"Hands behind you," Jerry said. The man quickly did as he was ordered. Jerry pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt and snapped them on. He picked up the flashlight and pointed it at the face he hoped would be Battle's. The man wasn't George G. or anyone else Jerry recognized. He looked thirtyish and Hispanic, Cuban maybe. Jerry directed the flashlight to the man he'd pistol-whipped. This one could have been the other guy's twin, except for the bruise that was coming up on the side of his head.
Jerry figured there was nothing to be gained talking to either of these two. He pulled a glove out of his pocket and shoved it deep into the mouth of his conscious captive. Having cuffed him first, Jerry did the same to the one who was out. Whatever other reason Battle had for using these men, it wasn't for their personal hygiene. They smelled like a garbage dump on an August afternoon.
There was a soft voice behind him. "Now, Bobby Joe."
Something closed around Jerry's wrist. His bones ground together and he stifled a scream. The gun clattered to the linoleum floor. Jerry twisted his head around and saw the giant form in the dim light. He'd seen this guy before - smelled him too. It hadn't been the Cubans. If only he'd remembered!
Booby Joe, aka the Crypt Kicker, was dead. He looked worse than the last time Jerry had seen him, under the Rox. The Crypt Kicker was dressed in jet black, with a half-hood over one side of his face. The hood draped so that Jerry could tell a sizable portion of his skull was missing underneath it. There was a crimson cross over one eye, and the dead man looked like someone had used him for flamethrower practice. Jerry's jacket began to smoke where the Crypt Kicker was holding it. He tried to whip-kick the dead giant, but his foot glanced off without getting so much as a grunt.
"Make it look like an accident if you can, Bobby Joe. Keep it quiet. I'll be down the hall." Battle patted Jerry on me cheek and smiled. "Enjoy it."
A huge hand clamped over Jerry's mouth, searing his flesh with noxious chemicals. He started to change. As afraid as he was of being inhuman, he was a lot more scared of being dead. Lon Chaney Jr.'s wolfman was a sentimental favorite, but he'd seen The Howling recently, and that lycanthrope looked considerably more lethal. Jerry elongated his mouth into a snout and filled it with sharp teeth. Claws formed at the ends of his fingers and toes. He bit down on his enemy's wrist and began worrying at the dead flesh. Bits came off in his mouth, acid-sour and putrid.
Crypt Kicker tossed him in the air. Jerry brought his legs underneath him and landed on all fours. A coat of thick hair now covered him from head to foot. He could see better, too. His blood was pounding, and Jerry wanted the kill, wanted to feel his enemy's throat in his mouth and tear the life from it. He growled and charged.
The lumbering giant brought his fists down as Jerry leapt in, catching him on the shoulder and knocking him aside. Jerry pounced up on one of the lab tables and bared his teeth. Crypt Kicker lurched forward, arms outstretched. Jerry scrambled out of the way and launched himself onto the corpse-thing's back. He tore through the clothing and into the muscles in the dead monstrosity's back and shoulders, the flesh burning his lips and mouth. The giant, moving quicker than Jerry had anticipated, pushed himself over backwards and landed on top of Jerry. He felt a rib give way under the weight.
Jerry crawled away and looked around the room. This was a losing battle. There was no way he could kill someone who was already dead. He saw a freezer in the corner and ran for it. Jerry opened the door with a clawed hand, and turned to make sure Crypt Kicker was following him. He was. Jerry dodged into the freezer and crouched in the back, among cases of pharmaceuticals. The room was about twelve feet deep and half as wide. Crypt Kicker appeared in the doorway, ducking to get inside. He seemed unable to locate his enemy in the darkness. Jerry picked up a case with clawed hands and tossed it at Crypt Kicker, then darted out between the giant's legs. He slammed the door shut and brought down the heavy metal handle. A slow, heavy pounding began on the door. Jerry figured it would keep him there, for awhile anyway.
Jerry crept out into the hall and sniffed. Battle was still there, and close. He hunched down and walked down the hall, claws clicking on the cold floor. There was a different smell now. Fear. Jerry began salivating. Soon Battle would be his, screaming in terror as the blood pumped from his torn body. Soon. Jerry continued to creep forward, his broken rib searing his side. A shape appeared in a doorway at the end of the hall and there was an explosion of light with a muffled sound. Jerry felt something whine past his ear. He bounded forward, wanting nothing but the kill. No matter the cost. Light filled the hallway. Jerry squinted and kept going. Battle screamed and ducked out of the hallway into one of the rooms.
Jerry crouched down and let his vision clear, then started advancing slowly. A growl started at the back of his throat. He cut it off. No point in giving his position away.
He paused outside the room. Battle was inside. The man's heart raced, his breathing was shallow. He was terrified, but not yet ready to die. Jerry didn't care what Battle wanted. George G. wasn't leaving the clinic alive. He sprang into the room. There were twin staccato bursts of light and sound, but the bullets missed. Jerry snarled and scrambled toward Battle, who fell over backward onto a lab table, shattering glass beneath him. Jerry swatted the gun from Battle's hand, leaving claw marks on the man's wrist. The man was helpless, it was time to make him pay.
"Stop." The voice came from behind him. It was the nurse. Troll stood behind her, his huge green body tensed.
Jerry could take her next, after the man. Troll would be more difficult, but Jerry could outmaneuver him. Just like the Crypt Kicker. Jerry bent down and took his prey's throat. He could almost taste the blood pulsing underneath the skin.
"I said stop." The nurse took a step toward him. "What are you doing?"
Jerry let go of Battle and curled his lips. The woman moved beautifully. Her eyes were bright with life. It would be sweeter to kill her last, but he wanted her now. Wanted her to come apart in his hands and mouth.
She stood in front of him, unafraid. Jerry leaned in her direction, ready to spring. She would never even feel it.
The pain in his side vanished. Jerry lowered his arms. The nurse moved closer and looked into his eyes. Hers were aqua. He couldn't see anything else. Just her eyes.
"Change back."
Jerry felt the mat of hair on his skin. It itched. He wanted it to go away. His teeth began to recede, and his face began to shift.
"That's it. Change back."
Jerry felt the world shifting underneath him. He collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. "I could have killed you."
Battle screamed. Jerry turned at the sound, still lightheaded. Battle was in convulsions. Emily moved in and tried to grab his shoulders, but Battle racked her away. His body poured out of his clothes and onto the floor. The flesh shifted and changed color and texture, becoming yellow and brittle. Multiple legs sprouted from Battle's new form. His face became putty-like and his ears melted into dark globs. The thing screamed and backed into a corner. There was a crash from another room. Jerry heard steel thud heavily onto the linoleum floor.
"Jesus, the Crypt Kicker," Jerry said.
"I'll get him," Troll said, turning away.
"Look out for his hands," Jerry said. Troll nodded and headed own the hall.
"What the fuck happened to him?" Jerry looked over at Battle, who was cowering in the corner.
"You mean you don't have all the answers? Who was that to begin with?" She began to sift through the glass wreckage on the table. "Hello." She pulled out a broken vial, dappled with blood, and examined it. "Xenovirus Takis-A."
Jerry laughed. "A joker. He turned into a joker. There is some justice after all. Eh, George G.?"