The Night Beat

was down and the thing was packed so full I didn’t crash through. I was between Jack and Slimy, so I had a great view. Which was nice, because I’d spent a lot of time being the tetherball and I couldn’t really move.
    Jack was firing, calmly and consistently, laying down a steady stream that hit Slimy all over the place. He was also advancing while firing. Slimy, meanwhile, seemed somewhat rocked but not stopped, and he was advancing, too. At current rate and speed, they were going to slam into each other in front of me.
    Jack knew it, too. He maneuvered himself in front of me, so he was between me and the monster.
    I, as the Count put it, panted after Jack because he was literally the most manly man I’d ever met, seen or smelled. And he was in full-on manly mode at the moment. I was lucky the moon wasn’t full -- I’d have been crawling on the ground in front of him, whining, with my tail up, in between rolling on my back and offering the full on “I’m your puppy mamma” routine. Hey, there are some things a weregirl can’t control.
    “Can you move?” he asked me, still watching Slimy and firing steadily.
    “Sort of.”
    One of the undead benefits is an ability to concentrate on more than one thing at a time. As a werewolf, I had enhanced senses under normal situations, let alone during battles. So I’d counted the number of shots because I could and you learned to do things like that because they helped you stay unalive. And I knew Jack was out of ammo.
    He did, too. He tossed the gun back towards the car, turned, grabbed me, flung me over his shoulder, and ran. It would’ve been more comfortable if I’d been in human or werewolf form, but I didn’t complain. Slimy stomped the trashcan I’d been on about two seconds after Jack grabbed me.
    We reached the car and he tossed me in it. I got the impression he was going to attempt to drive away, but he went to the trunk. I remembered what we had in the trunk. “I don’t think an urban assault rifle is going to help,” I called to him.
    “Can’t hurt.” He leaned against the car and fired. This seemed to affect Slimy, but it was still coming towards us. “Any suggestions?”
    “Oh, goodness. Good effort, young man, and you’ve certainly hurt it more than anyone else. However, it would help if you aimed for its vulnerable spots.” The voice was old and quavered, with excitement.
    I crawled closer to Jack. “H.P., if we knew where its vulnerable spots were, it’d be dead already. Jack, if he deigns to tell you, shoot wherever H.P. says.”
    H.P. wasn’t the biggest man in the world. Well, he wasn’t a man any more, technically. He also hadn’t been that old when he’d died, less than fifty. He looked, sounded and acted old because he said he felt old. He was a zombie. But there hadn’t been any choice, really. Once a human dies of natural causes -- well, natural human causes -- there’s only so many ways to bring them back. And we’d needed H.P.’s expertise.
    He smiled at Jack. “May I, young man?”
    Jack sighed. “Sure, why the hell not?” He handed H.P. the gun.
    H.P. shook his head. “Children, everyone needs to get clear please.” Even though most of us were technically older than him, he called us all children -- he meant it lovingly so none of us minded. He was also unfailingly polite, due, according to the Count, to the era he’d been raised in. It never bothered me unless we were in pressure situations. Then I kind of wanted him to get a little testy. But he never did. He wasn’t at the Count’s level, but H.P. was pretty unflappable.
    He was also shooting. At what I and, I was sure, the others, considered Slimy’s feet. And it was working.
    “You see, children, its power comes from below,” H.P. said merrily as he laid down a steady stream of bullets and Slimy started shrinking. “Hence, you have to cut it off from the source.”
    “Does he always lecture?” Jack asked me.
    Maurice and Amanda landed next to him. “Constantly,” Maurice said.
    I waited for Jack to react. He didn’t. He was still watching H.P. take down Slimy. “Why?”
    “He’s a professor,” Amanda offered.
    “Professor of what?” Jack’s calm and interest were starting to freak me out far more than Slimy.
    “Ancient monsters,” Ken answered as he landed, carrying Monty and Rover. He set Monty down carefully, but an arm fell off anyway. “Ancient gods and monsters,” he amended. “And current ones, too, but his specialty is