Jim wasn't in heart an animal. He tore himself away from Lycanthria, grabbed his axe.
"You come closer, I chop off your head, bitch" Jim growled. "You're just lucky my cell doesn't work out here."
Lycanthria cried in shock.
With that Jim finally ran for it. Even with his wolf hind paws fear gave him a clean pair of heels, and, making a beeline for the nearest farmhouse and fields he ran through the woods. The anthros were timid about getting too close to human civilization, and with Lycanthria's shock of rejection (and Smokey's lumbering quasi-human gait), the reluctant werewolf easily outran them.
Jim did pay a price for this. His flannel shirt, tight to near bursting, ripped badly in the biceps and by his side, leaving Jim to show off even more of his new fur. Jim's jeans were torn badly, showing off his wolf ankles and, of course, his long bushy and deeply resented tail. Necessity meant Jim kicked off the remainder of his work books, leading making his inhuman feet open to the work.
Jim didn't stop until he was well out in the open fields and near old man Carstair's house and barns. Old Man Cartstair's was his cheapskate and grouchy employer, though Jim knew that Carstair's deep down, way deep down, had a good heart.
"Now what the fuck am I going to do" said Jim, putting down his axe and thinking briefly he may as well have gone with Lycanthria. "How am I going to show up anywhere looking like this? Anybody with half a brain will shoot me on site!"
Jim though a moment, and called old man Carstairs on his cell.
"Did you bring me back a good dead tree" croaked the old man. "I'm up to my ears in firewood requests, young whippersnapper. It's height of tourist season! Might be thinking of getting some more of the live ones!"
"Listen, Mr. Carstairs" said Jim, clearing his throat and trying to suppress any growl. "I was out chopping near that so-called secret lab"
"Awful place" snapped Mr. Carstairs. "Been lowering my property values for years. Everybody afraid of those yahoos. Don't tell me they've been trespassing on my land."
"They've been polluting it with some leaked toxin, it's affected the animals out there" said Jim, trying to go slowly on this impossible explanation. "One of the animals bit me and its . . . had bad side effects."
"What!" said Carstairs. "I'll sue those assholes silly. We've got to get you to the hospital."
"I don't think we ought to do that, right away" said Jim, looking forlornly as his tail. Jim was involuntarily wagging it, in happiness in talking to a fellow human being. "It's affected my looks."
"Scarred you!" said Carstairs. "Well they'll pay us both for that!"
"Worse" said Jim, now studying his left paw in thought. "It's, er, well, uh, I might want to show you first."
"Well, just don't stand there!" said Carstairs. "Come in and let's see. And then we'll get you to someone who can help."
"Okay" said Jim. "Now, Mr. Carstairs, before I see you, just think . . . werewolf!"
"Werewolf!" snapped Carstairs angrily. "I know you're a damn hairy goomer but this is no time for joking."
"Just be prepared for what you're going to see" said Jim. "Thanks, Mr. Carstairs."
Jim looked at himself. He buttoned up his flannel short, one short of the collar. There was no putting away the tail, it was too big and his jeans were in too bad a shape.
"Let's hope Mr. Carstairs literally has a good heart" Jim growled to himself. "He's gonna need one to see me like this."
Jim went up to the porch and rang the bell. After a second's thought, Jim stood a few feet away, where Carstairs might be able to get a good preview of what he was going to let into his house.