Short Stories and poems

Fox Hunt

A group of hunters finds their quarry to be harder to catch than expected.

Two Resistance members were running through the cave system, chasing after a third person, a Fanatic.

“Alison, get her! We can’t let Susan get away, not after what she did!”

“Steve, I see someone else – looks like a werefox!”

“Don’t matter – we’ll get them too!”

“Steve, what’s that sound?”

“It sounds like-”

That was when a loud crack was heard, as rock began to fall

“Oh shit!”

“Run back!”

More rocks fell.

“This way’s blocked!”

“Try the other path!”

As they turned around, they were cut off by more rocks falling.

“Steve!”

“Alison!”

More rocks fell, cutting them off from each other.

“Alison! Alison!”



“Alison!” Steve screamed out as he awoke from the nightmare. He was panting, heavily as he sat up. He waited a moment, for his breathing to relax. He got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and washed his face. He looked in the mirror, watching as his face became normal.

“Something wrong dad?” a voice asked.

Steve sighed. “Just a bad dream about your mother.”

“You still miss her, don’t you?” his son asked.

“Every day,” Steve said, as he sat down on the toilet seat. “I wish that you could have known her, Richard.”

The young man came in. “I know her through the others,” he said. “Brave, fearless, had over two dozen Weres to her name.”

Steve chuckled. “I told them to leave that part out. I want you to know who she was as a person, not how she was as a fighter. She was kind, compassionate, never took a life that didn’t need to be taken. We grew up together.”

“You were one of the lucky ones, to live free during the rule of those monsters,” said Richard. “Seeing humans as nothing more than slaves, pets, livestock, and, of course, food. I hate them – wish that they’d die.”

“Not all Weres are like that,” said Steve, with a smile. “Most are good folk, who see humans as equals. Many even helped the Resistance, like the Fifth Column. The real monsters were the ones in charge, the Masters, especially the Leaders, and their enforcers, like the Secret Claws. The average Were feared them, for what they did.”

“What did they do?” Richard asked.

“If an ordinary Were spoke out against the Masters, the Secret Claws didn’t just execute the dissident – they would kill their family too, to say nothing about what they did to the humans that were the dissident’s ‘Slaves and Pets’ – reduced to Fertilizer,” said Steve. “Understandably, given the situation, they had to keep quiet.”

“I know,” said Richard. “You’ve told me this before.”

“And as I’ll keep saying, most sympathized enough that they’d help look after the young, sick, and injured,” said Steve. “After all, you’ve been hanging out with Sally.”

Richard blushed at this. “Me and that wererabbit have been going steady. I want to ask her out on a date.”

“Try talking to her stepmother first,” said Steve. “Her family would hide me and your mother when we were kids, while our parents did what they did to try to free humans. We’ve been good friends. That vixen saved my life when I was injured on the day that your mother….” Steve’s voice trailed off. Even now, it hurt to think about what happened.

“So, just what’s so special about this hunting place?” Richard asked, trying to change the subject.

Steve smiled. “Well, our family has a tradition of hunting there – even during the war, your grandfather and I did some hunting, although we had to use crossbows and compound bows to avoid being noticed, and knowing a few friendly Weres also helped out.”

“So, what happened to grandpa anyways?” Richard asked. “You don’t normally talk about him.”

“To be honest, the police have been trying to figure that out for a while,” said Steve, as he walked out of the bathroom, Richard following. “I have my suspicions though. That being said, when we’re in those woods, you do as I say. Folks have gone missing there.”

“Accidents?” Richard asked.

“Possible – fall into the wrong hole, break your legs, floods sweeping you away, along with mudslides, with the remains being scavenged by local predators,” said Steve, as he got back into bed. “Still, that’s why it’s best to hunt in groups, just in case something happens.”

“What do you think is going on?” Richard asked, as he too got into his bed of their shared motel room.

“Son, let’s just say that I hope that accidents are indeed the reason for the disappearances,” said Steve. “I got a theory though – one I hope I’m wrong on.”

“Alright dad,” said Richard. “Get some sleep.”

Steve chuckled. “Love you, son.”

“Love you too, dad.”



In the morning, as he finished dressing, Steve dabbed some woodruff balm behind his ears.

“Can I use some of that?” Richard asked.

“Don’t wear it around Sally, unless she’s used to the scent, and only in small amounts,” said Steve. “Makes Weres sneeze otherwise, especially if they are close enough to kiss you.”

“Why do you wear it, dad?” Richard asked. “Does it help you with your condition?”

Steve nodded. “It does, to a certain amount. It helps me to stay calm. It makes me think of the good times with your mother.”

“Maybe you should put it on when you sleep,” said Richard.

Steve chuckled. “Tempting, but I don’t want to turn the wrong way, and have a sneezing fit myself.” He placed the container into his hunting bag. “Now, let’s go have some breakfast.”



They entered the common room of the motel, where a female werebear was busy cooking on a stovetop.

“Pork sausage, bacon, ham, eggs, hash browns, cereals, and frosted cinnamon rolls,” she said. “Not to mention some locally produced honey and maple syrup.”

“Sounds good,” said Steve. “I know my boy will enjoy some of that.”

The bear smiled, as she served Richard his breakfast. The young man found a spot for him and his father.

Steve then lowered his voice. “As it is, I hope that you got about five pounds of ham ready.”

The werebear looked at him. “Oh, I see. Yeah, I got plenty ready.” They brought out a large section of cooked ham. “Why don’t you show it to everyone?”

Steve frowned. “I got my reasons.”

“Forced into it?” the werebear asked.

“Something like that,” said Steve. He looked at his son, who was busy eating. “It was that or make him into an orphan.”

“I see,” the werebear said. “I’ve known of a few in similar situations. I feel pity for the children of Fanatics that were forced by their parents to become Weres. They were just as bad, if not worse, than the Secret Claws.”

“Ran into more than a few of those during the war,” said Steve. “I can understand those that became pets and slaves to weres that they’d known prior, in order to keep themselves, and their family, alive, especially those who couldn’t fight for whatever reason. But, the Fanatics, doing the whole trying to force their fellow humans to become pets and slaves, or livestock for those that were troublesome – they deserve whatever they get.”

“By the way, since you’re going to be out in the woods, do keep an eye out,” the werebear said, as she pulled out a picture. “This man went missing a few days ago.”

Steve looked at the picture. “Seems familiar. Yeah – I know this guy. He’s in the unit that’s hunting down War Criminals, among others.” He looked at the werebear. “Got images of the others that went missing?”

The werebear got out a few more. “According to the Sheriff, most of the missing had been veterans, or were those with them.”

“Makes one wonder if you got a Remnant group operating out there,” said Steve, as he looked at the pictures.

“I hope not,” said the werebear. “Most folks around here sympathized with the Resistance, even helping out, especially the Weres. What happened wasn’t right.”

“I got nothing against Weres eating the dead, or executing criminals that deserve death by eating them, but I know of those that grew up on those farms,” said Steve. “Even now, some of them aren’t quite right in the head, and need someone that’s willing to….” He faltered.

The werebear nodded. “I’m taking care of someone like that,” she said. “You can’t treat them like they were a normal person. Even now, it’s like he’s barely a child. To be fair, I think he was mentally disabled to begin with, but living like that, his mind retreated to the only thing he knew to be safe. It’s taken a lot of work to make him get used to doing things like using the bathroom, wearing clothes, using silverware – and other such things. Makes me sick to think about what he must have been through to not really grow up. Even now, he calls me Master and all that stuff. Hard to heal someone like that.”

“I suppose I’m lucky in that regards,” said Steve. “My injuries could be healed, well, the physical ones at any rate. I still get nightmares though, especially the ones about my, well, wife, mate, mother of my child at any rate, and a good friend.”

“Lost her in the war?” the werebear asked.

Steve nodded. “She was killed by a Fanatic, and her werefox master, or whatever. That’s one human I wouldn’t mind eating myself, for what she did.”

“I don’t blame you,” said the werebear. “So, why are you up here?”

Steve chuckled. “Taking my son hunting. My family has a tradition of hunting deer here, and my father made sure to carry on that tradition, bringing me up here a few times, during the war. Although, I’ve been busy, until now, to do the same with my son. Hopefully I won’t need to sneak around and such, other than not being spotted by a deer.”

The werebear chuckled. “You have fun then. Just be careful.”

“I will,” said Steve, as he picked up the food, and walked over to Richard.

“What was all that about?” Richard asked.

“Seems that another hunter or hiker went missing a few days ago,” said Steve. “So, keep an eye out. You might save a life."

“Alright, Dad,” said Richard.



As Steve and his son ate, he noticed a police car pull up into the parking lot. A werewolf stepped out of the car. Steve looked at him, as the officer entered the place.

Richard turned his head and looked. “Do you know him?”

“I don’t think so,” said Steve. “Possible though.”

The officer went up to the proprietor. “Hear anything?”

The werebear poured a cup of coffee. “No one has stumbled in looking like they needed to be fed, or needing a doctor,” they said. They pointed towards Steve. “Those two spent the night – older one knows of the missing hiker, and the others we’re trying to find.”

The werewolf looked towards Steve. They walked up to him. “Don’t I know you?”

“It’s possible,” said Steve. “Hopefully not from opposite ends of firearms or other weapons.”

“No, not that,” the werewolf said. “I was in the Resistance – the 4th Ohio we called ourselves.”

“17th Michigan myself,” said Steve. “Upper Michigan to be specific.”

“Now I remember,” the werewolf said. “Physical Therapy. I was in a bad lumber accident, when I was hit by a falling tree branch – would of left me paralyzed, among other things. Thankfully, there was a female werewolf who was willing to do a, well, transfusion.”

“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” said Steve. “Soaking in embryotic fluid as your physical self changes from being a human, into being whatever Were it was that placed you into their uterus. All the while, you’re hoping that when you came out, you’re still the same person.”

The werewolf frowned as they grabbed a seat. “Yes, that’s why I remembered you – you always tried to refuse to shift. You tried to deny the change.”

“I shift when I must, and I do my physical stuff, but I prefer to be human,” Steve said, as a slight snarl escaped his throat. He stood up, and walked away, heading to the bathroom.

The officer looked at Richard. “Ever see him shift?”

“He doesn’t like doing it around others, not even me,” said Richard. “He doesn’t even like doing it around his friend, the one that saved him. I think it’s because he feels guilty for not being able to save my mother.”

Inside the bathroom, Steve looked at his reflection. He could see where his hair was already changing to his other form. He looked down at the fingertips, and saw claws instead of nails. His eyes had also begun to change. He closed them, and began to breathe slowly. He needed to stay calm. He looked into the mirror, and the memories came, once more.



“Sergeant, Sergeant! Steven! Wake up! It’s me.”

Steve’s eyes opened, his vision blurry, and there before him was the fox himself! He reached for his gun, but was unable to move his arm.

“Steve, can’t you hear me?” The voice was familiar.

“Crystal?” he asked, his voice so weak, he almost couldn’t hear himself.

“You’re alive,” the friendly vixen said. “Good.”

“Alison?”

The vixen shook her head. “I’m sorry. She didn’t make it. As for you, there’s only one option; you must be turned into a werecreature. Otherwise, you won’t be able to make it through the night. If you weren’t awake, I probably would have already placed you into my womb, under the impression that, maybe, you’d want to live, so that you could raise your son. But, since you’re awake, I need your permission, otherwise, I’ll just stay here, by your side, and comfort you.”

“And Richard?”

“I’ll look after him, as if he was my own kit.”

Steve looked at Crystal. He knew what she was offering, and what it would mean. He’d no longer be human, but he’d be there for his son.

“Do it!”



Steve shuddered as the memory faded. He’d spent a week in Crystal’s womb, his body healing, and changing. Even longer, he had to go to therapy. Learning to control his shifting, and various other things. The more one spent in a shift, the better they could control things. However, being in a shift always reminded him of that night. Even when his friends said that it was okay to be in a shift, even when Richard said that it was okay, it made him nervous. In short, he was afraid, of himself.

There was a knock.

Steve looked, and saw the werewolf officer.

“Survivor’s Guilt?” they asked. “With a mix of Self Fear?”

Steve nodded. “I’m afraid of what I am. I fear that I might hurt my son one day if I’m not in control.”

The werewolf sighed. “I know the feeling. I saw my brother get devoured in front of me, by a werewolf. Every so often, I look in the mirror, and I see his killer staring back at me.”

“What do you do in those moments?” Steve asked.

“I call someone,” the officer said. They pulled out a card.

Steve accepted and looked at the card. “Were-Vets Chat?”

“It’s a group of veterans that happen to be Weres, especially those that were turned,” the werewolf said. “They hook you up with someone who can relate to you. We’re able to talk about things, things that folks like us have been through. It saves lives, especially those that are afraid of becoming a monster. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve sat down and chatted with someone that was looking at 12 gauge shotgun with a deer slug, and thinking about sticking it under their chin and pulling the trigger. I’ve saved more than a few of them, simply by talking to them. Most call back, and we talk about anything and everything – spouses, children, jobs, hunting, fishing – anything and everything that they want to talk about.”

Steve pocketed the card. “Might be useful.”

The officer chuckled. “You got a good son out there. It’s clear that he cares about you.”

“Did you ever locate him?” Steve asked. “The one that devoured your brother?”

The werewolf frowned, and nodded. “It didn’t bring my brother back. I still get those nightmares. But, like I said; call that number, and help will be with you.”

“Thanks,” said Steve. “So, tell me, what do you think is going on?” He pulled out a special badge as he said this.

The officer looked it over, and then at him. “I believe that we’re dealing with a Remnant group. Evidence seems to indicate at least two dozen. They use scent-changers, so we can’t just sniff them out. Some probably live in town. They might have converted a few of the more extreme locals, as we know that most of these Remnants tend to be highly wanted for their crimes. In short, be extremely careful out there.”

Steve pocketed the badge. “Not my first fox hunt.”

“Just be careful where your son is concerned,” said the werewolf. “It’s not just you to worry about.”

Steve looked at the officer. “Sampson Cartwright, correct?”

The werewolf nodded. “I’m glad that you remember.”

“I hope that you kept the name,” said Steve. “I never was fond of those that changed their name to suit their new Were side. I want to remember where I came from.”

“I don’t blame you there,” said Sampson. “You take care.” They left the room.

Steve stepped out, and watched as the officer left the motel.

“Did you have a good talk with him?” Richard asked.

“A good one, at any rate,” said Steve. He sat down. “Let’s eat.”



A little while later, the pair were at a convenience/sporting goods store, picking up some last minute necessities, like jerky, chocolate covered pretzels, a case of bottled water, and gummy bears.

Steve noticed Richard looking at a fixed-bladed hunting knife. There was a look in the young man’s eyes.

“It looks like a good knife,” he said.

“That it is,” said Steve. He took it off the hanger. “It’s worth buying for myself.”

“What about me?” Richard asked.

“I got a special knife in mind,” said Steve. “It’s a much better one.”

“Are you talking about Grandpa’s knife?” Richard asked.

“That one,” said Steve. “It’s been in the family since WW2, served us well in in times of war, and times of peace. Bear, deer, hogs, cattle, and plenty of fish – they all have been gutted and skinned by it. My father passed it on to me when I was your age, and now I’m passing it on to you. I was going to give it to you out in the woods, but the parking lot will do, once I open this one up of course.”

Richard chuckled. “Of course. Thanks, dad.”

Steve smiled. “You’re a good son. You know that.”

Richard nodded. “I know. You tell me every day.”



After purchasing the items, the pair was in the parking lot. Steve was cutting the new knife free with the family heirloom when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. There was a woman, watching him. She seemed, very familiar. He looked at her, trying to place the woman.

“Dad, you slashed the sheath.”

Steve looked, and saw what he was doing. “Oh, well, you can see just how good the family knife is,” he said. “It’s also why I prefer a good leather sheath over this ballistic nylon. Still, at least the belt loop and snap are okay. It should still hold the blade. I’ll ask Crystal to make a new one for it.”

He looked back up, to find that the woman was gone. “I’m sure that I knew her,” he muttered.

“Through therapy or work?” Richard asked.

“From the war,” said Steve. “Might be a relative.” He finished opening the package, checked the sheath, got out some electrical tape, sealed the cut shut with a few wrappings, and put the new knife into the sheath. He then put the family heirloom into its sheath, and passed it to his son. “They don’t make knives like this anymore. Almost a hundred years old, and just as deadly as it was on the day your great-great-great-grandfather was issued it. That knife has served our family well over the years, in hunting, in everyday life, and when we’ve had to fight. Just keep in mind, while the blade can cut, it’s the person using it that makes it dangerous. Never use it on someone you don’t want to hurt, and always respect it.”

“Yes, father,” said Richard, as he placed it on his belt.

“Now, let’s go bag some deer.”



“I still don’t get the whole thing with the sock,” said Richard, as they were walking through the woods. “What does it do?”

“Makes the deer think that we’re one of them,” said Steve. “Dip an old sock in deer urine, have it trail behind you, and it will hide our scent, human or Were, for the most part.”

“Could it fool a Were?” Richard asked.

“It can, and I’ve used it before,” said Steve. He then paused, and sniffed the air. “Richard, safety off.”

Richard pressed the button on his shotgun. “You smell something dad?”

“Yes, and it doesn’t smell good,” said Steve. “Don’t point your gun at anything you don’t want to shoot, save for the ground, and watch your feet. Now, follow me.”

They walked to a large tree. At the base of it was something that didn’t exactly look like mushrooms.

“Is that a big pile of shit?” Richard asked.

“It is,” said Steve, kneeling as he took his knife out. He scrapped it. He found something very white. A few more scrapings and his suspicions were confirmed. He stood up. “Son, hunting trip is over. We’re heading back to town, now.”

“What is it?” Richard asked.

“They didn’t have ham or venison,” said Steve. “Now, move!”

“Ah, what’s the big rush, Steven?” asked a voice.

Steve readied his gun. He sniffed the air. “Now, that’s clever,” he said. “Deer piss on your feet?”

At this, there was a chuckle, as a grey werefox appeared from a bush. Several others came from behind trees, bushes, and large boulders. It was an assorted group of werebears, werewolves, werehogs, weredeer, and a few others – easily two dozen.

Steve looked at the werefox. “I know you. You killed my boy’s mother.”

The werefox chuckled. “I’m Captain George Silvertail, of the Secret Claws. Probably be a little higher, but it’s hard to find someone to promote me.”

“That’s because I spend my time locking them up to face punishment for their crimes,” said Steve. “You won’t be much different.”

“I don’t think so,” the werefox said. “Kill them.”

Several rushed the pair.

“Dad!” Richard yelled. “What do we do?”

“Point and shoot at the chest!” Steve yelled, as he fired his shotgun, the deer slugs tearing through the Weres. He soon went through the ammo in his firearm, causing him to switch to his pistol. He fired the rounds in his clip.

“I’m out!”

Steve turned, and put his final round through the eye of a werebear that was within striking distance of his son. “Time to run!” He grabbed his son, and started to run, carrying him, moving faster than what he normally did.



He kept his speed up, for two miles, until he found a cave. He slowed down, and walked up to it. The cave was actually a crevice.

“They’re going to eat us, aren’t they?” Richard asked.

Steve looked at his son. “They’ll have to kill me first.” He looked at the crevice. “Room enough for one, especially if you stay on the ground, and are covered.” He looked at his son. “Take off your coat.”

“What for?” Richard asked, as he did as his father said.

“They’re after two humans,” said Steve, as he took his off, along with his shirt. “Not a werefox – the scent on my coat might fool them for a bit, while the scent on yours might get them to chase me instead.” He then unzipped his pants’ legs, removing them and his boots. He also undid a few snaps on his waist, and a couple of others. Then, he shifted, becoming taller, a tail came out the base of his spine, as red and white fur sprouted from his body, he nails replaced with claws, his ears becoming pointy, and everything becoming that of a humanoid red fox. He tied his son’s coat around his leg, before hugging him. “Stay safe, stay hidden. Call for help.” He gave his son the card he’d been handed. “Ask for Sampson Cartwright.” He then had the young man hide in the crevice, covered him with his clothes, and then carefully moved a few bushes, making it look like they’d been there for a while. Then, he ran.



Steve circled around, loading his guns, hoping that the boy would be safe. He also made a few extra weapons, like stakes and a spear. He soon located the group.

“They have to be around here somewhere,” said George. “Blacktail! Do you smell them?”

A werewolf was sniffing the ground. “I can smell deer piss, and the young one. The older one though, his scent’s different.”

“Different, how?” George asked.

“Smells like a Were, a werefox to be exact,” said Blacktail.

“Impossible,” said George. “Susan said that he was human.”

“Maybe he was in his human form,” suggested a wereboar. “Some Weres still prefer to hide what they are, you know.”

“You got that right!” George fired his shotgun, blasting off the wereboar’s head. He kept firing, killing or injuring several more, before switching to his pistol, and resumed firing, as the would-be hunters got behind some trees.

“Told you that we should carry guns,” said Blacktail, as the werewolf hid behind a tree near George. “That’s at least ten dead, and five more with injuries that will take a few hours to heal up.”

“Gunfire attracts attention,” said George. “Teeth and claws do not.”

“In that case, he’s going to attract plenty of attention,” said Blacktail.

“Not if he runs out of bullets first,” said George.

There was silence.

“And I think he’s out,” said George. “Go get him.”

Blacktail stayed still. “I like breathing.”

“Go get him, or I’ll kill and eat you myself.”

Blacktail poked his head out, only to get his face blasted off.

“Now, I’m out!” Steve shouted.

George came out from behind the tree, the other Weres doing the same, as Steve also got out from cover, wielding a crude spear, his belt loaded with stakes, along with the hunting knife.

George scoffed. “We’re not vampires.”

“Still does the job,” said Steve.

George chuckled, as he ripped off a tree branch, and snapped it in a couple of locations. “So do clubs. There won’t be any evidence to be traced to us.”

The other Weres did the same.

“Let’s dance.”

The Secret Claw members attacked.

Steve fought back.

They outnumbered him.

But he fought for his wife.

He fought for his life.

He fought for his son.

He fought for Sampson and his brother.

He fought for every human and Were that had suffered due to a Secret Claw or Fanatic.

He fought even when his spear broke, and he was force to use the broken shaft and a stake.

For every blow he received, he killed an enemy.

He fought until –

Until he and George were the only ones left standing. The others were dead or dying. By that point, he was suffering from multiple injuries, including internal bleeding.

“You’re pretty good, for a Turned Were,” said George. “If not for your love of humans, I might have thought to ask you to join, if I knew that you were this good.”

Steve spat, saliva mixed with blood, hitting George in the chest.

“Defiant, aren’t we?” George chuckled. “The young one will make for an excellent sex toy, once I kill you.”

“You’ll never touch my son.”

The two werefoxes rushed at each other, murder in their eyes. George managed to knock Steve to the dirt, and started to choke him, the claws of the grey fox piercing the throat of the red one.

“What was that you said about making me face punishment?” George asked.

A grin came to Steve’s face.

“What are you smiling at?” George asked.

“Your punishment.”

A howl erupted from George’s throat, as he reared back.

Steve took the chance to draw his knife, and stab the grey one in the heart.

George turned his head, and looked.

Richard was standing nearby, with a blood covered knife. “For my mother.”

The young man stabbed him, the family blade alongside that of the new hunting knife.

The grey fox collapsed.

Steve, with some help from Richard, managed to get the body off of him.

Richard then opened the pack, and got out the bags of jerky, and gave them to his father.

Steve opened them, and devoured the meat. After the fifth one pound bag or so, he noticed that his injuries were healing.

“Got canned tuna, chicken, and spam, if you need more,” said Richard.

“I’m going to need something fresher,” said Steve. He looked at George’s body. “Thankfully, he’s got plenty of meat.” He pulled out the knives, cut just under the ribcage, thrust his hand into the incision, sent it to its goal, and he ripped out the grey fox’s heart. “I’ve heard stories that some folks believe that if you eat your enemy’s heart, you gain their strength. Sounds like bullshit to me, but there’s plenty of meat right here.” He then swallowed it. His body healed much quicker. “Maybe there is something to it, if you’re a Were.”

He looked at his son. The young man looked pale, and had a certain smell on him. Steve’s eyes went down to the coat, and he saw that Richard had been sick. He looked away. “Explains why you disobeyed me, not that I blame you. Thank you for saving me.”

“I’m sorry about your coat,” said Richard. “My stomach just didn’t feel right.”

“It’s just a coat,” said Steve. “To be honest, I’m glad that you got sick – I’d be worried about you if you didn’t.”

“What about you?” Richard asked.

“If not for the fact that they are busy trying to turn his heart, and the jerky, into me, I too would be heaving my guts right now,” said Steve.

He went through the pouches on George’s belts. The grey werefox, like the others of his group, only wore belts that carried pouches of supplies and such. One item caused him to pause.

“Explains where I recognized that woman from,” he said.

“What?” Richard asked.

“The woman in the parking lot was Susan Jones,” said Steve. “Among other things, she’s the other one responsible for killing your mother.”

“Did you know that she, or any of these fellas, was in this area?” Richard asked. “You hunt these guys down for work.”

Steve shook his head. “I guessed that there was something going on. I didn’t know that it was like this. I certainly didn’t intend for you to be placed into danger. I saw the results of your shots – not bad. Crystal help you practice?”

Richard nodded. “I also managed to get ahold of Sampson. He said that he’d get here as soon as he could.”

“Good,” Steve pulled out some cloth from one of George’s pouches, and used it to clean the family blade. He handed it to Richard. “This knife belongs to you. Remember that.”

“Yes, father.” Richard accepted, and sheathed the blade.

“Now, I need to eat more meat, and I don’t want you to watch what I’m about to do,” said Steve. “So, look in that direction, and I’ll see about using the organ that they neglected the use of; their hearts.”

Richard nodded, and looked away.

Steve got his hunting knife, and went to work. One good thing about the hearts was that they were high in protein, and that was what he needed to help heal his injuries. Of course, other organs had their uses.

“Do you think that our guns made a difference?” Richard asked.

Steve swallowed the wereboar heart he’d pulled out. “Some. These fools didn’t wear body armor for whatever dumb reason – probably expected to dine upon our flesh to heal up from any injuries, like I’m doing. They should have stuck to venison, beef, pork, and mutton. There’s like 600 calories in a pound of human meat. Deer at least have about 700, with cattle, pig, and sheep having over a thousand, and that’s before factoring how long it takes for humans to grow to maturity. Most any other human-sized creature takes less than three years to start the next generation, many having two or more offspring per birth – humans take nearly 20 years, and have a much slower rate of reproduction. For being a so-called Master race, these Weres were pretty damn stupid! The one that decided that humans were to be an important meat livestock should have had their head shot off at the beginning, before the war even started. Even more so because, we humans were more than willing to fight back, even if all we had was hunting weapons, various tools that could be turned into weapons, and of course, sharpened sticks and rocks and clubs that could be used as weapons. We fought back! We won because we didn’t surrender and crawl down their gullets like the meek sheep they expected, and even sheep aren’t that meek, when they are willing to fight to protect their lambs!” He started to sob.

Richard looked back. “Father?”

“I’ll be alright son,” said Steve. “I just never thought that I’d be able to find them. Now, I know. The one is dead, by both of our hands, and the other won’t be too far behind.”

“Are we going after her?” Richard asked.

“Richard, have you ever wondered why Sally, a wererabbit, was raised by Crystal, a werefox?” Steve asked.

“Orphaned during the war, right?” Richard asked.

Steve nodded. “Make a good guess as to who killed her parents when it was revealed that they were helping the Resistance?”

“Susan did that?”

Steve nodded. “As much as I want to do it myself, I think I’ll allow Crystal to have her own justice – she and Sally’s parents were very good friends.” He walked over to the pack, got out a bottle of water, and began to wash the blood from his hands. “For now, let’s wait for rescue.”

“Do you think you’ll use your Were form more often now?” Richard asked.

Steve chuckled, and sat down. “Son, there’s two reasons as to why I prefer to be in my human form,” he said, as he shifted back into his human self, fixing his shorts as he did so. “The first is, I don’t want to forget what I was born as.”

“And what’s the second reason?” Richard asked, as he sat next to his father.

“Your grandfather used to talk about the afterlife on occasion – Heaven and Hell,” said Steve. “If what he said is true, your mother ought to be up in Heaven – that’s supposed to be the place where good folk go. Your grandfather used to say that our loved ones up there watch over us down here. If that’s true, I want your mother, to say nothing about the rest of our family, to be able to locate me. They might not recognize me in my Were form.”

Richard chuckled at this. “You got a point.” He did some thinking. “I’m guessing that they ate the missing hiker, and their remains were in that pile of shit.”

Steve nodded. “They probably did that to most of the missing people.”

“Why didn’t they use a toilet that had a bone grinder attachment?” Richard asked. “I know that Crystal’s place has one, for when they, Sally, and any of their Were guests decide to have whole goats, piglets, and other things that they can just swallow without removing the bones of, and thus need to take a dump later on, and thus need to break up any bones that survive the trip.”

Steve took out a bottle of water, and gave it to his son. “I don’t know.” He then got out another one. “Still, if I had to guess, arrogance. Get too overconfident, you make mistakes. They might have expected us to put up a fight, but they didn’t expect one of us to be a Were. They also didn’t expect me to be not only willing to kill, but they probably didn’t expect me to be willing to die, if that’s what it took to protect you from them.”

“So, what do we do now?” Richard asked.

“Let’s talk about you and Sally,” said Steve. “You are using protection, right?”

Richard blushed. “Yes. We make sure of that.”

“Good, because Crystal and I don’t want to be grandparents too soon,” said Steve.

Richard chuckled. “You know that I’m eighteen years old, right?”

“Hence why you ought to take a few years before you settle down,” said Steve. “Of course, I do have one favor to ask of you, although I’ll understand if you don’t do it.”

“What would that be?” Richard asked.

“If you got a female human friend your age, who wants to have a child, one that’s human, and you’re up for helping her out by being the father, make sure to fill Sally in on the plan, and perhaps set up an arrangement so that you can be involved in the kid’s life,” said Steve. “Trust me on that one.”

“I guess you want to make sure that some of our line stays human,” said Richard.

“I would hope so, but I’d understand if not,” said Steve. “Just don’t become a Were just because. It is one thing if it’s to save your life, but don’t do it just because you hear it’s cool. While most might come out as themselves, there are those that don’t. Then there’s the other issues, least of which is the fact that you need at least ten pounds or so of meat every day, and that’s when you’re not active.”

Richard chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, dad.” He took a sip of his water. “So, what do you think Crystal will do to Susan?”

Steve grinned. “She can be quite inventive when it comes to dealing with disposing of enemy agents, especially those that have been sentenced to death. Susan’s had a noose around her neck for a long time. She’ll wish that she was just hung.”



A few days later, a red vixen was walking around a cabin in the woods. She was looking at, for lack of a better word, trophies. One was of a medal that brought back memories, from when her parents took in, among others, a human named Steven. Their father had been a Marine, or whatever, that was now in the Resistance. The vixen’s parents had been supporters of the Resistance against the Masters. They’d shelter the non-combatants, keeping them safe, one way or another. She’d become good friends with the boy, along with a girl named Alison. Sometime after the war was officially over, the father had come up to the area to do some hunting, only to vanish. Now, the vixen knew why.

She walked into the kitchen area, and checked on a crockpot large enough to hold something the size of a deer, or, in this case, a tied up human woman. It was a special crockpot, one made during the war for the Masters. For one thing, the temperature of the water was a lot lower, low enough that it was seen as comfortable, if not for the fact that the victim was restrained, the water also had stock or broth, along with some vegetables, like potatoes and carrots, as well as more chunks of meat, and eventually, the victim would be eaten.

It had been easy to do. Simply imply that she worked with the group’s other chapters. Imply that she was there to give the traitor their well-deserved reward, and turn them into a vixen. Of course, it was also necessary for both of them to remove their clothes. After all, they wouldn’t need them, for a while. After that, it was simply a matter of overpowering her, and restraining her. After that, it seemed fitting to place her in a crockpot, one possibly used on other missing victims. There was plenty of evidence.

It had been eight hours. The woman was still alive, but very tired. In the beginning, she’d tried to fight, and tried to yell for help. No help came, and the vixen knew her knots. The vixen removed the lid.

“I’ve given you more dignity than your friends gave others,” the vixen, as she pulled the woman out, and placed her on the table. “No carrots up the ass or vagina for instance, nor an apple in the mouth.”

“Why not just bring me in?” the woman asked, faintly.

“Because, Susan Jones, you were sentenced to be executed by hanging for your crimes against humanity, as well as innocent Weres,” the vixen. “I’m a little short on the rope to use to hang you, but my stomach acids are just as effective.”

“My friends with avenge me,” said Susan.

The vixen chuckled. “George probably would have eaten you, once you outlived your usefulness,” she said. “That being said, my friend, whom you’d sent George and his Weres after, ate his heart, along with those of the others. I’m surprised that you didn’t know.”

“What’s my executioner’s name?” Susan asked.

“Crystal Firetail, member of the Fifth Column,” the vixen said. “You killed more than a few of my friends.”

“It was war,” said Susan. “It was my job.”

“There are rules, even in war,” said Crystal. “You broke a lot of them.” She went over to a cupboard, and pulled out a bottle of wine. “Still, I’m sure that this wine will go good with you. It looks unopened. Were you planning a romantic dinner for two?”

“Yes,” said Susan. “We were supposed to drink it after I was transformed.”

Crystal chuckled. “Well, you will be transformed, in a manner of speaking,” she said. “Still, in as much as I plan to kill you, it would be exceptionally cruel of me to not allow you to at least have one final meal, or, in this case, one last glass of wine.” She took out a glass, pulled the cork, and carefully filled the glass. She then brought it over to her condemned prisoner, placing the rim to the woman’s lips, and slowly tipped it. “Don’t choke on me. This isn’t my first time doing something like this. Take some slow sips, and enjoy the flavor. After all, this is your last drink.”



Thirty minutes later, there was a ringing. Steve picked up his phone.

“It’s done,” said Crystal. “I’m digesting the body of Susan Jones as we speak.”

“Good,” said Steve. “That’s one chapter of the war we can put a close on.”

“Do you want to know how I did it?” Crystal asked.

“Oven or spit roast?” Steve asked.

“They had a rather nice crockpot, with plenty of potatoes and carrots,” said Crystal. “They also had some nice wine, which I shared with her.”

“Waste of wine,” said Steve.

“Oh, I’ll absorb it, soon enough,” said Crystal. “Still, she does feel a lot different from when I had you inside me.”

“That’s because she’s going to be turned into shit, while I was turned into a werefox,” said Steve.

“There is that,” said Crystal. “What’s my daughter and your son up to?”

Steve chuckled as he looked up the stairs, where certain sounds were heard coming from. “Oh, typical eighteen year-old stuff – doing things that mom and dad don’t know about.”

Crystal chuckled. “Well, I got supper to digest. I’ll be back sometime tomorrow.”

“You take care,” said Steve.

Crystal hung up.

Steve looked at a picture, one that had him, Alison, Crystal, and a newly-born Richard. “Well Alison, we got them. Our hunt is over. Rest easy, my love.”