“I couldn’t do this to her. Make her like me. I-I had to kill her after I bit her. It was the only way to save her.”
Damn. Tough break. To be the cause of your own sister’s death…it must be horrible. Unfortunately, taking her life really was the best option in that scenario.
Bites are irreversible and being a werewolf is virtually like handing over a death certificate. I mean…no one that actually knows what a werewolf is wants to be one. It’s a fucked existence.
Live with other people with varying degrees of mental instability who feast on humans or be hungry all the time while forever adjusting to a body that’s no longer yours. Being a wolf isn’t as glamourous as it seems in the movies. It’s a losing battle. You either give in completely or spend every waking second wrestling with your new nature…what the infection left you with. There’re no winners. Either way you become a shell of yourself and being a wolf becomes all you know.
Like I said, a fucked existence. Phil realized this too, and he wanted better for his sister. It’s almost like looking in a mirror…staring at Philip. An inverse of what could have been my reality if things didn’t play out the way they did with my family and the vamps. It’s sad, but it’s life.
“So, after you killed her…Hailey, there was no one to keep you in check, right? You had a taste and you couldn’t stop. Human flesh. Nothing like it.”
“I…”
“Phil, I’m a little late to the party, and I don’t know what you know about the real world, but I’m a hunter. I hunt the supernatural, which you unfortunately fall into now. It wasn’t your fault at first. You didn’t choose this. Some asshat chose for you, but the fact of the matter is—you’re sick. Infected. You said it’s been months, right? You’re slipping away, and you know it. I’m sorry your first kill was your sister. It’s a tragedy, but that’s what being infected will do to you. It’ll make you do things you never thought you’d do.”
“But I’ve been trying—”
“You killed someone last night…and you killed others before that,” I cut in. “You’ve taken lives in the past and you’ll do it again. What’s your body count at, Phil? Do you even know? Do you even care? You haven’t even been a werewolf for a year yet. You don’t have it under control. The only reason you came here was to kill me. I mean, look at you; transformed and ready to go.” Phil says nothing, realizing my words are in fact, true. “You know what I have to do.”
A set of feet come racing behind me—another werewolf. I turn just in time to see that he bypassed my snare but tripped over one of my wires, buying me a crucial second to react to the situation at hand. He loses his footing and I shoot him in the face twice while he stumbles. His body crashes into the ground, simultaneously reverting back to his human form while he slides across the earth. Once his body stops, I shoot him again in the head, just to make sure.
I study the downed werewolf for any movement, but there’s nothing. He’s dead. I then shift my focus back to Phil, who’s only bound by a snare with a spike buried a few inches underground.
“So, you didn’t come alone,” I say with a snarl. “That’s fine… How many others are there?”
“No, I did. He must have been following me. That was Clyde, one of the older wolves. They found me after I lost Hailey. They wanted to take me in as their own,” he rasps. “Look out for me.”
“They wanted to make sure you kept things silent. You’re high-profile. They know how to not cause a scene. Do they kill people?” I ask. Philip remains quiet but his silence is more than enough for an answer. “Of course they do.” I scoff. “They probably pick off stragglers, people that they think won’t be missed—orphans, but you already knew that, so you don’t need me to tell you how ironic and fucked up it all is, do you?” Again, he answers me with silence, however this time, he tilts his head down low. “The truth is, Phil, you’re going to die. Probably within the next five minutes. You seem to regret doing what you did, but that doesn’t mean you won’t do it again, because, let’s be real; It felt good. Really good. So good, that you were hoping that I didn’t notice your buddy sneaking up on me.”
“I—”
“Don’t bullshit me. I’m going through one of the worst days of my life right now and I don’t have time for nonsense. If you can smell a bleeding cut from BFE, you can smell your kind with your wolf-nose. I get that you’re newer, but even then, he was less than a hundred feet away from me and you didn’t say a thing. You knew he was there.” Phil says nothing, but instead lets out a low, visceral snarl. “Exactly. You want to live, I get it. It’s only natural, but if you’re really as sorry as you say you are, tell me where I can find the others so I can put an end to this. I know you know where they’re at. You said they wanted to take you in. Do the right thing. If not for me or the others, do it for Hailey. You owe her that.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, I can do that.” Phil raises his head to meet me with his gaze. “They have a lodge out in Burnigo. Twenty minutes out by car. Deep forest. Desolate. The Alpha’s name is Jeb. There’s about eight of them. Well, seven now, not accounting wolves passing through.”
“This Jeb guy, he the one that turned you?”
“No. It was a straggler looking for a quick meal but pussed out. Jeb knows of the wolves in the area. It’s a small group.”
“Yeah, that’s what he told you, anyway. Packs have a system. An order. Ranks within the community. Maybe it was time for a new recruit.” Amidst Philip’s pain, his face shows a hint of anguish, like he honestly never considered that he’d been gaslighted by a pack of wolves; the same ones that ultimately led to the death of his sister by his hands.
After his wave of distress clears, he tells me the address of Jeb and his den of wolves and I commit it to memory.
“Do what you have to do.”
“Don’t worry I will…and thank you, Phil. I’m going to make things right. It’s time. I hope you find peace after this…that you find your sister on the other side. You ready?”
“Yeah… I’m ready.” He closes his eyes and begins to shiver, so much so that I can clearly hear my trap jingle in the cold, night air. It’s horrible that he has to reach his end like this, but it has to be done. It’s too much of a liability otherwise, even if he’s a product of shitty luck.
I pull the trigger and Phil’s head bobs back from the shell connecting with his skull.
Phil’s body loses its balance instantly and falls onto its side, his eyes now open and devoid of life. I watch as his remains shift back to their human form, the virus weakening without a live host to feed from. The turquoise hoodie and tan jeans he has on are overstretched and awkward on his downsized body. He must have started buying a size up to compensate for when he transformed.
It’s surreal looking at him. A twenty-something who got dealt a bad hand that ended up worse. He became so hungry that he ended up killing his sister, all because of a disease that someone else forced on him. It’s crazy how some people actually want to be turned…like the power, the longevity, the rush…the freedom is actually worth it. You have to be depraved before the infection takes hold, one way or another. Hell. Multiple ways. What kind of person voluntarily throws away their humanity? It’s sick.
But it’s the world we live in.
“Rest easy, buddy.”
I sigh and walk towards my tent and grab the tools needed to pry Philip’s foot from my trap. Once I open it, it’s clear just how deep the snare went into his skin. It virtually scraped against his bone. It looks horrible and it’ll only get worse as his body begins to decay.
I wrap the plaid, white shirt from Clyde around my waist and head back to my car, carrying the rest of my belongings on either my back or on my shoulder. His shirt reeks of the outdoors and sweat, but it’ll come in handy when dealing with Jeb and his crew. Wolves have a strong sense of smell. It’s better that I have the scent of an ally covering me as opposed to having strictly my own. They’ll be off guard. Relaxed. My odds are infinitely better if I get the jump o
n them. Squaring-up with multiple wolves doesn’t sound too appealing out in the wilderness without proper set up. They’re too fast. Too strong. Too aggressive. It’s about as smart as going bare knuckle against a pack of regular ones. If I can catch them with their guard down, I can whittle them down if I shoot first.
Damn it, and it’s a full moon.
I really thought it was going to be over with Phil, but it looks like the night’s just beginning.
Chapter 10: Against the Darkness
I gaze up at the moon, but only for a second. With two of their kind dead, letting my guard down isn’t the smartest move. Phil was unaccounted for, sure, but Clyde, not so much. If he was tasked to do recon duty, they’d be expecting him before the night’s end.
It’s only a matter of time before they suspect that something is wrong.
I stripped both Phil and Clyde of their belongings before I left so if they’re found, that’s one more thing working against them. An orphan and a werewolf-nomad; not the easiest to identify from a few photos. Especially if they’ve been living off the books and between the cracks of modern society as wolves.
I eventually make it back, the perimeter of the fence I cleared, in sight. I stay low and hop it once the nearest car speeds down the road and out of my field of view.
Using the darkness for cover, I slip in from the passenger’s side with my bags and scoot over to the driver’s seat. From there, I strip off my gear, plug the address in on my phone, and hit the road.
It doesn’t take me too long to reach my destination, but it makes no sense to go for a direct entry. It’s private property, of course, and the main strip is a decent chunk of land covered by trees on either side with a dirt road leading to the property a long ways off. Jeb apparently has one of those creepy driveways that takes, like five minutes by foot to walk. Which, I’m sure means nothing for a werewolf.
Before I got close to the estate, I took it upon myself to re-arm myself away from the public eye. I wasn’t expecting to hunt half a dozen wolves by myself, but I did stow away enough resources in my car to make the best out of a situation that wasn’t ideal. More specifically, more firepower for heavier encounters.
A shotgun to be exact. Twelve gauge.
The buckshots were a pain and a half to make, but it was worth it. The slugs weren’t nearly as bad and can easily punch a hole through a wolf if need be. The only problem with them is that the spread is lacking…non-existent. If I get the jump on them, I want to kill as many as possible, as quickly as possible. A slug can rip through steel and massacre flesh, but with multiple wolves potentially coming at me, I’d rather get more bang for my buck. I figure, with the spread of a buckshot, the silver pellets can do more damage in tight quarters. I want to make it inside the house; truly take the fight to them. My chances aren’t nearly as good with the wilderness on their side. They’re wolf-hybrids, so hunting comes naturally to them. They also know the area and would for sure outlast me. An indoors brawl is my best bet.
Being in close quarters cuts off most of their strengths and boosts the effectiveness of my weapons—almost exclusively firearms. I don’t want to tussle. It’s nothing for them to bite me. That’s always been my mantra when it comes to wolves. A successful hunt isn’t so successful when you’ve been handed a death sentence on a platter.
I park my car on the side of the road, just like when I went after Philip. I exit out from the driver’s seat once the coast is clear and loop around to the passenger’s side. From there, I grab my shotgun and sling the strap around my shoulder; a precaution to make sure I don’t lose it in the upcoming fray. It holds eight shells…hopefully that’ll be enough. I have a few more in the inside pocket of my jacket, but I’m not exactly packing heavy. Other than my Remington, I have two Berettas with two spare mags on standby in my right pocket. And of course, a knife or two in case the opportunity arises to use them. I’d rather keep my distance if I can help it, though.
I originally opted for tying Clyde’s shirt around my waist, but it didn’t take me more than a few seconds to realize that it wouldn’t fly because it was blocking my access to my pockets. I went through with it until it was time to re-up on gear; when I had some breathing room to adjust myself after what had just went down with Phil.
When I re-upped, I took the opportunity to put on Clyde, the fallen werewolf’s, shirt. Thankfully, blood wasn’t an issue. It still smelled like someone had just run a mile through garbage, but it was either that or take the chance that they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. I’m not really a fan of chance, so I went for the surefire choice, even if that meant smelling like a mix of hot-garbage, the outdoors, and dog. It’s a no-brainer with what’s at stake. The extra layer wouldn’t hurt, either. I wore it over my own shirt and beneath my jacket. Oddly enough, it kinda matched. Sailor would have been proud.
After I depart from my car, I duck off into the area, about half a mile away from the house. From there, it’s a slow, steady trek through the woods. I’d love to sprint it out, but I don’t know the area enough to make rash decisions. For all I know, there might be wolves stretching their legs out, taking advantage of the full moon in the night sky.
As I walk, I keep my body low and make sure to look for anything that’s out of place. Security cameras, traps, anything that’ll blow my cover.
About twenty minutes later, I manage to navigate close enough to see the house from a reasonable distance. It’s a two-story with a wooden finish and an elevated, open porch in the front. No one is actively patrolling the area, but the lights are still on in front of the house. I navigate towards the left side, keeping my distance from the center driveway. I keep an eye out for the lights in the windows, wary of any silhouettes that might emerge. It’s faint, but I hear music. A good sign. More noise makes it easier for me to get the job done, but if it’s a full moon social, there’s a chance that more wolves can be involved. Fine by me. It’s not like my chances were sky-high to begin with. Plus, the more I take out tonight, the better off everyone else will be in the long run.
I sneak my way through the forest until I end up at the back of the house. There’s a single person there smoking a cigarette outside on the veranda. White male. Burly. Early thirties. From what I can see, he looks grizzly enough that being a wolf wouldn’t surprise me, but I can’t be too sure. I crouch down closer to the earth, careful not to draw his attention. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but just taking a break from what’s going on inside. He’s too far off to pick-off with a knife. There’s no way I can get into throwing range and pull off a silent kill. I’d have to hit him dead in the neck or head, and it’s at night. If I shoot him with one of my handguns, there’s a good chance that the sound will alert the others. It’ll only take one person to look outside to see that their friend is dead, and that’ll jeopardize everything. They’ll know that they’re being targeted at that point. Whether it’s along the lines of home invasion or a hunter, they’ll still go on the offensive and show their fangs. On top of that, there’s another issue that hasn’t been addressed. I’m not even sure if what that kid Phil told me was the truth.
There’s a chance that this can just be a family get-together or some sort of house party. Phil didn’t tell me about Clyde when he tried to kill me. They could have been in cahoots. Phil could have joined them out of desperation. Me being here can simply just be another way to protect his new family from beyond the grave.
Shooting up a house full of innocents would have ramifications beyond the law.
I’d have to live with myself.
I wait for something, anything, to give me the slightest clue that they aren’t what they seem to be, but the guy out in the open doesn’t give any clues that hint he isn’t human.
I watch him as he puts out his cigarette and continues to stand out in the open, almost as if he’s thinking. And then, without warning he shifts his gaze my way, even with the elements on my side.
Despite his attention, I remain deathly
still in hopes that his shifting eyes are just a coincidence and nothing more. He takes a sip of his beer and I keep my eyes trained on him, ready to act if the situation escalates. The stare down continues until a foreign hand taps him on the shoulder, leans into him, and says something while gesturing back towards the house. He nods and takes a sip of his beer and his gaze reverts back my way before following the other guy back into the house.
I position myself slightly away from the veranda’s line of sight by moving back towards the left of the house using the shadow of the trees. Things are starting to look up until I see a yellow jeep coming down from the road onto the driveway.
I press as low to the earth as I can as the headlights shine my way, illuminating the surrounding area. I quickly shift the shotgun from my back, to my side, deflating my shadow, as I continue to lay flat.
The jeep comes to a halt right in front of the house. A man then comes around from the driver’s side to the back, opens the car door, and strongarms a full body bag over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. After it’s secure, he goes to get another one and does the same before closing his door with his foot.
He walks up the stairs casually and laughs at something that a person says who’s out of my field of view. That same person, I’m assuming, hops into his car and parks it properly near the others towards the right of the house. I stay low and bear crawl back to my previous spot, knowing what comes next.
A feast.
I’d gotten everything I needed to know that these people deserved to die. Now, all I need to do is what I came here to do.
End them and live to fight another day.
Chapter 11: Blaze Monroe and the Life We Shared
After sneaking towards the back, I run through the clearing and end up on the veranda, posted on the strip of wall closest to the back door. I try my best to calm myself; to fight through the adrenaline, keep a clear head, and ignore my thumping heart. It’s hard to hear what’s happening on the other side of the door. The music makes for a great buffer. Plenty of disturbance to drown out what’s going on inside and the surrounding area.
Blaze Monroe and the Broken Heart Page 6