Lord Loss

AROOOOO!

Slipping away from the house. Creeping around the sheds. Entering the forest. Moving cautiously, Bill-E leading the way. A bright night. Very few clouds to block out the worryingly full moon. But dark under cover of the trees. Countless spots where a creature could lie in ambush.

“Which way did he go?” I whisper as Bill-E pauses and stoops.

“That way,” Bill-E replies a few seconds later, pointing left.

“How do you know?”

“Footprints,” he says, tapping the ground.

“Who made you Hia-bloody-watha?” I scrunch up my eyes but can’t see any prints. “Are you sure?” I ask, wondering if he’s deliberately leading me astray.

“Positive,” Bill-E says, then stands and stares at me, troubled. “If he sticks to this course, he’s heading for the Vale.”

I stare back silently. Then we both turn without a word and resume the chase—faster, with more urgency.

Running. Ducking low-hanging branches. Leaping bushes. Bill-E comes to a sudden halt. I run into him. Stifle a cry.

“I see him,” Bill-E says softly “He’s stopped.”

I peer ahead into the darkness—can’t see anything. “Where?”

“Over there,” Bill-E points, then crouches. I squat beside him. “We’re on the edge of the forest. Carcery Vale’s only a minute’s jog from here.”

“You think he’s going to attack someone in the village?” I ask.

Bill-E tilts his head uncertainly. “I can’t believe it. But I don’t see any other reason why he would come here. Maybe—”

He spins away abruptly, covering his mouth with his hands. Lurches through the bushes. Twigs snap. Leaves rustle. He collapses to the floor and throws up over a pile of twigs.

My gaze snaps from Bill-E to the trees ahead. Clutching the handle of my axe so tightly it hurts. Waiting for Dervish to hear the commotion and investigate.

Half a minute passes. A minute. No movement ahead.

Bill-E shuffles up beside me. Rests in the shadow of a thick bush. Breathing heavily. Chin specked with vomit. “I can’t go on,” he groans. His voice cracks as he speaks. His whole body’s trembling.

“How bad are you really?” I ask, searching for him in the shadows, only able to make out the dark outline of his face.

“Lousy.” He chuckles drily. “I should have listened to you earlier—gone home to bed. I need a doctor.”

“Your house isn’t far from here,” I note. “I could take you there.”

“What about Dervish?”

“Is he still where you said he was?” I ask.

Bill-E parts the bush above him, half-kneels and stares dead ahead. Silence for a few seconds. Then—“Still there.”

“I’ll take you home,” I decide, “then circle back.”

“But you can’t track him like I can,” Bill-E demurs. “You need me.”

“I’ll get by,” I override him. “The way you are now, you’re a liability. It’s only pure luck that he didn’t hear you a few minutes ago. You’re useless like this.”

“Grubbs Grady,” Bill-E giggles hoarsely. “Tells it like it is.”

“Come on,” I mutter, offering him a hand up. “The quicker we go, the sooner I can pick him up again.”

Bill-E hesitates, then grabs my sleeve and staggers to his feet. “Sorry about this,” he mumbles, bent over, hiding his face, ashamed.

“Don’t be stupid,” I smile, wrapping an arm around him. “I couldn’t have tracked him this far without you. Now—let’s go.”

Bill-E’s house lies almost straight ahead, but Dervish is blocking the direct route. So we skirt around him and stumble further through the forest, until we find a spot downhill where he hopefully won’t be able to see us.

“Walk or run?” I ask.

Bill-E doesn’t answer immediately—his breath is ragged and he’s trembling. Then he sighs and says, “Walk. More noise… if we run.”

Holding Bill-E tight—I think he’d collapse if I let go I start ahead, into the moonlit clearing.

Stomach like a coiled spring as we leave the cover of the forest. I face forward, not wanting to trip over anything, but my eyes keep sneaking left, scouring the trees for signs of my uncle.

“Can you see him?” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.

Bill-E only groans in reply and doesn’t look round.

Getting close to the houses on the outskirts of Carcery Vale. Dark back yards. Lights in kitchen and bedroom windows. A woman cycles towards us, parallel to the forest. She waves. I start to wave back. Then she turns right and I realise she was only signalling.

Coming up to the houses. There’s a road behind them, where most of the residents park. We make the road and close in on the Spleen residence. I start to think about what Ma Spleen is going to say, and what will happen when she phones Dervish to complain about the condition he let her grandson walk home in. Perhaps I should take Bill-E directly to a doctor. It’s late but I’m sure—

Bill-E gasps painfully and collapses. He dry retches and paws at the pavement, whining like a wounded animal.

“What’s wrong?” I cry, dropping beside him. I reach to examine his face, but he brushes my hands away and snarls. “Bill-E? What is it? Do you want me to—”

“Grubbs—step away.”

A harsh voice, straight ahead of me. Slowly, trembling, I stand and stare.

Dervish!

My uncle’s standing between us and the rear garden gate of Bill-E’s home. No way past. He’s illuminated by moonlight. A long hypodermic syringe in his right hand. Eyes ablaze with anger. “Meera,” he says, gaze flicking to a spot behind me. I glance back. A moment’s pause, then Meera steps out from behind a van. My head spins. I remember an earlier mad thought—“What if they’re both werewolves?”

Dervish starts walking towards me.

“Stop!” I moan, warning him off with my axe.

“Step away, Grubbs,” he says again, not slowing. “You don’t know what’s happening.” Then, to Meera, “Be careful. Block his escape, but don’t get too close.”

“I know what you are,” I sob, tears of fear springing to my eyes. “If you come any closer…”

“Don’t interfere,” Dervish snaps. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t step aside, I’ll—”

He comes within range. I swing at him with my axe. Tears impair my aim—I swing high. Dervish curses and ducks. I take another blind swing. He shimmies closer as I’m swinging, dodges the blade, chops at my axe arm with his free left hand.

My arm goes numb from the elbow down. The axe drops to the ground. I dart after it. Dervish grabs the back of my collar and yanks me aside. I crash into a car. He’s upon me before I have time to recover. Wraps his left arm around my throat. Exerts pressure.

“Dervish!” Meera gasps.

“It’s OK,” he pants. Then, to me, as I struggle for my life, “Easy! We’re on the same side.”

“Let go!” I wheeze. “I know what you are! Let—”

Low growling. Animalistic. Wolfen.

But not from Dervish.

From ahead of us.

Dervish releases me. I stand rooted to the spot. Eyes wide. Staring at the beast as it rises to its feet and snarls. A contorted face. Yellow eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Dark shadows. Open mouth full of bared teeth.

It raises a hand—dark skin, long nails, fingers curled into claws.

And I realise, about a million years late, that a monster has breached the barriers of Carcery Vale tonight—but it’s not Dervish.

The werewolf’s Bill-E Spleen!