by Tim ORourke
Page 5
With my wings springing from my back, I lunged at her. We met mid-air, clattering onto one another. She howled, her giant jaws spraying foam just inches from my face. The little black claws at the tips of my wings grabbed for her as we spun around and around in the air. Her fur felt like silk as I raked my claws along the length of her back.
She barked and yelped in pain as we fell through the sky. As the ground raced up towards us, I saw Murphy removing his uniform and folding it into a neat pile on the driver’s seat of the police van. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
We thudded into the snow. With my huge black wings arrowed out behind me, I sat astride the wolf as it kicked wildly out with its back legs, trying to scratch at my face with is giant front paws. The wolf’s bright yellow eyes rolled in their wet sockets. The thought that somewhere deep inside of me was a wolf just like this one terrified me. With fear and dread consuming me, I clawed and ripped frantically at the fighting wolf. My claws sliced and slashed open giant wounds. Slick-looking entrails and tufts of blood-soaked fur shot up into the air as I tore the wolf to pieces.
Somewhere inside of me, a voice was urging me on. It was as if by killing this wolf, I was killing the one I feared hiding deep within me.
Suddenly, I felt a firm hand grip my shoulder. “That’s enough,” I heard a voice say.
Covered in blood, flesh, and fur, I opened my eyes. Murphy was leaning over me and looking into my face. “The wolf is dead, Kiera.
The wolf is dead. ”
Slowly, I stopped clawing and tearing.
Gasping for air, I clambered off what was left of the wolf. Murphy helped me to my feet. I stood in the scarlet snow, panting and sighing, my face, arms and wings dripping with blood.
“What have I done?” I panted, looking at Murphy.
“What needed to be done, if any of us were to survive,” he said flatly.
“I tore it to shreds,” I said, blood dripping from my claws and spattering the snow at my feet.
“And it wouldn’t have thought twice about doing the same to you,” Potter said, suddenly appearing beside me.
His long, black tattered wings hung from his back, the tips of them trailing in the snow. He was naked to the waist, and his well-defined body was splashed with blood, as were his claws and forearms. I had to fight the sudden urge to be held by him, to be pressed against him. To feel that warm, sticky blood and his body moving against mine. I looked away.
“I killed the last of them, Sarge,” Potter breathed deeply.
“Not the last of them,” Murphy grunted.
“Just the start of them. There are plenty more where they came from. ”
I looked at Murphy.
“Let’s clean this mess up and get on our way,” Murphy added, heading back towards the road.
Chapter Six
Kiera
Together we carried the remains of the wolves down the lane and hid them beneath the snow-covered bracken and thistles at the edge of a ditch.
“What we can’t find, the foxes will eat,”
Murphy said.
I felt soiled and dirty somehow, and although earlier I had enjoyed the taste of the Inspector’s blood. I now just wanted to be rid of it.
I wanted to shower and scrub the blood of those wolves from my body. I was desperate to wear some clean clothes. We trudged back up the road, towards the police van and the unmarked patrol car. It was then I spied the female officer’s uniform scattered along the lane wear she had pulled it free during her transformation into a wolf.
Bending down, I gathered up the clothes. I went to the back of the van, climbed inside, and closed the door.
Alone, I began to undress. The passenger side door suddenly flew open, and Potter was looking in at me. I crossed my arms over my breasts.
“Do you mind?” I snapped at him.
“What are you doing?” Potter asked, staring at me.
“Getting out of these blood-soaked clothes, what does it look like?” I hissed.
“Okay, but hurry up. The Sarge wants to get going,” Potter shut the door, leaving me alone again.
I screwed my dirty, torn clothes into a ball and stuffed them under the nearest seat. Then, almost bent double in the confined space at the back of the van, I put on the female officer’s uniform. As I buttoned up the shirt, I couldn’t remember the last time I had worn a police uniform. It must have been back in the Ragged Cove, I thought. That seemed like a whole lifetime ago now. Once dressed, I clambered from the van and back out into the cold. Potter was leaning against the van, smoking a cigarette. He looked me up and down. I closed the van door and headed towards the unmarked car where Murphy was removing the blue emergency light from the roof.
“Hey, tiger,” Potter said gripping hold of my arm and spinning me around to face him.
“What?” I said, looking into his dark eyes.
“Seeing you dressed like this again reminds me of why I fell in love with you,” he smiled at me.
“How come?” I asked.
Leaning in close, Potter whispered in my ear, “I’d forgotten how damn good your sweet cheeks looked in uniform. ”
I eased myself away from him, sliding my arm from his grip. “We should get going,” I said.
“Murphy’s right, more of those Skinwalkers could come back at any time. ” Turning my back and leaving him alone by the van, I made my way down the narrow country lane towards Murphy.
“Get in,” Murphy said, as I reached the vehicle.
“What about the van?” I asked.
“We’re gonna stand out in that,” he said.
“If we’re going to reach the Dead Waters alive, we need to keep our heads down. We can’t afford to draw any more unwanted attention to ourselves.
Riding around in a big white van with luminous yellow and blue squares all over it ain’t my idea of being inconspicuous. ”
“So, where to now?” I said, climbing into the passenger seat. I knew Potter always liked to sit up front, and I smiled inwardly as I took my seat next to Murphy.
“We find somewhere to clean up and get some rest,” Murphy said. Then, without warning he blasted the horn three times. The sound was deafening and echoed back off the fields and rolling hills. Leaning out of the window, he hollered at Potter, “Stop standing there with your thumb up your arse! We need to be out of here already. ”
“I thought we weren’t meant to be drawing any attention to ourselves?” I said, the sound of the horn still ringing in my ears.
Murphy grunted and started the engine.
Potter mooched down the road, the tails of his long, black coat flapping around his legs, like his wings so often did. He looked at me sitting up front, scowled like a schoolboy, and climbed into the back, slamming the door behind him.
“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to hide a smile.
“Just perfect,” he sniped, shutting his eyes and leaning back in his seat.
Taking great care in the snow, Murphy steered the car around the abandoned police van, and in silence, we headed down the desolate road and towards the hills in the distance.
We drove for what seemed like hours across the bleakest land I had ever seen. The sky had turned from white to a dirty, washed-out grey, and I suspected that another storm was on its way. Conversation was non-existent between the three of us, and the atmosphere inside the car was as cold as the wind, which howled across the fields on either side of the roads we travelled.
Every so often we would pass a derelict-looking outhouse, farmhouse, cottage, or barn. Murphy would slow and look at the building as it sailed past. I knew he was searching for some suitable place for us to stay for the night. The only places that looked semi inhabitable had smoke coiling up from the chimneys, telling us that they were already occupied by their rightful owners.
As the sky grew darker still, and the fresh flakes of snow began to swirl dow
n from the sky, Murphy stopped the vehicle by a narrow lane, which wound away into the darkness to our right.
Barely visible behind a clump of wild ivy, there was a sign sticking up out of the ditch which ran alongside the road. In red letters, the word ‘Campsite’ had been written. Without saying a word, Murphy turned into the narrow lane and headed up the hill.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Potter suddenly spoke up from the back of the car.
“Got a better suggestion?” Murphy said.
“I don’t want to piss all over your plan, Sarge, but this ain’t the weather for camping,”
Potter groaned. “We haven’t even got a tent. ”
“They’ll have an empty caravan or two,”
Murphy said, his eyes fixed on the narrow lane ahead.
“What if they are all booked up?” Potter shot back.
“In this weather?” Murphy snapped. “Give me a break. ”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Potter said. “We’re the only fucking Muppets dumb enough to take a camping holiday in sub-zero temperatures. ”
“Quit complaining,” Murphy said, as we passed through an open gate. “It might be quite nice. ”
“I wouldn’t describe freezing my freaking nuts off as being nice,” Potter moaned. “Or perhaps you’re planning on us all sitting around a campfire while you sing songs and pass around the marshmallows?”
“One more wisecrack from you, Potter, and I’m gonna smash you in the mouth,” Murphy barked, pulling the vehicle to a halt outside a small cottage. Then, glancing at me, he added, “Zip that coat up and hide your uniform. We don’t want anyone here knowing we’re coppers. I don’t think they’re trusted in this world. ”
I zipped up my coat, and climbed from the car.
“What about me?” Potter asked.
“Stay here,” Murphy ordered him.
“Why?” Potter said, looking hurt and left out.
“Because, I’m not planning on tearing the campsite owner a new arsehole, that’s why,”
Murphy said, climbing from the car.
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Potter snapped.
“It means I want to find us a place to sleep for the night without all hell breaking loose,”