“Yeah, buddy. I’m here.”
“Thanks for letting me know, but I’m going to need a little time to myself, now.”
“Okay, well, I’m here if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to call.”
“Yeah,” I respond blankly, my voice deprived of any emotion.
I hang up on Roc and lay back onto the floor, my body curled and on my side while I grip my chest.
Sailor and Joel Ray are gone and it feels like my heart’s just been ripped out of my body.
****
I wake up, exhausted, and covered in my own drool and tears. My head rings as my senses adjust and the environment around me seems eerily still. I know it wasn’t a dream. She’s gone, and so is her dad. I focus on my breathing, my head still laying against the carpet of my room, facing the exit. Part of me wants to stay here forever; hopeless. Immobile. The other half wants to break out in a crazed screaming session for one. The light from my blinds is dimmer now, lower, even, which means the sun’s on its way down. I stare at the silhouette the light produces from the light that bleeds through into my room.
The AC suddenly kicks on and I realize I tranced-out. In my absent-mindedness I actually managed to catch a moment where I was okay; unaware that my soul had just been chewed up and spat out.
I can’t lay here forever.
But I want to.
I can’t help but think of all the time I spent with Sailor. The good and the bad. The highs and lows—all of the shit that couples go through. The last thing she told me was that she didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and I honestly deserved it. I’m such a piece of shit that I actually stayed behind, knowing her life was in danger. I should have tried harder. Maybe then I could have saved her life.
I push up from the ground and transfer over to my chair. I then grab my remaining apparel—my other sock and shoes and slip them on before sinking forward into my palms. I want to cry, the sensation’s there, but I can’t. It’s right on the brink, but there’s nothing left to give. The werewolf struck again last night and I missed it. It was Sailor and I’s job to kill it. Maybe we could have saved that person if she’d stuck around.
After taking a deep breath, I lift my head from my palms and exhale out into the emptiness of my room.
She’s dead, but I’m still alive. And as long as I’m alive, I’ve got to keep living.
The world doesn’t stop. Even when it feels like yours does. It hurts like hell, but I’ve got to keep moving.
In addition to the wolf claiming another victim, I also missed my chance to check out the site where the body was discovered, near Greensburg Hills. It’s far enough from the previous killings to raise a brow, but not far enough to rule out the wolf. If I’m right, he got a little bit smarter and decided to kill a little further away from home.
It doesn’t matter though, because I’m going to give it what it wants. Another victim.
Only this time, it’s me.
Chapter 8: The Offering
I double-check my gear, making sure everything is up to par. Silver-tipped beartraps, silver bullets, silver knives, everything that I can use to kill a wolf with the least possible resistance and defend myself against a pack, if necessary. Joel had some stuff he handed off to us…to me, before he sent us on our way. It irked Sailor in particular, because it was clear that he had his reservations earlier than he let on. I welcomed the resources, even if it was more of the same. When on the road, I generally carry a hodgepodge of hunting equipment just in case. It’s in good practice. Nothing sucks more than not having the right tools to do the job. Having a car with a portable armory or even a well-placed munitions bag can come in handy. Every detail counts when it’s life or death and no one would judge you on this side of life for coming over-prepared.
Last time I checked, it doesn’t hurt to increase your chances. When dealing with the supernatural you almost always only have one shot. I hate wolves and vamps the most because once you’re bit, it’s over. In an odd twist of fate, you become the thing were trying to kill—and that’s when things really hit home. What comes next is entirely up to you. Live or die, neither option is pretty. I doubt I can even comprehend it, and I’ve seen it firsthand. That kind of change…it’s horrible. I don’t think I’d wish it on anyone. It robs you of who you are in a slow, steady bleed.
I sigh and push the memory of my family aside, refusing to let it eat away at me more than it already has, and hit the road.
I pull up not too far from Greensburg Hills, a minor portion of the landscape in River Creek. I park on the side of a back road surrounded by wilderness, the kind that when you’d drive would be virtually pitch black if you didn’t have your lights on. The outskirts, more or less.
I take out my duffle bag and grip it tightly after I secure my hiking bag on the arch of my shoulders. I then do a quick scan of the inside of my car before closing the door to my trunk. The barrel of the gun against my hip shifts against my thigh and I’m instantly reminded of my fail-safe for my little camping trip.
Wolves love to hunt at night for obvious reasons. The cover the darkness provides lets them traverse ground more easily. Less people are out and the ones who are out are more likely to be alone. When supernatural entities act, from a survival standpoint, they try their best to cover their tracks. After all, the world does officially deny their existence, and I’m sure they’d like to keep it that way.
Once the coast is clear, I transition from the side of the road into the forest, forgoing the low positioned fence warning would-be intruders to respect its borders. There isn’t much to the layout from what I see besides trees, but I know that there’s a lot more to the forest if it’s elaborate enough for a werewolf to lay its head undetected.
I press deeper into the forest until I’m a good ways in, putting me near the center where all of the crazy has been going down for the last couple of months. If I had to guess, I’d say a couple of miles in.
The trees aren’t nearly as thick here, and there’s a bit more room to move around. I pick the base of a fallen tree farther north to set up at. There’s a good enough line of sight from all angles except for my back, but that’d be the case in any situation unless I found a cave or something…which isn’t all too likely. An abandoned piece of property may be in the realm of possibility, but if it knows I’m after it by seeking it out, it ruins my plan. Imagine coming home one day and seeing someone all in your spot. You can’t exactly play dumb, and as the intruder, you’re pretty much expected to be up to no good. If the wolf finds me out in the wild, it’ll be more likely to fall for my traps, especially if the notion is that I’m just a regular kill. It’s risky, no doubt, but I don’t plan on being on the losing end tonight.
I have every intention to walk away from this, alive and not infected.
I reach into my duffle and pull out my first trap. I’ve only got five. Sailor had a few of her own, but, well, yeah… I grab the first one and place it to the north of me, about twenty feet or so from the fallen tree between two neighboring trees that act like a choke point of sorts; at least from a straight-on perspective. Setting traps isn’t the best past-time, but if I snag the wolf with it, my life instantly gets one hundred times easier.
Just setting it takes a considerable amount of strength—even with the proper tools for added leverage. If it were to clamp a human foot, it’d go straight to the bone, no doubt. The results for a werewolf wouldn’t be that much different except the pain would be far greater due to the silver teeth lining the jaws of the clamps.
I get my hammer and knock the spike at the end of the trap’s chain into the ground as far as it can go after stretching it a bit first for some leeway. I tug on the steel link and the spike stays embedded. It’s grounded. Good. Wolves heal fast but wounding it with silver will slow it down. It won’t be quick to force its way through its binding, not unless it wants to lose a foot in the process.
After that, I get some of the surrounding leaves and bury the opening of the trap before marking
the trees on either side with my knife, so I can better distinguish the locations of my traps if I have to make a run for it and circle back. It’s a novice move to get picked-off by something you set up, but, hey, it’s not exactly something you want to risk.
In an ideal situation, the traps are supposed to be a perimeter around where I’m stationed. After I snag the beast, in theory, I should be able to locate the traps and go about my business.
I set up the other four in similar fashion, placing them to the east and west, with two south of me—my blind spot. I’m almost certain that that’s where I’m going to get attacked from. It only makes sense. I’m actually counting on it.
If the wolf thinks I’m not anticipating an attack, there’s no reason to watch for the traps I have set up in the area. I have to paint a picture…make it seem like I’m an easy kill with a big payoff.
Minimal effort for maximum reward. The hunter’s dream.
I look up to the sky, past the canopy from the spread of trees and can’t find the sun. It’s getting darker, but not quite there yet. The moon is just starting to become visible, too. Of all nights, tonight is supposed to be a full moon. I’m sure Joel had the lunar cycle in mind before tossing us the case. Infected humans are more prone to acting-out at this point in the moon’s cycle.
They’re already unstable, but the closer it gets to the full moon, the more aggressive they become.
Their assimilated instincts rise more to the surface, more so than before. Usually there’s some sort of order when a pack is involved. The alpha along with the older infected tend to have more restraint and can put a damper on things. If they didn’t, there’d be an influx of fresh werewolves and werewolf related killings every month…well, there is…in theory, but not as rampant as it could be. It’s widespread enough that a network exists, but small enough to remain under the radar to those ignorant to the supernatural. If I’m being particular, they’re not exactly easy to find for hunters, either. They tend to gravitate towards the nooks and crannies of society. They keep a low profile and stick to their communities.
As hunters, we don’t exactly know how it works, but we see the end result. It’s the infection that binds them and makes them do what they do. It essentially overrides aspects of their personality and slowly coerces them into adopting a pack mentality to further spread the virus.
I take a knee and slide my hiking bag from my shoulder onto the ground. From there, I pull out a compact tent and ten sets of tripwires that I use to line the inner borders of my camp in case the beartraps fail to pull through. They’re sturdy…reinforced with steel. I set them low to the earth, way below the average person’s field of vision. I also make sure the tension is tight enough between the two trees that I paired the wires to and mark the bark at eye-level with my knife in case I need to know where to lead the wolf if my initial line of defense fails.
They won’t cut its foot off or anything, but they will cause it to stumble and possibly fall. All I need is a second to seal the deal. Maybe less if I’m quick on the trigger.
Setting up camp takes a considerable amount of time. Priming my beartraps, setting my wires…pitching my tent. Walking out here to begin with. All-in-all, I think I made good time. It’s dark out. Virtually night.
I look up to the moon and see it peeking behind a set of clouds in its silver glory.
Almost game time.
I sigh and make my way around my camp, gathering spare branches and twigs and mesh them together a few feet from my tent, in the center of it all. Next, I place some dried leaves and moss on top and light it with a lighter I fished out earlier from my hiking bag.
It doesn’t take long for the flame to sprout and hold its own in the elements. The orangish hue from the flames warms my face as I watch it from the forest floor. In the silence of it all, I dig out a protein bar from my bag and bite into it, savoring every moment while I watch the fire dance. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Haven’t been in the mood, but I’m running on empty, and I need to keep my strength up. Sailor would call me an idiot if she knew I hadn’t eaten yet. She’d also say that I’m bat-shit-crazy for doing this alone.
I guess some things can’t be helped.
After I finish eating, I stuff my trash away in my bag and grab my knife. I then study the grooves of the blade, eyeing the silver finish. I walk over towards the farthest trap behind me, near the edge of the safe zone and stare at the snare I now hover over.
This is going to suck.
I run the blade at an angle over the middle of my palm, cutting deep enough to draw a healthy amount of blood. It hurts like hell even though I make it quick. It’s the awkward spots that hurt the most.
I grit my teeth as I squat down and pulse my hand while it’s balled into a fist to circulate more blood to my wound. The oxygen against my nerves causes my hand to tremble as I squeeze while my palm leaks into the mouth of the trap. I stand again and walk a few paces behind it, laying a clear path before sprinkling more of my life force onto the second trap. After I’m done, I tear off a piece of fabric from my shirt and wrap it around my hand as a makeshift bandage to help me clot. From there, I find my seat against the fallen tree, my gun ready as I sit by the camp fire, ready to kill anything that comes my way.
I’ll be damned if a wolf gets the jump on me with this setup. If it does, honestly, I deserve to die.
Chapter 9: The Waiting Game
I’ve been sitting here for what seems like an hour.
The fire keeps me company, but I know I’m not alone. That, coupled with my blood, is like a beacon to any wolves in the area. Especially with the moon out like it is.
It’s impossible to sleep or eat like this—as an active target. All I can do is stare idly at the flames in front of me while I keep my gun hidden from any direct lines of sight, tucked underneath a blanket, and wait.
Fear’s found its way to the backseat. As cliché as it is, I don’t really feel anything right now. With Sailor and her dad gone, I’m just…alive. It’s shock, I know, but knowing what it is doesn’t stop it from existing. I can’t even say for sure that I know what tomorrow holds for me, and outside of surviving, it’s not important.
In my idle time, Sailor and her dad pop up in my mind, like I’m supposed to be mourning them, but I can’t. Not right now. No use being teary-eyed out in the field.
In the distance, I hear a set of feet rapidly approaching me from behind over the crackling flames of my fire. It’s coming quick, but I keep my face to the flame, eager to keep my ruse. The pace picks up and I hear a snarl—and then a full-blown scream laced with agony.
Looks like the wolf took the bait.
I remove the sheet from me as I stand and pivot to face the wolf, my gun leading my gaze. It’s a male. Teenager or early twenties if I had to go by build. It’s hard to pinpoint an age with the wolf-like features bleeding into his human ones in his transformed state.
He growls at me and I hop the fallen tree to get closer. I pull the hammer back on my Beretta and align it with his forehead.
“Don’t move or I’ll fucking blow your brains out,” I snarl. “That trap’s tipped with silver…but I’m pretty sure you know that already. If you think it hurts now, try moving a bit. The more you struggle, the deeper it’ll claw into you. Move too much and I guarantee you you’ll be down a leg.” I pause to listen for anything in the distance, but nothing registers in my ear. “You the wolf killing people around here?”
“Please…just let me go,” the werewolf says, his body trembling in pain from his leg being chewed into by my snare. He’s somewhat built for a human, but on the smaller side for a werewolf. Doesn’t mean shit, though. If he’s got an opening, he can rip into me with relative ease.
My gaze drifts down to his elongated fingernails but it doesn’t stay there long. It’s only enough to mentally gauge his reach if things were to escalate.
“Yeah, no. I don’t think Jamal would think too kindly of that. Or Cid, or Martin, or Hailey—”
“Okay
, Okay,” he says his voice riffled with pain, cutting me off. While it’s true that he’s wounded and on the smaller side for a wolf, it doesn’t stop the hairs from sticking up on my arms. I’m in control of the situation, but it can’t be helped. It’s a primal reflex. My mind is focused even though my instincts are telling me to run for my life.
“I hit a nerve? What was different with Hailey? Were you trying to turn her? Are there others? What’s your plan here, bub? Usually wolves try to stay out of the spotlight.” The wolf marinates in his pain, refusing to say anything. Is he stalling or…? “You wanted her as wolf bride or some shit? Kidnapped her to be your mate? But it didn’t work out, did it?” I say, going with my gut. “After that, you just killed whomever, huh?”
“She…she was my sister,” the wolf forces out, regrettably.
“What?”
“Hailey Moss. She was my sister and I didn’t want this. Any of it.”
“Phil?”
“I was just…so hungry. Hailey and I, we struggled, spent more than our fair share out in the elements.”
“And that’s when you were bit…”
“Yeah,” he says with a grunt, pain written across his face. “We…thought he was crazy. Been on the streets too long or something. But he got me right on the arm and I fought him off with a pocket knife.” Philip shifts more of his weight off his bad leg and I back up. His expression slightly shifts, but there’s no aggression behind it. “Must have been silver,” he says, as he reflects. “That was a couple months ago… When I first turned, she had my back, you know. We were all that we had left. We broke into coops. I ate wildlife…livestock. Anything to not—”
“Kill people,” I finish for him. “You didn’t touch humans. At least, not at first.”
“…I was so hungry. I couldn’t control it. Hailey and I were fighting over something…I don’t even remember, and then I snapped.”
“Straight for her throat. A kill shot,” I voice, thinking back to the files I’d studied.
Blaze Monroe and the Broken Heart Page 5
