Blane Bloodworth's Arc

Chapter 5 of 5

The hot rod died at the edge of the orchards. Blane rolled it into the trees and killed the lights. The winged creature on his neck stirred, then pointed its nose deeper in. Corvin was close. But Blane's teeth had already failed once at the throat. He needed steel that would finish what his fangs started. He had no such steel. The full moon was Friday. After that, Eddie would be a wolf, and Blane would be alone. He walked the rows until he found the thing the creature led him to. A wound in the ground. Someone had dug here and left tools behind. A whetstone. A broken knife. Green fireflies drifted over the pit, their bodies glowing like tiny lamps. By their light Blane saw what the digging had uncovered. Bones. A skeleton dog stood at the pit's edge, hollow sockets fixed on him, ribs lit orange from within. Beside it a skeleton cat arched its spine and hissed without a tongue. Blane froze. The bone animals did not attack. They watched. The dog lowered its skull toward the broken knife, then toward Blane, then back. A show. A lesson. Blane understood. The hunter killed things here and buried them. These bones were old kills, and they remembered steel. The winged creature left his neck and flapped down into the pit. It landed on a long shape half-buried in dirt. Blane dug with his hands. He pulled out a spear, iron-headed, the shaft bound in old leather. Hunter's work. A weapon built to pin a thing that bites back. The skeleton dog thumped its tail against the dirt, once, like approval. Blane tested the point against his palm. It drew blood fast and clean. This would reach past a throat. This would hold Corvin at range while his fangs did the rest. He wiped the head on his sleeve and stood. The fireflies scattered. The bone animals backed into the dark, their work done. A branch cracked behind him. Blane turned. Corvin stood in the trees, one ear torn ragged, a chain coiled in his fist. He saw the spear and stopped. His hand opened. The chain slid to the ground. "That's mine," Corvin said. "I buried that." "Then you knew it would kill you," Blane said. Corvin did not reach for the chain. He stepped back instead, and back again, into the dark where the hot rod could not follow. Blane raised the spear and threw it. The point caught Corvin's leg and dropped him. He screamed and crawled, bleeding, into the briars. Blane ran to pull the spear free, but the hunter was gone through a thorn gap too small to follow. Blane stood with the bloody spear in his hands. His teeth could finish it now. He had the reach he needed. But Corvin had crawled into the briars wounded, and the moon rose Friday. Blane had a weapon. He no longer had time.