Daniel

Tobey whispered in Daniel’s ear, tickling him with furry lips, pleading and urgent.

“You can do this, boy. You can get’m.”

Cleo scurried in a circle, spinning like a dervish.

“You can do this, Daniel-aniel. Just like a zombie, ombie!”

“Open your EYES, EYES, EYES!”

Cleo spun faster.

“Kill, kill.”

The rocks and rotten branches cut into Daniel’s back. He took a tentative breath, and heard a wet popping in his chest. He coughed, but all that came out was aborted vomit.

Daniel looked at the blood on his hands.

“I been shot.”

Tobey said, “Takes more than that to kill a werewolf, my friend, friend, friend.”

Daniel touched his chest again, and looked down at the blood. He didn’t feel so bad. He didn’t even remember getting hit. He knew they were shooting, and the bullets were rainin’ in, but he didn’t remember getting hit. Maybe there was somethin’ to this werewolf business after all.

Tobey said, “Find your gun, Daniel. Get the gun.”

“Gun, gun.”

Daniel felt around until he found it. The rifle was gone, but the pistol was still in his pocket. He flipped off the safety.

“I think I can still get that bastard, boys.”

Tobey said, “Bet your ass you can, can.”

Cleo said, “Bet your ass, ass, ass.”

Daniel was feeling stronger. He took another breath, and felt pretty damned good. Even if he couldn’t get the bastard, he was thinking he could get away. Plenty of houses around. Plenty of cars. All he had to do was get across Mulholland and into the canyon.

Daniel listened. He heard movement on the slope, but it was far away and below. They probably thought he slid farther down than he had.

Daniel pushed himself to his feet, using the tree to pull himself up as much as he pushed.

Then Gregg Daniel Vincent saw the arrow dude watching him. Dude didn’t say a word, just stood there, no more than three feet away, gun at his side.