The Witch and the Werewolf Read Online Free

outcome of their combined response would work, despite the
fact that the brightest minds of the world, having worked on the
problem for three years, said it would change nothing. Those bright
minds were either partying in the streets, praying to their
saviors, or locked in basements with their guns and
SPAM.
    David James Jackson, Dutch
to those few who he called friends, was one of those pretenders,
going on about his life as if the world was not about to come to a
screeching halt and mankind was about to take a long walk over the
dark side. Though his job in life would have never been considered
quite normal, his current mission was doubly odd. Dutch had no
illusions that the UN and their coalition of countries with their
nukes screaming into space would actually be able to save anyone.
And though mankind’s end was apparently imminent, he still had to
work to do. What else was there if you didn’t have work?
    Dutch did not think the
coming catastrophe, or Extinction Level Event as the news media had
called it, borrowing a line from an old and now seemingly prophetic
movie, was the act of an all knowing, all powerful, and vengeful
god. Quite the contrary, he believed shit happened and the
universe, with its infinite sense of humor, was chunking a rock the
size of Texas at them for shits and giggles. But despite that fact
there was work to be done and, if he didn’t survive the night, at
least he’d go out doing what he did best.
    Nor did he believe all
life would end. Mother Nature was indeed a cruel bitch, but mankind
had a virus-like tenacity to hang on through almost any
catastrophe. Man had survived much and would continue to do so. But
a change was coming, he knew, and the balance would be tipped.
Though he was sure man would survive, they’d be bounced down the
food chain a few notches. He was pretty sure mankind was no longer
to be the dominant species on the planet.
    So Dutch continued to
work. Bad guys still needing killing and, according to Father
O’Leary, his current employer, errant werewolves still needed
capturing. Not that he believed in werewolves. Who believed in
werewolves? He was happy to take the priest’s money and silver
ammunition. Work was work and the world was ending, after all. It
never hurt to have too much .45 ACP, even if it was
silver.
    Work, at present,
consisted of tailing a limo down Main Street in downtown Houston
while navigating the thousands of people who’d come out to watch
Wormwood and the expected fireworks as one hundred twenty-eight
separate nuclear warheads streaked towards the comet. The streets
were filled with drunks and partiers. Music of all types and
flavors blasted from car stereos mixing with the wail of horns and
gunshots booming into the air. Dutch’s target, one David Alexander
Wilbanks, stood up through the limo’s sun roof, a buxom blonde babe
on his right arm, and a glass of champagne in his right hand,
celebrating right along with the heathens that had come out to see
the supposed destruction of Wormwood. There, under the looming
cosmic death, they were one people. Rich or poor, it didn’t matter.
Money couldn’t buy you salvation.
    But maybe, just maybe, he
thought, this job can buy me a night or two in a well-stocked
shelter under one certain church. No matter if the church was run
by a crazy man. He’d deal with that later.
    People surged forward,
surrounding the limo and the driver, the civilized world not yet
having collapsed to the point that anarchy ruled, stopped in fear
of running someone over. Wilbanks surged forward and spilt his
glass, champagne spilling off the top of the limo like sparkling
blood. He righted himself, laughed, and slid back into the
compartment only to emerge seconds later with the entire bottle.
Dutch’s car, a recently stolen 2005 Cadillac, was surrounded by the
same throng of people who seemed content to sip at their drinks and
smoke their weed while staring at the approaching comet that
already filled the sky to the