Dillon Travis's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Dillon caught the old man before he hit the floor. He dragged him to a recliner near the round table and pressed a quilted blanket to the bleeding side. "Name," Dillon said. The man's cigarette hung dead at his lip. "Michael," he said. "Michael Travis." The last name landed hard, but there was no time to ask about it. Blood soaked through the blanket fast. Something scraped the platform outside. Dillon looked up. A shape moved in the gray. It circled the cottage, low and long, sniffing where the blood had trailed in. His wolf backed against the wall, wings tight, a growl low in her throat. "It followed me," Michael said. He kept his voice flat. "Wants my blood. Says it's pure. Won't stop till it has me." He pressed the blanket harder. "Should've kept walking. Sorry." Dillon felt his temper spike. He had a kitchen, finally. He had cold storage, fresh food, a dream one step closer. Now a monster paced his window while a stranger bled on his good chair. His hands shook with it. Then Michael coughed, gray-faced, and the anger turned into something sharper. Work. "You don't apologize in my kitchen," Dillon said. "Stay in the chair." He crossed to the counter and threw open the cold chest. The predator wanted blood. He would give it a stronger scent to chase. On the sill sat a clay pot of purple mushrooms, spotted like rainbows. He had grown them in a void corridor and never dared cook them. Too potent. Too loud. Exactly what he needed now. Dillon tore the caps and crushed them into a pan. The smell hit the air like a shout, thick and sweet and wild. He shoved the pan through the round window and dumped the mash onto the far edge of the platform. The scent rolled out into the gray. The shape stopped circling. Its head swung toward the mushrooms. It slid past the window, past the door, toward the loud new smell at the platform's edge. Dillon grabbed his wolf's scruff. "Now," he said. She launched through the door, snapped the pan up in her jaws, and hurled it off the stone into the deep Void. The scent went with it. The predator dove after, and the gray swallowed both. Silence. Only Michael's ragged breathing filled the room. Dillon shut the door and knelt by the recliner. He peeled back the blanket. The wound was deep and would not wait. He looked at his cold chest, full of fresh ingredients, and knew a bandage was not enough. This man needed a healing dish, made right now. "Dad," he said. "How did you find me?" Michael's blue eyes found his. "My boy," he said. " I’m sorry it’s took this long to find you. But I finally did it with the help of a friend." Dillon stood and rolled up his sleeves. The monster was gone. The real work had only started.