James’s Note: In this week’s episode, an annoying werewolf is interrupted in a manner that brooks no argument.
The look Damian gave me was one of utter disgust of the kind you might reserve for something you find under a particularly dank dark rock.
He said, “If you are quite done being an insufferable jackass, Wolfgang sent me here to find out your results.” I wiped my eyes composing myself.
“I know that Wolfgang is an alpha, and as such has gotten used to people doing everything he says, but regardless of his rank I’m pretty sure time has resolutely refused to recognize his authority. I told him it would take 24 hours. Twenty-four hours have not passed. I could try yelling at the magical test to make it go faster, but I’ve tried that before and it hasn’t worked so far.”
Damien glowered, “He said that you might have some excuse, and that I wasn’t to leave until I had your answer.”
I stared at him, my mind boggling for a moment at werewolf arrogance. I was winding up for a long and angry conversation in which I tried to explain the immutable nature of time that may have included me drawing pictures of clocks when we were interrupted in a manner that allowed no argument.
Namely, we were cut off by what sounded suspiciously like a Ford F150 crashing into my garage.
In the next instant, a lot of things seemed to happen all at once. My pistol practically leapt into my hand, Damian’s hands curled into a strange position seen only in werewolves preparing for combat and certain Kung Fu artists and a panting acne-faced young man came tearing around the side of my house, his clothes soaked in blood. His jacket was torn almost in half horizontally, revealing a discreet harness that carried a pistol, large knife and what appeared to be several wooden stakes. Even though the kid looked like your average Pizza Hut employee, the armament practically screamed Hunter. I lowered my gun because Hunters are usually friendly. I didn’t put it away however because in my business paranoia is a survival trait.
Damien looked like he was still trying to make up his mind what the hell was even happening. The kid, however, wasn’t wasting anytime in confusion.
“Witcher Man?”, he almost shouted, grabbing me by the arm. “Are you the Witcher Man?”.
Carefully loosening his grip with my revolver free hand I replied, “Guilty as charged. I’m guessing someone is dying, since if they were dead, there would be less of a hurry.”
The kid was already trying to drag me away even as he answered, seeming to barely have even heard my answer. He spoke all in a rush, “I’m with Calvin’s hunters. We took on a nest of zombies, the slow infectious kind. Everything was going fine. Drop, chop and burn, just like always. Then someone forgot to double tap a shambler and Reese got bitten. Everyone was saying to just cap him, but Cal said to come get you. He said you could save him.”
Well, shit. This wasn’t good.