by Mark Tufo
She nodded curtly at me.
“Please wait,” the old woman spoke, Gretchen, I think was her name. “It’s just my son and I who were infected.”
“Gretchen, you can’t!” Ilysse cried out.
“Is this true?” I pushed Anna, who had yet to say anything, with the toe of my boot.
“She’s in shock!” Ilysse spat.
“I am not a liar, sir!” Gretchen answered with her head held high.
“I’ll make this quick,” I told her.
“Gretchen, no!” Ilysse was in my face again doing her best to prevent me from moving forward.
“It makes no difference to me whether your children have a mother or not. Get out of my way before I toss you into the brush.”
“I’ll do it!” Gretchen yelled. She pulled a small knife from her boot. “I was going to use this on one…one of them if I had gotten the chance. Now I’m going to use it to kill my son.”
“No, Gretchen.” Ilysse turned and fell to the ground next to the woman.
Gretchen moved fast for a woman who looked like she was having a hard time gripping the knife with her gnarled fingers. She pulled the sharp blade along the side of the man’s neck. He barely moved. If he felt the parting of his flesh he didn’t let on. He looked as if he had passed into the realm of unconsciousness a while ago. From the severe beating he’d taken, he would have died on his own soon enough even if the Lycan hadn’t made a meal out of him. Anna finally moved. She didn’t speak or cry out as her hands tried to stem the tide of blood coming from her spouse’s neck. As one cupped hand filled up and spilled over, she would replace it with the other. I had to appreciate her diligence.
Gretchen cried out and hunched over. I thought it was from the loss of her son, but I couldn’t have been any more wrong if I tried. She was changing and fast. This was no movie stop-motion photography. From the span of one second to the next the changes on the cellular and physical levels were profound. I pulled up on Ilysse’s dress and yanked her way. I did the same with Anna, her hands still moving in rhythmic fashion, though she was no longer touching anyone. If she made it through this night she would not go much further, as her mind was too far wasted for recovery, at least in the time that would be allotted for her. Perhaps in a different day and age…and enough therapy.
The Gretchen-thing wrapped one large hand around her son’s neck and the other grabbed his nether regions. She snapped him in half like a dry Popsicle stick as she stood. I thought Ilysse’s scream was in response to the horror we were all witnessing. That would have been a reasonable assumption, I think. Unfortunately it wasn’t true, at least not completely. The Gretchen-thing had changed from her carnival sideshow freak-looking self into a woman wolf as I was swinging my axe. It was happening that fast, and even in the crippling pain that must have been accompanying that transformation, she was able to spare me a momentary flash of her extending canines. I buried that blade deep within her sternum, neatly bisecting her left breast as I did so. Yellow fat deposits spilled out first, immediately followed by the red of blood.
I received the backhand of her paw for my efforts and was flung backwards. Ilysse’s screams were cut short. I turned to see her suspended in the air. A huge Lycan had his hand wrapped almost completely around her midsection, and he was squeezing her like a tube of toothpaste. Her eyes were beginning to bulge, her face turning an angry red and her tongue lolling out. I squared off to face him.
“What are you?” he asked in a guttural speech.
I was a hair’s breadth from speaking the cliché of, “Your worst nightmare” although how common of an adage would it be now? The saying probably was brand spanking new and novel at this time. I gave him a dose of the truth instead, hoping it would make him run off into the night. It was already too late for those kids if he had a hand in marking them. I’d failed on that aspect and I’d be damned if I added my death onto the list of missed accomplishments for the evening.
“I am an Old One.”
He paused, didn’t run, though. Didn’t have that kind of luck going for me. “An Old One? They are merely legend, stories to keep the young ones scared and close to the pack where no harm can befall them.”
“Yup, that’s me, I’m a myth. This myth just killed two of your kind.”
“You did not kill them. The stick that is over there did,” he said very astutely.
“You caught that, huh? Wouldn’t have seen that coming. Didn’t think a brain would be able to fit in that head of yours with all those teeth.”
“I am Panthros and I will be your undoing!” I heard a crunching sound as the Lycan crushed Ilysse’s rib cage like one might a walnut with a nutcracker. Her eyelids impossibly opened wider before they drooped closed. He lowered his grip and swung her around, nearly colliding our skulls together. I could make out the faintest of moans as she whistled past. I’m fairly convinced it was her soul, I was thinking of ways to hitch a ride when she was coming back for a return visit. Her neck snapped as she was beaten into my side. I was being bludgeoned by the body of a recently deceased woman. I ducked and rolled, slamming my axe into the left foot of the beast. I narrowly missed being punted like a football. Exceptional healing powers or no, if he had connected with that kick, it would have been a showstopper.
I had to keep rolling, as he was beating Ilysse against the ground mercilessly in an attempt to hit me with her body. I was getting hit, but only with fragments; teeth and blood, mostly. Soon there would not be much in her body that was not broken. It would be like trying to swing a cooked pack of spaghetti. He took two more steps and slammed her down five more times before he slowed up, the pain now finally beginning to register within him. He tossed Ilysse away like so much discarded garbage. He kept a close watch on me even as he checked out his foot. I was ten feet away, and it looked pretty nasty from here. Even now, the silver from the blade as it reacted with his body would be causing him scalding pain. It wouldn’t be enough to kill him unfortunately.
I stopped moving on the ground and was finally able to get up on my feet. I got down into a crouch, my axe up and to my side. Panthros was pissed; he looked like he’d been waiting at the DMV for four hours to only be told he didn’t have the right paperwork and would have to come back. I knew that look. He wanted to kill me in the worst way, but he also didn’t want to risk another swing of my axe connecting with his body. A stinging whip cracking across his back would have burned with less intensity.
“Come on, you ugly mutt,” I goaded him. “Your mother mated with sloths.” Apparently it didn’t much matter the species, you talk shit about someone’s mom and you were going to elicit a response. Panthros roared and charged. I barely had enough time to put my blade between us as his powerful arms attempted to wrap around my neck. He wasn’t successful in choking the life out of me, but he had forced me to the ground with him on top. Even with my arms fully outstretched trying to keep him at bay; I had to turn my head so he wouldn’t rip my nose off. I was very much in danger of becoming this age’s next Van Gogh without the painting talent.
We stayed locked like this for a few more moments. I knew I would succumb eventually, as he was too strong for me to hold off indefinitely. I collapsed my left arm and moved to the right as quickly as I could. He didn’t let go even as his hopefully sensitive snout banged into the dirt. He may have whined or he was dislodging a pebble from his sinuses; either way, I was going to count it as a moral victory. I could not get a proper chopping motion in but I was able to drag the blade across his side, leaving an angry, oozing welt in its path. It was enough for him to push off and give me some much-needed breathing room. Anna looked on with a passive, dismissive blasé. She could have been watching a golf game on a lazy Sunday for all the reaction that she emoted. A little help from her would have been nice, but I had a better chance of a yeti showing up and doing a little song and dance routine. The Lycan was on his feet before me, hazarding a glance at his stinging side.
“Bet that smarts. You up for more?” I honestly
think I would have let him go if he said, “no” and counted myself lucky.
“I must kill you,” he said as we faced each other again.
“Is this an honor thing? Because really, I won’t tell anyone.”
He wasn’t much into quipping as he pressed the attack again. I knew enough to not allow him the chance to drive me to the ground. But just because I knew something didn’t necessarily mean I could do much about it. It’s kind of like saying, “I know the engine is going to fall off the jet, yet I am only a passenger at forty thousand feet.” Really not much chance of me keeping that plane part in place. Best I could really hope to do was get incredibly drunk before we plummeted to the ground. With Panthros, it was all I could do to move slightly askew to him in an effort to bring the blade down onto some part of him, preferably a place that would kill him but I wouldn’t discriminate. A huge claw ripped across my cheek and the side of my neck. If the pain was any indication I was certain I could have stuck my tongue through the side of my face, although I sure as shit wasn’t going to try it. Luckily, my face took the brunt of the hit or he would have lopped my head off.
Well, there goes my modeling career, was my thought. I would have said it if I didn’t think the movement would have separated the flesh more. I got in a heavy-handed blow to his shoulder blade. Almost lost the axe when it became lodged in the thick bone. Panthros cried out and moved quickly past me to get away from the stinging weapon. It was nice to see him breathing heavy. Was it considered “panting” in a Lycan?
“Had enough?” I asked him, the movement of my mouth was just about unbearable. The side of my face felt like it had been coated in napalm and lit ablaze. Blood was falling to the ground in rivulets, my chest and shoulders rising and falling with each deep intake of air.
“Are you dead?” he asked in return. He did not wait for a response before once again coming at me. I was wounded and tired and had no likely reprieve in the form of help. Bailey would not be riding in on a white horse any time soon. And speaking of time, that was also not on my side. With the werewolves, I’d known in the back of my head that all we’d needed to do was make it until the moon went down. The Lycan, and this one in particular, were not bound by those same rules. We could fight until Anna died of old age if we wanted to. I mean most likely we’d stop for significant holidays and bathroom breaks but otherwise with our preternaturally long lives this could go on for some time.
Panthros’ forearm rocked into my shoulder. There was a good chance he’d dislocated it as I spun in the air, his muzzle shooting droplets of saliva on my forehead as I twisted past him. I made a jarring contact with the ground that was nothing in comparison to the eruption of pain I was about to feel. Jabbing a high voltage line into my abdomen would have hurt less than what I was feeling on the back of my thigh. It was possible I’d done a complete flip in the air. Didn’t matter much how I’d gotten into the position, all I knew, all I could know, was that Panthros’ teeth were sinking deep into the tissue on the back of my left leg. I cried out in pain and misery. I’d had all sorts of atrocities performed on my body, including being shot with various types of weaponry, and combined I don’t think they’d inflicted as much pain as the bite Panthros was delivering.
His teeth would be touching soon, and if he shook his head, he would rip my thigh muscle clean from my body, much like a bar patron pulls meat from a chicken wing. My canines had elongated in response to his attack. I did all that I could instinctively think to do; I twisted to the side and plunged my teeth into his exposed side. If this did anything, I think it was only to infuriate him. My bite did not have the pure, unadulterated savagery his did, and I could only do what they were designed to do. I drank from him as quickly and as deeply as half-humanly possible. My jaws clamped down harder, more as a reflex, as I heard the snap of my femur. I was dangerously close to passing out, Panthros’ blood was the only thing keeping me going. Blood was spilling into and around my mouth as the natural anti-coagulant I shot into the bite did its job.
How much of him would I need to drink in before it did him some harm? My leg was clearly broken, and his teeth were sawing through my muscle. If he swung his head back and forth a few times he’d take my leg with him. At that point, I could guarantee I would bleed out before he did. He was alternating between tearing into me and raining blows down atop my head. In comparison to the bite those were meaningless, as I didn’t have any room in my nerve center to accommodate any further abuse.
There was a point where there was a crescendo, as the hits came harder and faster to my head; the mauling becoming fiercer. Then, by incremental bits, it began to wane. At first, it was at a pace a crippled snail could have kept up with, then it came faster and faster as I drew more lifeblood from him. The ground was flooded with it, with half of my face nearly an inch thick in the fluid. Anymore and I could be in danger of drowning in it. He was getting to the point where he was resting his paw against my head. I could feel his muscles twitching in a desperate bid to raise his arm up; he just didn’t have the ways and means to do it. His mouth had relaxed on my leg, and yet I kept drawing from him, not even taking in the possibility of what harvesting his blood may or may not be doing to me. I kept pulling blood even when his hand fell off of me. I kept pulling blood when his head hit the ground. I kept pulling blood until I got the wet, slurping sounds one does when they’ve finished a milk shake. Blood sloshed in my belly as I pushed away. I was as close to being in shock as one can be and still realize it.
It was impossible to tell where the pool of my blood ended and Panthros’ began as they had long ago merged like the parted Red Sea had after Moses was through. I dragged myself a few feet away, crying out with every movement. My leg was holding on by force of habit, or maybe it was muscle memory. I grimaced at my poor word choice for humor. There was a small rock I was able to rest my head on. Looking into the night sky, I wondered if the Lycan blood would help to heal me or speed up my death. I did my best to send my mind away, but it just kept rocketing back to the mind numbing agony. Passing out would have been a blessing. For having drank somewhere in the neighborhood of a couple of gallons of blood I was incredibly thirsty. I moved my head a few inches so I could get a look at Anna. I was going to ask her for water if I could get the words to escape my throat.
She was standing not more than five feet away from me, not with a pitcher of water, but rather a small knife. I could see if she sought a sort of revenge and stabbed Panthros a few times; that I understood, but she was looking at me. Well as much as cold, vacant eyes can stare at anything. I would have asked her what the fuck she was doing but it was obvious she wanted to sink that thing into me. She wanted revenge all right and she didn’t give a shit who paid back the debt she felt was owed to her. She dropped to her knees, the impact as they hit my side almost fading me out to black. My sight darkened around the edges and began to constrict to not much more than the size of a dime before expanding back out where I was able to see her raise the knife above her head.
I had to figure she was going for the center of my chest. If she went more than a foot in any other direction I wouldn’t have it in me to catch her. The tip of the blade broke skin as she thrust downwards. I was able to get my right hand on her wrist to keep her from going any deeper. Want to know the scary thing about crazy people? They are stronger than they have a right to be. There was no mask of fury on her face. She did not cry out in attack. She actually made no sound whatsoever as she tried to drive that blade deep into me. Maybe a grunt or two but it was involuntary at best. We were locked in a silent, mortal combat. I was too exhausted and racked with pain to emit a sound and…well…she was just fucking nuts; so who knows why she was quiet.
Anna didn’t know it right then but she was about to play a pivotal role in my recovery. When she realized she wasn’t going to be able to force the blade down she pulled up forcibly, I would think so she could find a softer spot to lodge it into my body. She’d used way more force pulling up than she’d needed to, a baby tryi
ng to wrench its milk bottle away from me would have been able to do so with a fraction of the thrust she’d used. When her arm came free, the momentum forced her backwards and she rocked on her knees, falling to the side. Her neck was by my mouth and I ripped into it like a starving man would a lamb chop. In a belly already overwrought with fluid I topped it off. Unlike Panthros, she gave up almost immediately, as if this were the outcome she’d been hoping for all along. Much like I had done to Panthros out of necessity, I sucked Anna dry within minutes; her blood being the healing balm I so desperately needed. Now, if only she’d taken a handful of opiates beforehand, I’d be all set.
If anything bigger than a pissed off chipmunk were to show up and seek restitution for some previous misdeed I would succumb without much of a challenge. My eyes closed. It was still up for grabs if they would ever open back up.
Chapter Eight – Bailey
Bailey had to hold on to Oggie for almost an hour and keep a vigilant eye on the dog for another full day. More than once she’d caught him walking up the outcropping.
“He’ll be back,” she’d soothed. He’d whined in response.
Bailey attempted to keep as much emotional distance from herself and the children as she possibly could. She would have no choice but to kill them should the full moon rise and they begin to transform, otherwise they would rip her apart and be free to rampage wherever they chose. Breealla appreciated the gravity of the situation and how tenuous her hold on life was. Her fate lay in the hands of two complete strangers. Nemmon, once fed, could not have been concerned any less. He ran around the camp playing and chasing Oggie. He would go down to the small pond and swim, yelling and splashing around without a care in the world.
“He doesn’t understand what is going on,” Breealla had said to Bailey as they watched the boy swimming about. “My mother hid us when the Lycan came and killed our father. After they found us, I sang to him every time they killed another, always covering his head with my arms. Even when the wolf bit us I told him it was all in play.” She was close to tears.