George applied the brake and leaned forward. "Where?" "There!" "The cat?" "Is that a cat?" "It's sure as hell not a werewolf." "It's a possum," said Michele. "They're everywhere." "I didn't see what it actually was," said Lou. "I just noticed movement." George muttered something rude. They'd been slowly driving around for more than an hour. They hadn't been able to get a net, but one of the local shops did have a blanket and a travel-sized sewing kit. So Lou had sewn the silver rings onto the blanket in various places, hoping that maybe if they successfully tossed the blanket on top of the werewolf, the silver would keep him from getting out. It was perhaps the furthest thing from a foolproof plan that they'd ever concocted, but unless they drove past a guy with a cart selling hot dogs and silver bullets, their options were limited. Michele was filing the handle of the silver cross into a point. If by some miracle they were able to get close enough to use it, it would make one hell of a weapon.
