James’s Note: In this episode, we watch as the Witcher Man is put in a no win situation to save a life. I’ve always been a big fan of the “zombie bite suicide solution” trope. Will Daniel be able to cheat his way out of it? We’ll just have find out.
Zombie plague is one of the most virulent infections there is. It’s a horrible way to die, even if you don’t count the whole rising from the dead bent on murder thing. I was already altering the trajectory I was being towed in when Damien spoke up.
“Damn it, you are not getting out of this!”, he practically roared.
“Well, then you better keep up.” I said as the kid and I piled into my Mini. I was secretly glad Damien was going to be tagging along. I had a plan for him to help out, although nobody was going to like it.
The kid and I tore through the streets of Houston, making for the hunter’s safe house. I guess it’s a little weird thinking of him as a kid, since he was only a couple years younger than me, but I site the fact that he looked about twelve as my only defence. The pimples didn’t help. Thanks to a simple alchemical decoction I learned while I was still training, my skin is always smooth as a baby’s bottom. Why we hold butts as the standard for skin quality is an entirely different matter that I just don’t care to delve into.
In a surprisingly short time, the kid and I were power sliding into the driveway of a rundown house that looked like a crack house that had just never learned to apply itself. The werewolf in the muscle car was hot on our heels.
Damien caught up to us as the kid was going through what in that moment felt like an unnecessarily complicated procedure to get someone on the other side to unbar the door and let us in. While the kid was answering questions about his favorite flavor of jam or some nonsense, I turned to Damian.
“You’d be willing to help out a dying man, right?” I whispered to him.
“What?” he stammered, caught off guard, “I suppose…”.
“Thanks.” I said, cutting him off as I deftly plunged the hypodermic needle I had palmed into his arm, drawing out several ccs of blood. Yes, I am surprisingly good at finding a vein and drawing blood from ambush. No, you don’t want to know why.
To a werewolf, the needle probably barely even registered as pain, which is probably why I was able to slip in the door just as the burly hunter was opening it, managing to escape before Damien could come to his senses and beat me to death with my own arm.
Inside, it was pandemonium. Several hunters were arguing about whether they should kill their friend, several other were having a separate argument about HOW they should kill their friend, and one stoic man with a gray goatee was holding them all together by force of will alone. That was Calvin.
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Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 