“Which one?”
“That one from the 80’s. With the werewolf.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s that one where--” George grabbed Ivan and threw him to the floor. As Ivan transformed, George dropped onto him, knees landing on his stomach, and pulled the grenade out of his pocket.
He slammed the grenade against Ivan’s mouth, breaking off another fang. Ivan snarled and twisted his wolf-head to the left and right, struggling against the attack, but George summoned every ounce of his rage and jammed the grenade in there.
George took a claw to the arm. He didn’t let that distract him from his purpose. Ivan was much stronger, but George only needed to hold him down for a few more seconds...
The grenade was in there deep enough for the son of a bitch to choke on it, but Ivan’s head was thrashing so violently that George couldn’t get at the pin.
He grabbed for it, not even caring if he lost a couple of fingers in the process. Ivan’s tongue slid over his hand as George’s index finger curled over the grenade pin.
He yanked it out.
And at that moment, Ivan’s rage surpassed George’s own. He pushed himself up, sending George tumbling to the floor, then spat the grenade at him.
It landed on George’s chest.
He scooped it up and tossed it. He was suddenly more concerned with getting the explosive off of his chest than taking out the werewolf, so his throw went wild. The grenade bounced against the console of a classic Centipede machine and exploded, shattering the screen and sending debris flying.
Ivan flexed his claws.
George quickly dug the other grenade out of his pocket.
Ivan ran out of the arcade.
George got up. His legs, burnt from the dynamite, now felt like they were actively on fire, but he pushed through it. He’d have plenty of time to wallow in agony later.
He ran out of the arcade after him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Final Fight
The explosion had already started a flood of terrified people fleeing for the exit, and the werewolf running out of the arcade added to the screams. George was right behind him.
Though he didn’t want to waste his last grenade, if Ivan went for kills rather than escape, this might be George’s last chance to use it before Ivan started slicing his way through a bunch of innocent people. If he could at least keep Ivan from going out the main entrance, the werewolf might try to run out the back, in which case Lou could take care of him.
A heavyset woman nearly knocked George over in her stampede to get out of there. Ivan was not going for the entrance--he was going for a crowd of people at the snack bar.
George had only a few seconds before a grenade would cause collateral damage. He pulled out the pin and lobbed the grenade at Ivan’s back.
It came up short, but not too short. The grenade went off as it hit the floor, spraying Ivan with incendiary material. He stumbled, lurched forward, and fell.
George rushed at him.
The werewolf was back up before he got there, but Ivan changed direction, jumping down a few stairs to the actual bowling lanes. Every step felt like his legs were being pressed against a hot grill, but George continued to follow him.
George jumped down the five stairs. With the impact, he literally believed that his legs were going to collapse underneath him like an accordion, but they mercifully remained intact.
Ivan ran onto the lane.
Then he slipped.
He didn’t fall, but the slip was all George needed. He scooped up a bowling ball and did an overhead throw, hurling it at Ivan’s back.
Unlike the grenade, this throw did not come up short. The ten or twelve pound ball struck Ivan in the center of the back, knocking him down onto the shiny wooden lane.
George jammed his fingers into the holes of another bowling ball and ran onto the lane with the werewolf.
If he ever got to retell this story, George would enhance this portion, laughing gently as he told his grandchildren about how he rolled the ball down the center of the lane, bashing the werewolf in the face. And then I shouted “strike!” he’d tell them.
Instead, he adjusted his grip so that he held the bowling ball with both hands, and brought it down upon Ivan’s head.
Though Ivan’s skull didn’t crack open, the force of the blow definitely left a dent.
George bashed him again. Then once more.
The ball popped out of George’s hands and rolled into the gutter.
Ivan scrambled forward. George wrapped his arms around the werewolf’s leg, forcing him to drag George along with him. George tried to rip off chunks of fur as they moved down the bowling lane.
He was losing his grip on Ivan. He couldn’t let that happen. What if the werewolf ran back the way they’d come, rushing out the main entrance and hacking up new victims left and right?
Ivan got one of his legs free, and kicked George in the face. It definitely drew blood. George didn’t care.
Several pins fell. Was some idiot really still bowling?
No, it was Lou, coming to the rescue.
Lou kicked away the remaining pins and crawled through the back entrance to the lane. Later--again, if he survived--George would thank him profusely for deviating from the plan. If Lou had been in here and George had heard explosions, he probably would’ve come in to make sure everything was okay, too.
Lou picked up a bowling pin as he got back to his feet.
George made another grab for Ivan’s legs. Ivan caught George’s wrists and gave them a powerful tug that sent twin bolts of pain all the way to his shoulders. Both of George’s arms flopped uselessly onto the lane. He would’ve expected it to hurt twice as much as when he’d had one shoulder dislocated earlier, but it hurt a lot more than that.
Ivan ran at Lou.
Lou swung the pin, bashing it so hard across Ivan’s face that the pin broke in half in a shower of wood chips.
George couldn’t catch his breath. He felt like he might be having a heart attack. Considering the amount of pain he was in at the moment, that sounded almost relaxing.
* * *
Lou slammed the broken pin into Ivan’s chest, trying to use it like a broken bottle. The splinters wouldn’t kill him, but Lou just needed to hurt Ivan enough to make him run away. If he ran away, Lou was confident that he could get him with the dynamite that was currently wedged into the waist of his pants.
Mostly confident, anyway.
He really hoped that stuff was stable.
* * *
Ivan had no intention of running away.
He was going to fuck these guys up.
* * *
George rolled onto his side, prayed that his shoulder was in the right spot, and bashed himself against the bowling lane. He thought he might be screaming louder than the blast of the grenades, but he didn’t care. God that hurt.
He repeated the process with the other shoulder.
Lou seemed to be holding up...well, poorly. He’d gotten in some good hits, but the werewolf was nowhere near out of commission.
* * *
Lou punched Ivan in the stomach. It was a solid, powerful blow, yet it did nothing.
What if he lit the fuse? Blew them both up.
He’d kill himself, but end the werewolf’s rampage forever.
No. Fuck suicide, even heroic sacrifice suicide. He’d poke out the werewolf’s eyeballs, kick him away, then blow his ass up, after which, he and George should probably make a hasty retreat for the exit. They were having good luck with the slow arrival of law enforcement agencies today, but that winning streak couldn’t last forever.
He extended his thumb and jabbed at Ivan’s right eye.
Ivan grabbed Lou’s wrist, twisted it, and then shoved it into his mouth.
Lou shrieked as the werewolf’s fangs tore through muscle and crunched through bone.
* * *
He bit his hand off! Holy shit! He bit Lou’s hand off!
George’s arms still weren’t working right, but he managed to push himself to his feet. His partner stumbled backwards, slipped in the gutter, and landed hard, blood spraying from his arm.
Ivan gulped down his hand and licked his bloody chops.
Then he frowned.