him kill lieutenants, admirals, generals in his own army. One of them, the general, he pinched their windpipe with his thumb and pointer finger, and it just collapsed. The poor man choked to death at the Emperor¡¯s feet, and he said that if anyone tried to help him, he¡¯d do the same to them.


    I hoped the senseless killing would stop when the War ended, but it didn¡¯t. I had risen to the rank of general myself by then, and met with the Emperor often. It was clear something was constantly bothering him. One day, he came to the Pentagon and asked for me. He got me alone in the tiniest meeting room we had and asked me to bring him someone strong, the strongest man I knew of. When I asked why, he said it was classified, but he needed a fighter. Like a good soldier, I followed his orders, and brought my old friend Erik to see him. Erik was a legend among the fellow soldiers for carrying a longsword into battle and using it to kill twenty-five men. He was a big burly, mean-looking son of a bitch, but he was a gentle giant if you were on his good side. Gus said that Erik was perfect, and thanked us both. I never saw Erik again. Nobody did. After seeing what he did to people during the War, I knew exactly what he was doing ¡ª he was murdering them in the most messed up ways he could think up. A few days later, I filed for retirement.


    It¡¯s been almost a decade. I thought, hoped he¡¯d just forgotten about me. He never seemed all that interested in us anyway. I had to speak to him ten times before he recognized me. But now he wants to meet with me, and there can only be one reason why.


    I¡¯m sorry, Woody, but I have to go. If I don¡¯t, he might come for you all. Just promise me, son, that you¡¯ll live a good life, and always do what you think is right, even when it¡¯s hard.¡±


    Woodrow would never forget how his father looked then. The room felt brighter, time felt slower, everything felt heightened from the significance of the moment. His dad¡¯s face was like a painting hung up in his mind; the quivering lip under his reddish brown beard, the dark bags under his eyes, his thinning hair sticking up in different directions, and the hard, solemn look on his face while he said his finals words to his son were all carved into Woodrow¡¯s mind forever.


    <hr>


    Woodrow sat in his leather armchair and clenched his fist looking at the smug, tattooed son of a bitch on the television, now clearer than ever thanks to his Wampus eye. He wasn¡¯t sure if Emperor Augustus was a god or not, but he was going to find out.

 Chapter 2: Target Practice

    The Bigfoot Boys, as they liked to call themselves, all gathered in Bill Jones¡¯s back yard for target practice, as they liked to call it. Target practice wasn¡¯t just about hitting targets; it was just as much about shooting the shit as it was about shooting shit. Before any guns were drawn, the four of them first had to sit in lawn chairs around a fire, drink beer, and eat whatever they¡¯d killed that week. This week, they were having venison steaks.


    ¡°Damn Woodrow, that thing looks gnarlier than I thought it would,¡± said Slugfoot Sal Johnson with a scrunched up face, gesturing at the Wampus eye with his beer still in his hand. ¡°I think y¡¯all got one a size too big or somethin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Looks a sight better than your foot. Works better, too,¡± Woodrow replied before picking up his whole steak with his fork and tearing a piece off with his teeth. Red juice dribbled down his white beard and he wiped it with his free hand. They both laughed.


    Slugfoot Sal Johnson had earned his nickname a few years back when he fell asleep in a deer blind with a shotgun in his hand and almost took his own foot off when he was startled awake. He¡¯s convinced it was Bigfoot himself that woke him up. Chuck Griffith, who was with him on that hunt and had managed to stay awake the whole time, insists that it was a bobcat. It was hard for either of them to say for sure though thanks to the hole in Sal¡¯s foot distracting them both. Ever since that day, Slugfoot Sal¡¯s right foot has looked like a wad of old hamburger meat and he¡¯s had to walk with a cane.


    ¡°Bet I can still shoot better ¡®n you,¡± Slugfoot Sal continued.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t even shoot better ¡®n me before I had this eye,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°Even with that big rifle of yours.¡±


    ¡°Neither of y¡¯all could hit the wide side of a barn anyway. Not when it counts,¡± Chuck said. He¡¯d been dressing the next deer so that Bill Jones could hang it up in the smokehouse to make jerky, but he¡¯d heard everything they were saying, and had some words of his own.


    ¡°Remember when we ran into that Goatman last month? Which one of us took it down?¡± he continued as he pulled out the deer¡¯s guts and put them in a bag.


    ¡°If you would¡¯ve given me a damn second to shoot, I probably would¡¯ve¡ª¡± Slugfoot Sal started.


    ¡°Which one?¡± Chuck repeated.


    ¡°Man shut the hell up. You know it was you. I¡¯m sayin¡¯ though that if I would¡¯ve seen it first, then¡ª¡±


    ¡°You would¡¯ve hid faster?¡± Chuck interrupted again. ¡°You got behind that tree pretty damn quick as it is, for someone with one-and-a-half feet.¡±


    ¡°You took that fucker down, can¡¯t argue with you there,¡± said Woodrow. ¡°But only reason I didn¡¯t get to it first is because I couldn¡¯t see for shit in the dark ¡ª especially not a black-furred Goatman. But this right here fixes that and then some.¡± He pointed to his own bulging eye. ¡°I can see a squirrel take a shit from a mile away now, day or night.¡±


    ¡°Leave the damn squirrels alone!¡± Bill Jones shouted from the smokehouse. ¡°You¡¯re gonna have bigger fish to fry pretty soon!¡±


    Woodrow grinned, but Chuck and Slugfoot both became real serious. The fire lighting the bottoms of their face made them look like they were about to tell a ghost story.


    ¡°So y¡¯all are serious then?¡± Slugfoot asked. ¡°You¡¯re really gonna try and¡­¡± he looked around in case someone might be peeking their heads over the privacy fence, ¡°¡­kill Emperor Augustus?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the craziest shit I ever heard,¡± Chuck added. ¡°I don¡¯t care how many animal bits you put on yourself. You¡¯ve seen the footage from the War. That motherfucker took down whole armies by himself without breaking a damn sweat. You think some cat eyes are gonna help you against that?¡±


    Bill Jones was done in the smokehouse and took a seat between Woodrow and the rest of the boys, spotted with ash and smelling like a fresh piece of ham. The reflection of the fire on his thick glasses obscured his eyes and made it impossible to see where he was looking.


    ¡°Come on,¡± he said, ¡°do you think I¡¯m stupid? Do you think I¡¯d help Woody out with this if I didn¡¯t think it had a chance of working? Y¡¯all know me better than that, right?¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± Chuck said. It wasn¡¯t like him to go against Bill Jones in an argument. It wasn¡¯t like any of them to go against Bill Jones most of the time, as a matter of fact. Even when it looked like there was no way in Hell he was right about something, he usually turned out to be right anyway. It turned out that way when he told them there were all kinds of strange creatures out in the woods. It turned out that way when he told them that those creatures could do things that scientists and politicians told them weren¡¯t possible. And it turned out that way when he told them they could do those things too if they let him perform a couple of operations in his garage. It never did anyone much good to bet against Bill Jones.


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    ¡°It just seems crazy as all hell, is all I¡¯m saying,¡± Chuck continued. He took a long draw of his beer, draining the rest of the can and throwing it on the ground before grabbing another one out of the cooler that once held Woodrow¡¯s new eye. ¡°You really want to risk your life, Woodrow?¡±


    ¡°Gladly,¡± he replied. ¡°Without a god damn doubt it my mind. That motherfucker killed my dad. If all I do in this life is kill that sonofabitch, I¡¯ll die a happy man.¡±


    ¡°And what happens when you don¡¯t kill him?¡± Slugfoot Sal glanced over at Bill Jones. ¡°If you don¡¯t kill him?¡±


    ¡°That ain¡¯t gonna happen,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°But if it does, I hope I can at least hurt him. Show the world he ain¡¯t invincible. If I can at least do that, someone will come after me to take him down, I reckon.¡±


    ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t have to worry about all that,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°You¡¯re not a martyr. This is gonna work. That¡¯s a fact.¡±


    He said it so casually, like he was reading it out of a textbook, that it seemed ridiculous to think that anyone could possibly think otherwise.


    ¡°Now,¡± Bill Jones clapped his hands together, ¡°how about we shoot some shit?¡±


    The boys were all just about done with this uncomfortable conversation and heartily agreed. They¡¯d all brought their weapons of choice ¡ª Sal with his old wooden Browning lever action rifle, Chuck with his slick gray Ruger semi automatic, Bill Jones with his weathered M1 carbine, and Woodrow with his dad¡¯s old Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver, with a mahogany grip and steel barrel as polished as the day it was made. They stood one behind the other and took turns shooting at a life sized wooden sculpture of Bigfoot that Bill Jones kept in his yard for occasions like these.


    Slugfoot Sal went first and nailed him all five times, twice in the chest, twice in the leg, and once in the head.


    ¡°A solid eight points for Slugfoot,¡± Bill Jones said and scribbled into a little notebook. ¡°Your turn, Chuck.¡±


    Chuck did a little better, with three shots to the head and two to the chest.


    ¡°Fourteen for Chuck.¡± Bill Jones scribbled it into his notebook. He looked at Woodrow and grinned. ¡°You¡¯re up, Woody.¡±


    Woodrow looked down the barrel of his revolver and aimed at the wooden sasquatch. One, two, three, four, five ¡ª he shot each of the sculpture¡¯s fingers clean off. He turned to the rest of the boys, blew the nonexistent smoke off the barrel of his gun, twirled it around his pointer finger and slid it back into its holster.


    ¡°I think Woodrow won,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think Bigfoot¡¯s gonna sit there and let you shoot off all his fingers,¡± Slugfoot Sal grumbled as he hobbled over to his cane that he¡¯d leaned up against the fence. ¡°Neither is the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not gonna have to let me do a god damn thing,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°I¡¯m gonna do it anyway.¡± He shot the sculpture right between the eyes.


    It was safe to say he was enjoying his new eye. He wasn¡¯t a bad shot before, not by any means, but he reckoned he couldn¡¯t just see that squirrel shitting in the woods a mile away now ¡ª he could probably shoot it too.


    The Bigfoot boys spent the next hour or so taking turns putting holes in the sasquatch sculpture (and occasionally in Bill Jones¡¯s fence), drinking, and trash talking one another, until Woodrow saw something peculiar in the woods just beyond the fence.


    A single, yellow eye was leering at them all from behind a tree. It was bright, fearsome and familiar. The second Woodrow met its gaze, it disappeared.


    ¡°Boys,¡± he said and gripped his revolver tightly. ¡°We got someone peeping at us. A one-eyed Wampus.¡±


    ¡°You mean the one y¡¯all got that eye from?¡± Chuck whispered.


    ¡°More than likely,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°He¡¯s gone now though. Left as soon as I spotted him.¡±


    ¡°You sure about that?¡± Bill Jones said. They all stood as still as their drunken bodies could manage and listened out for any signs of Wampus cats in the area. They didn¡¯t hear any. But wherever you see one Wampus cat, there¡¯s a whole slew more lurking about that you didn¡¯t see. They braced themselves and held their fingers just above their guns¡¯ triggers, but there was still no sign of any Wampus Cats lurking.


    ¡°Maybe you were just seeing things, Woodrow,¡± Chuck suggested. ¡°Still getting used to that new peeper.¡±


    ¡°Nah, I saw what I saw,¡± Woodrow insisted. ¡°It was one eye that looked just like this one here.¡± It was getting dark, and when it did, it¡¯d be tough to see the black fur of the Wampus cat hidden in the woods, even for Woodrow.


    ¡°We should probably get inside,¡± he continued.


    ¡°What? No way!¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°You want another eye right? Well they were kind enough to bring one right to us. And you¡¯d have a matching set, no less. Let him come into my backyard and we¡¯ll turn him into a pair of boots and a couple pounds of jerky.¡±


    ¡°Fuck that. I¡¯m going inside.¡± Slugfoot Sal hobbled across the back yard towards the sliding glass door. He went inside and Woodrow saw him through the window throwing himself onto the leather couch in the den and turning on the TV.The remaining three took cover behind the smokehouse and waited ¡ª but the one-eyed Wampus never came.


    They waited behind that smokehouse for a good twenty minutes before they decided there wasn¡¯t going to be any action that night. ¡°Come on. I¡¯ll drive y¡¯all home,¡± Bill Jones said, disappointed. ¡°Sorry Woody. Guess we¡¯re not getting that new eyeball after all.¡±


    Woodrow, Chuck, and Slugfoot Sal climbed into the back of Bill Jones¡¯s pickup truck and he dropped them off at their homes. Woodrow was the farthest away, so he was dropped off last. Bill Jones nodded his head, Woodrow did the same, and the truck took off down the road.


    Woodrow was dead tired. Used to be, he could stay up drinking until the sun came up and be ready to do it again by noon. As soon as he turned forty, though, he was ready to turn in by 11pm most nights ¡ª and he turned forty damn near a decade ago.


    He rolled into bed without a thought in his head and closed his eyes. He didn¡¯t even bother to close his window, and didn¡¯t give any thought to the chilly night breeze that would run up his electric bill. He also didn¡¯t give any thought to the fact that he hadn¡¯t opened that window in years ¡ª until he heard footsteps coming towards him from his living room.


    His eyes shot open, and the One-Eyed Wampus leered at him from the foot of his bed.

 Chapter 3: The One-Eyed Wampus

    The One-Eyed Wampus stepped towards Woodrow, not breaking contact from what was once his own eye. Woodrow felt around for his gun before remembering that he put his holster down on the kitchen counter on his way to the bedroom. He was defenseless. One slash to the chest from the Cat¡¯s claws, one bite in the neck from its teeth, and Woodrow would be dead.


    But it didn¡¯t bare its claws or its teeth. It just continued to stare at Woodrow¡¯s bulging eye. There wasn¡¯t any sort of indication that he was mad at all. He stopped walking, sat and curled his tail around his feet. It occurred to Woodrow that cat was waiting for him to answer a question ¡ª though what the question was, he had no earthly idea.


    So they just stared at each other for a moment, Woodrow tense as steel cable, the cat with no expression whatsoever.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m the one that stole your eye,¡± Woodrow took a shot in the dark about what the cat might be asking him. ¡°Sorry. Nothin¡¯ personal. I just need it.¡±


    The cat continued to stare.


    ¡°I know, I know, you need ¡®em too. That¡¯s why I suggested we take one eye from two cats instead of two from one,¡± he said. The cat did not respond.


    Somehow, it occurred to Woodrow that the cat wanted to lead him somewhere in the woods.


    As soon as this thought came to him, the cat stood up and made his way towards the door. He got halfway down the hall and turned around as if to say ¡°hurry up you old coot¡±.


    ¡°I¡¯m comin¡¯, I¡¯m comin¡¯.¡±


    Woodrow rolled out of bed, grabbed his gun, and put his shoes and jacket on. Now, if someone were to ever ask him if he¡¯d follow a Wampus cat into the woods in the dead of night after it broke into his house, he¡¯d reply with an emphatic ¡°Hell naw!¡±, but for some reason, he felt that it was the right call, and that he wasn¡¯t in any danger. He opened the front door. The cat left first and he followed, locking the door behind him.


    It led him around the house and to the trees in his backyard. They went deep into the woods. The cat seemed to see a path that wasn¡¯t visible to Woodrow, and following close behind him helped him avoid the snags of any rogue roots or stray thorn bushes. They went up, up, up, over moss-covered rocks and through dense brush until they reached a small clearing and Woodrow put his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.


    The clearing was relatively flat, with only a slight slope to it, and was covered in untamed grass. Dozens of Wampus Cats were scattered throughout the clearing, mostly curled up on the ground in tight little balls. Some were black, some were slate gray, some were brownish-orange ¡ª and they all had their big yellow eyes fixed on Woodrow.


    He knew he should¡¯ve been filling his pants right about now, but he wasn¡¯t. His bones told him that they weren¡¯t going to attack.


    The cats all got up at once and moved to one side of the clearing or the other so that there was a clear walkway right down the middle. The One-Eyed Wampus walked down the open path, and Woodrow followed. The rest of the cats turned their heads to keep their eyes locked firmly on him, but stood stock still beyond that. At the end of the path, a single cat stood before him. It was smaller than most of the cats around, maybe only a little bigger than your run-of-the-mill cougar, but its face was noticeably more angular, meaner looking than the rest, with a mask of gray standing out on a backdrop of black fur. Woodrow surmised that this was the One-Eyed Wampus¡¯s mother.


    ¡°I know you didn¡¯t bring me all the way out here to hear me apologize,¡± said Woodrow, ¡°Or to kill me. So what is it that y¡¯all want?¡±


    The Mother didn¡¯t say anything.


    Woodrow felt something emanating from the old cat that he didn¡¯t expect ¡ª respect. It was clear as day; the Mother respected the cunning and bravery it would take to steal the eye off of a Wampus Cat, and appreciated the restraint it took to do it without killing the cat in question.


    ¡°If someone can take your eye, then they deserve your eye,¡± Woodrow whispered. The Mother cat nodded her head ever so slightly.


    ¡°But he disagrees,¡± Woodrow looked at the One-Eyed Wampus. His eye narrowed and his pupil dilated. ¡°He wants to take me in a fair fight. Me and Bill Jones.¡±


    The Mother cat nodded again. The air seemed to get colder around them. The wind seemed to grow stronger. Woodrow determined that he had three days to bring Bill Jones into the den of the Wampus cats, and then they would each take a turn fighting the One-Eyed Wampus to the death ¡ª no weapons allowed. He had been spared on this night was so that he could bring Bill Jones to them. The One-Eyed Wampus hated Bill Jones. The only reason Woodrow was still alive was to bring him to the den; they couldn¡¯t get past the traps set throughout his property, or they would¡¯ve done it themselves. If they refused, then each other member of the Bigfoot Boys would be hunted down, killed, and laid in front of Bill Jones¡¯s front yard.


    ¡°Well damn, alright then,¡± Woodrow replied to the silent cats. ¡°I¡¯ll let him know the deal first thing in the morning. See you again soon.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°There¡¯s no way in Hell we¡¯re going back there.¡± Woodrow sat in Bill Jones¡¯s living room, sipping a cup of coffee and half-watching an episode of Pig vs Pig, a show where morbidly obese men engaged in competitive eating contests against genuine swine. Usually the men won easily, but the swine was giving the man a real run for his money this episode.


    ¡°Right?¡± Woodrow continued. Bill Jones was in the kitchen peeling hard boiled eggs over the trash can, and didn¡¯t seem to hear Woodrow for a second.


    ¡°Wait, wait, back up for a second,¡± Bill Jones said while he rinsed the peeled eggs in the sink. ¡°The Wampus cats talked to you last night?¡±


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    ¡°Well, not exactly,¡± said Woodrow. As he was about to say what happened, how he seemed to just intuitively understand them, he realized how ridiculous it all sounded.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t say it, I guess. But I just knew.¡±


    ¡°Like they were talking to you telepathically?¡± Bill Jones asked, fascinated by the direction the conversation was going.


    ¡°Sorta. Almost felt like I was talking to myself, to be honest. It was like I just knew that¡¯s what they wanted to say, if they were able to say it.¡±


    ¡°Wow.¡± Bill Jones darted back and forth across the living room, looking in end table drawers and under couch cushions until he found a notebook and a pen. He wrote down a couple of things and tossed the book aside.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°But what I¡¯m trying to say is that they want us to go fight a Wampus Cat barehanded, or they¡¯re gonna hunt us down ¡ª Slugfoot and Chuck too. But we can¡¯t go in there and do that though, right?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? Of course we can. We¡¯re gonna get you that eye, Woody. I know you wanted to do it without killing them if you could, but clearly they don¡¯t seem to mind. So why not? It¡¯s perfect, really ¡ª you get the eye and we won¡¯t piss off any more Wampus Cats, by the sound of it.¡±


    ¡°Sure, if one of us could actually take a Wampus cat in a fist fight. I don¡¯t reckon we can though.¡± That was an understatement. If they went through with this, they¡¯d both get torn to shreds, no doubt about it.


    ¡°Are you sure about that?¡± Bill Jones asked. Every time he asked that question, it meant he had some sort of trick up his sleeve. He went off to the garage for a minute and came back with a leather jacket and blue jeans on.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± He grabbed his keys and opened his door. Woodrow raced after him.


    ¡°What? Right now?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Bill Jones replied. ¡°Trust me on this. I got your back, Woody.¡±


    Woodrow sighed, but he hopped into the truck and they headed to the opening in the woods that the One-Eyed Wampus had shown him the previous night.


    ¡°You know I know you¡¯re a smart sonofabitch,¡± Woodrow started while they made their way to the Wampus den. ¡°But this is dumber than dog shit. I couldn¡¯t win a fistfight with a damn puma, let alone a Wampus cat. Neither could you.¡±


    ¡°If you really knew what a smart sonofabitch I am, you¡¯d know that I got something to fix that.¡± Bill Jones pulled a syringe from his jacket pocket. It was filled with a thick, pitch black liquid.


    ¡°Inject this into my neck when we¡¯re just about there. Hopefully it¡¯ll do the trick,¡± he said.


    ¡°Hopefully?¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°What is this shit?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m damn near certain it¡¯ll do the trick ¡ª about ninety-nine percent sure. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve been working on for a while now, but I haven¡¯t had a good test for it til tonight. Just make sure I¡¯m the one that fights him first and give this to me.¡±


    ¡°Jesus, alright. Give me that shit.¡± Woodrow snatched the syringe from Bill Jones. The fluid inside of it bubbled and flowed in different directions of its own accord. He tried not to think about it too much. When they were almost to the clearing, he popped the cap off of the needle and stuck it into Bill Jones¡¯s neck, just as he was told to do. Bill Jones shuddered quietly as the dense fluid entered his bloodstream, but nothing seemed to change beyond that.


    The One-Eyed Wampus was nowhere to be seen in the clearing. He didn¡¯t expect them to show up so quickly, Woodrow reckoned ¡ª he didn¡¯t expect it either. But when the cats saw the two men enter their den, a few of them got up and dashed into the woods. A moment later, the One-Eyed Wampus was in front of them.


    ¡°Bill Jones wants to go first,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°That alright with you?¡±


    It was. Woodrow had to step aside, and could in no way help Bill Jones at any point, unless he wanted every Wampus in the den to pounce on him at once. The cats all cleared the area and Woodrow stood among them so that it was only Bill Jones and the One-Eyed Wampus left in the clearing.


    The man and the cat circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike first, to make a wrong move. There was a wild look about Bill Jones that Woodrow had never seen before on his usually-stoic friend. Finally, after the suspense had built to a breaking point ¡ª the One-Eyed Wampus pounced.


    Bill Jones sidestepped out of the path of the cat¡¯s claws and kicked him hard in the ribs. Woodrow had never seen Bill Jones move so quickly before ¡ª he hadn¡¯t seen any man move so quickly before. He almost seemed like a wild cat himself. The One-Eye Wampus stumbled back a few steps and roared. Bill Jones roared back. The two of them collided. The cat ripped at Bill Jones¡¯s chest with his claws and he sent a torrent of fists at the cat¡¯s shoulders and head. The cat sliced through the leather jacket and sent three streams of blood cascading down Bill Jones¡¯s belly, but he didn¡¯t seem to notice. He connected with a nasty right hook to the side of the cat¡¯s head and the scratching stopped. He stumbled, dazed from the blow. Bill Jones took advantage of the opening and jumped on top of the One-Eyed Wampus, pummeling him, screaming maniacally. Wet cracks emanated from the cat¡¯s head with each blow until he stopped moving and Bill Jones stood up victorious.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Carry that to the truck for me, will ya?¡± Bill Jones said and pointed at the cat¡¯s corpse. He was panting hard and felt the blood when he put his hand to his chest. Woodrow hoisted the body over his shoulder and the two of them left the clearing. The rest of the cats did not protest.


    ¡°We need to get you to a damn hospital,¡± Woodrow said. He threw the cat into the bed of the truck and sat in the driver¡¯s seat.


    ¡°Naw,¡± Bill Jones panted. ¡°Just wrap me up when we get to my house. And get that eye on ice.¡±


    ¡°Are you touched, boy? You¡¯re gonna bleed out before we can even get you home!¡± Woodrow countered.


    ¡°It ain¡¯t that serious. The bleeding¡¯s already starting to stop.¡± The blood was starting to coagulate over the wounds, but there was still plenty more seeping between Bill Jones¡¯s fingertips. It wasn¡¯t looking good. Woodrow stomped on the gas and floored it to Bill Jones¡¯s house.


    ¡°Get that cat in the freezer, now. I¡¯ll tend to these wounds myself.¡± Woodrow had to help Bill Jones out of the truck. He was pale and could barely stand up straight.


    ¡°I really think we should get you to a hospi¡ª¡°


    ¡°Hurry! Gotta freeze it as quickly as we can!¡±


    Bill Jones stumbled to the bathroom and Woodrow hustled to the garage. There was a big, empty chest freezer pushed against the wall that Bill Jones had bought for this exact occasion. He flipped it open and stuffed the whole cat inside.


    ¡°You alright in there?¡± Woodrow knocked on the bathroom door.


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m fine. You can come on in if you want. I¡¯m not takin¡¯ a shit or nothin¡¯.¡±


    Woodrow opened the door and Bill Jones was sitting on the toilet with his shirt off and bandages wrapped around his chest. A red splotch slowly grew bigger on the white gauze, but his face looked less pale and his eyes weren¡¯t as cloudy.


    ¡°What was that shit you took?¡± Woodrow asked.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Bill Jones replied sleepily. ¡°Can you get me a bag of chips or something? I¡¯m starving.¡±


    Woodrow reluctantly went to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of chips. He threw them at Bill Jones, who scarfed them down on while still sitting on the toilet.


    ¡°Are you seriously not gonna tell me what that shit was?¡± Woodrow pressed.


    Bill Jones looked up and looked deeply into Woodrow¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he repeated. ¡°All that matters is we got you that eye. We¡¯re making progress. Can probably get your surgery in next week.¡±


    ¡°Will you even be able to fuckin¡¯ walk next week?¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Yeah, of course, I ¡ª¡°


    Bill Jones coughed. Blood flew from his mouth and splattered against the wall in front of him.


    ¡°Holy shit, I¡¯m calling an ambulance.¡±


    ¡°No! I¡¯ll be fine, I swear on my granny¡¯s life. Just help me to my bed so I can get some sleep. It¡¯s been a fuckin¡¯ doozy of a day.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even noon yet, but Woodrow didn¡¯t disagree with him. He just carried his friend to bed and wondered what in the world was going on in that head of his.

 Chapter 4: The Cat’s Bargain

    ¡°So are you gonna tell me what the hell was in that syringe?¡±


    The gashes in Bill Jones¡¯s chest were looking better by the next morning. Woodrow spent the rest of the day and all of that night applying ointments and replacing gauze ¡ª he felt he had earned an explanation. The cuts from the Wampus claws were nasty, but superficial, and weren¡¯t the reason Bill Jones had coughed blood onto the bathroom wall. Whatever he had injected into his neck was responsible for that.


    Bill Jones got up slowly from his bed, holding his stomach.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°But you can¡¯t tell anyone. I don¡¯t even feel comfortable saying it out loud.¡±


    ¡°Then write it down,¡± Woodrow suggested.


    ¡°That¡¯s even worse.¡± Bill Jones peeked through the blinds in the living room. ¡°I got some shit off the dark web. It was listed as waste from the Two Man Revolution ¡ª from Emperor Augustus,¡± he whispered. ¡°And I¡¯m inclined to believe them. I studied the substance for weeks, wasted damn near half of it just trying to identify it and came up with nothing. It¡¯s a liquid, but it¡¯s alive. It¡¯s got DNA, it responds to stimuli. It thinks.¡±


    ¡°It thinks?¡± Woodrow echoed.


    ¡°I think so,¡± Bill Jones replied. ¡°You ever seen those shows the Emperor used to put on? Where he¡¯d craft those slimy black monsters out of thin air and make them fight each other?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Seen the videos at least.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, once he makes them, it doesn¡¯t look like he¡¯s doing a whole lot to control them, you know? I don¡¯t think he needs to. I think they think for themselves, once he tells them what they should be thinkin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°So you injected one of Emperor Augustus¡¯s magic puppets into your neck and it gave you the strength to kill a Wampus Cat with your bare hands?¡±


    ¡°Kind of. Not really. I modified it a bit ¡ª expressed a few genes, suppressed some others. Made it more docile, though you see the way itstill tore me up inside. It¡¯s got a pretty short half life too, thank God. If it didn¡¯t die off after a couple of hours, I¡¯d probably be dead right now.¡±


    It never ceased to strike Woodrow how Bill Jones could say the craziest damn thing he¡¯d ever heard like it was a normal part of every day life.


    ¡°Jesus, you didn¡¯t have to do all that, you know. We could¡¯ve found another way to kill that Wampus Cat, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I just wanted to see if it worked.¡± Bill Jones almost let out a chuckle but his chest advised him against it. He made a small heaving motion like he threw up in his mouth and then swallowed. When he finally smiled, his teeth were stained pink.


    ¡°Won¡¯t do it again,¡± he continued. ¡°Not without making a few more adjustments.¡±


    <hr>


    When Chuck and Slugfoot Sal heard what went down the day before, they came on over to Bill Jones¡¯s house as quick as they could to lend their injured friend some moral support ¡ª and to get more details.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you two have jobs or somethin¡¯?¡± Woodrow said wryly when they walked through the door. Chuck tossed his baseball cap onto the coatrack to his left and rubbed the bald spot on his head.


    ¡°Shit, you think I spent twenty years in the Marines so that I¡¯d still have to work when I¡¯m forty-five? Uncle Sam works for me now, boy. And even if I had a job, I¡¯d call in sick today. Bill Jones, what the hell did you get into yesterday? You look like a bowl of warmed up shit.¡±


    ¡°Oh you know, just wrasslin with a Wampus Cat. If you think I¡¯m in bad shape, you should see what he looks like,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°He¡¯s in the freezer if you really wanna see,¡± Woodrow added. Slugfoot Sal hobbled over to the garage.


    ¡°God damn. Looks like he got hit by a train,¡± he said. Chuck went in to see for himself and confirmed that the Wampus didn¡¯t look like it was doing very well.


    ¡°How¡¯d you manage that?¡± Chuck asked. Bill Jones recounted the tale and told them about the serum in the syringe, though he didn¡¯t go into detail about what exactly was in it. Neither Chuck nor Sal tended to ask about things like that anway, afraid to encourage Bill Jones to go on a long, boring rant about science mumbo jumbo.


    By the end of the story, Chuck and Sal both came to the same conclusion that they¡¯d come to a long time ago: Bill Jones and Woodrow Brown were some crazy sons of bitches. Most days, Woodrow would deny it, but that morning he found it hard to argue against the accusation. Bill Jones never tried to fool anyone into thinking he was sane. Sane people never did anything interesting, in his humble opinion.


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    They spent most of the rest of the morning sitting around Bill Jones¡¯s living room doing just about nothing. Slugfoot Sal lit up a cigar and filled the house with dank smoke. The rest of them were more partial to marijuana, and puffed on hand-rolled cigarettes filled with finely-ground green that Chuck always kept in a tin in his shirt pocket.They smoked, talked and laughed until Bill Jones suddenly went quiet. For a second, they thought he might¡¯ve keeled over, but then he sprang up out of his La-Z-Boy and grabbed a map and a pen out of the garage. He handed them to Woodrow.


    It was a map of the country, covered in black circles and red Xs. Each circle represented a place they thought they might run into the next beast for Woodrow¡¯s experiment. Each X represented a place where they failed to find him. There were no uncrossed circles left.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I didn¡¯t think of this sooner,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°The cats ¡ª you can ask the cats where he¡¯s hiding.¡±


    ¡°You think the Wampus Cats keep tabs on Whirling Whimpuses?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°I think they could find them if they wanted to,¡± Bill Jones replied. ¡°If Woodrow asked them to.¡±


    ¡°The Wampus Cats ain¡¯t gonna jump up and do somethin¡¯ just because I ask them to,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°You can talk to ¡®em though, right?¡± Sal said. ¡°Just need ¡®em to like you.¡±


    Woodrow laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t think the Wampus¡¯s even like each other. I don¡¯t know if they¡¯re capable of liking someone.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t hurt to ask,¡± Bill Jones said. The three other boys all looked down at the half-raw wound on his chest.


    ¡°It sure as shit could,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°Just because they¡¯re not hunting me down doesn¡¯t mean they won¡¯t try anything if I pay them another visit.¡±


    ¡°But you can talk to them,¡± Sal repeated. ¡°How many humans you think they ever talked to? If they¡¯re half as smart as you seem to think they are, I can¡¯t believe they wouldn¡¯t be curious about you.¡±


    ¡°You really want to do this, right?¡± Chuck asked. ¡°You want to get the best parts off of the baddest critters and wear them yourself?¡±


    ¡°You know I do,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Then this seems to be your only option.¡±


    ¡°Shit. It¡¯s never good when y¡¯all are right.¡±


    Woodrow finally agreed that he¡¯d pay the Wampus Cats another visit that night, but he added that Chuck had to come with him for backup in case shit went sideways.


    ¡°Abso-fuckin-lutely.¡± Chuck said. ¡°Bill Jones, you got any more of that serum?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± Bill Jones lied. ¡°Fresh out.¡±


    ¡°Shit. Guess we gotta do it the old fashioned way, Woodrow. Oh well. Bullets were my first choice anyway. Probably best if you just don¡¯t fuck it up though.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best. Come to my house around nine o¡¯ clock. I¡¯ll show you the way to the den.¡±


    Chuck nodded solemnly, fastened the baseball cap back onto his head, and went out the door. Slugfoot Sal soon followed, wanting to take his early afternoon nap in his own bed.


    ¡°Really, if you got any more of that black shit left, it might do me some good,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°I do, but it won¡¯t,¡± Bill Jones replied. ¡°Not now.¡±


    Woodrow opened his mouth to argue, but decided that going home and getting some sleep was a better use of his time.


    <hr>


    The night was warm and muggy. Crickets sang somewhere in the distance and the full moon lit the wooded path to the Wampus Den for Woodrow and Chuck. Chuck held a shotgun firmly to his chest and had two pistols fastened to his belt, one on each hip. He and Woodrow both hoped they wouldn¡¯t be necessary.


    When they arrived, the den was bursting with activity. Young Wampuses playfully pounced on each other, and older ones left and came back with freshly killed squirrels hanging from their mouths. Many of them barely stopped to take notice of the two men who¡¯d just walked into their home, but the Mother Cat approached them almost immediately and met them near the entrance. Chuck white-knuckled his shotgun as the old lady moved closer. Woodrow put a hand on his shoulder and told him to relax ¡ª he knew this one.


    The Mother Cat stared at Woodrow for a moment. Woodrow held the gaze and then turned to Chuck.


    ¡°They keep tabs on all of the creatures around here,¡± he said. ¡°None of them have much reverence for the Wampus Cats, and the Wampus Cats won¡¯t miss them if they¡¯re gone. They¡¯ll help us.¡±


    Chuck looked shocked for several reasons. Firstly, he didn¡¯t hear the Wampus say a damn thing. Secondly, this whole thing was going much better than he could¡¯ve imagined.


    Woodrow looked back at the Mother Cat.


    ¡°But,¡± he continued, ¡°Wampus Cats aren¡¯t in the business of doing favors and getting nothing in return. They¡¯ll tell us where the cryptid we want is hiding if we give them the cryptid they want.¡±


    ¡°Well, what cryptid do they want?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°The Patriarch of the Not Deer,¡± Woodrow replied.


    ¡°Shit, that¡¯s all? Killin a Not Deer ain¡¯t a problem at all, I can¡¯t imagine,¡± Chuck said. Woodrow didn¡¯t appear to be as happy about the request.


    ¡°Not just a Not Deer ¡ª the Not Deer. The head honcho. Big Papa. I don¡¯t think we¡¯re gonna be able to just walk up and shoot ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯ain¡¯t scared of a couple of Not Deer, are you Woodrow?¡± Chuck asked with a shit-eating grin. His hold on his shotgun had loosened and the blood returned to his knuckles.


    ¡°If you¡¯re not scared, then you¡¯re dumber than you look, boy,¡± Woodrow replied. Chuck still liked to fancy himself a spry young man just because he was a little younger than the rest of the Bigfoot Boys at the tender age of forty-five . Sometimes, this caused him to butt heads with the rest of the group. Any time they considered doing something stupid and dangerous, it was usually Chuck¡¯s idea, with the notable exception of the big yellow eye in Woodrow¡¯s head. If he passed up an opportunity to hunt down some wily creature in the woods, though, it probably meant he was dead.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason these cats aren¡¯t doing it themselves,¡± Woodrow continued. ¡°It ain¡¯t gonna be easy to get near the fucker, let alone kill it.¡± But he knew he had no choice. They kept looking for the Whimpus and kept coming up short.


    Without waiting for a response, Woodrow turned back to the Mother Cat and said ¡°We¡¯ll do it.¡±


    He thought they ought to shake on it, but the Mother Cat did not seem to care about such formalities. As soon as Woodrow agreed to do what she asked, she turned and left and curled up in a mound of leaves.Some of the other cats shot glances at the two men, as if to say ¡°Why the Hell are you still here?¡± and so they left unceremoniously.


    ¡°Man, Bill Jones is gonna love this,¡± Chuck said on their way back to civilization.


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± Woodrow sighed, pinching his nose to stave off the oncoming headache.

 Bad Dreams

    Mickey Torke woke up in an extravagant hotel somewhere in Prague. The bed was luxurious and remarkably comfortable, and Mickey had a long, deep sleep.


    Fuck.


    This was bad. He wasn¡¯t supposed to sleep at all. He didn¡¯t need to, on account of the fact that he was a god, or whatever the hell you wanted to call him. It had been years since his last nap, and he¡¯d planned on never sleeping again. Sleeping was one of his least favorite things to do. The only time he ever slept was to dream, and his dreams were never good. They were always the same:


    A baby is born surrounded by sludge. The sludge grabs hold of him, tears him apart, and reforms him into something grotesque and indescribable. He looks at you with black eyes. He hates you. He chases you and you¡¯re too slow to get away. He grabs hold of you and you¡¯re too weak to resist. He melts your skin and splinters your bones. The baby drains you slowly of your blood and takes satisfaction in making you suffer.


    Sometimes the dreams would trick him, lull him into a false sense of security. He¡¯d be human again, homeless, hanging out under his old bridge of choice without a care in the world, sitting in his tent while a gentle rain pitter-pattered over his head, smoking and drinking to his heart¡¯s content ¡ª and then the baby would come. No matter what, they always ended the same way, with a sludge-covered baby being torn apart and reformed into something hideous and powerful, and with Mickey being killed.


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    For a while, the symbolism seemed obvious ¡ª it was Gus, or ¡°Emperor Augustus¡± as the smug asshole liked to call himself these days. He was a sludge slinging god (or whatever), who quite literally had his arms torn off, reformed himself into a half-sludge freak, and would never shut up about how he wanted Mickey dead.


    There were only two problems with this theory: Mickey was not afraid of Gus, and Gus wasn¡¯t a baby.


    Why the fuck is it always a baby? Mickey would ask himself this question over and over for decades. The more he thought about it, the surer he was that Gus was not the villain in his dreams. And the surer he was that these weren¡¯t just dreams ¡ª they were visions, and someone was making him see them. There was no way he would fall asleep unless someone made him fall asleep. But who?


    He rolled out of bed and rubbed his eyes. The room had a great view of the beautiful city, and Mickey took deep satisfaction in seeing miles of old European buildings and empty streets splattered with the red goo of his mutilated victims.


    Whoever was sending him these visions ¡ª Gus, Jesus, Satan, or some weird magic baby ¡ª he was going to break their fucking necks.

 Chapter 5: Deer or Not Deer?

    The Bigfoot Boys packed their gear and loaded it into Slugfoot Sal¡¯s Ford F-250 ¡ª it was time to hunt some Not Deer.


    According to the Mother Cat, the Not Deer had taken up residence somewhere in the Cherokee reservation, right on the North Carolina-Tennessee border, so that¡¯s where they were headed.


    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty big goddamn area that Wampus gave us to search,¡± grumbled Chuck from the backseat of the truck.


    ¡°They don¡¯t tend to stay in one place,¡± Bill Jones replied from the seat next to him. ¡°If they hang around too long, people tend to get suspicious. They don¡¯t tend to want that kind of attention.¡±


    ¡°You seen one before?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°Sure have. Lots of times. You¡¯ve probably seen a couple yourself and just didn¡¯t know it. From far away they don¡¯t look any different than your average deer. And they¡¯ll act like one too, until they decide not to.¡±


    Chuck was enthralled. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard the stories. They¡¯re mostly true, but not entirely. I¡¯ve never seen one with what I¡¯d describe as a human face, but they do look¡­ off¡­ in a way that¡¯s hard to articulate. Something in your gut just tells you ¡®That¡¯s not a fuckin¡¯ deer¡¯. What really gives them away, though, is when they move. Everything you¡¯ve heard about that is true.¡±


    ¡°I saw on the news one time,¡± Slugfoot Sal interjected, ¡°when a troop of Boy Scouts were campin¡¯ in the woods, a Not Deer snatched one of the kids up out of his tent while he was sleeping and it ran away on its hind legs.¡±


    ¡°You saw that on the news?¡± Woodrow asked. He was looking out the window and not paying much attention to the conversation, but that part stuck in his ear.


    ¡°Sure did,¡± Sal said. ¡°Probably ¡®bout five, six years back now.¡±


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯d remember hearin¡¯ about that,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°You just don¡¯t pay attention to current events the way I do, I suppose,¡± Sal insisted.


    ¡°Nah I remember that story,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Pretty sure it was a bear that snatched that boy up.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it two boys?¡± Chuck added.


    The four of them squabbled over this all the way up the narrow mountain road until they reached a little parking lot that people generally stopped at to take in the scenery ¡ª the view of the mountains, green and fuzzy and rolling along beyond the horizon. The boys, on the other hand, just needed a place to leave their truck.


    There was a hiking trail just to the side of the parking lot that went up about a mile and connected with the Appalachian Trail. The boys made their way up. Other than Slugfoot, who hissed and moaned and leaned heavily on his cane the whole way up, most people would be surprised at the stamina the old men had ¡ª especially Woodrow, who had a hard, round beer gut that protruded from his flannel. It was a relatively easy path compared to the way to the Wampus den. Even with bags on their backs and guns slung over their shoulders, they passed groups of red-faced tourists with only minor huffs and puffs. Woodrow, Bill Jones and Chuck sat on a large rock just off the path until Sal caught up with them, and when nobody else was around, they disappeared off into the trees.


    Well off the beaten path, the boys pushed past untamed brush and crossed shallow streams flowing over mossy rocks until they found a spot that could fit a couple of tents and had a steep drop off at their backs ¡ª they didn¡¯t want anything sneaking up behind them when they weren¡¯t expecting it.


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    It wasn¡¯t exactly legal to shoot off guns where they were, being so close to the national park, and the Not Deer would probably refuse to show themselves in the daylight anyhow, so once the boys had set up their tents, they had no choice but to sit around and wait for the sun to go down.


    ¡°You know, I could fix that foot for you Sal,¡± Bill Jones said while the four of them huddled around a small fire for warmth. Sal had been complaining about his foot for the last two hours and the rest of them were just about sick of hearing about it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want a real surgeon cuttin¡¯ me up. No way in Hell I¡¯m lettin¡¯ you do it,¡± Sal replied. He sat with his can stuck through the belt loop of his jeans and his foot propped up on the cooler. It was red and angry from the day¡¯s hike. Looking at it, Woodrow felt a sympathetic pulse in the side of his head. He was mostly able to ignore the discomfort of his new eye by this time, but if he ever got to thinking about it, the pressure in his head would make him feel a bit lopsided.


    He sat with his back turned to the rest of the boys and looked into the woods. Nothing out of the ordinary so far. Part of him was hoping that a Not Deer would just come out to say hello and they wouldn¡¯t have to go searching very far, but that was wishful thinking to say the least. If that were the case, the boys would¡¯ve run into one at some point on one of their previous hunting trips ¡ª there¡¯d been a lot of those. Not Deer tend to not want to be seen. Fortunately, Woodrow could see just about everything.


    They decided that it would be best to go to sleep while the sun was still up so that they¡¯d have enough energy to make it through the night, so they each splayed out on top of their sleeping bags and closed their eyes for a few hours ¡ª each of them except for Bill Jones. He kept watch, though they tried to tell him that nothing was going to show up for them in the middle of the day.


    It was barely dusk when he shook Woodrow awake.


    ¡°We got company.¡±


    Woodrow pulled his revolver from his belt and got out of his tent, ready to put a bullet right between a Not Deer¡¯s eyes. But there were no Not Deer to be seen, just a family of white goats staring at them from far out in the distance.


    ¡°Bill Jones, you¡¯re losin¡¯ it if you can¡¯t tell a goat from a deer,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°I know they¡¯re fuckin¡¯ goats,¡± he snapped back. ¡°But what are they doing here, and why are they staring at us like that?¡±


    It was a good question. Wild goats weren¡¯t seen often around these parts, and the nearest farm would¡¯ve been at least an hour¡¯s drive away. And they were certainly fixated on the boys. They were stiller than still, and eyes hadn¡¯t moved away from them for a second as far as Woodrow could tell.


    ¡°Goatmen?¡± Chuck asked, looking at them down the sight of his rifle, hoping one of them would say yes so he could pull the trigger.


    ¡°Put that down,¡± Bill Jones replied and grabbed Chuck¡¯s barrel. ¡°Even if they are, that¡¯s not what we¡¯re here for. Shoot one of them and you¡¯ll scare away every Not Deer within ten miles.¡±


    ¡°What if they¡¯re here for the Not Deer?¡± Chuck countered. ¡°Spyin¡¯ on us for them?¡±


    ¡°Then they probably wouldn¡¯t just be sitting there out in the open, would they?¡±


    ¡°Guess not.¡± Chuck lowered his gun.


    Woodrow, on the other hand, kept his firmly raised. The more he looked at them, the stranger they looked. They were too still. He couldn¡¯t even see their chests moving to breathe. For a moment, he wondered if they were taxidermies, but then one of their lips started to move.


    ¡°Those aren¡¯t regular goats,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re talking.¡±


    ¡°What are they saying?¡± Bill Jones asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Can¡¯t read lips.¡±


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    They were depending on the element of surprise, on the Not Deer not knowing that they were there looking for them, but it seemed that that was not going to be the case. Woodrow didn¡¯t think they were Goatmen ¡ª there wasn¡¯t a whole lot of man in these goats ¡ª but they certainly weren¡¯t runaways from a nearby farm, that was for sure. Could Goatmen breed with regular goats, make Goat-half-men? And even if they could, why would they be here looking at the boys like this? Goatmen weren¡¯t very confrontational and would usually prefer to hide from humans if they could. He turned to ask Bill Jones what he thought about all this, when the goats scattered like cockroaches and disappeared from sight.


    ¡°Shit!¡±


    There was a loud crash behind Woodrow. He turned around to see a big brown buck standing on his two back feet and wrapping the other two around Slugfoot Sal. Sal flailed his arms and legs and kicked the cooler over in the struggle but the Not Deer would not relent. Before the boys could decide if they wanted to risk shooting their friend to hit the Not Deer, he slunk down off the side of the cliff, dragging Sal along with him.


    When they turned back around, the goats were gone

 Chapter 6 Part 1: The Buck’s Cave

    They left everything but the guns in their hands behind and ran into the woods. The sky had gone dark and the two boys without Wampus eyes struggled to see, and relied on Woodrow to lead them. But he wasn¡¯t sure where he was going either. He just ran downward and hoped to find a way to the bottom of that cliff that didn¡¯t require him to break every bone in his body.


    There was movement in the trees ahead. The beast ran with erratic, twitching movements towards the boys. Woodrow shot at it without breaking his stride. The first bullet whizzed past the creature and grazed a tree. The second went through its brain and it fell to the ground.


    But there were more ¡ª a lot more.


    Chuck and Bill Jones started shooting wildly, hoping they¡¯d accidentally hit something. They still couldn¡¯t see the Not Deer approaching and only had the rustling of leaves, muffled by their own running, to go on. Chuck managed to hit one on the shoulder, but that didn¡¯t stop it for long. It fell to the ground for a moment, but quickly slinked back up onto its hooves and skittered on after them like nothing had happened.


    Woodrow¡¯s lungs burned and struggled to give him the air he needed to continue running. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath ¡ª and to unload the chamber of his gun. Four deafening booms echoed from his revolver and four Not Deer were stopped in their tracks.


    He got back to running.


    A hot pressure built in his head from the exertion and his eye felt like it might pop out at any second, but the bottom of the cliffside was near. The throbbing of his head, the adrenaline in his veins, and the all-encompassing sound of wild, optimistic gunfire from the other two boys made him lose sense of his own body ¡ª it felt like his legs were moving of their own volition. They took him to the bottom of the cliff side and took a sharp left into the basin.


    A dark, glittering pond took up the bulk of the flat land, with only a thin crescent of muddy ground for the boys to walk on. The trees were more sparse and Woodrow could see much farther out, but there was still no sign of Sal or the Buck that dragged him off. The three boys crouched behind a boulder to catch their breath and reload their guns.


    ¡°Do you see him anywhere?¡± Bill Jones said between huffs and puffs.


    ¡°No,¡± Woodrow replied while slotting bullets into his gun¡¯s chamber. ¡°Shit, we should¡¯ve never brought that gimpy sonofabitch along,¡± said Chuck. He shook his head solemnly. ¡°Those damn Not Deer probably killed him by now.¡±


    ¡°Sal can take care of himself,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°And he had his cane with him. He ain¡¯t gettin¡¯ killed by a couple of bendy-legged motherfuckers that fast.¡±


    ¡°There were more than a few of them motherfuckers out there,¡± Chuck countered. ¡°A lot more.¡±


    ¡°Just shut the hell up and let me look for him.¡±


    Woodrow had found his breath again and stood up from behind the boulder to scan the area. Nothing. He started to fear that Chuck might¡¯ve been right, that Sal was dead.


    Boom


    There was a faint gunshot down a ways.


    ¡°Only one person that could¡¯ve been,¡± Bill Jones said. They ran towards the sound as fast as their aching legs could take them.


    Boom


    Another shot ¡ª fainter this time. It sounded like it was coming from within the mountain.


    ¡°There must be a cave around here somewhere,¡± Chuck said. Woodrow grunted to show he agreed, and he scanned the edge of the mountain for an opening. A wide mouth peeked out from behind the trunk of a fallen tree. He smacked Chuck and Bill Jones on their shoulders and gestured for them to follow.


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    They stood at the cave¡¯s entrance. It was pitch black within, and though it started out wide, the path quickly narrowed to the point that a single man would barely be able to fit through without putting in some serious effort. Woodrow sighed.


    ¡°I think it¡¯d be best if y¡¯all stayed out here. Make sure no more of those sons of bitches follow me in, alright?¡±


    ¡°To Hell with that!¡± ¡°Got it.¡± Chuck and Bill Jones spoke at the same time, then looked at each other in confusion.


    ¡°No fuckin¡¯ way am I letting you go in there alone, Woodrow,¡± Chuck said. ¡°God knows how many are in there waiting for you. How many bullets you got left?¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t be any use to him in there, Chuck. We can¡¯t see shit,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Best for us to stay out here and stand guard.¡±


    Woodrow nodded.


    ¡°I got enough on me. It¡¯s Sal I¡¯m worried about, if we keep standing here doing nothing. I¡¯ll be right back, and I¡¯ll have Ol¡¯ Gimpy with me.¡±


    He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.


    Chuck still had an indignant look on his face, but he knew that they were right, and he kept his mouth shut.


    ¡°Go get him.¡± Bill Jones patted Woodrow on the shoulder and slipped something into his coat pocket. ¡°We know you can do it.¡±


    Another shot rang out from the cave.


    ¡°Better hurry though.¡±


    Woodrow headed into the cave alone.


    <hr>


    The cave started out with a whole lot of nothing ¡ª just a cramped, winding path that seemed to go downward forever. Woodrow felt his pockets as he pushed himself down through the rocks. He had six bullets in one pocket and six more already loaded. Something poked him in his other pocket ¡ª a syringe. Bill Jones¡¯s gift, in case all else failed.


    Several minutes had gone by without a gunshot ringing out, and Woodrow began to fear the worst. Slugfoot Sal was about as ornery as an old man could get, but that would only buy him a few minutes against a whole herd of Not Deer. Woodrow picked up his pace, almost slipping on a loose rock that flew from under his heavy foot and tumbled down the endless path.


    There was a grumbling in the distance.


    ¡°You motherfuckers want some more?! I¡¯ll give it to you. Just come over here and get it!¡±


    ¡°Sal?!¡± Woodrow shouted.


    ¡°Woodrow?!¡± Sal¡¯s voice echoed back up.


    Woodrow flew towards the voice with reckless abandon. He gave no mind to the rocks scraping his cheeks and wedging themselves into his shoes.


    ¡°I¡¯m stuck in this damn crevice!¡± Sal shouted. Woodrow still couldn¡¯t see him, but the voice was growing louder.


    ¡°I¡¯m almost there!¡± he said. ¡°Just hold on!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m holdin¡¯, I¡¯m holdin¡¯,¡± Sal replied.


    At long last, the tunnel opened up into a spacious cavern. A hole in the high ceiling let in a beam of moonlight that covered the space in a haze of soft white and illuminated the weak waterfall that cascaded gently down the rock wall not too far behind it. In better circumstances, the place would have been downright peaceful. But Woodrow did not feel at peace.


    ¡°Sal?¡± he bellowed. The sound of the waterfall felt like it was growing louder in the absence of a response. Woodrow looked around, but didn¡¯t see his friend anywhere.


    ¡°I¡¯m over here!¡± Sal finally replied. ¡°I¡¯m stuck in this damn hole!¡±


    There was a gaping pit near the center of the cavern, and Sal¡¯s voice came from the bottom of it. Woodrow stepped towards it and looked down. Sal was there, along with three Not Deer that lay dead around him. A faint trail of smoke came from the barrel of his cane shotgun. But his arms and legs were snapped and bent in unnatural directions. His eyes were wide and blank, staring up past Woodrow unblinkingly into infinity. A rib bone poked from his chest and he laid in a pool of blood. Some of it was the Not Deer¡¯s and some of it was his own.


    Slugfoot Sal was dead.


    ¡°Woodrow, I¡¯m over here!¡± Slugfoot Sal said. The voice was behind Woodrow. Slowly, he turned around and saw a twelve point buck looking at him with wet, black eyes.


    He was big, without a doubt the biggest buck Woodrow had ever seen. His antlers bowed in towards each other so that they looked like an angry claw, ready to grab anyone unlucky enough to get close to the horrible creature. In most ways, he looked like a prime specimen of a deer ¡ª except for his face. The more Woodrow looked at it, the more human it looked, with bare skin, a protruding nose and lips, and dark, intelligent eyes. He stared at the creature in shock while its lips curled into a wicked smile.


    ¡°I¡¯m over here, Woodrow,¡± the creature said in a perfect imitation of Sal. ¡°Took out as many of them fuckers as I could, but I couldn¡¯t hold out for long. If only y¡¯all had got to me sooner¡­¡±


    The creature¡¯s face contorted into a pained expression and tears streamed down its cheeks. The buck wept with heaving groans of anguish, growing louder and wilder. Another Not Deer slid out from under a rock and wept alongside him. Woodrow looked around and saw Not Deer slink out of nooks and crannies through the cavern and join in the weeping until a deafening crescendo of his dead friend¡¯s voice overwhelmed his senses.


    A guttural roar erupted from within him and he fired his gun into the herd.

 Chapter 6 Part 2: The Buck and the Sludge

    The Not Deer¡¯s legs crumpled underneath him just in time for the bullet to whistle past his head and collide with a rock behind him. Pebbles and dust rained down and covered the cavern in a haze of smoke, and Woodrow took the opportunity to slide down into the hole where his friend¡¯s body laid.


    ¡°We shoulda never made a deal with them damn cats, Woodrow!¡± cried the Not Buck from above, still immitating Sal¡¯s voice. Its head slowly appeared over the hole and it stared down at Woodrow with its cold, black eyes. ¡°We shoulda kept our asses home where we belong!¡±


    It reared its head back and made a coarse gurgling sound that the rest of the Not Deer seemed to understand as a signal to attack. Woodrow was surrounded on all sides. The Not Deer hastily staggered towards him with something resembling smiles on their faces and descended into the pit. Woodrow dropped one with a squeeze of the trigger and it thudded on the pit¡¯s floor. But if the sight of one of their comrades falling to the ground dead bothered them at all, they didn¡¯t show it.


    Woodrow shot again and hit one in its chest; it flew backwards and slammed against the stone wall, and a spatter of blood spurted from its mouth and sprayed Woodrow¡¯s face. Pretty soon, he¡¯d painted the entire pit red with the blood of the Not Deer, but there were just too many of them. A dozen twitched and sighed at his feet, but a dozen more were still closing in on him, still had those strange smiles on their faces.


    He felt the syringe in his pocket. Every fiber of his being told him not to take¡­ whatever the hell it was. Emperor sludge? God gunk? His body warned, begged him not to inject the strange liquid into his neck ¡ª but Woodrow Brown was not the type of man to be pushed around by his own intuition. These sons of bitches had killed one of his best friends. If that sludge would give him the power to kill them, he was going to take it, even if it killed him after.


    And it might do just that.


    He pulled the syringe out of his pocket and removed the protective cap on the needle¡¯s end. But it was too late ¡ª a Not Deer rammed him in the back and knocked the wind from his lungs and the syringe from his hands. He scrambled on his hands and knees towards it, but another Not Deer snatched it up well before he could get to it, and they tossed it up to the Buck.


    In total, it took five of them to finally restrain Woodrow. Four of them slithered their serpentine legs around each of Woodrow¡¯s limbs, and a fifth wrapped itself around his chest. They each stuck out a free leg that folded and unfolded like caterpillars and inched their hostage up and out of the blood-soaked pit.


    Woodrow struggled under the grip of the Not Deer until he thought he might pass out, and then he struggled some more. But it was pointless; their limbs bent and bowed, but never seemed like breaking away from his body. They pinned him to the cavern wall, right beside the waterfall so that he was misted and became damp.


    The Twelve Point Buck approached.


    Woodrow had no choice but to look at the creature. Even on all fours, it was tall enough to look him straight in the eye.


    ¡°Where are the Cats, Woodrow?¡± The Buck asked in Sal¡¯s voice. Woodrow¡¯s arm had gotten nice and wet, and the Not Deer had gotten nice and complacent; he slipped his arms out of their grasp and walloped the Buck right on its nose. It reared back and howled, but it seemed to flare his temper more than anything else. The Not Deer at Woodrow¡¯s feet tightened their grip, and the ones he¡¯d slipped away from slithered back around his arms. In a swift, coordinated movement, they each snapped the limb they clung to.


    A sickening crunch rang through the cavern, and Woodrow¡¯s screams quickly followed. He wanted to fall over, curl into a ball, properly writhe in pain, but they wouldn¡¯t let him. They held him up by his broken limbs and made him meet the gaze of the Twelve Point Buck. The syringe rested on its hoof, and it held it up to Woodrow¡¯s face.


    ¡°Where are the Cats, Woodrow?¡± the Buck repeated. He waved the syringe back and forth. ¡°You¡¯re interfering in things you don¡¯t understand.¡±


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    ¡°Eat shit,¡± Woodrow spat in response.


    ¡°No, you eat shit!¡± The Buck shouted in Woodrow¡¯s own voice.Then it changed to a deep, snide baritone. ¡°You have no idea what¡¯s going on in these woods, and still you come out here to hunt us down. And for what? The chance to kill more of us? To turn yourself into a monster?¡± It pointed the needle at Woodrow¡¯s Wampus eye. ¡°Tell us where the Cats are, and we¡¯ll let you live. We¡¯ll tear off your arms and legs, yes, but not your head.¡± The Buck said this like it was a perfectly reasonable deal that Woodrow would be insane to pass up.


    Woodrow was barely able to listen. Searing pain shot down from his arms and up from his legs and ignited every nerve in his body. Darkness crept around the edges of his vision. He was sure he was going to die and tossed in the hole with his friend, until he saw something that breathed life into him: a shadow. A faint shadow shifted near the cavern¡¯s entrance.


    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll tell you where the Cats are,¡± Woodrow moaned. ¡°Just let me lie down.¡±


    The Not Deer looked to the Buck, who nodded, and they lowered Woodrow to the ground. His limbs still pulsated with pain, but compared to the position he was in a moment before, the cold ground felt like a cloud made of feathers.


    He looked at the shadow. It was growing.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he said. ¡°Here¡¯s how you get to the Cats. First, you gotta go to the park out on Bellevue Road. There¡¯s a walkin¡¯ trail there, over near the basketball courts. Right off, take a left and ¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why is nobody writing this down?!?¡± the Buck yelled. The Not Deer scrambled around for a pen and paper before they remembered that they don¡¯t carry writing materials around. They looked at the Buck and shrugged.


    ¡°Slugfoot always kept a pad and pen in his shirt pocket,¡± Woodrow said. The Buck eyed him for a moment, and then turned and hopped into the hole.


    The shadow continued to move.


    ¡°Hey, you guys see somethin¡¯ over there?¡± Woodrow asked the Not Deer. Their necks craned downwards to look at him, and snapped back up to look at the entrance. The five of them approached the entrance to get a closer look at the moving shadow. Not a moment later, a beam of light shined onto their faces, and not too long after that, a burst of bullets ripped through their heads.


    Bill Jones and Chuck strode into the cavern with flashlights attached to their rifles.


    ¡°Shit, you look even worse than usual,¡± Chuck said, looking down at his broken-boned friend.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Sal?¡± Bill Jones asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m in here, boys!¡± Sal¡¯s voice came from the pit. Chuck and Bill Jones approached the pit without a second thought.


    ¡°That¡¯s not Sal!¡± Woodrow croaked. They stopped in their tracks. ¡°You didn¡¯t get ¡®em all. And this one can talk.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Bill Jones inquired. ¡°This one can talk? And he can mimic other¡¯s voices, and is intelligent enough to try and trick us? Fascinating¡­¡±


    ¡°Uhhhh, nope. It¡¯s just me, Sal. Come here and get me out of this hole, will ya?¡± Sal¡¯s voice insisted. There was an awkward silence ¡ª they were well past the point of falling for the Buck¡¯s antics.


    Its voice changed back to the snide baritone.


    ¡°Fine. You leave me no choice.¡± It leapt out of the pit with a single hop and stuck the syringe into its neck.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°Woody¡­¡± Bill Jones said.


    The Buck pressed down on the syringe and the black sludge slowly flowed into its body. The effect was immediate, judging by the way its eyes twitched and its lips pressed together as it took it in.


    ¡°Run! Get the hell out of here while you still got a chance!¡± Woodrow said. It was hopeless. The Buck was mean enough already ¡ª they didn¡¯t have a chance now that he was all juiced up. Woodrow was going to die, but that didn¡¯t mean they had to die with him.


    ¡°Go on, get!¡± he said. But Bill Jones just looked at him like he was holding back a laughing fit.


    ¡°Nah, I think we¡¯ll stay right here.¡±


    ¡°Boys, just what in the god damned shit is going on?¡± Chuck asked politely. ¡°Let¡¯s get the fuck out of here!¡±


    ¡°Just watch,¡± Bill Jones replied.


    The Twelve Point Buck¡¯s eyes grew wide, and its legs started to shake. Its mouth opened and wet, gurgling sounds came from its throat until a wad of clotted blood launched from his mouth. More blood followed and ran down his mouth, eyes, and nose. Over and over, it sneezed bursts of dark red gunk. Woodrow looked on in awe and wondered how the creature still had any blood left in him. Still, more came out. The Twelve Point Buck fell to its wobbly knees and swayed back and forth as it coughed and sneezed out its insides. Finally, it fell on its back and sprayed blood from its orifices like a geyser.


    ¡°Well boys,¡± Bill Jones said as the creature died slowly, horribly in front of them, ¡°I think it¡¯s about time we head out. Chuck, help me get Sal out of that hole.¡±


    The two of them hoisted Sal¡¯s body out of the pit, and Chuck flung the old man¡¯s limp figure over his shoulder. Bill Jones helped Woodrow up off the ground helped him hop along to the narrow tunnel.


    The four of them stumbled out of the cave and left the Twelve Point Buck to die whenever he felt like getting around to it.

 Chapter 7: Slugfoot Sal

    ¡°Sal ¡®Slugfoot¡¯ Johnson Jr. left this world on November 12th, 2075 at the age of 53 in Cherokee, North Carolina. Despite his ongoing struggles with a foot injury, he retained his adventurous spirit until the very end and met an unfortunate fate while cave diving.


    ¡°As a child, Sal told his parents that he wanted to be a park ranger when he grew up. Instead, he served his community as a police officer for over 25 years until he was medically retired. He was well known among other officers for his bravery in tough situations and his keen ability to deescalate.


    ¡°Sal is survived by his brother, Alan Johnson and nephew, Jason. He will be missed by his family and friends. A pig-pickin¡¯ will be held in his memory on November the 20th, 2075.¡±


    Chuck held out his phone and read the obituary to Woodrow and Bill Jones.


    That¡¯s it? Woodrow thought, though he knew no obituary would ever be enough. A few sentences could never capture the spirit of a human being, but that never felt more apparent than when he was hearing the life of his friend summed up in a few seconds. Sal was so much more than most people would ever know ¡ª including his own family. They were right about one thing: he was fearless. Even with a foot that barely kept him up, he faced some of the nastiest creatures in the South and came out on top.


    But now he was gone, and Woodrow couldn¡¯t help but feel like it was all his fault.


    Bill Jones¡¯s living room was quiet. There was a piece missing, and it was clear they all felt it. But there was something else. Ever since they got back, Chuck had been off ¡ª even more off than the rest of them. He didn¡¯t talk much. He would only speak when spoken to, and his replies were always short and had an edge to them. The three of them sat in the living room in silence for a moment, digesting the insufficient summary, and all the while, Chuck¡¯s eyes darted between his two remaining hunting buddies.


    Finally, he let out what he was holding in.


    ¡°Are you guys going to fucking tell me what was in that shit or not?¡± he blurted out. Woodrow and Bill Jones both knew what the shit in question was ¡ª he didn¡¯t have to specify. Woodrow looked to Bill Jones, hoping he would give him an explanation.


    ¡°Drugs. Strong drugs,¡± Bill Jones lied. ¡°Amphetamines, mostly. I brought it alone in case of an emergency, gave it to Woody when he went into the cave by himself. That was five doses in that syringe, though. When the Buck shot it all up at once, I knew what was gonna happen.¡±


    Bill Jones said all of this with such coolness. If Woodrow didn¡¯t know that it was all bullshit, he probably would¡¯ve believed him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that for a goddamn second,¡± Chuck said. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know what meth looks like?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t meth,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°It was a combination of¡ª¡±


    ¡°Are you going to tell me what that actually was or not?¡± Chuck cut him off. ¡°Are you going to tell me what¡¯s really going on here? When you told me you took somethin¡¯ to fight that Wampus Cat, I thought you meant, like a supplement or somethin¡¯. Not whatever that was.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve told you everything. Always have,¡± Woodrow said. Before today, that would¡¯ve have been a lie. He glanced over at Bill Jones who didn¡¯t meet his gaze.


    ¡°So y¡¯all are injecting meth now? And we just got our friend killed and your arms and legs broken so that y¡¯all can try to avenge your father, a man who was killed damn near forty years ago?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°You know it¡¯s about more than just that,¡± Bill Jones retorted. ¡°Do you like living under a wannabe god, Chuck? A man who writes our laws without asking us, does whatever the hell he wants¡­ and is free to kill any one of us whenever he feels like it?¡±


    Chuck didn¡¯t respond, but the anger didn¡¯t leave his face.


    ¡°I¡¯m doing it for Pa, ¡®course I am, but I¡¯m not only doing it for him,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°He ain¡¯t the only one that¡¯s been senselessly killed. Lord knows how many men Augustus has called up. And Lord knows what else he¡¯s up to that we don¡¯t even know about. Pa used to tell me about life before the war. Leaders were chosen by the people, and they weren¡¯t above the law. We have a way to take these sons of bitches down a peg, and I¡¯m gonna use it, even if it kills me.¡±


    Woodrow almost added I don¡¯t got a whole lot else going on in my life anyway, but caught himself before it slipped out.


    A tinge of sadness found its way into Chuck¡¯s angry eyes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it to kill you though, Woody. I didn¡¯t want it to kill any of us, but it has now. I hope it¡¯s worth it. I¡¯ll see y¡¯all at the funeral.


    Chuck grabbed his jacket and left without saying another word. Bill Jones hadn¡¯t shown a hint of emotion throughout the ordeal, and didn¡¯t look like cracking any time soon. As soon as Chuck slammed the front door, Bill Jones grabbed the remote and started to flip through shows on the TV.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell him what it really was?¡± Woodrow spoke over an episode of Bad Vibrations, a dramatization of Emperor Augustus and President Mickey¡¯s mutual rise to power and eventual falling out that split America in two.


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t understand. He doesn¡¯t understand,¡± Bill Jones replied without looking away from the TV. ¡°I probably wouldn¡¯t have even told him about our plan at all if there was a way to hide that eye of yours away.¡±


    ¡°He understands, I think. He just thinks it ain¡¯t gonna work.¡±


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    ¡°Which means he doesn¡¯t understand. Not really. When I¡¯m done with you, you¡¯ll be a match for the Emperor and then some. He ain¡¯t gonna know what hit him.¡±


    With that, Bill Jones looked at Woodrow and smiled. But it was a tense smile, and his eyes retained their cold stare.


    Bad Vibrations grew louder on the TV. It was at the scene where President Mickey and Emperor Augustus fight for the very first time, long before they rose to power. President Mickey touched Augustus¡¯s legs and sent him to the ground, paralyzed. Footage from the War showed that he was capable of much, much more than that.


    ¡°What about him?¡± Woodrow asked. He was trying to take everything one step at a time, but he knew that it was only natural that he go after the other god after he took care of the first.


    ¡°I reckon he ain¡¯t as bad as he looks,¡± Bill Jones said. Woodrow wasn¡¯t sure he agreed. Sitting in his wheelchair, unable to move his limbs and only a Wampus eye to set him apart from other people, he didn¡¯t the thought of someone like Mickey not being that bad felt a little crazy.


    ¡°I think I need to lay down. It¡¯s been a hell of a couple days,¡± Woodrow said. Bill Jones got up and wheeled Woodrow to the guest room and helped him slide onto the bed.


    ¡°It¡¯s a bitch not being able to walk,¡± Woodrow grunted through gritted teeth as he tried to find a comfortable way to lay. ¡°Now I know how ol¡¯ Slugfoot felt.¡±


    Bill Jones laughed. ¡°Well don¡¯t get used to it. Pretty soon there ain¡¯t gonna be a creature on God¡¯s green earth that¡¯ll be able to hurt you like that.¡±


    Woodrow grunted again and Bill Jones left the room, closing the door behind him.


    The pain in his arms and legs nagged at him as he tried to take a nap, but it wasn¡¯t the only thing keeping him awake. His stomach was in knots and there was a sinking feeling in his heart like he was falling off a cliff. It felt like the reality of the situation was really dawning on him for the first time. Sal was dead, and it was his fault; he was mutilating himself, and wouldn¡¯t even look human soon enough; and at the end of it all, he was going to go head-to-head with someone ¡ª two people ¡ª with great, horrible powers. His heart fluttered weakly, then pounded vigorously, then fluttered again. He shut his eyes tightly and wriggled on top of the mattress, which suddenly felt itchy and riddled with lumps. His skin tingled all over and the Wampus eye throbbed in his skull. Suddenly, he wanted the damn thing out of his head. He wanted his old eye back. He wanted his friend back. But it was too late now. This was the path he chose, and now he had to walk it. He would either become a god or be killed by one, just like Pa.


    Woodrow shifted to the right until all he could think about was the pain ringing through his body. Then he finally fell asleep.


    <hr>


    It was a small funeral service on the old Johnson family farm, where Sal¡¯s brother lived. They gathered in the middle of a pen where they used to house a dozen or so goats and where Sal was now going to be buried. Woodrow sat in his wheelchair in the middle of a row of black foldouts, with Bill Jones sitting to his right and Chuck sitting to his left. A few good nights of sleep seemed to do them all good. Woodrow was already starting to feel less stiff in his arms and legs, and his will to take on a god emperor was coming back in force. Chuck wasn¡¯t acting half as ornery as he had been, too, which made him feel a lot better. Losing one friend was already bad enough.


    Bill Jones was the same old Bill Jones.


    Five old cops in their dark blue uniforms filled the rest of row, and one more stood in front of a whole roasted hog and doused it with a reddish sauce that he had in an unmarked squeeze bottle. It was a sunny day and unusually warm for the end of November. Someone could¡¯ve mistaken the gathering for a family barbecue if it wasn¡¯t for the dead man in a wooden box.


    Alan and Jason Johnson stood to one side of their kin¡¯s casket and a preacher stood to the other. The preacher said some words in a slow southern drawl and the Johnson¡¯s told touching stories about their beloved brother and uncle. Officers came up one by one and paid tributes of their own. Woodrow didn¡¯t listen to any of it. He couldn¡¯t stop staring at the box, thinking about the sorry state his friend was in when he found him in that pit, how he might¡¯ve been able to save him if he just ran a little faster.


    Woodrow thought that he and the other boys would be asked to come up and say a few words too, but they weren¡¯t. Once the last cop got through talking about his old partner, Alan looked at Woodrow for a moment, then looked away and said ¡°Alright, enough of this sad shit. Sal wouldn¡¯t want us to cry. He¡¯d want us to get drunk of our asses. So let¡¯s fuckin¡¯ drink already!¡±


    Everyone looked to be in agreement that that¡¯s what Slugfoot Sal would¡¯ve wanted, so they stood up and each grabbed a glass filled to the brim with bourbon. Chuck grabbed two.


    ¡°To ol¡¯ Slugfoot, the craziest, best son of a bitch I ever met!¡± Jason raised his glass and said. Everyone clinked their glasses together and drained them of their contents. Chuck drank his first and then helped Woodrow with his. Alan powered on a big speaker and Ain¡¯t Done Shootin¡¯ by Dusty McGuthrie came pouring out. It was Sal¡¯s favorite song.


    They tried to lock me up, tried to put me in the hole,


    But I ain¡¯t done shootin¡¯ til I say so¡­


    The music, the liquor, and the pig all did wonders to raise people¡¯s spirits. With the formalities out of the way, the fun stories about Sal came out.


    A cop with a wrinkled bald head and a hard belly that stuck out past his toes recalled a time when he and Sal were on patrol and they pulled up next to a cocky young buck in a Mustang at a light. He bet Sal five bucks he wouldn¡¯t race the kid, and you bet your ass Sal got his money, and damn near flipped the squad car over in the process.


    Alan told the tale of when they were boys: he was ten, so Sal must¡¯ve been seven or eight. They were in the woods looking for bears, even though mama always told them not to, and they found one. He about shit himself and was ready to run away, but Sal pulled out a pack of crackers from his pocket and went up to feed the damn thing. The bear took the crackers and Sal pet the son of a bitch like it was a dog. He bragged about it to mama and earned a whoopin¡¯ for both of them.


    ¡°Oh man, he didn¡¯t get any less crazy with age either,¡± Woodrow said, red-faced and laughing. ¡°One time, we were all huntin¡¯ and ran into a Snallygaster ¡ª a mean, flyin¡¯ motherfucker. It was swoopin¡¯ over our heads and we couldn¡¯t hit the damn thing, but Sal knocked it in the head with his cane and whacked it over the head til it stopped botherin¡¯ us.¡± Tears welled up in his eyes thinking about that day. ¡°What a guy¡­¡±


    Woodrow was so engrossed in his own story that he didn¡¯t realize that everyone else had gone silent and were looking at him like he belonged in a padded room. He was suddenly very happy that he decided to wear his eyepatch over his Wampus eye that day.


    ¡°Yeah, maybe he shouldn¡¯t have been getting wasted and shootin¡¯ guns in the woods when he was fifty and could hardly walk,¡± Alan said coldly. ¡°Looks like you shouldn¡¯t be either, the way you look right now.¡±


    Woodrow wasn¡¯t too drunk to take a hint ¡ª they all blamed him for Sal¡¯s death, just like he blamed himself. He decided it¡¯d be best if he and the boys got out of there sooner rather than later. Chuck took a few quick bites from the hog on his plate, Bill Jones placed his glass on the table while looking out into the woods, and the three of them left without saying their goodbyes.


    ¡°They don¡¯t get what we do, Woodrow,¡± Bill Jones said as he and Chuck loaded Woodrow into the bed of his truck. ¡°But they will soon.¡±

 Going to Church

    Mickey Torke was planning a trip to a place he wasn¡¯t welcome. He wasn¡¯t welcome in many ¡ª most ¡ª places, but that usually didn¡¯t stop him from showing up anyway, if he felt like it. But this was different. He was going to the only place where someone might be able to stop him ¡ª America.


    Not to visit Gus. Gus was just about the last motherfucker he wanted to see. But the sleep, and the dreams, were coming more and more often, and he couldn¡¯t get his mind off of that damn baby. It was bordering on obsession. He put a freeze on all operations with every one of his allies to plan his trip to the east.


    He sat at a table in a penthouse atop a casino in Las Vegas ¡ª the capital of Micktopia. Lights flashed, music blared, and an assortment of half naked men and women moved around him and did unspeakable things to themselves and to each other. Usually Mickey would be doing more unspeakable things than the rest of them combined. Instead, he stared at crumpled papers and folded maps that littered the table and looked like they had been scrawled on by a Neanderthal. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes.


    ¡°Maybe the baby isn¡¯t a baby anymore. You¡¯ve had these dreams for decades,¡± Mickey muttered to himself. ¡°Or maybe he¡¯s been a baby for the last fifty years. Or maybe he¡¯s just really fucking short.¡±


    He snatched one of the papers off the table and held it close to his face. It was a recounting of one of his more recent dreams, where the baby had sucked the oxygen from his lungs and watched him slowly die of suffocation. He concluded that it definitely looked like a baby and not like a very short man. He threw the paper down, and it swayed back and forth before falling underneath the table.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Maybe I should just ask the sludge boy himself.¡± He was referring to Emperor Augustus. ¡°You think he would want to sit down for a chat? Yeah, probably not. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.¡±


    He pressed his face against paper after paper, going through every dream he could remember, hoping that something would tell him who this baby was so he could pull his little body apart. A semi-nude woman came up behind him and rubbed his shoulders. She was beautiful, olive skinned with long, black hair that hung over her shoulders and covered up parts of her that Mickey would normally want to see ¡ª normally, but not today. He grabbed her wrist and she collapsed in a heap of limp limbs.


    She¡¯s lucky I didn¡¯t make her pop like a fucking water balloon, he thought. A couple of people loped over to the limp body and pulled her away by her legs.


    ¡°No raping!¡± Mickey shouted over his shoulder.


    I¡¯m a bum, but I¡¯m not a monster, he thought. Alright, I¡¯m a bum and a monster, but I¡¯m not a fuckin¡¯ rapist.


    He went back to studying the paper that he had in his hands before the beautiful naked woman rudely interrupted him. He concluded that, aside from the baby and from him being killed, the only other consistent part of the dreams was that they took place in locations he knew well. Almost every single dream took place in Leesville, North Carolina ¡ª the one place he stayed the longest, the place he met Gus.


    ¡°Another Gus connection,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Or¡­¡±


    It was also the town where he stole a mysterious bottle from a mysterious church, where he and Gus drank the mysterious substance, and where they were imbued with their great, terrible powers.


    Mickey sprang up from his seat and smashed his fist down on the table, turning it to sawdust and sending his papers flying in multiple directions. The crowd of people all went silent and looked at their president.


    ¡°See y¡¯all motherfuckers later,¡± he shouted. ¡°I¡¯m going to church!¡±

 Chapter 8: Friends of the Mother Cat

    With Woodrow¡¯s bones still mending and the second Wampus eye not getting any fresher, Bill Jones figured they should go ahead and schedule the next surgery for the day after Sal¡¯s funeral. Woodrow didn¡¯t object. Sometimes, the anxiety he felt lying in the guest room pulled at the recesses of his mind, but it was getting easier and easier to push it away. More than anything, he just wanted to take down the next beast and get his next upgrade. The Wampus eyes were nice, and made him a hell of a shot, but this next part, he knew, would make him a whole new type of mean motherfucker.


    Once he had the arms of a Whirling Whimpus, nothing as meek as a Not Deer would ever cause him or his friends trouble again.


    So, in the sorry state he was in, he laid back down on the garage table and let Bill Jones pluck out the innards of his eyeball. Practice had done the amateur surgeon some good; he didn¡¯t need to reference his notes and he placed the Wampus eye in with finesse. The opiates Woodrow got for his broken bones made the recovery a breeze too. Everything went just about as smoothly as it could.


    The new eye brought more than just clearer eyesight. Once the swelling went down, he found that the symmetry between the two eyes, as crazy as they might look on their own, made him look much better overall. Finally, he didn¡¯t look like he was borrowing someone else¡¯s parts ¡ª they were his eyes.


    Even beyond that, something was happening to him that he didn¡¯t expect. His mind seemed to sharpen, his mental capacity for observation increased. Looking through the eyes of a Wampus Cat made him start to think like one, if only just a little.


    <hr>


    Six smooth weeks of nothing passed. Woodrow¡¯s bones and eye healed up nicely, and the wound of losing his friend was no longer quite as fresh; the open wound was now a scar, ugly and tough in his mind. He had plenty of those and was much better at dealing with them.


    It was an icy December morning, with blackened, sludgy snow lining the roads. Woodrow, Bill Jones and Chuck trundled through the woods to speak with the Cat Mother.


    The den was much more sparse than Woodrow remembered it being. Most of the Wampus Cats that previously crowded the place were nowhere to be found.


    ¡°They moved into the old Not Deer territory,¡± Woodrow told the other two boys after exchanging glances with the Cat Mother. ¡°They¡¯d been forced into this little patch of territory for too long, and it had become overcrowded.¡±


    ¡°Sal died so that y¡¯all would have more room to stretch your damn legs?¡± Chuck said. His words were like a metal pick poking at Woodrow¡¯s still-forming scar.


    ¡°No, we did what we needed to do to get information,¡± Woodrow retorted. ¡°So we can do what we set out to do.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± Chuck said. ¡°I don¡¯t remember agreeing to any of this bullshit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still here, ain¡¯t you? I thought we had dealt with all this already, Chuck. How many times do we have to go back and forth about this?¡±


    Chuck looked down at the grass. ¡°Yeah, yeah, alright. Just¡­ shit¡­ I wish we could¡¯ve gone about it another way.¡±


    ¡°Me too, Chuck. Me too.¡±


    ¡°Ask her to tell you everything she knows about the Whimpus. Not just his whereabouts,¡± Bill Jones cut in. ¡°How big he is, his habits, weaknesses, all that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Woodrow looked at the Cat and nodded periodically.


    ¡°It¡¯s a she, actually, and she ain¡¯t too big. A little smaller than your average Whimpus, which is probably good if I¡¯m gonna be carrying those arms around the rest of my life. Might not be a knuckle dragger after all. She moves around a lot, but she can scratch me out the area they¡¯ve seen her. We brought the map, right? And I should be able to track her down once we¡¯re close enough, I suppose. She says that my eyes should make me more than capable of that.¡±


    ¡°You suppose?¡± Bill Jones inquired.


    ¡°I can do it,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°As for weaknesses,¡± he paused for a moment, ¡°there are none. No big red button on her back. The best thing we can do is not let her know we¡¯re there. Catch her by surprise. But that will be easier said than done. She has many alliances in the woods, including the Not Deer.¡±


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    ¡°You mean the motherfuckers we just killed? Don¡¯t think they¡¯ll be helpin¡¯ her much,¡± said Chuck.


    ¡°Alliances?¡± said Bill Jones.


    ¡°We didn¡¯t kill every Not Deer in the world last month. We didn¡¯t even kill all of the Not Deer in that herd, apparently. Just, when you take out their leader, they scatter like roaches and go lookin¡¯ for a new herd. The Mother Cat reckons they would¡¯ve found ¡®em by now, including the one the Whimpus works with. She¡¯ll know we¡¯re comin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t mean she¡¯ll see us comin¡¯,¡± said Chuck. ¡°Just gotta do better than last time.¡±


    ¡°A lot better,¡± Bill Jones agreed. ¡°Compared to a Whimpus, a Not Deer is about as tough as a tissue paper.¡±


    ¡°Reckon we can take her down, just the three of us?¡± Woodrow asked.


    ¡°I hope so, though a few more Bigfoot Boys might be nice right around now,¡± Bill Jones replied.


    ¡°What about a few more Cats?¡±


    Bill Jones raised an eyebrow.


    ¡°Oh, hell nah,¡± Chuck started. But Woodrow wasn¡¯t listening. He was deep in silent conversation with the Mother Cat. A slight turn of her head suggested she was intrigued by what he was think-saying. Bill Jones looked irritated to not be included in the discussion, but Woodrow ignored that too.


    After a few minutes of awkward silence, Woodrow turned to the boys.


    ¡°She says she¡¯s willing to formally align with us, and that a few of the younger Cats would be itchin¡¯ to join us in hunting down a Whirling Whimpus,¡± he said.


    ¡°Formally align?¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°There are alliances all through these woods,¡± Woodrow explained. ¡°Every critter here is bound to some other critters. If we do this, we¡¯ll have easy access to some parts of the woods and be pounced on in others the second we crack a twig in their territory. But for now, we¡¯ll get the full support of the Wampus Cats; the young Cats will help us out, we¡¯ll get the whereabouts of different cryptids we might want to snag, and information on anything else they see out there that they think might interest us.¡±


    ¡°And what do they get in return?¡± Chuck asked suspiciously.


    ¡°The best damn alliance any of them have ever made, I reckon,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°One with humans.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll need some time to think about this, no doubt about that,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°There¡¯s a lot we need to consider before we commit to anything.¡±


    ¡°She says ¡®Then ask your questions instead of staring at the trees, annoying human¡¯. Her words, not mine.¡± Woodrow grinned. Bill Jones sniffed and made eye contact with the Mother Cat. Her pupils contracted into slivers of black against a backdrop of glowing yellow.


    ¡°Who else are y¡¯all aligned with?¡± he asked.


    She listed out the Wampus Cat alliances to Woodrow, and he relayed them to Bill Jones, who relayed them to a notebook he had in his pocket. As of right now, the only allies the Cats had were the Goatmen and the Grafton Monster.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Bill Jones said while scribbling words onto paper. ¡°And how many enemies will we be makin¡¯ here?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be making most of our enemies on our own, given we¡¯re setting out to harvest them for parts ¡®n all,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°The Cat¡¯s biggest enemies are the Not Deer, who are friendly with the Whimpuses, Snallygasters, Woodboogers, and the Hellhounds ¡ª but they don¡¯t exactly love us already, after what we did to the Buck.¡±


    ¡°Funny that she didn¡¯t tell us all this before she sicced us on the Buck,¡± Chuck grumbled. Woodrow looked at the Mother Cat. Her expression remained as stoic as ever, but the slightest twitch of her ears gave Woodrow the impression that she was feeling some satisfaction hearing Chuck¡¯s realization.


    ¡°She says we never asked,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°And that she¡¯s much more forthcoming with allies than she is with strange, reckless humans that stroll into her den with one of her children¡¯s eyes stuck in their head.¡±


    Chuck scoffed, but said nothing else. He was never the best with complex situations; he was more of a point and shoot kind of guy. In fact, Woodrow had never seen him trying so hard to wrap his head around something. He could almost smell the smoke from the man¡¯s gears turning.


    But Woodrow knew exactly what was going on. The Wampus Cats were cunning, and would likely betray them as soon as it seemed worthwhile to do so. They were playing a game that they wanted to end with them at the top of the totem pole. The rest of the cryptids were well aware of this, surely, which is why the Cat¡¯s only allies were the feckless Goatmen, the Grafton Monster ¡ª who was dumber than the rock that he slept under ¡ª and now a gang of humans that couldn¡¯t give two shits about ruling the woods.


    And if Woodrow understood that, Bill Jones surely did as well, and would undoubtedly appreciate the Wampus Cat¡¯s tact and penchant for scheming.


    ¡°Whelp, that about settles it for me. I think we should do it,¡± Bill Jones said. He put his notebook away. ¡°The Cats are exactly what we need.¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± agreed Woodrow.


    ¡°Yep,¡± Bill Jones replied.


    They both looked to Chuck, who was silent for a moment, still thinking about it.


    ¡°Mmhm,¡± he said finally.


    It was unanimous; they would officially align themselves with the Wampus Cats.


    Alright, do I shake your paw or somethin¡¯? Woodrow thought loudly to the Mother Cat. If cats scoffed, she probably would¡¯ve.


    Again with this? No, she replied. If you all agree, then it is done. Just go up to the Whimpus territory. We¡¯ll be waiting for you there.


    How will you know where we¡¯re at in the territory?


    We will smell you.


    Woodrow sniffed his pits and nodded. Bill Jones took a pen and folded up map out from his pocket and drew a squiggly border around where the Mother Cat hovered her claw. The Whimpus was all the way up in southern West Virginia ¡ª it was going to be a long drive.

 Chapter 9: Gearin’ Up

    The boys were bound and determined to avoid the mistakes they made last time. They were too relaxed, too cocky. That didn¡¯t fly with the Not Deer, and it sure as Hell wouldn¡¯t fly with a Whirling Whimpus ¡ª a sasquatch-like creature with enormous arms that hung down past its tiny legs and the power to whip up whirlwinds strong enough to send a man to Oz when it felt like it. This one wasn¡¯t particularly big, according to the Mother Cat, but if they didn¡¯t take every precaution, they¡¯d all go the way of Slugfoot Sal sooner than they hoped.


    They needed to gear up.


    When the boys needed guns, there was only one person they turned to: Big Dale Bristol. Compared to Big Dale, the boys were downright youthful. Their skin had started to go leathery over the years, but his was rough as rawhide. They still had some brown left in their hair, but he didn¡¯t have any hair at all. The years had taken a toll on Big Dale and left him half-blind, three-quarters deaf, and totally unable to walk. Still, he ran his little gun shop with his son, Little Dale, and they were willing and able to get their hands on just about anything, legal or not.


    From the outside, the shop looked more like a hoarder¡¯s garage than a reputable business. Scrap metal littered the grass in front of the entrance; some of it had been there long enough to get half-buried in the dirt. A garbage can right up next to the door overflowed with crushed beer cans and empty tins of nicotine pouches. A little further away, Little Dale sat in a rocking chair under the shade of a tree. When he saw the boys approach, he greeted them with a shake of the half-empty can in his hand.


    ¡°It¡¯s been awhile,¡± he said. ¡°Thought y¡¯all might¡¯ve retired.¡± He stood up and squeezed the bill of his camouflage baseball cap so that the bill formed a dramatic arch that didn¡¯t quite reach the sides of his head. Little Dale was far from little, standing about a head taller than any of the boys. He claimed that he was only six-foot-three, but his tape measure must¡¯ve been busted. Him being damn nothing but skin and bones made seem taller even still; he was like a man on stilts.


    ¡°Nope. Just takin¡¯ a break while my bones healed,¡± Woodrow said. Little Dale turned to look at him for the first time and jumped back in surprise.


    ¡°What in the mother fuck happened to you?!¡± he asked.


    ¡°Oh, you mean this?¡± Woodrow pointed to his own face. ¡°Was tryin¡¯ to pop my ears ¡ª you know how they get clogged ¡ª and I went too hard, and this happened.¡± He opened his eyes wide and Little Dale flinched.


    ¡°Seriously though, what the fuck?¡± he pressed. Bill Jones told him all about the eyes of the Wampus Cat, though he mixed in a story about how Woodrow¡¯s old eyes were going bad and that being why they decided to get him new ones.


    ¡°Well¡­ alright¡­¡± Little Dale dropped it. With his beak-like nose and crooked teeth, he wasn¡¯t one to usually put someone down over their physical appearance. ¡°So, y¡¯all lookin¡¯ to restock your ammo?¡±


    ¡°We were planning on spendin¡¯ a little more today, actually,¡± Chuck said. ¡°We¡¯re goin¡¯ after something big, and Woodrow¡¯s little six shooter ain¡¯t gonna cut it.¡±


    ¡°Whatcha huntin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    Little Dale huffed and looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself and invited them inside.


    The inside of the gun shop was heaps nicer than the outside. Everything was clean and orderly. A polished hardwood floor housed a series of freshly-wiped glass cases that displayed various handguns, and rows of bigger sorts of weapons hung in neat rows along the walls.


    ¡°Well, what can I getcha?¡± Little Dale sighed.


    ¡°We were gonna ask your pa about that, actually,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Is Big Dale around?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s in the back room, but he ain¡¯t been in the mood for talkin¡¯ much lately. His lungs are startin¡¯ to go. But he still keeps smokin¡¯ that damn pipe, even when I try to offer him up some Xing pouches. They¡¯re much healthier, ya know.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t teach an old dog new tricks, I reckon,¡± said Woodrow. ¡°We¡¯re gonna go see if we can rile up some words out of him, if that¡¯s alright with you.¡±


    Little Dale told them to go right on ahead, and so they slid through the door behind the front counter and into a little room with an old desk and a dusty computer. Big Dale leaned back in his office chair and watched an old game of baseball on the computer monitor with the volume blaring. When the boys entered the room, Big Dale coughed nasty, sharp coughs for what felt like several minutes, but then the words came flowing happily out of his papery face.


    ¡°Ya know, I was a pitcher back in the day,¡± Big Dale said loudly without any other introduction. ¡°Set records at my old high school. Had offers from ten different colleges. Then all Hell broke loose¡­¡±


    He¡¯d recounted this tale to the boys at least a hundred times, but they always shook their heads and muttered obscenities earnestly in the honor of the life he lost like they were hearing about it for the first time. It was just the respectable thing to do with elderly folk.


    ¡°That¡¯s a damn shame¡­¡± said Woodrow mournfully when there was a second of silence. Big Dale was just about to get to the part of the story where he was holed up in the Atlanta Braves¡¯ stadium, of all places, while he was in the army, and they¡¯d held off the soon-to-be emperors of both the east and the west from killing the people they¡¯d wrangled inside. It was a very long story, and the boys planned to be in bed before midnight, so Woodrow had to cut him off.


    ¡°¡­but we were wondering if we could buy some weapons?¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± Big Dale looked at him with cloudy white eyes and blinked rapidly. His mouth hung open and accentuated his drooping jowls. Woodrow started to repeat himself, louder and more slowly this time, but Big Dale quickly cut him off.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you have to come back here and bother me about that? They¡¯re in the front. Little Dale will take care of ya, unless that boy¡¯s asleep again. Damned kids. (Little Dale had just turned thirty-four the previous week.)


    ¡°No sir, he¡¯s awake. We need a little more firepower than what you got in the front room. We need the good stuff,¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°Something from your personal collection,¡± Bill Jones clarified.


    Big Dale turned a light shade of pink.


    ¡°And just what in the hell do you think you need somethin¡¯ like that for?¡±


    Bill Jones told Big Dale everything; he didn¡¯t make up any stories this time. Little Dale didn¡¯t believe in anything he hadn¡¯t seen with his own eyes, but Big Dale knew better. A Whirling Whimpus was not big news to him. He also hated the emperor more than anyone else they knew, so he would undoubtedly be sympathetic to their plan.


    ¡°That¡¯s just about the dumbest shit I ever heard,¡± he said after Bill Jones finished talking. ¡°Y¡¯all are gonna get yourselves killed ¡ª or worse. You can¡¯t kill Augustus. It ain¡¯t possible. Believe me, we tried.¡± Woodrow could feel another war story going on, so he spoke quickly.


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    ¡°We¡¯ll sure stand a better chance if we have your help, don¡¯t you think? That collection of yours is a sight to behold. Maybe it¡¯s about time it¡¯s put to good use.¡±


    Big Dale digested these words for a moment. Sometimes his processor was a little slow. He opened his mouth, got distracted by something that happened on the computer monitor, stared at the screen for a minute, and then responded with something between a snort and a groan. Little Dale might not have been little, but Big Dale wasn¡¯t only called that because of his seniority; he was massive. He was roughly the same height as Little Dale, but with an extra couple hundred pounds stacked onto his frame. After one more snort-groan, he placed his palms firmly on his desk, hoisted himself up with great effort, and waddled his way towards the door. The boys followed behind, out of the store and into the shabby house that stood behind it.


    Just like the store, Big Dale¡¯s house looked ready to be condemned on the outside, but was neat and orderly on the inside. If it were up to either of the Dales, everything would be a chaotic mess. Thankfully, Barbra Bristol was there to keep them in line ¡ª as much as they could be kept in line.


    Barbra Bristol was the embodiment of sweet old southern lady. She was never seen without a hand-sewn dress on her plump body, and always wore her white hair in a tight bun on top of her head; she always seemed to be in the process of whipping up a pie or some other delicious, heart-palpitating treat; and she wasn¡¯t afraid to hand someone their ass if they stepped out of line in her house. The boys made sure to be on their best behavior around her.


    ¡°Boys!¡± she exclaimed when they entered the house and gave each of them a warm hug. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen y¡¯all in so long! How¡¯ve you been holdin¡¯ up? I haven¡¯t stopped beatin¡¯ myself up for missing Sal¡¯s funeral, but Dale ain¡¯t been in the best of health, and Junior won¡¯t go within a mile of a police officer.¡±


    ¡°No sense in bein¡¯ hard on yourself. We know you would¡¯ve came if you could,¡± said Woodrow. ¡°I reckon you liked Sal better ¡®n we did.¡± He smiled, but Barbra didn¡¯t take it as a joke.


    ¡°Nonsense! You boys never left each other¡¯s sight. It must be hard ¡ª I¡¯m sorry. It ain¡¯t no consolation, but I got some corn muffins about to come out the oven if y¡¯all are hungry.¡±


    Chuck already had one foot in the kitchen before Bill Jones put his hand his chest to stop him.


    ¡°Sorry ma¡¯am, but we¡¯re here on business,¡± he said. Barbra frowned.


    ¡°Well¡­ alright. Maybe you can take some on your way out,¡± she said dejectedly.


    ¡°We¡¯d be more than happy to,¡± Woodrow replied. Big Dale waddled past his wife into the hallway and opened a door to reveal a set of stairs.


    ¡°Gonna have to help me down,¡± he said. Woodrow and Chuck each grabbed one of Big Dale¡¯s arms and gently lowered him down each step. He huffed and groaned the whole way down, but they eventually got him into the basement unscathed.


    The basement was more like a museum, a tribute to the Emperor¡¯s War and all that humanity threw at Augustus before it inevitably had to give up. During the brief three years that the war raged on, a lot of developments were made in weaponry in a desperate attempt to find something that would stop Augustus and Mickey from usurping the United States government. They all failed, of course, and access to these weapons were suppressed once the war was over, but they were still quite powerful, and some people were still able to get their hands on some of the scraps left over from the War.


    Big Dale had amassed quite the collection of these weapons. A few were weapons he himself used during the war. Others he gathered from old war buddies when they felt like getting rid of them ¡ª or when they died. After decades of collecting, Big Dale had enough firepower to level half the country, he was naturally very protective of it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t touch a damn thing unless I tell you to!¡± he grumbled hoarsely at the boys. They were too awestruck to respond. The guns were dusty old relics, yet they were more advanced than anything they¡¯d ever seen in person. A long, tarnished silver blade was mounted on the wall. It was narrow and came to a point, almost like an oversized needle, and the hilt had a series of switches in a row along the top, right where someone¡¯s thumb might go.


    ¡°That was for his sludge-soldiers,¡± Big Dale explained when he saw Woodrow gawking at the sword. ¡°Worked pretty darn well, actually. Flip the first switch and it emits an extremely low vibration that keeps the little fuckers from condensing into something that could hit you too hard. Flip the second and it freezes down so cold that anything it touched turned solid. The act of explaining something seemed to wear Big Dale out immensely and he found a wooden crate to sit on and leaned his back up against the wall. He drew raspy breaths that made his belly move up and down.


    ¡°Wow,¡± said Woodrow.


    ¡°Won¡¯t help us, though,¡± said Bill Jones.


    ¡°What about this?¡± Chuck lifted up a gun longer than his body, matte black, with a bulky square body with buttons all over and a narrow barrel that was responsible for about three-quarters of the gun¡¯s length.


    ¡°Put that down! Didn¡¯t I tell y¡¯all not to touch nothin¡¯ unless I tell you to!¡± Big Dale roared with all of his strength. Chuck jumped and placed the gun down like it was a live bomb or a newborn baby.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t y¡¯all ever heard of a Waver? Then you should have enough sense to treat it with respect!¡± He took in a clicking breath that didn¡¯t sound too different than a death rattle. ¡°That thing can shoot five kinds of radiation at you, and you won¡¯t like any of ¡®em, I¡¯ll tell you that much! Though the microwave setting was pretty alright for heatin¡¯ up a combat ration if you shot it from a few hundred yards away.¡±


    Bill Jones inspected the weapon ¡ª making damn sure not to touch it ¡ª before concluding that it would be too risky. Even if they managed to use it without hurting themselves, the chance of damaging the Whimpus¡¯s cells were too great.


    Then, Woodrow opened a small box filled with what looked like smooth, white marbles.


    ¡°Ah, those are just Trench Diggers,¡± Big Dale wheezed. ¡°Throw one down and it¡¯ll dig out a hole big enough for a man to crouch in ¡ª two men, if they¡¯re real friendly with each other.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like they could come in handy,¡± Woodrow said and looked to Bill Jones, who agreed.


    ¡°Alright, take ¡®em,¡± Big Dale said. Woodrow set them near the stairs so he could continue to look around. The boys looked at several more objects and Big Dale explained what they were: some pills that soldiers could take and not be hungry for three days (though they didn¡¯t have any nutritional value), a suit that convinced the sludge-soldiers that you were one of them (though it was produced too late into the war to make a difference), and all sorts of objects that would cause someone to die a horrible, painful death if they were unlucky enough to be on the wrong end of them. Most of them, Big Dale wouldn¡¯t part with most of them, and the boys didn¡¯t want them anyway. They were about as liable to blow themselves up with them as they were to take down the Whimpus. So far, their trip to Big Dale¡¯s wasn¡¯t as prosperous as they¡¯d hoped. They had some hole-digging marbles and that was about it.


    They were just about to walk back up the stairs, maybe get some corn muffins, when Big Dale got of the crate his rump had been planted on and said ¡°Wait ¡ª y¡¯all might like this one. Would cost you a pretty penny though.¡± For the first time since the boys got there, the old man smiled.


    They opened up the crate, and the two biggest six-shooters Woodrow had ever seen sat one on top of the other. Two crates of bullets, each about twice the size of Woodrow¡¯s thumb, sat underneath them.


    ¡°Now, I don¡¯t know if y¡¯all could use them.¡± Big Dale started, ¡°They were meant to be used in conjunction with a mech suit, which I haven¡¯t been able to find in all my years of searchin¡¯. But I reckon that one hit from that and there ain¡¯t a Whimpus in the world that would be upright.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s no way we could use those,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°The recoil alone would¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take ¡®em,¡± Woodrow interrupted. Big Dale let out a crunchy laugh.


    ¡°Yeah, thought so.¡±


    That was that. Woodrow handed him some cash for the guns and the marbles, and the four of them went back up the stairs and into the kitchen where Barbra Bristol was waiting for them.


    ¡°Oh, dear. Y¡¯all aren¡¯t gonna use those, are you?¡± she asked with a frown when she saw Woodrow holding the two enormous revolvers.


    ¡°I think I just might,¡± replied Woodrow, smiling, which caused Bill Jones to frown alongside her. ¡°But it¡¯s nothin¡¯ to worry about, ma¡¯am. I do say those corn muffins are smellin¡¯ pretty good though.¡±


    Woodrow reached for a sweet, yellow muffin, and she yanked the plate away. Her friendly smile vanished.


    ¡°Dale might be near-blind, but I can see what y¡¯all are doin¡¯.¡± She looked deep into Woodrow¡¯s yellow eyes. ¡°Now, I don¡¯t know why y¡¯all are doing this, or what y¡¯all got planned next, but I¡¯d advise you to tread lightly. Animals are more than just parts. When you take a part, you¡¯re takin¡¯ part of their soul with it. God might not be too keen on that when you come knockin¡¯ on his door.¡±


    The boys had never seen this side of Barbra Bristol before ¡ª they¡¯d never provoked it out of her. Woodrow thought about the way he can speak with the Mother Cat, how the conversation seemed to flow more easily once he added the second eye to his head. He didn¡¯t have any idea how or why she seemed to know so much about what was going on with him, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel like she was on to something. How much of these animals, these monsters, get inside of his head as he went through this? And how much of him would be left by the end?


    ¡°Mrs. Barbra, there ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ to worry about, I promise you,¡± Woodrow said, not sure if he was lying or not. Big Dale fell asleep on the couch, and the boys all left in a hurry with their bellies empty and their hands full.

 Chapter 10 Part 1: The Cult of Andy Griffith

    No matter how much they tried to prepare, it never felt like enough. There was always something that could go wrong, and when something could go wrong, it usually did. The boys loaded up Bill Jones¡¯s truck with all of the necessary road trip supplies: deer jerky, light beer (they were driving, after all), pulled pork sandwiches with hot sauce coleslaw, and of course, enough firepower that a Yank* would think they might be terrorists.


    But even with good food, good friends, and a shit-ton of guns, Woodrow was ill at ease. His stomach churned thinking about confronting the Whirling Whimpus ¡ª not to mention the Not Deer that would more than likely be there too and itching to get their revenge.


    Meanwhile, Chuck and Bill Jones both spirits were higher than they¡¯d been in months. Bill Jones whistled a little ditty as he tossed cases of ammunition into the truck bed, and Chuck couldn¡¯t stop talking about how much he wanted a rematch with the Not Deer.


    ¡°They got us good last time, but I¡¯m ready for ¡®em now,¡± Chuck said. ¡°They ain¡¯t gonna sneak up on me now that I got these.¡± He¡¯d went to the Prick¡¯s Sporting Goods the day before and bought himself a pair of thermal binoculars to help him see in the dark. ¡°Now that I think about it, you probably shoulda just got yourself some of these instead of cuttin¡¯ out your eyeballs like a damn lunatic.¡± He held them up to his face and looked through them at Woodrow despite the fact that it was sunny morning without a cloud in the sky.


    ¡°Boy, how do you think you¡¯re gonna shoot that big gun of yours while you¡¯re holding a pair of binoculars up to your face?¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°And these eyes give me a lot more ¡®n shitty night vision.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah ¡ª a squirrel shittin¡¯ a mile away, I remember. How¡¯re you gonna shoot those big guns of yours that you spent so much on? Probably gonna snap your damn arm off the first time you try.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t matter if he does. He¡¯ll be gettin¡¯ some new ones soon anyway,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Better ones.¡±


    Woodrow pictured himself with giant, hairy arms, sending bursts of wind at his enemies, spinning so fast that he was near invisible to the naked eye and grinding his enemies into sausage.


    The thought made the cramps in his stomach ease up a little.


    ¡°Damn right,¡± he said before hopping into the passenger seat. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on. The Whimpus ain¡¯t gonna kill itself.¡±


    ¡°Shit, I sure hope not,¡± Chuck replied. He made Woodrow scoot to the middle seat and sat beside him. Why anyone thought it was a good idea for him to sit in the middle when he was the heaviest one of the three by about fifty pounds, he would never know, but he was too busy daydreaming to argue.


    Not only did visions of turning the Emperor into a smooth pink paste excite him, the thought of hunting down a beast as formidable as the Whirling Whimpus was almost just as tantalizing. Tracking it, stalking it, pouncing on it and killing it ¡ª just thinking about it made his heart flutter. Anxiety tried its damndest to creep back into his mind, but as long as he kept that image in his head, it couldn¡¯t get a hold of him.


    Bill Jones climbed into the driver¡¯s seat and put the key in the ignition. Electric guitars and twangy wailing blared from the truck¡¯s speakers. He stomped on the gas and shot down the road with the windows down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go kill us a motherfucking Whimpus!¡±


    <hr>


    Their excitement died down about five minutes after they passed through the first town.


    Woodrow groaned as soon as he saw the sign welcoming them to Mount Airy. ¡°Did we really have to go this way? There was no other route?¡± he asked.


    It was common knowledge that Mount Airy was an odd sort of place, to put it nicely. Long ago, before the Revolution, it was supposedly a nice little country town nestled into the mountains. But the Emperor had turned the entire town to rubble ¡ª the entire town except for a bronze statue of a man walking with his son and holding a fishing pole. The man was a TV star in his day, and, being a Mount Airy native, was their biggest claim to fame. When the survivors saw that the statue was all that remained of their town, they didn¡¯t believe that it was an accident. There was something special about that statue and about the man the statue depicted. They loved, revered, worshipped that statue, and as Mount Airy rose from the ashes, the Cult of Andy Griffith rose with it.


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    Most people avoided the place like the plague.


    ¡°Goin¡¯ around would¡¯ve taken an extra hour-and-a-half,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Besides, they¡¯re nice people, I reckon. Just a little odd.¡±


    They bobbed up and down in their seats as they rode through the crater-covered Main Street. Austere shacks lined the road, and people stopped what they were doing and waved at them with big toothy smiles as they passed.


    ¡°More ¡®n just a little,¡± Chuck muttered. ¡°I heard they won¡¯t let you leave town until you pay your respects to Andy and little Opie.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense. They¡¯re just people who have a bit of a rough go at things.¡± But when one cheerful resident took a step closer to the truck, Bill Jones hit the gas to avoid him and hit every pothole on the way to the intersection.


    Shacks were built directly on the road so that they had no choice but to take a right turn and go deeper into town.


    ¡°Shit, we should¡¯ve just plowed through that pile of plywood and been on our merry way,¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°Will you shut up?¡± Bill Jones snapped. They reached another intersection and it was the same story; all paths were blocked except for the one that brought you closer to the statue. The boys rode in silence as they passed person after person with matching bright eyes and waxy smiles. They scouted the area for any sort of exits, but there were none.


    In their eagerness to find a way out, they weren¡¯t paying attention to the road and hit a particularly deep crater that sent the bumper colliding with the asphalt. When they got back on flat land, the truck leaned to the right.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Looks like we got a flat.¡±


    ¡°Of fuckin¡¯ course we did,¡± Chuck replied.


    ¡°Calm down, it¡¯s alright. I got a spare,¡± Bill Jones said.


    They pulled over onto the curb and reluctantly got out of the truck. Not two seconds later, three men came trundling towards them. They were gaunt, hollow-cheeked and haggard ¡ª and the happiest men Woodrow had ever seen in his life.


    ¡°My, would you look at that!¡± one of the men said. He had greasy red-brown hair that was stuck to his head on one side and jutted out wildly on the other. ¡°Need a hand?¡±


    The other man was much younger, with thin blond hair and baby fat still in his cheeks. He stood close behind the older gentleman and stared deeply into Woodrow¡¯s eyes, but didn¡¯t say a word.


    ¡°Nah, I think the three of us can manage to change a tire,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°Thanks, though.¡±


    ¡°What? Nonsense! The next town ain¡¯t for another twenty miles on mountain roads. You can¡¯t drive all the way there on a spare! Lucky for you, I¡¯m a mechanic. Gomer Griffith, at your service. And this is my son Goober.¡± He shook Woodrow¡¯s hand with such gusto that his whole arm wiggled, then did the same for Chuck and Bill Jones. He slapped the boy on the back; he jumped like he¡¯d been woken up from a nap and stepped up to do the same. Their niceties were met with icy stares.


    ¡°Really, I think we can manage,¡± Woodrow insisted, but the gaunt man would not relent.


    ¡°C¡¯mon, my shop¡¯s right over yonder. We¡¯ll fix you up in a jiffy,¡± he pressed. ¡°Just follow me. But drive slow, now.¡±


    Woodrow turned to the boys and whispered.


    ¡°Ya know, he¡¯s probably right. It ain¡¯t safe to drive on a spare through these roads.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll go slow,¡± Chuck whispered back. Bill Jones jacked the car up to put the spare on and didn¡¯t respond.


    ¡°He¡¯s been nothin¡¯ but nice to us,¡± Woodrow said. Chuck looked at him like he was stupid.


    ¡°¡­and if there¡¯s any funny business we can put a hole in his chest.¡±


    ¡°Now you¡¯re makin¡¯ some sense.¡± The corner of Chuck¡¯s mouth twitched. ¡°Alright, fine. You¡¯re right. Probably not a good idea to drive all that way on a donut.¡±


    Bill Jones finished putting the spare tire on and stood up. Chuck looked at him and lifted his shirt to reveal the Glock he had tucked in his waistband.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go to the nice man¡¯s shop,¡± he smiled.


    <hr>


    The boys sat in a mildewy wooden box with a single light bulb that hung naked from the ceiling and swung back and forth, creaking each time it changed direction. The air in the room felt like recycled breath, and the single window on the far wall only let in enough light to remind them that the outside world was still there. All three of them stared at the door with bated breath, praying that the gaunt man would hurry up and change the tire so they could leave. Woodrow checked his watch, then checked it again. Either the old thing was busted or it had genuinely only been ten minutes since they sat down; he wasn¡¯t sure which.


    Gomer swung the door open and made the boys jump out of their seats.


    ¡°Whelp, it¡¯s a bit worse than we thought. Axle¡¯s busted pretty darn bad,¡± he said while shaking his head. ¡°Gonna take me the rest of the day and about half of tomorrow to fix ¡®er up. We can take the parts off a junker we got layin¡¯ around here, so I won¡¯t bill you out of house and home or nothin¡¯. Gonna have to find a place to stay the night though.¡±


    The boys exchanged glances.


    ¡°Y¡¯all got any rental cars around here?¡± Chuck asked. Gomer put his hand on his stomach and laughed.


    ¡°Sir, we ain¡¯t got many vehicles around here period, to tell you the truth. I spend most of my days fixin¡¯ the same cars. No rentals around here, and I don¡¯t imagine anyone¡¯s gonna be willing to sell you their car any time soon, unless you pay out the rear end for it.¡±


    ¡°Can I just see the truck?¡± Bill Jones asked. ¡°It couldn¡¯t have been busted that bad. I¡ª¡±


    ¡°But lucky for y¡¯all, it¡¯s Fife Day!¡± Gomer interrupted. ¡°Won¡¯t be sittin¡¯ here bored at least. Why don¡¯t y¡¯all head on out to the statue. Everyone¡¯s gonna be there soon. It¡¯ll be a hoot!¡±


    He put on that waxy smile again and sent shivers down Woodrow¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Well?¡± Chuck whispered out of the corner of his mouth and flicked his head down towards his gun.


    Woodrow thought about it for a second.


    ¡°Ya know, Gomer, we¡¯d be happier than pigs in shit to join your celebration. Lead the way.¡±


    The gaunt man beamed as if he was just told Andy Griffith himself was going to be in attendance.

 Chapter 10 Part 2: Andy’s Kin

    ¡°Woodrow, what in the shit are you doing?¡± Chuck muttered as the boys followed Gomer Griffith down a dilapidated path towards the center of town. The mechanic was rambling on about the festivities and didn¡¯t seem to mind that nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention. Goober followed his dad, close and silent like a shadow.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people here. I¡¯d rather not shoot ¡®em all if we can help it,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°Besides, that was a nasty dip we took ¡ª the axle might really be busted. Let¡¯s just humor them for a little bit, wait til they¡¯re nice and drunk, and one of us can slink back to the shop and see what¡¯s really goin¡¯ on.¡±


    ¡°Guess we don¡¯t have much of a choice now, do we?¡± Chuck said. ¡°So, who¡¯s gonna do the slinkin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°Bill Jones, of course.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Bill Jones responded. He was studying the two Griffiths and didn¡¯t seem to be paying much attention to the boys¡¯ conversation, but Woodrow was sure that Bill Jones would know what to do ¡ª he always did.


    ¡°Alright boys, we¡¯re here,¡± said Gomer. They didn¡¯t need someone to tell them; everyone in town was already gathered around the statue. A group of young men stood facing the crowd and whistled a cheerful, dissonant tune that cut through the noise of the townsfolk. Skinny men in cheap cop costumes littered the town square shouting phrases that felt like inside jokes. Some people held food and drinks above their heads and shouted the price.


    And in the middle of all the commotion, there stood a shining bronze statue of a man holding a fishing pole.


    ¡°A bit smaller than I expected, to tell you the truth,¡± Woodrow said to himself. Gomer snapped his neck back at him and frowned for a moment, but the smile quickly returned to his face.


    ¡°Just as tall as the man himself,¡± he said proudly. ¡°Andy wouldn¡¯t have wanted a big ol¡¯ monument anyway. That¡¯s not the kind of man he is.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, meant no offense,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°It¡¯s a damn nice statue. Clearly y¡¯all do a lot of upkeep on it.¡±


    ¡°Upkeep? No, no. Nobody¡¯s touched that statue in decades. You don¡¯t embrace Andy unless he tells you to. Ain¡¯t that right Goober?¡±


    Goober nodded enthusiastically. ¡°I hope he calls me up one day,¡± the boy said in a mousey little voice. ¡°It¡¯s the greatest honor a man can have.¡±


    ¡°Sure is, son. Sure is.¡± Gomer patted his boy on the head. ¡°Now, how about we join in on the fun! Get some grub in you before it gets dark. The food will be gone before the ceremony starts.¡±


    The more the mechanic spoke, the crazier he sounded. Bill Jones¡¯s hands fidgeted in the pockets of his blue jeans.


    ¡°Those chipmunks on a stick are lookin¡¯ pretty good.¡± Woodrow pointed to a man waving around a handful of skewered roasted rodents. ¡°How about we meet back up with you before the ceremony?¡±


    ¡°Sure, if you can find me,¡± Gomer said. He grabbed his son¡¯s hand and the two of them dissolved into the crowd.


    The boys were free of the gaunt mechanic, but it was clear that they were still be supervised. You would¡¯ve thought the boys had rolled around in a hog trough before they came to the function, the way everyone gawked at them as they walked past. They smiled their usual plastic smiles when they saw Woodrow and Bill Jones, but something was different about the way they looked at Chuck. Their mouths straightened and their eyes hung on him to the point that they were bumping into each other because they couldn¡¯t avert their gazes.


    ¡°I think they like you, Chuck,¡± Woodrow said before handing a man five dollars for a chipmunk on a stick.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Chuck said. He wasn¡¯t enjoying the attention. Even the rodent roaster stopped trying to wave down people when Chuck approached him.


    ¡°My, you¡¯re his spittin¡¯ image,¡± he said to Chuck, in awe.


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    ¡°What? Spittin¡¯ image of who?¡± Chuck asked.


    The rodent roaster used one of his sticks to point to the statue. It was far away and people swarmed it like ants, so it was tough to say if he was right.


    ¡°Well, uh, thank you, I suppose,¡± Chuck said and headed in the other direction. The boys hustled after him until he stopped and turned around.


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel good about any of this. We gotta get out of here. I¡¯m gonna go get the truck. I¡¯ll put change the damn tire myself if I have to. Bill Jones, you can stay here,¡± he said.


    ¡°Works for me,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Kinda want to see that statue anyway.¡±


    The sun was going down fast; it was almost dark. Chuck shuffled towards Gomer¡¯s shop, but he didn¡¯t make it far. Before he was even out of Woodrow¡¯s sight, a gang of fake police officers circled around him.


    ¡°Come on, Andy. You¡¯re not gonna stay for my birthday party?¡± one of the men said. ¡°Your deputy only has one birthday a year, you know, and he¡¯d appreciate it if you didn¡¯t miss it.¡±


    ¡°I know how much you love Aunt Bea¡¯s birthday cakes, boss,¡± another fake cop said. ¡°Don¡¯t wanna miss this one ¡ª blueberry and vanilla!¡±


    Woodrow ran up to the circle, but there was no way to get in. He saw over a fake cop¡¯s shoulder that Chuck was feeling the holster of his gun.


    ¡°Shit. What should we do?¡± Woodrow asked Bill Jones ¡ª but Bill Jones was gone. He was pushing his way through the crowd, towards the statue.


    Woodrow didn¡¯t have time to guess at what Bill Jones might be up to. He grabbed two of the cops by their shoulders and sent them to the ground.


    ¡°Chuck, don¡¯t do anything crazy,¡± he said. ¡°This ain¡¯t the time to start shootin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I reckon if I did somethin¡¯ crazy, I¡¯d fit right in with the good people of Mount Airy,¡± Chuck retorted. He reached into his waistband and gripped his gun.


    ¡°Good people of Mount Airy! We¡¯ve brought you a gift! Something you¡¯ve been searching for for a long time!¡± Woodrow whipped around and saw Bill Jones standing on a bench right next to the statue, his hands cupped around his mouth. ¡°Tonight, on Fife day of all days, we bring you Andy Griffith¡¯s only surviving kin! Everybody say hello to Chuck Griffith!¡±


    Several thousand people all turned around at the same time to look at Chuck.


    ¡°It¡¯s true! I saw him! He¡¯s gotta be kin!¡± an old woman in the crowd shouted.


    The mass of people buzzed and moved away from the statue and closer to Chuck.


    ¡°I knew it was really you,¡± one of the fake cops said. ¡°We knew you¡¯d come someday. A real Griffith in the flesh. Ready to bring us back our home. Andy must¡¯ve called you here, huh?¡±


    The whole town waited for his response; he responded by shooting his gun straight up in the air.


    ¡°I suggest y¡¯all back away from me slowly and carry on with whatever you were doin¡¯,¡± he said. Everybody stood stock still. They didn¡¯t even dare to breathe.


    ¡°If he¡¯s really Andy¡¯s kin, then he should touch the statue and prove it!¡± a defiant old man with a crooked back spoke up.


    ¡°He¡¯s gonna, of course!¡± said the old lady. ¡°He just got here!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna do a damn thing!¡± Chuck said. ¡°Not a damn thing except go to my truck and get the hell out of here!¡±


    The crowd burst into hysterics.


    ¡°No!¡± ¡°We¡¯re sorry!¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t leave!¡± ¡°You¡¯re Andy¡¯s kin!¡± ¡°You¡¯re our guiding light!¡± ¡°We love you!¡± They wailed at him, tears streaming down their faces.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re tryin¡¯ to scare Andy¡¯s kin off!¡± One of the cops pulled the crooked-backed old man out of the crowd by his arm. ¡°Tell him you¡¯re sorry! Now!¡±


    ¡°That ain¡¯t no kin of Andy!¡± the old man insisted. ¡°He don¡¯t even look that much like him, now that I¡¯m up close.¡±


    The cop pulled the gun from its plastic holster and shot the old man in the chest. The rest of the cops followed his lead and took turns putting holes in the old man until he stopped breathing.


    ¡°Good lord,¡± Woodrow said to himself. This was bad. Chuck pointed his gun at the crowd. Gomer and Goober came up from behind and pushed past him.


    ¡°Let me talk to him,¡± Gomer said to the cops. ¡°I¡¯m his friend.¡±


    Chuck fixed his gun on the mechanic. ¡°Like hell you are!¡±


    Still, Gomer took another step closer.


    ¡°We¡¯re real sorry about him,¡± he gestured to the corpse of the old man. ¡°He was always hollerin¡¯ about somethin¡¯ or another. It was bound to get him killed someday. But he doesn¡¯t represent us. We love you. We need you. Lead us to greener pastures, kin of Andy.¡±


    Chuck was a cornered animal, desperately looking for a way out. Woodrow wasn¡¯t feeling much better. The air felt as if it were electrified, like all hell could break loose at any moment.


    Bill Jones, what in the world were you thinkin¡¯?


    He got his answer quicker than he thought. First, he heard the roar of an engine. Next, he saw a truck hurtle right into the crowd and crush everyone in its path. Bill Jones plowed a bloody path right up between the boys, stuck his arm out of the window, and started shooting at the cops.


    ¡°Get in!¡± he shouted over the sound of gunfire. Woodrow and Chuck were happy to oblige, and flung themselves into the truck bed on top of their hoard of guns. Chuck stuck his hand under the tarp, pulled out his Ruger, and unloaded on the good people of Mount Airy. Woodrow had never seen a sorrier sight. He wished that his eyes didn¡¯t work so well so that he couldn¡¯t see the anguished faces on the twitching, dying men as they drove away.

 No Place Like Home

    Leesville had changed since Mickey was last there. It was barely recognizable. Almost every building in town had a little plaque on the front that said ¡°This is where Emperor Augustus used to eat hamburgers.¡± ¡°This is where Emperor Augustus used to do his laundry.¡± ¡°Emperor Augustus took a piss on this wall on June 17th, 2022¡­¡±


    There was clearly no sort of fact-checking going on either. He didn¡¯t see a single one that was accurate. He and Gus never ate burgers at that shitty restaurant, he had never once seen Gus do laundry anywhere, and it was Mickey that had pissed on that wall on June 17th, 2022, not Gus. Mickey¡¯s legacy, all of his contributions to this half of the country, just given to Gus like he did all of the work.


    They did it all together; they were a great team. Together, they cut through anyone who was stupid enough to fuck with them, eliminated every other super-powered asshole on the planet, toppled governments, became gods among men ¡ª and Gus still wanted to kill him.


    He came across a bridge. It looked like any other bridge in America ¡ª just a dull slab of gray asphalt with dull slabs of gray concrete on either side for people to walk on, and even more slabs of dull gray jutting upwards to act as safety rails. Mickey remembered the bridge fondly. There was a space tucked away under the bridge, perfectly flat and running parallel to a babbling brown brook, that he used to call home. It did a good job of keeping the rain and sun off of his head, and nobody ever thought to venture anywhere near the spot unless they were told about it. He, Gus, and Beth ¡ª who was Gus¡¯s girl before their lives changed forever ¡ª spent three good years under that bridge, hiding away from the world.


    Now the entire world seemed to be gathered under the bridge. People swarmed and pushed into each other so that they formed a single solid mass. They looked like a beehive that had been cut in half, all buzzing to see where it all started for their Emperor. Mickey looked at them from above with disgust. He thought about slaughtering them all for a moment, but settled for hurling down a couple of spit wads at them instead. One splattered directly on the back of a young man¡¯s neck, but when he looked up to see who assaulted them, Mickey was already miles away.


    He hadn¡¯t come back to Leesville to take any strolls down memory lane. Seeing the bridge just confirmed that it wasn¡¯t going to give him any answers. He needed information. He needed to see the church.


    On the outside, it didn¡¯t look too different from a standard issue American church. It was made entirely of brick, with a stained glass window, a pointed roof, and a little cross at the top. It was isolated deep in the woods, at least a ten minute drive down a dirt road, but that wasn¡¯t too out of the ordinary around these parts.


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    That¡¯s why Mickey never suspected what it contained when he snuck in through the back door all those years ago.


    He thought it was communion wine in a fancy bottle, and he wanted to get drunk, so he nabbed it. But when he, Gus, and Beth drank it, they were changed. Black marks grew on their bodies, their skin itched from the inside, and they were imbued with strange powers. Gus could secrete slime from his body. Mickey could feel the vibrations inside of people and attune himself to them, resonate with them until it was too much for their bodies to handle.


    At first, he could grab people and put their body parts to sleep. That was it. But the marks on his body ¡ªpatterns of jagged black lines ¡ª fed off of death. Now, after killing more people than he could remember, he felt the vibrations in everything. He resonated with the air and moved through it like wind. He resonated with the ground and it would tell him what was happening on top of it, anywhere in the world. He resonated with people and they burst into bits and chunks.


    He loved it, and he was never afraid to admit it, unlike his spineless friend. Gus always acted like it was a burden. Somehow, the man managed to make being a goddamn superhero seem like a bad thing.


    If he really hated it so much, he could just fucking kill himself, Mickey reckoned ¡ªprobably. Mickey hadn¡¯t ever tried, but he was reasonably sure that he could die if properly persuaded, and so could Gus.


    He went into the church through the back door, just like last time, even though he knew nobody would be there. All of the members of this church died decades ago. Still, his gut was telling him that something was there for him. His dreams told him that this was where he needed to be.


    But there was nothing in the church except for rotting benches and a dusty stage where the Reverend used to speak. The Reverend drank too much of his own fucked up communion wine, and had more black marks on his skin than anyone, and the power to move the earth around and conjure armies from the ground. But Mickey and Gus kicked his ass and did what he wished he could do ¡ª rule the country as living gods.


    Mickey held up his hand and a bench exploded into moldy splinters. It felt good to destroy something. He hadn¡¯t killed anyone in a while and he was starting to get itchy. The fact that he¡¯d come all this way and came up with jack shit made him even itchier.


    The next person to come across him was an unlucky motherfucker.


    He destroyed another bench, and then another until pieces of wood covered the entire floor and the air was thick with dust. He stepped outside, lifted up his hand, and sent the entire building crumbling down. Bricks flew and hit the surrounding trees. Shards of stained glass stuck into his leg and he pulled them out. Once it was nothing more than a pile of rubble, Mickey turned around to leave and never come back to this shitty town.


    But when he looked into the woods, he saw a large cat staring right at him with big, yellow eyes.

 Chapter 11 Part 1: Hexenwulf

    The boys were happy to make it out of Mount Airy with their hides intact, and even happier to make it with all of their guns still in the truck. When they were safely out of town and in the middle of nowhere, they stopped, and Woodrow and Chuck climbed out of the truck bed and through the passenger side door. It was getting late and they were all dead tired, so they fell asleep on the side of the road sitting up in their seats.


    In the morning, they were woken up by a knock on the window and a skinny young man with blond hair peeping in at them.


    ¡°Is that the mechanic¡¯s boy?¡± Woodrow asked while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Chuck rolled the window down and pointed his pistol at the boy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t shoot me,¡± Goober said meekly and held his hands up.His dirty blue shirt had specks of blood all over the left side.


    ¡°You should turn around and go home, boy, if you know what¡¯s good for you,¡± Chuck said.


    Woodrow looked out of the back window. There was nobody with the boy, and nobody else coming this way from the town.


    ¡°Chuck, this boy ain¡¯t a threat to us. Put the gun down.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you said about the whole damn town,¡± Chuck replied. ¡°I think I¡¯ll put my gun where I damn well please, thank you.¡± He waved the gun in front of Goober¡¯s chest. ¡°Now, you better tell me what you¡¯re doin¡¯ here before I put one in you. I ain¡¯t never killed a child before, but I¡¯m open to trying new things.¡±


    Goober looked away. ¡°I want to come with you,¡± he mumbled.


    ¡°What?!¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°I want to come with you,¡± he repeated, clearer this time around. ¡°Wherever y¡¯all are going, it¡¯s gotta be better than where I¡¯m comin¡¯ from.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re on our way to meet up with a bunch of big cats and hunt down a wind-whippin¡¯ Sasquatch. Do you really wanna hang with us?¡± Woodrow tried to look as insane as he could, opening his eyes so wide that they looked like they might fall out of his head. Goober looked at him quizzically.


    ¡°Yeah, that sounds pretty cool actually,¡± he said. ¡°Better ¡®n Mayberry at least. That place was a mess before. Now that y¡¯all ran down half the town and they think Andy¡¯s kin is out there, it¡¯s gonna be crazier than Briscoe Darlin¡¯ after a mug of hooch.¡±


    ¡°¡­What?¡± Woodrow replied. Chuck grimaced from being reminded of his new title.


    ¡°Just ¡®cause I¡¯m kinda tall and he got the same last name¡­¡± he started.


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    ¡°Wait, your last name really is Griffith?¡± Goober asked. ¡°Like, you didn¡¯t give yourself that name? We all say our last name¡¯s Griffith back in Mayberry, but you were really born with it? Maybe you are Andy¡¯s kin.¡±He looked at Chuck like he was waiting for angel wings to sprout from his back. Chuck moved the gun up to the boy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Bill Jones, you think we should bring him along?¡± Chuck asked. ¡°Or should I put him down right here?¡±


    ¡°We can take him to the next town over and drop him off,¡± Bill Jones replied. ¡°No need to shoot the boy. Woodrow already told you he ain¡¯t a threat to us. Come on, just look at him.¡±


    Chuck¡¯s eyes narrowed looking at the boy, but he put the safety back on the gun and slipped it back into his pants.


    ¡°Alright, but he¡¯s sittin¡¯ up here with y¡¯all. I¡¯ll be in the back with all the guns.¡±


    ¡°Now Chuck, do whatever you feel you need to do to not be afraid of this ten-year-old boy,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Come on, get on in.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m thirteen, actually,¡± Goober said as Chuck slipped out of the truck and he slipped in next to Woodrow. Puberty had not quite hit the boy yet, only barely grazed him. His skin was still smooth and his cheeks were fuller than seemed natural for someone so slender. His blond hair was thin and rose up in short spikes from his head. When he got into the truck, Woodrow was hit with the smell of sweat and blood.


    ¡°You run all the way here from Mount Airy?¡± he asked as Bill Jones pulled back onto the road. ¡°We gotta be at least an hour away.¡±


    ¡°Sure did,¡± Goober said. ¡°Took me half the night, but I knew I¡¯d run into y¡¯all eventually.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re not gonna be with us long. Soon as we get to a town that ain¡¯t made of plywood, we¡¯re droppin¡¯ you off at a police department.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all are really gonna leave me in the hands of the Emperor?¡± Goober asked.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll drop you off on the side of the road then,¡± Woodrow replied. ¡°Point is, we can¡¯t keep you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There ain¡¯t enough seats, for one.¡± Chuck glared at the boy through the back windshield and held up one of Woodrow¡¯s giant revolvers menacingly.


    Woodrow banged on the window. ¡°Put that back before you split the damn truck in half!¡± he shouted.


    Chuck laughed and put the gun down. ¡°It ain¡¯t loaded, damn,¡± he said, barely audible over the outside wind.


    ¡°Maybe we can keep the boy and leave Chuck on the side of the road,¡± Bill Jones suggested.


    ¡°Not the worst idea I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°But I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a very nice thing to do to a town that didn¡¯t do nothin¡¯ wrong.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Bill Jones waved his hand dismissively. ¡°Boy probably can¡¯t even shoot anyway.¡±


    ¡°Get me a good stick and some twine and I sure can,¡± Goober said. ¡°Been bowhuntin¡¯ all my life.¡±


    ¡°All ten years of it?¡± Woodrow raised an eyebrow and gave the boy a shit-eating grin.


    ¡°I-am-thir-teen,¡± Goober enunciated every syllable. ¡°I just told you that. You feelin¡¯ alright, grandpa?¡±


    Bill Jones guffawed from the driver¡¯s seat.


    ¡°How about this?¡± Woodrow started. ¡°We¡¯ll get you a bow in the next town. You show us you can use it, and maybe we¡¯ll bring you along.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Chuck said from the truck bed.


    ¡°Works for me,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°If he can feed himself and take care of himself, I don¡¯t mind if he comes along.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Chuck repeated. ¡°We ain¡¯t gonna have no damn kids with us on our huntin¡¯ trip!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Goober said.


    Bill Jones went into to a Prick¡¯s Sporting Goods and bought the boy a brand new compound bow and a set of aluminum arrows. Goober was astonished when it was placed into his hands.


    ¡°Well? You gonna show us you can shoot or what?¡± Bill Jones asked.


    ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± Goober replied.


    ¡°There¡¯s a whole mess of Hexenwolves around these parts. Kill us one and you can come with us.¡±

 Chapter 11 Part 2: The Beast and the Boy

    Woodrow did the tracking for Goober. The test was to see if he could kill, not if he could track, and they weren¡¯t keen on spending all day stumbling around the woods. The child held his bow steadily in his left hand and notched an arrow with his right.


    The forest the four of them had found themselves in was thick, damp and dark, more like a rainforest than typical southern woods. A canopy of leaves sticking out from bowing branches blocked out most of the light from the sunny day. The air was palpably moist and millions of insects buzzed and chirped to create a wall of sound that solidified the feeling that they had been transported to another world.


    ¡°Oh yeah, there¡¯ll be a Hexenwolf around here somewhere, don¡¯t you worry,¡± Bill Jones whispered. Goober looked at him with determined eyes and nodded. Woodrow scanned the area for any sign of a bipedal canine, but so far had only found the usual deer, squirrels and lizards that could be seen just about anywhere in the region. He noticed something on the ground ¡ª a squishy brown patty ¡ª and crouched down to inspect it further.


    ¡°Wow, you found some shit,¡± Chuck said. ¡°Good goin¡¯.¡±


    Woodrow ignored him. The patty was big, from a big critter. But it wasn¡¯t bear scat; the consistency didn¡¯t match any bear scat he¡¯d ever seen at the very least. Black bears mostly ate fruit and nuts, and so their scat was the dry, crumbly scat of an herbivore.


    Whatever made the patty in front of Woodrow ate its fair share of meat.


    It either belonged to a Hexenwolf or a homeless man, he reckoned. If he had a hound with him, he would¡¯ve known in a second. With scat that fresh, a hound would¡¯ve picked up the scent without even being asked to. Suddenly, Woodrow wished for something that he never thought he¡¯d wish for ¡ª that he could smell the scat better.


    ¡°Bill Jones, you think you could pull off a nose surgery?¡± Woodrow asked.


    Bill smiled like Woodrow had just said something stupid. ¡°¡®Course I can. Why? You want the Hexenwolf¡¯s nose?¡±


    ¡°I reckon I might. Might as well get it while we¡¯re here, right?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t agree more, bud. But why stop there? We can get you the whole snout, and maybe the ears, too.¡±


    This caught Woodrow by surprise. For some reason, he wasn¡¯t mentally prepared for that level of modification at once. One part at a time felt manageable, but altering three parts at once ¡ª swapping damn near his entire face out ¡ª filled him with unexpected revulsion. A primal part of his brain rejected the idea. The thought provoked a physical reaction that he normally only experienced when smelling rotting meat. His body screamed at him not to do it.


    He coaxed his mouth into saying ¡°Alright,¡± but in a last-ditch protest, it added ¡°but let¡¯s do them one at a time.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, that¡¯s the only way to do it,¡± Bill Jones agreed. ¡°Recovery would be too dangerous if we did them all at once.¡±


    Woodrow felt a wave of relief, and finally managed to muster up some excitement about being able to hear, smell, and bite like a Hexenwolf.


    He turned to Goober.


    ¡°Alright, boy, the wolf¡¯s close by. Aim for the chest. Don¡¯t hit his head. Understand?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± the boy replied. Woodrow was a little frightened by the utter calmness the boy showed under the circumstances he was in. He grew up in a cult, in a destroyed town, witnessed a massacre, left his father, and is now with a group of strangers who are telling him to kill a monstrous man-wolf. Yet none of that seemed to bother him. The harshness of the world slid off him like hands on a greased hog. Either he was brimming with confidence in his archery skills or he just didn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass if he lived or died.


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    Woodrow looked at the forest floor. If he squinted, he was just able to make out a trail of soft indentations in the dirt ¡ª big paw-shapes that staggered two-at-a-time into a pitch dark enclosure ahead.The canopy in front of them gradually grew narrower and more dense until they barred all light from reaching the ground.


    ¡°He¡¯s that way,¡± Woodrow pointed to the dark tunnel of trees and vines. The four of them ventured into through the narrowing path, Woodrow leading, the boy close behind, and the remaining two hanging back. At first, it was so dark that even Woodrow could hardly see, and the other three had to wave their arms around like antennas to feel where they should go. But once they were a little ways down, fallen trees on either side of the path housed rows of Foxfire mushrooms that glowed bright green and lit the boys¡¯ way, almost like they were welcoming them.


    The path opened up into bigger spaces and constricted back down into living hallways without revealing a single Hexenwolf to them. It occurred to Woodrow that they might be wandering right into a trap, or right into the Hexenwolf¡¯s home, where he¡¯ll have plenty of brothers and sisters to help tear out the boys¡¯ innards and eat them. So at the next opening, he stopped.


    ¡°Alright, boy,¡± he crouched down to make eye contact and whispered. ¡°He¡¯s close. I don¡¯t know how close, but close enough that he¡¯ll hear me callin¡¯. I¡¯m gonna get him over here, and you¡¯re gonna do the rest. Right?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± Goober said again without thought, like he was reading a cue card he saw over Woodrow¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll take him down.¡±


    Woodrow paused for a moment and looked at the boy. The contrast between his babyish cheeks and dark, sunken eyes disturbed him, and he felt bad for putting him through yet another terrible thing. But if he really wanted to come along, he was going to have to be able to fend for himself. He slapped the boy on the shoulder and wished him luck, then stood up and faced the constricting path.


    With a clearing of the throat and a pounding of the chest, Woodrow produced a sound that was eerily close to the bleating of a sheep. It was loud and cut through the buzz of the forest and carried down the path. Goober looked at him like he had lost his last remaining marble. Then Woodrow ran to join Chuck and Bill Jones behind the trees, and the boy was left alone.


    Goober just stood in the middle of the opening for a moment, but quickly came to his senses and hid behind a fallen tree that leaned against a large rock. He was small enough to conceal his entire body behind the part of the tree that met the ground, and there was enough of an opening to his left that he could see if anything came from the narrowed path. It was only a matter of seconds before a pair of gray, clawed feet came stepping out from the darkness.


    It was the Hexenwolf.


    Woodrow tensed as an arrow came whistling from under the fallen tree where the boy hid and stuck into the wolf¡¯s leg. The Hexenwolf howled with rage and charged on all fours towards the boy. With a sickening snarl, it swiped at the tree with its knife-like claws and sent the rotting wood toppling down and leaving Goober¡¯s head exposed. The boy shot another arrow into the wolf¡¯s stomach and took off running.


    A howl came from the wolf again, still angry, but it didn¡¯t have quite the same edge. Blood oozed from its gut and matted his greasy fur. Still, Goober couldn¡¯t get too far before the Hexenwolf lunged at him again. The beast bared its jagged teeth and snapped at the boy. The first bite barely missed, and with the second the wolf sank its teeth into Goober¡¯s thigh. An involuntary groan came from his mouth, but he did not scream.


    Woodrow moved to help the kid, but Bill Jones stuck his arm out to stop him.


    ¡°Let him do it,¡± he said.


    The wolf whipped its head left and right and tore a mouthful of meat from the boy¡¯s leg. It watched blood pour from the boy while it chewed and swallowed his flesh. But he wasn¡¯t dead yet, and quickly released another arrow that sank into the wolf¡¯s heart.


    The beast and the boy looked each other in the eyes. The ferocity was gone from both of their stares. The Hexenwolf¡¯s eyes had softened and his face contorted into something Woodrow thought might be sadness. All of the color drained from the boy¡¯s face, and his hand quivered and dropped the bow.


    Goober and the Hexenwolf collapsed at the same time.


    Woodrow pushed Bill Jones out of the way and ran to the boy. He was still breathing, but blood came from his leg like a faucet. Woodrow took off his shirt, wrapped it tightly around Goober¡¯s leg, and pressed firmly on the wound. Warm blood seeped through the cotton in a matter of seconds. He didn¡¯t know what else to do, so he flung Goober over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could back towards civilization.

 Chapter 11 Part 3: Bloodstopping

    The shirt tied around Goober¡¯s leg was saturated with crimson blood by the time they made it out of the woods. Woodrow was panicking. A dying child lied limp over his shoulder, his breaths becoming weaker by the second, and neither Chuck nor Bill Jones were anywhere to be seen. Had another Hexenwolf stopped them on their way out? He didn¡¯t have time to wait for them and find out. They could take care of themselves, but the boy wasn¡¯t in any condition to bring himself to the hospital. So he tore off into town with a child on his back and smears of blood on his bare chest.


    He hustled down a street without a sidewalk. Cars whizzed past him and honked their horns; he returned the greeting with a middle finger. Someone walked towards him ¡ª a woman with a raggedy little dog on a leash that did its damndest to pull her along. When she saw Woodrow and Goober, she turned and ran, but Woodrow shouted after her.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am! Which way¡¯s the hospital?¡± he pleaded. But she only responded with shrieks that faded with her into the horizon.


    ¡°Shit.¡± The boy was whiter than a Confederate ghost, and now took in breaths in short, irregular bursts. Even if they knew where the hospital was, Woodrow didn¡¯t reckon the boy would live long enough to see it ¡ª he had minutes left to live at the most.


    Woodrow fell to his knees and laid Goober down on the grass next to the road. The boy was heavy and Woodrow¡¯s body was giving out. They were all out of options. Goober was going to bleed out in a neighborhood he¡¯d never seen, with a man he barely knew, for no good reason. They should have just given him to the group homes. No matter how bad it might have been, it had to have been better than this. The turning points of Woodrow¡¯s life played in his head like a reel of film ¡ª all of the women that came and left his life, all of the friendships that withered and died, all of the opportunities that he wasted ¡ª and he wondered if he had ever made a single good decision in his life.


    His lungs could not take in enough oxygen. He¡¯d run too hard, too far. Blackness crept around the edges of his vision until he lost consciousness.


    <hr>


    He blinked and he was suddenly on a tile floor. Heavy drops of rain beat against the roof, but he didn¡¯t remember seeing a single cloud in the sky before. He was still shirtless, but the blood that had stuck to his chest and back were gone, and there was a quilt draped over his body. Looking up he saw the front door of a house and the white linoleum countertops of a well-used kitchen.


    ¡°Sorry, sugar, but we couldn¡¯t drag your big self all the way to the bedroom.¡±


    An old woman came from nowhere and stood over him. Her sweater was decorated with specks of blood and she smiled at him. With her rosy cheeks and kind eyes, Woodrow couldn¡¯t imagine she meant him any harm.


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    ¡°You alright?¡± she asked.


    Woodrow had to think about his answer. He decided that he felt fine, all things considered.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, I think so,¡± he replied.


    ¡°Good.¡± She took a wooden spoon out of a drawer and smacked him on the forehead with it.


    ¡°What in God¡¯s name is wrong with you, bringin¡¯ that boy to hunt a wolf?! Coulda got him killed! Yourself too!¡± She smacked him again, hitting his ear this time. It stung like a piss after visiting a whorehouse, but Woodrow took the punishment without protest.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± he said once she finally lowered her weapon, ¡°how¡¯d you know he was bit by a wolf?¡±


    ¡°He told me.¡±


    Hearing those words perked Woodrow up enough that he sprang up from the floor. He kicked the quilt off of his feet and went down the hallway into a bedroom. Goober splayed out casually on top of a worn mattress with his leg wound exposed to the open air. It still looked as fresh as the moment he got it. The blood wasn¡¯t coagulated, but it didn¡¯t flow down his leg either; it just pooled in the crater where the muscle used to be and didn¡¯t move any farther, even when he tried to stand up to greet Woodrow.


    ¡°Woah, woah, take it easy,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°You were damn near dead a little bit ago.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m feelin¡¯ pretty good now though,¡± Goober smiled and fell back down onto the bed. ¡°¡®Cept I can¡¯t walk, I guess.¡±


    Woodrow was used to peculiar sights ¡ª he was one himself, after all ¡ª but the way the bright, liquid blood flowed and shifted on the boy¡¯s leg without breaking free mesmerized him. He was fixated on it, almost like he was in a trance, so that he didn¡¯t notice when the old lady walked up behind him.


    ¡°He¡¯s healin¡¯ up fast, but it¡¯s gonna be awhile before he can walk right again ¡ª if he ever can,¡± she said. ¡°That wolf got a mouthful out of him, I tell you what.¡±


    ¡°He got me good, but I got ¡®em better,¡± Goober said.


    Woodrow was still fixated on the not-quite-open wound.


    ¡°That your doin¡¯?¡± he asked. She looked at him with bewilderment.


    ¡°¡®Course. You see any other grannies around here?¡±


    ¡°It was amazing,¡± Goober said with more emotion than Woodrow had ever heard from him. ¡°She got her book out, said a few words, and it just¡­ stopped bleeding.¡±


    ¡°Y¡¯all act like you¡¯ve never seen bloodstoppin¡¯ before,¡± Granny chuckled.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I have,¡± Woodrow conceded. ¡°How¡¯d you do it?¡±


    Her face became solemn in an instant.


    ¡°If I told you, I¡¯d never beable to do it again,¡± she said in a low, gravelly tone.


    ¡°Uhhhhh¡­ alrighty then,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to press.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s alright,¡± her jovial expression returned. ¡°Now, the boy here was out for a few hours, but you were out all night and then some. I reckon you¡¯re about starved.¡± She tapped Woodrow¡¯s belly with the spoon that was still in her hand. ¡°Want me to whip up some corn muffins?¡±


    She was right. Woodrow was hollowed out and he was eager to stuff himself full of cornmeal and lard.


    ¡°More ¡®n just about anything,¡± he said. Granny belly-laughed.


    ¡°Y¡¯all sit tight right here and I¡¯ll get to it.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Woodrow blurted out before she could get too far away, ¡°You got a phone? There were two more of us out in the woods, and I don¡¯t know where they¡¯ve gone off to.¡±


    ¡°Well, sure. In the den.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡±


    He went out to the den, picked up the landline, and sat down on a pea-green sofa. Bill Jones never carried a cellphone ¡ª he said they were just fancy tracking devices for the government ¡ª but fortunately, Chuck did. Woodrow called him and explained everything that happened, and told them where to find him. The boys pulled up within fifteen minutes.


    ¡°Lord, there really are three of you,¡± Granny said when they came knocking on the door. ¡°Come on in.¡± She peeked over Chuck¡¯s shoulder and saw the barrels of several guns poking out of the truck bed. ¡°I think y¡¯all¡¯re gonna need to explain some things to me.¡±

 If Not Gus, Then Who?

    Mickey and the big cat locked eyes for a moment. There was something about the cat¡¯s eyes that Mickey didn¡¯t like. They seemed too intelligent, knowing ¡ª they exuded the vibes of a fucking narc.


    So he ran at the cat. His body became a blur and phased through the trees and brush. The cat, mortified, tried to run, but there wasn¡¯t time to even turn around before the living god planted his pointer finger on the top of its head and caused it to explode into particles of hair, meat, and blood that rained down onto the trees.


    What the fuck was that thing? Mickey thought to himself as he stood alone in the middle of the gore. There was complete silence in the woods. Even the insects put ample space between him and themselves. The only things willing to be near him were the withering trees and the stiff autumn wind that blew through them.


    Was it one of Gus¡¯s creations? It was black, but it was made of plain ol¡¯ flesh and bone ¡ª not sludge. But who knows what that motherfucker is capable of at this point. Maybe he can make the sludge different colors and consistencies now. Probably not. So then what the fuck was that?


    He was sure that the cat was going to report back to someone and alert them of his presence in America. But who? And why? Why would Gus be bringing giant cougars on as spies? He had the whole damn FBI ¡ª or what was left of it ¡ª at his beck and call. But if it wasn¡¯t Gus sending people ¡ª or cats ¡ª to spy on him, then who was?


    Was Mother Dora still alive?


    It would explain the dreams. She was old even when they¡¯d first met nearly half a century ago in her cruddy little divination chamber attached to a hookah lounge. But that didn¡¯t mean that she wasn¡¯t still out there somewhere. Despite the fact that she¡¯d be well over a hundred years old, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised at all to find out that she was still alive. She may have started out as a bullshit artist telling people whatever fortunes she thought would bring them back the following month, but she evolved into something much, much more when Gus took her into his cult of weirdos. After that, he didn¡¯t take her too long to start lashing at people with whips made of her own blood, conjuring abominations from the ground, and all sorts of other fucked up, demonic shit. It wasn¡¯t a reach to think that she may be the one putting the dreams in Mickey¡¯s head, trying to tell him his fortune from a distance.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    So when the dreams first started, right after the uprising was over, when Gus and Mickey assumed their roles as leaders of new nations, Mickey spent multiple years and millions of dollars looking for her but never found a trace of the raggedy old bitch. She seemed to disappear off the face of the earth the moment the uprising started and never popped up again in the fifty years after.


    But why would she send a fucking cat to spy on me? Mickey thought. I bet she could spy on me from a distance just by closing her eyes and chanting some Latin-sounding shit. And if not, she¡¯d probably send some little bug fucker. No, it wasn¡¯t her.


    He punched a hole straight through a tree in frustration. He was getting antsy; he needed to relax; so he took a glass pipe, a Zippo lighter, and a plastic bag full of white crystals out of his pocket. He packed the crystals into the bulb at the end of the pipe and lit a fire under glass, rolling it gently like a pig on a spit. He cleared the pipe of its contents in one deep breath and exhaled a billowing cloud of meth smoke from both nostrils, followed by a deep sigh.


    One of the worst things about being a god was the fact that uppers barely worked on him anymore. Even when he was in the worst throes of his addiction, a hit that big would¡¯ve lit him up for the rest of the day. But this time it barely even gave him a head change. He closed his eyes and tried his best to feel the subtle difference in his mindset. There was a change there, but it was nothing like it used to be. Instead of amping him up, it actually seemed to calm him down. It straightened his thoughts into a single file line, while they¡¯re usually running around inside his mind like headless chickens.


    He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.


    Whoever it was that sent that cat can¡¯t be too far from here. I¡¯ll find them.

 Chapter 12: Robinhood

    The boys sat down in Granny¡¯s living room and explained what they were doing and what had happened. She took it all in ¡ª Woodrow¡¯s Wampus eyes, the encounter with the Not Deer, the alliance with the Cats, the hunt for the Whirling Whimpus ¡ª like it was something she¡¯d heard a thousand times before. Woodrow almost felt compelled to start throwing in fibs to make it more exciting because he was worried she might fall asleep in her rocking chair. Once he was done with his tall tale, all she said in reply was ¡°Oh, bless your heart.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t sure how to take that.


    ¡°That don¡¯t seem anything that a youngin should be involved in,¡± she continued after a moment. ¡°Even if he wants to be.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree with you, ma¡¯am, but we didn¡¯t know what else to do with the boy. You should¡¯ve seen that town. Shithole ain¡¯t a strong enough word,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°So y¡¯all make him go and fight a Dwayyo?¡± she replied with one eyebrow raised.


    ¡°If he can¡¯t handle a Hexenwolf, she sure wouldn¡¯t be able to handle a Whirling Whimpus,¡± Bill Jones replied flatly. ¡°Better he learn now when we could¡¯ve taken care of it for him than later when he would¡¯ve been ripped apart in a nanosecond.¡±


    Irritation swelled in her voice. ¡°Take care of it for him? The child had nine toes in the grave before I fixed him up! When did y¡¯all plan on taking care of it for him, exactly?¡±


    ¡°He would¡¯ve been fine if Woody didn¡¯t haul him out. Did you not think I packed a first aid kit?¡± Bill Jones turned to Woodrow.


    ¡°Now, I¡¯m no doctor, but I don¡¯t think a first aid kit would¡¯ve done a whole lot of good in that situation,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Come on, you know me better ¡®n that. This ain¡¯t no box of bandaids.¡± He went out the front door into the rainy afternoon and came back with a plain white box about the size of his head. He opened it up to reveal an assortment of smaller boxes with handwritten labels that contained various powders, a couple of syringes of god-knows-what, and several packages of tightly-bundled bandages.


    He was about to start explaining what the powders were, but Granny cut him off.


    ¡°My word, are you a granny yourself?¡± she asked. ¡°No, no, ¡®course not, or you would know that none of what you got in there would be enough to stop all that bleedin¡¯. You need The Good Book for that.¡±


    She picked up one of the boxes full of beige powder.


    ¡°This¡¯ll only stop minor bleedin¡¯. Wouldn¡¯t do a darn thing for that boy¡¯s leg.¡±


    Bill Jones smiled. ¡°I reckon it would¡¯ve bought us enough time to get him to a hospital.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, maybe,¡± she said while rubbing her chin thoughtfully. ¡°But prolly not.¡± She put the powder back in the first aid kit.


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be damned, Bill Jones. You been dabblin¡¯ in granny magic?¡± Chuck asked with a huff. He turned to Granny. ¡°And you can actually do it? My meemaw used to tell me all about the sorts of things her meemaw could do ¡ª bloodstoppin¡¯, mend burns, all that good stuff ¡ª but she could never do it herself, as much as she tried. If I¡¯m bein¡¯ honest, I thought her mind was just goin¡¯.¡± He grinned like he was trying to suggest that he thought something similar about Granny.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t gone to see the boy yet, have you?¡± Granny replied with a smile that only someone who¡¯s about to prove a doubter wrong can produce. It was true ¡ª Chuck and Bill Jones had just got there and hadn¡¯t checked on Goober yet, thought Bill Jones didn¡¯t seem inclined to doubt Granny.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you patched him up real good, ma¡¯am. I reckon that¡¯s magic, in its own type of way,¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°I bet he ain¡¯t patched up at all,¡± Bill Jones said and looked at Granny with a devious smile that only someone who knew that his friend was about to look like an idiot can produce.


    ¡°Goober, baby, can you come on into the den?¡± Granny shouted down the hall. There was some sound of shuffling, a few things falling to the ground, and finally slow, heavy footsteps that lead the boy to the room they were all in. He was in a white t-shirt and boxer shorts, and the hole on his leg was clearly visible, with the fresh blood still undulating within the crater and never going any farther.


    He rubbed his eyes like he¡¯d just been woken up. ¡°Oh, hey,¡± he said to Chuck and Bill Jones.


    ¡°What in the world¡­¡± Chuck moved closer to inspect the leg. Goober started to tremble from the strain of standing for so long and threw himself onto couch next to Woodrow. Chuck crouched in front of Goober and just about pressed his nose against the wound. He raised his hand for a moment like he was going to stick his finger in it, but fought down the intrusive thought and put his hand away.


    ¡°How did you ¡ª¡±


    ¡°I done told you already, boy. Granny magic,¡± Granny said. ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯m gonna say.¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Chuck looked at Woodrow, then Bill Jones, then back to Woodrow, searching for answers on their faces and coming up empty handed. Neither of them looked half as shocked as he was.


    ¡°There are a lot of verifiable firsthand accounts of people witnessing granny magic,¡± Bill Jones said after reading Chuck¡¯s expression. ¡°Logically, there¡¯s no reason it shouldn¡¯t work, if you believe in more ¡®n science. And as a founding member of the Bigfoot Boys, you of all people should know that scientists don¡¯t know everything.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s a difference between findin¡¯ creatures that scientists don¡¯t believe in and seein¡¯ a person do magic,¡± Chuck retorted. ¡°There ain¡¯t no explanation for this.¡±


    ¡°Yet there it is, right in front of you,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°Yeah,¡±


    ¡°The Lord works in mysterious ways,¡± Granny said.


    ¡°Yeah.¡± Chuck didn¡¯t stop looking at the wound.


    ¡°Dang,¡± he said, ¡°we should leave Bill Jones here and take her along. Got more use for someone who can patch us up than a man who can¡¯t shoot straight.¡±


    ¡°No, no,¡± Granny said gravely, like she thought Chuck was being serious. ¡°Bill Jones will have to be your granny.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t mind doin¡¯ some granny magic if I could,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°I bet I could get the hang of it if someone taught me.¡±


    ¡°You think so?¡± Granny said. She got up and got a little black leather book from off of her dining room table and handed it to Bill Jones.


    ¡°My knee¡¯s been bothering me all day,¡± she said. ¡°Find the passage you need to use to heal it.¡±


    Bill Jones immediately started to flip furiously through the pages of the book. He¡¯d stop for a second, scan a few lines, then shake his head and get back to flipping. After he did this for a fifth time, Granny snatched the book out of his hands.


    ¡°It ain¡¯t gonna work. You ain¡¯t touched,¡± she said.


    For the first time since Woodrow had known him, he saw Bill Jones fail at something, and for the first time, he saw him look ashamed.


    ¡°If you just help me learn, give me a shot, I¡ª¡±


    ¡°It ain¡¯t up to me,¡± Granny cut him off. ¡°If the Lord don¡¯t choose you, then it ain¡¯t gonna work. Just gotta leave it at that.¡±


    Bill Jones sighed. Woodrow wasn¡¯t sure why Bill Jones wanted to learn granny magic so bad, aside from the fact that he couldn¡¯t, but he pressed on.


    ¡°Let me read that book a little longer,¡± he insisted. Granny shoved the book into Bill Jone¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Go ahead. Keep it if you want. It¡¯s just a Bible,¡± she said.


    Woodrow looked over Bill Jones¡¯s shoulder as he opened the book again. The pages were filled with big, uneven letters, like it was written by hand in a hurry, and the words were completely incomprehensible. He thought it might be Latin, or maybe Hebrew, but didn¡¯t have any real way of knowing.


    Bill Jones put the book in his pocket and said ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± she said back. ¡°Now, I think y¡¯all should be on your way. The boy¡¯s got a lot of healin¡¯ left to do.¡±


    ¡°What? You¡¯re leaving me here?¡± Goober perked up. ¡°But I did it! I killed the wolf!¡±


    ¡°And just about died in the process,¡± Chuck said. ¡°We can¡¯t be responsible for that.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Goober shouted. He stood up and wobbled precariously, but eventually steadied himself out of sheer indignation. ¡°I doubt any one of y¡¯all could do what I did out there ¡ª y¡¯all have to rely on guns to do your huntin¡¯. I killed a Dwayyo with a bow and arrow. When you need someone who can get things done without causing a commotion, what are y¡¯all gonna do if I¡¯m not there?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out,¡± Woodrow said. Truthfully, he thought that Goober made a good point. He could add another dimension to the Bigfoot Boys, one that could help them quite a bit when the element of surprise could be the difference between life and death. But he couldn¡¯t get the image of the boy¡¯s face ¡ª pale and lifeless as he carried him down the road ¡ª out of his head. He¡¯d already caused one of his only friends to die in his pursuit of these creatures, and he couldn¡¯t stand the thought of a kid dying over it too.


    ¡°No you won¡¯t. Not without me,¡± Goober said. ¡°Can any of y¡¯all even shoot a bow?¡±


    ¡°You see how many shots it took to take that wolf down?¡± Chuck asked. ¡°Guns work a hell of a lot better. We¡¯ve been doin¡¯ this for years, boy. I think we can get by without the help of Robinhood.¡±


    ¡°Robinhood¡­ I kinda liked that. Y¡¯all should call me that when we¡¯re out there huntin¡¯,¡± Goober said.


    ¡°No!¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Fine. Robin¡¯d work too. I just hate my own name to tell you the truth. Pa really went ahead and named me after the dumbest man Andy knew just because he was named after the second dumbest man Andy knew.¡± Goober shook his head.


    ¡°I meant no you ain¡¯t comin¡¯!¡± Woodrow said. ¡°That¡¯s that.¡±


    ¡°I say he should come,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°He¡¯s right, that bow arm of his could help us.¡±


    ¡°What? The boy can barely stand upright!¡± Woodrow countered. But Goober had been standing for several minutes, clearly in pain, but refusing to let his legs buckle. He looked at Bill Jones and nodded.


    ¡°See? Glad you got someone smart in the group,¡± Goober said.


    ¡°He¡¯s a smart ass, too,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°And we don¡¯t need two of those.¡± He looked at Granny. ¡°Didn¡¯t you want to keep him here?¡±


    She put her hands up. ¡°He¡¯s got a lot more healin¡¯ to do, that¡¯s for sure. And y¡¯all are liable to get yourselves killed, doin¡¯ what you¡¯re doin¡¯. But I¡¯m not his mama. If he wants to leave, I can¡¯t keep him here.¡±


    ¡°We could drive him back to Mount Airy, give him back to his Pa,¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°Might be difficult to do since y¡¯all ran him over,¡± Goober replied. An awkward silence followed.


    ¡°Uhhh¡­ sorry ¡®bout that,¡± Bill Jones rubbed his neck and was suddenly very interested in a painting of a sunflower that hung on the wall nearby.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Goober said. ¡°That man was evil. So were the rest of ¡®em. You¡¯re lucky you got out when you did.¡± He shifted his gaze to Bill Jones. ¡°They were gonna burn you alive, you know.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Chuck exclaimed.


    ¡°They thought you were Andy¡¯s kin. You might be, with your last name, but I don¡¯t really give a damn either way. But they were gonna sacrifice you, thinkin¡¯ it would give Andy the strength to return.¡±


    ¡°Well I ¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the place you wanna bring me back to?¡± Goober continued.


    ¡°¡­¡®spose not.¡± Chuck conceded.


    ¡°Alright, well here are y¡¯all¡¯s choices: send me back to that loony bin, send me to the Emperor¡¯s group home, or take me along with you. Cause I ain¡¯t stayin¡¯ here.¡±


    Chuck turned red, Woodrow turned white, and Bill Jones smiled.


    ¡°Looks like we got a new member of the Bigfoot Boys,¡± Bill Jones said.


    With that, they thanked Granny for her help and loaded into the truck ¡ª Bill Jones in the driver¡¯s seat, Woodrow and Chuck crammed into the passenger side, and the newly-crowned Robinhood in the back.

 Chapter 13 Part 1: Out Behind the Food Lion/Planet Mammary

    The second half of the drive up to West Virginia was much less eventful than the first, which the boys weren¡¯t too beat up over. Goober ¡ª Robin ¡ª healed quicker than anybody expected. He still couldn¡¯t walk more than a few yards without help, and the steps he did take were slow and clumsy, but it seemed he would be able to walk right again within a couple of weeks at the rate he was healing.


    He¡¯d also proved his usefulness already, when he shot them two squirrels each to have for dinner the night they left Granny¡¯s house. None of the boys had brought guns that were low-caliber enough to kill a squirrel without sending its meat in twelve different directions, and shooting one would¡¯ve scared all the others for miles around. But Robin shot eight of them within half an hour while leaning against a tree for support. That night the boys ate squirrel stew until they were about to pop, and Chuck acted a little less ornery towards the child for a little while.


    Then it was only a morning¡¯s drive before they were in West Virginia. Woodrow felt like it had been years since they left, with all that¡¯d happened on the way.


    Now the real work could start.


    They pulled up into a small town filled with old buildings that caved in on themselves, strip malls with strip clubs right next to grocery stores, and a plain little church every ten yards or so. The town was an infected wart on the majestic green landscape. Looking from the Food Lion/Planet Mammary parking lot, the mountains rolled on forever in every direction, cradling the small town and shielding it from the outside world. In a perfect world, this would have been a place where fairy tales took place, or at least peaceful tales where farmers hummed while they drove tractors and kids ran around in their own little fantasy world. That might have been how it was, long, long ago. But Woodrow didn¡¯t see any kids, and he didn¡¯t see any farmers. All he saw was poverty.


    ¡°How¡¯s the head doin¡¯?¡± Woodrow asked Robin after he climbed out of the truck. Robin, still in the back, pulled a big white box towards himself and opened it up. White mist from the dry ice floated up towards his face, and he quickly slammed the cooler back shut.


    ¡°Looks fine, I guess,¡± he said, though he had a look on his face like he¡¯d just huffed a paper bag full of turkey droppings.


    ¡°Sorry.¡± Woodrow blew air out of his nose. ¡°Guess you don¡¯t like seeing that little fucker.¡±


    ¡°Little?¡± Robin asked with a rising voice.


    ¡°He ain¡¯t so big now, at least,¡± Woodrow replied.


    Robin shrugged and pushed the Hexenwolf head as far away from himself as he could. Woodrow and Chuck grabbed an arm each and helped him out of the truck bed. The four of them shoved everything else that was in the back seat into the front and locked the doors. They were going to be leaving the truck there until tomorrow morning and didn¡¯t want anyone to snatch anything. They each only took their tent tolls, their handguns, and a couple of those pit-making pellets they bought from Big Dale ¡ª just in case ¡ª and they walked around to the back of the strip mall.


    They¡¯d seen a hint of red polyester peeking through the trees behind the Food Lion when they pulled into the parking lot, and going behind the building confirmed what they thought it might be. Twenty or so tents were put up in a circle in the woods only a few feet from the asphalt. It was a homeless community.


    ¡°Guess we found where we¡¯re stayin¡¯ for the night,¡± Chuck said. He looked at Robin for any signs of fear on his face, but he didn¡¯t find any.


    The people in the encampment were causing a ruckus until they saw the boys approaching; then the ruckus faded out until only one or two men were talking quietly amongst themselves. A gruff man with a bald head covered in tattoos and a black beard that went down to his belly button stood up and came out of the woods.


    ¡°We ain¡¯t on the private property, see?¡± He pointed to the asphalt and then to the tents that were not on it. ¡°And we ain¡¯t diggin through the trash or nothin¡¯, so just leave us be, alright?¡±


    His voice was low and pleasant, smooth like a well-made bassoon. It was clear he wasn¡¯t trying to intimidate them. There was a pleading in his voice that suggested to Woodrow that these people had been looking for a place to put their tents down for a long while and they were tired.


    ¡°We don¡¯t work at the Food Lion,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that, lookin¡¯ at you,¡± the man replied. ¡°Your bouncers, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Nope, don¡¯t work at the titty bar neither, if you can believe it. We just need a place to stay for a couple days.¡± Woodrow shook his tent roll. The man eyed him suspiciously.


    ¡°You got a disease or somethin¡¯?¡± he asked. Woodrow was baffled by the question until he remembered his eyes.


    ¡°Nope, just ugly,¡± he smiled. But the man didn¡¯t smile back.


    ¡°Now, we¡¯re just lookin¡¯ for a place to stay for a couple of days, and we¡¯d rather be in good company than alone in the wilderness. We can pay for our stay.¡± Woodrow reach into his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. A smile spread across the tattooed man¡¯s face and he snatched the money out of Woodrow¡¯s hand so quickly that his hand was a blur.


    ¡°Alright, go find a spot.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The boys set up their tents next to the tattooed man¡¯s, which was full of holes patched with scraps of old t-shirts and used hand-sharpened sticks to anchor it to the ground. The smell of unwashed armpit emanated from it and made itself at home in Woodrow¡¯s tent, even when he zipped it up.


    Everyone else hung out outside, not doing much in particular. Two gangly men laid out in the grass and snored like chainsaws. A scraggly woman with the face of a twenty-year-old and the eyes of an eighty-year-old smoked something from a metal pipe that Woodrow couldn¡¯t recognize the smell of. The rest of the tent owners were gone, out hustling people for food and money. The boys all came out sat around a pit full of white ash and smoking embers that hadn¡¯t quite died yet, and that tattooed man¡¯s sat right next to Woodrow and stretched, revealing the source of that unwashed armpit smell.


    ¡°So, what are you money havin¡¯ motherfuckers doin¡¯ out here?¡± he asked, then yawned. ¡°I¡¯m sure you could¡¯ve pooled your money together and got a room at the Motel 6 down the road.¡±


    ¡°They don¡¯t have what we want there,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°What do y¡¯all want?¡±


    ¡°You.¡±


    ¡°Uhhhh, it¡¯s gonna take a lot more ¡®n twenty bucks if you¡¯re tryin¡¯ to get up in my ¡ª¡±


    ¡°He means we want to ask you questions,¡± Chuck interjected before the conversation completely went off the rails. ¡°Jesus.¡±


    ¡°How¡¯d you know my name?¡± the tattooed man grinned.


    ¡°What?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°My name ¡ª Jesus Luiz Tavares O¡¯Connell¡­¡± he trailed off. ¡°Guess you¡¯re just a good guesser.¡±


    ¡°Uhhh¡­ right. Anyway, we need to ask you some questions, about the woods around here. You seen anything weird lately?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°¡®Specially at night,¡± Woodrow added. ¡°Any strange creatures? Anything you can¡¯t quite explain?¡±


    Jesus side-eyed Woodrow. ¡°What are y¡¯all gettin¡¯ at, exactly? What are you doin¡¯ here?¡±


    ¡°Lookin¡¯ for strange creatures. Lookin¡¯ for things you can¡¯t quite explain,¡± Woodrow explained. ¡°Some big cats that are too smart for their own good, for example.¡±


    ¡°Shit, I don¡¯t know. Maybe I¡¯ve seen ¡®em around, maybe I haven¡¯t. What¡¯s it ¡ª¡±


    The woman who was smoking the mystery substance fell over and rolled around in the dirt. Gibberish spewed from her mouth in a hoarse murmur that spooked the two napping men awake. As if they had done it a million times, one of the men pinned her shoulders down and the other shoved a sock into her mouth.


    ¡°To keep her from biting her tongue off,¡± he turned to the boys and said. This happens about once a week.¡± He got off of the woman and came over to shake the boys¡¯ hands.


    ¡°Thiago Fernando de Silva O¡¯Connell. Nice to meet you.¡± Thiago was taller, more slender than Jesus, and didn¡¯t have any tattoos, but once Woodrow heard the names, he could see the resemblance in their faces. They had the same hooked nose, the same womanly red lips, and the same high cheekbones that pushed the bottom of their eyes up and made them look like they were perpetually squinting. But the hardness he saw in Jesus was not there in Thiago. He looked friendly ¡ª too friendly to have been living the way he was.


    ¡°Did I hear you guys say something about cats?¡± he asked. The woman was still convulsing behind him, but he didn¡¯t pay it any mind. ¡°We¡¯ve seen some big cats around here. A lot of them recently.¡±


    ¡°Shut up Thiago!¡± Jesus hiss-whispered. ¡°I was just about to tell ¡®em about it, but they haven¡¯t paid up yet.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that in your pocket then?¡± Thiago asked, pointing to the twenty dollar bill sticking out from Jesus¡¯s pants.


    ¡°That was the entry fee.¡±


    Thiago pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Voc¨º ¨¦ brega,¡± he said under his breath.


    ¡°Quit showin¡¯ off for our guests here,¡± Jesus said. ¡°You know I don¡¯t speak that shit. Mom only taught her special little boy.¡± He said the last part with mocking disdain.


    ¡°I said you¡¯re a corn ball, you corn ball,¡± said Thiago. ¡°Quit trying to scam these people out of money. They already paid you. Tell them what you saw. What we saw.¡±


    ¡°Fine, fine,¡± Jesus said. ¡°The other night, like two or three days ago, we saw damn near thirty big ass cats come out of the woods in the middle of the night and walk right down the street. They were lookin¡¯ around for somethin¡¯ ¡ª going behind buildings, flipping trash cans over, sticking their heads in the sewer grates. And they saw us, too ¡ª looked straight at me. But they didn¡¯t seem to care we were here, just kept on lookin¡¯ for whatever it was they were lookin¡¯ for. I don¡¯t think they found it though, because one of ¡®em roared and they all left at once. He sounded pissed off, but I don¡¯t speak cat, so what the fuck do I know.¡±


    The woman finally stopped convulsing and the other man got off of her. She sat up, yanked the sock out of her mouth, and packed her pipe with the mystery substance again. She lit it and took a long drag and started coughing dry, fruitless coughs followed by raspy draws of breath. Once she started to find her breath again, she put the pipe down and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Woodrow thought she might have another seizure, but she just leaned her back up against her tent, sinking into it quite a bit, and giggled in a steady monotone.


    ¡°¡­ and that¡¯s all I got,¡± Jesus continued, trying to regain Woodrow¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Oh, right, thanks,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t need to be here more ¡®n a night then, I reckon.¡±


    ¡°Hmmph,¡± Jesus grunted. ¡°I ain¡¯t even gonna ask.¡±


    The woman continued her monotone giggling like she was in a trance.


    ¡°Should we maybe take that shit away from her?¡± Woodrow asked.


    ¡°Nah, she¡¯s fine. Tammy can handle her Goop,¡± Jesus brushed him off.


    ¡°Goop?¡±


    ¡°Yeah? Goop? Ya know, the shit that builds up inside those ray guns when they shoot ¡®em? Gets you pretty good ¡®n fucked up, and it¡¯s cheap too, if you know anyone in the military.¡±


    ¡°I believe that,¡± Chuck said, looking at Tammy lost in another world.


    ¡°What is she seein¡¯ right now?¡± Robin asked.


    ¡°Whatever it is, it can¡¯t be that funny,¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°She¡¯s not laughing. The Goop just causes uncontrollable muscle spasms,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°She¡¯s probably not seein¡¯ much of anything right now. Or thinkin¡¯ much either.¡± His eyebrows raised slightly ¡ª like they do when he has an idea.


    ¡°Think she¡¯d let me buy some off of her?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The fuck?¡± Chuck said.


    ¡°The catatonic state it puts someone it would be perfect for getting fresher specimens for Woodrow.¡±


    ¡°The fuck?¡± Thiago said.


    ¡°When she wakes up, tell her I¡¯ll pay her a hundred bucks for an ounce of the stuff,¡± Bill Jones said.


    ¡°Shit, for a hundred bucks you could get ¡ª nevermind, I¡¯ll tell her,¡± Jesus said. ¡°In fact, I¡¯ll get it from her right now. Something tells me she¡¯ll be fine that you took it at that price.¡±


    ¡°Works for me.¡±


    Jesus dipped in to Tammy¡¯s tent and pulled out a spoon and bag full of something that resembled gray and black toothpaste. He scooped out a spoonful from the bag and wrapped it in a piece of paper.


    ¡°Don¡¯t use it all at once,¡± he warned. ¡°Shit¡¯ll knock you out and you¡¯ll never wake up.¡±


    ¡°That might not be a bad thing, the way I¡¯m using it.¡± He winked at Jesus, but the glare of his glasses obscured it almost entirely, and Jesus did not respond. Something in the distance distracted him.


    ¡°Holy shit.¡±


    In the middle of the day, out in the open, a gang of Wampus Cats approached the encampment.

 Chapter 13 Part 2: Mickey’s In America?

    They weren¡¯t the young cats that the Mother Cat had promised them. Dozens of them moved silently towards the boys, led by a severe-looking gray cat, concerningly skinny and almost twice as tall as any of the cats that followed it.


    He made its way right to Woodrow, and was not interested in talking about the Whirling Whimpus.


    ¡°One of your children was obliterated the other day?¡± Woodrow repeated out loud what the cat had conveyed to him. The other humans exchanged confused glances, and Bill Jones whispered to Jesus and Thiago to explain Woodrow¡¯s connection to the cats. Tammy stopped laughing and fell into a deep, snoring sleep. The man who was helping her picked her up like a baby and tiptoed away from the scene, hoping to not feel any claws in his back.


    ¡°And it was close to where we came from?¡± Woodrow continued. ¡°You don¡¯t actually think we had anything to do with that, right?¡±


    The blood drained from Robin¡¯s face and Chuck felt around his waistband for the handle of his gun. Woodrow put his hand up in front of Chuck before his trigger finger got too itchy.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have anything that could do that to someone,¡± Woodrow said, still looking at the gray cat. ¡°And even if we did, what reason would we have?¡±


    He nodded at the cat.


    ¡°But I already got the eyes. I don¡¯t need another pair. And how you describe it, it doesn¡¯t seem like there would be any useful parts left to take.¡±


    The cat showed his fangs to the boys and they all stepped back at once.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean nothin¡¯ by it. Just sayin¡¯. We didn¡¯t have anything to do with all that. Hand on the Bible, swear to God.¡±


    The cat withdrew his fangs but maintained a tense posture that suggested he could pounce at any moment, and the rest of the cats would quickly follow his lead.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who coulda done it!¡± Woodrow flung his hands up in frustration. ¡°All of us humans don¡¯t know each other, y¡¯know. Could¡¯ve just stepped on an old landmine nobody picked up after the war, or could¡¯ve met some hunters that had more bullets than sense.¡±


    The cat relaxed its legs a little.


    ¡°No signs of explosives?¡± Woodrow said.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°It¡¯s way too early.¡±


    ¡°What are you on about?¡± Woodrow asked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to believe it, but there¡¯s only one person who could¡¯ve done that.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t mean? ¡ª Shit.¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s way too early.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m sayin¡¯.¡±


    ¡°What in the world are you two talkin¡¯ about?¡± Chuck asked.


    Woodrow looked at him with dilated pupils.


    ¡°Looks like President Mickey might be visiting America.¡±


    <hr>


    Mickey Torke took a tour of North Carolina, searching for answers.


    He hadn¡¯t seen any other cats since he popped the first one, but that was only the beginning of the trail of carnage that he would leave behind across the state.


    A group of young men in Charlotte recognized him on the street and asked for his autograph. He made their arteries burst inside of their bodies and let them die slowly on the sidewalk.


    A cashier at the Smithfield¡¯s Chicken ¡®N Bar-B-Q out in Jacksonville was very rude to him just because he wanted to puff on a cigar while he waited for his food, so he popped a blood vessel in her brain when he handed her the cash for his dark meat chicken platter. The left side of her face began to droop and incomprehensible horror built up behind her eyes, and he smiled.


    A man in Winston-Salem stood on a street corner and handed people pamphlets tucked into pocket-sized bibles. He was unlucky enough to hand one to Mickey, who pulled the pamphlet out and saw Gus¡¯s face on the front. Strands of slime hovered gracefully around his body and a sludgy black halo hovered over his head. Seeing this, Mickey turned right back around and touched the man¡¯s shoulder, causing him to fall to the ground. But he wasn¡¯t dead ¡ª that would¡¯ve been letting him off too easy. Instead, Mickey cut off all blood flow to the man¡¯s arms and legs, permanently, so that they¡¯d turn purple, then black, then either have to be cut off or spread infection to the rest of his body.


    And so on and so forth, Mickey strolled through the state, looking for the man who wanted to kill him.


    <hr>


    Woodrow¡¯s head felt light and his stomach felt hot, like the squirrel he ate earlier might claw its way back out to freedom.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You think another war might break out?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°If anything we know about the man is true, then he doesn¡¯t seem like the subtle type. If his goal was to start a war, then he would¡¯ve came out guns-a-blazin¡¯. No, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that he¡¯s not here for Augustus at all ¡ª he¡¯s here for us. For you.¡± He looked at Woodrow; the squirrel clawed harder.


    ¡°But¡ª¡± Bill Jones continued, ¡°if he knew where you were, I reckon we¡¯d all be dead already.¡±


    ¡°But how does he even know who I am? How does he know what we¡¯re doing? We¡¯ve barely even started!¡± Woodrow asked. He had to sit down, and planted himself on the ground. If Mickey found him, there¡¯s nothing he could do to stop him. He¡¯d be dead before he even realized what was happening ¡ª if he was lucky.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Bill Jones eyed Chuck. ¡°Someone must be giving him information.¡±


    ¡°You think I¡¯m workin¡¯ with President Mickey?¡± Chuck scoffed.


    ¡°Again, I don¡¯t know,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°All I know is it ain¡¯t me, and it sure as Hell ain¡¯t Woodrow. If it was Sal, he fooled the shit out of me. You¡¯ve been against this from the start though, yet you¡¯ve tagged along anyway. Why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Chuck echoed. ¡°You¡¯re really askin¡¯ me why? Because y¡¯all are my friends, that¡¯s why. If you¡¯re gettin¡¯ yourselves into this mess, I wanna make sure you get out of it, too. I know better than to try to talk you out of somethin¡¯, so all I can do is help. But if you think I¡¯m conspirin¡¯ against you, maybe I should just get on out of here. Save my own ass. Sleep in a damn bed.¡± He went over to his tent and yanked the stakes out of the ground.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Now, let¡¯s not get crazy, start accusin¡¯ each other of shit. Where¡¯d you say he killed your child?¡±


    He looked at the gray cat, who responded silently.


    ¡°Leesville? That¡¯s halfway across the damn state from us! Might be he ain¡¯t even lookin¡¯ for us. And if he is, he doesn¡¯t have a damn clue where we are, or probably even who we are. So how about we just calm down and focus on what we came here for. If we get me those Whimpus arms, I might even be able to hold him off if he does pay us a visit.¡±


    ¡°Maybe for a second or two,¡± Bill Jones huffed. ¡°But you¡¯re right. Our best bet is to just keep on truckin¡¯. And Chuck ¡ª sorry about that. Things are gettin¡¯ tense, and I was just thinkin¡¯ out loud.¡±


    Chuck grunted, which was his way of saying ¡°Apology accepted¡± and Woodrow turned to the gray cat to ask for directions to the Whimpus. He politely replied that tracking Whimpuses for humans wasn¡¯t his fucking job, and that they were promised a couple of juveniles, and that¡¯s all they were getting.


    He turned his back to the boys and made a swishing motion with his head, and two slender tabbies came barreling to the front of the pack. They were small ¡ª even smaller than the Mother Cat ¡ª but they were slender, sinewy and eager to hunt.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Woodrow said out loud to the gray cat, who was already on his way back into the woods, all but two cats following his lead.


    ¡°Well¡­ do y¡¯all know where the Whimpus might be?¡± Woodrow crouched down to look at the two kid cats.


    Beats the hell out of us, one of them replied ¡ª a gray tabby.


    I thought that was your job, to find her, said the other ¡ª the brown tabby.


    ¡°I guess so,¡± Woodrow replied, to the confusion of the humans around him. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been any sign of ¡®em at all?¡±


    They both shook their heads. Woodrow sighed.


    A ways away, Tammy and the other man poked their heads out from behind a tree. Curiosity overpowered their survival instincts, and they crept closer to the scene. The man, with his broad shoulders, buzz cut, and goatee, was a sight to behold, tiptoeing towards the boys like something out of a cartoon. Tammy was less cautious, but steadier than Woodrow had seen her so far; she was almost walking like a normal person with barely any stumbling at all.


    ¡°So¡ª you talk to cats?¡± she yelled to Woodrow as she walked towards him. ¡°We already got one of y¡¯all in this community. You can get out of here.¡±


    ¡°We already got plenty of junkies too, but we still let you hang around,¡± Jesus replied. ¡°Quit bein¡¯ cranky and come on back over here. The cats are gone. Well, most of ¡®em. But I think Jimmy could take these two in a fight if he needed to.¡±


    The cats took offense to that, but nobody could tell aside from Woodrow. As far as they knew, the cats didn¡¯t have a clue how to understand English.


    ¡°Maybe one, if I was drunk enough,¡± Jimmy said. He and Tammy had made it back to the campsite and plopped down back in front of her tent. ¡°Probably get clawed to bits if they work as a team though.¡±


    ¡°Good thing they were just leavin¡¯ then, right?¡± Thiago said. ¡°I mean, having some new guests around is one thing. Living with two¡­ ¡°cats¡±¡­ is another.¡±


    ¡°If you need some extra hands, though, my schedule¡¯s wide open,¡± Jimmy said. ¡°Always lookin¡¯ for work.¡± He leaned into the tent and took out a piece of bamboo with a hole drilled into the top. He put something in it and inhaled; the smoke smelled a lot more familiar to Woodrow this time, and he breathed a sigh of relief knowing that Jimmy wasn¡¯t going to start twitching ¡ª though he might fall asleep.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want this kind of work,¡± Chuck said. ¡°Not for what we¡¯d pay you.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know what kind of work I like,¡± Jimmy replied, smoke billowing from his mouth as he spoke. ¡°Dirty jobs are my specialty.¡±


    ¡°How about bloody jobs?¡± Chuck asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve given blood and I¡¯ve drawn blood. Which one do you want?¡±


    ¡°Lord have mercy on me if I¡¯m ever in a spot where I need a transfusion from you. No, it¡¯d be a lot more takin¡¯ than givin¡¯. We¡¯re off to kill a Whirling Whimpus, if you hadn¡¯t already heard. President Mickey very well may be on our asses too. That somethin¡¯ you can deal with?¡±


    Bill Jones couldn¡¯t sit still any longer. ¡°You really want to bring this guy along with us?¡± He asked.


    ¡°What? I kinda like him, to tell you the truth,¡± Chuck replied. ¡°I can tell just by lookin¡¯ at him, he¡¯s ready for damn near anything.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t need anyone else tagging along. We can¡¯t even fit everybody in the damn truck as it is.¡±


    ¡°He can sit in the back with Goob¡ªI mean Robin, here.¡±


    ¡°Uhhh¡­¡± Robin said awkwardly, looking at the rough, sinewy man doing drugs.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t payin¡¯ him either,¡± Bill Jones said. ¡°Because we don¡¯t need him.¡±


    ¡°How about this?¡± Woodrow cut in. ¡°Instead of paying Jimmy to come with us, we pay the whole damn community to not come with us?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bill Jones and Chuck said at the same time.


    ¡°I¡¯m listenin¡¯,¡± Jesus said. Thiago cocked his head slightly.


    ¡°This place is swarming with Not Deer,¡± Woodrow explained. ¡°Ever heard of ¡®em?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Thiago said. Woodrow explained to them what Not Deer were, what they looked like, and the boys¡¯ experience with them.


    ¡°For every Not Deer one of y¡¯all kill, I¡¯ll give you twenty bucks,¡± Woodrow said. ¡°Bring us their eyes to show you really killed them.¡±


    ¡°Deal,¡± Jesus said without hesitation, and shook Woodrow¡¯s hand. Jimmy leapt up and did the same. Thiago didn¡¯t seem as enthused about it, and Tammy was half inside her tent, legs sticking out into the dirt, and snoring loudly.


    ¡°Well then it¡¯s a deal!¡± Woodrow said. Everyone was in agreement, and the boys packed their stuff and went back to the truck, loading the two cats in the back with Robin.


    ¡°Where to now?¡± Chuck asked. ¡°We don¡¯t have any sort of clue where this Whimpus might be.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find ¡®em,¡± said Woodrow. ¡°Just keep headin¡¯ north until I say stop.¡±

 Going on hiatus

    Obviously, thank you to anyone who has read my book so far. Seeing that you enjoyed it always makes me feel good.


    But personally, I don''t feel like the quality is up to the level I want to put out there, so I''m going to take a step back, make some major changes, and finish the whole thing before I think about reposting it.


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    I''ll leave this story up until the revised version is ready to upload, so if you want to be notified when that comes out, just stay subbed here.


    Thanks again. See y''all (hopefully [relatively]) soon!