Full Moon
by Nigel G. Mitchell (zikzak23@aol.com)

(c) Copyright March 1996

The following story is intended for entertainment purposes only. This document can be freely distributed with the condition that no part of the text is modified, and this notice is included with all copies. This document cannot be sold or translated into any other form without written permission from the author. Some characters and elements of this story are the property of St. Clare Entertainment, used without authorization. The author receives no compensation from the distribution of this work. Any comments or criticism would be welcome.

Author's Note: The following passage includes what is now quaintly referred to as "the N-word." It is not included to offend, but to be accurate to the world being depicted.

Rembrandt sat on the bed of his cell, glaring down at the concrete floor. He didn't look up as the click of a lock came, and his door swung open.

A large man in a policeman's uniform glared down at him. "Let's go, nigger."

"I got a name," Rembrandt said.

"Not around here, you don't. Let's move. And don't try nothin' funny. This gun on my hip ain't here for pottin' flowers."

Rembrandt stared at the policeman, then got to his feet. He remained silent as deputies locked his wrists and ankles in shackles. When he was restrained properly, the officer gestured, and Rembrandt walked out of his cell.

Rembrandt walked down the long hallway he had come to know so well. He could hear the roar of the crowds, growing louder and louder, until it was deafening.

Then he was in the corridor leading to the courtroom. It was a gauntlet of reporters, spectators, and men in rebel uniforms hurling racial epitaphs. Rembrandt walked through them, keeping his eyes down, headed for the courtroom. But he couldn't help overhearing a reporter speaking to a camera aimed at her.

"This is day thirteen of the Rembrandt Brown Rape Trial," the reporter was saying. "As you can see, the defendant is being led into the courtroom, preparing for another grueling day of testimony. Police have confirmed that the radical group, NAACP, has vowed to continue their support of Brown, hoping that this case will lead to the abolition of slavery..."

Rembrandt walked into the crowded courtroom. In contrast to the outside, the chamber was silent. Only the tinkling of his chains could be heard as Rembrandt made his way to the front of the room.

Rembrandt was seated next to a thin white man at the defense attorney's table. The man patted him on the shoulder.

"You all right?" the man asked.

Rembrandt looked at him. "Yeah, Quinn. I'm...I'm doin' okay."

D.A. Quinn Mallory adjusted his glasses. "Don't worry, Mr. Brown. Today's the day I turn this whole case around."

Rembrandt nodded, then said, "I ever tell you you remind me of a friend of mine."

Mallory grinned. "Only every day."

"All rise," the bailiff called out. "Court is now in session. The honorable Ross J. Kelley presiding."

Kelley walked up to the bench, taking his seat behind his massive desk. "All right, let's get this thing over with today and end this media circus, shall we?"

"I will, your honor," Mallory said. "I'd like to call my final witness, Mr. Rembrandt Brown, to the stand."

The audience broke into murmurs as Rembrandt was led to the witness stand. After being sworn in, Mallory approached him.

"Now, Mr. Brown," Mallory said. "Would you please tell us what happened to you on the morning of March eighth, 1996."

The prosecutor rose. "Objection, your honor. We have been over this a thousand times."

"Objection overruled," Judge Kelley said. "But I hope there's a point to this."

"There is, your honor," Mallory said. "Now, Mr. Brown, please tell us about the morning of March eighth."

Rembrandt closed his eyes. "I'd just arrived in San Francisco. I was just goin' down to the newsstand to get a pretzel."

"And did you see anything on the way to this newsstand?"

"Yeah. I saw a woman."

Mallory rested a hand on the witness stand. "What kind of woman."

"Just a regular woman. Uh, blonde, short dress, kinda cute..."

"And you looked at this woman?"

Rembrandt glanced at the prosecutor. "Yeah. Just for a second."

"And were you aware that it was illegal in the state of California for a black man to look at a white woman? That this falls under the term 'visual rape?'"

Rembrandt closed his eyes. "No."

Mallory looked at the judge. "Your honor, this man cannot be held accountable for a crime he wasn't aware he was breaking. No further questions."

Mallory headed to his desk as the judge said, "Prosecution, your witness."

The prosecutor strode to the witness stand. "Mr. Brown, you are a nigger, are you not?"

"Objection, your honor!" Mallory yelled. "That's abusing the witness!"

"I am merely establishing that this man is a nigger, your honor."

Judge Kelley nodded. "I'll allow it. Proceed."

The prosecutor glared at Rembrandt. "Answer the question."

Rembrandt fought back his anger, then whispered, "Yeah, I'm an African-American."

The prosecutor chuckled. "You keep using that term, Mr. Brown. Where did you get it?"

"That's what we call my folk back home. At least, that's what *polite* people call us."

"I see. You keep talking about this 'home' of yours, Mr. Brown. One where slavery has been abolished in the North *and* the South. Where niggers have the same rights and privileges as white, decent folk. Where a black man can stare at a white woman, lusting after her in his heart, and get away with it scot-free!"

"I wasn't lusting..." Rembrandt started.

"Tell me, Mr. Brown," the prosecutor said. "Exactly where is this home of yours?"

Rembrandt looked at the judge. "Your honor, you ain't gonna believe this."

"Answer the question, Mr. Brown," Judge Kelley said. "You are under oath."

Rembrandt sighed, then said, "Another planet."

The courtroom erupted into laughter.

The prosecutor chuckled, then said, "Another planet, you say."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "It's like a...another dimension. Another plane of existence adjoinin' this one..."

"Your honor," the prosecutor said, "this man is clearly deranged. I move that he not only be found guilty, but immediately executed, in accordance with the genetic purity laws of the state of California."

Judge Kelley nodded. "Agreed. Mr. Brown, to ensure the purity of our great nation and prevent the spread of mental illness, you shall be executed this evening at midnight."

"What?" Rembrandt yelled, then turned to Mallory. "Hey, man, you gotta help me!"

D.A. Mallory pulled off his glasses. "I will, Rembrandt."

He pulled a small object out of his pocket. He aimed it at the center of the courtroom and pushed a button on its face.

A beam lanced out of the timer, hitting a point in midair. Space imploded on itself, forming a circular hole in the fabric of the universe. It rippled like a pool of water, creating a rushing noise that filled the room.

Rembrandt grinned. "Quinn! It's really you!"

"Yeah, it's me," Quinn yelled. "Hop in, Remmy!"

Rembrandt dove off the witness stand into the wormhole. He disappeared into it with a flash.

Judge Kelley rose to his feet. "What is the meaning..."

Wade and Arturo rushed out of the audience. They both took a running dive into the wormhole, disappearing in a flash of light.

As bailiffs charged forward, Quinn jumped into the gateway himself, and vanished into the twisting portal of hyperspace.

****

Quinn landed in Golden Gate Park, next to where Rembrandt lay, groaning to himself. Wade was kneeling beside him.

"You okay, Remmy?" she asked.

"Yeah," Rembrandt murmured. "Just got a touch o' the flu in that last world, all those drafty cells. I'll be okay."

He sneezed, then got to his feet. "Hope this world's got Kleenex."

Wade threw herself into his arms, laughing. "Oh, man, it's good to have you back."

"Good to be back. How'd you guys pull that off?"

"We talked to your lawyer," Quinn said. "My double in that world. We finally managed to convince him we were telling the truth, and he let me switch places with him."

"Well, I'm glad o' that," Rembrandt said. "I had enough o' that kinda jazz back in the fifties. But that plan seemed familiar. Kinda like what we had to do for you last year."

Quinn grinned as he tucked his glasses into his pocket. "Hey, we were in a hurry. Didn't have time to strive for originality."

Rembrandt looked around the park. "So, where are we?"

Professor Arturo was looking around the park, his hands in his pockets. "So far, no visible differences for our own world. But that has deceived us before."

Quinn looked at his timer. "Well, we've got twelve hours and ninety-two seconds in this world. Plenty of time to find out."

"And get some NyQuil," Rembrandt said. "My throat's killin' me."

Quinn unlocked his chains with a key his double had provided. When Rembrandt was free, they all began to walk through the park towards the street. As they walked among the trees and tall grass, Arturo's frown deepened.

"I say," he said, "is it my imagination or is this park a bit larger than I remember it being?"

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "We shoulda been outta here five minutes ago."

Wade looked around at a nearby clearing, one lit by shafts of sunlight. She froze. "Hey, guys. Look. A deer."

The others stopped and looked. Among the bushes, they could all see a deer grazing quietly. As they watched, the deer looked up at them, then bounded away.

"Good heavens," Arturo said. "A deer in San Francisco. It can't be."

"There's another one," Wade said, pointing at a small group galloping across a meadow.

"What's goin' on around here?" Rembrandt said.

"Beats me," Quinn said, "but I think I see the street up ahead. Come on."

They crossed the grassy lawn to the entrance of the park. Arturo slowed as the street came into view.

The sidewalk in front of him was lined with trees. Flowerbeds were planted in front of every store and building. It was hard to tell where the park ended and the city began. Quinn gaped at a deer that crossed the street, dodging cars, to enter the park behind them.

"Well, that settles it," Rembrandt said. "We ain't home. So where are we?"

Wade smiled. "Wherever we are, it's beautiful. Like the city's been built around the woods, not over it. Maybe this world is more in touch with nature and ecology."

Quinn watched a car driving down the street. Another car turned a corner, then cut in front of the first. The two cars collided with a splintered crash.

"I guess some things never change," Rembrandt said. "Jerks on the road everywhere you go."

Two men got out of the cars. They approached each other with clenched fists. Then they were on the ground, punching and kicking each other.

"What was that all about?" Rembrandt asked.

Arturo watched the pedestrians around them with narrowed eyes. "Interesting. Look around you. No one smiling, no one laughing...a feeling of anger seems to be infesting this city. I suggest we acquire a newspaper and investigate this further."

"Won't hear me arguin'," Rembrandt said.

They headed across the street, weaving through the crowd that was gathering to cheer on the fighting drivers.

Bernie's Newsstand was in its usual position, although in this world, it was built around a thick oak tree. The vendor inside scowled as Arturo approached.

"Whadda you want?" he snarled.

"A copy of the Chronicle, if you please," Arturo said.

"And some cough drops," Rembrandt said, rubbing his throat.

The vendor glared at him. "Some what?"

"Cough drops. You know, somethin' for a sore throat."

"Sore throat? I don't have anything for sore throats."

"Never mind," Arturo said. "Just the Chronicle, then."

As the vendor handed the professor the newspaper, Rembrandt wandered away from the stand, muttering, "What kind of a world ain't got cough drops?"

Quinn and Wade gathered around the professor as he began sifting through the pages.

"Look at this thing," Wade whispered. "Murders, muggings, wars all over the place..."

"Yes," Arturo said. "I've never seen so much bloodshed. This appears to be a very violent world. I suggest we watch our step."

"Ow!" Rembrandt ran over to the others, clutching his wrist, as a ratty-looking dog trotted away from him. "That dog bit me! All I did was walk up to it, and it bit me!"

Wade took his hand. "Lemme see. Oh, it's not so bad."

"Sez you," Rembrandt said. "That thing nearly ripped my arm off."

"It's just a little bite. You probably scared it. Hang on." Wade pulled the professor's handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against the wound. "Here, hold this onto it, keep up the pressure. That'll stop the bleeding."

Arturo watched as Rembrandt obeyed. "Interesting. It seems as if the hostility of this world extends to the animals as well."

"Great," Rembrandt said. "First, the flu, now I'll probably get rabies. This is just not the Cryin' Man's day."

Arturo looked up at the horizon, glowing a deep shade of crimson from the descending sun. "Hmm. Since sunset appears to be approaching, I think it wise to retreat indoors. If this city is this bad now, I am loath to see what it's like after dark."

"Good idea, professor," Quinn said. "I think we have enough for a hotel room. Come on, gang."

He led the way down the street as Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt followed. Rembrandt worked to tie the handkerchief around his bleeding wrist as Wade and Arturo continued to read the newspaper.

"Anything in there on the elections?" Wade asked.

Arturo rose an eyebrow at her. "Miss Wells, I fail to see why you continue to follow these presidential debates. They cannot possibly have any bearing on what is occurring on our own world."

"I know, but I still like to stay in touch."

Arturo sighed, then flipped until he found a page describing the elections. "Well, it appears that in this world, Clinton and Dole are the only candidates. Last night, there was a debate in which Clinton called Dole a, quote, 'old mongrel with no fangs.'"

"No fangs?" Rembrandt asked. "Man, these debates are gettin' vicious."

They reached the Dominion Hotel as the streets were dimming from the setting sun. Quinn walked through the spacious lobby of the hotel as he gathered money from the others. Together, they had just enough for a single room.

After checking in, they emerged from the elevator a few minutes later on their floor, heading down the hallway to their room. Opening the door brought a gasp from Wade.

"Oh, wow," she said. "This is nice."

She walked into the room, decorated with floral wallpaper. She stopped to smell the numerous potted plants and flowers placed every flat surface. Quinn walked over to the large picture window which gave a view of Golden Gate Park.

"Incredible," Quinn said. "This place is like a garden or something."

"Indeed," Arturo said. "Can't say I care for the theme. These people seem obsessed with wildlife, the jungle. Perhaps it appeals to their savagery."

Wade turned away from an arrangement of lilacs to look at Rembrandt. Her smile faded as she watched him slump into one of the beds, sweat beading his forehead.

"You okay, Remmy?" she asked.

"Nah," he whispered. "Think my flu...is gettin' worse..."

He convulsed into hacking coughs.

"We'd better find you a doctor," Quinn said. He ran to the bedside table and dug out a copy of the Yellow Pages. He flipped through it. "Let's see, dance instructions, drilling, dock covers... no doctors."

"No doctors?" Arturo asked.

Quinn flipped more pages. "No. No doctors, no dentists, no hospitals..."

"There's gotta be some mistake," Wade said. "You can't have a world without doctors. Can you?"

"Highly unlikely," Arturo said. "Especially with the violent and abusive manners these people seem to display."

Quinn stood up, pulling on his coats. "I'm gonna go down to the front desk. Hang in there, Remmy."

Rembrandt only nodded, still huddled against the wall and shivering.

As Quinn ran out the door, Wade turned on the TV. "Hey, maybe there's something good on. That'll take your mind off it."

She tuned in to a newscast where a stern man was talking as a photo of a strange symbol was superimposed beside him.

He was in mid-sentence as he said, "...gang, the Predators, continue their turf war with the Bloods. Police officials see no end to the conflict, but have issued reports that both sides have agreed to delay the fighting until nightfall."

The image changed to footage of a jungle landscape, where soldiers stand at readiness.

"In other news," the newscaster said, "the war between U.S. and Mexican armies is poised to begin as night descends over Columbia. We'll bring you a live update as it continues."

Wade looked at the professor. "That's weird. Why would they be waiting until night?"

"I don't know," Arturo said. "I would assume they would want to wage war in broad daylight."

****

Quinn stepped off the elevator onto the lobby of the first floor. He ran to the front desk, where the clerk scowled at him.

"Whadda you want?" he asked.

"I need a doctor," Quinn said.

"A doctor?" the clerk asked. "Whadda you want a doctor for?"

"My friend," Quinn said. "He's real sick."

"Sick? That's impos..."

The clerk stopped. He froze, looking at something over Quinn's shoulder.

"Sir?" Quinn asked. "Hello?"

Quinn looked back to see the clerk was gazing up at a large window overlooking the lobby. Through it, he could see the full moon hanging in the sky. Everyone else in the lobby had stopped to look at it as well.

Quinn turned back to the clerk. "Uh, look, sir, I..."

But the clerk wasn't listening to him. His face was contorted in a grimace as sweat beaded his forehead. The clerk hunched over, then collapsed with a loud gasp.

Quinn leaned over the desk. "Hey! Mister, you okay?"

He turned to face the rest of the room. "Hey, this guy needs..."

But everyone else in the lobby was on the floor as well.

****

Wade watched as the newscaster stopped in mid- sentence. He grimaced, grunted twice, clutching his neck, then fell off-camera.

"Hey," Wade said, "what's going on?"

****

Quinn ran around the front desk to where the clerk was lying. The man was shivering, covering his face with both hands. Quinn grabbed his hands, trying to pull them off.

"Hey, mister," Quinn said. "Tell me where..."

Quinn became aware of the odd texture of the man's hands. He looked down at them. And realized they were covered with thick black hair.

The man opened his eyes. They were glowing from the inside. The man opened his mouth as if to scream, but a piercing noise erupted from his throat that hurt Quinn's ears. It descended into a low moan that evolved into a howl.

With a crackling noise, the man's teeth began to elongate. They formed into points, razor-sharp fangs. Hair was thickening on the clerk's face with a soft whisper, covering every inch of it.

Quinn lunged back as the man's jaws cracked with a loud pop. They flopped open, then began to grow. Soon, they jutted out two or three inches as more teeth came in to fill the space.

The clerk's legs jerked, then twisted into a strange angle. Quinn could hear the bones breaking and re-forming into the new shape.

His breath came faster as he backed away from the clerk, who stopped trembling. The man opened his eyes. He looked at Quinn. His lip curled into a snarl. The clerk got to his feet, furrowing his brow. He had changed into something that was like a blend of animal and man. He took a step towards Quinn, one hand stretching out, tipped with claws.

Quinn looked out at the lobby. Everyone there had changed as well. They rose up, looking at Quinn with eyes that glowed as they caught the light. A low growl was filling the room.

"You," the clerk snarled at Quinn, "are a human. You... must...die..."

Quinn watched the creatures in the room lurch towards him. One of them, the clerk at the front desk, was nearest and lunged forward. Quinn leapt back, but the clerk was faster. He grabbed Quinn's ankle, then brought his jaws towards the exposed leg. Quinn rammed his foot into the top of the clerk's head, sending him howling to the floor.

Then another one of the man-animals was on Quinn's back. He could smell its musky fur close to his nose. It tore into Quinn's shoulder with claws on its fingers. Quinn screamed and threw it off. The creature landed on the desk, yelping as if struck the sharp edge.

The lobby of the hotel was filled with the creatures, all rushing towards him. Quinn realized he was outnumbered. And that he had to warn the others.

He ran for the elevator. The creatures were galloping towards him on their hands and feet. Quinn stabbed the call button, then realized it would take too long. He bolted for the stairs.

One of the monsters swept at his leg with a clawed hand. Quinn felt gashes open on his calf, burning hot. He kept running against the pain. He began running up the stairs, two at a time. The monsters were close behind him. Their howls and snarls echoed through the stairwell.

****

"Good heavens," Arturo whispered as he stared at the TV. "What's happening?"

The newscaster had dropped offscreen, but now he was back in view. But he had changed. He was covered in a layer of blond fur. His ears were peaked. His teeth were fangs that jutted from his mouth. The anchorman picked up the notes he had dropped and began to speak in a voice that was like a growl.

"And we've just received word," he said, "that with nightfall, the war between the U.S. and Mexico has begun. So let's go there, live."

The scene switched to footage of a darkened battleground. The moon hung low and swollen in the sky as two platoons of troops attacked each other. They slashed and ripped at each other with claws and teeth. The soldiers on both sides were more animal than man.

"What are those things?" Arturo asked.

"They look like werewolves," Wade said.

"Hm. Well, this is obviously some sort of horror movie. And a rather cheap-looking one, at that. I think I can see a zipper on that one."

Wade changed the channel, then said, "I don't think so, professor."

They both watched the wrestling match on the screen. Both fighters were hulking beasts, growling and biting into each other with massive jaws.

"This cannot be," Arturo murmured.

"I think so, professor," Wade said. "I think we're in a world where werewolves exist."

"Preposterous," Arturo said. "I would have to see one with my own eyes before I'll accept that hypothesis."

Wade heard screaming in the corridor. She ran to the door to throw it open. Her eyes widened as she said, "Uh, professor. It looks like you got your wish."

He joined her at the door.

Quinn was running down the hallway. His clothes were torn, flapping loose on his arms and legs. Werewolves were galloping after him, snarling.

"Get inside!" Quinn yelled. "Now!"

Arturo reached out a hand. Quinn took hold of it. Arturo pulled him into the hotel room. When he was inside, Wade and Quinn threw themselves against the door, pushing it closed.

A clawed hand shoved itself into the gap. It raked at the air with sharp claws. Wade bit the hand as hard as she could. There was a squeal on the other side of the door. The hand pulled itself out.

Arturo seized the chance and pushed the door closed, locking it.

The door began to tremble. The hinges cracked, splintering, as pressure was put onto it.

"It's not gonna hold for long," Quinn gasped. "We gotta get out of here."

"Now just one moment," Arturo said. "What were those things?"

Quinn ran to the window. "Werewolves."

"Werewolves? Well, how many of them were there?"

Quinn unlocked the window, then pushed it open. "I dunno. Ten, maybe twenty."

"Twenty werewolves?"

"Yeah," Quinn said. "The clerk turned into one, then more, and they all started chasing me."

"Good heavens. Well...how did the other people handle the situation?"

Quinn was dragging one of the sheets off the bed. "What other people?"

"The other people in the lobby. The ones who weren't werewolves."

Quinn froze. "Professor...they were *all* werewolves."

"All of them? But how could that be?"

"I dunno. But the clerk took one look at me, said I was a human and must die, and attacked. I barely got away."

The door shuddered, the hinges groaning under the pressure.

"What're we gonna do?" Wade asked. "We can't stay in here forever."

Quinn ripped off another sheet and began tying it to the first. "We gotta go. Out the window."

"Out the window?" Arturo asked. "Need I remind you that we are four stories up?"

"You got a better idea?"

Arturo watched as a fist smashed through the door. It began reaching around, grasping for the doorknob.

"No," Arturo said. "But you're going first."

Quinn finished knotting the sheets, then tugged on them to test their strength. When he was satisfied, he tied one end to the bed, then threw the other end out the window.

"Okay," Quinn said. "Let's go."

He climbed out the window, lowering himself hand- over hand. "It's strong enough! Let's go!"

Wade ran over to where Rembrandt was still lying, groaning softly. "Rembrandt? You think you're well enough to climb down with us?"

"Don't got a choice," Rembrandt croaked, "now, do I?"

He stumbled to his feet. Wade held his hand as he staggered over to the window.

"This isn't going to work," Arturo said. "He's not strong enough to hold onto the rope."

Another fist smashed through the door.

"Then we'll lower him down." Wade pulled up the sheet, and tied The End around Rembrandt's waist.

Rembrandt lurched over to the window. Wade and Arturo braced themselves, holding onto the sheet. Rembrandt let himself fall out the window. The sheet went taut. Wade and Arturo began to lower him down, slowly.

When the sheet went slack, Wade released it and threw herself out the window. She began to clamber down the rope.

Arturo looked back as the door of the hotel room was broken down. The werewolves came scrambling into the room. Arturo rolled out of the window, working his way down the sheet as fast as he could.

****

Quinn waited on the ground, watching Wade and Arturo coming down. He was holding onto Rembrandt, who leaned heavily against him.

Wade landed on her feet in the grass. Arturo was a few inches off the ground before the sheet snapped. He landed awkwardly, stumbling before regaining his balance. The four of them ran from the hotel.

Quinn was headed for the street when a police car came wailing up to the front of the hotel. He stopped, running back, guiding the others to an alley. All four of them huddled in the darkness as they listened to the snarls coming from the police car. Quinn peeked out to see four werewolves in police uniforms leap through the door of the hotel into the lobby.

"We'd better get out of sight," Quinn said. "Go around the back way."

He led the others down to the alley to a chain-link fence. They climbed over it, one by one. Rembrandt was the last, who they had drag over the top. When he was on his feet again, Quinn and Arturo took his arms, helping him run with them.

They crossed into an open courtyard, one which was decorated with abandoned children's exercise equipment. Quinn lowered Rembrandt onto a swing, where he could rest.

"Everybody stay put," he said. "I'm gonna take a look around."

"Be careful," Wade said, holding Rembrandt's trembling hand.

"I will." Quinn ran off, trying not to limp with his injured leg.

He crossed the yard to peer through some bushes out onto the city. A werewolf galloped past, causing him to rear back, but the creature paid no attention to him.

It was chasing a deer across the street, howling joyfully. Four other werewolves followed him, pursuing the animal as well. The lead werewolf pounced on the deer, breaking its neck with a sweep of its arm. The five creatures descended on the animal and began to devour it.

Quinn forced himself to look away. He could see werewolves running all over the streets. Some were chasing animals. Some were chasing each other. Quinn watched a few of them scaling a building with their clawed feet and hands. Quinn winced at a group of them on the roof of a bank, filling the skies with their howls.

When he had seen enough, Quinn headed back to the playground.

Arturo had his coat wrapped around Rembrandt, trying to keep him warm. Rembrandt continued to tremble, despite their efforts.

"How's it look?" Wade asked.

"Not good," Quinn. "There are werewolves all over the place. And they're out for blood. It looks like the deer and animals we saw are their prey for the night."

"Can it be," Arturo murmured, "that we are in a world where everyone is a werewolf?"

"It makes sense, if you think about it," Wade said. "Suppose werewolves did exist. When they bite somebody, their victim turns into one, too, right? So that one goes out and bites somebody else. After a couple hundred years, would there really be anybody left?"

"Your theory has validity," Arturo said, "albeit tainted with superstition. We have no reason to assume these creatures bear any resemblance to the werewolves of B-movies. It is quite possible that these people are a new lifeform, capable of transforming themselves at will."

Rembrandt moaned, softly.

"Look," Quinn said, "we don't have time to debate this. Those things'll be coming after us soon, and Rembrandt's getting worse. We've gotta get him inside, and find some medicine for his flu before it turns into pneumonia."

Wade pointed over some buildings. "I saw a place on the way over here, looked deserted."

"Right," Quinn said, "let's go for it. Professor, gimme a hand."

Arturo and Quinn helped Rembrandt to his feet. With him between them, they followed Wade across the playground, out onto the street.

The chaos Quinn had seen worked in their favor. The werewolves were so busy fighting with each other and chasing animals that the four humans went unnoticed. They dodged a group of werewolves chasing a female and ducked into a shattered building.

Moonlight shone through cracks in the walls, lighting their way. Wade headed up a staircase that groaned with disapproval, but the rotten wood held under their feet as they climbed up to the second floor.

It looked like the building had once held apartments. Quinn and Arturo helped Rembrandt into one of the empty rooms, lying him beside a window. When he was settled, they knelt alongside him.

"How you feeling, Remmy?" Quinn asked.

"Not as bad as the pneumonia I got back in '79," Rembrandt croaked. "But I wouldn't wanna go dancin'."

"Okay," Quinn said. "What do we do now?"

"It's hard to say," Arturo said.

He looked out the window, down onto the street. A fire had been started in one of the shops. The acrid smoke drifted up to the sky, like a hand made of shadows.

"We seem to be short of options," he said.

"There's bound to be some humans left somewhere," Wade said. "Maybe we should try to find them."

"Absolutely not. We are not here to start a revolution. We are merely visitors to this world. We should just stay here and wait until dawn, when we can slide out of here."

"The professor's right," Quinn said. "We've only got eleven hours to wait, and we should be safe up here. There's no reason to put ourselves in danger."

"But what about Rembrandt?" Wade asked.

They all looked at Rembrandt, who lay shivering against the wall.

"Well," Quinn said, "I could look around for a drugstore or something, but there's no point in the rest of you getting in trouble with me. Rembrandt, I'll be..."

Rembrandt doubled over with a grunt of pain.

Wade leaned closer. "Rembrandt? You okay?"

Rembrandt raised his head and screamed. The scream deepened into a howl.

Hair broke through the skin of his face, thickening with a raspy whisper. His jaw crackled as it extended into a snout, filling with long fangs. His hands were curled, the fingernails extending into claws. Rembrandt jerked as his legs snapped into the crooked position of an animal's leg.

Rembrandt opened his eyes. They glowed as they caught the light. He turned his head towards Wade. His lip curled into a snarl.

With a roar, Rembrandt lunged towards her, claws and teeth bared.

Rembrandt's wolf-like face twisted as he leapt onto Wade, who screamed as he landed on top of her. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, holding him back. His newly-elongated jaws snapped at her, trying to reach her with his dripping fangs.

Arturo rushed to grab Rembrandt. "Mr. Brown, please..."

Rembrandt swept his hairy arm at him. Arturo was sent flying across the room. He hit the wall, sliding down to the floor with a groan.

Quinn spotted a rotten wooden plank lying nearby. He grabbed it, then moved to Rembrandt.

"Sorry, Remmy," he said.

He swung the two-by-four like a bat. It struck Rembrandt in the chin. He was thrown off Wade. The force sent him staggering back to the window.

He toppled over, out into the night.

"Rembrandt!" Wade screamed.

They all ran to the window, looking down at the street.

Rembrandt was lying on the sidewalk below. One of his legs was twisted under his back.

"Oh, no," Quinn whispered. "I just wanted to get him off Wade. I didn't mean to..."

"Wait," Wade said. "He's getting up."

Rembrandt stirred. He sat up. He looked down at his leg, then straightened it. Quinn could hear a crackling noise as the leg seemed to reset itself.

Rembrandt stood up, looking up at the Sliders, and snarled. Then he ran off down the street on all fours.

"What was that about?" Arturo asked. "I could have sworn his leg was broken."

"Don't you know anything about werewolves, professor?" Wade asked. "Nothing can kill them but silver bullets. That explains why there are no doctors here. Nobody gets sick."

"You don't suppose whatever turned all these people into monsters is catching, do you?" Quinn asked. "I mean, will just staying in this dimension eventually turn us into...that?"

"I think not," Arturo said. "Remember Mr. Brown's altercation earlier with that dog by the park. It is possible that that animal somehow infected him with whatever is affecting all these people."

"Well, what're we gonna do?" Wade asked. "We slide out of here in the morning. We can't go without Rembrandt."

"We may have to," Arturo said.

"What are you talking about, professor?"

Arturo tucked his hands into his pockets. "It's very simple, Miss Wells. Mr. Brown has become one of these things, a...a werewolf. We cannot risk carrying him with us into the next world. Besides the fact that he is extremely dangerous in his current state, if what he has been infected with is contagious, he could spread this disease or whatever to every world we encounter, including our own, if we ever get there."

"So what do we do?" Wade asked. "Just leave him here with all these monsters?"

"My child, that is exactly what I am proposing."

"I can't believe you'd even suggest that after all we've been through," Wade yelled. "He's saved your life hundreds of times! You owe him!"

"Face facts, Miss Wells," Arturo said. "Our Rembrandt is gone. That thing is in his place. This is where he belongs now."

"He belongs home with us!"

"Guys!" Quinn yelled. "Now look, maybe there's another way. I mean, maybe we can find a cure..."

"Oh, do not be absurd, Mr. Mallory," Arturo said. "This world has obviously been in its current state for a very long time, perhaps even years. If there was a possibility of a cure for this ailment, don't you think the inhabitants would have found it? In any event, we are hardly equipped to handle something of this magnitude. We must put our emotions aside for the moment, and be realistic."

Wade jammed a finger into Arturo's chest. "I don't care what you and your stupid logic says. We left home as four, and we *will* return as four. We've got to stick together. If you were out there as one of those things, I'd go get you, and I can guarantee you that Rembrandt would, too."

"Then..." Arturo froze. "One moment. Do you hear sirens?"

Quinn looked up. "Hey, yeah."

They ran to the window. Police cars were wailing down the street. They came to a screeching halt in front of the apartment building.

Werewolves in police uniforms piled out. Another wearing a long trenchcoat climbed out of a sedan and began yelling instructions in a throaty growl.

"You three get inside," he snarled. "You three cover the back. The rest of you take the walls. Don't let them get away!"

The werewolves obeyed. Six of them galloped up to the building. Three charged through the front door. The other three ran around to the back.

Five of the werewolves jumped onto the brick wall. They began to climb it using their clawed hands and feet. Their eyes glowed as they looked up at Quinn. He could hear the scrabbling footsteps of the others in the floor below.

"How'd they find us?" Quinn asked.

Arturo looked at him. "The possibility exists that Mr. Brown informed them."

"He wouldn't do that," Wade said. "And besides, the real question is, what're we gonna do? They have all the exits covered."

Quinn looked up at a ladder attached to the ceiling. He pulled it down and climbed it to a trapdoor. Pulling it open sent a blast of cold air flowing over them.

"Up to the roof," he said.

Wade and Arturo rushed to the ladder as Quinn hauled himself through the trapdoor.

The gravel crunched and slid beneath his feet as he walked over it. The city of San Francisco spread around him as a field of rooftops, twinkling with lights and fires. The screams and howls from the streets seemed without end.

Wade was coming up behind Quinn as he looked out at the city. The nearest rooftop was several feet away.

A clawed hand appeared at the edge of the rooftop. It pulled a police-werewolf into view. The officer snarled, then hauled himself up onto the edge.

Quinn grabbed Wade's hand. "We gotta jump. Go! Over to the next roof!"

Wade looked back at the werewolf climbing up to them, then aimed herself at the nearest roof. She steeled herself, then ran. She reached the edge of the roof. She jumped.

Wade landed on the next rooftop, staggering before she regained her balance.

Arturo was pulling himself free of the trapdoor as more werewolves appeared at the roof's edge. Quinn could hear the shouts of more of the creatures in the building below. Quinn helped Arturo up, then pointed at the roof.

"You gotta jump!" he yelled.

Wade was beckoning on the next roof.

"Are you insane?" Arturo asked. "I am a physics professor, not an Olympic athlete!"

The first of the werewolves pulled itself onto the roof. It began to gallop on all fours towards Quinn and Arturo.

"Well," Arturo said, "entering the Olympics has always been a dream of mine."

He ran towards the roof's edge, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Arturo threw himself across the chasm. He landed on the next roof awkwardly, toppling forward. Wade tried to catch him. They both went down in a heap.

The werewolf collided with Quinn. He was thrown onto his back. His hands groped at the werewolf's body as it opened its jaws wide. He could smell the rotten meat on its breath as it lunged towards his throat.

Quinn rolled. He threw the werewolf over the roof's edge. Quinn could hear the creature's fading howl on the way down, cut short by a loud thump.

The other werewolves were rushing towards him in a mass. More were coming up from the trapdoor in the roof. Quinn ran to the roof's edge, jumping across the next. Wade and Arturo were there to catch him, helping him regain his balance.

"Keep going!" Quinn yelled.

The three of them began to run. Behind them, the werewolves jumped across the gap with an easy stride. They landed easily, continuing the chase.

Quinn, Wade, and Arturo ran to the next roof. They jumped across. It was slanted. Arturo stumbled, sliding down towards the street. Wade grabbed his arm, pulling him after her.

They ran across the roof, their feet pounding heavy on the tiles. They could hear the clatter of claws as the werewolves joined them. There was a loud whine as one of the werewolves lost its footing, plummeting to the street below. But the others kept up the chase.

Wade, Quinn, and Arturo jumped onto another roof. And another. The werewolves matched them with ease. Arturo's breathing was getting louder, his pace slowing down.

"I can't..." he gasped, "keep this up much longer."

"You may not have to," Wade yelled. "Look!"

The next roof was at least fifteen feet away. The only link between them was a narrow wooden plank that connected the two.

"You said you wanted to be an athlete, professor," Quinn said. "How about a tightrope walker?"

"Do I have a choice?" the professor yelled.

"Not really!"

Wade reached the plank first. She began to run across it, her arms spread wide for balance. The plank swayed under her wildly. She kept her eyes fixed on the roof across.

Arturo was next. With a groan, he squeezed his eyes shut, then stepped onto the plank. He began to make his way across with quick steps. The plank bobbed up and down with his every move.

Quinn looked back at the werewolves coming up behind him, then stepped onto the plank.

The three of them made their way across. Quinn tried to ignore the swaying and bouncing of their mount as he walked across it. The old saying, "Don't look down," ran through his head, over and over again. And he was determined to stick by it.

He looked down.

A pack of werewolves were gathered in the street below. They were looking up at him, licking their jaws, waiting for the feast to begin.

Quinn forced himself to look up again. The roof was only a few feet away.

He looked back.

The police werewolves were waiting on the other side, glaring at him. One of them took a step onto the plank. The others followed. The wolves began to make their way across in single file. Faster.

Wade made it across first. She reached the roof, then grabbed hold of a chimney, gasping for air.

Arturo opened his eyes wide as he took his last step, off the plank. He stumbled, dropping onto his knees.

"Oh, thank heavens," he said. "Solid ground."

Quinn was only a few steps away from the roof. Then he heard a snap.

He looked down. The plank had cracked in two. It was held together by a few narrow fibers. The fibers were strained to the limit.

They snapped.

The plank collapsed under Quinn's feet. He threw himself forward. He caught hold of the roof with one hand.

He looked back at the other werewolves fell howling to the street below. They landed among the waiting pack, along with the remains of the wooden plank.

Wade and Arturo took Quinn's arm. They helped him pull himself up onto the roof with them.

Quinn fell onto his knees. "Boy, that was close."

"Too close," Arturo said. "Need I remind you all that these creatures appear to have remarkable recuperative powers. That means they will be back. So I suggest we make a hasty retreat."

"Right," Wade said. "Let's haul it."

They ran for the opposite edge of the roof. A drainpipe ran down the wall. One by one, Wade and Quinn slid down it to the sidewalk below. When Arturo was safely with them, they ran off, into the night.

*

Rembrandt felt free. As free as a bird. He ran through the streets of San Francisco, the torn clothes on his body rippling in the wind.

It was so wonderful. He was strong, stronger than he had ever been in his life. He was fast, running at twenty miles an hour without even breaking a sweat. And his senses were so acute. He could see every ant crawling on the ground. He could hear a crackling fire a mile away. He could smell the excitement and hunger of every werewolf he passed. And he could smell it on himself.

Everything was so clear to him now. He didn't have to worry about taxes or bills or driving or writing new songs or anything. He was in touch with his primal urges, and he had only one goal in his life now.

To kill.

Rembrandt felt the hot asphalt under his hands and feet as he ran. He passed a group of werewolves who lunged towards him. Without a thought, Rembrandt swept a hand at them, baring his claws. It caught one of the wolves on the throat, sending it wriggling to the ground, howling in pain. Rembrandt laughed and ran on.

Golden Gate Park. Now Rembrandt understood why the city had looked so strange to him before. It wasn't built for humans. It was built for wolves. It was a concrete jungle, one where the animals ran free. And the park was the heart of the jungle.

Rembrandt ran into the park, feeling the grass under his fingers and toes, inhaling the thick scent of the trees and flowers. But there was something else being carried to him on the wind. Even though he had never smelled it before, Rembrandt knew what it was.

Prey.

Then he could see it. A deer. It was running through the park, dodging trees and leaping over bushes. And a pack of four or five werewolves were chasing after it, barking loudly to spur on the chase.

Rembrandt immediately joined them. He ran as fast as he could, his muscles burning. He pulled ahead of the others, who yelped in surprise.

Then he put on an extra burst of speed, leaping into the air. He landed on the deer. It wriggled underneath him. Rembrandt pinned it with his legs as he twisted the head with both hands. There was a loud snap.

The deer collapsed.

Rembrandt released it, panting with exertion. The other werewolves gathered around him, looking down at the carcass. They looked at him. Rembrandt knew the law of the jungle. It was his kill. His prey.

Rembrandt nodded and backed away from the animal. The others descended on the body, gratefully, tearing it apart. Rembrandt was content to watch. He wasn't interested in the food. He only wanted the hunt.

He smelled the werewolf coming up behind him before he saw it. Rembrandt whirled, his teeth and claws bared.

It was a woman. The werewolf showed its fangs at him in a smile.

"Very impressive," she said.

Rembrandt forced himself to calm down. He lowered his hands as he said, "Thanks. First time."

She raised a brow. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed. You're very good."

She moved closer to him, wrinkling her nose. "I haven't smelled you around San Francisco before."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said. "Just got in this afternoon."

"Really? Have you found a pack yet?"

"A what?"

"A pack," she said. "You know a gang to hunt with."

"Uh, no, not yet. I was just lookin' around."

The werewolf cast a disdainful glance at the others huddled around the deer's carcass. "Hunting animals. There's no challenge in that. Not for a hunter like yourself."

"You got somethin' better in mind?"

The werewolf gave him a coy smile. "Yeah. The Predators. They're the best pack in the city, maybe even the world. I'm a member. We hunt the best of the best, and we could use a guy like you. Whadda you say?"

Rembrandt looked down at her, inhaling her scent. "I don't even know your name."

She bared her teeth wider. "Julianne."

"Okay, Julianne. You got yourself a deal. But if you're playin' me..." He flashed his claws.

"Don't worry," she said. "You won't be disappointed. Follow me."

She galloped off through the park. He followed with a grin on his face.

"I'm home," he whispered.

Quinn kept his coat pulled up tight around his face as he walked through the streets of San Francisco. He tried to ignore the werewolves that ran by, barking and growling, as they chased each other and various animals through the city.

Wade moved to let a pack of wolves go by, then ran to Quinn's side. "What're we gonna do?"

"I dunno," Quinn said.

Arturo watched a werewolf tearing down the bars on an electronics store. "Well, we cannot simply wander the streets like idiots. Sooner or later, we will be noticed and arrested."

"We don't have much choice, professor," Quinn said. "For all we know, the cops could be right behind us. If we keep moving, we should be okay."

"Yeah," Wade said. "And beside, the more ground we cover, the better our chances of finding Rembrandt."

Arturo glared at her. "Miss Wells, we have had this conversation before. Mr. Brown is a werewolf. We cannot take him with us to the next world. End of discussion."

"Maybe for you, but we..."

Quinn stopped them and pointed at the electronics store. "Hey, look, guys. It's us."

They all looked at the store, where rows of TV displays were showing the same news program. A werewolf in a suit spoke beside a grainy photo of Quinn, Wade, and Arturo.

"...search for the renegade humans continues," the newsanchor was saying. "Officials have ordered the public not to panic. Though they have yet to explain how these humans escaped detection for so long, they assure us that these three are the last humans on Earth, and will be captured before sunrise. In other news..."

Arturo sighed. "Well, that settles it. We are indeed the last humans left on this world."

"Maybe not," Wade said. "I mean, couldn't they be..."

Quinn put his hand on her shoulder. "Uh, guys? I think we should get moving."

She looked at the street.

The werewolves had ceased their chaotic fighting. They were all staring at Quinn, Wade, and Arturo. A low growl was building in their collective throats.

"Wonderful," Arturo murmured. "And I was just recovering from our last little sprint."

"Run!" Quinn yelled.

The three of them bolted down an alley. The werewolves charged after them in a swarm, howling and snapping at each the air and each other.

Quinn ran to The End of the alley. It was sealed with a brick wall. He skidded to a halt.

"It's a dead-end!" Arturo yelled.

Wade looked down at a boarded-up window at waist-level on the building next to her. She began kicking in the wooden boards.

"Gimme a hand!" she yelled.

The three of them forced the planks aside. Wade slid through the window, then Arturo. Quinn looked back at the werewolves galloping up to them, then dropped through the opening.

When he had slid into the darkened room on the other side, Wade and Arturo forced the boards back into place. They jerked as the werewolves collided with the window.

"We have to seal this!" Arturo yelled.

Quinn looked around the shadowy basement they had entered. It looked like an abandoned construction project with unfinished walls and furniture scattered throughout the room.

Quinn coughed as he kicked up dust, running to a workbench. He dug through the mound of tools resting there until there until he found a hammer and some nails.

Quinn ran back to the window. A clawed hand was forcing its way through the planks. Quinn whacked it with the hammer. The owner of the hand whined and pulled it out. Quinn began hammering the boards into place. They could all hear the thumps and scratches of fists and feet beating on the wood.

"That won't hold them for long," Arturo said. "We had best keep moving."

They headed off through the basement, making their way by moonlight.

"Where are we?" Wade asked.

"I dunno." Quinn pointed at a pair of elevator doors that lurked in the darkness. "But that looks like a step in the right direction."

They approached the doors. Arturo pushed the call button. A few moments of silence passed before he said, "It seems to be out of order."

Quinn picked up a crowbar off the floor and pried open the doors. Musty air flowed out of the elevator shaft that faced them. The car itself was gone, leaving only a rusty wire in its place, dangling from the unseen roof.

"Might as well add climbing to today's exercise program, professor," Quinn said. He took hold of the wire and began pulling himself up it.

Arturo sighed as Wade followed Quinn. "And to think I complained when we had to cross the Golden Gargoyle Bridge."

He began hauling himself up, grunting with effort.

Quinn worked, drawing himself up higher and higher, until he was parallel to a large pair of doors in the wall in front of him. He let go of the wire to pry the doors open with one hand. When it was wide enough, Quinn pulled himself through it.

He was in another dark chamber, but this one was lit by moonlight. He walked across a white-tiled floor, looking around at plush white couches in a room painted the color of snow. He could see more rooms in the distance, down long, empty hallways.

Wade came up behind him, looking around with wide eyes. "Where are we?"

Arturo gestured towards cobwebs that hung from every surface. "Wherever we are, it has been abandoned for quite some time."

Wade walked over to a glass case on the wall. She wiped off the layer of dust that coated it. It revealed a stenciled sign that read "Emergency Room" with an arrow pointing down a hallway.

"Guys," Wade said, "we're in a hospital."

A shadowy figure emerged from one of the rooms. It stepped into a pool of light, revealing a twisted shape. It was a werewolf, dressed in a tattered white coat.

"That's right," the werewolf growled. "My hospital."

****

Julianne raced across the street, glancing back to make sure Rembrandt was still behind her. Then she bounded up onto the staircase leading into a battered apartment building.

"Here we are," she said. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

Rembrandt flexed his clawed fingers. "At this point, I'm ready for anything."

Julianne smiled, baring her fangs, then pushed open the doors.

The interior of the building was filled with werewolves. Some lounged on beaten couches, guzzling beer from bottles. Others were in the center of the room, tearing at each other while spectators cheered them on.

Rembrandt followed Julianne through the living room. One of the werewolves leapt off a couch to attack her. Rembrandt immediately moved between them, snapping at the wolf with his jaws.

The werewolf stopped short, then narrowed his eyes. "Who's this puppy?"

"A friend," Julianne said.

"And your enemy," Rembrandt snarled, "if you don't back off from her."

The werewolf glared at him, then moved away.

Julianne smiled up at Rembrandt. "Thanks."

"No problem," Rembrandt growled. "I'm just itchin' for a fight."

"And you'll get it, honey. Follow me."

She trotted across the room to where a large werewolf was seated on an antique chair like a throne. The werewolf was wearing a thick leather jacket that didn't cover the many trails of scarred tissue nestled in the fur all over its body.

The werewolf looked up at Julianne, his eyes narrowing. "Who's the newborn?"

Julianne gestured towards Rembrandt. "Scar, I'd like you to meet Rembrandt Brown. Rembrandt, this is Scar, the leader of the Predators."

Rembrandt straightened, glaring at Scar. "I hear you guys got some good fights goin' on."

"Yeah, we do," Scar said. "For the right people. You think you can hang with us?"

"He's good, Scar," Julianne said. "He took down a deer in the park like it was standing still."

"Deer ain't nothin'." Scar rose onto his hindlegs. "We don't hunt lower lifeforms in this pack. We hunt wolves. We hunt our enemy. We hunt the Bloods."

Rembrandt grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Scar bared his teeth in a lazy smile. "You got guts. I like that. We'll see how well you do out there. There's a rumble goin' down in one hour with the Bloods. The Predators are gonna show those punks who rules San Fran. You wanna be in this pack, you take down five of them. And you're in."

Rembrandt licked his fangs. The thought of another hunt made him dizzy with anticipation. It was amazing to him how the thought of the kill was always there now, and it was all he wanted out of life. More prey.

"Okay," Rembrandt said. "Let's go for it."

Scar grabbed a legbone off the floor and tossed it to Rembrandt. Rembrandt caught it and tore a hunk of meat off with his teeth.

"Welcome aboard, Rembrandt," Scar growled.

****

Quinn watched the werewolf lurch out of the room across from him. He looked around, then grabbed a broken piece of wood off the floor.

"Stay back!" Quinn yelled.

The werewolf held up his hands. "I...I mean you no harm. I'm Dr. Miles Hawthorne. I used to run this hospital."

"Good for you," Quinn said. "I said, stay back."

Hawthorne nodded. "I can understand why you would be afraid of me. I didn't want to come out, didn't want to frighten you, but...it's been so long. So long since I've seen another human face at night."

Dr. Hawthorne sank to his haunches, burying his face in his hands. Quinn looked at Wade, who motioned for him to lower the wood. Quinn did, but slowly.

Wade approached the doctor with measured steps. "You're...not like the others."

"No." Hawthorne raised his head, looking at her with tired eyes. "No, I'm not. I just got infected last week. I've been able to fight the urges so far, but...I won't for long."

He looked down at his hands, now tipped with ragged claws. "I used to be human. Just like you. Not so long ago, but it feels like an eternity. I'm a doctor. A giver of life. I don't...take it. I mustn't..."

He pressed his long jaws closed, his eyes squeezed tight.

"You mean there were humans here?" Wade asked. "Are there any more?"

Hawthorne sighed. "Perhaps. I used to exchange email with a group in England, but they stopped answering two months ago. They've probably changed by now. Too late..."

"Good lord," Arturo whispered. "Then it's true. A world full of werewolves. How did this happen?"

Hawthorne looked up at him. "How could you not know?"

"Let's just say we're...visitors here."

Hawthorne stood on his hindlegs, wavering slightly. "It's called CGAS. Canine Genetic Alteration Syndrome. A virus, of sorts. It's been around for a long time, but we never gave it a name. Not until it came to America. I was one of the first to be assigned to examine the virus, to figure out how to stop it."

Hawthorne began to pace the slick white floor. "It's a virus. But one unlike any we'd ever seen. We believe it was carried by dogs for years, enough to pick up their genetic pattern, but I believe it mutated in the 70's, becoming compatible with humans."

Hawthorne looked out the window at the moon hanging in the sky. "It can change the human body, it with such speed...we didn't think it was possible. How does it change the body so fast? We don't know. Probably never will. But it does. And it's in synch with the lunar cycle, getting stronger with the full moon."

Hawthorne turned away. He opened his jaws wide, showing rows of teeth dripping with saliva. "That's how it spreads. In the saliva, in the blood. Somebody gets bitten, the saliva carries the virus into the bloodstream...it settles in, begins replicating in a matter of minutes."

"But there must be a way to stop it," Wade said. "I mean, you guys looked for a cure, right?"

"A cure?" Hawthorne gave off a grunting laugh. "Of course we looked for a cure. We had teams of doctors all over the world searching for an antibiotic strong enough to kill it, a vaccine against it...but then something happened. People stopped caring."

Hawthorne spread his massive arms wide. "They liked being this. The power, the freedom, the animal instincts, the immortality. And the more people who became infected, the less people there were who wanted to fight back."

Hawthorne slumped into a chair behind the front desk. "Eventually, the disease spread to the people in control. The government, the police, the armies. I doubt it was an accident. And the Genetic Conformity Act was passed, requiring everyone to become infected. They claimed it would promote harmony, that without opposition, things would settle down. Some people fought it, but we were outnumbered. They began forcing people to get injections of CGAS, setting up banks of the stuff. I barred myself up in here, tried to work on a cure by myself. And I found it."

"You did?" Wade asked.

Hawthorne reached into the pocket of his lab coat. He pulled out a long, metal hypodermic needle.

"Silver," he whispered. "That was the missing ingredient. Silver's what kills the virus. But not too much. A trace amount is all that's needed. So I made this silver hypo, filled with the most powerful antibiotic in the world. The silver comes off the inside of the needle, just enough. One shot is all it takes."

Wade knelt beside him. "But I don't understand. If you have the cure, why haven't you used it on yourself?"

Hawthorne looked into her eyes, his own glowing from an inner fire. "I ask myself that question every night. Ever since I injected myself with the virus."

"You what?" Arturo asked.

"That's right. Didn't you figure that out? Didn't you wonder how I got bitten locked up in here? No, I infected myself."

"Why on Earth would you do something like that?"

"Because I was tired of fighting. Because I was running out of food. Because I was bored. Those are the reasons I told myself. But the truth is, I wanted this. I wanted it so badly. I wanted to feel strong, to feel powerful, to be something greater than myself. But I don't want to kill. Please...don't make me kill."

The doctor hunched over, squeezing his eyes tight as tears leaked out, staining his fur. "I have the antibiotic. I could change back anytime I want. So why don't I? Why don't I just inject myself and end the pain?"

Hawthorne looked up at Wade, his eyes wide. "Because I want to kill!"

He lunged towards her. She scrambled back. Hawthorne froze in midair, his eyes softening. He curled up on the floor. He began to shiver.

"What do you want from me?" Hawthorne whispered.

"We have a friend," Wade said. "He's been infected. We need that antidote."

Hawthorne dropped the needle into Wade's hands. "Here. Take it. Save him before it's too late."

Wade looked down at the needle, then up at him. "What about you?"

"I...won't need it."

Hawthorne rose. He galloped across the room. He leapt through the window, the glass shattering all around him. They could all hear the thump as he landed, then ran away into the night.

Wade looked down at the hypodermic needle in her palm.

"Miss Wells," Arturo said, "I'm afraid I owe you an apology. We will find Mr. Brown, and we will save him. At any cost."

The Predators ran through the streets of San Francisco. Other werewolves immediately leapt out of their path at their approach. The ones who didn't were mauled by Scar, who led the way.

At the rear of the pack, Rembrandt ran alongside Julianne.

"Can you smell it, Rembrandt?" she called back. "Can you smell the Bloods?"

Rembrandt inhaled the air with his newly-sensitized nose. He could smell the musky odor of excitement and hunger in the air, coming from the millions of werewolves throughout the city. But he could smell a group of them several miles away. They were waiting, and Rembrandt could smell the fear on them, like rotting meat.

"Yeah," Rembrandt growled. "Yeah, I smell 'em."

"That's the enemy," Julianne said. "That is our prey for tonight. Kill five of them and you'll be one of us, Rembrandt."

"Hey, I've been meanin' to ask you about that. If us werewolves heal so fast, how am I gonna kill 'em?"

"It's not easy," Julianne said. "But it can be done. You have to hit them hard and fast. Never let up. You have to hurt them faster and with more damage than their bodies can repair. Eventually, you wear out their system, and the recovery breaks down. From there, it's just a matter of time. You'll see, Rembrandt. You'll see with your first kill."

"Yeah." Rembrandt licked his jaws. "There's nothin' I want more."

And it was true. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to sing. He didn't want to go home. All he wanted was to kill. And it felt good.

****

In a filthy alley, a boarded-up window sat at waist- level. One of the boards shifted, then moved aside.

Quinn's eyes appeared at the crack. He looked around, surveying the lonely alley.

"Okay," he whispered. "Coast is clear."

He pulled off the rest of the boards, then climbed out of the abandoned hospital into the alley. Wade came up behind him, followed by Arturo.

"Well," Arturo said, brushing himself off. "It seems as if werewolves have one enduring trait. Very short attention spans."

"Yeah," Wade said, "if you call three hours of non-stop howling short."

"Okay," Quinn said. "What's the plan?"

"We search the city," Wade said, "find Rembrandt, give him a shot of the antibiotic, then slide out of here."

Quinn looked at the timer's display. "We've got eight hours before we slide. Hope we can find Rembrandt before then."

They headed out of the alley. The werewolves rampaging through the streets ignored them, too busy tearing and clawing at each other to notice. Quinn, Wade, and Arturo began to run.

****

Rembrandt followed Julianne as she leapt down the fire escape of the building. The other Predators had already made their way down to ground level. They were gathered in a circle around Scar, who squatted in the middle of an abandoned playground.

Rembrandt took an empty space in the circle. He waited as Scar sat there, gazing up at the stars. Then Scar released a deafening howl.

The other Predators joined in, one by one. Julianne closed her eyes and released a mournful cry that Rembrandt joined into. Their combined voices rose up to the moon that drifted in the sky above them.

A werewolf's head appeared on a nearby rooftop. Its eyes glowed hot in its skull. Then another werewolf popped up next to it. And another.

Rembrandt watched as the playground was surrounded by werewolves, their keen eyes fixed on the Predators. Scar sat where he was, observing their arrival, occasionally licking his chops.

The werewolves descended, one by one, into the playground. They all wore red bandannas around their heads or necks. The largest of them had fur stained a fiery red. He approached Scar while the remainder of his group encircled the Predators.

"Hello, Bloodtrail," Scar said. "Nice night to die."

"Yeah," the red werewolf snarled. "It sure is. This is it, Scar. The Bloods're gonna finish this once and for all."

"Then what're we standing around talkin' for? Let's go."

Bloodtrail launched himself at Scar, his arms spread wide. They collided and collapsed into a mass of teeth, claws, and fur. The circle of Bloods closed in, tearing into whatever Predator happened to be in their path.

Rembrandt watched Julianne throw herself at one of the Bloods, clinging to his back as she bit into its neck with her teeth. Then a werewolf was coming at Rembrandt, running at full speed.

Rembrandt waited until it was within range, then slashed with his claws. The werewolf didn't stop, only rammed himself into Rembrandt. The two of them went down. Rembrandt felt his opponent's teeth sink into his shoulder.

Rembrandt couldn't keep the smile of his face. Now this was a fight.

****

Arturo watched the shadowy buildings that lined the streets. The streetlamps were broken, leaving only the moon to light their way. A stray candy bar wrapper drifted across his path, crackling as it bounced on the sidewalk.

"Where the devil are we?" Arturo asked.

"I dunno," Quinn said. "This city's so different from our San Francisco, I lost track a half-hour ago. I feel like we've been walking for hours."

"We have," Wade said.

"This is futile," Arturo said. "We must have combed this entire city by now. Wherever Mr. Brown is, we cannot hope to locate him."

"He's gotta be here somewhere. We just have to keep trying."

Quinn checked the timer in his pocket. "Well, we've got three hours before we slide. I guess it couldn't hurt to keep looking."

He froze as a howl echoed off the buildings around him.

Arturo clutched his jacket. "Every time I hear one of those, it sends a chill up my spine."

"That one sounded close," Quinn said. "This way."

He began to walk. Arturo frowned at him.

"Uh, I say, dear boy," Arturo said. "I would have thought it wise to move away from the source of that mournful cry, not towards it."

Quinn called back to him over his shoulder. "We've been avoiding the werewolves all night, professor. Maybe it's time we changed our strategy."

Arturo raised an eyebrow at Wade. "That's either an astonishingly logical conclusion or the most idiotic thing I have ever heard."

"I guess we'll find out soon enough." Wade followed Quinn into a nearby mass of bushes.

The three of them made their way through a thick wall of underbrush. Quinn pushed aside branches in his path until a playground suddenly came into view.

He blocked the others, pointing into the clearing. They gathered around him, watching the scene.

It seemed like a solid mass of fur, flesh, and cloth, writhing and growling. But on closer inspection, it was a dense pack of werewolves ripping into each other. Howls and whines rose up from the fight in a steady flow.

"Good lord," Arturo whispered. "The barbarism of this world never ceases to amaze me."

"Yeah," Quinn said. "It's like all they do all night is try to kill each other."

"And us. I suggest we move on."

"Wait," Wade whispered. "There's Rembrandt."

Arturo leaned back into the brush with them. "What? Where?"

"Right there. Third one on the left. You can make out his jacket."

Quinn squinted until he caught sight of one of the werewolves. Its clothes were ragged, its features were bestial, but Quinn recognized him. It was Rembrandt.

"You're right," Quinn said. "We found him. Question is, what do we do now?"

Wade held up the silver needle. "We go down and jab with this, then slide out of here."

"Slight problem with that plan," Arturo said. "Namely about twenty-five werewolves down there who would like nothing better than to tear us to ribbons."

"So what'll we do? How do we get past a zillion crazed werewolves?"

Quinn stared into the playground, then let a smile spread across his face. "I got an idea. Either of you guys any good at animal impressions?"

****

Rembrandt clung to the werewolf's back, ripping furiously with his claws. His own body was a network of cuts and slashes, but he could feel the cool fingers tracing his skin that told him the injuries were healing with their usual speed. His opponent was tougher than Rembrandt had expected, but he was confident the fight would be his.

His enemy threw himself forward. Rembrandt landed in a sandbox on the playground, righting himself. The werewolf was descending on him, jaws wide.

Then he froze. The werewolf's ears pricked up, tilting away from the fight. Rembrandt was about to take advantage of the distraction when he heard it, too.

A soft meow.

He frowned. A cat. He hadn't seen a cat anywhere in this world. And Rembrandt found it strangely compelling.

The meow came again. His opponent was already heading off the playground, into the bushes. Rembrant found himself rising to his feet, charging into the brush after him. No one else in the fight seemed to hear it. The battle raged on behind him.

Rembrandt crept through the brush, alongside his former opponent. Rembrandt sniffed the air, drinking in the odors that surrounded him. He couldn't smell a cat. But he could smell something familiar. Or was that someone familiar...

The other werewolf was passing a tree when a young woman stepped out from behind it.

The woman tapped the werewolf on the shoulder. "Excuse me."

The werewolf turned to look at her.

The young woman rammed a fist into its jaw. The werewolf was sent pinwheeling to the ground, landing in the dirt with a grunt. It exhaled softly as it lapsed into unconsciousness.

The woman winced, shaking her hand. "I think I broke my fingers. Grab him, guys!"

Two people lunged out of the bushes at Rembrandt. They looked vaguely familiar. Names flowed from the depths of his memory; Quinn Mallory and Maximillian Arturo.

Then they were on him. They each took hold of an arm, pinning it tightly to themselves. Rembrandt howled and began to twist in their grasp.

****

"Hurry up!" Quinn yelled. "We can't hold him much longer!"

Wade rushed forward with the silver hypodermic needle. Part of Rembrandt's arm was exposed under the shredded remains of his jacket. Wade began sifting through the fur on his forearm.

"What's taking so long?" Arturo yelled.

"I gotta find a vein!" Wade yelled. "Wait...yeah, I got it!"

Wade jammed the needle in, burying it under layers of fur. She pressed down the plunger. The needle whined as the antibiotic rushed out of its barrel into Rembrandt's bloodstream.

Rembrandt swung his arms forward. Quinn and Arturo were thrown off-balance, right into each other. They collided and fell over onto the grass.

Wade looked down at them lying groaning at her feet. She looked up. Rembrandt was glaring at her with steel-grey eyes. His fingers flexed, working his claws in the air.

Wade forced a smile. "Hey. Remmy. Remember me? Wade?"

One of Rembrandt's ears pricked up.

"Yeah," Wade whispered. "It's me. You remember me, right?"

A growl rumbled through Rembrandt's throat.

Quinn sat up, rubbing his neck. "He...he's still a werewolf."

"Perhaps there is a delayed reaction," Arturo said, getting to his feet.

The three of them rose to stare at Rembrandt. He glared back at them, his lip curled in a perpetual snarl.

Then Rembrandt bounded past them, back into the playground.

"It didn't work," Wade said. "He's still a werewolf."

Arturo nodded. "We never did ask Dr. Hawthorne if he tested his so-called cure."

"So now what?" Quinn asked.

A werewolf dropped out of a tree beside him. It grabbed him in bear hug, pinning his arms down.

Another werewolf fell from the sky to wrestle Arturo. Then more of the creatures rained down on them, tackling Wade, knocking her to the ground.

Arturo, Wade, and Quinn found themselves being hauled out of the bushes into the playground. The werewolves were gathered there, glaring as the trio was brought into their midst.

Two large werewolves sat on opposite ends of a seesaw, watching as the three humans were shoved in front of them.

One, his body covered with scars, spoke. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. We got ourselves some humans. Good work, Rembrandt."

Rembrandt stepped forward with a toothy smile on his face. "Thanks, Scar."

"You?" Wade whispered. "You turned us in?"

"Hey," Rembrandt said, "I gotta protect my friends."

"We are your friends, Mr. Brown," Arturo said.

Rembrandt's smile disappeared. "Not anymore."

A female werewolf sidled up to him, slipping herself under his arm. She regarded Wade with a cold glare.

The large red werewolf spoke. "So, Scar, whadda you think we should do with these...things?"

Scar licked his fangs, then said, "Well, I dunno about you, Bloodtrail, but I haven't had good roast human in a long time."

"I'm with you," Bloodtrail said. "Let's have ourselves a feast."

A loud siren filled the still air. Werewolves in police uniforms descended on the playground, snapping at the gang members who got in their way. They were led by a tall werewolf in a trenchcoat who approached the two gang leaders.

He held up a badge. "Detective Lupus. I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt your little cookout, gentlemen. But these humans have a date with the judge, not your menu. Take 'em away, boys."

The werewolf officers shoved aside the gang members, and began to haul Wade, Arturo, and Quinn to police cars parked nearby.

"Rembrandt!" Wade yelled. "Help us, Rembrandt!"

Rembrandt merely watched them go, his eyes glowing in the light of the moon.

Wade looked through the bars of the cage she was in. She could see the others in similar cages beside her in the dim light of the candles burning on the walls. Arturo was drumming his fingers in boredom while Quinn stared at the display on his timer.

"Half an hour," he said. "Then we slide. Or at least, that's when we're supposed to slide."

"Do not give up hope, my boy," Arturo said. "We may get out of this yet."

Wade looked up at him. "Professor, we're locked in cages in a world where everyone's a werewolf, including Rembrandt. In a half-hour, we'll probably be on the dinner menu."

Arturo raised an eyebrow at her. "Since when are you the pessimist, Miss Welles?"

Wade slumped against the bars of her cage. "Since Rembrandt turned us in to these monsters."

"You have to remember that Mr. Brown is no longer the man we knew and loved. The disease that infects him has changed his mind as well as his body."

Quinn looked up from the timer. "Professor, any idea why the antibiotic didn't work?"

Arturo shrugged. "There could be any number of reasons. It may that Dr. Hawthorne's research was faulty or perhaps the strain of CGAS that Rembrandt is infected with is a different strain than the one the antibiotic was developed for. In any event, it appears that our only option of restoring Mr. Brown's humanity is gone."

"Which means," Quinn said, "that we can't take him with us when we slide."

Wade traced a circle into the concrete floor with a finger. "You mean, *if* we slide."

Arturo sighed. "So far, this whole sliding business has not lived up to my expectations."

The heavy iron door of the jail swung open. A werewolf in a police uniform lurched in, a set of keys clutched in its clawed hand. The werewolf broke into a smile that displayed its rows of teeth.

"Time to meet the judge," the werewolf growled.

****

The bleachers of the courtroom were packed. Snarling, growling werewolves lurched and climbed over each other to watch the three humans being led down the center aisle. Quinn cringed as he was shoved to the front of the courtroom. Behind the bench, a stern werewolf in a black robe glared down at him.

"All rise," the bailiff called out. "Court is now in session. The honorable Judge Ross J. Kelley now presiding."

Judge Kelley rapped his gavel, then pointed it at Quinn, Wade, and Arturo. "You three have been found guilty of violating the Genetic Conformity Act of 1982. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Quinn said.

Wade nodded. "Not guilty."

"Not guilty," Arturo yelled. "And this trial is a farce..."

"Silence!" the judge roared. "You dare to plead not guilty when you stand before this court, violating the Act in plain view?"

"We're not guilty," Quinn said, "because all we did was be who we are."

Judge Kelley chuckled. "A noble sentiment, but misguided. I find you guilty of three counts of genetic non-conformity, resisting arrest, and disturbing the peace. However, I shall be lenient and provide you with a choice of sentencing. You can either submit to inoculation with the CGAS virus, thereby conforming to the natural standard, or you can submit to a trial."

Quinn looked at the others, then said, "Uh, can we talk about this for a minute?"

Judge Kelley nodded.

Quinn leaned into a huddle with the others.

"Not much of a choice, is it?" Arturo asked.

"I say we go for the trial," Wade whispered. "It'll buy us some time, and we'll only have to be here another half-hour, anyway."

"Sounds good to me," Quinn said.

They faced the bench again.

"Your honor," Quinn said, "we choose the trial."

The courtroom erupted into cheers.

Wade looked around. "What? What's the big deal?"

"Nothing," Judge Kelley said. "It's just that we were hoping for a good night's sport."

"Sport?" Arturo asked. "What the devil..."

"Very well," Kelley said. "You have chosen a trial, and so it will be done. According to the San Francisco legal code, one of you will be selected to enter the Blood Arena in the heart of Golden Gate Park. There, the defendant will fight a jury of six of his or her peers to the death."

"You call that a trial?" Arturo yelled.

"Great," Quinn murmured, then yelled, "I volunteer to be the defendant."

"No. The defendant will be chosen by the court. And I choose...you."

He pointed at Arturo with his gavel.

"Me?" Arturo asked. "Why me?"

A smile spread across the judge's face, revealing his gleaming fangs again. "Because according to California law, the loser is served to the presiding judge. And you look delicious."

****

Where the statue of Abraham Lincoln stood in their world, there was now a huge pit lined with concrete. It was surrounded by a sturdy iron fence, behind which werewolves could watch the interior of the Arena.

When Arturo was shoved to the edge of the Arena, a cheer rose up from the crowds.

"Silence, you overgrown pitbulls," Arturo roared.

Quinn came up behind him, his wrists still in handcuffs. "Take it easy, professor."

"This is insane," Arturo whispered. "I cannot possibly survive this."

"You don't have to. Just hang in there for ten minutes. Then we'll activate the timer and slide out of here."

"Easy for you to say," Arturo said. "You won't be in there."

"Just relax, professor," Wade said. "Remember to keep moving, don't let them pin you down. Use quick jabs, stay out of arms' reach."

Then werewolf-officers pulled her and Quinn away from the professor. They dragged them to an iron bar embedded in the concrete a few feet away. The chains of their handcuffs were locked onto it.

"We're with you, professor!" Quinn yelled. "Just hang in there!"

Arturo looked down into the bowl he was perched on the edge of. Pipes, knives, and chains were being thrown into it by the crowds.

"What are they doing?" Arturo asked.

The werewolf guarding him spoke. "Puttin' in weapons. Since you ain't Changed like us, we gotta have something to even out the fight. And make it more interestin'."

Judge Kelley walked down to a platform overlooking the Arena. He raised his arms, the sleeves of his robe sliding down to his elbows.

"The jury may enter," Kelley said.

An iron gate inside the Arena slid open. Six werewolves charged out of it into the bowl. They looked up at Arturo, licking their chops. One of the werewolves was Scar.

Arturo swallowed.

"Prepare the defendant," Kelley said.

The gate in front of Arturo swung open. He looked down at the Arena below.

****

Wade watched Arturo's expression twist in fear. "We gotta stop this, Quinn."

Quinn twisted his hands in the handcuffs. "How? I can't even get these things off."

Wade's eyes swept the crowds. They landed on one werewolf in particular.

It was Rembrandt. He was leaning against the fence, watching Arturo with a bored expression. Under his arm was the female werewolf they had seen him with earlier.

"Rembrandt!" Wade yelled. "Rembrandt! Over here!"

Rembrandt looked at her. His eyes focused on her, but there was no emotion in his eyes.

"Rembrandt, please," Wade yelled. "You gotta stop this!"

Rembrandt sneered, then looked away.

"Forget it, Wade," Quinn said. "He's gone."

Wade closed her eyes. "Rembrandt, come on. It's Wade! And Quinn! You remember us! We're your friends!"

"You ain't my friends," Rembrandt yelled. "Not anymore. I'm where I belong now."

"Yeah," the woman snarled. "So back off."

"Let the trial begin!" Judge Kelley yelled.

The werewolf beside Arturo gave him a shove. Arturo fell into the Arena.

"No!" Wade screamed.

****

Arturo twisted in midair, landing on his side, jarring his ribs painfully. He struggled to his feet, his hands still in cuffs. The werewolves in the Arena were heading towards him, crouched over as they licked their teeth.

Arturo held up his bound hands. "You call this a fair fight? At least give me the use of my hands!"

Far above him, Judge Kelley held up a remote control. He pushed a button on its face.

Arturo's handcuffs popped off, clattering to the floor of the Arena. He seized his chance.

Arturo ran. The werewolves launched themselves at him. A pipe lay against the smooth wall of the bowl. Arturo snatched it up just as one of the werewolves landed on his back.

Arturo slammed the pipe onto the head of the werewolf. It fell off him, howling in pain. Arturo whirled to face the other wolves, who were gathered in a semi-circle around him.

Arturo waved the pipe in the air. "All right, anyone else care for a little taste?"

Scar shoved the other werewolves aside. "Give it up, human. You can't stand up against us."

"Perhaps," Arturo said. "But I intend to try."

He roared as he swung the pipe at the nearest werewolf. It caught the pipe with one hand. Its other hand swept the air, claws extended.

Arturo screamed as the claws ripped open his shirt at the chest. Ribbons of pain formed as the deep gashes left by the attack began to ooze blood.

Arturo staggered back against the wall, clutching his chest. The crowd burst into laughter as the werewolves closed in on Arturo.

Wade bit her lip as she watched the circle closing on Arturo. She looked at Rembrandt.

"Is this what you want?" Wade yelled. "You wanna see the professor die? Well, take a good look! Because it's all your fault!"

Rembrandt looked down into the Arena. The man he once knew as the professor was buried in the werewolves. They were going to kill him.

But for some reason, the thought brought him no pleasure.

Julianne looked up at his puzzled expression. "Remmy? You okay?"

"I dunno," Rembrandt murmured. "I feel...weird." ****

The weight of the werewolves was crushing Arturo as they piled on top of him. He could feel claws and teeth digging into his exposed flesh.

Arturo roared, throwing himself up with his last ounce of strength. The werewolves spilled off him. He was free again.

Arturo ran for where a machete knife waited for him.

Scar landed in his path. He was down on all fours, snarling up at Arturo with a curled lip. His eyes burned hot in his skull.

"It ends now, human," Scar growled.

****

Rembrandt felt dizziness sweep over him. Julianne caught him just as he fell forward.

"You okay, honey?" Julianne asked.

Rembrandt looked down at his hands. Something was happening to them. The fur was growing thinner. And his mind was growing cloudy. The primal urges that drove him were fading. Food, sleep, hunger, all these seemed to be decreasing in importance. Suddenly, other thoughts were taking their place. Memories of his life, his music, his family, his friends...

Rembrandt opened his eyes. He looked down into the Arena at the professor and Scar.

****

Arturo turned. The other werewolves were blocking his path. He was pinned between them and Scar.

Scar leapt into the air towards Arturo, his claws spread wide.

****

"No!" Rembrandt yelled.

He shoved Julianne aside, knocking her back into the crowd. Rembrandt jumped onto the iron fence between him and the Arena. He climbed it with ease, flying up to the top in a matter of seconds.

As the crowds roared with rage and surprise, Rembrandt jumped off into the night sky over the Arena.

****

Everything seemed to be in slow-motion for Arturo. Scar was coming towards him, straight as an arrow. His mouth was open wide, ringed with fangs. Arturo could smell the musky tang of his fur in the air.

Then something landed on Scar from above. It was Rembrandt. He knocked Scar to the ground. Rembrandt scrambled to his feet, hauled Scar up, and pinned him to the smooth wall of the Arena. Rembrandt grabbed Scar's throat with his free hand. His claws extended, digging into the gang leader's neck.

"Call your buddies off," Rembrandt snarled.

"You gotta be kidding," Scar croaked.

"I said, call 'em off. Now! Or I'll rip your throat out. I know you know better than to mess with me."

The crowds surrounding the Arena had fallen silent. Scar looked up at them, then at Rembrandt, then at the professor.

"Back off," Scar said.

The werewolves backed away from Arturo.

Scar looked at Rembrandt, smiling. "So now what? Huh? You some kind of a human-lover?"

"What if I am?" Rembrandt asked. "What if this guy's my friend? What're you gonna do about it?"

"Nothin'. I don't have to. Because you're outnumbered. You and your 'friends.' We're gonna tear you apart from this. Starting with those two up there."

Scar looked up at the moon and began to howl.

****

Quinn watched the crowds turn towards him and Wade. A low growl began to build. The werewolves lurched towards them, extending their claws, licking their fangs.

Quinn swallowed. "Uh, Rembrandt? A little help up here?"

****

Rembrandt looked up at the edge of the Arena. The crowds were converging on his friends.

"There's no way you can save them," Scar said. "This place is designed to keep guys like you in. Even if you could jump up there, you'd never save them in time."

Rembrandt tightened his claws, sinking them into Scar's neck. "Call 'em off."

"I will," Scar said. "If you tell me you didn't love being one of us. Tell me you didn't want to hurt, to kill. Tell me the full moon means nothing to you. If you can do that, then I'll let your human-friends go. But if you can't, they die, and you'll be one of us. Forever."

Rembrandt stared into Scar's burning eyes. He felt a tightness in his chest as he tried to bring out the words. "I...I..."

****

One of the werewolves took hold of Quinn's arm. He tried to twist away from it, but the werewolf tightened its grip. It opened its jaws wide, poised to sink into Quinn's meaty forearm.

Then the werewolf howled and collapsed.

****

Scar's eyes widened. He was looking at something over Rembrandt's shoulder.

Rembrandt looked. Arturo looked.

Scar was gazing at the horizon, just visible on the edge of the Arena. It was glowing bright yellow as the sun began to rise.

Scar's face seemed to melt before Rembrandt's eyes. His body began to tremble. The jaw crackled as it receded back into Scar's face. The fur was dropping off his skin, gathering in a small pile at his feet.

Then Rembrandt felt the burning pang that caused him to scream as his body began to change.

****

Quinn watched the crowds surrounding them collapse onto the floor. The crackles and pops of their transformation was thick in the air. Fur sprinkled everywhere as the creatures shedded, crying out in agony.

"It's the sun," Wade said. "The moon is gone. They're changing back!"

"Now's our chance," Quinn said.

Judge Kelley was at his feet, writhing under his long black robes. His remote control was strapped to his hip. Quinn reached out with a foot and pushed the buttons on the remote.

Quinn and Wade's handcuffs unlocked with a series of clicks. They backed away from the iron pole that had imprisoned them.

Quinn looked at his timer. "We've got one minute."

Wade ran to the open gate of the Arena. Quinn followed her as she began to climb inside.

****

Arturo was surrounded by the howling forms of the werewolves in the Arena. Their fur had dropped off, leaving them naked on the concrete floor, trembling as their bodies reverted.

Rembrandt was among them, still wearing his torn clothes. Arturo ran to him, helping him up. Rembrandt face was restoring itself, the familiar features oozing back into position.

Quinn and Wade ran up to them.

"Is everything okay?" Wade asked.

"I believe so," Arturo said. "But we must slide now, before these creatures recover."

"Way ahead of you," Quinn said.

He pushed the button on the timer. The gateway formed beside them with a roar, a rippling pool of light.

Wade jumped into it. Arturo ran to the gateway's edge, allowing Rembrandt to lean against him. Arturo let Rembrandt fall into the gateway first, then followed.

Quinn took one last glance at the werewolves that were now rising to their feet, then jumped into the portal.

****

The sky over the forests of San Francisco was clear and bright as Quinn made his way to the campfire. Wade, Arturo, and Rembrandt were gathered around it, roasting a fish on spits.

"Got some more of those plants you wanted," Quinn said to Wade.

She took the leaves from him. "Oh, cool. These are natural antibiotics. They should speed the healing process."

Arturo winced as he touched the cuts on his chest. "That would be much appreciated."

"Yeah," Rembrandt said, gesturing towards his ragged clothes. "Two days since we left Werewolf World, and I still feel like I went three rounds with Gentle Ben."

Quinn sat down at the campfire. "Well, don't worry, guys. We slide out of here tonight. Then we can get some real medical help."

Wade grinned. "Well, I'm in no hurry. This place is great. No cities, no people. Just us and nature."

Arturo slapped a mosquito on his cheek. "Yes. And insects."

Quinn speared a fish on a stick and put it in the fire. "Hey, guys, I've been thinking. You think we should've tried to give the werewolves the antidote? I mean, we had it. We could've turned that place around."

"Ah, don't sweat it," Rembrandt said. "Take my word for it. They wouldn't have wanted it. Never thought I'd agree with the professor, but he was right about some worlds bein' left alone."

Wade looked at him. "Did you really like being that...thing?"

Rembrandt watched the flames dance at his feet. "I dunno. I think about that a lot. I mean, I thought I did at the time. The power, the strength, the freedom. But...maybe it was just the virus talkin'. Maybe it only made me think I liked bein' a werewolf so I wouldn't try to get rid of it."

Rembrandt pulled his fish out of the fire. "Or at least, that's what I tell myself so I can sleep at night."

"So if you had the chance," Wade asked, "would you do it again?"

Rembrandt blew on the fish, then took a bite. "I dunno. Ask me that in a couple months. I need some distance."

"Well, Mr. Brown," Arturo said, "I have this to say right now. I am sorry."

Rembrandt look at him, widening his eyes. "For what?"

"For even considering the notion of leaving you in that forsaken place. And I owe you an apology as well, Miss Welles."

Wade grinned. "You admitting you're wrong? This *is* a red-letter day."

Rembrandt shook his head. "Don't sweat it, professor. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"But it was not," Arturo said. "And I will say this in all honesty. From now on, we stick together. No matter what comes between us,no matter what challenges we face. To quote Miss Welles, we slid out of home as four, and we shall return as four. As a team."

Wade held up her fish. "I'll eat to that."

The four of them tapped their fishes together, then began to eat, as the only four human beings on the face of the Earth.

The End