Night of the Were-Squirrels, Page 4

exertion. Finally I let fly when they were just a few feet away. The mother's eye exploded as the ball shattered her skull. The momentum of the ball spun her around, she fell to her back, twitching on the ground. Scarbelly, the daddy, lunged for me.

  I was out of silver. But I still had a weapon.

  I swung the slingshot like a baseball bat, hitting Scarbelly on the side of the head with as much force as I had. My hand went numb as I connected with his skull. I heard a sharp crack, and he went spinning through the night air, landing with a crash in the cornfield. The slingshot dropped from my hand and I went to get my bike. I was just leaning it up against the barn when I heard a rustle from the field. I looked to see cornstalks shifting, as though blown by a gentle breeze. But the night was still. Scarbelly was not done with me yet.

  Silver. I needed silver to kill the damn thing. I watched as the corn stalks fell over, getting closer and closer until the were-squirrel shot out from the edge of the field. He was bent and twisted, the left side of his face was caved in, but still he came at me. I had nothing left, no silver, no slingshot, so I ran, stumbling for the barn door. I could hear him getting closer, right on my heels. There was a click as the barn door popped open. I slammed it shut behind me, but Scarbelly just scratched at the door, trying to get in. He wasn't going to give up, he was coming for me.

  I looked around for a weapon. I almost broke out laughing when I realized I was in the perfect place. Why had I not thought of this sooner?

  My dad strung all of his guitars with silver-coated guitar strings. Silver literally covered the walls of the barn. I ripped the E string from a Fender Strat and pulled it tight between my fists. It was thin, but strong, like piano wire. I looped it back on itself and went to the door. He was still scratching away.

  I didn't want to let the were-squirrel into the barn, the equipment was just too valuable, so I ran to the front, pushing open the door and slamming it behind me. Scarbelly was already there.

  I snapped out the garrote and missed. He jumped at me, the weight of him knocked me down, he was that big.

  Scarbelly sank his claws into my chest and snapped his fangs at my face. I wrapped the string around its neck twice, and started to pull. At the touch of the silver he started to scrabble frantically at my chest. He spun away, taking my garrote with him.

  I stood, and we circled each other warily. He hissed at me, spittle flying between his curved, deadly fangs. I blinked and quick as a cat, he was between my legs, slicing my calf with his extended claws. I reached down from him, but he darted between my fingers. Another pause, another dash, another slice out of my leg. I realized his plan. He would wear me down, taking slice after slice out of me until I was down, on his level. And then he would kill me.

  He spun and darted for me again, silver guitar string whistling in the breeze behind him. I readied myself kicking out with my unsliced leg. He was ready for me. With ease, he darted under my extended foot and raked his claws along my ankle, just missing my Achilles tendon. One or two more passes, and I would die.

  I dropped to my knees, mostly to take the weight from my hurting legs, but also to make myself a more compact target. He charged me again. I rolled away, reaching out for the dangling string. It started to slip from my hand as Scarbelly ran past, but I tightened my grip, wrapping it around my fist.

  There was a jerk as Scarbelly ran to the end of his slack. The noose tightened around his throat, digging into his skin. I lifted him from the ground, cutting off even more circulation. Scarbelly bucked and thrashed, eyes bugging out of his head. His claws reached for me, but I held him at arm's length, away from the deadly blades.

  After a moment, he stopped twitching. I threw him as far as I could into the corn, went and found the other were-squirrel and did the same. Hopefully some crows would come along and hide the evidence for me.

  Getting back up to my bedroom was more difficult. I was tired, sore, and cut. I hauled myself hand over hand up the drainpipe, just barely made it to my window. I hurried to the bathroom and cleaned myself up, stole away to bed.

  The sun didn't wake me up the next day. Damn, I loved those curtains.

  The shower ran red with my blood as the hot water reopened my wounds. I toweled off gingerly and examined myself in the mirror. As long as I wore a long sleeve shirt and a hat, my parents would probably not notice. The cuts didn't look like they would scar.

  Downstairs, my parents were eating breakfast.

  “Hey son,” my dad said in his singsong way. “How are you doing?”

  “Good, thanks. What's going on?”

  “I have some bad news for you. I don't know if you heard the noises last night, but it sounded like there was a rabid raccoon or something. It sliced up your bike tires. I'm going in to town today, you want to come to get it fixed?”

  I thought about spending a lot of time with my dad right now, and the questions he might ask if he noticed something. On the other hand, Star might be downtown as well.

  “Sounds good, dad.” I poured myself a glass of juice, and thought about the story I had for Star.

  “Why are you so smiley, today? Aren’t you upset about your bike?” asked my mom.

  “Just thinking about the future, mom. Just thinking about the future.” I drank my juice, still smiling.

  At the end of the world, the only one you can trust is a con man. Here is a sample of Lost Gods, the fantasy debut novel by author Drew Beatty.