Coffee Break: Short Story by Arden Kunchick

"What'd you pick him up on, Gar?" Harold asks. He chuckles and looks over his newspaper at the young man in the nearest holding cell.

"Public intoxication. I figured he had to be on something, screaming his head off in Murphy's like that," Gary says, a wry chuckle lurking behind his words. 

"Screaming? What the hell about," Harold asks half-heartedly, flipping through his newspaper.

"Yeah, screamin' about how he was going to kill everyone if they didn't get out of town." He laughs and shakes his head. "Crazy S-O-B, that's what I say." 

"You can say that again," Harold says, folding his newspaper and setting it on the security desk that monitored the hall and holding cells. It’s covered in little personal affectations. He almost knocks over Darla's perfume bottle, she must have left it after her shift. Darla was always leaving little bits of herself strewn about the station. 

"I'm gonna run and grab some coffee, think you can keep the peace?" His voice is strained and he shifts his weight in his seat, standing up while never taking his eyes off the young man. Harold’s forehead glistens with a thin layer of sweat that wasn’t there just minutes ago. The young man is relentless in his groans of agony, his writhing convulsions of pain. 

"Yeah," Gary says, turning his attention from Harold back to the young man in the holding cell "grab me a cup, won't ya?" 

Harold nods and throws up his hand to acknowledge his partner’s request. He walks out into the main hallway that runs through the police station like a vein.

Gary picks up the newspaper that Harold had dropped onto the desk. In his eagerness to distract himself, he knocks Darla’s almost comically oversized perfume bottle over. He tries to catch it, but doesn’t make it in time. The cap pops off. The smell that exudes from the bottle isn't necessarily unpleasant, but it’s definitely overwhelming. He caps the bottle as quickly as he can, stands it up out of his reach, and returns his attention to the thin weekly issue. On the front page reads 'Dogs or Wolves? Local Death Shocks Authorities' in bold, black letters. The words send a chilling wave down Gary's spine. His mind forces him back to the night it had happened, the memory as vivid as the holding cells he tries to force out of mind.

He'd been responding to a call about a possible dog attack in the local park. It was early morning, and mist hung low to the ground in the park that he and his partner had been called to. Harold had decided to radio for an ambulance and Gary had gone out into the park to see if he couldn't locate the victim. Despite his brain telling him to wait this one out, to sit in the police vehicle with Harold while an ambulance wove its way through the city to them, he pressed on. He had his gun drawn while he crept through the park. He felt a bone-chilling sensation, like some sort of primordial alarm bell that screamed of danger. 

It wasn't long until he discovered the body. 

She was a young, willowy girl. Long of limb, and slender. Her skin was as pale as milk, freckles dotting her pallid complexion like little embers in the morning darkness. Her curly red hair was sprawled out like a great mane around her. Her natural beauty had begun to fade into the pallor of death. Her torso had been marred by a visceral opening that had been torn into her gut. Her entrails lay about her, a gory mess of blood and bile. Her neck had been torn open to the point of being mere shreds of skin over the flesh. Her face was contorted in pure horror. The papers had chalked it all up to a rabid dog, but Gary knew that whatever had killed that poor girl was no dog.

Gary tosses the newspaper back where he had found it, disgusted. The paper had only distracted him momentarily from the unpleasant reality of his situation. The young man that he had put into the holding cell was still groaning, hopped up on whatever drug was infecting the streets these days. At least, that's what Gary thought. 

Gary checks his watch. Harold left at least ten minutes ago. He tries staring at the wall to distract himself from the man in the holding cell. He starts tapping his feet. He twirls his silver wedding band on his finger, a nervous force of habit. Sweat beads on his forehead. He twists his ring with a little more fervour, unable to empty his head of irrational fears. This fear... it’s something he's felt before. In the park! I felt like this in the park! He tries to put it out of mind, but he can't. 

The tension is too much. 

Gary stands up, almost knocking the chair back with the force. He wipes his palms on his shirt and looks around at the chair. He walks around, scoots it back, and stands for a moment. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes. A repulsive wave of chilling nausea racks his body. While he was checking his watch, the large hallway lined with cells fell silent, only to be broken by a frail voice. 

"Mister..." The young man says, "what time does the sunset tonight?" Gary checks the weather column and runs his thumb down to Thursday.

"Uh, about 5:20, so another fifteen minutes," He says, walking around to the holding cell so he can see the young man through the bars. He's ragged and thin, wearing an orange uniform that he’s practically swimming in. His short hair is disheveled and shaggy as if he cuts it himself. His face is thin and sallow, his cheeks replaced by sunken valleys. His skin is slick with sweat despite it being the middle of winter. He looks at Gary with wild eyes. 

"Listen to me," The young man stumbles towards the bars "officer, listen to me!" He shoves his thin arms through the bars and clutches at Gary's collar, who is too shocked to free himself from the grasp. "You need to get out of here! You need to get everyone out of here!" He lets go and retracts into the cell. He presses against the back wall, looking away and panting. He's afraid, but Gary can't piece it together. 

"Look, kid. You're on something, and you'll sober up sooner or later," Gary says, trying to rationalize this whole mess. "After that, you can go home. Just try and relax," he backs away, twirling his ring, goosebumps running up his arms. He checks his watch, only ten minutes to sundown. Where the hell is that coffee? 

He picks the newspaper back up and flips through the pages. Nothing catches his eye, not even the funnies. I'll think back on this and laugh at how damn scared I was. He laughs out loud, trying to expel the tension. It seems to bare down harder in response. The wheezing and gasping coming from the first holding cell is relentless. 

Gary edges from behind the security desk to stand in front of the cell. When he is in view of the cell, he can see the young man writhing on the ground. He is now yelling in agony, twisting and contorting like a dying animal. That's when his bones start snapping and popping. The sound is a wet, horrendous sound. It makes Gary sick, but he can't stop watching. 

The kid’s hands bend and break. They distend into long, monstrous appendages. His body twists and writhes, the sounds of snapping bone and tearing sinew fill the jail cell. Gary backs away, dry heaving in utter disgust. What the hell is that... that thing?!  

The entire time, the young man's cries of pain begin to warble and falter, dropping in pitch mid-scream. Gary can no longer see in the cell. The long, wide hallway falls deathly silent. There is a heavy panting that seems to fill the newly found silence. Then the silence is torn by the howling of a wolf. 

The small-holding area of the police station was once filled with groans of pain. Now all Gary can hear is a dull pounding sound along with quiet inhuman grunts of pain, followed by the rattling of metal on metal. Gary knew that whatever was in that cell was no longer the young man Gary had selfishly hoped was just hopped up on some new drug. Junkies didn't have claws like small curved blades and weren't covered in fur. They didn't howl at the moon. 

Gary backed up into the furthest wall, pressing himself against it. He twirls his ring with an almost painful insistence. He is in a state of pure panic, knowing that any second the metal bars would break. The holding cells aren't exactly state of the art, being three concrete walls, ceiling, and a wall made out of the traditional iron bars you see on television. Gary, trying to force himself into some sort of action, lets go of his silver ring and draws his pistol from its holster. He scrambles over to the security desk and throws himself behind it. The door to the holding area clicks open, and Gary's stomach drops. Harold walks through, holding two cups of coffee. 

"Sorry it took me so long, Gary. I caught Darla on her way-" Harold stops dead in his tracks, seeing Gary with his gun drawn, crouched in a defensive position behind the security desk. "What the hell is going on here?" He walks over towards the cell.

"Harry, no!" Gary stands up, snapping out of the fear when he sees his friend walking straight into danger. Harold is almost next to the cell when he turns to look at Gary. He cocks his head like a confused puppy, missing the seriousness of the situation. He turns back to the cells. That's when it happens.

The cell's iron wall makes a warbling screech as it is ripped clean out of the cement around it. It slams into the opposite wall hard, chipping and cracking the cement with tremendous force. 

Harold stumbles back. The mugs crash into the ground, hot coffee streaming out and over the concrete floor. Harold is reaching for his gun, but he doesn’t recover it before a hulking mass looms out of the broken cell. 

The figure is huge, dwarfing most bears. Its arms are long and powerful. Its dark, matted fur is the same color as the young man's shaggy hair had been. Its jaws are agape, hot saliva dripping from its jowls, which are drawn back in a silent but threatening snarl. Its legs are bent and broken backward, and its torso is long and powerful. It has a thick neck, with muscles that ripple and shift under its tight skin. It sees Harold first. 

Harold doesn't have his gun in time. The beast lunges with animalistic speed and grace. Harold goes down without so much as a scream, the sheer force of the beast slamming the wind out of his diaphragm. Blood goes flying as it rips and tears Harold’s flesh to ribbons. 

Gary points his gun and fires. The bullets thud into the beast, small sprays of blood flying out. They may as well be paper clips. After several rounds the beast lifts its bloody muzzle from Gary’s partner, it's bright, hate-filled eyes finding Gary. Reacting on instinct, Gary grabs the hardest thing he can find on the desk. It’s the almost full perfume bottle. He throws it hard, and it hits its mark. The bottle shatters and stains the beast’s muzzle with fetid liquid. 

The werewolf stumbles back, its sense of smell overwhelmed. It grabs and paws at its nose. Knowing he may not get another chance, Gary lunges over the desk and runs in a dead sprint at the door. He runs out into the main hallway, his mind is numb with fear and adrenaline.

"Everyone get out! Get out of the building!" He screams as he runs, slamming and slapping his hands on doors and walls. He gets to the front of the hall, which leads to a public reception room. Near the door is a fire alarm, which Gary pulls. Loud, wailing alarms blare throughout the building, the small sprinklers going off. The fire alarms drown out all the sounds of pure helter-skelter that had ensued. The shrill sound is the only thing Gary can hear, until high and clear over the alarms, there is another sound: An ear-splitting howl. 

Gary turns, and sprints back down the hallway, trying to think of the best place to hide. At first, he goes through the bullpen, but the desks provide little cover and the furniture consists mostly of desks. The beast would tear through the office like a hot knife through butter. Gary leaves the bullpen in search of another bastion.

Three doors down the hallway is the break room, which has small amenities such as a kitchenette, a pot of hot coffee, microwave. Gary makes a break for the breakroom, hoping that Harold didn't use all of the hot coffee. Just as he reaches the kitchenette, he hears a high pitched scream. A human scream. 

He grabs the pot of coffee, which is still emanating a dull heat, and sprints down the hallway towards the sound. He scrambles to the back of the police station. The back half of the station houses the male and female locker rooms, the sally port, and the processing rooms. It sounded like the scream came from the locker rooms, and as Gary approaches, he can see large claw marks on the door to the girl’s locker room. 

He edges the door open with his boot and sees the hulking beast slowly working its way down the aisle of lockers directly in front of him, sniffing the ground. It's looking for someone. Darla must not have left. 

"Hey, asshole!" Gary says, saying the first thing that comes to mind. The beast turns and roars in pure rage. He had interrupted the hunt. The beast hunches over and it’s muscles twitch as it prepares to launch itself as Gary. Without hesitation, it pounces. 

As it gets in his range, Gary throws the hot coffee, pot and all, right at the beast’s snarling muzzle. Glass shatters and the wolf-man screams in pain as the coffee scalds its flesh. Gary turns and runs into the men's locker room at full tilt. 

Hopefully, he caught the thing's attention. Gary runs down the aisle, tugging at random lockers' handles. Gary jumps into the first one that opens and quietly closes it.

Of all the workplace scenarios that Gary had dreamed up in his head, hiding from a werewolf in a locker definitely was not one of them. He clutches with both hands at his nose and mouth, trying to regulate his ragged breath. His whole body is trembling, his knees are weak. His head feels light. He leans into the hard walls of the small enclosure, trying to find comfort in his hiding place. After he gets his breath under control, he slowly puts his hands down, and they go to their natural pattern of twisting and pulling on his silver wedding ring. 

He knows that if he wants to get out of the station alive tonight, he needs a plan. One that doesn’t involve running aimlessly and hiding wherever he can. What was there he could even do? The beast shouldered half of his clip and made it look like a light tickle. 

Glancing around the locker, Gary is disappointed to find there is nothing useful around. That's when the locker room door creaks inward, heavy footsteps crack the tile as the beast edges in. It sniffs the air, but the perfume that Gary had instinctively thrown had done him more justice than he ever really knew. It stalks down the first aisle of lockers, Gary is in the third. He watches anxiously through the small slots in the door, hoping desperately for a glance.

This is my chance. Gary creeps out of the locker, and taking a great gamble, he unholsters his pistol. He doesn't take a shooter's stance, instead, he overhand throws it into the aisle between him and the wolf. The beast rushes around the corner, snarling. Gary listens. 

When he hears the loud clicking of claws on tile, the sounds of its snout searching the air, and the great weight of the beast cracking the tile under it, he braces his right shoulder for impact. He runs full speed into the wall of receptacles and slams his shoulder into it. 

The gambit works, the great green metal wall tumbling down on the wolf in an avalanche of metal and personal items. The beast lets out a roar of rage and yelps of pain as the lockers collapse onto it. Gary turns and runs back out of the men's locker room and into the women's. From behind he can hear the continuous roars of rage. There's a rumbling clatter of metal and an ear-splitting yelp of pain. 

"Darla," Gary whispers as he prowls through the main aisle, "Darla, where the hell are you?" 

"In here," one of the lockers whispers at Gary when he moves past it. Gary jumps but quickly regains his composure. "What the hell is that thing?"

"I think... I think it's a werewolf," Gary pauses, hearing how crazy he sounds despite the situation. Silence sweeps through the locker rooms, only the spray of emergency sprinklers can be heard.

"Do you have any silver, Gar?" She asks. Desperation mingles with the sound of hope in her voice.  

"My wedding ring is silver," Gary whispers, slipping the sweat-covered band off and holding it in front of the small slits in the locker. 

"I have a chain," Darla says. There's a rustle, the quiet slither of metal on metal. Darla drops something long and silver through the slit of the locker door. It glitters and gleams in the flickering fluorescent lights. Gary picks it up.

"You stay here," Gary says, turning to leave. 

"Where are you going?"

"To kill whatever the hell that thing is, Darla," Gary says.

When Gary walks out of the locker room, the deep rumble of shifting metal accompanies his footsteps, coming from the men’s locker room. He loiters by the door, waiting for a good chance.  There's a loud, final screeching of metal. In the new silence, he can hear the heavy panting of the ultimate predator, the exertion of a difficult kill impressing itself on the beast. Gary cracks open the door and tosses his handcuffs, which had previously been attached to his belt. His cuffs clink and clatter as they fly through the air and slump against the tile wall. 

As Gary turns and runs down the hallway. He rounds a corner towards the armory in the back of the building. Gary can hear the beast slamming into the far tile wall, the crumbling of it, and then the door of the locker room being torn from its hinges. In seconds, the beast is at the opposite end of the new hallway. It hunches over, it's muscles twitching and bunching up. It launches itself down the hallway, Gary rounds another corner. 

The great beast eats the distance between them faster than Gary expected. It smashes into the end of the hallway, its momentum and the water from the sprinklers not allowing it to make a smooth turn. It slides on the linoleum and smashes through the drywall into the room beyond. Gary uses the newly found opening to rush to the middle of the hallway and practically slams himself into a recessed hollow where a thick metal door with a keypad sits. 

He smashes his finger into the keypad, relying on muscle memory to get him in. At first, it beeps and a small red LED light flashes. Left, right, left, up, and then right. The small green LED on the pin pad flashes and a dull mechanical clicking whirs from the door. 

Gary shoves his way in and slams the thick steel door behind him, the mechanical lock clicking back into place. He turns and is greeted by a bastion of thick Kevlar, helmets, shields, and batons. In times of trouble, the riot room is a glorious sight. Gary strides into the room and goes about finding the thickest and best uniform he could find. 

He pulls a thick polycarbonate shield off of the wall, a helmet with a pull-down visor and lastly, he takes the chain and finds a thick, black police baton. The guns, he knows, are only good for slowing the werewolf down. And even then, they don’t slow it for long. 

Using the pin from his badge, he nails the end of the pure sterling silver chain to the baton. He slides his thick, silver wedding ring on to the silver rope and winds it around the top ten inches of the baton. He takes the end of the chain and nails it to the top of the rounded black forget-me-stick with another badge, this time his neighborhood service badge. 

Now that he's feeling suitably protected, he turns and walks to the door. Gary runs his hand over the new silver lining of his baton. With this, I have a fighting chance. Bless Darla's soul. 

He steals a peak out of the small bullet-proof window in the door but sees nothing. Taking a deep breath, Gary slowly hits the lock release button and once again the small whirring and clicking commence. The door, now free, slowly opens inward towards Gary. 

Edging into the small alcove, Gary takes the police badge he broke the pin off and bounces it in his hand to feel the weight. The fluorescent lights flicker, the alarms died out long ago, but the sprinklers were on a fixed timer that ran an hour at max. The linoleum floor that lines the hallways is slick and small puddles have formed where the ground is uneven. 

Leaning over, Gary could see a massive shape reflected in a puddle far down the hallway. It was moving, roaming the halls for any remaining sign of life in the building. Gary freezes, the courage of shock fading. The massive shape shifts its weight and begins to prowl back down the hallway. He strains his eyes and leans his head a little closer and can distinguish the head of the beast, its hateful, flat eyes glinting in the water.

It's head, and with it, it’s attention shift down the hallway. Gary leans out and tosses the badge over his shoulder, and quickly moves to the opposite side of the alcove. The beast gives no signal, no warning. Just a massive blur flying down the hallway. 

Despite its preternatural existence, the beast was still subject to physics. It slips in the water, yelping in pain when it slams into the wall. It crunches through the drywall it meets, only to find a solid wall behind it. This was his chance, he runs out of the alcove at full speed, raising his shield and his makeshift weapon. But like the beast, he was also subject to physics. 

He stumbles, nearly falling, but he regains his composure. Regaining his footing cost him most of his momentum, and his charge falters. It dies completely when he looks up, and through the falling water, he can see the werewolf head-on for the first time. 

It's huge. At least eight feet, and easily six to seven hundred pounds. For the first time, it stands on its distended legs and bares its chest. It howls, its elongated head tilting up towards the moon, or at least, that's what Gary assumes. He feels silly, holding a shield while staring down this giant.

The beast shifts its weight, growls, and launches itself down the hallway. It gets down on all fours, and it's on him in seconds. Gary drops to a knee, bringing his shield up. As the beast slams into Gary, he tries to shift his shield up and into it but it's far too heavy. 

They crash to the ground, and the baton falls out of Gary's hand, inches away from his grasping fingers. His left arm holds up the shield. The clear polycarbonate shield is the only thing between Gary and the snapping, vicious maw. Its hot breath leaves puffs of steam on the clear shield. Its claws on its hind legs tear viciously into Gary’s legs, causing him to cry out in pain. 

Gary bites back the pain, gritting his teeth and flexing his fingers. His grasping fingers finally land on the slick black baton, gripping and pulling. Gary's heart leaps into his throat, his salvation within mere millimeters of his hand. 

He grabs the baton, and using all the might left in him, shifts his weight and brings the baton up into the snout of the beast. It yelps in pain, leaping back and relieving the pressure on Gary. He rolls over and uses his shield to force himself onto his knees. The beast is still yelping and pawing at its face, rolling and writhing in the water. 

Gary grasps at the wall, pulling himself up with desperation. He stumbles forward, using the wall for support and brandishes his baton once again. He pushes himself off the wall and squares his shoulders. Gary grits through the pain lancing up and down his legs. The beast rises, it's yelping dropping into a deep growl. It drops onto all fours, and charges again.

When it jumps this time, Gary is ready for it. He throws himself to the side, twisting in the air, and bringing the baton down hard on the beast's skull. Where the silver hits, the fur singes. The skin peels away from the taut muscle that ripples and shifts as the beast falls to the ground. 

Stumbling up, Gary drops the shield to the ground and throws himself forward. Although his run is slow and clumsy, the beast is still trying to recover. By the time it begins to rise to all fours, Gary is on the beast. He first swings at its protruding ankle bone and the beast yelps in pain. He brings the baton hammering down onto the werewolf’s back repeatedly.

Gary relents, backing up a pace. The beast pants and grunts in pain, trying to rise and failing once more. As Gary's mind slips towards remorse, his memory is faced with burning images. Images of his friend, Harry. Of the girl in the local park. Of Darla cowering in the locker room. Of all the people this beast has hurt. 

He slowly walks forward and lifts his baton. He brings it down, but the beast shifts its weight. It catches the baton in its massive hand, the silver causing the flesh to bubble and steam. This time the beast just grunts in pain and turns, launching itself at Gary. It bites down next to his neck, breaking his collar-bone and shoulder blade easily in its powerful jaws.

Gary screams in pain, bringing the baton up in a last futile gesture. The pain brings a sharp edge to reality, and Gary feels a rush of adrenaline overwhelm his senses. With this burst of energy, he passes the baton to his left hand behind the beasts back. 

Almost as if it senses his plan, the beast flexes and tightens its jaws. Gary screams and using the pain as fuel, brings the baton up in a stabbing motion. The silver-lined end slams into the belly of the beast. It burns and eats away at the flesh. It relents its lockjaw. Gary’s right arm flops to the floor, limp and lifeless.

The weight on his chest relents, the beast screams in pain, clawing at its stomach. Gary jams the silver-lined black stick into the gaping throat of the beast and shoves with all the strength left in him. It makes a horrible wailing sound as it flops and writhes on the floor, dying. 

After it goes still, its form melts away into a gray, sludge-like liquid. The baton drops out of the lifeless body's mouth. The young man lay dead on the wet floor. 

Firefighters found Gary twenty minutes later. Of course, after they had wandered bewilderedly from shredded hall to shredded hall. Gary said nothing as they strapped him to a stretcher and wheeled him out to the ambulance. 

Gary thought of his wife, foremost, and her reaction to his lost ring. He thought of home, and all the rest to be had after such a struggle. Would he have had different thoughts, had he known that slowly, his wound was knitting itself together. That saliva was slowly working its way through his bloodstream. That he was now destined to become the beast he had just destroyed.