by Mark Tufo
It was at this point, as well, I was afraid he was going to fry his brain in fever. I grabbed him and hoisted him up and over my shoulder. He shouldn’t have been so light, it was almost as if the fever was burning his tissue as well. I ran to the river and just kept going until I was nearly halfway across the thirty-foot span of it. The water was just past my mid-section as I cradled him in my arms and let the cooling effect of the water do its magic. I needed to get his core temperature down as best I could. It wasn’t a bathtub full of ice, but it was significantly cooler than the ambient air temperature. I must have stayed in that water for close to an hour. His body had cooled considerably, there was no longer steam coming from where he was making contact with the river. Okay, there never was, but you get the point.
I don’t think a special effects expert with a team of helpers could have made a more gruesome wound than the one I was looking at on Mathieu’s chest. His tissue was dying in a large swath, necrosis was setting in, and being this close to his heart, I could not imagine how I was going to be able to help him get to tomorrow night.
“One thing at a time, Talbot.” I started wading back to shore. Mathieu’s lips were turning blue and goose pimples were beginning to dot his flesh. The pendulum was swinging back to chills. I quickly got his drenched clothes off, placed him back in the lean-to, and covered him up with everything we had that was dry while I also stoked the fire up a bit. I’d love to say that, at this point, I scoured the landside for some local herbs and flowers that would aid in his healing, but I wouldn’t be able to tell poison ivy from aloe. Well, maybe those two, but not much else, and those two plants would do nothing for him. I sat on my haunches to the opening of the small shelter and just watched.
His condition did not improve as night came upon us. Neither did it diminish, so that was a plus. Only once during the night did he cry out, I believe it was his wife’s name. I took that moment to get as much fluid into his system as I could before he lapsed back into his semi-catatonic state. I alternated again between wiping his brow of sweat and placing a cooling cloth there. After a long night of chasing away any harbingers I thought the light of the sun was playing tricks on me. I actually had to stand and look at him from various angles to verify what I was seeing. He was so pale as to look blue. He was as close to death as one can be without having crossed over. I even placed my ear down by his mouth to see if breath was still coming out.
I stood quickly, running both my hands through my hair on either side of my head. “Well that’s it, isn’t it?” Maybe it was for the best. At least now he’d be able to get back to his family, something I’d been trying to do for seemingly eternity. Even as I thought about Mathieu returning to his family, feelings of envy were mixed in with just plain selfishness. If I couldn’t be with my family, why could he? And, I just didn’t want to be alone.
“Mathieu.” I got back down on my knees in front of the shelter. “Mathieu, listen to me. It’s not time yet, man. We still have a bunch to do.” I gripped his face in my hands. A block of ice would have yielded more heat. I expected frost to emit from his mouth.
“Gretel?”
“Who? Wait, your wife’s name is Gretel, right?”
He had a small reaction when I said his wife’s name. “Mathieu, listen to me. Gretel says she’s looking forward to seeing you.”
“Gretel?”
“Just not yet, Mathieu. We have to stop the Lycan.” I was going to burn for this. Oh, I was going to make the Lycan pay for what they had done to Tommy and I was going to drag Mathieu with me. “Gretel wants you to stay here and get revenge for her and your children.”
“Revenge? Gretel?”
“Yeah, buddy, she wants you to make it right down here before you go.”
“So tired, sick,” the words barely able to push past his dry and cracked lips.
“She said man-up.”
The more I talked, the more like a piece of shit I felt. I wouldn’t let a man that so desperately wanted to die, die. Was it the companionship? Please. God, tell me it’s not for the damn beer. No matter how good it is, I shouldn’t be playing the role of soul blocker. Maybe that was the reason, if I couldn’t see my wife, why the fuck could he? So now I was a petty, selfish, alcoholic, and I’m sure if I looked for a few more negative adjectives I could round some up.
“Ah shit, Mathieu, don’t listen to me, man. If there’s a better world for you to go to, by all means, do it. I’m sorry, man. It’s been my honor to get to know you these last couple of weeks. I wish I could return the favor of saving your life but I’m not going to stand in the way of you getting back to your family. You above all deserve that. If you see my wife and kids, could you tell them I’m still trying? Thanks, man. Godspeed,” I finished, placing my hand upon his forehead.
Tears blinded my eyes as I arose. I went back to the river, stripped off my clothes and walked in. I thought about just letting go and letting the river take me where it would, but I still had a duty to Mathieu. I would bury him properly. He was yet another in a long line of people who ultimately had sacrificed his life for mine. I don’t know what made mine so fucking valuable that all these others had to die. I guess now was the time to live up to the hype. I stayed in the water for hours, hoping that somehow the water was blessed and it would absolve me of all my sins. All I really got for my efforts was a severe case of flesh pruning. The sun had set and I needed to go stand watch over Mathieu’s body. I would not let some night scavenger make a meal from his remains. I put my clothes back on. I noticed the reflection of the full moon upon the water as I tied the laces on my boots.
“So close. So fucking close. Not the first death of someone close, Talbot, although it’s getting close to the last. Just not that many people in my sphere of influence anymore.” I was walking with my head down, just sort of keeping an eye on my foot placement. My leg felt pretty good, and I didn’t want to give it any reason to change its disposition. I should have, I really should have noticed just how quiet it was. It’s weird how upon reflection, if you’re given that opportunity, that you realize all the signs were there, you were just clueless of them or just too arrogant to perceive them.
I walked out of the small trail and into our clearing. At first, I thought the Lycan had found us. Then I started to notice the dissimilarities between what was looking at me and what a Lycan was. The beast before me was larger than any werewolf I’d seen and still it would have been smallish on the Lycan side of things. Its muzzle was shorter than its maker, and the fur was a softer brown from the darker colors and grays of the Lycan. Again, I should have been smacked with the realization of what was right in front of me; it’s just that my brain doesn’t work like that. I have to have time to process things out of the ordinary. This could be a millisecond or a decade, but never instantaneous.
I was mid-step wondering what to do. “Mathieu?”
The thing’s head tilted. There was a good chance this was indeed him, but since he was blocking the entrance to the shelter, I couldn’t be completely sure; although the mere fact that he wasn’t attacking me was a pretty good sign as well. How long was that going to be the case, though? I knew turning and running was not an option; that would trigger any predator’s auto response to chase and kill. I then would be forced to defend myself if he caught me, which was definitely a possibility given my still lingering injury, getting away quickly was nearly out of the equation. We could stand here and do this détente shit all night, but at what point would he slip and his mental grip on the beast within give out? Or possibly I would do something as innocuous as scratch the side of my face and he would take it as a sign of aggression and attack.
“Mathieu?” I asked again and again his head tilted. Well, it was safe to say it was either him or someone that knew him and since he’d been in a bunker for the last fifteen years it was safe to assume the former. “I’m going to sit, Mathieu,” I told him softly.
I kept eye contact, as somehow this seemed the right thing to do. I know some species’ regard t
his as an act of hostility, but I wasn’t getting that impression with the werewolf. I felt it was a focal point for Mathieu to use and hold on to. I sat down across from Mathieu, a small circle of stones containing cooling embers from a flame the only thing standing between the two of us. I was hoping the display of submission would keep him at bay, although the long streamers of drool hanging from his maw were not making me overly confident in my choice of actions.
What happened next blew what little mind I was still able to hold onto. Mathieu sat across from me. I noticed that he wanted to keep his eyes locked on mine as well. It was unspoken but important that we remain that way. Out from the center of my vision, I could see the thrum of his muscles. He was doing all in his power to hold onto the savage that wanted nothing more than to be released. They twitched and vibrated as if someone were holding a Taser to his chest, causing them to involuntarily spasm.
“It is good to see you up,” I told him.
His jaw clenched as I spoke. I couldn’t bring myself to say, “It is good to see you well.” Not in his current state anyway. We sat there for another hour, maybe more maybe less. Pretty hard to gauge time when you’re staring into the face of terror. When he abruptly stood, I did so as well. He leaped past me and into the woods. I barely had time to register that I wasn’t being attacked before he was out of sight. I breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Watching Mathieu die would have been bad enough, having to kill him would have been so much worse.
I was exhausted from the last few days. Yes, it was true that as I was I did not need much rest, but I did need some. Although, no friggin’ way was I going to take a power nap right now. I went and stood next to the shelter with the small rock wall to my back. It offered some measure of protection, not much really, but it felt good to have something like that behind me. No matter how hard I tried not to, I dozed a couple of times during the night. This I knew because my chin would hit my chest, and then I would raise it too quickly and smack the back of my head against the rocks. One would think, after the first go-around, that I would have moved; nope, not me. I stayed throughout the entire evening, banging my head five solid times. Mathieu did not return at any point or, if he had, it was during one of my small siestas.
I had expected his return almost immediately after the moon had departed. I was not all that concerned as the sun rose. Worry did not kick-in in earnest until sometime around noon. I had restarted the fire in preparation for the oncoming night when I heard grunting coming up the path. Sounded like a family of hogs was heading my way. I cautiously approached the oncoming sound. Of all the things I thought I might see, a naked Mathieu hefting a deer over his shoulder was not really on the list.
“This is heavy, could you please take it from me?”
I was knocked out of my daze. “Sure, sure, man,” I said as I wrested the animal away from him.
He didn’t say anything as he walked past me and up to the campsite.
“Weird.” Shaking my head, I turned and followed. “Oh, come on, man.” I turned my head as I came out of the path. Mathieu was bending over, picking up some clothes; I was “rewarded” with his backside in all its glory.
“You alright?” he asked when he stood up.
“The normal response should be, ‘I’m sorry.’ ” I was smiling. I was just so happy to see him alive and well. That awful bluish hue was gone from his body.
Mathieu’s tone and gestures were more of one who was extremely angry. I would learn later it was more of a response to extreme embarrassment or shame. He was pissed off that he had become a werewolf. I did my best to assure him that it was not his fault.
Mathieu pulled a shirt over his head, a scowl still on his face. Deep furrows lined his forehead. I saw his chest before he was able to pull the shirt completely down. All that was left of the wound that had nearly killed him the night before was a pinkish scar that would fade to near nothingness by the end of the week.
“Yeah, man, I’m fine,” I finally answered.
“Good.” He started to walk off.
“I’m going to cook this now, don’t you want some?”
“I already ate one.”
“Ate one what?”
“I caught two deer. I ate the other one.”
“You ate a whole deer?”
He shrugged.
“Where are you going?”
“I need time to be alone.”
“Didn’t you do that last night?” He did not answer. “I don’t know what is going on in that head of yours, but you should know that we’re fine. Nothing happened between us last night that would change anything.”
He nodded curtly and wordlessly walked past me. I waited a few moments, when I realized he wasn’t coming back immediately, I briskly rubbed my hands together and thanked the deer for the meal he was about to give me.
The general area was resplendent in the wonderful aroma of cooking venison. I was eating with reckless abandon when Mathieu finally showed back up.
“Good to see you.”
He nodded back, seeming to have loosened up a bit.
“What I wouldn’t do for some steak sauce,” I told him as I licked my fingers.
He crawled into the shelter. When I finally turned to look at him, it seemed as if he had fallen fast asleep.
“Was it something I said? Not the first person I’ve put to sleep, although it’s usually women.”
Chapter Twelve – Bailey
Bailey was exhausted by the time she got to the outer edges of Talboton’s influence. She’d pushed hard to get back before the moon could once again betray the human race. More often than not, she’d had to carry Breealla on her shoulders. Oggie had not returned in all that time, and she doubted if he would have been able to catch up either way.
“I hope you found whatever you were looking for,” she mumbled to the wind. It did not surprise Bailey in the least when she saw two armed men heading out to her. It was common for her town to patrol the area and even more so since they were at war with the Lycan.
“Do not move any further!” one of the approaching men shouted.
“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” an exhausted Bailey replied as she pulled a saddle sore Breealla from her shoulders. The girl could barely stand on her own. She looked like she was closing on ninety and her frail spine would no longer support her upper torso.
“Bailey?” the soldier approached.
“Hello, Chalton, how fair thee?” Bailey asked.
“Well, better than you perhaps. Pellon, get over here and help me.” He waved to the other man who rushed over.
“Bailey? It is good to see you. When we saw you leave with the demon and the Red Witch, we feared that we would never see you again. I should have known that of the three, you would most likely be the one to return. There are none stronger.”
“Pellon, will you stop trying to woo her right now? Help me get her back into town, if you haven’t noticed, she’s barely awake on her feet.”
Pellon smiled wanly at Bailey before he shouldered his rifle and leaned in to support her.
“What’s your name, little one?” Chalton was leaning down looking at Breealla.
“Breealla,” she answered shyly.
“Would you like me to carry you into town, Breealla?”
“Please don’t,” she answered solemnly.
“Little sore, are we?” He laughed. “Come then, let’s keep up with Bailey and my lovelorn friend.” He reached his hand down, which Breealla took willingly.
More townsfolk spilled out from their homes and businesses as news of Bailey’s return somehow spread. All were clamoring for information on what was happening to the world outside of their borders. Leading the pack was Chairperson Gount. She was one of the community leaders who ruled on a council that had recently been expanded to seven members.
In an unnatural show of affection he hugged Bailey. “I feared we had lost you, are you well enough for an emergency meeting, or would you prefer some rest?”
“It is g
ood to see you as well, Chairperson. As much I would love to sleep for a week, we have many things that need discussing.”
“I will summon the Red Witch.”
“She is here?” Bailey felt apprehensive that Azile was present, as that seemed entirely too coincidental. “No need to summon.” Bailey was looking down the town’s main thoroughfare. It would have been difficult to miss the path Azile was cutting towards her, especially in the bright red cloak she draped herself in, whereas most of the people were clothed in earth neutral colors. Even if she were dressed in more muted colors the way people scurried out of her way would have made her progress unavoidably noticeable.
“Where is Michael?” Azile asked as she strode up.
“It is good to see you as well,” Bailey commented with a sneer.
“We are in the midst of a war, Bailey. I do not have time for niceties, it is imperative that I speak with Michael.”
Bailey kept her gaze with Azile, neither uncomfortable in the other’s scrutiny. “He is dead.”
Azile rocked on her heels as if the force of the words had nearly blown her over. Her face went ashen and she staggered, so much so, that Bailey had let go her steely gaze and reached out to steady the woman.
“This…this cannot be.”
“I assure you it can. It is my fault.” Now Bailey let her gaze waver from Azile’s.
Bailey gave a quick recounting of coming across the children and how she had pressured Michael into attempting to save them. She did not hesitate the retelling, even as she spoke about killing Nemmon, Breealla’s brother. “I waited for as long as I could for his return, but when it was clear to me that was not going to happen I felt it was my duty to get the girl to safety and to warn of what had happened.”