Teddy and I piled back into the Hellcat and tore off from the roadside Taco Stand. Over the next hill, San Peso came into view. Agent Ruthersford directed me through the one stoplight and then we had seen all of what the beautiful town of San Peso had to offer.

“They should be right up ahead,” Teddy said.

“It’s weird that they knew the timing so specifically.”

Teddy gave a rueful grin. “It’s almost like they were aware of exactly what was passing through their tiny hamlet.”

A few moments later, flashing lights came into view. I saw a white Mitsubishi box truck, pulled over on the side of the road. “Purple People Movers” was proudly emblazoned on the side in flaking, violet lettering. Under the words was an image of two stick figures carrying what appeared to be a couch. In front of the truck was a black Chevy Tahoe with dark tinted windows. Behind the box truck and the Tahoe were two beat-up-looking Ford Crown Victorias with flashing red and blue lights.

I pulled the Hellcat off on the right side of the road, facing the wrong direction so that we were facing the stopped convoy. I slowed and stopped about thirty yards from the Chevy Tahoe, flipping on my low-profile wig-wag lights. As the Hellcat squeaked to a halt, the two Crown Victorias roared to life and tore off down the highway. The departing vehicles blew a large cloud of dust up into the air, temporarily obscuring our view. The dust disappeared like smoke, swirling up into nothing. I climbed out of the driver-side door and leveled my Henry rifle toward the two remaining vehicles.

“That Tahoe is gonna be trouble,” I told Teddy. “John didn’t mention it.”

Teddy got out and extended the stock out on his MPX fitting it against his shoulder. “It must have been running blocker for the cargo truck.”

“How do you want to play this?” I asked.

“Give them a chance to cooperate. Order them out.” Teddy instructed.

I reached inside the Hellcat, grabbed the PA mic, and flipped the power switch with my thumb. I stood half in and half out of my car with the door partially open. I kept my rifle trained on the Tahoe with my right hand and brought the mic to my lips with my left. I adjusted my Aviator sunglasses with a finger. The Tahoe was covered in a thick coating of dust, making it appear almost beige in the afternoon sun. The windows were so darkly tinted I couldn’t see into the passenger compartment. I scanned the horizon but didn’t see anything moving. There was no traffic or noise. A slight wind blew, carrying away the remains of the dust and dirt disturbed by the vehicles.

I keyed the mic and my voice boomed out of the Hellcat’s grille-mounted speaker, breaking the silence.

“Driver! Roll down your windows and turn off the vehicle.”

Nothing happened. Both the Tahoe and box truck sat motionless and silent.

I repeated the command and was rewarded with more of the same. I looked at Teddy.

“Don’t worry about the procedure, just order them out,” he suggested.

“Driver! Exit the vehicle with your hands raised.”

We waited. I noticed that I was holding my breath. The driver's door of the Tahoe opened. I trained my rifle to cover whoever stepped out. After a long moment, someone hopped out of the driver's seat. It was a short, Hispanic-looking fellow, in a white long-sleeved T-shirt and black denim shorts that reached past his knees. He was wearing dark wraparound shades and a black bandana on his head. He had his hands up, just barely, with his palms flapping casually backward over his shoulders.

“We pay good money to drive through here amigo. Is this a shakedown?” The man yelled over the increasing wind.

“No,” I responded over the loudspeaker. “Turn around and walk backward toward our car.”

He ignored my instructions. “If this is a shakedown, we can pay more money. But, we aren’t going to jail.”

“Turn around and walk backward to the car. Do it now!”

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“Let’s talk about this amigo.” The man was smiling now. “Don’t make a huge mistake. You can drive away rich. Or, you can not drive away.” The passenger door opened, but no one got out. I still couldn’t see into the Tahoe.

Teddy spoke to me over the roof of the car. “See if they will release the illegals. Then, they can go.”

I keyed the mic again. “We know what you have in the truck. Release your cargo and you can go.”

The man barked a laugh. “We can’t do that, amigo. That’s not what we paid all that money for. Just get back in your car and drive away. You won’t see us come this way again.”

“Fuck,” I swore. “What now?” I asked Teddy.

Teddy shrugged, not taking his eyes from the Tahoe. “Final warning.”

“Last chance,” I said over the mic, “unload your cargo and drive away.”

The man's grin widened, he lowered his hands and placed one on the door frame of the Tahoe, leaning casually. His right arm was now concealed by the door. “Or what?” he challenged.

Now I smiled. I knew this game. “Or, you can take your chances with the legal system.” I gestured toward my rifle as I said “legal system”. “Last chance,” I reiterated.

“No, amigo. It’s your last chance.” The smile was gone and the man pounded a fist on the open door. “I tried to be fair, but you’re too estupido. Now you get back in your fucking car and crawl back to your fucking office, and drink your fucking coffee.” He pointed at us and got louder as he went.

Wait a minute. Was this bitchass really insulting Teddy’s delicious South American roast? That was a bridge too motherfucking far.

The dark-skinned driver smiled wickedly, showing us his oversized canine teeth. “Or, you die here in this desert. Your choice, pendejo.” He yelled these last words, sending them echoing over the empty landscape.

“Did that sound like a deadly threat to you Agent Ruthersford?” I asked out of the side of my mouth.

“It certainly did, Agent Rensford,” Teddy responded, tightening his grip on his rifle and sliding off the safety. “They made their decision.”

Things started happening very quickly then. Responding to some unseen signal, the two back doors to the Tahoe flung open. The passenger door of the box truck also opened. The driver ducked back down behind the driver's door window, but as he started to move, I feathered the trigger of the Henry Big Boy. I tracked the driver’s head as it lowered and the glass of the driver's door window shattered as my .357 silver bullet passed through it and went into the driver’s head. It only stayed there a moment though, before erupting out the back in a spray of blood and gore. The dirt-yellowed Tahoe became more of a mauve color as it was covered with blood and chunks of brain.

A large man carrying a black rifle exited the passenger side and leveled it at us. He managed to get exactly one round off before I pivoted the Henry and introduced his brain matter to the desert. His round pinged off a rock to my left. The SUV began disgorging Black Mesa Pack members like a fucking clown car.

Their strategy was immediately apparent. Three-quarters of them sprinted away from the Chevy, changing into their hybrid form as they ran. They spread out and sprinted toward the Hellcat at breakneck speed. The remainder of them fired at us with a mix of pistols and long guns. It was a good tactic, and it might have worked against lesser men. But Teddy and I were locked and loaded and not afraid of doing what needed to be done.

I feverishly worked the action of the Henry rifle as I cycled through my targets. I picked off the still human Coyotes as soon as they opened up with their weapons. Smoking shell casings tinkled on the ground and the smell of cordite filled the air. Teddy opened up with MPX, sending rapid-fire bursts at the approaching weres. He scored few hits, his human reflexes unable to keep pace with the superhuman metas. But the volume of fire forced them to dodge repeatedly, and he slowed their supernaturally swift advance.

I stood erect, ignoring the occasional round that smashed into the hood or door of the Hellcat. The car had been reinforced with light armor paneling and should be able to stop or deflect most small arms fire. My upper body pivoted like a turret, picking off targets with robotic-like accuracy, in order of their threat to Teddy and me. I counted down the shots in my head. Nine, eight, seven. Once the shooters were down, I moved to the charging monsters. Six, five, four. A Black Mesa soldier hustled up from behind the SUV and hit the dirt with what looked like a squad automatic weapon. Holy shit. I flicked the Henry rifle back and shot number three exploded the light machine gunner's melon before he had a chance to chamber a round. I shifted my fire back to the advancing weres having lost valuable time. Two shots left, one.

When I got to zero, I locked the rifle open and threw it back into the passenger compartment. Two Werecoyotes were now within leaping range. Teddy had just slapped a fresh magazine into the MPX carbine and let go with a fully automatic spray. One of the weres leaped at him and right into a hail of 9mm bullets. At close range, he couldn’t dodge the spray of fire, and the silver bullets ripped into his massive body. The were collapsed to the ground with a whimper, shredded from a myriad of silver bullet gunshots.

The other were came at me and had either been closer than Teddy's or just moved faster. I backed away from the open driver's door with two empty hands and the world slowed to a crawl. The tan-colored hybrid monster soared at me through the air, his muscled arms spread wide. His mouth was open and I could make out a ropey strand of saliva dripping from his left canine. I began to ever so slowly inch to my left, away from the car. I saw I wasn’t going to be able to avoid the werecoyote's reach by lateral movement alone, so I crouched into a roll. The were’s eyes bulged as I began to move, and he tried to adjust in the air. He was partially successful and stretched out his right arm toward me as he slowly closed the distance.

I was vaguely away of Teddy, moving from his spot at the passenger door to the rear of the vehicle, trying to get a shot. He was moving even slower than the Coyote, swimming through a Texas Tequila Milkshake. I was on the ground now, my shoulder digging into the rocky soil. My left hand was on my pistol. I watched the deadly claws of the monster crawl past my face as I came out of the roll and turned to face him in a crouch. My Ruger came up level as he crashed into the car door slamming it closed and rocking the Hellcat sideways. My big revolver fired, once, twice and a third time, the booms coming so fast they ran together. The tan-colored monster bounced off my Dodge and fell in a heap near the rear tire. He didn’t get up.

I spun back toward the Tahoe but the only sound I heard was the New Vaquero’s last shot echoing off the distant mesa and the wind pulsing over the road and cars. Everything was still and silent. I looked over to Teddy who was patting himself down, making sure he had the same number of holes that he woke up with this morning. He finished his inspection and gave me a thumbs up along with a tentative smile. Had we done it?

I heard a sliding door being raised and I turned my attention to the box truck. I could see a single pair of feet standing in front of the rear cargo door. It was suddenly joined by a second set of feet and I watched as the shocks of the truck recovered. The entire vehicle lifted several inches higher and a loud thump reached my ears just a moment later. I watched the Mitsubishi truck buck up and down on its springs. The motion made the truck look angry it was forced to carry such a load and happy to finally be free of it.

Whatever had just gotten out of the back of that box truck was big. And heavy. Another level of heavy.

My Weird Feeling poured down my back like an ice bath.

There was more killing to do.