Wolf Hunt: A Horror Novel, page 1
WOLF HUNT
©2026 JEFF STRAND
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CONTENTS
1. Meet George and Lou
2. Wolf in a Cage
3. Lycanthrope Chatter
4. Dogfight
5. Questioning What the Hell Just Happened
6. An Unwise Decision
7. Don’t Mess with Wolves in Cages
8. The Chase
9. Home Invasion
10. Thug Versus Wolfman
11. Ferocious
12. A Difficult Confession
13. More Prey
14. Working Things Out
15. No Time for A Good Plan
16. Massacre at the Cotton Mouse Tavern
17. A Bad Time to Be Lou
18. Bloodbath Aftermath
19. Grand Theft Auto
20. An Unpleasant Conversation
21. A Job for the Pros
22. Trackers
23. The Wolf’s Bite
24. Swapping Roles
25. Last of the Useless Saviors
26. Caged Madness
27. Desire to Feed
28. Lou’s Decision
29. Distress
30. Hot Pursuit
31. Unleashing the Beast
32. The Final Fight
33. Wrap-Up
Thank you for reading Wolf Hunt
Author Bio
Also By Jeff Strand
CHAPTER 1
MEET GEORGE AND LOU
“Okay, it says here that you stole...” George Orton glanced at his notebook, flipping through a few pages. “Where did I write that down? Bear with me for a second...yeah, here it is. Sixty-three thousand dollars.” He whistled. “Wow. That’s a lot of skimming off the top.”
The old man’s eyes glistened. “I have a family. I have five grandkids. Please don’t hurt me.”
“Hurt you? For sixty-three thousand, you should be begging me not to kill you, right?”
“Please don’t kill me,” the old man, Douglas, whispered. “I’ll double whatever he’s paying you.”
“Hmmmm. Let me check my notes.” George glanced at his notebook again. “Ah, here we go. ‘If he tries to bribe you, break an extra finger.’ Look at that, you just created more work for me.”
“Please—”
“Not to mention, you probably intended to pay that bribe out of the money you stole, so in a few hours I’d have men at my house wanting to break my thumbs. Don’t get me wrong, I like the idea of getting double pay for this job, but you’re asking me to put my future earning potential at risk. That’s an unfair thing to ask of someone you’ve just met.”
Douglas’ voice cracked. “There has to be a way we can work this out.”
“There’s really nothing to work out. Were we sent here to break your thumbs? Yes. Will your thumbs be broken when we leave? Yes, indeed. Does it have to be the worst experience of your life? Not necessarily.”
“I’m sure that—”
“Discussion over. I want you to understand, Doug, that I’m no sadist. I’m here to do a job like any other working man. If it were up to me, there would be no snapping of bones in the next few minutes. But it’s not up to me. So now that we’ve established what is most definitely going to happen, let’s see if we can work together to make it go as smoothly as possible.”
Douglas looked at George’s partner, Lou Flynn, as if for help. Lou shrugged and leaned back in the recliner, the briefcase of recovered cash resting in his lap. The old man had been skimming for months but hadn’t spent a cent, which made things a lot easier for everyone.
Really, the old man was lucky it was George’s turn to handle the uncomfortable, physical part of the business. Lou was pretty good with knives, but he cringed at breaking bones, which meant he didn’t always get it done on the first try. Yeah, Lou was doing an excellent job of presenting a casual front, pretending to sit there all cold and emotionless, but George knew he was sick to his stomach.
Realizing no help was forthcoming, Douglas looked back at George. A tear trickled down his cheek. “Yes, sir.”
“Good to hear. Do you have a cover story?”
“Excuse me?”
“For your family. You’re not going to tell them a couple hired thugs came over and broke your thumbs for stealing from a drug lord, are you?”
“I guess not.”
“Are you clumsy?”
“I...I can be.”
“So, theoretically, you could have tripped, put out your hands to break your fall, hit the floor, and snapped your thumbs, correct?”
“I’m not sure.”
George sighed. “Work with me, Doug. This is for your benefit. I’m trying to protect your marriage. You want your grandkids to know you’re a scumbag sleazeball criminal? You’re way too old to start your life from scratch, so you need to commit to the story, make it believable. Let’s practice.”
“I fell...and, uh, hit the floor...”
“That’s total crap. You need conviction, and you also need a sheepish demeanor. Look me in the eye and start off with something like ‘You’ll never believe this,’ then hold up your thumbs. That’ll make it seem like you aren’t trying to hide anything. It’s kind of a ridiculous story, so your performance needs to be spot-on.”
Douglas cleared his throat. “You’ll never believe this...but I was walking through the living room...”
“Hold up your thumbs.”
Douglas held up his thumbs. “I was walking through the living room, and I tripped on a dog bone—”
“Chew toy sounds better.”
“A chew toy. I fell and tried to break my fall, and I hurt my thumbs.”
“Nobody’s going to punish the dog for making you trip, right?”
“No.”
“Good.” The Yorkshire terrier had been shut in the bedroom after George and Lou arrived. “Let’s hear it a few more times.”
The old man recited his story five more times, refining it upon George’s suggestions. “You’d buy that, wouldn’t you?” George asked Lou.
Lou shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“It’ll have to do.” Douglas seemed like a decent enough guy, and he’d clearly learned his lesson, so George didn’t want to see him lose his family over the whole mess. “So, Doug, are you ready?”
“Isn’t there a way out of this?”
“Oh, come on now, we were doing so well. Why would you want to backtrack like that? Give me your hand.”
Douglas hesitated for several seconds. “Which one?”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re doing them both.”
After a few more seconds of hesitation, Douglas held out his left hand. George took it gently in his own, then wrapped his right fist around Douglas’ thumb.
“Just close your eyes and breathe deeply. Think about something else. Do you like skiing?”
“No, sir.”
“Fishing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Imagine you’re fishing. Picture yourself on the bank of a calm lake, sitting in your favorite lawn chair, watching a bobber float. You’ve got a cold beer in your hand. It tastes good, doesn’t it? Ahhhh, nothing better than a nice, cold, frosty beer. Do you taste it?”
Douglas’ shoulders trembled, and he was on the verge of sobbing.
“Nod if you taste it.”
Douglas nodded. In one sudden motion, George jerked his thumb backward until there was a loud snap.
The old man screamed in pain. George grabbed his other hand and quickly broke his right thumb as well. Douglas’ scream intensified, becoming so high-pitched, George might have found it amusing were this not a serious, professional matter.
George patiently waited for Douglas to stop shrieking and thrashing. “It’s all over now,” he said. “I know it hurt. But, hey, in another time and place, they would’ve chopped your hand off for stealing a loaf of bread. A pair of broken thumbs for sixty-three thousand dollars isn’t a bad deal. A better deal if you’d actually got to keep the money, but you know what I mean. So, are you cool with your cover story?”
Douglas nodded, still weeping.
“Technically, I’m supposed to break another finger for your attempt to bribe me, but I like you, and I’m going to pretend it didn’t happen. You should feel lucky—I’m not always this nice. We won’t tell if you don’t. We’ll get out of your hair now. Please don’t take any more drug money that doesn’t belong to you, okay?”
“Jeez, I hate that sound,” Lou said, as they pulled out of Douglas’ driveway. “I’d almost rather have his fingers get cut off, know what I mean?”
“I don’t think he’d agree with you.”
Lou shivered. “It’s just disturbing.”
“I thought he took it pretty well.”
“They usually do, when it’s your turn. Maybe we should stick with that dynamic. I kinda like being the quiet, creepy one.”
George chuckled. “Nice dynamic. You supervise, and I do the manual labor. Screw that.”
“I’m not saying I won’t ever rough them up. You’re just a better communicator, is all.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I hate this car.”
“Me too.” George and Lou were both big guys, and the car wasn’t designed for big guys. George stood six-five, and though he wasn’t quite the all-muscle, physical specimen at age forty-three he’d been at age twenty, he was still in fine shape. Lou stood an inch taller and had let himself go a bit, but even with a potbelly, he was still one intimidating son of a bitch.
They both had black hair. George wore a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, while Lou favored a full ‘mountain man’ beard. He was in the process of re-growing it, since he’d reluctantly trimmed it a couple weeks prior for a classy job. Normally, they both wore black suits, but it was too damn hot and muggy in Florida, so they had ditched the jackets and wore only white dress shirts. Red tie for George. No tie for Lou. Sweat stains for both.
George’s cell phone rang. “It’s Ricky,” he said.
“Tell that scrawny punk to get us a bigger goddamn car next time.”
George put the phone to his ear. “Get us a bigger goddamn car next time, scrawny punk.”
“I love you too, George,” Ricky said. He made a kissy sound into the phone. “So, did the old guy cry like a baby?”
“There were tears.”
“Oh, yeah, I bet there were. I just bet there were. Did you leave his fingers at a freakish angle?”
“Why’d you call, Ricky?”
“I pulled some strings and got you a top-notch assignment.”
In Ricky-speak, that translated to, I got you a crap job no one else wants. “What is it?”
“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Let’s just say I hope you’ve got some silver bullets handy.”
“What are we doing, killing a werewolf?”
There was a long pause on the other end. “Look, George, pretend to be surprised, okay? I wasn’t supposed to give the werewolf part away.”
“You’re serious? Some whack-nut really wants us to kill a werewolf?”
“What werewolf?” Lou asked. George waved at him to shut up.
“It’s an easy job,” Ricky insisted. “There ain’t no such thing as werewolves, I know you know that. But this guy, Bateman, he swears he’s got one in captivity, and he needs you to drive it to this other guy, Dewey.”
“Dewey. Like the decimal system?”
“Yeah. And you should make that joke when you see him. Guys in his position, they get a real big kick out of people making fun of their names.”
“I wasn’t making fun of it. I was clarifying it.”
“Anyway, it’s not even a half-day job. You’ll be on the red-eye flight back to New York tonight.”
“Are we seriously expected to drive with a wolf in the car?”
“Nah, he’s in human form. And it’ll be a van. Lots of legroom. But I’m not supposed to be telling you this, so act surprised.”
“So, it’s some crazy guy who thinks he’s a werewolf? I’m not so keen on sharing a van with the mentally ill. He’s not going to be howling and crap like that, is he?”
“Just forget I said anything,” Ricky said. “I’ll text you the address. Be there in an hour.” Ricky hung up before George could protest.
“What werewolf?” Lou asked.
“I don’t know. I think Ricky’s screwing with us.”
“Remember a few months ago when we had to lean on that guy who wore the dog collar around his neck, because he thought his head was gonna fall off?”
George scowled. “Don’t remind me. What a joke that was. Maybe we need to treat Ricky with a little more respect, so we can get a higher class of assignments.”
“Respect would just confuse him. He enjoys our suffering.”
“He’ll be doing a lot of suffering of his own if he was lying about this being a quick job. I’m serious—I’ll pop his nose like a water balloon. I’ve gotta get out of this state.”
CHAPTER 2
WOLF IN A CAGE
They stopped for an early lunch, drive-thru chicken sandwiches and fries, then followed the GPS to a small warehouse in downtown Miami. A kid in sunglasses, who looked about nineteen, was waiting for them outside. He raised the sliding metal door and waved their car through.
The warehouse was mostly empty, except for a van, two cars, and about a dozen wooden crates stacked against the far wall. George parked next to a red Porsche that was dirty and dinged up—a criminal act, as far as George was concerned—then he and Lou got out of their car. A middle-aged man in an ill-fitting business suit approached, flanked on either side by a goon in black.
“Are you Bateman?” George asked.
“I am.” Bateman smiled, revealing dark yellow teeth that marred an otherwise handsome face. “You two come highly recommended. Which of you is George, and which is Lou?”
“I’m Lou,” Lou said, tapping his chest.
“And you’re George?” Bateman asked.
“Yes, sir.” Nice process of elimination.
“I’ve got a task for you gentlemen,” Bateman said. “It’s a simple transport job and shouldn’t cause any problems, but I need good men like yourselves on it. Extremely valuable cargo is involved.”
“We know how to protect cargo,” George assured him.
“That’s what I hear.” Bateman gestured to the black van parked twenty feet away. “Follow me.”
“It’s too damn hot to be in a black van,” Lou whispered to George, as the five of them walked toward the vehicle.
George couldn’t see anything through the tinted windows, but one of the thugs opened the rear doors, revealing a metal cage with thick bars that filled the back of the van. A man sat inside, leaning against the cage wall, looking scared and miserable.
Lou sucked in a breath.
George hated assignments that involved this kind of crap but kept his expression devoid of emotion. It was important to always behave in a professional manner around the guy who signed the checks...or at least authorized the non-traceable cash payments.
Bateman gestured to the man. “Do you know what that is?”
George shrugged. “Someone who fucked with the wrong guy?”
“That is a lycanthrope. A werewolf.”
“I see.”
“By the light of the full moon, that weak-looking, frail man will transform into a vicious beast. The legends are true, gentlemen. Werewolves live among us. Their numbers are small, and few believe in their existence, but we’ve been given an unprecedented opportunity to study one.” Bateman shrugged. “Or, if you don’t believe me, then you’re just driving some poor, caged-up bastard from Miami to Tampa. Either way, you get paid.”
George glanced at the two goons, hoping one would let him in on the gag, but their faces were unreadable.
“I’m not in the habit of questioning my employers,” George said. “But...a werewolf? Really? Isn’t that just movie stuff?”
“I don’t blame you for being skeptical. I’d worry about your sanity if you weren’t. Rest assured, you’re being trusted with an astounding discovery, and I’m confident you’ll deliver him to my associate safely.”
“What if he sprouts fur and fangs while we’re on the road?”
