THEM (Season 1): Episode 4 by M.D. Massey Page B

considered my words. “It was wrong for me to try to take him out the first time. He was no direct threat to us, and I crossed the line. Not only that, but if I had killed him, chances are someone worse would’ve taken his place. Does that make sense?”
    “I suppose.” She looked down at her feet and traced a line in the dirt with her toe. “But will you at least let me scare him a little bit? I’d like to see him piss his pants like the Colonel did the other night.”
    I laughed. “How’d you know about that?”
    “When you came back, the smell was all over you. Me and Bobby just put two and two together and figured you’d scared the piss out of him.”
    I rocked back on my heels and gave the thought about two seconds. “Yeah, I have to say that this guy definitely deserves to have the piss scared out of him. You have my word.”
· · ·
    That night, we waited until the punters set up camp in an old self-storage facility. The place was fenced in and the structures inside were sound, and frankly I wished that we could have been using it for our own safe house. Instead, we set up inside an old two-story Victorian just down the road. The neighborhood was on the outskirts of southwest Austin, and after dark it crawled with deaders. I had to force Gabby to sit tight while Bobby and I reconnoitered the place.
    We jumped the fence at a spot that was well out of the way of the punters’ line of sight and climbed on top of the storage units to scope them out. True to form, the punters were drinking and carrying on, which was attracting quite a few deadheads to their fence line. As a drinking game, they took turns stabbing them through the wrought iron fence with a makeshift spear someone had fashioned from a mop handle and a steak knife. If one of the punters took out a deader with a single stab, the others had to slug back a shot of whatever rotgut they were drinking. It wasn’t long before they were all drunk and passed out inside the main office building where they’d taken shelter.
    I whispered to Bobby, “I expect that Pancho’ll have to come outside eventually to relieve himself. We’ll wait until he does and snag him then.”
    Bobby nodded and whispered back, “You’re the boss.”
    “You keep calling me that. What’s the deal?”
    “Boss, alpha, same thing. Wolves naturally follow the strongest leader they can, because that’s the one who is most likely to keep them alive. You may not be a ’thrope, but you got alpha written all over you. Thus, you’re the boss.”
    I nodded. “Alright, good to know. Just don’t do that sniffing thing again though—it creeps me out.”
    He smiled, and even with the partial cloud cover I could see his face almost perfectly in the dark. “You know, now that you have my wolf blood running in your veins you might start doing it too. Have you had the urge to pee on anything lately? To roll in roadkill? To lick your balls?”
    I sighed. “Just shut up and keep an eye on the exits.”
    “Hey, I’m just saying, try it and you might like it. Roadkill smell is a dead turn-on for most ’thrope females.”
    “I’ll pass. Now. Watch. The. Door.”
    “Sure thing, boss.”
    Once I got Bobby settled down and on task, it was about another 45 minutes to an hour before Pancho showed his ugly mug. I almost missed him, since he wasn’t wearing that stupid hat. My best guess was that he thought he looked like McMasters from
Tombstone
in it, but this guy was a far cry from a Michael Rooker character in any capacity. Despite my distaste for Pancho’s sartorial leanings, I made a mental note to look for a copy of
Tombstone
if given the opportunity. Gabby would probably love it.
    Pancho looked about three sheets to the wind, but even so Bobby and I moved as stealthily as possible into position to snatch him. I hopped down the wall and snuck up behind him while Bobby waited above him on the building’s roof. Before Pancho knew what had hit him I’d choked him out and had him