“No,” Thomas replied, shaking his head. There’s not nearly enough water…and besides, I think we should let it burn. We don’t give that thing…Alastair anything to come home to. We let it burn and hopefully we can use the flames to protect ourselves.” He paused and stared at Delmar. “The werewolf is still out there and it’s going to be a long night. The flames will help.” He stood there for a moment, watching as the flames took hold of the hallway and bedroom.
“That’s really what it was, isn’t it?” Delmar asked. “It was Alastair all along…he really is a…werewolf.”
Thomas decided to ignore the question. There was no time for discussion. “Get all the weapons and ammunition. Get them outside…and watch for the damned thing…and Delmar?”
Delmar nodded.
“Load your rifle first, and for Christ’s sake, use the damned thing if you see that bastard.”
Delmar nodded. “I will. I’m sorry, Thomas. I don’t understand what happened to me…” he stopped when he saw that Thomas had already turned his back.
Thomas unhooked Jack’s leash from the harness and crammed it into his cargo pocket. He decided it would be better for the dog if he were to have the chance to run away. He petted him for a moment, then went to the living room.
The amount of blood was staggering. The 10-gauge had done serious damage, as most of the blood had an almost pure, black color. Jenny’s body lay twisted into an unnatural position where the werewolf, hit by the massive 10-guage rounds, had dropped her. “I’m sorry, Jen,” Thomas whispered, then reached down and grabbed Jenny’s and, trying not to look at her torn throat or into her pale, lifeless face, dragged her body to the door. Her blood mixed with the black blood of the beast, forming a wide, black trail, dotted with red as he pulled her body to the door.
Delmar gathered the rifles and stepped around Thomas, quickly taking them outside so that he could help Thomas. Together, they carried Jenny’s body through the door and outside, where they lay her gently down in the snow. Neither of the men wanted to look, but they couldn’t help it.
“That is what Jenny saw,” Thomas said, turning to look at Delmar. “She saw the werewolf do this very same thing to Daniel…and she laid there in that sleeping back watching, thinking she was next. No wonder she lost it.”
“Then…just when it seemed we’d make it out of here, the werew…it comes back—and this time she was next.”
Thomas tried to hide his anger, thinking that Jenny might not have been next if Delmar hadn’t stood like a statue, doing nothing. He shrugged off the anger and looked away. Jack stood beside Jenny’s body for a moment, then laid down next to her and lowered his head to the snow.
Thomas didn’t have tears for Jenny. Adrenaline and an instinct to carry on and survive had overtaken both he and Delmar—they were numb, thinking only of what to do next so that they had a chance to survive.
Delmar said, “I’ll get our packs.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll help, but I want those documents.”
Thomas found them on the couch, splattered with Jenny’s blood. He jammed them down into his pack, and then he and Delmar repacked their loose contents and took the backpacks outside. Thomas hadn’t noticed at first, and now saw that the snow and wind had stopped. He looked up, hoping to see stars, but the clouds still blocked them out. The storm wasn’t over. He ran back inside and grabbed the blankets from inside the living room…the two that were free of blood. He placed one over Jenny’s body, and carried the other out to where they had set the backpacks down.
A few minutes later the two men, along with Jack, who had come to be near them, sat and watched the cabin as the flames began to spread. Thomas sat on his backpack, facing the forest, his right side toward the flames. Delmar sat so that his back was against Thomas’s, each using the other as a brace to keep one another propped up and at rest. They had sat this way so many times before, most often somewhere in the jungles of Central America…but neither took comfort in the other’s warmth or the closeness. Thomas was still stunned and also concerned for his friend, and unsure he could trust him if the beast came back. Delmar felt the same nagging insecurity and worse, could not understand what had happened to him during the attack.
He was terrified, not knowing why he hadn’t been able to help—or even control himself. Could it have been something worse than a trauma-induced paralysis, something more devious than an overwhelming fear of the beast? If Alastair really was a werewolf, an impossible creature of myth and folklore, (and Delmar was indeed sure of it), then what of his own wounds from the previous night? Delmar had been bitten. The punctures from the wound were now healed and only small scars remained as evidence that he had been bitten. His badly bruised ribs felt as good as new, and something else—his abdominal pain, a tugging, light pain just below the surface, was gone. He felt a pull at his heart, wondering how much of the folklore about the bite of a werewolf were true. Everyone knew that a bite from a werewolf would spread the curse to the victim, and he too, would eventually transform into the beast. Could it be possible that he would become the same murderous monster as Alastair?
“He’s going to come back,” Thomas said. “It’s a matter of time.”
“The fire might keep him away.”
“Maybe,” Thomas answered. He held the 10-gauge in his lap. On the ground to his right lay the Nagant and Winchester rifles. To his left lay his own rifle with its starlight scope. He felt some comfort in having all the weapons near, but from what he had seen, if the creature wasn’t dead already then the myth that ordinary weapons would not kill the beast, was probably true as well. Still, Thomas had to hope. Accepting the premise that they could not kill the beast would only makes things worse.
Delmar was similarly armed, with his own rifle as well as two from Alastair’s cabinet—and he still had the 9mm pistol. “Why didn’t she run?” he asked as he inspected one of the weapons. He posed the question to himself as much as he did Thomas.
Thomas shrugged after a moment. “I guess she chose to fight rather than run out in the forest to be hunted down like an animal.”
“Like we will be.”
Thomas shook his head in anger. “You know, it’s usually you who helps me keep my head right. I need that friend…not this pessimistic ass who just opened his cakehole and spit out some pathetic drivel. Believe me; I can do without that person.”
Delmar cringed at his friend’s outburst, but then chuckled at his tenacity. He loved Thomas. He considered his friend to be very much like a cat, often quiet, definitely low maintenance, quick and cunning—and amazingly bold when angered. Delmar sighed, wishing Daniel were there to mediate on his behalf. “You saw me back there, Hero. I was useless.”
Thomas grimaced. “Well, if you plan on being useless again, then why don’t you do us both a favor and leave me the rifles, and just walk out into the forest. Maybe the bastard will be satisfied with you and he’ll leave me be.”
“Alright, alright,” Delmar said, elbowing Thomas lightly. “I hear you. I’ll do my best to drop the bad attitude.” He put a hand up to his face, shielding it from the heat of the flames. “I think we are going to have to move, soon.”
They moved back another ten meters and stood, staring out into the darkness as the cabin burned. Jack stayed at Thomas’s side, laying down only when Thomas sat.
“What I don’t know for sure is why Alastair—the werewolf ran. He was wounded, yeah, but after being hit by this elephant gun, then by the pistol shots…and the rounds from your rifle—he was still moving as if it were all just a nuisance. So, why did he run?”
“Maybe he finally saw the fire coming in from the bedroom,” Delmar supposed.
“Maybe…”
Delmar shook his head and sighed. “I don’t understand what happened to me back there, Thomas. It was like I couldn’t move—and it was like I was outside of me looking down—like I was outside of my body. What was worse, though, was that I felt like the damned thing was controlling me.”
“C
all it what it is, Delmar—he’s a werewolf. Alastair is a werewolf.”
“I don’t want believe it.”
“But you do believe it,” Thomas said flatly. “You saw it—and you know.” He cursed as he pushed inward on his left side where the door had landed on him. “Nothing will ever be the same again, especially the night. Darkness will never be the same.”
Delmar nodded. “Things that go bump in the night...”
“Yeah…things that go bump in the night,” Thomas repeated. How could all of this be real? How could creatures that were half-man, half-animal live in this world without being revealed? How could they not end up on an autopsy slab somewhere, or their images not be broadcast on television after being filmed or photographed by any of the more than one hundred million people with camcorders and cameras and high-speed telephones? Where were the streaming films of werewolves rampaging through the city streets? If one bite could infect someone, then why was there not a whole population of the damned things?
“That creature that stalked me when I was a kid…what my grandfather saw that night. This makes me wonder if it was one of these—a werewolf, I mean.”
Delmar shrugged. “At this point I’m prepared to believe they could be anywhere, anytime.”
Thomas removed his balaclava. He was beginning to sweat as the flames increased. “Me, too.”
“I think I may have figured it out—about…me, what happened to me back there. Well, it was a lot like I was hypnotized.”
Thomas scoffed. “Hypnotized?”
“I think it was because of him…because of Alastair.”
That thought chilled Thomas and he wished his friend had not confided that particular piece of information. But he tried to stay calm for Delmar. He hadn’t lost him yet. “Alastair is a monster from our nightmares…from myth…who knows what he can do. Who knows if any of the crap we learned as kids in front of the TV is real or not.”
Delmar looked over his shoulder at Thomas. “I looked right into his face and I wasn’t scared.”
“That is probably what did it,” Thomas lied. “Looking into its face. Maybe it can do that to you if you look into its eyes…like Dracula or something. Hell, I wonder if this means that vampires are real, too. What about ghosts, goblins…trolls?” He was doing his best to suppress what he really believed might be at the core of what happened to his friend. Delmar had been bitten.
They were quiet for a few minutes…standing vigilantly a few feet from each other, watching in opposite directions for any signs of the werewolf. The cabin’s roof collapsed and gigantic flames burst high into the night sky. Embers and ash began to settle around them.
“We can’t kill him when he is in wolf form.” Thomas said, breaking the silence. “We have to find him when he turns back…to himself.”
“I agree,” Delmar said. “If we aren’t rescued first.” He stomped on an ember that still glowed on top of the snow at his feet. “What if we are? Who is going to believe us? They’ll think we are out of our damned minds.”
Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know. A part of me wants to get the hell out of here and never look back, no matter what anyone thinks. But another part of me…the part of me that wants revenge and feels that we ought to keep this from happening to anyone else...that part of me wants to hunt down and kill the bastard.”
“So, either way, we last until daylight. We can decide our options then.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what to do if they come to rescue us,” Thomas said again. “But if the storm is still on us…if they can’t come and we are still alive, we will have to hunt Alastair down.”
They stood quiet for a few more minutes, and then sat back down on their packs, back to back once more.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alan awoke and was relieved to feel more like himself. He felt that the drugs must have worn off, and he relished the new feeling of clarity. He tried to focus his eyes but the room was dim. Why was the room so dark? It was then that he saw he had been moved to a room—a room with a view. Alan could not prevent the scream from coming forth. At first he could not breathe, fear completely overtaking him, and then the scream came. Night had come, and with it came the overwhelming surety that he would change into a monster. He thrashed, trying to break free of the leather straps on his hands and feet, but his efforts only alerted the floor staff, of whom, two nurses and a doctor entered his room. The doctor, whose nose must have been broken somehow, Alan saw, held a large syringe in his right hand. Alan wondered how the man had been injured, and for a brief moment felt sorry for him. However, when Doctor Broken Nose held up the syringe, Alan could have sworn he saw a smile pop quickly from the man’s lips and then disappear once more. So, he screamed again.
As the doctor leaned over, Alan managed to stop his screaming. He began to speak, flinging his head from side to side, swearing in between gasps that he did not need the shot and that he promised to stay quiet. “I was just scared—disoriented. Please…I’m okay now. I won’t cause a fuss or yell anymore…I swear it.”
Doctor Broken Nose looked disappointed, but pulled back. “You are alright, Mister Tucker. You don’t have any reason to be scared, here. I know that you are dealing with a lot…that you have seen a lot…but you are safe, son.”
“I understand,” Alan said. What he wanted to say was that very soon he would likely kill them all, at which time Doctor Broken Nose would realize that no one was safe anymore. No one was safe from a werewolf. “Thanks, doc. I’m okay, now. I just couldn’t figure out where I was, and my restraints…”
“Are necessary only until you’ve shown us otherwise,” the doctor interrupted. “I don’t like using those on anyone who is lucid, and I don’t want to have to keep them on you. Do you understand?”
Alan nodded.
The doctor straightened up. “I’m inclined to remove them now. However, Mister Tucker, if you even appear to be a threat to my staff, or behave this way again, I’ll ensure that you don’t wake up until tomorrow, and when you do, you will find the restraints back on.” He turned to one of the nurses. “He has amitriptyline in his chart. Please start him on them, now.”
“What is amitrip…amitriptol..”
“Amitriptyline is a very mild antidepressant, but that is not why you are receiving it. It will help you to sleep but has very mild side effects. Much better than giving you more narcotics while you are in our care. Is that a problem?”
Alan shook his head. “I have a fiancé,” he said, changing the subject.
The doctor nodded. “She is here and has looked in on you once, but you will have to wait until morning to see her again. It’s past midnight and she has gone to a hotel. I am sure she will be back first thing tomorrow.” Alan noticed a touch of sympathy on the doctor’s face. “I’m sorry that you were not awake to see her, earlier. It was for the best, though. Your fiancé was relieved and happy to see that you are safe and she said that your mother and brother will be coming up tomorrow.” He motioned to the dark-haired nurse, who began to unbuckle the arm restraints.
Alan rubbed his wrists. “Thanks a lot, doc.”
“Now…you need to understand something else. You are here at the order of the police. There is an officer at the nurse’s station—well, he is sleeping in the chapel at the moment. I’m doing us both a favor by refusing to allow him in the room or at your door. It’s not necessary. You are not under arrest and are far removed from those mountains. They want you here for observation and evaluation.” He paused only long enough to take in a breath. “As far as we can tell, physically you are in perfect health. There is not a scratch on you, and your vital signs are perfect—given that you have been sedated.” He folded his arms. “Well, I guess I will put this…” he motioned toward the large syringe, “…away with the hopes that we won’t need it.”
Alan tried to smile. “You won’t”
“Good. Then I will leave you in the care of the nursing staff.” He winked, which Alan thought rather odd, and then left the room just as one
of the nurses retuned with a small cup of liquid and a pill.
Shirley, the blonde nurse, (the nicer looking of the two, Alan thought), reiterated that his parents had been notified that he was here…but only by voice message, as no one answered their calls, and that Kathy would be back in the morning. Alan took the pill from her and popped it in his mouth, then washed it down with the water. As he handed her the empty cup, he stiffened. He noticed a silver pin on Shirley’s ID badge. It was a wolf. Alan quietly asked her about the pin, hoping that she would not hear the fear in his voice. She replied that it was a German shepherd pin that her son had given her for Mother’s day, which, coincidentally, she had said…was also the dog’s birthday. Alan breathed a sigh of relief and then felt the fool for having believed something sinister was going on—some werewolf conspiracy that involved pretty nurses in the middle of a city.
The last thing Alan asked of the nurses was to close the blinds so that he could not see the night sky. They obliged, and Alan closed his eyes, hoping to fall into a dreamless sleep. I never want to dream again, he thought. He said a quick prayer, asking that he not be changed into a werewolf and that he be forgiven for his sins…and any future sins that he might incur if the first part of his prayer was denied.
His efforts to sleep failed, and the pill only served to make him antsy and more uneasy than he had been earlier. He stayed awake through the night, nervous and fearful of every moment. He caused no more trouble, having accepted that if he were going to change into a monster, there was nothing they could do for him or for themselves…short of killing him. Alan thought about that. He didn’t trust himself to be rational about suicide, not with the amitriptyline still working inside him, but he made a decision anyway. He decided that he could not end his own life—and that he would have to find another way of dealing with the situation if he really did have the curse of the werewolf.
* * * * *
“I think we should drag some of those timbers over here,” Thomas said. We could build a circle around us. A circle of flames. I don’t know if it will keep him away…but he hasn’t come back so far…”
Beneath a Winter Moon Page 34
