Young Bloods

Chapter 1

The rain came pouring down in buckets. Puddles soon turned into pools, deep enough soak some one up to their calves. But Carl Barts didn\'t care as he hauled up Nup North Avenue. He splashed though the pools in his good suede shoes. The hookers watched nonchalantly while they stood under the store canopies, getting in a good smoke while they waited and hoped for their johns to come. Whores needed money too. But while they watched Carl Barts run up North Avenue in his wet tailored suit and soggy suede shoes they stopped, cigarettes inches away from their lips, words cut short.

Fear.

They could see it on his face. His green eyes wide, almost exploding out of their sockets. But a few of them could smell it as well as see it. Pink tongues darted out, licking the cheap lipstick from their lips, hands scratching at their thighs, clad in home made jean shorts and fishnet stockings. Beasts in whores\' clothing.

But just as soon as they allowed that bestial urge to come forth they squeezed it back into the deep recess of their minds. The rabbit that had dripped with fear and panic was someone else’s prey. Someone much bigger. With a quick blink of heavy mascaraed eyes, still damp with rain, they went back to the nights latest gossip and the drawing in of cigarette smoke and, if they were lucky, a date with a rich John. But since it was North Avenue, the later was least likely to happen.

Carl ran, ran for his life. Too afraid to shout for help. That voice of his was trapped deep within his throat like Snow White\'s apple. Where was he going? He didn\'t know. Instinct told him to run, so he did in the most ungraceful way. And perhaps he would have made it. A few more blocks and he would have hit traffic and been far, far away from the dark, empty neighborhood filled with people who could care less of what he was running from. But he looked back. And that was all it took. Fear had him and now so did the beast.

\"No.\" was all he could muster while he tripped over his own feet and landed in the cold, wet street. He backpedaled as soon as he landed, but is fus futile and he knew it. It made the whole ordeal even more frightening.

Footsteps sounded in the street. A nice pair of shinny black shoes made their way closer to Carl, slowly. Carefully rounding a large puddle, not wanting to get wet. It was a man, a mere black shadow against the black streets. He was tall. That was all Carl could really tell by looking at him, he might have even worn a tailored suit as well, yet it was impossible to tell for sure. But he knew what hid in that dark silhouette of a man. He wasn\'t a fool.

\"Please.\" Carl begged, blinking the rainwater from his eyes. A few tears ran down his face unnoticed. \"Please...\" he repeated in a high-pitched whine, fighting back even more tears.

A growl cut through the night, easily heard over the pounding rain. The man kept up his pace while Carl had long ago given up backpedaling. Now he was frozen, impending doom so thick that one could cut it with a knife.

Carl might have begged again but now it all came out in one big sob. Pathetic really. It was hard to imagine what exactly was going through his mind at this point, now that he knew he was going to die. Was he thinking of his wife and kids, or the dope he wished he had smoked? Or maybe of his mistress still waiting in the hotel room, perhaps pacing the floors, wondering if he had hit traffic.

The silhouette was standing over him now, eerily silent. Carl still couldn\'t see his face, tears abstracted his vision. Any normal man would have liked to see the face of their killer before they died, but not Carl. He cursed his ability to see and the fact that he was too scared to even move his eyelids. He was pathetic, cowardly, weak, and it took dying to make him realize his great faults. Oh the wrongs he would set right if he could get out of this alive. Hell he’d probably send almost all the money he had to feed the starving children of other nations.

The silhouette leaned over gently, still nothing but a dark shape. But Carl could hear strange sounds that he knew weren\'t coming from the rain that pounded the streets. Bones snapped, slipping and sliding against muscle and s Lig Ligaments stretched like rubber bands, and still he could see him-didn\'t want to see for that matter. But he couldn\'t look away. And with a great stretch that reminded him of an awakening lion his back cracked. The sound almost made his heart explode within his chest. But nothing could prepare him for what stared down at him now. No longer a simple shadow. Furry ears, slick with rain, burning eyes that managed to glow without the moon’s help, a muzzle filled with yellowed fangs, dripping wet with saliva. And hands, he was sure were once a supple pink color were now hairy and clawed. The thing nightmares and dark bedtime stories were made of. It was all Carl could think of as one of the man\'s/beast\'s mighty hands came crashing down in his direction.

That was when I stepped from the shadows. The rain slid down my blue raincoat as I squinted my eyes, desperately trying to see perfectly through the rain. I had been watching of course and the two had been oblivious to my presence for some time. It was interesting to see a werewolf attack so deep in the bad section he che city. I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen one. I pushed back the wet curls from my face, tucking them behind one of my small ears, ever so calmly. But this werewolf was stepping on my toes a little too hard.

A silver bullet, as silent as April winds, sailed through the air unnoticed until it reached home, drilling thr the the beast\'s temple and exploding out the other side. I was sure he hadn\'t even known what hit him. One minute he was alive and well, about to show poor Carl exactly how sharp his claws and fangs were when suddenly his brains were bursting out of his own head cavity, along with bits of shattered skull, to splatter on the man\'s face. Then like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The dark beast fell to the ground. There was no healing that wound.

I stepped out from the side alley in my raincoat and puddle boots. My movements were slow. Carl and the dead werewolf weren\'t going anywhere. I hopped down from the sidewalk, splashing in the dirty puddle. I too was a dark silhouette, much like the man had been, yet miniature in comparison.

When I got to Carl he was still staring straight ahead, eyes as wide as ever, tears mixing with rain and blood on his face. For a moment I thought he had a heart attack, but no, I could ticatically hear the pitter patter of his heart over the roar of the rain. The bullet had given a whole new meaning to Fourth of July fireworks.

\"Carl?\"

There was no answer. \"Carl Barts?\" I said louder, snapping my fingers in front of his face, a bit impatient. Finally he blinked and made a squeaky noise that seemed to come from his nose. And then he cried. Wailing cries. He shook, bringing his hands to his face while he let loose.

\"Oh, God.\" He moaned over and over again into his hands. Bits of brain and blood slid down his forehead in thick syrup. \"Thank you.\"

\"You are Carl Barts, correct?\" I asked.

He sniffled and wiped away some of the blood splattered across his face. \"Yes,\" he sniffled some more, staring up at me through the rain. Finally the size and appearance of his rescuer set in. Standing at near 5\' 2, 108 pounds I wasn’t what anyone expected to be saving them on a dark and stormy night.

I raised my hand. \"Then don\'t thank me.\" I pulled the trigger without a second thought. Another silent bullet sailed through the air, this time aiming for Carl.

Now beast and man lay together in lifeless heaps, rain pelting their bodies. Their blood mingled, dancing a dangerous dance as it wound down a drainpipe into dark nothingness.

I stepped away, taking back to the shadows. The Job was done.