And stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the bones in Cullie’s body stretching. It wasn’t one to two random bones, but damned near all of them at the same time. Cullie’s hands and feet pounded at the pew, beating a furious tattoo. His eyes were rolled back into his head and showed only whites. His chest was expanding in a series of uneven twists that looked painful and had to feel even worse.
Mark had been unfortunate enough to suffer from several growth spurts in high school. He remembered them well because they hurt almost constantly. He’d been taken to three different doctors when he complained of pain in his legs before his parents accepted that the aches and pains he felt were nothing but the usual discomfort associated with growing bones. He was just sensitive enough to feel it more than a lot of others because his growth spurts were always extreme.
Whatever he’d felt couldn’t hold a candle to what Cullie was going through. Mark could see the bones in his rib cage changing, growing and stretching in ways that must surely feel like the Holy Inquisition had chosen him for a year’s worth of confessions.
“Cullie?”
Cullie groaned, the sound coming from deep inside his chest and accompanied by the sound of bones creaking, flesh stretching. It was when Cullie opened his mouth again that reality sank through the numb surprise. Cullie’d grown fangs, and it looked like his face was starting to change shape.
“Oh, fuck me, Freddie.” Mark stumbled backward; shaking his head in denial of what he knew was happening. Cullie was his friend, true enough, but his mind looked past the ruined form in front of him and pushed images of what he’d done to the girl that had been a wolf on the that dreadful night. More importantly, his memories insisted on reminding him that his friend had orgasmed when he’d torn the flesh from the screaming wolf-woman. He’d moaned deep in his chest and messed his pants at the thought of what he’d done.
Mark kept thinking about that, too, as Cullie kept changing. This wasn’t the seamless, sudden transformation of the other werewolf he’d seen change. No, this was a slow and almost random thing. Cullie’s body was trying to recover from heavy trauma at the same time, and the changes seemed less organic than with the others. Maybe his body had to get used to the idea of becoming something inhuman before things went smoothly.
And all Mark could think about was the physical pleasure Cullie’d received when he tortured the pregnant woman. He kept going back to that no matter how much he didn’t want to think about it. Because, really, he was starting to realize why he’d been left here with George and with what should have been their dead mutual friend but was instead their changing mutual friend.
“George. George?” Mark almost stepped into the fire as he kept backing up and finally tore his eyes away from Cullie’s agonized transformation. Sweet Jesus, he’s growing skin again. He’s healing and when he’s done, what’s to stop him from getting off that fucking pew and tearing us both apart? He knew the answer of course. Not a damned thing would stop Cullie. If he got good at the whole shape changer thing, he’d be nearly unstoppable, and he’d start killing whenever the mood struck him. Cullie, who’d always been a little weird, always been the one to talk about what he’d like to do to this girl that made him hot or that guy that pissed him off, Cullie who’d blown a fucking wad while he had torn the skin from a pregnant woman, would heal faster than ever, be stronger than ever, and never leave a single bit of evidence that proved a human being had been involved in a murder.
Werewolf? Fuck that! Can you say serial killer with claws?
“George! Wake the fuck up!” His voice cracked as he screamed and George finally came out of his slumber, waking instantly.
Mark didn’t try to explain, he just pointed a finger. He saw the same realizations going through George’s mind that had gone through his and when he thought the troubles had cemented themselves, he asked, “What are we going to do here, George?”
George stared at Cullie for all of ten seconds, and then stepped toward the still growing beast on the pew and grabbed the closest limb, in this case the left foot, which had started sprouting fur.
George was not a small man. He was out of shape, but he was also big enough to make most people think twice about screwing with him. Mark stared with his mouth hanging open as George put his weight into it and practically hurled Cullie onto the fire.
Flames leaped and danced around Cullie as he hit the blazing collection of wood, and Cullie did more than scream now. He rose from the burning flames and roared, as the changes in his body accelerated.
Mark swallowed hard and shook his head, refusing to believe what his world had come to. The damned thing kept changing even as it burned, growing larger and more ferocious. The sounds coming from it were undiluted rage and pain and loud enough to leave him half deafened.
George didn’t stand by and wait for Cullie to die. He grabbed a board from near the fire and swung it as hard as he could, landing a savage blow across the side of its still burning head. The board shattered, and so did the back of Cullie’s misshapen skull. Cullie fell back into the flames, screeching as his hands were buried in the coals, and the flames licked across raw parts of his body that had not yet re-grown flesh.
George was screaming now, too, as he took the remaining length of wood and drove the edge into the monster’s back, pushing as hard as he could, ignoring the flames that threatened to ignite his clothing. The edge of the broken board was jagged and disappeared at least a couple of inches into the raw meat on the Cullie-thing’s back.
Cullie fell into the fire completely, his face buried in the ashes at the center of the blaze, and still George held him down, pushing with trembling arms. The sounds the half formed werewolf made would haunt Mark for the rest of his life; he knew they would.
Cullie pushed and fought back, but despite his changes, he was still too damaged to hold his own. One hand slid out of the pyre, scattering coals across the ground, and trying to reach George, but he was quick enough to step aside. Mark watched the fingers lengthening, watched the nails grow thicker, even as the heat started cooking the meat away from the bones.
George’s boots were smoldering, the laces on one of them already burning before he stepped back and left the board behind, sticking out of the spot where it had pushed through the muscles and possibly even through a couple of ribs.
George stared at Cullie and panted, his face smudged with ashes and seared to a light pink. He stomped his feet impatiently before he finally managed to put out the flames licking at his laces.
“You killed Cullie.” Mark shook his head, numbed to the point where he didn’t stop himself from opening his mouth.
George turned sharply on one heel and pivoted a scorched fist into his face, splitting his lip and snapping his head backwards with the force of the blow. Before Mark could recover, George bulldozed forward and hit him again, a third time and a fourth.
Mark fell back and crashed into the broken pews, once again completely unsettled by the events around him. He ignored the edge of wood that pressed into his back as he saw George stumbling around like a drunk.
Finally George settled himself against the far wall and drew into a nearly fetal position. Mark watched as the man he thought he’d known well enough to call a brother started crying, his head resting against his drawn up knees.
He had no anger left in him. There was nothing but a hollowed-out feeling and the pain of the scrapes that George’s fists had reopened. Mark eventually rose and limped to the closest opening in the side of the church before he dry retched a few times. The smell of cooking meat was overpowering inside the building. Even though the air outside was cold, it was purer, sweeter than the stench inside.