Nightshade: The Nightshade Series, #3

By Anthony Izzo

A novel of terror and the third book in the Nightshade series.

 

People in Arlen have whispered about the windowless building outside of town for years. It's owned by the Nightshade Corporation, who specialize in capturing unusual creatures. When a delivery scheduled for Nightshade goes wrong, a terror is unleashed. Seven feet of fur and fangs. A genuine werewolf. 

 

Police chief Hannah Sorens is called to the scene of a brutal murder. The victim has been torn to pieces. As she learns the true nature of the killer, Hannah realizes she must track down a werewolf. As the body count rises, and the wolves grow in numbers, Hannah must protect an entire town from a coming onslaught. An annual festival is scheduled to take place in a few days, bringing thousands of people to town. Thousands of potential victims for werewolves on the hunt.

 

Hannah must form an uneasy alliance with Nightshade if she hopes to save her town from a nightmare come to life.

 

Look for the thrilling conclusion to the Nightshade series Fall 2023.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Knuckle Books
• Release date: Jul 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393546504

Anthony Izzo

Anthony Izzo is the author of 17 thrillers. He enjoys writing tales of mayhem that include anything from zombies to psycho killers to murderous shapeshifters. Anthony was a judge for the Buffalo Dreams screenplay competition. He recently had a story appear in the "SNAFU: Future Warfare" anthology. When not writing, he enjoys playing loud guitar, reading crime novels, and giving craft beers a good home. He makes his home in Western New York and features Buffalo prominently in his work.

Book preview

One

Fred Bujanowski had hauled a lot of cargo in his day, but this job was definitely the strangest. He glanced at his partner, Mike Halford, who had earbuds jammed in his ears. They were connected to his Android phone, and some sort of electronic pop music screamed in the earbuds.

Be nice if you talked on this drive, Fred said.

Mike took one of the earbuds out. What are we, a married couple?

"So you can hear me with those in," Fred said.

Mike frowned, paused his music, and took the other earbud out, setting the pair on his lap. Okay, what do you want to talk about?

About how this job makes me nervous, Fred said.

You won’t feel nervous when you deposit that money, Mike said.

Mike slouched in his seat. Wore a trucker’s cap low over his eyes.

I can’t argue with that. Five thousand each, in cash. Who pays that much? And in cash?

Mike looked at him. Someone who doesn’t want people to talk.

They’d been approached for the job by a guy calling himself Peterson. He had a vague, Eastern European accent. His head was shaved bald, and his was nose crooked from multiple breakings. If his real name was Peterson, then Fred was Leonardo DiCaprio. The guy had called Fred’s cell. Didn’t say how he got the number, just that he heard Fred was extremely reliable. Mike had gotten the same call.

They were to meet Peterson promptly at midnight at an airfield near the Buffalo airport. They did, and as they arrived, a couple of guys in coveralls were wheeling a large crate off of a cargo plane.

The crate had holes bored in it, as if something inside needed to breathe. Fred didn’t ask questions. Didn’t think it would be smart.

The crew loaded the crate onto a box-style delivery truck. Fred got a vague whiff of something animal inside. After the crate was loaded, Peterson gave them an address and handed them each an envelope full of cash. Your discretion is required and appreciated, Peterson said. Time is crucial. The package is secure for six more hours. You should arrive in five if you hurry.

The truck was all white and bore no company name on the side. The only hint at the name was an old business card Fred had found in the cab marked Nightshade. There was a phone number under the company name. Nothing else. Fred didn’t think it would be in his best interest to call that number unless something went really wrong.

Fred had the address Peterson gave him in the GPS. The turn for their destination was supposed to be on the right.

The last turn they’d taken brought them to an old road that cut through the pines. All he could see were trees. Watch for the turn.

I’m watching, Mike said. Don’t see much of anything. You sure you put the address in right?

I double checked it.

We’re running low on time, Mike said. It’s been almost six hours.

You insisted on stopping to eat. Plus, you were in the john a good half an hour, Fred said.

Can’t help that, Mike said. Glad I went when I did. Otherwise, I’d be digging a hole out here.

Wait. I think it’s up there, Mike said.

Fred slowed the truck. He spotted the road, nothing more than a path, really, cut into the trees. From here, it looked wide enough to barely accommodate the truck.

As he continued to brake, a thump came from the back of the truck.

What the hell was that? Mike asked.

Nothing. The road’s rutted. Just hit a bump.

I fucking felt it through the seat. Something moved back there.

Another thump came from the back, this time louder. It was followed by an animalistic grunt.

Think our passenger just woke up, Mike said.

Shit.

Something smashed in the back. Sounded like wood splintering and cracking.

I think it’s busting out of the crate, Fred said.

What the hell do you think it is?

Don’t want to find out. I say we stop the truck and bail out, Mike said.

An enraged growl came from the back, followed by more smashing. Whatever was back there sounded big and pissed off. The problem was, if they ditched the truck and it got out, they’d be out in the open.

Fred turned the truck up the narrow road. As he did this, the animal in the back slammed against the front wall of the truck. Both Fred and Mike were jolted forward. Strong son of a bitch, whatever it was.

Are we hauling an angry Grizzly? Because that’s what it sounds like, Mike said.

Fred pushed the truck as fast as he dared along the road. It bounced and juked on the path. Maybe if the thing busted out, they could escape in the truck, although taking off at high speed seemed impossible. He was starting to feel trapped. That five grand didn’t really seem worth it now.

Now they heard it slamming against the door of the truck. Fred stopped the truck and glanced at Mike.

We won’t outrun whatever it is, Mike said, pulling his cap down tighter.

It might just run off if we wait it out.

Metal screeched, and Fred was sure it had ripped the rear door open. His heart raced so badly he worried something internal might blow.

Mike glanced in his side mirror.

A moment later, Mike’s door was ripped open, and Fred got a glance of something large and black as it ripped Mike from the cab as if he weighed no more than a feather pillow.

Jesus fuck! Fred screamed, and jumped out of the cab. Didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t waiting around to be next.

Mike’s screams pierced his ears. He wanted to run, but had to help his partner. He rounded the truck, unsure what he’d do, as he had no weapon.

He saw a large figure covered in thick, black fur. It stood on two legs. Massive across the shoulders with pointed ears like a dog. It stood over Mike, who attempted to crawl away.

What the fuck? Fred said.

The thing turned and glared at Mike. He was six-foot-one and this thing had a good foot on him. It snarled and pounced. He felt urine dribble down his leg and soak his underwear.

The creature swiped at his chest, its claws ripping a wound in the flesh. He felt backward, his chest on fire. It stood over him, saliva dripping from its jaws.

He closed his eyes, hoping for it to be over quick.

A gunshot popped. Three more followed it, and when he opened his eyes, the creature was gone.

––––––––

Fred felt his chest. His hand found blood. A lot of it, from the feel. His palm was now slick with it. He heard footsteps and men’s voices. Someone approached him and hunkered down.

Hang on. We’re going to get you help, the man said. He had a shaved head and a gaze that seemed locked into a permanent squint. The man held a sleek, black shotgun in one hand. He put a hand-held radio to his mouth and said, It ran off. We’ve got two down here. I’ll need an evac. They’re still alive.

A second guy came over and hunkered down near Fred. From a backpack, he took out gauze and pressed it on Fred’s wound. I know this hurts, but we need to stop that bleeding. Hang in there.

Who are you guys? he muttered. Where’s Mike?

We’re working on him, the squinty guy said. He wore camo pants and a black commando sweater that showed the physique of someone serious about workouts.

In the distance, a guttural howl cut through the woods.

He heard the whup-whup of a helicopter approaching. Was that Mercy Flight coming for him?

Two

John McGill, he of the shaved head, watched the chopper circle around. It would have to land out near the main road. That would mean McGill and the others would have to carry these guys out. The one guy would be easier. He had nasty gashes across his chest, but they could control his bleeding. His buddy was another story. Had a shattered lower leg and a gut wound.

The compound had a top-notch trauma unit and two operating rooms. If they could get these guys there fast, there was hope.

The mission had been fucked up already. They were waiting for these guys to deliver the crate and its contents. The plan had been to watch for them to come up the dirt road and have them unload. From there, they’d administer another sedative to the beast, then transport it by truck to the compound.

Someone had screwed up. And now the son of a bitch was loose.

McGill had seen a lot in his time as a company commander overseas. Men ripped up by roadside bombs. Kids shredded by sniper fire. People on fire, screaming as their skin bubbled and melted. He’d found the bodies of American troops tortured and killed with power tools.

Usually he saw things like that in his dreams. The VA had given him sleeping pills, but still he woke up in a panic on more nights than most.

This job wasn’t helping his issues, but it wasn’t dull, and the pay was phenomenal. Still, he’d seem some shit that made the war stuff seem tame by comparison.

He went over to check on the guy with the gut wound. His name was Mike. Greer, one of two former corpsmen on the team, attended to Mike. How’s he doing?

Greer looked up and said, I need to stabilize that leg if we’re going to move him.

Not gonna happen, McGill said. We don’t have any splints. We’ll have to haul him out.

The gut wound is another problem.

I’ve evaced guys out of combat zones with worse. It’s going to hurt him, but we can carry him out.

A howl came from the woods. Their target sounded like it was getting farther away. That wasn’t going to sit well with the boss. Bringing these two guys in might make up for it, though. Certainly couldn’t let them back out into the public after what they’d seen.

McGill directed the other members of the eight-person team to come over and help move the wounded. They were all standing and guarding the perimeter, all of them armed with assault weapons.

He radioed the chopper to get a report on their position. They were about a click to the east, touched down in a clearing near the main road.

All right. Get them up and move out.

––––––––

Fred got hauled to his feet and slung over someone’s shoulder, which made his chest sing out in agony. He was jostled and bounced, but the guy carrying him slung him along with little effort.

They laid him inside the helicopter on a stretcher. They put Mike next to him, who groaned the whole time. Mike’s lower leg looked like it had been folded and put through an industrial press.

The men boarded the big, black chopper, and they took off. He didn’t know who the hell these guys were or where they were going. He was glad just to be alive.

As they flew, he heard chatter on radio headsets. Something about a missing item being loose. He guessed their cargo had flown the coop and these guys were responsible for finding it.

He felt his sleeve being rolled up. He looked up at the youngish guy with rimless glasses, who was crouched over him.

A little something for the pain, the guy said. This’ll help.

The needle pricked his arm, and after a few moments, he felt warm and sleepy. The pain didn’t completely go away, but it felt far off. He closed his eyes and began to doze.

Three

Darren Cheevers drove his tow truck down the old country road, his beams getting lost in the darkness. He’d drawn the overnight shift again, and someone had called Triple A. The driver had a dead battery. He didn’t mind coming out at night on calls, but he hated these backroads.

Fields of waist-high weeds lined either side of the road, and a low fog had settled in on this early October night. That was the problem with driving out in the country.  There were few landmarks, other than the occasional gas station or big barn.

The road banked, and the disabled vehicle came into view. He saw the hazards blinking, even through the fog. Thank Christ he’d found it. He wanted to get the hell out of here, finish his shift, and stop at Andy’s diner for some pancakes and coffee. It was just past four a.m. 

Darren rolled up behind the disabled vehicle, a blue Honda Accord. It had an Obama-Biden sticker on the bumper. The bumper itself was cracked in the center.

He didn’t see anyone sitting in the car, but figured maybe they’d decided to lie down in back. That was the only thing he could figure. It was late, and the driver could’ve fatigued.

The ride out here from town had taken almost an hour, but he was the closest driver available. He grabbed the Maglite he kept in the cab and got out. Popped the light on and approached the disabled Acura.

Triple A driver, he said, hoping not to scare the occupant of the vehicle.

No answer came.

As he got closer to the Acura, he noticed a sticky substance on the door handle. He shined the light on it.

There was no doubt it was blood. A look at the pavement showed a trail of it leading around the front of the vehicle. Ice began to form on his spine. He shined the light in the vehicle and saw no one inside. The back seat revealed a mound of empty fast food wrappers, water bottles, and stacks of books. He never understood how people could keep their cars in such a state.

He followed the blood trail. It ran off the road, and continued into the weeds, which were trampled down. At first, he thought maybe the driver had cut themselves, but the quantity of blood told him different.

There could be someone lying hurt in the weeds. He couldn’t leave them there. His father was a firefighter, once decorated for bravery for saving a family from a burning car. Dad instilled helping others in Darren, even if it meant putting yourself in harm.

Before going into the weeds, he considered the possibility of someone dangerous lurking around. He went back to the truck and grabbed a tire iron. He’d walk a bit into the weeds and then call for help. Had to check and see if someone was hurt, first.

He went back to the Acura and followed the blood trail into the weeds. More blood had been splattered here. More than just drops. It looked as if someone had painted the weeds with the stuff.

Someone got dragged through here, he said aloud.

He caught a whiff of something that smelled like spoiled meat.

Darren took a few more steps and nearly stepped in a pile of something. A closer inspection with the light showed him it was a pile of entrails. He gagged, fighting to keep down the cheeseburger sub he’d had for dinner.

Alright, fuck this shit. He was calling the cops.

As he reached in his coveralls for his cell, he heard something emit a low growl. It sounded big, and it was somewhere out in front of him. His guts felt like they’d gone to liquid.

He began to back away, intent on getting to the road. In the distance, he saw a pair of eyes glinting in the moonlight. They were dull yellow and had to be a good seven feet off the ground.

Jesus, Darren said.

His instinct now was to get back to the tow truck, pull the hell out of here, and call the police from a safer location.

Darren pocketed the phone, turned, and took off running. His feet shushed through the weeds and he was afraid he would stumble like a final girl in a slasher movie. Something chased him. He could hear it chuffing and growling.

He got to the road, nearly slipped on some blood, and made it to his truck. He threw himself in, started it up, and put it in drive.

As he pulled away, he was aware of something large flashing near the passenger’s door. Something screeched on the metal. He floored it, taking off down the road.

A look in the rearview mirror showed him a large shape darting back into the field. Had to be seven to eight feet tall. He just wasn’t sure what the hell it was.

––––––––

Darren didn’t stop until he got back to Hanson’s garage. By the time he arrived, his shift was almost up. He pulled into the yard, feeling guilty that he didn’t call the cops sooner, but the sight of that thing had scared the shit out of him. He hadn’t wanted to stop.

He got out of the tow truck and walked around to the passenger’s door. His jaw dropped a bit, and he realized his mouth was hanging open. Cut in the door, right through the Hanson’s decal, were four gashes, each about an inch apart.

That shook him even further. What could claw through a car door like that?

He dialed nine-one-one and told them what had happened. Gave them the rough location of the abandoned vehicle. After giving them his current location, the dispatcher said they would send out an officer to speak with him. They had asked if he was safe, and he said yes.

Darren went inside the garage’s office, where Laura Pierce was making coffee. A box of Tim Horton’s donuts sat next to the coffee maker. She turned and saw Darren. How was your night? I brought donuts.

Not hungry, but thanks. I just called the cops.

Laura paused, a coffee filter in her hands. What happened?

Darren gave her an account of what had happened. Finding the abandoned vehicle and then the remains. And of course, the thing that had clawed his truck.

I got to see this, Laura said. She was around sixty, her hair salt-and-pepper. Wore glasses with a dark red frame.

She went outside to the truck. The sun was just coming up, and the day shift driver would be coming on. The mechanics would be in soon. It was almost six now. Laura always got here early to start on repair orders and filing.

Wow, something really got you. No idea what it was? she asked.

Nope. It was big and angry. I got the hell out of there, I’ll tell you that, Darren said.

I don’t blame you.

They went inside and had coffee. Darren forced down a donut. 

The mechanics began rolling in for work. Soon the garage bays would be filled with the sounds of country music, banging, and plenty of cursing.

Darren heard tires crunching on the gravel and spotted a blue and white patrol car rolling into the garage’s lot. The cruiser came to a halt, and a tall, brunette woman got out. Nice looking. Her hair was done up in a bun.  She wore a white uniform shirt and black pants. She took a moment to pull a police jacket out of her car and put it on.

Then she came over.

Four

Chief Hannah Sorens didn’t believe in sitting behind a desk and doing a bunch of paperwork. As the youngest police chief in the Town of Arlen’s history, she oversaw ten officers. Didn’t believe in letting them do all the work. Besides, getting out in the field kept her sharp. So she’d taken the call when it had come through dispatch. She didn’t mind getting to work early, either.

She approached a young kid in mechanic’s coveralls and a woman with red-framed glasses.

Who called. Was it you, sir? she asked.

That’s right.

Your name?

Darren. This is Laura. We work here.

Can I see some ID from both of you, first? Hannah said.

Mine’s inside, the woman named Laura said. Okay if I go get it?

That’s fine. Just don’t take off on me. I’ll have to call for backup, Hannah said.

The woman went a little pale. I wouldn’t dream of it. I never even had a speeding ticket.

That last part was a joke, Hannah said. You’re fine.

Laura gave a thin smile and trotted off to find her license. Darren dug in the pocket of his coveralls and came out with a battered wallet. Handed over a grease-smudged driver’s license. After Laura came out with hers, Hannah took them back to