by Mark Tufo
I was able to hold up my middle finger. I hoped the Watchers, unlike the majority of the people in this time, understood the gesture.
Tommy snorted. “That’s not going to be enough.”
“Yeah, but it felt good.”
“You have to drag yourself out of this clearing, Mr. T.”
“Tommy, first off, let’s get this out of the way. I want to tell you to fuck off. Then I want to tell you I’m in too much pain, and then I’ll probably tell you I need to rest for a bit. But I can tell by the way you’re shaking your head that you don’t want to listen to any of it. Dammit.” I placed my hands down by my side and started pushing against the ground. At first, I could not get past the inertia of my own weight, then I moved. A snail would have laughed at my speed, but it was something. “How far?” I asked, but he was gone. “Well, if I knew the ‘fuck off’ part was going to work so well I would have done it earlier.”
I pushed, each rock I traversed over that was bigger than a pea causing my leg a pain I could not even quantify. There was a time back in my day when you would go to the doctor and they would ask, “On a scale of one to ten, one being a mosquito bite and ten being the worst pain imaginable, how would you rate your discomfort?” Now there were times I’d gone to the ER after some serious accidents, usually of my own doing. (I should have sued HGTV when I had the chance for all those fucking ideas they gave my wife about home renovations. “Oh, honey, this will be so easy!” she would say excitedly as she pointed to a wall that needed to come down. “Easy my ass,” would be my mutterings. “If it’s so easy why don’t you do it?” Nope, never had the balls to say that last part out loud!) Well, even on my worst residential injury that had even required Dilaudid (that’s one drug I would never recommend, made me feel like I’d done bong hits in a washing machine during the spin cycle), the worst number I can ever recall giving was a six. It was probably a seven, but I shaved a number off for pure macho manliness. I needed the extra points on my man-card.
“Where the hell was I?” I asked as I gritted my teeth so hard together I was in a very real danger of shattering them. “Pain. That’s right.” To give what I was feeling an arbitrary number seemed pointless and completely unjustifiable. The doctor’s exact words were, “worst pain imaginable” and this was beyond anything I could have ever expected. The synapses in my brain were angry hues of red; thinking was beyond my comprehension. I wondered if it were possible to melt a brain internally. My arms collapsed. My chest was heaving, I was crying out, and I hadn’t gone more than ten feet. The only thing I was doing was hastening my departure from this plane, not this location.
I’d passed out at some point, I think. Dusk was rapidly approaching, and I’d somehow moved another twenty, thirty feet. I saw drag marks, but that meant nothing as I was dragging myself. I needed to go at least another fifty yards to be out of sight. This seemed impossible, especially since the terrain would become exponentially harder than what I was dealing with right now. It was uneven and overgrown with vegetation. Really, what was the point? I plodded on. If nothing else, I was stubborn; once set on a course, I would usually finish it regardless of the outcome whether known or not. This was not the greatest strategy to have when dealing with life, as inflexibility more times than not got one killed. That’s why I would keep my head down and plow on so I wouldn’t see what was coming.
The night had come on in all its glory. I don’t remember it happening, the haze of hurt made thinking, whether rational or not, impossible. I had been reduced to the repetitive motion of plant hands, scoot ass, repeat. Oh yeah, throw in crying out a few times and that would sum up my day.
The howl cut through the fog like a laser beam. I heard it, and I also understood what it meant. Lycan were coming, and probably fast now that they’d caught wind of something. I was only ten feet into the short brush, so I would be hard to miss when they came. If I knew of a way to off myself, I’m not ashamed to admit I might have taken it. They would not be kind in their dealings with me and, knocking on death’s door or not, they could still get a lot of mileage out of me before I made my walk.
“You’re in rough shape,” a grizzled voice from behind me said.
“Any chance you can make this fast?” I asked, looking for a modicum of mercy.
“Gonna have to, not much other choice. Sorry about this.”
My vision was obscured as a piece of cloth shielded my face. It was then rolled up and pulled tightly into my mouth. Gone with a gag, sure, why not? I blacked out or died.
Chapter Ten – Bailey
“Where are we going, Bailey?” Breealla asked, not for the first time, as they walked on.
Bailey had answered the question at least a half dozen times, but the girl’s grief was so thick, she was having a hard time comprehending and processing what was being told to her.
“First my home, Talboton, to get supplies and some help. Then, I think, to Denarth.” Bailey was patient, more so than she felt inside. She needed to find Azile to let her know what happened as soon as possible, but she could not move with the speed the situation necessitated because of Breealla.
“Can’t I just stay at Talboton?”
“I have told you that Denarth will be safer, at least for the next couple of moon cycles.”
“Moon cycles,” Breealla repeated with reverence.
Oggie had not been himself since they left. He constantly looked back the way they had come. At first, he had stayed nearly attached to Bailey’s hip, but the further away they went from where they had left Michael, the more he tended to roam. One night, he had not returned until the following morning, covered in burrs and insect bites.
“I’m sorry, Oggie, but he’s gone,” Bailey had told him. Oggie had whined a high-pitched nasal response. The next night, he had not returned at all. That was two nights previous. Bailey had stayed at their camp hours longer than she had meant to, hoping he would come back.
“I have failed nearly all those around me.” Bailey looked back at the trail.
Chapter Eleven – Mike Journal Entry 7
The pain was...bearable. I was finally good enough that I did not feel like someone was dragging electrical leads across my exposed brain. It was when I sat up that I realized I had a metal collar around my neck which had a thick chain attached to it and fastened to a wall. I could see this clearly enough due to the plethora of torches stationed throughout the room.
“What the fuck?” I was pulling on the metal links.
“Just hold on.”
“What is this shit?” I was yanking harder.
“Stop!” the person shouted. I didn’t do so until I saw the glint of steel.
“Okay, we’ll do this your way for a minute. What is going on?” I appeared calm on the outside, but inside I was thrumming like a live wire.
“My name is Mathieu. I have brought you to my home.”
I took a moment to look around. It was easy enough to see we were in some sort of large cement structure, other than that I couldn’t make out much detail. Mathieu had a small fire going, and I could not see much past it. The only true indication I had of size was the echoing of our speech as we talked. The cement part was easy enough to deduce considering the fact that my chain was anchored to that material.
“For what purpose?” I was looking at his crude bladed weapon. Simple, sure, but deadly, too.
“I was hunting when I saw the birds circling your location. I was not having any luck, so I decided to see what they had found. It has been a long time since I have witnessed a scene as gruesome as that. I was going to bury the dead when I heard the Lycan cry off in the distance. My first instinct was to run as far away as I could.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I saw you moving. Three Lycan dead and you still alive? I needed to hear that story.”
“You risked your life for a story?”
“I’m alone out here. A good story is all I have.”
“Why am I captive?”
“That’s for m
y protection, not yours.”
“What? You save me and then chain me up?”
“I put the gag in your mouth because I knew you were going to cry out when I moved you. What I wasn’t expecting was your teeth to mysteriously elongate. I saw that woman’s body—she was bloodless with no serious wound on her body.”
“You saw that and still decided to help me? How desperate for a story are you? And just as a point of contention, that was self-defense.”
“Draining her of blood was done to protect yourself?”
“Well, not that part per se. She attacked me after I killed the third Lycan. When I stopped her attack, I did what I had to do.”
“I stayed there longer than I should have. I didn’t know if I should risk everything to save you. For all I know, the Lycan could have been trying to rid the world of a scourge.”
“Oh, they tried.”
“You willingly admit to not be worthy of saving?”
I paused for a moment, careful to think out my next words. I didn’t know Mathieu; if I said something wrong, who knows, maybe he just swings his machete around and cuts my throat wide open. So I told him the truth.
“No, I am not. I have lived far too long. I have seen too much death, and I have been the cause of a fair amount of it. If there has ever been one worthy and ready to die it is I. I’ve done so much in this life, and I feel that I have accomplished so little. For every small gain I have made, I have lost two-fold. I want to die, Mathieu, but I’m afraid that this life just hasn’t finished with me yet.”
“I am not sure about your verbal defense strategy, Michael.”
“How do you know my name?” I asked suspiciously.
Mathieu actually smiled. It was the first time I’d seen that expression from him. “I’ve thought about putting the gag back on these last few hours. Every once in a while you would shout out, ‘I am Michael Talbot, motherfucker!’ ”
I felt heat rise to my face. “Sorry about that.”
“It is understandable after all you have been through. Can you tell me why I should not kill you, a creature I, until just recently, believed to be myth?”
“First and foremost, Mathieu, because you would fail.” I laughed, as he was taken aback at my brazenness. “I do not say this as a threat or to boast. I am not lying when I tell you that I am ready and willing to die. I also would not be lying if I told you that I have a survival instinct that is greater than my previous statement. I could simultaneously bend my neck back so you could get a better angle with your blade while with my hands reach out, twist the knife free, break your arm and then drive your own steel into your stomach. I do not even think I would be conscious of the fact that I had taken your life.”
Mathieu gulped hard.
“Now for the good news. I suppose. I was dragged into a war with the Lycan.”
“We are at war?”
“Don’t get out much I take it? They are becoming united under one leader who is hell-bent on world domination. He has destroyed a place called Harbor’s Town and almost destroyed Wheatonville…where I lost one of my last friends and kin.”
“Was that the Tommy you shouted out about?”
I nodded solemnly.
“I have heard of those settlements. The Lycan attacked there? That is very unlike them.”
“How much do you know about them?”
“Not as much as I would like, as it is hazardous to be around them. They are, or were, very similar to their wolf relations. They have small packs with a highly regulated hierarchy. They hunt as a team but generally only the weak and sick are their targets unless they are starving. Like any of us, they tend to avoid conflicts that could be injurious.”
“Oh, I can assure you that is not my standard operating procedure.” I pointed to my leg. “As for the Lycan, they are still pretty much chicken-shit. They are having werewolves do their bidding.”
“That’s a lie!” Mathieu shouted. He stood and stepped away from the fire.
“Why would I lie about that? Do I really need to make bigger monsters out of them? They change all the humans they can and then, once a month, let them loose so they can destroy everything in their path. If there is anything left at the end of the night, the Lycan come in to claim victory and finish everyone off. If there is still a viable defense, they run away like the little bitches that they are.” Mathieu was staring at me with what looked like some form of astonishment; aghast is maybe a better descriptor. Seemed like he should have been on a Broadway show the way he was over-emoting. “What, man? So maybe ‘bitches’ wasn’t the correct term.”
“Werewolves do NOT do the bidding of Lycan!” His face had gone an angry red. I was happy he wasn’t closer, or he would have coated me in a fair amount of spittle as he more spewed his words out than spoke them.
I was going to question his reaction when I really stopped to take in my immediate surroundings. How in the hell I’d missed it previously I would blame on my condition. I only had a heavy metal band around my neck; which, I think if I greased my head up, I could have slid through. Also attached to the wall were four more heavy chains, two down by the floor and two more about waist high. There were deep grooves scraped into the concrete all over the wall. I turned slowly back around. Mathieu’s chest was heaving, anger having slipped away to sadness.
“You’re a werewolf.” I was going to phrase it as a question, but I was as sure about that as I could be without actually seeing him turn.
“I am.”
“Yet you want to kill me for what I am? Why don’t you turn that blade on yourself if you’re that quick to judge? At least, for good or bad, I’m in control of my actions.” I don’t think I could have hit him any harder if I physically punched him.
He sat down almost as violently as he’d stood. “I killed my entire family.”
What does one say to that? I’m sorry? That’s like giving antacids for a brain tumor. I didn’t say anything to him, but I couldn’t help thinking it. Just once, I’d like to meet someone who was normal. No superhuman powers, no monster blood running through them, not out to kill me or manipulate me into doing something, just a run-of-the-mill, doing-what-I-can-to-make-it-a-better-place-for-my-family type of person. Where were they? I did the best thing I could at that moment. I kept my mouth shut. Not the easiest thing for me, not by a long shot.
“I lived on the outskirts of a small community. We were farmers. I’d planted a few acres and was about to go home for the night when I saw a deer. It had been over a month since we’d had any fresh venison. I grabbed my bow and followed. More than once I knew I should have turned back. It was getting darker, and the deer was leading me further into the woods, but I was hungry, and my wife and kids were hungry, too. Seems that was all we ever were. No matter how much I tended the fields, by the time the bugs and animals were done with taking their share, there was barely enough for us to scrape by. I wanted that deer, I needed that deer.”
I nodded, knowing all too well the difficulty it took to keep one’s family fed and the guilt that arose if that wasn’t done.
“The damn thing had finally stopped to get a drink out of a stream. I nocked my arrow, slowly stood, and pulled back. I had him, couldn’t have been more than thirty feet away. Pretty easy shot. I let the arrow go when something cut in front of it. It had been going for the deer and hadn’t even seen me. The thing yelped when the arrow struck it in the back.”
“Lycan?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
He nodded. “I’d heard about them, but never really thought much about them. I considered them more legend, much like you. I was wrong. I just stood there; I didn’t know what else to do. It was huge, as big as a moose maybe. I froze.”
“Like a deer in headlamps,” I sympathized.
“Headlamps?”
He had no idea what I was talking about. “Umm…bright light confuses deer. They stop and stare much like you did.”
I could see him wanting to question how one could make a light that bright, but he m
oved on instead. “When he turned, I could feel the blood in my body freeze. I don’t think I could have moved if I wanted to.”
“How are you even alive? People that close to Lycan don’t have a high survival rate.”
“My arrow had severed its spine. He had turned, took one step towards me, and swiped out with his paw as he fell to the ground. If I had moved just one inch.” He punctuated this measurement with his thumb and forefinger. “One damned inch was all I would have had to do. When that claw dragged across my chest I thought I was on fire. That was enough to thaw my blood. I moved then, I ran all the way home even though it was too late for me…and as soon as I opened that door…it was too late for my family as well.”
“You broke the Lycan’s back and he didn’t die?”
“He did, sometime that night as a matter-of-fact, because I went back the next day to see his body.”
“But if he died that night, you should never have…oh shit, it was a full moon.”
“Comedy of errors. At least that’s the saying, I guess, but I haven’t laughed about it once. Any other day of the month, I come out the winner and have a hell of a story to tell my grandkids and the proof to back it up. This is the wound that changed my entire life.”
He lifted his shirt. He had a small, puckered scar that couldn’t have been more than a half-inch across. Didn’t even look like something that would have needed a Band-Aid had one been available.
“The tip of his middle finger broke through my shirt and barely scraped into my skin. When I got home, my wife told me how concerned for me she was. That was the last thing she said to me that I remember. Then I fell to the ground, cramps tore through my entire body. I thought this was much like what being burned alive would feel like. I tore my wife and children up that night. The images are hazy, as if remembered through a dream. I remember their cries and pleadings for me to stop and little else. I ate them. When I awoke on the floor the next morning, I was nude and covered in the blood of my family. Bones and human remains were scattered all over the floor. I went back and checked on the Lycan. He was dead, and that was when I found out I’d broken his back. Want to know what else I found out?”
