I thought I would give everyone an update on what’s new and exciting in my world. I am currently in the process of turning all of my novels into audiobooks. I have been listening to auditions for narrators. I have a new science fiction novel titled Tribes that will be on pre-order soon and my new nonfiction novel, Don’t Bust The Piggy Bank: How to Self-Publish an eBook is in pre-order now. Its release date is July 29th. Click the link below the cover picture and orders your copy while it’s only ninety-nine cents. I am in the editing process on the rough draft of the fourth book in my science fiction series, Space Corps Chronicles titled the Galactic War. I am almost finished with the rough draft of the fifth book in my Mike McDonald Action Adventure Saga, Mendoza’s Revenge. Checkout the cover for Tribes.
Order your copy of don’t Bust The Piggy Bank: How to Publish an eBook before it comes out and save some money.
Also enjoy the short story below. It is the sixth story in Tales From the Lost Highway.
The Wooly Boys
Lightning flashed across the desert and thunder rolled across the land. Thunder Paw looked over at Wolf Boy and howled. Wolf Boy grinned and let go with a wild feral howl himself that echoed across the desert. Behind them, White Fang gunned the throttle. He pulled his custom chopper over the centerline and pulled up next to Thunder Paw.
“I’m hungry!” White Fang yelled, trying to make his voice heard over the rushing wind.
Thunder Paw glanced in his rearview mirror, taking in the pack. He noticed the course hair sporting up, on his neck.
“I know! We all need to feed! There’s a town up ahead! The locals call it Harlem Springs! We’ll stop there!” Thunder Paw yelled.
White Fang backed off on the throttle. He let Thunder Paw roll by on his flashy blue chopper and took his place in the pack. The clouds parted and a full moon rose into the sky. The Woolly Boys rolled through the night toward Harlem Springs Arizona. Five miles outside of town, they pulled into the gravel parking lot of the High Noon Saloon.
Chico, Tiny, Dirty Dan, and Lead Belly sat at the bar inside the High Noon Saloon. When they heard motorcycles pull up out front. The smell of tobacco smoke and stale beer filled the air. Loud rock and roll music emanated from the building. Thinking that some more of the bros had pulled up out front, they glanced at the front door wondering who they were. Chico’s eyes widened when a group of bikers sauntered into the bar. They weren’t Road Dogs.
“Damn. Those are some hairy sons of bitches,” Dirty Dan said. “They’re even hairier than you are, Tiny.”
Lead Belly laughed. “That’s pretty damned hairy.”
“I ain’t never seen that patch before. The Woolly Boys? You heard of them, Chico?” Tiny asked.
Chico shook his head and then said, “What the hell?” when they began to remove their clothing.
“I hate to waste a good pair of jeans and my club vest,” Thunder Paw said and then grinned.
The Road Dogs inside the bar stood to their feet and turned to face the new arrivals. The Wooly Boys now fully nude, began to sprout coarse hair and their bodies changed morphing into wolves. The Road Dogs stepped back. Thunder Paw, now changed into a wolf extended his claws and let out a howl. Chico pulled his 45 and shot him in the chest. The loud bang of gunfire filled the room. The bullet knocked Thunder Paw on his ass, but he rose to his feet and stepped forward. “That one hurt a bit. What kind of loads are you shooting in that thing?”
“Hand loaded,” Chico said and shot him again.
Thunder Paw flew backward once more but climbed back to his feet. Blood soaked his fur. The wounds in his chest were already healing. “You’re gonna pay for that,” Thunder Paw said. The werewolves charged forward launching themselves at the Road Dogs. Thunder Paw, grabbed the nearest Road Dog by his head, ripped it from his shoulders, and tossed it across the room. The head bounced off the wall and rolled across the floor. The rest of the Woolly Boys attacked slashing with their claws and snapping with their teeth. Blood and body parts flew into the air.
Chico, standing next to Tiny, Dirty Dan, and Lead Belly, opened up on the hairy beasts. The bullets seemed to have little effect. They would knock the werewolves down, but the hairy beasts would get back up again with a bad attitude. The Woolly Boys slaughtered the Road Dogs nearest to the front door and ripped them asunder.
“This ain’t working! Let’s get out of here!” Chico yelled. Chico, Dirty Dan, Tiny and Lead Belly ran out the back door. Behind the bar, Chico flipped open his cell phone and sent out a text message to all the bros on his contact list. The text said, “911-Meet at the cabin. Bring all your gear.”
“I need to get hold of Janet,” Lead Belly said.
“Tell her to take the truck! Tell her to bring all your guns and camping gear, but tell her to hurry!”
The back door of the High Noon Saloon burst open. Thunder Paw and White Fang came storming out the door, with blood covering their jowls.
“Oh fuck! Let’s get out of here!” Chico yelled and ran to his bike with Dirty Dan, Tiny, and Lead Belly hot on his heels. They jumped onto their scooters, fired them up, and gunned the throttles. Their rear tires sent rooster tails of dirt and gravel flying up into the air. Once they hit the highway, they headed west at a high rate of speed and disappeared into the Arizona night.
“Should we go after them?” Wolf Boy asked.
“No not with all that fresh meat inside. We’ll finish up and then lay up here during the daytime. Tomorrow night, we’ll take the town. After that, we’ll hunt down them red-neck peckerwoods. My chest still hurts where that bastard shot me,” Thunder Paw said.
“It’s a good thing for us that they weren’t using silver.”
Thunder Paw nodded glanced up at the full moon and let out a blood-curdling howl.
Our tires chirped when we hit the highway. Our spirit bikes changed to older Harley Davidson motorcycles. We rolled down a lonely desert highway heading to Harlem Springs Arizona. An evil foreboding cloud loomed in the east, only this wasn’t a normal cloud. This cloud blew in from the pits of hell and the Devil’s imps came with it. I could almost smell the embers floating in the breeze. This is Cave Man again and if you’ve been paying attention then you know that I’ve been dead since sixty-eight. Up in Biker Heaven, after I kissed a tree at over one hundred miles an hour, I decided to join the Halo Riders. The Halos, a division of the Road Dogs motorcycle club, is a group of troubleshooters from the other side. Whenever there is trouble in the biker world, they send us.
Riding up front was Little Danny Boy, next to him was Fat Bob, and behind them rode Teddy Bear and Chops. Sonny, Old School, My Pops, and I rolled along at the rear. We headed down a lonely stretch of the highway toward Harlem Springs Arizona. Little Danny Boy pulled over to the side of the road next to an old oak tree. We parked next to the road, to give ourselves a butt break and climbed off our scooters. One thing about being mortal was that we were subject to the same aches and pains as when we were alive.
“Do you remember this place?” Little Danny Boy asked.
I chuckled. “How could I forget? That old oak tree smashed my head like a ripe honeydew melon when I hit it back in sixty-eight,” I said. I pulled a bottle of Jack from my coat pocket.
“Piss on this old oak tree,” Old School said stepping up next to me. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his pecker, and let fly. I chuckled and stepped up next to him. Soon we were all watering the oak tree and laughing like a pack of schoolboys. Old School was right behind me when I hit the tree. He flew over his handlebars and hit his noggin against that tree. The old tree smashed his head like you or I would squish a grape.
“I’m surprised this old tree is still here,” I said after we emptied our bladders.
“It’s a tough old tree, all right,” Little Danny boy said. We headed back to the bikes.
“Are we headin’ to the clubhouse?” Teddy Bear asked.
“No, we’re too late to help anyone there. The remnant is at the cabin.”
My pops stepped up next to me and took a swig from his bottle of Jack. “Good. My butt’s sore. It’ll feel good to sit by a warm fire and drink some brews with the bros,” Pops said.
“Yeah, but we’ve got our work cut out for us on this one. There won’t be a lot of time to party,” Little Danny Boy said.
“We’ll party after we slaughter all these hairy sons of bitches,” I said.
“It’s not so much the werewolves that I’m worried about,” Little Danny Boy said. “It’s their demonic friends.”
“From what I hear, these aren’t your average werewolves,” Chops said and then climbed onto his bike.
“No, they’re a bad bunch that’s come up from Mexico. They were friendly with the Hell-Raisers before we took those old boys out. They’ve allied with the Devil himself,” Little Danny Boy said.
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no demon in hell that can stand up to a bro with a pure heart,” I said and climbed onto the old Pan Head.
A few miles up the road, we pulled off onto a dirt trail leading into the hills. We passed through a small stand of pine trees and the weather turned chill. A dark menacing cloud hung over the land and out in the woods, I heard a wild feral growl. I saw red beady eyes peering at us from the tree line. A howl resonated across the land as the full moon rose into the sky.
“They’ve got scouts in the woods! A couple of wolves and some of the Devil’s imps!” Little Danny Boy yelled, projecting his voice over the rumble of our loud pipes. I saw an evil demon wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, standing in the middle of the road. He looked up as we approached and his skeletal feature changed into a demonic grin. Evil reddish-green light illuminated the darkness. The light came from the empty sockets where his eyes should be.
“Begone you, vile creature!” Little Danny Boy yelled and gunned the throttle. We plowed right into the evil creature and he disappeared into a cloud of smoke and ash. His evil laughter resonated through the forest. A few minutes later, we saw a light in the distance. Breaking through a clearing, we saw the cabin. Several motorcycles, a couple of pickup trucks, and a few cars set parked out front. Five prospects stood out on the front porch with rifles standing guard duty.
One of them hollered into the cabin and said, “You guys better come out here! We’ve got company!”
A group of bikers stepped out onto the front porch and they all had weapons. We pulled up to the cabin and killed the motors on our scooters. Our spirit bikes now resembled older Harley Davidson motorcycles.
“This shit keeps getting weirder and weirder,” Dirty Dan said. “There’s a picture of every one of those guys in the Book of the Dead.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I was half expecting those guys to show up,” Chico said.
“Yeah, remember when we had that trouble with the Hell-Raisers? Some of them showed up that time,” Tiny said.
“There’s old Cave Man. He saved my bacon a while back,” Lead Belly said.
We climbed off our scooters. “Aren’t you gonna offer a bro a drink? Make mine a Jack,” I said.
A grin spread across Chico’s face. “Come on up here bro. Bring in your crew. We’ll toss back a couple and then have a sit down about this little problem we’re having,” Chico said.
I stepped up onto the porch and the Halo Riders followed. When Chico saw Sonny, he grabbed him up in a big bear hug and said, “I missed you, bro.”
“I missed you too, son,” Sonny said.
We did some hugging with our brothers. A few of them felt a little tense at first. It ain’t every day that a group of bikers from the other side of the graveyard shows up at your door. Chico led us inside, and a couple of prospects handed out the beer. I pulled a bottle of Jack from my coat pocket and tossed back a shot. I sat down on a threadbare couch setting in the living room. The Halo Riders sat down beside me. Chico, Tiny, and Dirty Dan pulled up some folding chairs and sat facing us.
“You know, I was hoping you guys would show up. We were at the clubhouse when these hairy bikers showed up. They had patches on their vest that said, the Woolly Boys. They took off their clothes,” Chico said. “Like if that wasn’t weird enough? They changed, man. You’re not gonna believe this, but they turned into werewolves. They attacked us and ripped several of the bros to pieces. They were almost superhuman. Werewolves, can you believe this shit? I thought that was only on the movies.”
I shrugged and took a pull from a bottle of Jack. “Yeah bro, I can believe it, considering a damned zombie bit me back in sixty-eight. Don’t be so quick to brush something off because it’s weird.”
“What are we gonna do?” Chico asked. “We’ve got to take back the clubhouse.”
“There’s more than the clubhouse at stake. They’re after the town and they’ve got scouts out in the woods,” Little Danny Boy said.
“Isn’t there someone we could call, bro?” Dirty Dan said.
“Yeah, there’s this dude out in California named Monroe who deals with this kind of thing. It would take him a while to get here. These Woolly Boys brought some friends. We’ll take care of this shit ourselves. There’s a dark cloud hovering over the land and, it’s chuck full of the Devil’s imps. This is going to be a hard fight,” I said.
“What are we supposed to do?” Chico asked.
“You know all those silver coins and silver bars stored down in the basement with the survival gear?” I said.
“Yeah. They’re still there.”
“We need to melt that shit down and make some bullets,” I said.
“Silver bullets? You’ve got to be kidding?” Tiny said.
I looked him dead in the eyes. “Afraid not bro. It’s all about belief. You boys will take care of the werewolves, and we’ll deal with their friends.”
“We’d best get started. Those hairy bastards have a good sense of smell. Once they take Harlem Springs, they’ll come here,” Little Danny Boy said.
Chico nodded at a couple of prospects. “Let’s get the silver. We’ve got some bullet molds with the reloading equipment.”
“You’d best keep half the crew on guard duty. I heard something prowling the woods when we rolled up,” I said. The full moon hung over the cabin lighting up the Arizona night.
Chico stood to his feet. He instructed half his crew to guard the windows and doors. He led us Halo Riders and several prospects down into the basement. He instructed one of the prospects to fire up an old woodstove and then found the bullet molds. He took a green Army crate from underneath a shelf and opened it up. It held silver coins and silver bars. Rummaging around on a shelf, he found an old cast iron pot, filled it with silver coins, and set it on top of the woodstove.
“Once this silver melts, we’ll start making bullets,” Chico said.
The cold damp basement began to warm up, due to the fire in the woodstove. The pot on top of the stove got hot and the silver began to melt. Sweat beaded up on my forehead.
“Hey, Prospect. Why don’t you bring us some beer?” Tiny said to a short dark-haired prospect. He wiped the sweat from his brow.
“And bring a bottle of Jack,” Dirty Dan said.
“I brought my own,” I said, patting my vest.
“Yeah you brought the good stuff from the other side,” Chico said and then grinned.
I nodded. “It sure beats this stuff you drink here on Earth.”
The silver melted, turning into liquid, and Chico passed out the bullet molds. We spent the next few hours making bullets and loading ammunition. Around midnight someone called down from upstairs and said, “Hey you guys! You better get up here! Something is creeping around outside and I heard it scratching on the front door!”
We grabbed the guns and stuffed our pockets with silver bullets. A loud crash made everyone inside the cabin jump. I pulled the curtain aside and looked out the front window. A set of red beady eyes looked back at me. The hairy bastard leaped through the window, showering me with broken glass, and knocked me on my ass. The stinky SOB growled, slashing at me with his claws. I grabbed onto his furry cheeks with my left hand and punched him in the forehead with my right. My silver club ring burned into his forehead singing its fur. The evil creature let out a blood-curdling howl and jumped back. The smell of burning hair filled the air.
Chico stepped to the side and jacked a round into a thirty-thirty lever-action rifle. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The bullet hit the beast in the chest. It let out another screech, jumped back through the window, and disappeared into the night.
“That was intense,” I said and pulled my bottle of Jack from my vest. I took a shot.
Chico’s nostrils flared. “Damn that was a stinky son of a bitch.”
Behind the cabin, we heard something clawing at the back door. Another werewolf howled in the night. We heard more of them coming out of the woods.
I nodded at Chico. “We’d best cover all the windows and doors.”
The werewolves converged on the cabin and we opened up, on them. Our muzzle flashes lit up the night. Overhead, the full moon looked down on it all. An ugly wolf with crooked teeth stuck his head in the broken window. I pulled my three fifty-seven and put a silver bullet through his brainpan. The hairy bastard flew back off the porch, landing on its back. It withered in agony. The rest of the pack closed in.
“Get the women and little ones to the basement!” Chico yelled. Several prospects jumped to their feet. They hustled the old ladies and the youngsters to safety.
“We need to deal with their friends!” I yelled to Little Danny Boy.
Little Danny Boy nodded and after the attack broke off, he said. “Let’s step out onto the front porch.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Dirty Dan said. He crouched down by one of the windows.
“You can’t go out there. Those SOBs will rip you to shreds,” Chico said.
I grinned. “You all stay inside and watch the show.”
Little Danny Boy, Old School, and I filed out the front door. The rest of the Halo Riders followed. We stood on the front porch. A pack of werewolves moved towards us on all fours. As one man, we drew our arms back and flung them forward as if pitching a softball underhanded. Balls of blue light shot out of our hands and hit the wolves. What looked like electorally charged bolts of lightning crackled, scorching their fur. The werewolves leaped back in fear. Overhead, a host of evil demons swooped down on us. We pulled our weapons and fired.
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 gat. 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 they’re 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. Those 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, and 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. We rolled out heading toward Harlem Springs Arizona. 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 on 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 our scooters, Chico stepped up to the front door and kicked it open. Cradling his thirty-thirty in his arms, he headed into the Road Dogs clubhouse and the rest of us followed. The werewolves, now back in their human form, lay in a drunken stupor. They lay on the bar and, on several tables scattered throughout 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 bang 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. They 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 doesn’t feel that way,” Chico said.
“Back in sixty-eight when we had that little zombie problem, I hit an oak tree at over one hundred miles an hour. I wanted 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 said.
Back on our scooters, we motored on into town. Harlem Springs looked like a ghost town. We rode up and down several streets, but we saw not a sign of life.
“Where is everyone?” Chico asked.
“The people who didn’t get bit 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 of 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 said.
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. A dark evil cloud covered the town. We turned onto Fourth Street. Our pipes rumbled off the surrounding buildings. We rode down to the health food store. We parked our scooters up against the curb and climbed off the machines. Chico stepped 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. He 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. Five prospects stood out front watching our backs. We brought case after case of the stuff out to the sidewalk. We 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. We 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. 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 watched the prospects carry the colloidal silver up the metal ladder. They dump it into the town’s water supply. When they finished, we hit the highway headed west toward the High Noon Saloon.
While we motored back to the clubhouse, five werewolves stopped for a drink from the pond near the cabin. They died a painful death. 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. We dispatched 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 said, 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 ridding the town of the hairy beast, we headed back to the High Noon Saloon. We 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 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 known 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 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 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 t-shirt contest?” I said.
“That sounds like a plan,” Chico said.
A few minutes later, the women climbed up on the bar, iced themselves down with 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 barstool to enjoy the show.
Hey I hope you enjoyed the short story. If you would like to know more about my writing leave me a comment or consider signing up for my email list and get a free eBook