I swear, if the Jurassic rock station hissing out of the car radio
plays “Radar Love”, “Going the Distance”, or
“Warm Leatherette” one more time, I’m going to wrap my
Thunderbird around the next big tree I see. Who’m I kidding?
That may just happen anyway, the way I’m tearing through these Alabama
back roads trying to out-race the moonrise. But we have to hurry:
It’s the last full moon this month, and if we don’t catch
our elusive pack of Loup Garou tonight, they’re going to melt in
with the locals, and we may never find them again. The team’s counting
In the passenger’s seat, SureShot is digging through empty Happy
Meal boxes to get at her newspaper clippings, web printouts, maps, and other
evidence that points to Werewolf activity in this county. In the back,
Tin Soldier is loading silver bullet clips into his H&K and mumbling
to his prosthetics, while Voodoo Child sleeps with a monster-trapping bottle
in her lap. Suddenly, her eyes snap open as she announces:
“Stray Cat, turn around! White barn, half a mile back!”.
I pull the T-bird through a bootleg turn –just ’cause I can.
“Seat-belts! Now!” I yell, “I'm taking us right
through the barn doors!”.
Titles for Southern Knights describe the surviving characters of a
post-Katrina South, their new lives, and their new mission.