comfortable with a moving target.
Somebody knocked on the passenger-side window.
It was a tall beefy guy. Probably the guy who'd hit the van. He looked pretty upset. As far as Lou could tell, his vantage point didn't allow him to see that Lou was pointing a tranquilizer gun into the back of the van, although the shaking and snarling and shouting was probably arousing suspicion.
Lou waved him away.
The guy knocked on the window, more insistently.
"Go away," Lou told him, politely.
That seemed to piss the guy off. He pounded on the window a couple more times, and then—wait, was he really going to open the door?
Yep, he threw open the door. "What the hell is the matter with...?"
Lou wasn't sure if the man reacted to the werewolf snarls that were no longer muffled by the van door, or the fact that he now had a tranquilizer dart pointed at him, but his mouth dropped open much wider than necessary to complete his question about what the hell was the matter with Lou. He stood there for a half-second, raised his hands as if being arrested, then hurried away.
Lou pointed the gun back into the rear of the van. He still didn't have a good shot. Ally tore out another piece of George's jacket, and this time Lou thought he might have seen some blood.
George bellowed. Yep, there was blood on his chest, though no intestines.
Lou considered climbing into the back to get a better angle, but rejected that idea as suicidal.
"Get her in front of you!" said Lou.
George responded. He'd probably said, "I'm trying! I'm trying!" but his words weren't very coherent.
"Dammit, George! Push her!"
Lou got maybe half of what George said next. Enough to figure out that he was saying, "Just throw it to me, you twit!" The "twit" part was definite, anyway. Not a usual part of George's vocabulary.
He tossed the gun to George, who caught it.
Lou immediately turned back around in his seat. It wouldn't do any good to have a knocked-out werewolf if the cops showed up before he could drive away. Well, it would do some good from the perspective of George possibly not getting torn apart, but still, it would've been a lot of moral anguish for nothing if they ended up in prison.
The light had turned green, probably a few moments ago since there were no longer any cars in front of them, so Lou floored the gas pedal. The tires spun for a second, then the van shot forward. He raced across the intersection. There were plenty of places he could've pulled off if he hadn't just been involved in the fender bender, but now they had to flee the scene.
Hopefully George could get the situation under control by himself.
George screamed. It didn't sound much like the situation was under control.
* * *
"Just throw it to me, you twit!" George shouted. "Twit" was not the word he'd meant to use or even a word he'd ever said before, as far as he could remember, but when a werewolf was raking its claws across your skin and drawing blood, it was hard to vocalize more than the screams of pain.
For somebody whose lycanthropy supposedly hadn't manifested itself yet, Ally had transformed pretty goddamned efficiently. Had she been lying? Did she go out on werewolf romps every weekend?
At the moment, it didn't matter. The slashes across George's chest stung like hell and might require stitches but weren't anything that would cause him to bleed to death. If she got in another good swipe, or got him across the neck, it might be a different story.
Lou was no marksman and it made sense that he'd wait for the perfect opportunity, but still, George felt like his partner should've been able to squeeze off at least one decent shot by now. Didn't matter anymore. Lou tossed the tranquilizer gun to him and George caught it.
Then Ally knocked it out of his hand. George's wrist went numb, but there was no jutting bone or spurting blood. The tranquilizer gun fell to the floor as the van rocketed forward, putting Ally off balance. George took advantage of that moment and
Somebody knocked on the passenger-side window.
It was a tall beefy guy. Probably the guy who'd hit the van. He looked pretty upset. As far as Lou could tell, his vantage point didn't allow him to see that Lou was pointing a tranquilizer gun into the back of the van, although the shaking and snarling and shouting was probably arousing suspicion.
Lou waved him away.
The guy knocked on the window, more insistently.
"Go away," Lou told him, politely.
That seemed to piss the guy off. He pounded on the window a couple more times, and then—wait, was he really going to open the door?
Yep, he threw open the door. "What the hell is the matter with...?"
Lou wasn't sure if the man reacted to the werewolf snarls that were no longer muffled by the van door, or the fact that he now had a tranquilizer dart pointed at him, but his mouth dropped open much wider than necessary to complete his question about what the hell was the matter with Lou. He stood there for a half-second, raised his hands as if being arrested, then hurried away.
Lou pointed the gun back into the rear of the van. He still didn't have a good shot. Ally tore out another piece of George's jacket, and this time Lou thought he might have seen some blood.
George bellowed. Yep, there was blood on his chest, though no intestines.
Lou considered climbing into the back to get a better angle, but rejected that idea as suicidal.
"Get her in front of you!" said Lou.
George responded. He'd probably said, "I'm trying! I'm trying!" but his words weren't very coherent.
"Dammit, George! Push her!"
Lou got maybe half of what George said next. Enough to figure out that he was saying, "Just throw it to me, you twit!" The "twit" part was definite, anyway. Not a usual part of George's vocabulary.
He tossed the gun to George, who caught it.
Lou immediately turned back around in his seat. It wouldn't do any good to have a knocked-out werewolf if the cops showed up before he could drive away. Well, it would do some good from the perspective of George possibly not getting torn apart, but still, it would've been a lot of moral anguish for nothing if they ended up in prison.
The light had turned green, probably a few moments ago since there were no longer any cars in front of them, so Lou floored the gas pedal. The tires spun for a second, then the van shot forward. He raced across the intersection. There were plenty of places he could've pulled off if he hadn't just been involved in the fender bender, but now they had to flee the scene.
Hopefully George could get the situation under control by himself.
George screamed. It didn't sound much like the situation was under control.
* * *
"Just throw it to me, you twit!" George shouted. "Twit" was not the word he'd meant to use or even a word he'd ever said before, as far as he could remember, but when a werewolf was raking its claws across your skin and drawing blood, it was hard to vocalize more than the screams of pain.
For somebody whose lycanthropy supposedly hadn't manifested itself yet, Ally had transformed pretty goddamned efficiently. Had she been lying? Did she go out on werewolf romps every weekend?
At the moment, it didn't matter. The slashes across George's chest stung like hell and might require stitches but weren't anything that would cause him to bleed to death. If she got in another good swipe, or got him across the neck, it might be a different story.
Lou was no marksman and it made sense that he'd wait for the perfect opportunity, but still, George felt like his partner should've been able to squeeze off at least one decent shot by now. Didn't matter anymore. Lou tossed the tranquilizer gun to him and George caught it.
Then Ally knocked it out of his hand. George's wrist went numb, but there was no jutting bone or spurting blood. The tranquilizer gun fell to the floor as the van rocketed forward, putting Ally off balance. George took advantage of that moment and
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