8 Oops #2
It’s the entire pack. I left this outbreak to fester for too long.
I’m vaccinated, but they could still tear me apart, and then I’m dead for my troubles.
Calvin, at least, is taking me seriously now and hisses warnings, pointing out where eyes flash in the dark, where movement in the underbrush gives away a lurking werewolf.
With a lookout at my back and my feet on steady ground, I redeem myself slightly.
Shot after shot finds its intended target.
Finally, there’s only one werewolf left standing, the large black-furred one fighting Eldi.
It towers over her, but she’s much faster and uses her size to her advantage, weaving in between its legs, scrabbling up and over it, using its fur as handholds.
The werewolf seems more irritated than threatened, snapping at her ineffectually, unable to catch her.
Rather like watching a Chihuahua pester a Great Dane.
I aim and miss my first shot as it lurches sideways at the last moment in an attempt to shake Eldi off.
The werewolf’s eyes lock in a new direction, drawn by my movement, Eldi forgotten as it finds more appealing prey in Calvin and me.
It tenses to pounce as I sight down the barrel, my finger on the trigger, when Eldi opens her mouth and bites down hard, digging her teeth into the werewolf’s flank.
With a yelp of outrage and pain, the werewolf flings Eldi away and vaults at Calvin and me in a single, fluid motion.
Calvin shoves me out of the way, and I fumble the gun again, much to my horror.
Another shot goes wide as I fall to the side, the werewolf colliding with Calvin.
My shoulder hits the ground first, a bolt of pain and numbness flashing up my arm.
Eldi throws herself back into the fray, and I can’t get a clear shot with the three of them. A slash of red blood obscures half of Calvin’s face. The werewolf’s teeth clamp around Calvin’s forearm. I take the shot anyway. There’s no choice left.
Once, twice. It’s still got Calvin’s arm. Three times and finally the werewolf drops like a stone, and as Eldi lets loose a feral growl of triumph, Calvin stumbles away, panting.
I know I saw the wolf’s teeth locked over Calvin’s flesh. I saw it happen, but I don’t want to believe it.
“Calvin,” I call, and he turns, blinking away the blood dripping from the deep scratches raking down his face.
I can see the arches of teeth marks across his forearm, already closing, healing.
The scratches gouging his face are knitting together before my eyes, a line of angry pink already fading to silver at the far edges of the wounds.
Fuck. Too late, I’m too late.
Calvin takes a step toward me, pauses, and his head jerks like he’s trying to get rid of a bad thought. Then he starts to shake. He flexes his hands, brings them up to stare at them in astonishment and horror as his fingers elongate, razor-sharp claws unsheathing with an almost audible pop.
There’s no antidote, no cure. He will be hunted forever.
“Calvin.” This time I can barely whisper it.
His head snaps toward me in the same way I’ve watched Eldi move countless times whenever she sights something she particularly wants to eat.
I still see Calvin in there, but his eyes have a reflective sheen like Eldi’s now.
When he registers my pointed gun, his lips curl, and his whole body angles into a crouch. Eldi answers him with a warning snarl.
I react instinctively and pull the trigger.
When the dart finds its mark in Calvin’s biceps, the predator I saw disappears.
Maybe it worked; maybe the vaccine helped in time.
His hands are normal human hands, the sharp canines and sharp claws gone, his eyes a warm, deep brown again, no hint of reflected light.
Eyes that are horrified and confused. He gives me a look filled with hurt and betrayal as he reaches up a hand to the back of his shoulder and yanks out a dart.
Shit. I can’t remember how many shots I fired.
I notice the dart in his thigh only as he plucks it out next. Already his movements are becoming slow and clumsy. He starts to lean and sinks to his knees as he pulls the dart from his biceps. The only intentional one.
“You shot me. Reggie. What the fuck?” Calvin slurs out before his eyes roll back and he topples over.
Oops.
I borrow some of Eldi’s favorite curses as I run to check on him.
He’s still breathing; he’s got a pulse. Wiping away the blood on his face the best I can with my sleeves, I find fully healed wounds and scars.
That’s what I was afraid of. Eldi eagerly runs toward us and picks up Calvin’s arm to inspect the bites.
A smattering of silvery scars mars the skin, the only evidence he’s been bitten.
“Oopsie,” Eldi confirms quietly.
I groan. “Yeah, no fucking kidding.”
“Dumbass,” Eldi says.
“Hey now, he was trying to protect you.”
Eldi sniffs and raises her eyebrows, and I realize she isn’t talking about Calvin.
I nudge Calvin with my foot, hoping he’ll wake up.
Of course he doesn’t; I gave him enough tranquilizers to down a rhinoceros.
There’s nothing for it; he’s out cold. We’ll have to carry him back.
Eldi retrieves my pack from the tree, and I perform some frankly impressive DIY maneuvers with some bandages and spare paracord to secure the gun (safety on this time) to the back of my pack.
“Good thing you weren’t expecting a ride. Help me?” I plead with Eldi.
Eldi sighs and picks up Calvin’s feet while I slide my arms under his shoulders to make the trek home to the Winnebago. Just another night covered in blood and sweat in the forest, nothing to see here. He’s going to be pissed when he wakes up.