Full Circle


  “You said Lycans were easy,” I huff, nursing a painfully deep slash across my arm as I race down the sewers alongside my sister. Needless to say, finding him was the easy part. Killing him however…
  “This is different,” she responds, considerably out of breath. We can hear the thing barrelling through the dirty water some ways behind us. “The magnum barely scratched it.”
  “And it’s definitely not ‘cus the slugs weren’t silver?” I ask, doing my best not to trip. Even a stumble would be deadly right now.
  “You’ve watched too many horror movies, little brother. A bullet’s a bullet.”
  “Well he obviously disagrees.”
  “Just run!”

6 hours later…

  It seemed like the last few hours had passed in hyperspeed. There’s a crazed fever racing through my blood, boiling me from the inside out. I do my best not to let her know. She’s intent on saving me, desperately flicking through the pages of this reference book, that ancient translated Mayan legend. The magnum next to her on the table. Ready?

  The only thing I have to do whilst I wait for the transformation to take me completely is think about what I could have possibly done to stop it. There’s none of that full moon bullshit we’re fed. The real beast is uncontainable. Once it’s out it’s out for good. I feel it, writhing inside me like the malicious, ugly animal it is. It’s not long now before I’m a slave to its bloodlust.

6 Hours earlier…

  I administer the second bullet to the brain of the seemingly deceased beast below my heel as soon as it opens its eyes once more. The explosives rigged to the tripwire made short work of it the first time round, scattering limbs and chunks of fur across the field as it chased us out of the wide sewer opening. Still, a wolf’s head can do some damage. Best to follow procedure and kill it twice. That’s what Faith said.

  I don’t revel in the kill, I don’t feel particularly glorious, but I feel justified in the act, at the very least. I’m sickened by the gore of it all but not by guilt. Faith puts her hand on my shoulder.
  “It’s not pretty, but it’s right,” she says.
  “I know sis,” I respond quietly, swallowing bile and looking up at the sky. Neither one of us saw or heard the other wolf, the first’s mate, approaching from behind, not until it was too late. Not until its guttural growl ripped through the silence, but by then it was already slathering atop me, my feeble hands trying to push its snarling muzzle away from my neck. Faith’s magnum makes short work of this one, at least, and with a whine it topples off me in a bloody heap. Faith doesn’t stop ‘til the chamber clicks its emptiness. There isn’t anything to kill twice after her handcannon is finished unloading. But there’s blood – and a lot of it at that – pouring from my neck. And it’s not all the wolf’s. It had its vengeance, it seemed.

4 Hours later…

  “Faith,” I say, trying to get her attention. She ignores me at first, her determination having turned to a destructive anger. She smashed the wood stool against the wall minutes ago and I saw real fear in her face. It’s something new to me. It terrifies me. It’s enough to stop her from doing the right thing when the time calls for it. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to turn into a monster.

  “Faith,” I try again, knowing that soon I won’t have the lucidity for words, “you know you have to do this. It’s here. I can feel it. I’ve not long now.”
  “You shut your mouth, little brother,” she says, turning to me with a fury I know is only a front.
  “It’s not pretty,” I say, trying to gulp down the monster inside, “but it’s right.”
  “No,” she says, “there’s a way,”
There isn’t, sis, you have to do this. You have to kill me or I’ll kill you.”
  “That’s not going to happen. I wont let it.”
  “Effy,” I say quietly. She turns back to her work. “Effy don’t do this,” I try desperately. “End it whilst you still can.”

  She ignores me. I can hear her tears hitting the table as she stoops over it, pretending to work. My senses are sharpening already. There’s a hunger growing deep in my gut. I can feel myself losing to it, feel the hopelessness that refuses to even try fighting it. I have one last thought before it consumes me forever.

  I love her.

  And then I’m gone.

  I look at the .45 in the back of her pants, and somewhere without wanting to realize it I realize I can get the better of her. Her guard is down. The chains around my wrists are cloth not chain. I break out of them effortlessly as I feel my bones twist inside me, radiantly hot in their pain. She turns, too slow, I’m upon her, crossed the cellar in two strides and before she can even think to reach for the pistol in her pants I’m reaching forwards, past her form lightning fast and grabbing the magnum from the desk and ramming it against my chin and-

  “Noah, no!”

The End

~ by Joseph Blame on June 21, 2011.

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