by Keri Hudson
Jessica seemed to know it too, and she screamed and tried to scramble to her feet. But she was still weakened and dizzy, body slow to move.
Quinton hit Walt hard from the side, the two huge shifters rolling only a few yards from tender Jessica. They rolled, each one growling and biting and vying for the top position. Quinton managed it, biting into Walt’s face, ripping at his cheeks and eye, pulling hard. Walt swatted him away, but this time Quinton brought a big sheet of flesh from Walt’s face.
Quinton turned to see Walt, now even more hideous with one jowl missing, teeth and gum exposed. Quinton spat out the meat and readied as Walt charged again. They met face to face in a fast-rolling tumble, straight into Jessica’s path. She screamed and threw herself out of the way, narrowly escaping being crushed, as Quinton’s mother had. But Walt threw the lighter, smaller Quinton off of him, and he became a three-thousand-pound cannon ball headed straight at her. Jessica ducked again, once more narrowly escaping a terrible death, under the crushing weight of the man she loved.
The shifters finally rolled to a stop, but it was Walt who wound up on top. Quinton was on his back with the great ursine’s jaws clamped around his throat. Quinton kicked at Walt’s belly, one of the few vulnerable spots. He dug his claws in, hoping to open him up and disembowel him before the ursine’s jaws pressed into his windpipe from the sides. It was the same way Walt’s father had killed Quinton’s father, and history seemed destined to repeat itself.
The pressure was incredible, pain like he’d never known. Quinton clenched his muscles, but they were not strong enough to hold Walt back for long. Walt shook his head to loosen the windpipe from its carriage, but he had to bite deeper and was happy to try to do it.
“Get away from him!” Jessica shouted from very nearby, much too close. “It’s me you want! Leave him alone and I’ll go with you!”
This did bring a slight pause to Walt’s assault, and he returned his attention to Quinton.
Did you hear that, lupe?
I did.
Yeah… too bad I still have to kill you. But her offer won’t go to waste.
Quinton could hardly breathe, air wheezing in and out of his nostrils. He couldn’t shake his head free; it only made breathing more difficult, giving the ursine greater purchase around his throat. The fangs sank deeper, the jaws crushed tighter, Quinton’s struggle becoming more frenzied, more desperate, more pointless.
Quinton scratched at Walt’s eyes, hind legs covered in the ursine’s blood but revealing only the muscles, not nearly enough to release those vital organs. But Jessica was very close, Quinton could smell her, hear the thumps of her little fists against his hind quarters. She screamed, “Let him go, you monster!”
Quinton could hardly see out of the corner of his eye that Walt pulled up one hind leg and kicked Jessica back. She flew several feet back and Quinton could hear her land with a thud in the snow. The blow wouldn’t have hurt her.
That could wait… until after Quinton’s imminent death.
He could feel the tissues of his windpipe collapsing, muscles finally giving way to the power of those crushing jaws. Another hard pull did terrible damage, numbing agony bolting through Quinton’s body.
His hind legs jutted, one or two last attempts to take the ursine with him when he died.
Bang! Bang, bang, bang!
CHAPTER TWENTY
Walt let go of Quinton’s throat just before its final collapse. But he was badly injured, almost unable to move. He had to conserve his strength and use it to heal himself in the rapid way all shifters shared. Until then, he lay helpless.
But he could turn his head to see Walt, limping a bit with his belly injuries, facing Red Fellows, approaching with rifle in hand, lowering it only to cock it and then shoot again.
He shouted, “Get out of the way, woman!”
Bang!
Walt roared, but Quinton knew the shot would do little. Walt’s thick hide, ursine fat, and muscle would absorb any shot and even push it out in a matter of just a few minutes. Even damage to internal organs would heal quickly if the damage wasn’t mortal. Quinton had briefed Jessica on it, but Red would have no way of knowing. And he’d shoot center mass, the ursine’s least vulnerable area.
But Walt was injured, reduced in his ability to attack the big normalo the same way he had the six hunters, with that kind of speed and ferocity. That gave Red one of his few advantages.
Jessica ran up and fell to Quinton’s side. He lay prone, his strength coming back slowly, steadily. He could breathe, and his windpipe would heal if given the chance. Legs could slowly begin moving. But he wasn’t battle-ready, and he wouldn’t be for some time, given the way things were going.
Jessica sat by his side, stroking his head very gently. It was a sweet sense of relief, a brief whiff of the pleasures of the world, a reminder of the inspiration for his fight, for his life.
She looked over his bloodied throat, his prone frame. “Oh my God…” Jessica looked into his eyes. He looked back, their connection closer than ever. “Be okay,” she said, tears starting to stream down her face, “please be okay! Please! You have to be, baby, you have to be! I love you, I can’t live without you, I won’t! I won’t! You have to come back to me, Quinton, please come back!”
Red backed up and kept firing, and Quinton could see Walt turning to take the shots in the neck, protecting the vulnerable head. No shifter could come back from death. But they were also experts at protecting their heads, as Red was no doubt finding to his frustration. He cocked the rifle again and it clicked dry. Red turned the rifle like a club to swing at Walt’s face. The first swing was a miss.
“You come onto my mountain, kill my kind? I’ll kill you, ugly bastard!”
The second swing struck the damaged side of his face, still skinless by Quinton’s vicious assault. Walt roared and Red said, “Yeah, take that, you son of a bitch!”
But Walt was hardly stopped; it only enraged him. Red stepped back and pulled his handgun, but Walt threw a single hard swipe, knocking the gun out of his hand and his hand off his arm. Red screamed and staggered back, blood pouring out of his arm. But he remained on his feet, grabbing a hunting knife from a sheath on his belt. He drew it up and then stabbed it down onto Walt’s shoulder, aiming for the face.
“Now you die, now you diieeeee!”
Walt lurched forward and handily pushed Red backward and down to the ground. He screamed and kicked as he stabbed at the big ursine above him, the crunching wet sounds of Red’s belly being torn open underscoring his wretched screams.
“No, stop, stop!” But of course the ursine would not stop, and though all Quinton could see was the ursine’s backside and Red’s big legs kicking, the terrible sounds of feeding told Quinton what kind of bloody mutilation was happening, blocked from his view.
“No…” Red called out in a high-pitched wail. “Nooooo!” But his pitiful wails soon wound down, leaving only the hideous sounds of a ravenous ursine shifter, grunting and snorting as it devoured its prey.
Quinton tried to heal. He could feel his body getting stronger slowly, but the internal damage was still severe. He could hardly rise, but those sickening sounds told Quinton what was awaiting him.
Walt turned to face Quinton and Jessica, Red’s blood all over his face. He was already healing, and the fresh feeding and all that blood could only have strengthened him. He licked his chops, shook his head, and casually began striding toward them.
Jessica looked at Quinton, at Walt, then with a gasp, broke into a run. His latest dream had proven to be a premonition after all, and Quinton lay there prostrate, Jessica fleeing, death waiting. It had to happen eventually, Quinton had to admit to himself, I should have known I’d never be happy. It was more than I had a right to expect, more than I had a right to ask. It’s not for my kind to be happy, but simply to be… and I couldn’t even do that. The dream warned me, but I had no eyes to see it.
Quinton glanced at Walt, slowly approaching. He glanced in the direction Jessica
had run.
Good, Quinton thought, good girl, get outta here while you still can. I’ll hold him off as long as I can, maybe you’ll get lucky. God, I hope so.
She won’t, Walt thought/spoke to Quinton, in the manner of their kind. She won’t get far. I’m going to hunt her down, catch her, then she’ll be my breeder. I’m going to break that stubborn spirit and she’ll be a nice, docile slave and mother. That will take some time, but I promise you I’ll enjoy every bit of it.
Quinton tried to heal faster, exerting all his energy into building a new reserve of fighting strength.
But I can tell you’re healing, Walt went on, and it’s time you and I had our day. Quinton looked up, no perspective to share. Nothing? No assurances that I won’t get away with it? No promises to see me in hell? You know what this means for the coming shifter apocalypse! Ending you ends your line, it ends the fight here. We’ll own all of Alaska, then Russia, where we’re already making headway. The Russian Bear indeed. Those dumb normalo monkeys.
Quinton tried to get up, but could still hardly rise.
Don’t discount them, Walt. They have weapons none of us can match. Why not just let things remain as they are? In balance?
Because they’re not in balance. The humans have had their time, and they’re fast destroying this planet. If we don’t stop them, nobody will.
They’ll stop each other.
Can’t wait, they’ve gone too far. We’re going to take them off the throne of the planet, and as long as you lupes stand against us, their so-called protectors, then you’ll be doomed to die with them.
Walt approached slowly, no need to rush. He even seemed to be relishing his moment of triumph, his long-sought ascent.
You fool, brought down by a woman! You should have stayed up in the mountains with your caribou and this poor dimwit behind me.
I go where I’m needed.
Walt arrived and took a place next to Quinton’s shoulder, his head looming over Quinton’s.
You go down, lupe, you go do—
Bang!
Walt’s head snapped to the side, but he remained on his feet. The shot had plugged him right in the back of the head, and the shock on his face was clear. It was as if he couldn’t believe what had happened, that he had a sudden realization of his own death, of the mistakes and greed and wanton wickedness which had brought him to it. Quinton looked over to see Jessica standing just a few feet away. She held Red’s handgun in both hands, his blood on the handle and her fingers, arms rigid at her sides. She took aim.
Bang!
The second shot hit Walt’s head from the side. His huge arms were motionless as his body began to tip forward. A third shot hastened his fall, his great weight collapsing to Quinton’s other side.
Jessica tossed the gun aside and rushed to Quinton. He turned to look up at her, his lupine jowls smiling. “Okay, baby, okay,” she said hurriedly. “You’re healing now, right? You’re healing? Tell me you are, I know you are, you have to!”
She stroked his head as she knelt by him.
“Listen to me, Quinton, you’re going to heal and we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives, and even after that. We’ll live in your cabin, if you like, anywhere at all. I’ll give you children, we’ll fight that war together. Our children will fight alongside us, Quinton, and we’re going to win! You hear me? We’re going to win because you’re going to be there fighting, you’re going to be here loving, you’re going to live, Quinton!”
The sounds of chattering men leaked up, soft in the distance but getting louder fast. They were coming in from the foot of the mountains, and Quinton’s keen hearing could make out one of their voices, vaguely familiar.
“He’s up here, boys, let’s get ‘im!”
Quinton knew he lacked the strength and the will to fight them, and that despite coming so close, both he and Jessica and the whole human race were about to lose everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They were coming and they were close, hunters enraged by the deaths of their fellows, the death of their sheriff. They’d found their man, they’d tracked their prey, and they were closing in for the kill.
He looked up at Jessica and she down at him; her wide eyes and quivering lips told him that she foresaw the same things he did.
But finding him in his lupine form would ensure his demise, right there and then. They would blast his head off no matter what Jessica did or said. And if they saw him shift, the secret would be out and the balance of nature would be changed forever, and all would likely be lost.
The problem was that his lupine form could withstand greater injury, damage which would kill even a shifter in his human form. There was no way to be sure that he was ready to survive the shift, but as the men’s voices got louder, he realized that he didn’t have a choice.
Quinton took one last look at Jessica, her eyes locked on his.
Goodbye, my love.
Quinton shifted, pain cramping his muscles, throat barely able to function. He wheezed his breath through his human windpipe, his naked human body suddenly shivering cold. Jessica looked him over from above, a loving nursemaid surveying his prostrate body. She took off her jacket and wrapped it over his shivering, naked body.
“Are you okay?” She leaned her head over, pulling her red hair back to set her ear on his naked chest. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” But she had to look over at the dozen men who stepped across the snowy gully toward them.
Quinton’s senses were returning, less clear than in his lupine form. But he could see them approach in astonishment at the massacre in front of them: Red Fellows mutilated, a huge black bear with half its head shot off, and a familiar man and woman lying on the ground, he naked and she clinging to him.
They wore Sheriff’s Department windbreakers and aviator sunglasses, and some wore hunters’ flannels. All carried rifles, poised and ready to fire. “What in God’s name?”
“Must be the thing that killed those hunters,” one sheriff’s deputy said.
“That Red Fellows over there?”
Another answered, “Hard to tell.”
“Jesus Christ,” another muttered as they made their way closer to Quinton and Jessica.
One pointed at Jessica. “You… you’re new here, visiting from the lower forty-eight.”
“That’s right,” Jessica said, “studying the… the effects of climate change, that’s all.”
“And how’d you get out here, for heaven’s sake?”
Quinton looked at her, letting her speak for them. Both their lives hung in the balance. But he knew she couldn’t tell them the truth, that the huge creature was a shifter and had kidnapped her in his human form.
“I was kidnapped and brought here, handed over to this creature.”
“By who?”
One of them was vaguely familiar to Quinton, though he’d only seen him once. He pointed at Quinton and said, “That’s him, he’s the guy who killed Sheriff Spalter!”
Quinton tried to speak for himself, but couldn’t. But the pall of instant anger was impossible to ignore.
Jessica leaned over Quinton, protective, holding her hand out with a flattened palm to stop him. “No, that’s not true! You mustn’t touch him, he’s injured.”
“We’re not gonna hurt him, lady,” another deputy said with a little chuckle.
“Listen to me, you don’t understand.”
“That’s the guy,” the familiar man said, called Charlie, Quinton believed. “I chased him through the Gold Dust myself. As soon as he saw me, he shot out of there like a bat outta hell!”
Jessica snapped back, “Who wouldn’t run if he was being chased? Obviously, he was looking for me! Now, everybody just listen! Quinton and I, we… we fell in love—”
Charlie asked, “What’s that got to do with anything? Hell, that means you’re probably in on killing the sheriff. Certainly makes you an accomplice.”
One of the deputies said, “That’s enough, Charlie. Give her your coat.”
>
“Give her my what? Her? But—”
“Give her your coat, Charlie!” Charlie was slow to respond, but he did set down his rifle, take off his big hunting jacket, and drape it over Jessica’s trembling shoulders. “All right, miss,” he went on, “tell us what happened.”
Jessica took a deep breath, still leaned over Quinton to shield him. She glanced back at him and he at her. “We fell in love. So when talk of these murders came up, the hunters, he wanted to investigate. He suspected that other man, dead over there, Red he was called. So he left me with the sheriff to go see him alone, and when he was gone the bartender from the Gold Dust turned up.”
“Walt,” Charlie said.
“Right,” Jessica went on. “He and the sheriff seemed very friendly, and he said he had theories about the hunters’ murders. He blamed Quinton, and I told him he was wrong, but… we talked about it, the sheriff seemed intrigued, then the young man struck—cut the poor man’s throat from behind, before I even realized what happened. I was… shocked, could hardly move. He charged me, jammed a handkerchief over my mouth—chloroform, I guess, or ether, I don’t know. I tried to fight him off, but he was strong, determined. I got dizzy, the smell of it…” Jessica winced just at the recollection.
The other men looked on, each clearly hearing her out and drawing their own conclusions.
“I found a thing just like that at the Gold Dust, Deliah Davenport was holding it.”
“No,” Quinton barely managed to croak out, “not Deliah, Walt.”
“It was Walt,” Jessica said to Charlie and the others, “I’m telling you because I recognized him as the bartender and waiter from the hotel I’m staying at, the Gold Dust!”
“You love this guy,” Charlie said. “You’d say anything to protect him.”
The others grumbled about it, muttering and murmuring their own doubts and theories. One of the deputies asked, “Where is he, then, Walt?”