Flesh and Bone Chapter 2

[biofreak659]

A dozen of them stood in the clearing—farmers aged before their time by hardship and long hours in the sun. Only two of them had guns; the rest carried pitchforks and shovels. Albus stifled a giggle: it had all the makings of some stereotypical mob.


 

"Andrei!" The woman called out, and rushed forwards to one of the younger looking men. He embraced her and held her by the shoulder. "They've come from that church up the mountain."

"I thought—" the young man began, casting a nervous glance their way. One of the men with a gun cut him off. He was big and burly, nearly twice Albus' size.

"Good. My name is Ivan. Maria told you about the wolf?"

"She said it was a monster." Albus said cautiously.

Ivan's face twisted. "It is an animal. Shots are not true in the dark."

"Ivan—" Maria protested. Ivan held up a hand.

"But it is a voracious animal, and possibly rabid. It savaged two dogs, and it still took the sheep. It must be put down before it kills again. It strikes only at night, and has not yet killed tonight."

"Was it struck at all?" Beatrice spoke up.

"I hit it." The other armed man said. "It left a blood trail."

"We must kill it before the night is over, and it slinks back into hiding." Ivan said. "A wounded predator is the most dangerous thing in this world. We should divide into four groups to pin it. Each of us with a rifle will lead a group."

"We will remain together." Beatrice said. Albus almost protested. These people were frightened and grateful, and he appreciated the blunt nature of Ivan. But Beatrice was right: they could not trust anyone outside the Order to have their best interests at heart.

Ivan's face twisted under his greying beard, but he nodded his assent. "Fine. You two will head east. Boris, you will head south," he said to the other armed man, "and I will head north. The blood trail runs northeast, but the wolf may have gone south towards the river."

The Order lay to the west. It discomfited Albus to head away from it, but he didn't protest. These were farmers, and it was far wiser for Beatrice and him to cover the more dangerous part of the forest.

"If we shoot the animal?" Albus asked.

"We will need to burn it, so that it does not infect anything else. You have flint and steel?"

Albus pulled his tinderbox out of his pocket. Ivan nodded brusquely.

"Good hunting. May God keep your aim true."

Albus took a lantern when Maria offered it to him.

"Please," she said, pulling something out of her apron pocket, "take this."

It was a string of wooden beads that smelled of oil.

"For protection," she folded it into his hand. Albus tucked it into his pocket. "Ivan has not seen the beast. It walks on two legs. It is the devil's hound, come to drag us all down to Hell." She shuddered, tears welling at the corners of her eyes, and crossed herself.

"I'll kill it." Albus said quietly. "I promise. No matter if it's an animal or a demon."

"Albus." Beatrice called him. She held her rifle diagonally across her body, ready to bring to aim at a moment's notice. Albus took a shielded lantern and followed her into the darkness.

--

The forest around the Order was old, tangled growth: big trees and bramble in between them. The burly village men couldn't maneuver well, but Albus and Beatrice were both thin. Albus pushed his rifle in front of himself and twisted through a gap in the branches.

"Here." He whispered, squinting at the cold mud.

"What is it?" Beatrice asked.

Albus held his hand out, fingers splayed, and pushed it into the dip in the ground. His fingers didn't touch the edge of the print.

"A wolf?" Beatrice pulled away the branches overhead, letting the silver moonlight illuminate the trail of tracks leading deeper into the woods. "The old man was right then."

"Have you heard of the Beast of Gévaudan?" Albus said.

"I'm no scholar."

"It terrorized France in the 1760s. They said that it was a wolf too."

"And what was it really?" Beatrice peered at the tracks. "The shape of the prints; it looks like nothing more than a wolf."

"The biggest wolf that's ever been seen. A normal animal is half that size."

Beatrice glanced at him before her sharp gaze returned to the dark woods. "Do you think… a vampire? Dracula could turn into a great beast. It's a common enough trait among the lesser leeches."

"There are other kinds of monsters that take the form of a wolf."

Beatrice smiled grimly. "Perhaps your paranoia will serve us. You brought silver bullets."

"Only two. If you must use one, it has to count. Your aim must be true."

"It always is."

They followed the tracks into the shadows of the trees, where the earth was shielded enough from the weather that it was dry and compact. Albus held the lantern in front of him and looked for any sign of the wolf. This must have been some sort of game trail: the small, tender shoots growing at the base of the old oaks were nibbled and trampled, and the whorled bark was scored by antlers and horns. He even saw bear scratchings, but they were old and scarred. Something had frightened the other predators away.

"Do you smell that?" Beatrice asked him, in hushed tones. Albus caught the stink—the foul copper of fresh blood and dead flesh. He shielded the lantern. Cautiously, they pressed through a dense patch of wood and found themselves at the site of a massacre.

"Three sheep in as many days." Beatrice muttered, nudging the closest carcass with the barrel of her rifle.

"It didn't even eat them."

The village sheep were splayed out across the clearing. It was like an abattoir. The dirt was soaked with blood. All around them were those massive, massive footprints. The trees were clawed and mangled, half of them cleaved in half.

Albus touched one of the claw marks. His entire finger fit into it.

A low howl rent the air. Albus snapped up his rifle, aiming it through the trees.

"Albus…" Beatrice had her rifle pointed at the same spot. She carefully walked towards him, her aim never wavering.

"We can pin it," Albus murmured. "I know this part of the forest. We're near the river. It won't be able to retreat."

Beatrice nodded. "A pincer?"

"Load your silver bullet. Make it count."

Albus could have kicked himself for not being more paranoid. This was Romania. It was stupid not to assume that something supernatural was happening.

He opened the lantern—dark creatures feared light in all its forms, then met Beatrice's eyes. Then, he vanished into the trees.

This deep in the woods, there was not much leaf litter or shrubbery. Albus was careful to avoid the branches littering the ground, and hesitantly made his way towards the beast. He could hear it breathing, harsh and ragged. It must have known that it was being hunted. He picked his way to the edge of the clearing, still covered by the tangle of trees.

He caught the glint of Beatrice's rifle from the opposite treeline. The clearing was empty.

There was a tiny rustle as Beatrice crept out from the trees. She ducked her head to examine the mess of prints along the shoreline, then very quickly glanced across the river. The opposite bank was pristine. The beast couldn't have swum across the river, at least not directly.

Albus was about to step out and join Beatrice when he heard an awful crack.

It was behind her. It knew.

"Beatrice!" Albus shouted, shoving his way out of the trees. The shadow of the beast loomed over Beatrice. She turned to fire, but the beast swiped at her, knocking her into the river. Albus saw the bright red flash of blood, and then she vanished into the dark currents.

He could taste blood in his mouth, his ears were filled with his own racing heartbeat, his trousers felt wet.

The beast turned to him and ran. Albus pulled the trigger.

It roared in pain and he finally saw it clearly. It was a monster, ragged and matted, with a mane clumped with mud. Its eyes were shimmering madly in the moonlight. There was a gleaming white object embedded in its chest.

There was an explosion, a flash of light, and Albus felt his ears ring. He tore back the bolt and loaded another bullet. His second shot hit the beast in the chest, and then it was on him.

His stomach felt hot, then cold, and even in the dark, he could see that he'd been gutted.

He thought about Shanoa, and then, briefly, how lucky he was that he'd be dead before the beast started to eat him.