The Woolly Boys Read online

  Rather than silver bullets, our guns fired balls of red and blue light, as well as bolts of lightning. When we hit one of the evil sons of bitches, it would explode in a flash of white light.

  Two evil little demons in grubby black robes scampered up on the porch. One of them launched itself at me, clawing at my face. I flung it to the ground and popped it in the head with my forty-five. Old School took care of the other two. The werewolves, along with their evil friends disappeared into the night.

  “Damn. That looked like the fourth of July,” Chico said.

  “Yeah, but I don’t think their done yet. Does that pond out back still have water in it?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty full. We had a storm a couple of days ago that was a gully washer,” Tiny said.

  “Tomorrow morning, we’ll melt down some more of that silver and put it in the pond. Them hairy assholes have to go somewhere for water. We’ll give them a tummy ache,” I said and then laughed.

  Releasing some tension, I pulled my bottle of Jack from the inner pocket of my vest and took a shot. The night wore on, the werewolves attacked three more times, but we managed to keep them at bay. Things got quiet around four AM and we managed to get some sleep. Two hours later, the sun came up over the desert and we rolled out heading toward Harlem Springs Arizona, but before we left, we sent five prospects to the pond in the woods. They lit a campfire, melted down a couple of silver bars and poured the liquid silver into the pond. Riding at the back of the pack, I cranked the throttle and put my face in the wind. One thing I enjoyed about being mortal was the feeling of the wind in my face when I rode my scooter.

  ***

  We pulled into the gravel parking lot of the High Noon Saloon two and a half hours later. After parking out scooters, Chico swaggered up to the front door and kicked it open. Cradling his thirty-thirty in his arms, he swaggered into the Road Dogs clubhouse and the rest of us followed. The werewolves, now back in their human form, lay in a drunken stupor lying on the bar and on several tables scattered through out the room. Blood and human body parts littered the floor and blood covered the walls.

  “All right you hairy bastards! We’ve had about enough of you!” Chico yelled and opened up with his thirty-thirty. The rest of us followed suit. The loud bag of gunfire filled the room. Caught off guard while in their human form, the werewolves didn’t stand a chance. Some of them tried to make a fight of it, but we cut them down like the evil vermin they were. The silver bullets ripped through their flesh and their wounds wouldn’t heal.

  Thunder Paw, let out an angry howl and charged out the back. Wolf Boy and White Fang ran after him. A tear tracked down Chico’s face when he shot three of his former bros, who got bit when the werewolves first attacked the clubhouse. The battle over, he set his rifle down on the nearest table. I laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s better this way. There is no cure, bro. You did them a favor by putting them down.”

  “It don’t feel that way,” Chico replied.

  “Back in sixty-eight when we had that little zombie problem, I hit an Oak tree at over one-hundred miles an hour to avoid becoming one of the undead. Believe me, it’s better this way.”

  “What now?” Chico asked.

  “Now, we head into Harlem Springs,” I replied.

  Back on our scooters, we motored on into town. Harlem Springs looked like a ghost town. We putted up and down several streets, but we saw not a sign of life.

  “Where is everyone?” Chico asked.

  “I think that the people who didn’t get bit are hunkered down in their homes. Those that have turned, along with what’s left of these Woolly Boys, are hiding out somewhere until the moon rises. Their bellies are full. Take a look around you.”

  Chico glanced over and saw a puddle of blood on the sidewalk. He widened his gaze noticing blood on the walls of some of the houses and body parts on a couple lawns. “What do we do now?” Chico asked.

  “Does old man Dempsey still own that health food store over on Fourth Street?” I asked.

  Chico shook his head. “No bro. The old man retired years ago. His son, Joe is running the place now.”

  “Let’s take a ride over there,” I replied.

  A hot desert wind blew sand across the road as we motored across town. Harlem Spring had the look and the feel of a ghost town, yet we felt someone eyeballin’ us from the buildings lining the street and a dark evil cloud cover the town. We turned onto Fourth Street, our pipes rumbling off the surrounding buildings, and putted on down to the health food store. We parked out scooters up against the curb and climbed off the machines. Chico swaggered up to the front door of the health food store with Dirty Dan right beside him. Dirty Dan tried the door.

  “It’s locked,” he said.

  “No problem,” Chico said and slammed the butt of his thirty-thirty against the glass door breaking it into tiny pieces. He looked at me. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “Colloidal Silver,” I said. “As much as we can find.”

  Once we gained entrance, we searched the entire store including the storage room in the back while five prospects stood out front watching our backs. We brought case after case of the stuff out to the sidewalk and secured the stuff to the back of our bikes with bungee cords.

  “What now?” Chico asked.

  “Now we head over to the east end of town and climb up on the old water tower. We need to dump this shit into the town’s water supply, bro,” I said.

  “Chico nodded and we climbed back onto our scooters. Hitting the highway, we headed east toward the town limits and pulled over to the side of the road next to a massive water tower. Chico glanced up at the massive water tank towering above us and grinned. “Prospects! Time to go to work!” he yelled. I chuckled, pulled a bottle of Jack from my vest pocket, took a shot and handed it to Chico. He took a shot and said, “What now?”

  “They’ve got to drink eventually. If they’ve not been bit, this won’t hurt them, but if they have, then they’ll be in a world of hurt.”

  “How long will it take for this to take effect?”

  “I shrugged. “We’ll wait for a couple of hours. Why don’t we head back to the clubhouse and clean the place up?” I said.

  Chico nodded. We stood around watching the prospects carry the colloidal silver up the metal ladder and dump it into the town’s water supply. When they finished, we hit the highway headed west toward the High Noon Saloon.

  While we were motoring back to the clubhouse, five werewolves in the woods near the cabin died a horrible painful death, after drinking from the pond near the cabin. Now back in their human forms, their bodies became part of the landscape. Three hours later, after cleaning up all the blood and carting off the dead bodies, we motored back into town. We cruised up and down every street dispatching sick werewolves wherever we found them. They stumbled around like drunken bums, bumping into each other. A few crawled along on their hands and knees. We pulled up next to three in front of a liquor store. An older man, with the remains of course brown hair on his neck crawled along puking up blood. Chico parked his bike, pulled his thirty-thirty and put them out of their misery.

  “It’s too bad it has to be this way,” Chico replied, lowering the rifle. “Are you sure there’s no cure?”

  I shook my head. “Wolf Bane can keep it at bay, but believe me bro, this is the best way,” I said. Once we finished with the grisly deed: ridding the town of the hairy beast, we headed back to the High Noon Saloon and did what bikers do best: we partied.

  ***

  As the sun went down over the desert, and a full moon rose into the sky, Thunder Paw, White Fang and Wolf Boy fled south, putting along on their Harleys on a lonely desert highway.

  “It’s a good thing we didn’t drink the damned water!” Wolf Boy yelled.

  “Yeah, those red neck peckerwoods surprised me with that one. It won’t happen again!” Thunder Paw yelled.

/>   “Where will we go?” White Fang asked.

  “There’s a little town by the border know as Santa Rosa Springs. There’s a pack gathering there.” Looking up at the full moon, Thunder Paw let go with a mournful howl. White Fang and Wolf Boy joined in on the chorus.

  Inside the High Noon Saloon, Chico Lead Belly and I looked up as the sound of the woeful cry wafted on the breeze.

  “I guess we missed a few,” Chico said.

  “Don’t worry about it bro. They’re heading south to a little spot by the Mexican border known as Santa Rosa Springs. That old boy I mentioned earlier: Monroe. He’ll deal with them,” I said.

  “And you know this how?”

  “You just know these things, once you cross over. Time is different over there.”

  “Different how?” Chico asked.

  “You’ll have to wait until you get there to find out, but I’ll tell you this much. These spirit bikes we ride, they can travel through time. I just came back from a trip in the past when this shit started. I felt a need to get to know my pops a bit better. I wanted to see what he was like when he was young.” Pops stepped up and slapped me on the back.

  “Yeah, those spirit bikes are the shit. You’ll love Biker Heaven. I went hog wild when I showed up,” Pops said.

  “What was he like back then, when you went back in time?” Chico asked.

  “Oh, that’s a story for another day. Why don’t we get some of these fine looking mommas up on the bar and have us a wet tee shirt contest?” I said.

  “That sounds like a plan,” Chico replied.

  A few minutes later, the women climbed up on the bar, iced themselves down with cold ice water and started to dance. The prospects cranked up the music, I pulled my bottle of Jack out of my vest pocket and leaned back on the bar stool to enjoy the show.

  ###

  Coming Soon! The Dark Rider

  Read the excerpt below.

  The Dark Rider

  By

  David Donaghe

  The Dark Rider rolled down the highway, traveling through the Arizona night and pulled into the High Noon Saloon at midnight. Overhead, a dark ominous cloud covered the sky and a cold breeze blew across the land. Harley Davidson motorcycles filled the parking lot and loud music emanated from the building. The Dark Rider, his face hidden by the hood of the black cloak he wore, parked his black 2009 Harley Davidson Night Train in the shadows, underneath an Elm tree at the edge of the gravel parking lot and killed the motor. He put the bike on its side stand, crossed the parking lot and stepped on the boardwalk, standing in the shadows away from the door.

  The front door of the bar opened, light illuminated the area in front of the door, and The Dark Rider stepped back further into the shadows. Tracy had been up on the bar dancing topless for the last half hour. The bright lights of the bar room caused sweat to glisten off her tight body. She decided to take a break, so she stepped outside to cool off and smoke a cigarette. She stood in the doorway, looking out over the parking lot. Her wife beater tee shirt clung to her body outlining her ample breasts and caused her nipples to push up cotton. She took a pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of her Daisy Duke shorts, shook out a smoke and then noticed someone standing in the shadows.

  Her hands shook when she put the smoke in her mouth. “Hello,” she said, stepping into the darkness. A lighter flared in her face, she lit her cigarette and said, “Thank you.” A nervous flutter of fear and excitement passed through her when she looked into the dark, feral eyes of the stranger and a tingling sensation shot through her loins.

  “Don’t mention it. Why don’t you step over here next to the building and we’ll talk,” The Dark Rider said.

  Feeling lost in a fog, she was powerless to resist. Tracy stepped further into the darkness, and almost tripped when she reached the edge of the boardwalk. The Dark Rider took her arm, steadying her.

  “I think you’re a bit drunk,” The Dark Rider whispered. “Here, let’s lean you up against the wall. I don’t want you falling down.”

  “You got me there,” Tracy said, leaning up against the side of the clubhouse. She took a hit from her cigarette and then dropped her hand holding the smoke to her side. The Dark Rider leaned against her; he gave her a quick kiss, his hand found her left breast and his teeth found her neck. Tray’s eyes shot wide open while the vamp sucked her neck; she felt light headed, her hand holding the cigarette shook, the cigarette fell to the ground and she soon followed.

  ***

  Tracy woke up a half hour later feeling cold and lightheaded. He stomach felt sick. She vaguely remembered the tall, dark stranger whispering something in her ear right before she fell. “Go to him,” he whispered. She was sure that he meant Chico. That’s right. Chico will know what to do, she thought. At the front door, she paused for a few seconds. One of the dancers opened the door.

  “Can I come in?” she whined.

  “Of course you can come in. Girl it’s cold outside. You look as white as a sheet where you been Tracy?” the dark headed dancer said.

  “I think I passed out. I don’t feel so good.”

  “Come on in here. I’ll pour you a shot of Tequila.”

  The dark haired dancer led Tracy back into the bar. All eyes turned to her, noticing her pale complexion, but no one looked at the mirror behind the bar. If they would have, they wouldn’t have seen Tracy’s reflection. Once inside the clubhouse, Tracy made a beeline to the bar where Chico sat drinking with Lead Belly and Tiny. She climbed onto a bar stool and snuggled up next to Chico.

  “Trace you looked like you’re about froze to death. Are you all right?” Chico said and put his arm around her. Barbra, the dark headed dancer went behind the bar and poured Tracy her shot.

  Tracy tossed it back and said, “I’m fine now.” She nuzzled Chico’s neck and put her hand on his thigh. A deep hunger filled her belly and for a minute, she thought that she was going to be sick. “Why don’t we go into the back room and have our own little party?” She glanced up at Barbra; Barbra nodded and then arched her eyebrows at another one of the dancers.

  “Sure, why not?” Chico said and rose to his feet. He looked at Lead Belly and Tiny. “What about you guys? You feel like having a private party in back?”

  Lead Belly laughed. “You must be trying to get me killed. Janet would skin me alive.”

  “What about you Tiny?”

  The massive biker shook his head. “No way bro. Those young things like that will kill you.”

  Chico nodded at two prospects, and they followed him, along with the women into the back room. Chico plopped down on a couch; Tracy crawled onto his lap and took off her shirt while Barbra turned on the music. Tracy brushed her breasts against Chico’s face and then moved her mouth to his neck. The other girls joined them on the couch. The clothes came off, and their bodies became entwined as Tracy lured them into a hot sweaty orgy of sex and pain.

  AUTHOR BIO

  David H. Donaghe lives and works in the high desert of Southern California with his wife and family. He has three passions in life: reading, writing and riding his motorcycle. David has several short stories published in anthologies by The Living Dead Press. His short story collection, Monroe’s Paranormal Investigations, is also published by The Living Dead Press. David’s novel, Tale Spinner, was release on April 22nd, 2011, published by Otherworld Publications. His new Biker Fiction novel, Thunder Road was released by Black Rose Writing on March 22nd 2012. David invites you to follow his blog at Dave's Blog Page, to check out his author web page at https://dhdonaghe.weebly.com/index.html and to follow him on Face Book, and Twitter. David loves hearing from his readers. You can contact him by email at [email protected] David is currently enjoying life on the high desert while working on his next novel.

  Author’s Note.

  I hope you enjoyed reading The Woolly Boys as much as I enjoyed writing it. The Cave Man stories were a lot of fun. Keep a look out f
or Tales From The Lost Highway. In Tales From The Lost Highway you get all of the Cave Man action adventure stories, plus five more that have yet to be published. One thing that I enjoy as much as reading, writing and riding my motorcycle is hearing from my readers. Please join my blog and sign up for the email list. It would also be way cool if you would friend me on Face Book and follow me on Twitter. If you like, you can shoot me an email at [email protected]. Until next time, I’ll keep doing what I do best: reading, writing and riding my motorcycle.