“Don’t fink ‘e knows just wot ‘es gettin into,” Jess said as the new sergeant trotted his stallion toward the Vulfkin.

Drabber didn’t say anything. He just leaned against the side of the farmhouse, cradling his coveted Nivian Long Rifle as they watched the rest of their squad close in. 

“Aye, told him to sod off m’self,” Jess continued, as if Drabber had answered. “Don’t fancy the idea of pickin' mi guts off the ground so’s he kin get himself a medal or some such.”

Of course, Jess didn’t tell the sergeant any such a thing, Drabber thought. Too gutless for that. More than likely Jess told the sergeant that he’d try to convince Drabber to change his mind and help. They both knew they weren’t about to fight a Vulfkin up close in an open bloody field. Jess wasn’t the sharpest, but he knew enough to stay alive.

They should have dropped the Vulfkin from a hundred meters and left him in the snow.

Only a fool or a man with a death wish would willingly get close to a beast like that, and their new sergeant was too young to want to end it all.

 Of course, if the sergeant somehow survived, Drabber would be whipped within an inch of his life or hung for treason. Likely the latter. Especially after he told the man where he could shove his orders. Better hung later than that than eaten alive.

The sergeant’s stallion reared as they closed in on the motionless Vulfkin. The horse was trying to turn back, at least, looked to be; hooves chopping up snow and dirt like they were. Horses didn’t act right with a beast about. But then, when you were coming up on something from a nightmare, it was hard to say how to act. The Vulfkin was stuck somewhere between beast and man, neither fulling transitioned. No other reason it’d be standing there all still like. Might be that it had a sensible thought. Maybe the man inside was trying to stop the beast from killing any more. Hard to say what went on inside a Vulfkin’s head. Never thought to try and talk with one and never would. A round coated in Wolf’s Bane through the temple is all the conversation they’d get from him.

Their squad had been hunting this particular one for weeks. Had a will to live it did. A will to live and a lust for blood. Not a good mix, especially for the family of six still stinking up the farmhouse behind them. This one had a taste for lungs and tongue. Left bodies a mess afterwards.

They all had a specific taste.

Good number went for the heart and liver, some the kidneys. They’d even found one last August that had a go at some brain. Messy scenes they were.

No one wanted to end up like that.

The sergeant tugged at his reigns, barely keeping his mount under control. Krippy was off to the side. Had his silvered blade out like the sergeant, but then, he was a kiss ass from the start. Both he and the sergeant were fresh out of training, thinking they could conquer the world. Colmby and Turner knew better, but they followed anyhow. Had their rifles ready to pull up and fire if ordered to or not. Fear of a court martial was apparently more pressing than the beast in their minds.

“Best get that blunderbus of yours ready,” Drabber muttered, digging into his pouch for lead and powder charge. He wanted to make sure all was prepared for a reload if need be.

Opening his pouch to check the lead, he caught the sickly sweet scent of Wolfsbane. He’d just purchased extra before they left. Getting it pure was spendy, but the army skimped on the good stuff more often than they should. Better to have a little less in your pocket some days than a heavy purse you’d never get to spend.

“Don’t think you ‘kin tag em this far out?”

“Didn’t say that. But with our boys in the way, might be I miss.”

“Don’t piss ‘round wit me Drabbs. You don’t miss.”

Not entirely true. He missed plenty, but he hit what he was aiming for more often than naught. Somehow the rest of them seemed to forget. Likely because they missed more than they hit.

“Just get that damn blunderbuss…”

Suddenly the sergeant heeled his mount into a charge.

“Idiot,” Drabber muttered, bringing his Nivian Long Rifle up to bear.

He couldn’t put a round in it with the sergeant and his horse in the bloody way. Bastard didn’t give any thought to supporting fire. When the sergeant reached his target, silver blade poised to strike, the Vulfkin snapped into action.

Suddenly the sergeant’s horse wasn’t under him any more. The stallion gave strangled cry as it went down, disemboweled by wicked claws from the living nightmare. The sergeant hit the ground head first, and didn’t move after that.

Then things got messy.

Krippy was screaming at the top of his lungs as he followed in. His screams reaching a new pitch as the beast took his leg off at the knee.

Colmby and Turner fired, one staggered the Vulfkin off to the side, the other missed. Good shot, center mass, but either not enough Wolfsbane or it didn’t hit anything vital as it did little more than stagger the creature.

Jess was silent as he watched. He was too far away for his blunderbuss to be effective. Just had to hope he didn’t waste his shot if it came to it.

Drabber sighted down his rifle. Seventy meters was a long shot for a target that fast.

He took a breath.

The Vulfkin was back up.

Colmby drew his sword, much good it would do him.

Tracked the target.

Colmby managed to cut it, shallow along the thigh. Then the snow around him turned red as he tried to close his ravaged windpipe.

Exhale…

Turner was fumbling with his pistol. The Vulfkin bearing down on him, ready for another kill.

Drabber squeezed the trigger, the Nivian rocking him back in a familiar motion just as the Vulfkin turned. His shot barely grazed its shoulder.

Well, damn.

“You missed?” Jess cried.

“Seems so,” Drabber replied, biting off a powder cartridge and sliding open the pan on the Nivian.

Turner had enough time to pull the hammer back on his pistol when it hit him. The shot fired in the air as he went down in a bloody spray.

Meanwhile, Drabber sprinkled in a bit of powder into the rifle pan, closed it, poured the rest down the barrel and dropped in his shot. All done in swift, fluid motions.

The Vulfkin turned, yellow eyes focused on them. Fifty meters between. Gory face twisted in rage as it charged.

“Got that blunderbuss ready Jess?”

“I can’t believe you bloody missed!”

Damn, but it was fast. Faster than most he’d seen.

Drabber rammed his rod down the barrel, packing it tight before whipping it out. In his haste the rod slipped from his fingers. He tried to ignore it. Thinking would just slow him down. It would be on them in sec...

The blunderbuss went off, followed by the snapping of wood as the Vulfkin crashed into his remaining comrade and the rotten fence beside them.

He turned, rifle half raised, only to see the bloody horror already lunging at him. Bits of flesh torn away, eye missing from the blunderbuss blast. He didn’t even think about Jess, only that he wouldn’t have enough time to get his shot off. At least, not a good shot. Not one to put it down cold. Instead he dropped his rifle and pulled his lead pouch, throwing out the contents between them.

Wolfsbane hung in the air before they clashed, the Vulfkin’s talons lashing out as Drabber tried to spin away, but retracting when the powder touched its open wounds. Dabber felt a sting in his side where the blow meant to eviscerate, only opened him up a bit. A grunt escaped his lips as the sting set it.

Could have been worse.

The Vulfkin rolled about, trying to rub its bloodied face in the snow. Snarling and howling against the poison on its skin. Wouldn’t kill it, but it should keep it busy for a time.

Drabber found his Neivian quickly, the long barreled rifle sticking up from the snow. Snatching it up, he checked the pan, wiping clear the snow while keeping an eye on the beast as it began to reign in control.

He drew down on it, as it whipped its head about, one remaining eye locking on his.

The beast didn’t move, limbs frozen in place as if by an unseen force.

“Sch…. Schtop,” it slurred.

One bloodshot, amber eye held him as neither moved for a moment. In that gaze was an intelligence, pain, and frustration. Nothing he’d seen before. At least, not in a Vulfkin. It looked as if it would say more.

He squeezed the trigger.

The Vulfkin crumpled in a heap as the Wolfsbane round removed a bit of skull.

Able to speak or not, he’d seen what it’d done. This wasn’t the first farmhouse they’d come across, just one of many.

Slinging the long rifle over his shoulder, he retrieved what was left of his lead pouch and went to check on Jess. His comrade was staring about, bleeding from a head wound, arm hanging in a bad way, but breathing still.

His eyes lit up when he saw Drabber.

“You git em?”

Nod.

“Knew ya wouldn’t miss.”

His companion gave a pained smile as he managed to get to his feet. Drabber offered him his free shoulder and together they went to check on the others.

Colmby and Krippy had passed on. Drabber lit up a pipe and stayed a bit with Turner as he took in his last. No good dying alone in the snow.

They found the sergeant laying on the ground, neck broken from the fall. 

“Serves him right,” muttered Jess.

It did, but Dabber was never one to speak ill of the dead. Even if he was an arrogant bastard.

“Wot we doin' now Dabber?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, wit your court marshall in all…”

Dabber looked over the open field. Flashes of crimson in the vast canvass of white. Not a living soul to be seen for miles.

“If anything, I’ll probably be promoted.”

Jess’s brow furrowed, no sign that he’d registered their situation. Dabber let out a sigh, “Let’s worry about it later.”

“Sure Dabber. Whatever you say.”

It was going to be a long trip back to the barracks.