Chapter 59

Eric screamed loudly as the truck’s front left tire rolled into a pothole the size of a kids pool, getting stuck with a violent shock that sent Eric’s cracked ribs screaming in protest.

The pain went up his spine like a lightning bolt, his teeth grinding down together hard enough to taste blood.

The engine whined pitifully, the wheels spinning in the thick, sucking mud with a wet, weak sound that seemed to be mocking his desperation.

He put the gear into reverse, gave it full acceleration, nothing but a deeper groan from the under and more mud splattering on the windshield.

The smell of burnt rubber and wet mud filled the cab.

“Fuck. Fuck!” He screamed as he punched the steering wheel once, twice, the horn blaring uselessly into the empty woods.

His hands shook as he turned off the engine, the sudden silence was deafening except for his shaky breathing and the distant drip of melting ice from the trees.

He sat there for a full ten seconds, his forehead pressed to the wheel, forcing air into his lungs.

Ariana.

Her face flashed, pale, bloodied, eyes pleading.

Three hours.

Maybe less now.

The clock in his head ticked louder than any watch.

He checked his wristwatch.

It was 2:41 p.m.

The sun was going to set in three and a half hours.

Full moon at 6:47.

Ariana had maybe two hours left, if Adele wasn’t lying to buy Tyler time.

He grabbed the machete from the passenger seat, the flashlight from the back seat, and the half empty med kit from the glovebox, bandages, tape, a single syringe of painkiller he had never used on himself.

The air outside hit him like a slap when he pushed the door open, it was a sharp, lung burning cold that changed his breath to white clouds.

He walked on the dry ice as he stepped out, the truck shifting to one side like a wounded animal.

He left it where it sat, no time to dig it out, no time to call for help.

He started jogging north on foot, his machete in one hand, his med kit slung over his shoulder.

The road was a brutal mess.

No one lived up north so road maintenance never really bothered with roads that led to north.

The road looked abandoned, falling trees blocking half the path, the floor littered with dead leaves and animal feces.

He moved as fast and careful as he could, calculating every step, using his to scan for the next hazard.

His left side was wet and warm, blood had soaked through the shirt from the claw wounds and was freezing against his skin in stiff patches.

The pain was constant, but he used it as fuel to keep moving.

He peeled off his belt with one hand, and wrapped it tight above the worst rib like a makeshift bandage holder, he groaned in pain as the leather bit into his flesh.

But it helped.

A little.

He looked around.

Tyler’s van tracks were fresh in the mud, deep tyre marks from overloaded tires, one wobbling like it had a bent rim from the earlier crash.

Eric followed them for half a mile, his boots splashing through puddles, breath fogging, his whole body shivering from the cold.

After a while, the tracks changed from the main road into the trees at a sharp angle, the branches were snapped and he could tell something had happened ahead.

He bent down, and touched the mud with his gloved fingers.

It was still warm, and soft.

Less than twenty minutes ahead.

Tyler was hurt, he was bleeding, but still moving.

Eric pulled the phone from his backpack, the body was cracked from earlier abuse.

He clicked it twice, and coughed, his voice low.

“Gabe, you copy? Over.”

A long second of silence, then Gabe’s voice burst through, tight and filled with panic and anger.

“Eric? Jesus Christ, where the hell are you?”
He asked.

“We tracked you to the mill and it’s a goddamn slaughterhouse, there’s bodies everywhere, Ariana is also badly injured, medics are on the way but, ”

“Ariana was hit with wolfsbane,” Eric cut in, words tumbling out as he jogged.

“Diluted wolfsbane so she’s got a few hours until it gets too deadly.” He said.

“Tyler’s got the antidote.” He continued.

“I’m on my way to his hunting cabin, three miles north.” He continued.

“I’m on foot, the truck is stuck.” He explained.

Ha paused and took a deep breath.

“Make sure the medics get to the mill now and back up here if you can spare it. If they have a temporary antidote for the wolfsbane then they can use it.” He added.

“Copy that,” Gabe replied, voice cracking.

“Eric, man, hold on, don’t do this alone.” He said, his voice sounded rough but full of concern.

“You know Tyler, he’s got men, he’s, ”

“I know.” Eric’s breath came in puffs, cutting him short.

“Just get to her.” He rasped.

“Tell her… tell her I’m coming.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He clicked off, stuffed the phone away, and ran harder, his lungs burning, the machete slamming against his thigh with every step he took.

A few memories replayed through his mind as he pushed through the bushes.

He remembered the way she had laughed the first time he had tried to cook for her and burned the steaks black, the way she was always tracing his scars in bed, asking for stories he never wanted to tell, the night she had confessed her past with Tyler, her tears soaking his shirt, and he had held her until dawn.

“You have to fight, baby.” He whispered under his breath.

“You have to fight for us.”

He took a deep breath as he began to crawl down the rocky road on all fours, mud staining his knees, he came to a stop and dropped flat behind a fallen log of wood.

His breath came in controlled puffs, he carefully dug his machete into the dirt beside him.

Below, in a small clearing surrounded by pine trees, he could see the hunting cabin.

It was just as he remembered it, there was a black van parked looking out of place in front with the driver’s door hanging open.

There was blood on the snow, it was Tyler’s, it was dark and looked just like blood contained by wolfsbane would, the burns must have begun to eat through his shirt.

Eric pulled the compact binoculars from his pack, and scanned the scene.

Tyler was inside, he was visible through a dusty window, he was smoking and shirtless, blisters covering his chest and neck in angry red wounds, but they weren’t looking as bad as he expected.

He was healing.

Fast.

Eric knew the full moon’s pull, even if it was still hours away, was already accelerating his healing.

Eric counted the men surrounding the cabin, one on the porch, leaning against the rail, smoking a cigarette with a metal whiskey case by his side.

Another walking around the compound slowly, his rifle slung across his shoulder.

There was no sign of the one who had fled with Tyler, maybe he had died in the crash, or maybe he was inside.

Eric took a deep breath and began to check his ammo slowly.

There were nine rounds in the gun, three in the spare hidden in his belt.

The Machete was sharp enough to shave with.

He also took his flashlight for the cabin’s dark interior, he considered taking the med kit with bandages along, he might need them later.

No time for a fancy plan, just get in, get the vial, get out.

“For Ariana.”
He whispered it like a prayer, then moved downhill, as silent as he could be.

Meanwhile

Clara finally got to the creek after springing for a while, the icy water splashing up to her knees in shocking bursts that stole her breath.
The cold was immediate and painful, painful enough to make her gasp aloud, her legs went numb within seconds, but she didn’t slow down, she didn’t dare.

The scout’s body lay behind her on the bank, his face down in the snow, his shotgun still removing smoke faintly from the barrel where she had fired straight into his chest.

His blood flowing dark around him, it looked out of place in the snow.

She had never killed anyone before.

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, the knife felt wet with his blood in her hands.

What have I done? The thought replayed in her head, but she shoved it down.

Liam.

This was for Liam.

She scrambled up the far end of the river, her boots slipping on wet rocks and ice, her fingers grabbing into frozen mud to keep herself from falling.

She climbed behind a boulder the size of a car, her heart hammering so hard she could hear it over the loud river.

The water hid her splashing, but not forever.

She checked the shotgun with trembling fingers, three bullets left in the tube.

She racked one into the chamber with a metallic cha-chunk, safety off, and pointed the barrel low low.

Footsteps.

She quickly bent low on frost.

Moving slow and deliberate.

She peeked around the edge of the boulder’s, and held her breath.

The scout’s partner was there, he was bigger, bearded, with an AK47 slung across his chest, he was looking around the near bank with a large flashlight, the beam giving him visibility through the pine forest.

“Rusty? You there, man? Answer me.” The man said, his voice was rough and filled with worry.

He kicked at a bush, his gun ready.

Clara’s heart beat louder.

She could take him, one shot to the head, would end it.

But the boom would echo for miles, and alert the others.

Tyler’s men were everywhere today.

She took a step back, moving as silent as she could, and walked behind the trees, holding the shotgun like it was a baby.

She had to keep moving.

The top of the mountain was close.

Liam was waiting for her.

A few minutes later she could see the shack ahead, it
was smaller than the rumors made it sound, it looked old, like it had been sitting here for centuries, she wondered if there was anyone inside, she doubted, the road looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

There was an old well by the side of the cabin which looked like it hadn’t been opened in years.

Was she at the wrong place?

She looked around and took a step forward, her boots sinking in the snow as she walked forward.

She paused as she noticed a rusted chainsaw sitting on the old porch next to a neat stack of split firewood, and a small axe was left by the stump.

No lights inside, no dogs barking, just the smell of burning wood and something herbal, it smelled like grass and dirt.

Clara approached slowly, holding her shotgun close in case of any trouble, her finger on the trigger.

Her boots made soft sounds on the snow covered path.

The door slowly opened before she could knock, the hinges sounding like old bones.

She froze in fear as she noticed a shadow.

She looked up to see someone standing by the door.

She was old, probably in her seventies or eighties, it was hard to tell, her skin looked like cracked leather from years in the cold, her eyes were yellow with cataracts that still somehow looked intimidating.

She wore a man’s faded flannel shirt that she had tucked into a pair of old jean overalls that was filled with all manner of stains, she had packed her gray hair in a tight braid down her back.

A double barrel shotgun was resting on the doorframe within easy reach.

Was this Mara? She thought to herself.

“You’re late,” Mara rasped, her voice like dry leaves scraping together.

“But I’m surprised you came here, I thought you would get scared and run like most do.” She said and made a wheezing sound, Clara couldn’t tell if she was laughing or choking.

Clara’s mouth went dry, words sticking.

“I… I need the witch.” She whispered.

“The one who brings back the dead.” She muttered.

Mara stopped laughing, her smile disappearing as she studied her for a long moment, her eyes looking darker than they initially looked.

“Do you have a soul to trade?” She whispered.

“A Clean one? Or one already cracked?” She asked, looking deep into Clara’s eyes.

Clara swallowed, as she slowly began to understand what she had gotten herself into.

“It’s… it’s for my mate.” She whispered.

“Liam. He’s, he was killed.” She muttered.

“He was killed with Wolfsbane, but I know it wasn’t the time, he wasn’t meant to die! I still need him, his people still need him, we need him back, I’m ready to give you whatever you need.” Clara said desperately.

Mara’s lips curled, not a smile, something sadder.

“Soul for a soul.” She whispered.

“That’s the price.” She added and slowly took a step forward.

“No negotiating, once you start, there’s no stopping.” She whispered.

“Are you ready for that?” She asked.

Clara nodded, looking desperate.

“Yes! Yes I am.” She said, nodding her head.

Clara sighed and shook her head, looking sad.

“What comes back might wear his face, but it ain’t always him inside.” She whispered.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” She asked.

Clara’s hands tightened on the shotgun.

Memories replaying, Liam’s golden eyes the morning he had proposed, the way he would sing off key while fixing the truck, the empty bed since his death.

“I’m sure.” She whispered, looking determined.

Mara stepped aside, the door opening wider.

“Then come in.” She whispered.

“But know this, the moon demands balance, no refunds. No mercy.” She whispered, her voice turning colder.

Clara nodded and slowly entered the cabin and paused, it was so warm inside, almost like she was in a different country.

Meanwhile
Eric attacked the guard on the porch first, moving as silent as he could, from behind the woodpile.

He rose like a ghost, his machete flashing in a clean arc across the throat.

Hot blood sprayed his glove, the man gurgled once, cigarette falling, his body becoming limp.

Eric caught him under the arms, dragged him into the snow pile behind the porch, wiped the blade on the man’s jacket.

One down.

The second guard walked around the corner slowly, his rifle slung loose.

Eric hid himself behind the cabin wall, and held his breath, his heart beating slowly.

The man paused, and sniffed the air.

His wolf senses kicking in, he then kept walking, muttering under his breath about the cold.

Eric stepped out, his pistol up with a silencer attached. Pop.

A cough of sound.

The bullet took him, leaving a hole in the center of his head.

He crumpled to the floor without a sound.

Eric kicked the door in with a boot, the wood splintering around the lock.

Tyler turned around in shock, he had the vial in his hands, it was a small red glass.

He looked shocked to see Eric here.

“You’re persistent,” he snarled, his voice shaky from the pain and he began to shift, his form rippling under his skin, muscles swelling, his bones cracking audibly.

Eric raised the pistol, steady.

“Drop it!” He shouted.

“Now.”

Tyler smiled, blood on his teeth.

“Make me Crescent dog.”

Eric fired, a shoulder shot, clean.

Tyler roared, vial flying from his hand.

It shattered against the floorboards in a spray, the clear liquid slowly soaking into the wood.

Eric’s heart stopped cold.

Tyler laughed, the blood bubbling from the wound.

“Decoy, asshole.” He smiled.

“I knew that bitch Adele would try to pull a fast one to save her life and I was right.” He said laughing.

“The real one’s in the van.” He whispered.

“You think I’d carry the only dose?” He added.

Eric jumped across the room.

Tyler met him halfway, his claws extending with a sickening pop, his jaws elongating.

They crashed into the bunk bed, wood scattering under their weight.

Eric drove the machete deep into Tyler’s side.

Tyler groaned in pain and raked his claws across his face, opening a gashing wound from the side of his head to his jaw.

Eric groaned in pain, the hot pain spreading through his face.

They both rolled on the floor, groaning, punching each other.

Eric lost the machete in the scramble.

Tyler pinned him, his jaws snapping inches from his throat, his breath hot and filled with hunger.

Eric jammed his forearm under the beast’s chin, his muscles screaming with effort, and reached blindly, grabbing a lamp which he crashed into the side of Tyler’s face, smashing his head with a chair leg.

His hand grabbed a loose floorboard.

He ripped it open and swung it like a club, the wood scattered against Tyler’s skull with a crack.

Tyler roared as he staggered backwards, his vision blurring.

Eric scrambled up, he dove for the ammo crate under the bunk.

He dragged the false bottom, and looked inside, it was empty.

Tyler was already shifting back, laughing through blood and pain.

“You’re too late.” He roared.

“Always too late.” He roared, smiling with anger.

Eric grabbed the phone from his belt.

“Gabe!” He screamed into the phone.

“I’m sharing my location to you right now, I need you to send as many men as you can! Do you copy! I’m sharing my location! Send as many men as you can!” He shouted into the phone.

Tyler jumped again, he moved like he was weaker but still filled with anger.

Eric sidestepped this time around and brought the floorboard down across the back of his neck with all his weight.

Tyler dropped face first to the floor, he was out cold, his blood slowly pouring out.

Eric zip tied his wrists and ankles with speed, and gagged him with a dirty sock from the bunk.

He dragged the body outside by the collar, and dumped him in the snow.

The back of the van was already open.

He searched through it frantically, throwing away anything that got in his way, he searched through everything twice but he couldn’t find it.

There was no vial.

His heart began to race, he quickly began to search through other areas of the car and stopped when he got under the driver’s seat, there it was taped with duct tape, the small, red cork still intact.

He held it like fragile glass, relief flooding him.

Tyler moved on the ground, mumbling through the gag.

Eric took a step closer, raising the pistol to his temple.

“Where’s the rest? Talk.” He snapped.

Tyler spat out blood around the sock.

“Gone.” He groaned,

“It got burned in an accident earlier this morning.” He continued and began to laugh.

“That’s all you get, hero.” He added, laughing.

Eric’s blood ran cold.

One vial.

For Ariana.

He looked at his watch and looked at Tyler with pity, the wolfsbane was fighting back against his regenerative abilities, at this rate he would be dead before the full moon.

He stared at the red liquid, the choice crushing him,

He had to get to Ariana.

Tyler smiled as he slowly closed his eyes, Eric could tell he also knew he wouldn’t make it until the full moon, and he had accepted his fate.