A Few Bad Wolves

 The lizardman had problems. That's what you called a werewolf infestation in my line of work: problems. So I packed a clip of 9mm silver bullets and slipped a silver bladed knife into my boot before leaving the office. Standard issue stuff for the paranormal.

 You might be asking yourself - a lizardman? Aren't they the enemy? And I would answer that no, many monsters and freaks are quite nice once you get past the fangs. Of course werewolves are almost always nasty, given the underlying feral urge. The only positive experience I had was with the young woman with fantastic legs. I eventually found out that she had to shave daily. That was a fun case.

 This one was bad from the start. The lizardman ran a commune outside the city. A series of wooded hills for creatures of the night to escape life among the normals. Cabins with all the amenities and plenty of game to hunt, which is what attracted the werewolves. They do enjoy a good hunt.

 I drove out to the commune at noon. I wanted to check the lay of the land, bait a few traps. The place was beautiful if you're into the pastoral thing. I pulled up a gravel drive, stones skidding away from my tires. The cabin in front of me was two stories and the lizardman was waiting on the porch, a five foot tall gray-green skinned man with a fanged snout wearing a tweed jacket and pants. He greeted me and gave a quick tour. Four cabins sat beyond the main house where he lived, all with freezers containing a variety of meats and a charcoal grill. I spotted two deer during the walk - very good hunting. Then he showed me the marks on the trees. Deep gouges torn from the bark. Claw marks. Footprints in the ground below. Paw prints, to be exact. Big ones.

 He didn't know how many werewolves were in the pack but there were at least three. He had tried to scare them off with a shotgun but I got the impression he must have fired it from a window. For a lizardman that dealt with paranormals on a regular basis he was a little on the quivering side.

 I took a room in a secondary cabin for the night. I spent the rest of the day setting bear traps around the house and memorizing the layout of the grounds. If I got lucky I would tag them with the pistol. If unlucky, I could lead them on a chase to the traps. As night fell I cleaned my gun and loaded the silver bullets. The chamber clicked ready. I waited at the window, lights off.

 The growling started around ten. Snarling and howling soon followed. I glimpsed motion in the forest; good night vision was a blessing in this job. By eleven they were braying their triumph at a kill. I crept out the front door, gun at the ready, followed the sounds of feasting (I could have followed the smell just as well) and found the pack. Four, all about six feet tall. Thick, furry arms and legs, with claws tearing apart the deer that was dinner. A bit of intestine shot past my cheek as I raised my gun. Unfortunately for me there were five in the pack.

 What felt like a concrete slab smashed into my back and I collapsed to the ground, claws slashing open jacket and flesh beneath. I twisted and fired twice into the beast's leg. The silver burned its way into muscle and the creature howled. It limped into the night as I spun around, just in time to rattle off three more shots. Two werewolves fell. The last two beasts pinned me down by my arms, the gun wrenched from my hand.

 A toothy maw descended towards my gut and I snapped a kick that rattled its teeth loose. It yowled and stumbled away. I slipped my knife free and jammed it through the other creature's skull. Another one down. I took off for my traps, a raw tingling sensation spreading across my damaged back. Without knife or gun I was in trouble. The creature behind me regrew its teeth and gave chase.

 I dove over a trap as the beast descended. A satisfying 'thwack' followed by a yowl confirmed the bear trap's effectiveness. I watched for the beast with the injured leg as I retraced my steps to locate my gun but it must have returned to the den, a typical werewolf response to injury by silver.

 I finished off the yowling beast with two shots (the traps weren't silver, just plain steel; would still hurt like hell, though), then searched for the fifth creature's trail. It led further into the woods.

 An hour later I found a cave mouth that practically belched the stench of wet dog. My prey was huddled in the corner, its injured leg cradled under its body. The pistol cracked once and my work was done.

 The next morning the lizardman's thanks were boundless in their generosity. I reminded him about my fee. The payment did not quite match his verbosity. Still, money was money and I was glad to get paid.

 I drove back to my apartment building and popped open the trunk. The remains of the deer from the night before made my mouth water and I hefted the carcass to carry upstairs. I hate when a few wolves give us a bad name. Now that woman, she was something special.