Nightwitch by Ken Douglas Page B

glow for a flash of a second. Then black reigned again, greeting the thunder blast that sent shock waves through the night, through the neighborhood, through his body, through his very soul.
    He gripped the wheel with a white knuckled fury that set his arms shaking. He hunched over it, clenching his stomach muscles, and shivered, but with anticipation, not fear. He had done battle with her, and he had survived. He had looked into those eyes, and he had survived. He had tasted the stench of her, and he had survived. She was his destiny.
    He put his foot to the floor, causing the rear wheels to spin, seeking traction as they dug into the lawn. He eased off on the accelerator a fraction and the tires grabbed into the earth as he slammed the pedal back to the floor. The car started to spin, but when the wheels caught, it shot forward, like a bull charging the cape, tearing through one yard, then the next.
    The screeching metal chilled him and charged him as he blasted through the chain link fence. He screamed and locked on to the glaring red eyes of the wolf, glowing with the reflection of the single headlight, and once again he was staring into the pit of her, and once again he tasted her stench.
    The beast charged the car, leaping onto the hood, snarling as it smashed into the window. A thousand spider web cracks sizzled through the glass as the wolf bounced off of it, and the car continued its journey across the lawn and through the fence at the other side.
    He jerked the wheel to the right, tearing up a fourth lawn as the rear wheels spun on the grass and the car sought the street. He had to drive with his head out the window, with the wind whipping his face, because he couldn’t see through the cracked glass. He held his breath as the car thumped over the curb, fought for control, with only his right hand on the wheel, got it and guided the car down the block, and was around the corner before a single porch light came on.
    Two blocks away, going slow with the right front tire thumping like a jack hammer, and his head lolling out the window, like a dog sniffing the breeze, he turned into the alley behind Fremont Avenue. He’d brought two different neighborhoods from sleep to noisy violence. The police were going to be involved. Questions were going to be asked. It was a small town. He was going to have to get rid of the car, but first he had to change the tire.
    He stopped behind a restaurant, turned off the single headlight and shut off the engine, plunging his world into sweet, silent dark. It was cool and still foggy. He would have to be very fast. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car, groaning as he tried to stand. Already his body was sore. He gently touched his neck and winced at the pain. It would be black and blue in the morning.
    He touched his left check and winced again. It was wet and sticky. He removed his hand and wiped the blood on his Levi’s. His face would be scabbed over soon. That along with his neck, would make him noticeable anywhere, but in this small town he would stand out like a man wearing a tuxedo in jail.
    He stepped around a puddle of water and wished he was some place warm, but wishing wouldn’t change the tire. He opened the trunk and pulled out the jack and the tire iron. He set them on the ground and reached in for the spare. His hands screamed as he wrapped them around the tire and his arms and shoulders roared as he lifted it. He dropped it by the jack and hoped his body wouldn’t quit on him before the night was over.
    He bent and picked up the tire iron and frowned. The right front tire was sitting in a puddle of muddy water. He had two choices, move the car and get only a little wet as he changed the tire, or kneel in the puddle and get a lot wet. He decided on the latter, mounted the jack and raised the car till most of the pressure was taken off the tire. Then, using the tire iron, he popped the hubcap and loosened and removed the lug nuts. The rental