“Cool! What’s that, Father? A ray-gun?”
Father Pickles showed him the object.
“This, my son, is a captive bolt pistol.”
“A what?”
“It’s used to stun animals in abattoirs before slaughter.”
Trevor found the image of a Catholic Priest holding a slaughterhouse bolt pistol incongruous.
“What the Hell – sorry, Father – what on earth are you doing with that thing?”
Father Pickles laughed, but not too loudly.
“I wasn’t always a priest, Trevor. Before I joined the clergy, I worked in an abbatoir.”
In the bathroom, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. Sure, she still might not make it out of the cottage alive, but the faint voices meant that someone was trying to help her.
The wolf had forgotten all about the woman trapped behind the bathroom door. It could see these other humans. They would be easier prey.
It moved forward slightly, snarling its threats. Saliva dripped from its jaws.
The posse moved back a step.
The animal shook its head and let out an ear-piercing howl.
Jared thought he was going to pee himself.
Father Pickles raised the bolt gun and pointed it at the wolf’s head.
Tyrone was getting excited.
“Shoot it, Father. Shoot the bastard.”
But the priest didn’t fire.
Jared couldn’t believe that the priest was just pointing the gun at the wolf.
“Why don’t you shoot it?”
“It doesn’t work like that, Jared. It doesn’t fire bullets. I have to get closer.”
“Why?”
“Because it fires a bolt into the brain, and the bolt then recoils back into the barrel. The bolt doesn’t leave the pistol.”
As if trying to force a demonstration of how the gun worked, the wolf lunged forward at the priest, growling and snapping. Tyrone struck the wolf’s head hard with one of his chains. The blow didn’t cause any pain, but the sight of the motorcyclist moving in the peripheral vision of its good eye distracted the beast momentarily and allowed the priest to place the muzzle of the gun against the animal’s temple. He squeezed the trigger and the bolt rocketed from the barrel, burst through the wolf’s skull, and returned into the gun.
The wolf paid no attention to what should have been a killer blow.
Suddenly, the animal was deluged by blow after blow from six high quality steel chains whipping at it.
For a few seconds, it stared right into Trevor’s eyes and the vampire found himself trying to see if there was a spark of a human soul inside the wolf – but all he saw was darkness.
Jared had rediscovered his courage, and he and Father Pickles took advantage of the lull in the animal’s concentration and trussed its rear legs together with industrial strength 26 inch zip ties.
Hobbled by the fastenings, the wolf thrashed around trying to free itself, but the ties each had a tensile strength of 200 pounds and not even the werewolf could break free.
The animal became more and more frustrated as it found its mobility severely limited. It spat at the group of men who now circled it.
Tyrone leapt on its back, and pulled on its ears. He didn’t really have any idea of what he was trying to achieve but it did force the wolf to raise its chin. Father Pickles brought all his pre-priesthood animal wrangling skills to bear and managed to slip a zip tie over its snout. With its jaws clamped shut, Trevor and Jared added two more ties to the makeshift muzzle.
Hind legs immobilized and teeth no longer a threat, it was a relatively simple task to bind the animal’s front legs too.
Jared, Tyrone, and the priest stood back to admire their handiwork but Trevor was more concerned about the woman in the bathroom.
“Stay in there for a moment, Mrs Leadbetter. My name’s Trevor. We’re in control of the situation.”
Gillian’s only concern was Keira.
“What about my daughter?”
Trevor shouted back, pulling tight on the chain that he had just wrapped around the wolf’s neck.
“Keira’s fine. She’s safe inside one of our cars.”
The wolf continued to thrash around, even though its arsenal had been neutralised. Another chain was wrapped around its body and it was carefully hauled down the stairs – not for fear of hurting the animal but for fear of it escaping – and the chains were hooked onto the tow bar of a pickup truck.
Still struggling to free itself, the wolf continued to snarl as it was dragged away from the house.
Trevor went back into the cottage and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Mrs Leadbetter? It’s safe to come out now.”
Gillian emerged and gave Trevor a huge hug. She had no idea who he was, but she knew that if it weren’t for him, she’d be dead. When she eventually let him go, she followed him downstairs.
“What was that thing? A dog? A wolf?”
She didn’t need to know that it was her husband.
“A wolf, we think. It must have escaped from a zoo or someone’s private collection. But we have it subdued now.”
Keira came running across the lawn and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Neither of them had ever been so grateful to see each other as they were now.
At the Great Oak, the posse watched the wolf intently, an assortment of makeshift weapons ready to strike if he looked like he was going to wriggle out of his chains. As the night passed, he seemed to get weaker, as the influence of his baser wolf nature receded and his human or, in Arnold’s case, his zombie-vampire side began to return.
They watched in awe as the wolf transformed, his muscles twisting and turning, reducing in mass, and his limbs kind of receding into themselves until he had returned to human proportions. His snout withdrew into his face and ten of his forty-two teeth simply disappeared. Soon, the chains binding him were useless as his bulk had reverted to that of a confused man. Arnold looked up at Trevor.
“Did I kill anyone?”
Trevor shook his head.
“No. But not for the want of trying, though.”
“Who did I attack?”
Trevor didn’t see any point in telling him the truth.
“A stranger. Just passing through. We stopped you though.”
The relief on Arnold’s face was visible. Then he looked sad.
“So now, it’s the next stage.”
Trevor wasn’t looking forward to it, but if his own father could do it for his mother, then he could do it for his friend.
“Yes, Arnold. The final stage.”
Arnold was resigned to his fate. In fact, he was looking forward to it – perhaps he might find some peace now.
The chains were removed and Arnold stood up. He walked a few paces forward and then sunk to his knees, not in despair but in acceptance.
Father Pickles handed Trevor a sharp carving knife and an axe. Trevor noticed a bloodstain on the priest’s sleeve.
“What’s that?”
The priest looked at his arm.
“This? Just a scratch. Arnold here nipped me when he was the wolf. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Trevor nodded and put a hand on Arnold’s shoulder.
“Do I need to tie your hands and legs to stop you from escaping or making any sudden movement?”
Arnold looked at his executioner.
“I’m not going anywhere, Trev. And whatever you do won’t hurt me anyway. So, no. Not unless you want to.”
Trevor didn’t want to. He wanted his friend to die with some semblance of dignity.
He took the knife, counted silently to three, and stabbed Arnold by his tailbone, drawing the blade up towards his friend’s rib cage. Arnold didn’t flinch or make a sound. Then he meticulously separated each rib from the backbone with an axe, leaving Arnold’s internal organs on full display.
Once Arnold’s ribs were cut away and spread out like giant fingers, Trevor pulled Arnold’s lungs through his back and spread them like a pair of grotesque wings.