Free Thinning the Herd by Adrian Phoenix

He noticed that the silver knife-sheath strapped to her wrist was empty. A memory of gleaming metal flashed through his mind—a knife caught between the wolf-man’s ribs as it swung its fist down. She’d lost the knife, then. Might need to find his Desdemona another weapon.
    The afternoon sunshine shafted into the tunnel’s mouth but no farther. Dirt and pebbles trickled into the tunnel as Galahad and Nick climbed down. The tabby wiped dirt from the seat of his leather pants with one hand while handing Hal his catch pole with the other.
    â€œI hope someone thought to bring flashlights,” Hal said.
    â€œYup.” Nick held open a plastic Walmart bag. Four flashlights and five packs of batteries. He nodded toward Desdemona. “Her idea. Our first stop once we left the fair.”
    â€œYou went shopping while I was unconscious?” Hal asked.
    â€œWe locked the doors,” Galahad said. “Rolled the windows down a crack. You were fine.”
    Hal fetched a flashlight and a pack of batteries out of the bag. Nick distributed the rest. Galahad clicked his flashlight on. Off. On. Off. Nick joined in enthusiastically. On. Off. On. Off.
    â€œPlaytime is after monster slaying,” Hal growled, blinking spots from his vision. Renewed pain spiked through his skull. Nausea squeezed his belly. He’d dry-swallowed a handful of aspirin a little while ago, but it had yet to take effect.
    Chittering.
    Hal froze. Had he heard—
    As if fired from a catapult, a furry brown object hurtled from the tunnel and smacked into Hal, hitting him with full squirrel force in the gut. Hal staggered back, swatting at the frenzied thing scrabbling up his chest, clutching at his shirt with tiny little claws. And chittering. Oh, yes. It was chittering.
    The deranged rodent danced its way up Hal’s chest, to his face, his head, then leapt for the tunnel mouth, little limbs splayed like it was a flying squirrel. But it was only a leaping, insane squirrel.
    Hal doubled over, nausea roiling through his gut. Dropped to his knees as bile burned at the back of his throat.
    â€œWas that a . . . squirrel?” Desdemona asked.
    â€œYeah,” Nick said. “It has a thing for Hal.”
    Hal willed himself not to puke. Stupid, loco squirrel. He concentrated on recipes featuring squirrel. Squirrel flambé. Squirrel Stroganoff. Squirrel à la king. Sweat popped up on his forehead.
    â€œHe’s not gonna puke, is he?”
    Desdemona’s concern gave Hal strength. Swallowing hard, he straightened, using the catch pole to pull himself upright. He forced a smile. Desdemona’s vanished.
    â€œYou sure you’re not gonna hurl?” she asked, stepping back. “You don’t look good.”
    â€œNever better,” Hal said. He gingerly tapped a finger against his temple. “Willpower.”
    Desdemona looked at him for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. “Loon,” she stated.
    Hal grinned at her. The name nestled in his heart. Loon. Desdemona’s loon.
    â€œWhat’s the game plan?” Galahad asked.
    â€œWe find Louis,” Hal said.
    â€œAlive,” Desdemona added.
    â€œWe don’t know who’s created and unleashed that wolf-man thing or why they’ve been slaughtering hippies,” Hal said. “Or why they’ve stolen a y ō kai fortune-teller or—”
    â€œWait. Hippies?” Desdemona asked.
    Hal nodded and instantly regretted it. Dizziness pirouetted the tunnel around him. He closed his eyes. “Fewer hippies. Have you noticed?”
    â€œY’know, I have,” Desdemona said. “I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it, but now that you mention it, there’s several I used to see on a regular basis that haven’t been around for the last month or so.”
    Hal squinted. Nothing spun. He opened his eyes. “Exactly,” he said. “I found a bloodstained Birkenstock.