The Werewolf and the School Bus – 7


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Okay. Let’s go.

I got to my feet slowly, my body still aching, but not as bad. I could draw a deep breath, at least. I checked my watch. It had been forty-five minutes since I had been ambushed.

Traffic was light today; the occasional vehicle thrummed past overhead, but no civilian had stopped to check on me. And the old goat who had led me out here hadn’t reappeared either. Some relation of Bobby Leger’s, I figured. I’d sort him out later.

Whoa. Lightheaded. I closed my eyes, waited for the feeling to pass.

Once it did, I turned to the Grand Am. My radio crackled. Somehow, it had survived the assault, and I had checked in a couple of times. I had told the sheriff’s office I was taking lunch. Then I had told them that lunch had disagreed with me.

One of Leland Paget’s swings had popped the car’s trunk, and I had a pretty good idea of what I would find inside it. The car had zero gas in it. It had been towed here, and that was a lot of work for a lazy asshole like Leger. The car had been going to serve a dual purpose.

First purpose, lure me here.

Second purpose, carry my corpse out of here.

I donned the Mechanix gloves I carried on my belt and raised the trunk lid. The hinges shrieked. Inside, the carpet was gone. There was a greasy tow strap curled on the metal floor. Beside it, a box of heavy-duty black trash bags and several rolls of duct tape. Beside those, two axes and a machete. The tools were brand new. I hefted an axe and turned to Leger’s body.

It was a bloody twenty minutes.

– – – –

I sat in the creek, the warm water lapping at my chin. I had stripped off my uniform before converting Leger into manageable chunks, and then I had packed him into fourteen individual trash bags. And triple-bagged those.

And then, after taping everything up nice and neat, no drips nor drops, something deep in the back of my brain popped up and thought all that had been a stupid waste of time. Here I was, naked and slicked in sweat and blood, spent from the attack, starving, and not sure what to do with the packages, and I could have avoided all that by just eating the stupid bastard and tossing the leftovers in the creek because I was a damn werewolf, for God’s sake–

That thought, and the rumble of my stomach in response to that thought, had sent me splashing into the water. Dunking my head a few dozen times had made me feel better. I had done some pretty gruesome stuff, but cannibalism? Nope. Never. Not ever.

But was it cannibalism? I wasn’t one hundred-percent human, after all . . .

I rubbed my face. Enough. I had to get back on the road. I waded back, still wearing the gloves, and tossed the bloody axe into the trunk. The lid wouldn’t latch, so I duct-taped it shut. Then I stared at the packages. I had been careful to triple-bag everything away from where I chopped up Leger, so they weren’t contaminated.

That particular patch of ground was a red mess, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

I figured it might take me four trips, maybe three, to lug all the pieces up to the patrol car. I didn’t want to drive it down here, because I was afraid of leaving tread marks.

I stripped off the gloves and then dressed. Paget had disappeared into the woods, and he hadn’t reappeared. I figured he had ran back to wherever they had left the vehicle they used to tow the Pontiac here. Blunder through the thicket for about a mile, and you would come upon Village Mills. I wasn’t concerned with Paget right then. What was he going to do, go to the Village Mills cops, all two of them, and tell them that he and Leger had tried to kill a Sawyer County deputy, but she had killed Leger instead?

He wasn’t smart enough to leave town, either. He’d gone to ground. I’d track him down later. Right now, I had to pack up Leger.

He ended up taking four trips. I had to move my gear bag, shotgun, and lunch cooler inside the car. After I dropped the last bit of him, I closed the trunk and leaned on it, stared at my reflection in the rear window. I was going to fake sick for the rest of today and tomorrow and spend that time getting rip-roaring drunk. I wanted to be so obliterated that I forgot my first, middle, and last name.

I U-turned and headed back, digging my lunch out of the cooler as I drove. I tore off chunks of the rib eye and devoured them, telling myself that the cold meat was just as good–better, even–than the warm meat in the trunk.

– – – –

How to Dispose of a Body That Is in Fourteen Different Pieces, by Elizabeth Anderson

{ Other works by this author:

Well Damn, Now I’m a Werewolf

I’m Shedding, This Sucks

and

Oh S***, Who Did I F*** Last Night? }

     Chapter One:

     Don’t toss them all out in the same location. That’s stupid. Spread it out. Throw one piece of the torso off the Adams Bayou Bridge. Punt the head into the woods just off the highway. Dump the right leg down that winding dirt road where all the coyotes have been sighted. Remember, Mother Nature and her insects and animals are your friends.

     When you’re finished, fake sick so you can have the rest of the day and the next off. Go home. Take a hot shower. Have a whiskey sour or five. You’ve earned it.

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