Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

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  Richard Brown lay in one of his fields, smothered in mud to mask his scent, cradling a new semi-automatic rifle and waiting for Betsy’s killer to poke its head out so he could take it off. This time he’d put two rounds in it before it knew it had been spotted. Maybe then Thomas would shut up about always winning the marksmanship contest at the fair.

  Nearby, Delores mooed and tugged at the rope that tied her to the ground. Richard wanted to soothe her, but that would give away the game. She needed to be bait for a bit longer.

  Richard stretched a little to avoid further cramps. His old joints weren’t made for this. He’d need a long hot bath before morning. How many hours away was that? Didn’t matter; he’d stay out here as long as it took, as many nights as it took, to ensure his ladies had revengence.

  There was movement, to the right.

  Richard placed his eye to the night-vision sight. Delores… grass… nothing… fence… field… light, another light. Two lights? Eyes!

  The beast crept through long grass straight for Delores, but Richard wouldn’t let it get her. He recognised the beast from the telly: it was a wolf, a green one. Wait. He stopped looking through the night-vision scope. A grey-white one. Probably three feet tall at the shoulder, if it would stop crouching and provide a decent target. Richard held his breath and waited for the perfect moment to fire on the foul thing.

  Delores spotted the wolf and joined her moos to the ever-more-drunken noise coming from Thomas’s farm.

  Richard tried to send her soothing thoughts. It would be all right. He was here. She needn’t be afraid. If only the wolf would get over that little rise, Richard might get a clean shot at it.

  Finally, with the wolf only a few feet from Delores, he fired. The rifle’s crack almost deafened him in the silence and the recoil almost knocked his shoulder out of joint, but at least he’d—

  He’d missed. The wolf was still there, but now it was looking at him. He’d been spotted! And the wolf didn’t look too forgiving about being shot at. It lowered its head and snarled and Delores, panicked, kicked out for all she was worth.

  For a moment, the wolf was weightless, drifting slowly away from Delores’s extended foot and past the fingernail of a moon…

  It hit the grass headfirst and scrambled to its feet, then glanced sideways like it was thinking of running before showing Richard a mouthful of teeth dripping with blood.

  Richard stood. This scope wasn’t accurate, that was the problem. He’d shoot from the shoulder. That would do the job.

  It had better, because the beast was already rushing at him, leaping now, its red mouth full of pointed teeth.

  Richard fired.

  He didn’t hit its body – which was understandable, since the thing was in the air and running and all – but he got a leg. The wolf let out a whine, changing from teeth-out attack to pained howl in a second, and crashed into Richard. Rather than tear out his neck, the wolf’s long snout only thumped Richard on the jaw.

  The heavy wolf did knock him to the ground, though, and the rifle landed on the grass a few feet away. Was there time to get it? The wolf rolled away from Richard, turned, growled… then toppled sideways down a hole.

  For a few heartbeats, Richard feared the beast would climb out. When it didn’t, he picked himself off the ground, grabbed his rifle, and peered over the edge, ready to shoot. He’d borrowed a digger and spent all day making the pit because, well, maybe Thomas was right about his aim.

  Eight feet down, the beast spotted him and tried to leap but stopped with a squeak when its front left paw touched the ground. It lifted the bloody limb and stared at him almost pleadingly.

  Richard lowered the gun. Young James would probably want to question the damned thing.

  “That’s for Betsy,” said Richard, wiping a fleck of the wolf’s blood from his mouth.