I do as he says, my own knife at the ready. I can hear low, disturbing snarls in the trees ahead. The moonlight illuminates a figure that is definitely not human this time. It’s hunched, with long arms bent at an odd angle. There are smears of blood on the trees and bushes, the same color as the blood on Professor Helsing’s blades. The creature in front of us is definitely, unmistakably, the al.
And also the first monster I’ve encountered in the wild.
Professor Helsing signals me to stop and readies his crossbow. “I’m gonna shoot it,” he whispers, “but it’ll try to close the distance first. Be ready.”
I nod, not sure if he can see me, and shift the knife into my left hand so I can hold the spear in my right. I can smell the monster’s blood. My skin is prickling. I can almost feel where the creature is—I guess that’s my instincts kicking in again.
Thwak. The crossbow bolt rockets toward the creature and smacks it square in the shoulder. With an otherworldly screech, the al turns toward us, its eyes glinting red in the moonlight.
“Now!” Helsing shouts, dropping his crossbow to grab at one of his melee weapons.
I spring forward at the same time the al does. It raises its arms above its head, its claws gleaming in the moonlight, and I thrust forward with my spear. The tip is too dull to puncture its skin, but it knocks the al back a bit. I can feel that it’s already injured, not at full strength—Helsing’s work, obviously. As it reels from the blow from the spear, I slash at it with my left hand and open a long gash across its chest.
Shrieking, the al lurches back, and I see its fangs flashing in its gaping maw. My heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I follow it back, this time jabbing at its face. I’m a little shaky, so my aim isn’t perfect, but the dull tip of my spear jams straight into its throat. Its beady e
yes widen and its harrowing cry is cut off abruptly.
And then Professor Helsing is beside me, wielding a scimitar in one hand and a dagger in the other. Even injured, his movements are fluid. His scimitar arcs and slashes through the al’s arm, hacking it off at the elbow. He swipes the dagger across the monster’s chest, deepening the gash I’ve already made. In the same motion, he brings his elbow up and knocks it into the al’s jaw.
I can feel the monster’s life force slipping away, but it’s not finished yet. I whack it on the side of the head with my spear—the blow comes immediately after Professor Helsing’s elbow connects. I then step directly up to it and push my knife into its throat, sinking the blade deep into its flesh before twisting it and yanking it back out.
Blood gurgles out of the al’s throat. The red light in its eyes fades; it sways forward, but Helsing simply pushes on its chest so that it falls backward, away from us. The monster lands with an unceremonial thump on the forest floor. Dead.
Helsing strides forward and brings his scimitar down. There’s a sickening crunch, and then he kicks the al’s head away from its body. I lower my weapons. My arms are shaking. So are my legs. I stare at the dead creature on the ground as Helsing calmly relights the lantern and holds it up.
In the flickering light, the al looks even uglier. It vaguely resembles an old woman half-turned into an ape. It has long, matted hair coming from its disembodied head, and coppery claws that gleam dully from its knobbed fingers and toes.
I’m startled when I hear Helsing speak. He’s got a cell phone to his ear.
“I got it, Headmaster,” he’s saying, but I have to focus hard to understand. My brain feels mushy and tired. “Yeah, it’s all good. Cut off its head. I’ll bring in its claws and fangs tomorrow.”
I blink. My head’s starting to clear again. I slowly regain control over my muscles, but the adrenaline has faded now that the al is dead. I can feel myself crashing. I hear the Headmaster’s muffled voice through the phone asking about Helsing’s injuries.
“Not too bad. Don’t worry too much; I’ll be fine enough for work tomorrow. Nothing I can’t handle.”
I walk up to the dead body and turn its hand over with my spear. Maybe I can convince Helsing to give me one of these claws.
“Hey, Black,” Helsing says, and I look up to see him cutting off the al’s other hand. “Get the feet for me, yeah?”
I do as he says, using his knife to saw the feet off at the ankles. He pulls the sack off his back and opens it, dropping the hands and feet inside, then goes to the al’s head and picks it up by the hair.
“Follow me.” He tosses the sack at my face. I catch it and throw it over my shoulder. I should’ve always known there was a reason I wasn’t squeamish like other girls growing up.
We walk in silence, the light of his lantern bobbing on his belt. I’m disoriented. The trees are thick enough overhead that I can’t use the moon or stars to guide me, but I think Helsing’s leading us away from the village.
After trudging through the underbrush for a long while, we come upon a dirt pathway that leads to a clearing, from which I can see light. As we get closer I can see that it’s a small wooden cabin with a pitched roof. The chimney has smoke weaving out of it, and there’s a carport with a car parked underneath.
Helsing grunts. “Forgot to put out the fire.” He leads me to the door of the cabin, tugs some keys out of his pocket, and unlocks the door. “Come on in. Need your help.”
I walk in, and he shuts the door behind me and drops the al’s head onto a table near the door. I put the sack down near it and look around. It’s warm in this small den. There’s an old couch and a worn, scuffed coffee table piled with old monster manuals. Against the far wall there’s a workbench covered in various tools.
Helsing goes through a small doorway into a kitchen and yanks open the fridge. He pulls out a beer bottle and opens it on the edge of his counter before coming back out and slumping into the chair by his workbench.
“Come here,” he grunts after downing about half the bottle.
I walk cautiously over. He’s pushing things off the bench with one hand and drinking with the other. Finally satisfied he’s cleared enough space for the both of us, he starts pulling some first-aid things from a nearby box.
“Need your help dressing my wounds. I can handle the big stuff. Need you for antiseptic and shit I can’t reach.” He finishes his beer and throws it over my head. I hear it crash into a trash can somewhere behind me. “Grab that chair.” He points.