...continued from page 4.

Things seemed to have gone smoothly when It turned Its attention back to Black Earth after Its short rest. They had done their job as instructed, so now there was more of them again. And it looked as if there might be a challenge ahead - a bar.
So far, they had only ever encountered small groups of people, but this could potentially be dangerous - or profitable, depending on the outcome and depending on whether the bar was open at all in spite of the power outage that had lasted a few hours by now.
As the lurching shapes slowly approached the place, a few flickering lights could be seen through the window - it looked like candle light, so there were people inside. But candles also meant fire. It would have to watch carefully - fire could be a problem for them.
One side of the building was a solid brick wall, but there was also a basement door in the ground. Some motorcycles were parked on the sidewalk nearby.
The shapes split into three groups. Two of them waited outside the front and back doors while the other one stayed by the basement door. A gray hand with flaky skin grabbed the padlock and squeezed. The metal bar broke with a quiet ping noise, and the lock was dropped carelessly on the floor before two pairs of likewise disfigured hands reached for the handles and pulled. Then they flowed down the opening into the basement.
After a while they found the stairs up into the main floor of the building, and that was the signal for the other two groups to start their advance.
The front door was pushed open. The bar had about a dozen people inside, including one person behind the bar who was following his stereotype of polishing glasses and did not even look up. He was in his early 50's and looked tired - both in regards of the late hour and about life in general.
There was a group of 5 burly guys around a table who were laughing hard just as the door opened, and some more patrons were sitting by themselves in booths and staring into their glasses which were in various states of emptiness. None of the customers noticed the door opening until the front of the room was starting to fill up with bodies.
One of the bodies in front picked up a cheap tea light from the table closest to the door and slammed it upside down into the table, extinguishing the open flame in the process. Others were spreading out to do the same on other tables as some of the people started taking notice of the new arrivals.
Short bursts of exclamations could be heard, like "What the...", "Look at them" and simply "Huh?"
Then one of the shapes reached the booth right by the door and attacked the sadly slouched person of the drinker in it who started screaming and then suddenly stopped.
In one movement, all 5 customers around the center table got off their chairs and turned towards the crowd.
The bartender looked in disbelief at what had just come through his door and at first did not really know how to deal with this. Then after taking a look at the 5 guys in the center who seemed to be ready for a bar fight he started packing away some of the more expensive bottles. That at least he understood.
The 5 guys all wore sturdy jeans and black leather jackets with sewed on patches that identified them as members of a motorcycle club. They all had been in brawls before or even knife fights and never lost, and their opponents looked strong but slow. The general consensus between them was "We can take 'em!" as they nodded at each other and charged.
In the heat of the moment, no one heard the loud bangs and clangs from the kitchen were two groups of invaders had met (one from the basement, one from the back door) and were both trying to occupy the already small room, knocking over pots and pans in the process as they made their way to the main room of the bar.
Each of the bikers had singled out a nearby target and used his running momentum to give his fist an extra edge, and each rammed his home with a mixture between a crack and a squish. Four of their opponents fell over backwards, but one was still standing with a fist now enclosed in its skull - it had gone straight through the forehead. As the biker tried to get his hand back out, two arms that belonged to the owner of the smashed head reached for him. He brought up his knee for leverage and pulled hard one more time, and with a sucking noise he disconnected and fell into the table behind him. He got back up immediately and then clutched his hand. It was covered in slimy gray matter, but there was also a thin trickle of blood where he had cut himself on a fragment of the broken skull. The wound stung harder than such a small cut should. Now really angry, he pulled out his switchblade knife and clicked it open. Too bad there was no pool table here - he could have used a queue right about now, but his knife would do just fine. He muttered "I'm gonna cut you!" and leaped forward again. His knife performed a shining arc in the air that was targeted at his opponent's throat. He was not going to take any more chances.
His opponent tried to raise its arms but was too slow. There was hardly any resistance as the blade smoothly cut through the front half of its throat, and the biker placed a high kick at its chin that disconnected the head and made it fly across the room and splat against the wall. The shape dropped and stopped moving. "So there!", the biker said, then flinched as another wave of pain hit the wound on his hand. It seemed to have spread to his wrist now. "Shit", he said. Then he ran to the bar, grabbed a bottle of whatever strong liqueur he could find, simply smashed the top of the bottle on the bar to open it up and poured the content on his arm. It burnt like hell, and he had to clench his teeth to stop himself from groaning. But it also seemed to help - the strange pain gave way to a familiar throb that he had experienced after many a fight when binding his battle wounds.
Meanwhile, his 4 friends had learned from his experience and stopped using their bare fists. Besides, the 4 shapes they had just punched down were slowly getting up again. So now they all had their knives out and were hacking and slashing at the incoming bodies, and they seemed to be somewhat successful. 3 more heads went flying through the air, but the 4th was still barely attached to the spine and just snapped back while the body kept moving forward, its strong hands making grabbing motions towards its attacker.
And they hit. The biker had been temporarily distracted, and that was enough time for the two hands to get a hold of his jacket. He brought his own forearms down heavily in an attempt to knock them off and broke straight through the grasping arms. This did not stop the hands from clinging, and they kept climbing up the jacket towards his throat. He screamed and wildly flailed at the hands until they finally lost their grip and dropped onto a table somewhere.
He was sweating. What the hell where these things? Then he charged forward again where the remaining 3 bikers were still engaged in a fierce battle. One of them now had a nasty wound on his forehead and another had lost his knife. Or maybe not lost. He knew where it was: Stuck in the throat of one of these things. But two more had pushed their way towards him, cutting him off from the one who had his blade. He tried to kick one in a very vulnerable spot between the legs, but the reaction was only one of two arms making a grab for his foot. He barely managed to pull it back in time and suddenly noticed movement next to him and instinctively ducked as something gray cut through the air where his head had been. He responded with a sideswipe and managed to kick the legs out from underneath his latest attacker, but he was distracted just long enough for another shape next to him to successfully grab a hold of his throat and squeeze. He tried to scream, but his windpipe was nearly smashed, and he could no longer breathe. He tried another kick and threw himself back at the same time, and the hands slipped off his neck leaving bloody scratch marks as he landed heavily on his back.
He still could not breathe and was starting to see stars. He did not resist when strong hands pulled him towards the crowd and his mind slowly faded to black.
Meanwhile, the biker with the cut on his hand had joined the fight again, this time using both the knife and the empty bottle as weapons. The bottle made a very satisfying bong sound as it connected with the head of another attacker, and his knife moved in a blur, cutting and slicing at whatever exposed targets he could find. The pain in his hand had subsided to a throbbing, and the anger gave him additional strength. He was just in the middle of slicing another throat when he somehow lost hold of the knife which flipped first and then dropped. Somewhat confused, he crouched to pick it up and hesitated. Next to his knife was a finger, and he could not remember attacking any hands. All the same, he reached for the knife and completely failed to grab it. When he looked closer, he noticed two things: His hand no longer obeyed his will and would not close. And he was missing a finger. He looked at his maimed hand in disbelief and suddenly lost strength in his arm, and the hand hit the floor as his elbow went limp. Strangely, the other shapes seemed to completely ignore him now. Using his other hand, he pulled his spare knife from his boot, straightened himself and looked around in confusion. He was ... what? Why was it so hard to think all of a sudden? What was going o... And he joined the gray shapes as they flowed towards the back of the bar.
There were 3 bikers left, and they were fighting desperately and with as many dirty tricks as they could think of, but what use are dirty tricks when there are no private parts, vital organs or even pain receptors to hit?
Any other patrons who were still sober enough to walk had unsuccessfully tried to flee through the kitchen and were forced back into the bar. There were no windows on this floor except by the entrance - they were trapped, and that realization helped more than the hair of the dog that bit them to sober them up. They turned over a table, pushed it up against the kitchen door and pressed themselves against it to at least slow them down. Maybe these bikers would be able to cut their way through so they could all get out...
But the bikers in question were not so lucky at the moment. One had stumbled over a fallen chair while retreating, and the other two had their hands full keeping them at bay so he could get up again. They all had minor bruises or scrapes, and they were starting to get tired while their opponents kept on coming, and for everyone they cut down two fresh ones would appear.
It seemed hopeless.
Then one of them by the name of TCruz put his fingers in his mouth and gave a quick but loud whistle, then he yelled: "Table wedge - go!" His friends immediately understood.
He started throwing chairs at the incoming crowd to buy them time while the others were breaking the legs off two tables. Then each picked up his table and held it in front of him like a shield, then they whistled a signal back. TCruz reacted by throwing the next chair directly into the big front window which broke loudly. Then he stepped between his friends who formed a wedge around the three of them by making the tables touch in front of them to form a triangular shape with them in the middle. Then they charged into the direction of the broken window, giving it all the strength they had left and holding their heads low, except for TCruz in the middle who was giving directions.
And at first it looked promising. The tip of the wedge plowed through the masses like a battering ram, divided them up and pushed them out of the way. The three even managed to knock over some of their opponents. But there was not a lot of room since this side of the bar by now was filled up with bodies that were all trying to come closer. So their initial approach soon slowed down considerably, but they still maintaining a good pace. About halfway there, one shape suddenly appeared right in front, and it was too late for TCruz to shout out a warning. They plowed right into the shape. But they kept pushing forward, and the shape fell over and soon got stepped on by the biker's boots. They were only feet away from the window when one of their boots stepped on the chest of the body they had just knocked over, and with a crack it broke through the ribs into the chest cavity. The biker stumbled and fell, letting go of the table which then stood on the side, propped up between the guys and the incoming crowd. As he tried to free his foot, the opening they had created closed again behind them, pushing more bodies on top of him. The other two did not have time to react to his screams but did their best to press on, TCruz picking up the dropped table on the way and taking the place of his fallen buddy. Suddenly the tables bumped into the wall. They had not planned beyond this, but both had the same idea - open the tip in front and close the gap in back, then jump through the window. And it nearly worked. By the sheer pressure from all the bodies trying to fit into the same space, one body was pushed into the gap between the tables before they could close it. TCruz who was in front climbed into the window frame and turned to reach out and pull his friend with him. Their hands locked, and TCruz pulled.
He felt resistance, and it was certainly not his friend who resisted - he was still inside the bar and had multiple hands grabbing at him. While squirming and turning wildly to make it harder for them to get a good grip, he made a desperate push with his feet and pulled himself closer to TCruz who himself doubled his efforts.
And after one more pull the resistance was gone. TCruz had pulled his friend half through the window when suddenly a large shard of glass that had somehow survived the chair loosened itself from the top of the window and fell directly into his friend's back, penetrating the area around one of his kidneys. The pain made him lose his grip on TCruz's hands who as a result lost his own balance and fell backwards out of the window frame. This window was at the top of some stairs, and the longer distance to the ground allowed him to somehow turn himself in mid-air to avoid falling on his head, and he even managed to roll off somehow. He immediately got up and looked up at the window just as some reaching hands scraped backwards over the shards in the lower part of the frame and vanished.
One hot tear of furious anger ran down TCruz's face, and his gloved fists clenched with a leathery sound.
"I'll be back for you bastards, and heads will roll when I come back!", he said quietly.
Then he ran for his chopper. He swung himself into the saddle, grabbed the ape hangers and stepped on the kick start. It took him two attempts, but then his bike came to life, and he tore off with screeching tires.

Damn those blasted curs!
They had actually dared follow them all the way into town. And there appeared to be a lot more of them than originally anticipated...
Gerard and his group had been on the way to Mitch's house and spotted the same paw print Mitch had seen on his front yard. They had also been able to smell something that humans would not have been able to pick up - the double-cursed whelps had marked the entire yard as their territory.
The audacity!
They had stopped dead in their tracks and gone on to plan B which was to move across the bridge into Duluth. Now they were at the bottom of it when Gerard again stopped - they had been here, too! The scent was fresh. He looked and listened into the night when suddenly he heard what sounded like a distant wolf howl from the hills of Duluth. But to Gerard it was more than a howl. It was a taunt, directed only at them, saying "Hey, we are already here - come if you dare!"
He turned around to look at his companions, shook his head and walked away from the bride, heading South.
They had not fed much last night in anticipation of tonight, so Gerard gave some quick instructions and directions to a meeting point at the end of town. He told them to make it quick and warned them not to kill unless absolutely necessary. Then they all disappeared into the night, each to hunt on their own.
Gerard was furious.
As he walked through a dark alley, he angrily punched a dumpster and left a deep indentation in the metal.
He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.
After 10 seconds, he sensed an approaching person. He looked up and saw a man who looked so much like the stereotypical sailor that he nearly laughed.
Hidden behind the dumpster, he waited for the man to pass him, then he pounced. The man did not stand a chance.
Gerard felt the hungry beast within himself stir. It was trying to take control and rip this man into tiny pieces. But Gerard knew better. That is why you should never go hungry, he thought as he calmed himself and just drank for a minute.
The victim had stopped moving only fractions of a second after the bite and was now swaying slowly. Gerard forced himself to let go and licked the puncture wound on the neck before him. The wound closed almost immediately as if it had never been there. Then Gerard left the alley where the man would keep standing like a sleepwalker for a while before waking up and not remembering a thing.
Gerard swallowed hard, trying to get the sharp taste of alcohol out of this mouth. This guy would kill himself if he kept drinking like that.
And there came the headache. Maybe moving here had not been such a good idea, anyway. Prolonged exposure to such high levels of alcohol could possibly even harm them, he guessed.
He shook the thought off and walked hastily towards the Southern end of town, avoiding the main roads.
Then he heard the growl.
It came from right behind him, and he was certain that just one second ago this alley had been empty, except for another dumpster and some debris.
The growl sounded higher than the last he had heard - maybe this one was just a puppy. They were not too smart to begin with, but this one should be fairly easy to trick, he hoped. Even so, a young one was still a formidable opponent in a physical fight.
Slowly, he turned around. He knew that any type of fast movement would awaken an instinctive pounce reaction.
While turning, he looked at the debris pile next to him to search for anything useful, and he found what he was looking for.
He faced the werewolf. It was indeed somewhat smaller than they usually were. Good. He tried the confusion method.
"Good evening. I hope I find you well on this splendid night?"
The crouching shape just 15 feet before him growled again, but not as certain of itself as before. It had not expected to talk to its prey. Gerard felt a little relief and continued.
"You must be of the quiet kind not to answer my greeting in kind... No matter. Did they not tell you the change of plans?"
The answering growl sounded like a question. Gerard answered as if this were a normal everyday dialogue.
"Yes, we held an official meeting earlier this night and agreed to make it all more fun and sporting. The current situation calls for both sides, meaning both your kind and my kind, to vacate this city for one night and then all come back together right in the middle of town for a highly dramatic ... I think 'showdown' is the word, a final battle, each of us at our strongest, an epic fight of strength and will. I apologize that you were not informed of this... Would you like to talk to your superiors in Superior to confirm this? I can wait here for you, if you like."
The young wolf was moving its head from one side to the other, obviously thinking hard about something. The goal was not to give it enough room to think too hard. Time for the last gamble.
"If you choose not to believe me, why don't you ask them?" He pointed at the wall behind it.
His timing must have been perfect, because the creature turned around and searched the area. Gerard immediately bent down towards the debris pile, pulled out an iron tube that he had spotted earlier and throw himself at his opponent, bringing the pipe down heavily on its head. The werewolf had just enough time to turn its head towards Gerard, but it was too late. There was a clang, and then the sound of a dropping body, then silence. It was over. For now.
Still holding the pipe and clutching it to his body, he started running.

That was unfortunate. No one was supposed to escape. But It had to admit that this had been a great display of teamwork by these bikers. Sometimes It really wished Its own minions had that kind of determination - or even any kind of determination - or even some form of intelligence for that matter. Hm, maybe there was a way...
Later.
And it was during this short moment of distraction that it happened.
One of Its minions had bumped against a table in the bar and knocked off a tea light that somehow managed to stay lit as it fell to the floor and sprayed melted wax at the pants of another passing shape. And it caught fire, but kept moving on undisturbed.
The remaining human survivors, already shaking with fear, now really started to panic when they saw the fire.
The bartender was visibly torn between extinguishing the fire and fueling it further. If he took out the fire, the bar might be saved. But then, by the way things looked he would not be able to gain any benefits from an intact bar when he was dead (or worse), but he might at least be able to take some of these freaks with him.
So he took one of the more expensive and high proof bottles back out of its hiding place, unscrewed the top and had a big sip himself. Then he tried to follow that biker's example by smacking the top of the bottle against the bar, but it only bounced off and out of his hands, spilling the Scotch all over the floor. He picked another bottle and tried again with both hands. This time it worked.
The table that had been propped against the kitchen door now had multiple fist-sized holes in it. One of the people who had been pushing against it had had an unpleasant encounter with a fist coming through that table and was now lying unconsciously a few feet away. While most of the others changed tactics and grabbed hold of the table legs to keep pushing, one crawled backwards away from the door and crouched into a corner by the bar where he started muttering to himself. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit we're gonna die..."
"Shut up, just shut up!", one of the guys holding the table screamed back at him, but it didn't seem to have any effect - the panicked person started rocking back and forth and kept going "Oh shit oh shit oh shit..."
That was enough! The guy who had screamed back at him ignored the table he had just been holding and threw himself at the panicked man in the corner. He gave him a kick in the side that made him fall to his side and land on his back, then he sat down on his body and starting punching him in the face, one fist after the other, with each punch screaming: "Shut ... up ... shut ... up ... shut ... your ... freaking ... mouth ... just ... shut ... up!" The man on the floor had already stopped moving, but he kept punching him until the strength in his arms gave way. He finally broke down and slowly bent forward until his face touched the other man's chest. He burst out in uncontrollable sobs and made half-hearted attempts at pounding his victim's chest.
Usually, it was part of the bartender's job to prevent fights like that, but he had other things on his mind. By now, he had managed to break the top off half a dozen bottles with high proof alcohol inside. Now he got up from behind the counter, picked up the first bottle and swung it in an arc to get the liquid inside to shoot out towards the burning body which was still slowly walking towards him. His swing was badly timed, and most of the alcohol splashed onto the bar and on his face. He picked up a second bottle and tried again, and this time he hit the target and soaked its clothes. And the flames greedily went for it, engulfing the body within a second. The bartender screamed "Aha!" in triumph and started picking up and throwing the remaining bottles both at the shapes closer to the door and at the ground in that area. A strange sense of euphoria came over him as two more shapes caught on fire.
And suddenly all the shapes that had spent the last few minutes squeezing themselves into the bar room turned around and slowly walked back towards the front entrance. Except for the ones that had caught on fire and three others who kept moving towards the fire of all things.
"Hey!", the bartender yelled after the ones by the door. "Where do you think you're going?"
He randomly picked up another bottle and threw it at the wall by the door. It smashed and sprayed its content all over, but it was too far away from the flames and had no effect.
The walking pillar of fire walking towards him on the other hand had all the more effect. It had changed direction and was now heading exactly for him - and the spilled alcohol between them.
The bartender changed tactics and started throwing bottles at the incoming shape, but the flames were so high that he could not exactly see what to aim for. The fire now blazed only two feet from the spill that went over the bar and ended at his feet. And the three bodies who had changed direction were walking straight towards it.
He picked up two more bottles and moved back towards the kitchen. When he folded back the gate to get out from behind the bar, the fire had reached the next spill and had spread all the way into the area where two seconds ago he had still been, and the top of the bar was also on fire. Without thinking about it, he automatically closed the gate again after he had gone through. It had become a habit after all these years to close that gate after putting everything in its place and tidying up before locking up at the end of his shift, and his scared mind desperately grasped at anything familiar and calming in the chaos around.
The heat was starting to get to him, and he finally became aware that he, too, was soaked in alcohol and leaving small puddles of the flammable liquid in his path. The fire now was hot enough and had lit one of these puddles as if to slowly catch up to him.
With a quick glance he could see that the bigger group of the invaders had made it closer towards the door or already outside. Now all six of the remaining opponents where on fire, and they seemed to walk randomly around the room, spreading out, but after a while they all turned around again - towards them. He realized that he was not at all away from danger yet. The first one he had hit was trying to make its way along to the bar, but it slowed down now. It seemed to be smaller now, and suddenly it toppled and fell to the floor where it stopped moving after a few final twitches.
Not feeling quite as triumphant as before, he still muttered: "There, one less of you bastards..."
But the others still kept coming. They were not burning as brightly - they had not caught as much of the spilled alcohol. But that meant they made an easier target.
He took careful aim and whirled a bottle at the head of the closest one, and he hit and watched it fall over backwards. But the bottle had not broken.
He threw the last bottle at the head of another burning shape, but only hit the shoulder this time, and it did not fall, it only spun around as the other one slowly started getting up again.
And now the bartender realized what he had not understood before, the reason for the seemingly random movement before. The burning shapes made up a fence of fire, designed to force them towards the kitchen door, and they had already spread out further to cover the area where one of them had just broken down.
The heat was getting intense, and the whole center of the bar was now on fire all the way up to the ceiling. And he suddenly noticed that he was breathing harder than before. Oxygen! The fire was pulling the air from the room! They had to get out now!
"Hey, one of you, pick up a table like the bikers before!", he yelled at the few survivors.
The response was not encouraging. "What bikers? Can't you see we're busy here?"
This made him angrier than it probably should, but it also gave him extra strength. He picked up one of the tables and threw it legs first into the ground. There was a slight crack, but nothing broke. He tried again, and this time the legs gave way. Now that he had the movement down, he repeated the same with the other two legs and succeeded on first try. Then he picked up the table top, like he had seen the bikers do before and rolled it towards the others who were still trying to hold their table against the door. It rolled over someone's legs who turned around furiously and yelled: "Hey, are you out of our goddamn mind?"
"No, I'm trying to get us out of here, you fool! Now pick up that table!", the bartender replied. Then he turned around again.
The 5 burning shapes were still getting closer, but by the slow way they moved he figured he still had 20 seconds.
So he prepared another table in the same way, then picked it up and walked towards the others and yelled through the noise of the flaming inferno: "We have to make a run for it! Someone pick up this table, I'll take mine. We form a wedge, then we open the door and run! Get moving!"
The man he was talking to just stared at him in disbelief, when suddenly there was a loud scream in the corner by the bar where one of the survivors had still been weakly beating up the man he had killed. He had not noticed the approaching shapes and was now on fire himself. He managed to get up, screaming and madly flailing his hands which only gave the fire more oxygen. Not able to see through the flames, he started running around blindly like a chicken without a head and thumped heavily into the wall. He stood there for another second, then fell backwards. This happened only 10 feet from the kitchen door.
The bartender by now had had enough. He set down the table and reached his free hand to the man he had just talked to. He grabbed him by the collar and simply pulled him to his feet with the superhuman strength that only extreme fear can give you.
"NOW!", he screamed in his face. This time, the man nodded and reached for the table top.
Besides these two, there were 3 survivors.
"You two get over here, and you open the door on my signal!", the bartender commanded, and they obeyed with glazed eyes. Then he screamed: "Go!"
And it worked. They closed the wedge in front, enclosing all 5 of them, and made a push through the kitchen door and even managed to clear it.
But that was where their luck ended. Even though there were more of them, they could not match the strength of the bikers, and after they had plowed through one row of bodies they were stopped abruptly when they ran right into one. The tip of the wedge had buried itself deeply into its chest, but it did not fall - others had propped themselves against it, holding it up from behind!
Instead, the improvised wedge fell apart, and hands stronger than their own pulled the tables out of their hands.
By now, the fire had filled the entire bar room, and no one heard the screams inside through the noise of the flames. The front door was empty now, and a few pings and whooshes could be heard as the heat exploded bottles with alcohol in them that added more and more fuel to the flames that occasionally shot out the front of the building.
After a while, a lot of gray shapes including 5 new ones left the burning building through the back door as the roof of the building collapsed.

"You are late", Giles said when Gerard finally arrived at the meeting point.
"Never mind that, Giles. One of them found me." He raised the pipe and swung it downwards to demonstrate what had happened. "We need to leave. Now."
They all nodded, and Gerard looked at Philipp.
"Do your thing."
Philipp, who used to be a car mechanic, looked around until he found an SUV nearby and ran towards it. He looked inside and nodded to himself. Then he waved at the others and motioned for them to come near.
"I'll need you to lift the back of the car while I open the door to prevent the car alarm from going off."
They took positions around the back and without hesitation or signs of strain lifted it a few feet off the ground while he pulled a long flat piece of metal out of his backpack. After inserting it into the car door by the window and playing with it for a few seconds, he suddenly pulled it up, and the door unlocked.
"Keep it up there until I got it disabled."
He opened the door and bent inside towards the pedals. There he opened a plastic cover that hid the fuse box and removed one particular fuse that looked like any of the others still inside. Grinning, he put the cover back in its place and got out.
He unlocked the other doors, and flashing with pride he said: "That's it, let's go."
No one gave him the satisfaction of praising him. They lowered the back of the car and all got in. Philipp again bent down into the front of the vehicle and seemed to work on some wires when the car suddenly started. He sat into the driver's seat and started driving South.
"Where to?", he asked to Gerard who sat next to him.
"Just drive", Gerard answered. The fact was that he was not certain on the "where" yet. He knew the "from" - a very promising town with plenty of opportunities and a house with very amusing pets inside. He had been so proud of that little game with the hair - he liked to play with his prey. Of course there was nothing to it, but it worked better than magic in getting the victim to submit.
It had been a nice house, too. And now they had to leave it all behind and start all over again. It was no use trying to fight the werewolves. Not only were they physically stronger (and nearly as fast) as them, but there were a lot more of them against the six of his little group - no, staying to fight them was suicide.
Alright, what were the facts?
So far, werewolves had never bothered them anywhere even close to a city, which meant that they were getting bolder, or maybe they were actually planning something, laughable as it sounded.
But then, Superior still was very small.
What kind of place could they go that would discourage these furballs from following?
Maybe a bigger city. So what was in the area? Not much nearby - the closest bit of civilization was Eau Claire, and even that was fairly small.
They could of course take a turn on the highway there and go on to Minneapolis. His last visit to the Twin Cities had been a while ago, and he had liked it there - the center of "Minnesota Nice" - a good place to be.
But that was just it. He had liked it there just a bit too much to go back there - it just seemed wrong to establish a haven there.
Then there was Chicago, but he had always felt that this town was too busy for his taste.
Something in between, maybe... How about Milwaukee? Hm, getting closer... Madison - that seemed to be a good sized town. Plenty of neighborhoods to hide in, and even a small airport if he remembered correctly.
But would it be big enough to keep the dogs away? But wait, maybe it didn't have to...
"Eau Claire, for now. Just keep going straight ahead, we cannot possibly miss it."
Yes, that might work...

...continued on page 6.