The Wrath of Wolves

by Kelley York

  Eventually, Crane’s legs give out completely. I have little choice but to help him ease to the ground and prop his back against a tree. The shadows beneath his eyes are heavy, and blood from his coughing stains his lips.

  He drops his head back against the tree, eyes closed. “Leave me. I won’t be able to keep up.”

  “Benji and Sid would never forgive me if I did.” I crouch before him, desperately trying not to let my fear get the best of me. “What in the hell just happened?”

  “I couldn’t hold him,” he mumbles. “I already took Philip and Louisa… Too much.”

  That answers that about what happened to Louisa. “Then…what? His spirit is just a vengeful creature running rampant out there? Will it hurt anyone? Will it possess someone else?”

  He sighs, tiredly swiping at his mouth, licking at his lips. “It can. I’m not strong enough to stop him right now.”

  “Then let’s get you to town, get you rested. Then we’ll come back…”

  “He’ll find us before that happens. Go on. Get back to the others.”

  “I said I’m not leaving you. There’s got to be a way to figure this out.”

  “You can’t fix everything,” Nathaniel Crane says.

  I go still. You can’t fix everything, Preston. Benji had said those exact same words to me. They had stung at the time, left me feeling helpless and frustrated. Now, it only fuels my anger.

  I grab the front of his shirt. “Look, you prick. We’re in this mess because of you! You’re not going to just give up on me because you’re tired. Get off your arse, Nathaniel Crane, and help me deal with the mess you’ve made.”

  Crane opens his eyes. He chuckles, which was not the response I had anticipated. “You sound like Sid.”

  “Good. She seems to be one of the only people you listen to.” I offer a hand. “Are you getting up or not?”

  He sighs. But, finally, thankfully, he reaches with his good arm and takes my hand, letting me help him to his feet. “I make no promises except to do what I can.”

  I force a tight, humourless grin. “That’s all any of us can do.”

  CHAPTER 26 – PRESTON

  I stare out over the trail and Hugo’s corpse lying in the centre of it. There’s no sign of the creature, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s too dark. He could be in any shadow nearby, waiting for us.

  “What’s the plan?” Crane murmurs beside me. I notice his eyes darting to Rogue’s body, flashing in pain and discomfort. I imagine seeing her just lying there like that is almost as upsetting as her death itself. Even when this is over, I haven’t a clue how we’ll deal with her.

  I lick the salt and rain from my lips. “We aren’t in any shape to out manoeuvre or fight him physically. So…we’ve got to outsmart him.” I nod toward his body. “I’ve encountered a creature like him before. We destroyed him by destroying his remains. If we burn Hugo’s body, the creature ought to be dealt with.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “You want to start a fire in the middle of a forest? Are you daft?”

  I glance skyward. It’s damp out and it smells like it ought to rain any second now. “Clear a space around him, best as you can. Unless you’ve got a better idea, this is all we have.”

  Crane opens his mouth, closes it again, sighs. “There should be some flint in Rogue’s saddlebags. What are you going to do?”

  I straighten up from my crouch, rolling my stiff shoulders back. I hardly feel limber or rested enough to have a go at this, but it is what it is.

  “I’m going to distract him,” I announce. “I’ll lure him away and keep him there as long as I can. Work fast.”

  Crane doesn’t attempt to stop me as I make my way out into the middle of the road. I have this plotted out in my head…more or less. I know how to get back to the beach from here. If I lead Hugo there, I’ll have him out in the open, away from Nathaniel and his own corpse. There will be no place for him to hide, no shadows for him in which to lurk.

  I flex my numb hands and lift them around my mouth. “Only cowards hide in the dark, Hugo! Come on out!”

  At first, nothing.

  Then the trees rustle on either side of the road. A few paces ahead, the creature that was Hugo steps out into the moonlight.

  It has fully taken shape. Even more massive than it was in life, Hugo towers over me a good foot now, beady red eyes scorching and its limbs too long for its body. There is something inherently animalistic about its facial features, cloaked in dark shadow and misshapen, yet something about the cut of its jaw and the ridge of its brows still looks very much like the man lying behind me.

  I’ve got the crucifix clutched in my hand. How much good will it do me against Hugo now?

  Suppose we’re going to find out.

  “Come on then! Let’s dance!” I grin at the way my words seem to enrage it, whether it understands me or not. More beast than man, it drops to all fours, still almost as tall as me, and it charges.

  I whip around, taking off down the road. Tired though I may be, I’ve had just enough time to gather myself, to get that rush of energy needed to continue for a bit longer.

  Hugo tears after me around the bend, further and further up the trail. I could swear I feel its breath against the back of my neck, feel it swiping at me, claws grazing the back of my shirt.

  Don’t look back. Do not look back. Just run. Focus and run.

  It’s getting too close. Rather than head for the turn-off, I dart into the trees. Here, Hugo’s size makes it harder for it to navigate, as it has to weave through the same towering red trees and branches that I do. I cut across to the beachhead trail and crash out onto it a fair bit ahead of Hugo.

  Dirt changes to rocks, then sand. I hadn’t thought to consider that sand is significantly harder to run across than dirt. I pick my feet up higher, straining every tired, worn muscle to go, go, go. If I can reach the wet sand and rocks near the water’s edge, it will be easier to maintain my footing.

  Only there do I skid to a halt and turn. Hugo is just now loping out onto the beach, moving effortlessly across the sand. When it spots me, it throws its head back and bays like a bloody hound that’s caught a scent.

  God, please tell me Nathaniel is doing his part.

  I don’t wait for the beast to get too close before I begin to pray, preparing to thrust the crucifix at it the second it nears. Hugo tosses his head, infuriated by the words, perhaps even slowed by them, but they are not stopping it completely. It approaches until I’ve got the ocean at my back, the ice-cold waves rushing in to lap at my shoes. But then it only circles me, doesn’t attack, and I think the prayers must be doing some level of good. It paces around me like a caged lion, all teeth and claws and dead, dead eyes and rotting skin.

  It’s distracted. Good. That was all I needed. I can keep it here as long as I must.

  Except my voice is cracking from exhaustion and overuse and the cold.

  The creature lunges, not grabbing for me, but close enough that I think it might, and I stagger back until the rocks beneath my feet give out and I’m slipping. Falling.

  The prayer is disrupted. Before I can continue, the waves rush in, washing over my face. Saltwater fills my mouth and lungs as I inhale out of reflex. The creature is on me, claws digging into my chest and shoulders, pinning me to the ground.

  The waves recede and I cough up water, try to get out the next verse of the prayer before the next tide can come in. Above me, Hugo’s mouth twists up, pleased. A sickly-sweet aroma fills my senses, rot and dirt and blood. It leans down, voice barely intelligible beyond the rumbling growl in its chest.

  “Little sheep, eaten by the wolves.”

  I cough again, scarcely able to get a proper breath in with the weight atop me. “Fuck off.”

  The water rushes in once more, threatening to swallow me whole.

  If I drown, I wonder if the tide will carry me out to sea.

  The crucifix is still in my hand. I reach up, blindly searching, shoving the metal against one of the mas
sive hands pinning me down. There’s a snarl, far away, beyond the sound of rushing water in my ears, and that hand jerks back as though burned.

  It’s just enough. I thrust the crucifix up into its face. The water recedes. I see the cross burning into the side of Hugo’s face, white-hot, smoking. He tears his head away, bellowing, and it’s just enough for me to shove that second hand off me and roll away before the tide returns.

  I get to my feet, circling around Hugo, putting it between the ocean and me. I shove my crucifix hand forward, forcing my voice to cooperate.

  “Almighty God, through your only Son Jesus Christ you overcame death and opened to us the gate of eternal life…”

  Hugo rears up onto two legs again, tossing its head, letting out a bloodcurdling scream.

  It has nothing to do with my praying, I realise. Nathaniel must have the body burning. Hugo tries to step around me. I shove the cross in its face, and I pray louder. I need to keep it here, no matter the cost.

  It swipes at me. I’m not fast enough to get away.

  The burn of claws across my face is blinding. Blood fills my mouth. Red fills my vision in my right eye, making my other one blur, and the pain brings me to my knees. I refuse to let it stop me. I raise my voice, all but screaming the prayer up at Hugo just to be heard over the sound of its roaring.

  Hugo lifts its arm, ready to attack again.

  The waves rush in. A series of familiar, deafening howls fills my ears. A shape catches the moonlight behind Hugo, knee-deep in the water, dead eyes locked onto him and long, dark hair clinging to her face and body in wet tendrils.

  Ellie rises from the foam and latches onto Hugo’s back, fingers digging into the beast’s chest. She sinks her teeth into its shoulder, fighting him back several steps into the sea. Hugo writhes in pain, its skin beginning to smoulder and crumble to ash, never a break in its blood-curdling scream.

  Every step Ellie drags him, every piece of him that falls away, the more I wonder if I shall walk away from this with my hearing intact.

  Hugo burns to pieces before my eyes, held prisoner by Ellie’s gnarled, dead hands. Finally, a high wave crashes defiantly over them. The creature’s smouldering body crumbles, sizzles, curls of steam and ash rising into the air.

  Ellie is gone.

  I collapse back into the sand.

  Is it over? I’m afraid to think that it could be.

  I watch the ocean, halfway expecting Hugo to rise from the tide again, angrier and more dangerous than before.

  The beach remains quiet.

  My head spins when I stand. Delicately, I touch my face, feeling the split flesh there, four angry wounds, one across my eye. I still cannot see anything through it. The pain, though, is dim, and I wonder if I’m simply in shock, if I’m too fucking exhausted to feel much of anything—even relief.

  I dust the sand from my clothes. To the sea I say, softly, “Thank you, Ellie.” And then I start up the beach, every step an effort.

  Crane will be waiting for me.

  Benji will be waiting for me.

  God willing.

  CHAPTER 27 – PRESTON

  I find Crane seated next to Rogue, a hand resting against her neck. It’s begun to rain again. The disgusting scent of burning flesh fills my nose, makes my stomach turn. But I haven’t the energy to be sick. Crane has cleared all the brush away from Hugo’s body. The rain will no doubt put out the flames before long.

  I sink down beside Crane, absently resting a hand upon Rogue’s side.

  “Thank you, girl,” I murmur. “For looking after us so well.”

  Crane’s lashes lower. His fingers curl into her mane. “I’ll have to come back to bury her.”

  “Going to be a tough job for one man with the use of only one arm.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “That was an offer to help.”

  He glances at me and does a bit of a double take. “The hell happened to your face?”

  “Hugo happened. Bastard couldn’t die without leaving his mark on the world, I suppose.” I wonder if it will scar. How annoying. I’m a little more concerned about the vision in my eye returning, though.

  We sit in silence awhile. It’s almost companionable. Almost.

  But the sun has long since vanished. The fog is rolling back in. We need to be getting out of here unless we want to be stuck another full night out in the cold.

  Crane favours his injured leg when he walks but refuses to let me help. I keep the pace slow for him as we make our way along the road, which is significantly slower going than when Benji and I came out this way on horseback. We walk for the better part of two hours before we hear hoofbeats on the trail up ahead and spot lanterns through the fog. My legs threaten to buckle.

  When Sid’s face appears before us on horseback, alongside a man I don’t recognise, I could cry out in relief.

  CHAPTER 28 – BENJAMIN

  I am warm for the first time it what seems like years. Too warm, almost.

  Beyond Sid helping me onto her horse, I remember little. Vaguely, I recall strong arms helping me out of the saddle, into a house. Someone removing my shirt. Prodding, pinching, stinging at my side.

  Sleep claims me. Fitful, uneasy, plagued with nightmares, but sleep nonetheless.

  The next time I open my eyes, everything swims in my vision. I’m covered in a layer of sweat, struggling to kick the blankets off.

  “You’ve got a bit of a fever,” a voice croons at me.

  Mother?

  I look up at her. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Gentle hands, cool against my forehead. A singsong voice.

  “Here, take some of this. It will help.”

  She puts a spoon to my lips. I drink without question. It’s bitter, thick going down. But if Mother says it will help, I believe her.

  “There we are,” she says. Gently, so gently. “Can you talk? How are you feeling?”

  This time, my eyes blur with the onslaught of tears. I swallow thickly. “I’ve made a mess of all this,” I whisper. “It’s all my fault.”

  Every bit of it. I intervened with Carlton. I forced Preston into coming here to put Ellie to rest. Everyone who has died here is dead because of me.

  And I still do not know if Preston is among them.

  She strokes my damp hair back. “I don’t think that’s true for a second. Why don’t you get some more sleep? Promise, things won’t look so bleak after you get some rest.”

  I cannot get the words past my lips any longer. Whatever she gave me works fast to drag me under.

  This time, my sleep is deep and dreamless.

  The room is dark when I wake, save for the steady flickering of a candle on the bedside table. Silent as it is, I instantly know that I am not alone.

  Upon turning my head, I see Preston slouched in a chair at my bedside. He has a hand over mine, our fingers laced together and, oh, God, he looks as though he’s travelled to hell and back again.

  He’s shirtless, cuts and scrapes marring his torso and arms. There are thick bandages across part of his face, over one eye. The bruising on his body is so dark I can see it even in the poor lighting.

  But he’s alive. Good Lord above, he’s alive.

  I choke on a sob.

  Groggy, I force myself onto my side, pushing up onto an elbow, whispering his name. My movement startles him awake, his eye fluttering open.

  “Benji, oh, thank God.”

  I ought not to be moving, I think, and yet I cannot stop myself. I lack any sort of grace or coordination as I claw my way off the bed, desperate to get close to him, to get my arms around him.

  “Hey now, you’re supposed to be resting,” Preston says, but he does not stop me. He puts his arms around me in turn, pulling me against his chest, onto his lap. And he holds me tight, so very tight, betraying the calmness he’s so obviously trying to exude.

  I sob against his throat, relief and guilt and happiness all rolled into every tear. Nothing I could say would come out at all sensical, so I don’t bother trying. So long as I
can hold him, so long as I can feel him, that is all that matters right now.

  “It’s all right,” Preston whispers against my hair. “We’re both all right. It’s all over now.”

  I cry until I’m too drained to shed another tear. My head has begun to clear, the medicine from earlier losing its effect. When I touch a hand to my side, I feel no bandages, but a wide row of stitches. The flesh is warm to the touch, painful, but not unbearable. Certainly not as painful as being stabbed.

  I draw back to get a better look at Preston, gingerly brushing my fingers against his jaw. “Your face…”

  He grimaces. “Better it was my face than my throat, eh?” A distressed look must pass over me, because he swiftly cups my cheek against his palm. “Hey, hey… None of that. Just scratches. They’ll heal.”

  “And if they scar?”

  “Well, then I’ll have quite a story to tell people, won’t I?”

  I sniff, swiping a hand across my eyes. “Where are we?”

  “A farm not far from town.” He shifts, slides his arms beneath me, and lifts. Just enough to relocate us to the bed, which is really too small for the both of us to lie side by side, but he sits and permits me to stay in his lap. When he reclines, he draws me to his chest, where I rest my cheek against his shoulder. “Owned by Jeb and Belinda Folger. Sid told them we were attacked by a group and scarcely managed to get away with our lives. I guess they bought it. They were able to tend to your injuries, and mine. Crane’s too.”

  “He’s all right?”

  “A bit worse for wear, but he’ll survive. Stubborn bastard.”

  That’s a relief, although I’m not certain why. Crane likely does not consider us on friendly terms, no matter what has transpired. I wonder if Sid feels the same. Still, I think I have Nathaniel Crane to thank for Preston being here with me now...even if I also have him to blame for this entire mess.

  I close my eyes, tired all over again. “Tell me what happened?”

  Quietly, I listen as Preston recounts the events since I watched him fall from the edge of the cliffside. It takes great effort not to cry all over again by the time he’s finished. I missed so very much. I should have been there to help, to keep him safe.