by Star, Amy
He swore and tried to regain his shot, but the woman fired off another shot. It went wild, no way to aim from the galumphing back of a grizzly bear but it startled him all the same. By the time he was in place, they were gone. Only the swaying of branches and leaves remained.
“Fuck!” he screamed, and punched at the stone beside him. He didn’t even feel the flesh push back over his knuckles, or the pop of bone and cartilage. Just a numb hatred, and then something wet trailing between his fingers. He sucked at the avulsion on his hand, and spit red onto the ground.
He kept the rifle raised even as he made his way down to the path, but he knew they were long gone. Kyle’s body – what was left of it – was still twitching, and Arthur kicked at his boot. Poor fool, he thought, lamenting the headless corpse. The head had landed several meters away, and was still frozen in an expression of pain and surprise, the eyes starting to go pale even as the first flies found them. Walking across the horrible image caused even the seasoned Arthur to turn away.
The smell of blood was everywhere. Soon, decay would start in, the process of nature doing its hard work to return the dead to its bosom. There was another body, big and muscular, some dumb grin plastered on his face. A layer of brown fur surrounded the pale naked man, and he took the meaning well enough and laid his boot into the side of the man. The grin remained, almost imperious, defiant. You’ve already killed me, what can you do now, poacher, it seemed to taunt.
“I can make your friends scream for their lives,” he said out loud. His voice sounded alien in the woods, something that didn’t belong, something that couldn’t belong. Part of him considered making a line for the outboard, still covered with ferns down by the beach. Make his way to the mainland, if the motor would get him that far. “No, I can’t. Not anymore. I’m in this too far… I’m in it with Kyle. For you, for Kieran… I swear to God, whatever it takes, I’ll murder these sons of bitches. I’ll avenge you. Even if it kills me.”
It felt good to say the words out loud, something about the physical sensation of the syllables leaving his throat made the vow real, attached it somehow to a sense of honor that he felt for his fallen friend and for his son. There was nothing wavering about it. It was like a hard line penciled in, irresolute, indelible. Kill or be killed.
He rummaged through Kyle’s coat, pulled out the man’s wallet, and stuffed it in his own jacket, and turned toward the path where the bear and the woman had left. It was sunny now, their trail was fresh and he had nothing more or less to live for than their deaths.
CHAPTER TEN
Instead of going to the cabin, Dylan ran toward the far end of the island. On his back, holding on for dear life, Sarah could only clutch at his fur and dig her thighs into his back to keep from getting thrown off. The gun on her back lifted and slapped her shoulders each time Dylan leapt or avoided a tree branch, and she felt like her whole body was bruised all over, just an inundation of aches and pains and the slow attrition of weariness.
She glanced behind her a few times but the way Dylan was moving, there was no way the other poacher would be able to keep up. Not at this rate, but they were leaving a very distinct trail through the undergrowth. As a bear, he was unaccustomed to using the trails, preferring the straightest line from point A to point B. As a result, a wake of broken branches and tracks lay out behind them like breadcrumbs or Theseus’ golden thread.
“Dylan, wait… wait, please,” she tried to whisper in the grizzly’s ear, but he was inconsolable. She could only hold on, burying her face against his fur. He smelled of dry pine needles, of broken granite, that cold-water sharpness.
It wasn’t until they’d reached very edge of the island, which fingered to a point, that he began to slow and lumbered to a final stop, breathing heavily into the grass. She stepped off him and felt her legs wobble under her. There was a slight electricity in the air as Dylan began to revert to human form, the hair sloughing off him, and he stood up shakily, his naked body wrapped in sweat.
“Dylan,” she said, reaching toward him, and stopped.
“Down this way,” he said without stopping, and walked past her. The point of the island had a small animal trail, well covered, that led down to the shore, and she was surprised she hadn’t found it before; another of the island’s secrets, no doubt.
The surf was roughing the shore, despite the fact the sun was up and wandering from cloud to cloud. Then she saw that there was a small cave, indented into the side of the pale cliffs. It’d be invisible from the shore because of its obtuse angle but when you approached from the side it was quite obvious, a wind and ocean sculpted tunnel that led a good ten meters into the cliff-face. She followed Dylan’s naked body into the throat of stone, and shielded her eyes when he struck a match. The cavern lit up.
It was full of books, a small decrepit drawer at one end, backed up against the wall and a mattress in the middle. Dylan stooped and lit several more candles, until the cavern was aglow with the orange light of paraffin, and they were both tapestries of shadows.
“One of my hide-outs,” he mused, “even Chris didn’t know about it. At least, I didn’t think he did. He always kept things to himself.”
He pointed to one of the drawers where the satellite radio was perched, and Sarah let out an exclamation and went to it. The power was still on – broadcasting an intermittent SOS message. If anyone can pick it up.
“He must’ve brought it here when they started to…” Sarah broke off.
“I think so. It’s funny… I always thought this was my own secret place but of course he knew about it.” A tinge of sadness crept into his voice. “I found this place the first day we came here, and brought things over time… books, sea-shells. I guess you could call it my home away from home.”
“A sanctuary,” she said, and he nodded.
He lumbered forward and fell onto his back on the mattress, one hand over his forehead, and his gaze fluctuating with the ballet of shadows that danced against the contours of the cave’s roof. He’s lost his best friend, his patron, she reminded herself. And yet he was as solemn as a statue. She felt the same way, as if they’d encountered so much suffering in such a small span, it had overloaded their capacity for feeling anything.
Absently, she pulled at her tank-top and cast it to one side of the room. It still smelled noxious with the chemical burn of potassium nitrate. Her small breasts swayed and jiggled as she took a step toward the bed, fingering the button on her jeans as she did. Dylan turned his gaze slightly at the sound of her pulling the zipper slowly down, and saw her ripped pants and thong drop as one to her ankles where she stepped out of them, never breaking stride. She folded down beside him like origami, her pale leg curving over his waist, brushing the blunt end of his member, and he quivered. Her other hand stroked his chest, and she pulled herself closer so she could kiss his shoulder.
“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice as hopeless as a kite without a string.
She kissed his shoulder again. “What Chris would have wanted us to do,” and she saw a plaintive look move over the dim sheen of Dylan’s skin, “we survive. No matter what.”
She bent down, her black hair swimming against his neck, and kissed him deeply, pushing her mouth hard into his. She started to cry, and kissed him harder, forcing his lips apart with her tongue as her leg rubbed up and down against him, and felt the scratchy tangle of her pubic hair thrusting against him eagerly.
“I should have told you,” he said. “I should have told you… so much sooner…” He reached up and cupped her cheek, and felt more of her hot tears land on his chest. “I love you, Sarah.”
She kissed him again and sobbed, throwing her leg all the way over him until she was straddling him, and his hands clutched at her thighs, forcing them apart even as she bent low. Her breasts tickled his chest and she let out a loud moan of pain and pleasure as he suckled them, running his tongue around her nipple until it hardened like a dark bead in his mouth, and his teeth scratched over it.
&nbs
p; He felt himself harden under her, and she rubbed herself against him, frantically, her breath becoming a rasp. “I want you in me,” she breathed, “love me.”
He saw her reach down between their legs and hardened further when her small fist wrapped around his penis in a death-grip, strangling it, and he almost came there and then. Gently she lifted herself up, and with one hand on his member, guided it toward her vagina. She let out a protracted sigh and groaned as she lowered herself fully onto him, her wide lips parting red and blood-filled, and wet with the anticipation of his sex.
She began to gyrate, moving her hips against him almost awkwardly. Vicious jutting movements that pushed him further into her, and her voice seemed to lose itself in some primitive act. She was breathing hard, hurling herself onto his manhood, and he felt her muscles clench against him each time, holding him there.
“Fuck me,” she pleaded softly, drawing his hands up her warm damp thighs. His fingers reveled in the touch of her skin, the jut of her hipbone even as she plowed against him, the wet sucking mess of her pubic hair scraping against his, the feel of her stomach muscles in the act of lovemaking. She was sweating again, fiercely, and finally, her hands guided his to her swaying breasts which he squeezed with renewed vigor.
She let out a deep gasp, her lips pulling back to reveal the closed tight row of white teeth, her eyes closed against the pleasure and sorrow that had driven them both into each other’s arms. Her hips were moving desperately now, punching against his, and she bent over him, her breasts easing into his chest, even as her backside lifted and fell in loud punctuations.
He reached down, bracing both buttocks, and thrust up as well, matching her movements, even as she screamed and the orgasm took hold. Still, she buried into him, as if her life depended on it, and he groaned, feeling pain in his member as she fucked him violently, trying to block out the death of Chris by loving him.
“Fuck… I’m coming!” she screamed into his ear, and he held her head with one hand, his other plying the crease between her buttocks as she shook on top of him, her legs trembling like earthquakes and her whole body convulsing as pleasure rippled through her soft flesh.
He felt her vagina clenching and unclenching uncontrollably on his member, and bit his lip to keep from coming with her, even as a fresh warm surge exploded between their legs. She gasped, unable to draw in breath except in startled gulps, and he held her firmly. “I love you, Sarah,” he repeated, and felt more tears land on his shoulder blade, mingling with sweat.
“I love you too,” she moaned, “without words.”
She slipped off to his side but he held her still, tracing the outline of her jaw with his finger as the flush of blood in her cheeks and sex began to subside. She opened her eyes, black as pebbles polished with rain or surf, and held his gaze for as long as she could. He stroked her whole face, learning the topography of her skin, through touch, and she closed her eyes and let him explore.
“You didn’t come,” she said after a spell. The candles had shortened to half their wicks, and one of them petered out, putting that end of the cavern into darkness.
He shook his head. “Not yet,” he whispered. In truth, this small act of intimacy, the gentle embrace of his fingers against her, would have been enough to fill all his years. He wanted to be able to remember her, every facet, every curve of bone and skin, no matter what, even after they had left the confines of the cave. To whatever end.
“Again, my mate,” she said and her hands played across his chest and moved down to his penis which was already hardening again.
She took him in her mouth, and he leaned back, his abdominal muscles fluxed as she lowered her lips onto him and began to work at his head with her tongue. He stiffened, opening his mouth in a silent gasp of pleasure, and she looked up at him, her fingers trailing through his pubic hair.
He reached down, cupping her ear, even as she stared at him and moved her mouth up and down, sucking loudly on his member. Saliva escaped the edges of her lips, slithering down the turgid shaft, and she pulled up, gasping as if she’d broken the surface of a deep dive. Saliva dripped down her chin, and she moved in beside him, urging him behind her as she propped herself on her elbows.
Taking the hint, he gripped her waist, his hands tracing the edge of her hipbones, and she lifted her buttocks toward him further, opening her legs so that he could glimpse the small pucker of her anus and the drooping wet lips below them.
“Come in me,” she whispered.
He moved into her, sharply, and she let out a hiss of pain. Her body convulsed against his, and his hands tugged against her waist as he flexed inside her. Both of them became lost in the moment. For Sarah, it had always been equivalent to the now of bear-thought – that moment of transformation, in which the past and the present and the future existed as one. Or rather, they did not exist at all. There was only a fleeting emotion, a flame of instinct.
Death was coming for them, as it had come for Chris. And they both accepted it with a mute sort of astonishment; a resignation of an animal who knows its end is near, but fights against it anyway. This act of lovemaking, this movement of their bodies in a final hunting, was a way of paying tribute to it. Dylan groaned, his breathing like a staccato of oxygen, and his hand moved down, tracing the ridge of her buttocks with his thumb, until it glimpsed against her anus and Sarah fell forward, her arms giving out under her as they clenched at the fabric of the sheets. She raised her buttocks higher, urging him to release, and bit her lip.
Dylan felt himself expand inside her, sliding against the tight walls of her vagina, and in a final moment, her arms pulled tight as bow strings and she squeezed the muscles of her thighs against his member. He gave a loud shout as he came, pummeling against her buttocks. She, too, let out a squeal, as her face pressed into the sheets, and his seed moved against her like a feathered plume.
He gasped and fell on top of her, flattening her, and kissed at the back of her neck, pulling himself out of her. A slick trail of his own fluids trailed up her backside, and she rolled onto him, pressing her head under his chin.
“Is love enough?” she finally asked.
He didn’t know how to respond to that, and stared at the ceiling for long moments, even as another candle sputtered out. “I think it has to be,” he said at last. “It’s all we have.”
THE FINAL CHAPTER
When she woke up, Dylan was nowhere to be seen, it gave her a minor panic attack. It took her several tries before she was able to fumble one of the matches on the drawer to light, and get one of the candles to light. She moved the small light around, but save for her, it was empty. She felt something cold nag her naked body.
The satellite radio was still on the drawer, still broadcasting its directionless signal, but there was no other chatter. The Remington rifle was still there as well where she’d left it, against the wall of the cave. But Dylan was nowhere to be seen.
A horrible thought crossed her mind, only because she had gotten to know him as well as she’d gotten to know herself. She hadn’t told him what she was about to do, back when they had been tied to the tree. She knew how he would have taken it. But now she couldn’t escape the possibility that he had gone and done something similar.
Reckless idiot, she wanted to scream, but she saved her energy, and put her clothes back on. Dylan’s little cave was a perfect hide-out; you couldn’t see it until you were almost on top of it. But as he had reminded them, they were dealing with a seasoned poacher, someone who knew the wilderness just as well as they, and had devoted his life to tracking animals through it. If anyone else could find the cave, it would be him. She felt a lump grow in her throat, even as she gripped the rifle and marched toward the entrance.
“Dylan, where are you?” she asked, but only the wind replied.
It was daylight, and she gauged the sun to be almost directly above them. There was a small patch of blood near the white rock of the entrance, and she feared the worst, but realized it was probably Chris’. Dylan’s hand
s, even when he transformed back into a human, had been sticky with it from holding the old bear. Even when they’d made love, some of it had smeared off on her thigh. She felt unclean, warped by sweat and blood and semen and dirt and fear.
She followed the path, back up to the cliffs. Below she could make out the surf. It had settled a bit since this morning, and the sun was bright again, almost as if had forgotten its rain and thunder and temper from the night before. A bird tweeted somewhere distant.
From this vantage, she could make out the beach where Chris had been shot the first time, and where he’d injured the first poacher, that fateful day. Everything started from that, like dominoes falling, one after the other. Blood for blood. It was not a foreign concept, in human politics or shifter. But that never made it right.
There was something white on the sand. She squinted, trying to see through the salty atmosphere, and brought up the scope of the rifle, peering through it. It was a boat, the same outboard the four poachers – now one, she thought gritting her teeth – had come into their lives from. There were two figures, walking toward it on the sand, she didn’t need the scope to know who they were.
Reckless idiot, she cried to herself. What had he hoped to do? Parley for their lives? Or was it worse than that. She knew that only hours earlier she had calculated, bet on the same selfless strategy. He’s trying to lure the poacher away from me, she realized and cursed him aloud, her eyebrows narrowing into daggers and not caring if they could hear her or not.
No, not like this. Dylan was a hypocrite. I’m not losing anyone else, he had said. And neither am I, you bastard. Her fists bunched at her sides as she slung the rifle onto her back and took off running, her jeans creaking with each long-legged jump she took down the path toward the distant beach. I’m going to beat the crap out of him before this ends, she thought, scrubbing her cheeks with the back of her hand to keep the tears at bay and her vision clear, even as she skidded over tree roots and bypassed switchbacks, sailing through the air and landing hard on the balls of her feet.
