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You couldn’t think of a worse spot to end up in.
A scrapyard was a danger-caked graveyard for automobiles; stripped chassis, broken glass every few yards, pools of oil that looked like blood in the moonlight—
And a billion places for a werewolf to hide.
Fucking great.
You clenched the slingshot tighter in your grasp, the only weapon you had been able to amass throughout this blood-soaked night.
“Who are you, Dennis the Menace?” Dylan had raised an eyebrow as you wielded this ancient toy.
“I didn’t even know they made those anymore.” Kaitlyn piled on.
You had shrugged, placing your open hand on your hip while you waved the confiscated, dust-riddled toy with the other. “Even though this was probably made when Mr. H himself was a wee hacketteer, I’ll take it over…what was it that brought you to your knees, Dylan? A can of air freshener?”
“Hey, you take 30 ccs of ‘new car’ to the eyes and tell me how spunky you feel afterwards.” He’d elbowed you, smiling fondly. No bite in his words.
No bite.
Hopefully the mood stayed that way.
Now here you were, trudging carefully through the maze of rusted vehicles, looking for one that might have a—what were they looking for again? A rotary something.
Why did you zone out when Dad went over automobile maintenance? You just remembered ‘E’ could get you about 20 miles and that the XL Baja Blast couldn’t fit in your cupholder.
“Just look for a car that has something under the hood, we’ll go from there.” Kaitlyn’s stern voice echoed in your mind.
You knew where the engine was. You could totally do that.
After scouring for what could’ve been 20 minutes or 3 hours, your heard Kaitlyn’s victory call and sprinted back to where her and Dylan were pointing at a suspended car, talking out a plan amongst themselves.
“…The kids gave me the nickname ‘The Grabber.’”
“I don’t know what I missed, and I don’t think I wanna know.” You butt in, saddling alongside Dylan and shaking your head. Kaitlyn snorted and Dylan nodded lightly, accepting the verbal guffaw he’d made.
“You know what? I’m just now realizing how bad that sounds.”
You lock eyes with Kaitlyn. “Catch me up, what’s the plan.” You nod to the car hanging like a piñata overhead.
“It’s our best bet of having the rotor arm.” The rotor arm, of course. Duh. “The Grabber here is gonna go and work this thing like a prize crane. Only this bounty is more lifesaving than getting a Minion plushy.”
“Speak for yourself. My Minion décor really ties my whole chateau together.” Dylan’s joke makes you smile, thanking the stars you had wound up with the two counselors that could always put a grin on your face. Even in the face of carnage and horror.
“Spoken like a true grabber, as the kids say.” You say with faux fondness. Dylan grimaces.
“Let’s not make that a thing.” He starts walking backwards, losing confidence in his steps. Hesitates to turn around fully and face the challenge. “Just…” He looks pleadingly between you and Kaitlyn, complete and total seriousness soaking his face and words. His eyes land on you and he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. His touch sends a hot shock through you. The butterflies in your stomach take flight. “Just watch my back, okay?” He quietly pleas.
The need to protect your friends has been at maximum capacity since you’d heard Abi’s scream in the woods, signaling the beginning of one of the most confusing, horror-filled nights of your life. Seeing Dylan, DJ Dylan who never misses a quip or a chance to make light of a situation, asking for protection makes you want to swear an allegiance and keep him safe.
“Of course” Kaitlyn says at the same time you declare “We’ve got you.” You squeeze his hand back.
Thankful, he pulls himself away from you to tread up the steps and enters the crane, taking a seat in the hotbox and getting situated.
You walk over to Kaitlyn, gesture to the two ends of the open row. “You keep an eye on that end, I keep an eye on this one?”
“Sounds good, but don’t go far. I have the actual weapon, remember?” She lifts the shotgun for emphasis.
“Give me a yoyo and I can take out the Yakuza.” You joke, pumping up your own bravado in an attempt to ready yourself for the worst. When her stare goes serious, you raise your hands defensively, cutting off her terse comeback. You quietly admit “For real though, I get it. I’ll stay close.”
“Good, because if anything happens to you, I don’t think Dylan would have the will to go on. Not to mention, I’d kick your ghost ass until it brought you back to life.”
“Sounds like I’ll be covered then, dead or alive.” You start backing away and walk a few yards out, trying to assess the best places to hide, get coverage, etc.
After a few tense minutes and a jump scare from an unexpected radio interruption (“Sorry!” Dylan’s voice faintly echoed out) the car started to swivel and jerk about as Dylan managed a realtime ‘fake it ‘til you make it.’
“You did it!” Kaitlyn screamed and you were just laughing in disbelief, proud of your best friend. To think the boy who had forgotten to turn his phone off for the Summer was now winging it and successfully operating a fucking crane.
“I think I’ve found my calling!” His hesitant, but proud, voice faintly calls out. You probably wouldn’t have been able to make it out if you weren’t listening for him with every ounce of willpower.
“About time!” Kaitlyn jests, a smile beaming from her face as she opens the door and starts searching for the switch to open the hood.
Your body is still taut with anxiety, your foot is tapping from the nerves, but your brain is starting to slip into relief mode. Kaitlyn will find the piece, you guys will get the van in motion, retrieve Abi and Emma from the cellar, and finally get the fuck out of this backwoods, werewolf-infested, hellhole.
And finally get Dylan some medical attention. How he was able to go this long with such a traumatic injury alone makes your brain flip back to worry mode.
It’ll be hard to convince Abi to abandon Nick to the unknown—and past her mean-girl façade, Emma will probably want to lead a search for Jacob too. And dammit, where the fuck was Ryan? Nevertheless, they can be convinced that once morning hits, they’ll all come back and-
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK
A blaring horn fills the night air in rounds and makes you crouch down low, cover your ears. A cold sweat coats your body.
This can’t be good.
Kaitlyn’s screaming over the horn, over Dylan’s own muffled screams. You straighten your stance and whirl a 360. Nothing immediately-immediately in risk-range. You start to pace back towards the car and Kaitlyn, you should regroup, that’s probably smart right? Then a single desperate shriek from Dylan makes you freeze and panic.
“Hide!”
You remember the wedged Nissan off to the side, the door could open and close alright and gave you a decent view of the whole alley. You sprint with everything you have to the open door (props to you for thinking ahead) and you launch yourself in, hooking your foot through the inner handle and slamming it shut.
Crouching up, you peak through the window. Kaitlyn is trying to hide herself in the crane car and you see it. This hairless, daunting, 7-foot motherfucker with a murderous gaze that’s only outshone by rows of razor teeth jutting out so far, they look like they could bite clean through your arm.
You get nauseas.
Like they had tried to do to Dylan.
You sober yourself, shaking away the memories of Nick’s shredded torso and Dylan’s bleeding stump, and focus on the fight here and now. Kaitlyn has gotten herself in the car, atta girl, and the big, ugly mutt has launched itself at said car. The sounds are muffled but you can hear Kaitlyn screaming; you make out Dylan’s name and her tone sounds more bossy than in pain, so you’re assuming that she’s yelling for Dylan to help. The car starts to rise, with Kaitlyn on the inside and the wolf clinging to the outside.
Fuck, what should you do? What could you do? You and this stupid little novelty toy that hasn’t been popular since they made silent movies.
Suddenly, Dylan’s horn is blaring and your throat closes in fear. What, was there a second werewolf? Why would he send another warning when they were already in the middle of—
That’s when you see it. The wolf swings, builds momentum, and launches himself up to the arm of the crane, and starts crawling across like a squirrel along a power line towards a pale, terrified Dylan.
Something inside of you breaks; adrenaline rakes over your brain and suddenly there’s no more muscle aches, or apprehensive tightness. No questioning, no fear, no pause.
Everything shifts aside and a single goal cements itself in your core, making you feel stronger than ever.
This thing’s not fucking with Dylan, not again. Not Dylan who’s all alone, holed up in that little box, already down one hand and setting himself up as bait to spare Kaitlyn.
You slam open the car door, grab some baseball-sized hunk of metal off the ground, and you’re running forth, screaming without thinking. “Hey! Fleabag! Over here!”
It pays you no mind, doesn’t even linger, its eyes locked on Dylan and its drooling mouth hanging open.
This majorly pisses you off. You seat the metal chunk in the sling and pull back to shoot. You’re thankful for the 6 years of archery you took, because the sensation of the pull and aim feels practiced. Maybe you won’t totally screw this up.
The scrap flies through the air, its path true, and hits the werewolf in the side of its head. That gets the fucker’s attention.
Its yellow gaze slides to you, the uncanny valley of a mouth hanging open with a tongue dangling out like it’s a cartoon while it unnaturally stands on two legs. You don’t hesitate and pick up a hefty stone, lining up your aim and screaming “That’s right, Fido! Come and get it!” Release, lands right in the torso.
Your secondary senses note that Kaitlyn is screaming, Dylan is waving his arms, your heart is about to launch from your chest.
Your primary senses see that thing’s face shift, its body tenses and crouches. The stance reminds you of your cat back home, when he sees a bird outside that he wants to devour.
Great job, you did it, you got its attention.
Now run, idiot!
You turn on your heel and you’re sprinting with everything you have, gravel and dust flying up behind you. You hear the beast flying through air, hear it land in a messy, panting pile, and hear it gather itself and give chase.
You’re tempted to look back, to see how close it is, but you can’t afford to lose focus. You’re putting every molecule of your energy and effort into your eyes and your feet.
Ahead of you there’s a jacked F-350, its clearance up a foot higher than it usually is. Internally, you thank rednecks and overcompensation as a quick but stupid plan takes root.
You hear it closing the distance behind you, its wet panting making you feel sick. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit! You channel the skills you’ve been honing from your rec kickball team and try not to think about it too hard, because if you fuck this up, you’re done.
Using the momentum at just the right time, you launch into a slide and get down low, low enough to get under that jacked 350. The gravel and sharp shards of God-knows-what shreds through your leg like tissue paper (you just had to wear shorts today, didn’t you), but thankfully, you had made it under and you can hear the big, dumb dog faceplant into the car behind you.
Before you’re even done sliding, you twist yourself around to stop as you slam into the car behind the truck; there’s about 3 feet of clearance back here and you shimmy away as much as possible against the wall of cars, soaking in all the purchase you can get. The wolf is frantically trying to climb under the car and get to you, its eagerness causing its downfall as he keeps getting jammed up under there. Its growl coats the air and frothing drool flies from its mouth as it chomps mercilessly towards you, getting closer.
You reach to your side and fist some broken glass and gravel, ignoring the hot slicing sensations in your grasp, and pull back the sling, aiming at its ugly mug. “Don’t blink.” And the shards fly in its mouth, its eyes. It howls a pissed off noise and you take the moment to internally gloat and then launch yourself up and over the truck hood.
You’re running again, not sure where, you just know that it’s away from Kaitlyn and Dylan. You feel something hot dripping and pulsing along the side of your leg. Your peripheral sees glowing red; you really tore yourself up with that slide. You don’t have time to ponder—you definitely didn’t get bit…
…Right?
You shouldn’t have hesitated, because suddenly it’s behind you and it slams into you, hard, making you fly down into a smaller alleyway, tucked in the center of this maze. You tumble and skid and you finally stop when your skull meets the fender of a vehicle. Red taints your vision, your neck and skull are on fire, it’s a miracle that didn’t kill you.
G r o w l
Hm, maybe not a miracle. Maybe the miracle would’ve been a clean break of the neck.
There’s nowhere to go behind you, nowhere to climb up the sides, and Cujo is stalking towards you from the only possible opening. It’s standing on two legs again, the shadowed form daunting as its yellow eyes hone in on you.
You try to stand but can’t, you’re spent. Your leg is trembling, and your body is pulsing in pain from toe to scalp. Red has completely shadowed your one eye and you need to keep it closed.
You should be afraid. You should be begging, or crying, or having your life flash before your eyes. But you find yourself smiling, knowing that Dylan and Kaitlyn should be long gone by now. You gave them plenty of time to get out of here, your sacrifice was more than worth it. If anyone can figure this shit out and get the others to safety, it’s those two.
Well, mostly Kaitlyn. But Dylan is a fountain of morale boost. And he’ll watch her back, that selfless goofball.
That sarcastic, teasing idiot that you would willingly give your life for. In a heartbeat, it seems.
His smile fills your mind and you feel at peace, content to die in their stead. You want to yell out something badass before you die as the wolf licks its chops again, his deathly stench becoming more potent.
Every dusk and dawn all through the summer
What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger
All you can do now is shut your eyes, brace yourself and mutter “eat shit” when suddenly a loud blast echoes through the corridor. The walls behind the wolf are painted scarlet and the light fades from its eyes as it lurches forward. You squeak as it falls towards you, open mouthed, but lands just a few inches shy of your feet.
Shock is really the only thing taking the wheel now, all your adrenaline leaking out of you like water from an open spout. You see silhouettes with your good eye and can hear voices; that blast must’ve messed with your ears because you can’t make out what they’re saying. You’re pretty sure you hear your name.
The werewolf’s body is getting dragged away, opening up the aisle and suddenly Dylan’s face is in front of you. Terrified, palest you’ve seen yet, and he’s saying something. It takes a few moments until your hearing synchs back up and their voices level out.
“-the fuck were you thinking?! God, please, please tell me that it didn’t bite you. Holy fucknuts, don’t do this to me. Not you.” His hand is on your forehead, pushing matted bloody hair out of your face and his touch is so warm you think you could pass out right there. You close your eyes in content-
“Hey, stay awake!” Nurse Kaitlyn has made an appearance, hovering behind Dylan. Your good eye pops open again, your mind still fuzzy. From Dylan’s touch or a brain injury, you’re not sure. “You could have a concussion, you need to stay awake.”
“Mmmm, don’t wanna.”
“Tough titties.” Kaitlyn mumbles, pulling your good eye open and shining it with the light from the shotgun (that she thankfully had disconnected.) “Yep, pupils aren’t dilating. Can’t go to sleep.”
A sudden realization pierces your senses and you start trying to stand, even against your leg screaming in protest, mumbling “need to move. It’s gonna wake up, we gotta-“
Dylan holds you firmly by the shoulder, pushes you down. He’s kneeling in front of you. “No, it’s not. We found some silver and got it in one of the shells. The fucker’s dead.”
“Wha? Where?”
“There was a silver rosary hanging from a rearview mirror. Shoved the beads in and pow.” She makes the finger gun motion for emphasis.
“If there was ever a sign for you to believe in a higher power…” Dylan smirks, and you notice there’s a glassy look in his eyes.
Your heart clenches painfully behind your ribs. “Nick-!”
“Whatever tattered shirt it was wearing doesn’t match what Nick was wearing. Or anyone’s clothes tonight.” Kaitlyn’s assurance almost makes you cry out in relief. Part of you is thankful for Abi’s sake.
“I thought…I thought you guys had left.”
“And leave you behind?” Dylan shakes his head, seriousness reverberating in his words. “Never.”
“Yeah, what kinda assholes do you take us for?” Kaitlyn sounds genuinely offended and you want to cry. Somehow amongst all the pain, you’re so happy. So so happy. “Dylan, I’m gonna go check the car for the missing piece, since I actually know what I’m looking for. I trust I can leave you to tend to the wounded. We can spare a few minutes, but we’ll need to get going soon.”
He lifts his recently amputated limb and mock salutes. “Aye aye, captain.”
She snorts, pushes against his back, and meets your gaze. “I’m glad you’re still with us.”
“Am I stronger yet?” You gasp out, smirking. She nods.
“Fuck yea, you are.” And then she’s off, to go take charge and get shit done. The Kaitlyn methodology.
Silence hangs in the air for a few moments as the dust settles. Dylan’s hand ghosts over your form, taking an inventory of the damage. He hisses when he looks over your leg, red and raw and caked with dirt, dust, and bits of gravel.
“It looks worse than it feels…” You mumble, trying to make him feel better.
“Bullshit.” He huffs out, turning your leg gently to and fro, and you realize you had never answered his earlier question.
“It didn’t.” You wanna shake your head, but it doth protest in fiery pain. “It didn’t bite me.”
He shudders out a gasp of relief and almost falls forward. “Thank fuck.”
“I’m starting to wish it did though.” You try to sit up more; his hand’s on your back, guiding you. “At least then my wounds would clear up in a jiff.”
“I thought you were more of a cat person.” He raises an eyebrow, and you’re thankful for the ease that is conversation between you two.
You take a moment, catch your breath, really try to take a mental note of yourself. Hearing is still faulty, down one eye at the moment. Can’t turn your head, in any direction really. Your leg is absolutely fucked. You can’t stand, let along keep guard, walk, or run.
“Dylan, you guys need to find a- a car with all of its tires.”
He only looks at you. His face blending confusion and concern. “We already have the car, remember? It’s back at camp.”
“No, not to get away in. To block this aisle.” His lost look makes you continue. “To keep any other werewolves from getting in until you guys get back to the car.”
“And why would we…?” He’s trying not to be a total smartass. You’re still wounded, on the brink of mortally. Concussion confirmed.
“Well I’d appreciate some kind of cover until you guys get back with the car.”
Realization smacks across his face and he waves off your comment entirely. “Yeah, no, you’re coming with us.” He says factually.
“Dylan…” You sigh and he gives you a look. Not enough to stop you. “I’m not gonna be able to walk back to the lodge like this. We don’t even have the wheelbarrow.”
There’s no hesitation. “We’ll carry you.”
“It’ll slow you down-!”
“Then we’ll carry you quickly.” His voice is gaining an edge. He doesn’t want to hear these hypotheticals. You’re about to retort, argue logic, but he shuts it down entirely. “No--, just no, alright?! I thought I lost you like five minutes ago, okay? Now you’re asking me to up and leave you, bloody and concussed and helpless in a dangerous, abandoned scrap yard? During a full moon with literal fucking werewolves?”
His firm seriousness takes you aback; you’re not used to seeing this side of him, severe and frustrated and scared. You think you see his eyes get glassier. Earnest to break the tension, you raise the item still firmly tucked in your grip.
“…I have my slingshot…?”
Silence fills the air, and after a few stressful moments, he starts to chuckle and you join in. Before you know it, you’re both fully laughing at the absurdity of everything that had amalgamated to this point. And suddenly he’s falling forward, his breath’s mixing with yours. Your eyes catch and fire flares up from the bottom of your stomach, warming you so fiercely that your brain goes fuzzy again. His lips are on yours and his hand is cradling your cheek and you’re grasping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and you feel a tear trail down the side of your face because, oh dear lord, the whiplash from thinking you’re about to die to the realization that you are hopelessly in love your best friend is far too much to handle sans tears.
You don’t know how long you’re submerged in this bliss, but you come back to the present about the time that your lungs realize that, yes, as a matter of fact they still need air.
Gasping and dazed, all the two of you can do is look at each other, smiling like idiots, neither wanting the moment to end just to face the utmost shittiness that is reality tonight. At least, the reality outside of this moment, “For a few horrifying minutes tonight, I thought I’d lost my chance to do that.” He whispers.
“Not gonna lie, whenever I imagined us kissing, I never imagined it so…” You listlessly point between the two of you. “Covered in blood and werewolf guts.”
“Oh, so you’ve imagined it?” He laughs. “Pervert.”
“Asshole.” And suddenly, he’s wrapping his arm behind you and lifting you up. You lean into his tall form and his arm tightens around your middle. Secure. An anchor. He’s gentle as always and he whispers encouragements as you try to gain footing. You go in for another kiss and he happily obliges.
Kaitlyn is back, the piece securely in her grasp as she glances between the two of you. “Mmmm, it finally happened, didn’t it?”
The two of you stop and stutter, acting like you don’t know what she’s talking about when she raises a hand, stopping your feeble excuses. “No, no it’s fine. I just need to remind Jacob that he owes me 15 dollars when we find him. I had bet it’d happen by the last day of camp.”
Dylan winces and hisses out. “I think technically that ended about 3 hours ago.”
“And there goes your cut of it, smartass.”