Emilio returned to the steaks, turning them once more and reaching for the dinner plates he’d brought. Perhaps it was too “glamp” for some, but one meal Emilio would not eat off a disposable plate was steak. Too risky... I mean, you could collapse the plate while trying to cut it, or it could tip and send your steak flying into the dirt and grass. Sure, you could rinse it off, but then you lost the char and...
A piercing scream interrupted his thoughts, and Emilio nearly dropped the plated steak in his hand. The scream was terrified... and the scream was Trina. Emilio set the steaks down quickly and hurried to the tent. His brother had insisted that they take a gun, promising them that if they didn’t speed or break any laws, they wouldn’t be found with it and it would be cool. Emilio really didn’t want to, but when Trina got wind of it, she insisted as well. So, he took the gun, and it sounded as if he might have cause to use it, if only to threaten whatever it was. He hoped he wouldn’t have to shoot, ‘cause he really wasn’t very good, despite the jobs he’d worked in security and having a cop for a brother. It really was funny how insistent his brother was on him taking it, especially after he heard where they were going to be camping. Emilio could have sworn his brother got pale, like there were monsters in the woods or something. Although, they were just north of the infamous Sleepy Hollow.
He could hear someone running, and moments later Trina was throwing herself into the tent. Her hair was a mess, her clothes disheveled, and she had huge gashes on her shoulder and back. She crawled into his arms, sobbing, babbling incoherently. Emilio tried to sooth her, patting her back carefully so as not disturb the wounds. He hoped that whatever had come after her wasn’t rabid... Trina did not like needles, and shots would be required if rabies was involved.
“Baby, what happened?” Emilio hoped she could control her sobbing long enough to let him know exactly what was coming after them, ‘cause there was no doubt that whatever it was, it was big, and clearly not messing around. He waited a moment, then tried again. “Baby! C’mon! You’ve gotta tell me what—”
The sound pierced the darkness, a screeching, howling sound that made the hair on his neck and arms stand on end so hard it hurt. Emilio could feel the nerves straining, like the hair was going to be pulled out, expelled from his skin by the sheer terror that the sound conjured in him. It sounded like... he stopped, realizing that Trina had gone quiet, and was listening, not to the howling sound... No, that had stopped... She was listening, and now he was listening as well, to the sound... of movement...
It was walking into their campsite.
The grumbling sound they now heard, guttural and primal, was almost like hearing the lions at the Bronx zoo, and for a moment Emilio wondered if perhaps a lion or tiger had gotten loose and made its way up into the valley, away from civilization and towards a more bountiful source of prey. Didn’t explain why it came after Trina, though, and now that whatever-it-was had entered their camp, asking her was out of the question. Emilio was afraid that even their breathing would draw attention to them, and found himself carefully pacing each breath, trying to keep as quiet as he could. He could feel Trina was doing the same, her skill as a yoga instructor coming to bear as she stilled herself, though he could see tears still rolling down her cheeks.
A movement outside the tent caught his eye. It was a shadow, creeping in front of the light still beaming from the LED lantern. At first, he thought that it could have been a bear, and he started running through all the nature shows he’d watched when he had the flu last winter, trying to remember the proper procedure when faced with a bear. But then... it stood up.
He heard Trina gasp beside him, and abruptly the shadow turned, and the growl started to get louder. Then, it howled again... that ringing, otherworldly sound that he thought only existed in horror movies.
This was no bear.
SAM KAROLYI KNELT BESIDE the oak tree, carefully pulled off the patch of hair that had snagged in the bark and brought it close to her nose. She sniffed, her mouth slightly open to allow the full scent from the hair to be appreciated. It was a new one, not more than a phase or two old, but the pheromones were very strong, and very female. Remembering her own conversion after infection with the Lycanthropic Virus, Sam felt a twinge of sympathy for her... Those hormones when you came into heat were beyond extreme.
They’d been tracking the werewolf for several hours. She and Vincent had left the cabin within minutes of hearing the howl. The cabin, which had been in the Karolyi family since shortly after Sam’s grandfather, Ivan, had immigrated to the United States from Romania, was two hours north of Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. The irony of Ivan’s choice of location for his retreat was never lost on Sam, as this region of the Hudson River Valley was legendary for its headless horseman and tales of the unexplained. I mean, a werewolf moving into this area was like a vampire moving into a town in Transylvania. Sam chuckled at that.
“What’s so funny, darlin’?” Sam’s smirk spread into a real smile and she shook her head. Even as close as they’d become, she still couldn’t get over the talking-in-my-head thing. She turned just as Vincent stepped out from behind another oak about fifty feet away. He leaned casually against it, his tall, lean frame at once relaxed and ready to move quickly if needed. Sam felt a little quickening inside as she looked at him, but tried to bring her mind back to focus on the problem at hand... before he could read her thoughts and –
“So, you liked when I did that, did you?” Too late. Sam bit her lip and shook her head quickly. C’mon, Sam... focus on the vicious werewolf a-running through the forest...
Suddenly, both of their attention became focused, not on the scent of the werewolf on the wind, but on the scream... the blood-curdling scream of a woman that was a lot closer than they had anticipated. Sam and Vincent both focused in, scenting the air and peering into the darkness. They could see in the dark as well as any natural wolf could, and Sam’s blue eyes gave her a bit of a leg-up over the dark-eyed Vincent.
“Do you see anything?” Vincent whispered, choosing to speak out loud so that their minds could focus more on enhancing the other senses. Sam squinted into the darkness, the sounds of more screams, and the growling howl of the werewolf clawing at her mind like nails. She could feel her eyes tearing, partly from the focus of staring and straining so hard for so long, and partly because –
“We won’t get to them in time.” She said the words in a monotone, as the feeling of helplessness crept through her. Even with the gifts that being a werewolf gave her, Sam could only travel so fast, only do so much, and, like now, it often wasn’t enough to spare others.
“We need to focus on putting it down.” Vincent’s voice was deeper, a steely edge to it. To someone unfamiliar with his ways, it would have seemed like anger, but Sam knew it was simply a focused determination. He knew what it was like to convert as well as anyone, and he’d seen many people infected in their last moments. Vincent had searched the world for werewolves, put hundreds, maybe even thousands, down. It had earned him a title that he resented: Wolfmörder, “wolf killer”.
Another scream pierced the silent night, followed by several gunshots. Vincent quickly reached for his own guns, the silver H&Ks that carried specially-made, hollow-point bullets, each bullet loaded generously with mercury, which werewolves were deathly allergic to. Deathly in that it literally killed them, attacking the DNA, where the virus had assimilated, weakening the cell walls, and stimulating a kind of reverse mitosis. In everyday terms, all your cells fell apart and you melted into a puddle of silvery squish. The process, though she had witnessed it numerous times, always made Sam feel a bit sick to her stomach. She supposed it was how people who worked with cancer patients or AIDS patients felt sometimes as they cared for the sick and dying, knowing someday it could happen to them. Sometimes, when she felt the desire to embrace the change, to simply surrender to this other nature inside of her, the only thing that held her back was the thought of that end, her dread of it. It was a foolish thought, since her unique chemi
stry made it impossible for the quicksilver to penetrate her cells, but still...
“Take it.” Vincent’s crisp order jolted Sam out of her thoughts, and she looked down at the gun he was holding out to her. He always insisted upon carrying both guns himself, though he would readily give her one when the situation warranted it. Granted, they were large and heavy, but as a former NYPD officer, who lugged a variety of equipment, including a gun, around every day, she found it a bit amusing. Hell, the uniform jacket weighed a ton in and of itself! She nodded, taking the gun and checking it, as was her custom. Vincent smirked, as was his custom, not bothering to hide his amusement at her cautionary habits.
“We’ll take our time. We need to get the wolf first,” Vincent whispered.
Sam nodded. “It can move faster than them. I know.”
Vincent looked at her, a soft look in his eyes as he did. He reached out, his index finger brushing her cheek tenderly. “Be careful, love.”
Sam smiled, turned quickly and kissed the knuckle of his finger. “Be careful yourself.” Vincent winked in reply before once again turning and scenting the air. Sam scented as well, pinpointing the source of the scent southeast of their position. “Let’s go.” As soon as she spoke, the pair started through the woods at a steady jog, guns in hand.
Sam always found it difficult to jog, her muscles longing to break out and speed up. It was likely because of all the free running she’d done as a teenager. Growing up with her grandparents, socialization had been limited, but lucky for Sam she had a best friend down the hall.
Ben. It had been a while since she’d heard from him, and even longer since she’d seen him. Frank was giving her updates on him whenever he called to check on them, but the last few times those conversations had been little more than check-ins, and Ben’s name never came up. The snarls were getting louder, and Sam tried to pull her mind away from Ben and worry and questions and focus on what they were likely about to find in the clearing ahead. She slowed, then stopped abruptly, and she could hear that Vincent had done likewise. The wall of brush in front of them, mostly sumac bushes and myrtle ground cover, were thick, but not so they couldn’t see the glow of the fire, or the movements of... whatever. Sam paced her breathing, trying to stay as still as possible. She could get through the brush in a second when needed, but if they spooked the werewolf too soon...
She’d forgotten about the breeze, though, and just then, as the wind stirred her hair, Sam realized the direction had shifted, and the wind was coming from the north. The snarl stopped, and soon an angry growl started as the werewolf began sniffing the air very loudly. It was not happy to be interrupted... who would when they’re at dinner? Sam winced at her inappropriate humor, and briefly she could feel Vincent in her mind, and his amusement.
“I’ll draw it out.”
“Her, Vincent. Be careful, she’s in heat.”
“I only have eyes for you, darlin’.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Sam turned and glared at him, a frown creasing her smooth brow when she realized he was teasing her. “You go left, I’ll go right... Whoever draws her attention, the other backs them up. Good?” Vincent gave a curt nod in response, and held up his right hand, his fingers counting down... three...two...one...
They broke at the same time, pushing through the bushes and bearing left and right, respectively. What met their eyes when they did clear the bushes was carnage, and Sam found herself fighting the urge to vomit when she caught a glimpse of entrails laying on the ground a few feet from one of the victims. The werewolf had not run, stubbornly remaining with her prey, who was, Sam realized in horror, still alive despite being completely gutted.
“Focus, love!” Sam shook herself and swallowed hard. Yes... focus... She raised her gun, aiming carefully at the werewolf. The eyes, flat and black like a shark, stared back at her, and for a moment, as it looked at the gun in her hand, its snarl softened, the creases in its forehead and around its jaw fading, and it looked almost... sad. Then, the moment was gone, and the werewolf snarled at Sam. It didn’t move, though. It stayed stubbornly with its meal, and moments later it bent to gnaw at the young man’s liver. The young man was silent, and Sam wondered why until she saw that his throat had been torn as well.
Sam steeled herself and shifted the aim of her weapon to the young man. Whispering a familiar blessing she remembered her grandmother saying, Sam aimed for the young man’s head, and fired. She was a good shot even before her infection, and she didn’t disappoint. The shot hit him directly in the head, and Sam could tell by the shudder that passed through the body that he was dead.
The werewolf recoiled from the body, and quickly shifted its focus to Sam, preparing to lunge for her.
“No!” Both the werewolf and Sam turned to look at Vincent. “Vincent, what the hell are you doing?” Vincent didn’t answer, his gaze focused on the werewolf... and Sam was amazed to see the werewolf was focused on him. It was... well, it was acting like an obedience-trained dog. Sam watched the werewolf’s muscles relaxing throughout its frame, though its black eyes looked confused, torn, as if the urge to obey was somehow winning the war with its urge to kill and consume.
“Sam... shoot it...Now!” Vincent’s yell in her mind almost made her wince, and her hand wavered slightly for only a moment. It was enough, though. The werewolf caught the movement out of the corner of its eye, and quickly shifted its focus to her. Sam could hear Vincent shouting, trying to get its attention again, but this time there was no stopping it. It lunged toward her, and Sam fired off a shot. She knew it wouldn’t hit in the head or chest where it needed to for a quick end, but she hoped it would at least wound the thing. If it did wound it, it sure didn’t slow it down. Sam started to back up quickly, her foot catching on a tree root and sending her backward onto the ground. The werewolf lunged for her, and a shot rang out, hitting the werewolf squarely in the right side of its chest. The huge form dropped from the air, and Sam steeled herself for the impact of the body on top of her.
The werewolf hit her full-body, and Sam felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. She fought to get a breath as the creature started to writhe on top of her, the effects of the mercury racing through its body, destroying cells and tearing it apart from the inside out. Sam struggled, trying to push the werewolf off her even as its body began to take on a gelatinous texture. The face of the werewolf came down close to her own, and Sam strained to turn her face away as the effects of the mercury took their toll on the face. Sam could feel something wet dripping down onto her cheek... part of the werewolf’s face, and she could feel the chunks surging up from her stomach. “Vincent?!”
Seconds later, the werewolf was pushed off her, and Vincent scooped her up into his arms, pulling her away from the form as it settled into its gelatinous final throes, and began to melt into a silvery pool that soaked into the dirt beneath it.
“Are you alright?” It was a dumb question, but under the circumstances Sam decided to cut Vincent some slack and not give him a smart-ass answer in return.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.” Sam clung to his leather-clad arm, her fingers sinking into the cool, black softness of it, and her head following suit moments later. They sat quietly, Vincent’s arms holding her tightly against him, his hand resting on her head to keep her face turned away as the werewolf’s dissolution ended, and an uncomfortable silence descended on the woods.
“Sam? Can you sit here alone for a minute?”
Sam nodded. “Why?”
Vincent took a deep breath. “I have to go and... take care of the woman.” He looked at her pointedly, but he didn’t need to. Sam understood what he meant. The woman had been attacked and, despite her injuries, she was a potential werewolf right now. Depending on when she was first scratched or bitten, the conversion of her DNA may have already begun. Not the obvious changes, but the subtle interior ones that could prevent mortal injuries from being fatal.
Sam heard the crunch of Vincent’s boots on the sticks and other debris on the forest floor.
She watched him as he walked carefully over to the body of the woman, a curvaceous Latin, from what Sam had glimpsed, and he checked his weapon. He stopped a minute, looking down on the body, then briefly moved the barrel of the weapon over her, making a subtle Sign of the Cross, before he aimed the gun at her head, and fired. Sam started at the sound, and the movement as the bullet impacted the body. She felt the tears brimming in her eyes and hoped to wipe them away completely before Vincent saw them, because if he did, he would say something, and then she would have to fall apart a little.
The first movement was small, the barest of shifts, and Sam wasn’t sure she even saw anything. It could have been a floater in her eye, or a squirrel, or... Then it started. Vincent kept his gun trained on the woman’s body as it began to react to the mercury coursing through. Clearly, she had been infected. The violent vibrations lasted for probably thirty seconds before the melt began, but for Sam Karolyi, it felt like an eternity.
THE WALK BACK TO THE cabin was a silent one. They’d left the remnants of the campsite there and did what they could to make it look as natural as possible. Sam hated that aspect of the clean-up. She’d trained for years to be good at breaking the news, catching the bad guys, solving the crime, giving people justice, but this... These monsters made it impossible. You’re a monster, too, you know. Sam winced at her own reprimand. Yes, she was... a fact that she struggled with.
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