Free Bad Moon Rising by Jonathan Maberry Page B

of God into me that I didn’t tell anyone else about it.”
    “What about Morse? Wasn’t he supposed to be tight with Val’s dad? Did he talk to Henry about this?”
    “Probably, but Henry and I never talked about it, and Morse was murdered not long after.”
    Weinstock chewed his lip. “How sure are you that Griswold was a werewolf? I mean, serial killers are well known for following the moon, for cannibalizing their victims, yada yada…it’s a known pathology.”
    “I saw his face, Saul. I’m not talking about a man’s…I saw his face as it was changing.”
    “Crap…I was afraid you’d say something like that.” Weinstock got up and walked over to the window and stared out into the new morning, which was bright and clear, with puffy clouds coasting across the vast blue. Without turning he said, “Even if you saw what you say you saw and all your guesswork is right…what does that have to do with what’s been happening in town?” He turned around and sat on the edge of the air conditioner. “It doesn’t fit with the stuff I’ve been seeing—not at all. Not even with the killings at the Guthrie farm. None of this says ‘werewolf’ to me, even if I was ready to believe in that sort of thing. Full moon was last Friday…the two cops were killed on the first. We’re not following the lunar cycle.”
    “I know, but like I said, I don’t think we’re dealing with a werewolf right now. From what I’ve been able to put together, we seem to be in vampire territory.”
    “Did that statement sound as stupid to you as it did to me?”
    “Probably,” Crow admitted. “There’s more. When Ruger attacked Val and me here in the hospital that night he said something before he died. Something Val didn’t hear, but I did, and it’s been like a needle stuck in my brain ever since.” Crow closed his eyes for a second, took a breath, and then looked hard at Weinstock as he spoke, “He said, ‘Ubel Griswold sends his regards.’”
    “Ruger said that? He actually said Griswold’s name?”
    “Uh-huh, and when we were fighting…he was way too strong. I mean stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and I’ve been in the martial arts since I was a kid. I know what muscle strong is like, and I know what wiry strong is like, and this was something completely different. Off the scale…strong in a way nothing rational can describe.”
    “Man, I think we left rational behind by a couple of miles.”
    “No joke. Ruger’s eyes were weird, too. They seemed to change color while we were fighting. Don’t laugh, but I swear they turned yellow and then red.”
    “I’m not laughing,” Weinstock said. “I may never laugh again. Ever.”
    Crow told Weinstock about how he met Newton, and about the long interview he’d given him. He told him how they had cooked up a plan to scale down the pitch at Dark Hollow and head through the woods to try and find Griswold’s house. He spoke about the strangeness of the swampy area around Dark Hollow, and how they had been forced to cut their way through foul-smelling vines and sticker bushes before they found the house. “I really wanted to find an old, abandoned pile of sticks, but that’s not what we found. The place was in good shape, like it had been maintained. All the doors and windows were covered up with plywood that was still green, and the front and back doors were chained shut with the locks on the inside of the house. Only someone inside could lock or unlock those chains.”
    “Oh my God…”
    “Then, while we were on the porch examining those locks, the whole porch roof just suddenly collapses down.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that. Damn near killed us. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
    “A ‘little strange’?” Weinstock echoed hoarsely. His color was horrible.
    “Well, buckle up ’cause it gets stranger.” Crow told him about the swarm of roaches that attacked them. “Now here’s the last part of it. When I was standing