tactics and wolves Who: December and Serge Where: woods When: between 2/3am Warnings: language, violence
‘The best way to go’, as it turned out, took six long hours from the point Serge initially left December’s house. Two were used to head home, feed himself, and shut his eyes for a refresher. Another one to head back and rally up with December before heading to where he felt most confident his target might reveal itself. As for the last three?
Silence, pure and almost tangible from the walk across Delphi to the lurking patrol in bushes and trees, along sidewalks and around streetlights. With the darkness settling in and the sounds of populated parts of the dome far away, Serge was working now. Words had become a valuable commodity, and most interactions were done with simple bits of hand signal. Everything else boiled down to watching, waiting, existing with a persistent tension that kept his bow unfolded and ready, an arrow perched loosely against the string. He had no idea if this plan was going to work, there simply wasn’t a guarantee. It required too much that Serge couldn’t hope to control; he had to have picked the right locale, the right evening for the supposed prey to be out feeding, the right ‘bait’ in the form of freshly bloodied and sweat-dampened handkerchiefs draped across branches further up the woodlands in front of the medicine cabinet mirror from his house. If he was being honest, the odds were better that he’d end up sitting in the dark with December for a handful of hours, saying nothing until she got frustrated and left.
And if he was being honest, Serge would’ve had to express surprise somewhere past the third hour of waiting and watching as a disturbance finally shattered the still night air, filling in the gaps that should’ve at least held some measure of animal sounds. It was a quiet rustling pushing through branches, a patch of deeper darkness than just night that hinted at a humanoid shape. It was a man, skulking through the woods towards the sidewalk in some amateur impression of stealth. He looked somewhat wild, haggard perhaps, and his eyes were lit up with some fervor as he moved towards the kerchiefs and mirror as if guided by the scent of them alone.
They’d been laid deliberately near a gap in the canopy of trees that let moonlight in, giving Serge and December a clear view as the man ghosted past the mirror without a flicker of reflection passing in his wake. Which was all Serge needed to see. He drew his arrow back and raised the bow in one smooth motion, releasing with practiced ease to let the arrow whistle off into the dark. “Your machete,” was all he said to December, speaking in the instant before the arrow ripped through the side of the vampire’s neck and yanked him off his feet, pinning him to a tree as Serge stalked out of concealment towards it. And if he really wanted to be honest? It was a relief to be right, even if that meant these monsters were real.
December was thinking she wanted to rewrite their plan. She didn't mind the waiting, or anything else, and this vamp definitely did look like the Crazy Homeless Guy of vampires, but still. Did they have proof that just because he was into dirty hankies that he was dropping corpses in his wake? She did, however, follow instructions and she got her machete at the ready, getting closer to the creature. Who was doing a great job of hissing and trying to scrabble around out of the predicament it found itself in.
If they’d bothered to talk, Serge would’ve pointed out that this one hunting alone like this couldn’t look good even before factoring in the drained bodies found near here, but none of that was being shared. And for any private intent he had to not hunt down every vampire? He was still ruthless in his plans, still not too demanding in the required proof to judge one of them as guilty. And this one definitely fit the bill, which had Serge pulling his survival knife from his belt as he approached.
Wary as he readied himself, he moved quick to avoid a wild swipe from the vampire, grabbing its’ wrist as it flailed and pulling the arm wide, and just like that? Serge buried his knife in the vampire, slipping the blade between two ribs and pushing it upwards with unsettling ease as he sought the heart. He watched the shock on the vampire’s face without a flicker of remorse or doubt or anything at all, really, until the sudden transition of the body becoming dust. That was enough to widen his eyes as he stepped back, shielding his mouth in the crook of one arm.
December watched. Yep. This dude was hardcore, in that 'I'm kinda wondering about psychopathology now' way. She'd stayed far enough back in anticipation of the dust that she didn't have to move more to avoid it, even as the breeze took it and dispersed the evidence. It was like he'd never been there. "Next time I want to go with the bait thing." she told him.
“Why?” Serge asked plainly as he wrestled to dislodge his arrow without snapping the shaft or losing the broadhead. With modern production gone, graphite shafts and composite steel were literal treasures to still have, and the dozen or so arrows Serge still had intact were technically worth a small fortune in the wilds.
"Because then we'll know they're positively a danger to the residents here. I don't doubt this guy was trouble, but just sporting the fashionable junkie hermit look and not having a reflection doesn't say 'proof' enough to me. You look pretty efficient. I'd just have to trust you're fast enough, and that if you aren't, I'm good enough." she explained.
Quiet for a moment as he surveyed his arrow and even sniffed it appraisingly, Serge eventually gave a small grunt of acknowledgment to December’s reasoning. It was sound, if more needy than his own. But he could understand wanting that confirmation, and he felt like he owed her at least that much for the knowledge she’d given him. “I will aim for temple next time,” he offered, tapping his own with the tip of the arrow before dropping it back in the quiver, “This will be fast enough, I think. At very least it will buy you time to draw a weapon. Arrow in the brain should make even a vampir hesitate.”
"I would definitely think so, Van Helsing." she said, giving him a little smile. Then she rolled her eyes as she heard another howl, this one closer than before. "And that shit is just getting annoying." she threw out there. She didn't know what it was. As far as she knew, the domes didn't have anything that howled running around.
She had the beginnings of a smile from Serge to go with her own, just a light purse of his lips and a tiny spark that existed past his composure, but then Serge actually heard the howling as well. His levity died before ever really existing as he looked back towards the proper housing areas of Delphi with a scowl. “More than annoying,” he offered, “Is not dogs, is not people mimicking. And Delphi does not have wolf...”
But it did have something lurking deeper into the brush, something that moved now with a rustling of leaves and a low snarl, prompting Serge to draw his bow back again and turn to aim into the darkness.
December froze as well, eyes narrowed at the sounds. She'd been going to say that the world wasn't supposed to have zombies and vampires, but they were thorns in everyone's sides too, so something else in Delphi wouldn't surprise her. And it was probably a good thing that never made it to articulation, because a second later, when a huge wolf jumped out of the shadows at Serge, she was in fact, surprised.
She wasn’t the only one, and surprise in this kind of moment cost lives. Serge knew that as a fact, one he’d used to gain the upper hand countless times. Right now? It was his on the line. His arrow snapped away as the wolf lunged at him, jumping high even if it ripped a passing furrow along the beast’s side before wolf and man collided. Serge didn’t even try to keep his footing against the sheer weight and force, instead shoving the curve of his bow up into the wolf’s jaws as it bore him back and snapped at his throat, toppling both of them to the ground.
December got in one swing with the machete at the wolf attacking Serge, hoping to bite deep into it's spine, though it didn't get nearly so far as she thought it would. She went to hack again, but then heard another rustle in the underbrush followed by a second wolf, flanking them both. Fucking pack tactics. She swung the machete again, this time at the wolf going for her, managing to give it a horrific rendition of a glasgow smile, along with breaking some of it's teeth.
Pinned beneath the first wolf, Serge was desperately pushing with every ounce of strength he had to keep his bow wedged in the wolf’s mouth. If it got free for a bite, he was done. And he feared as much the moment December hacked into it as the wolf yelped and wrenched it’s head to the side, ripping the bow from Serge’s hands, but at the same time? He knew how to exploit the openings caused by pain.
Out came the knife again, dipping up in two quick stabs to the wolf’s belly before Serge shoved it higher, forcing it in at the base of the jaw. His free hand balled tight as he swung a fist up into the wolf’s snout, forcing it’s head back and pushing the wolf along the edge of his blade. Blood rained down hot and sticky as he rolled free, getting one foot under him and giving an incoherent snarl of his own at the other wolf. And maybe it was the adrenaline? But he would’ve sworn that the beast looked his way, as if there was something more than just animal intelligence at work.
December wound up on the ground, and to her shock, the wolf that had initially gone for her--was going for Serge. Like she hadn't been the target in the first place. She got slightly clawed on her side, just above her hip, but that was more accidental it seemed than deliberate. She rolled back to her knees, pulling the .45 as she did so. She squeezed the trigger before fully thinking things through, only knowing that Serge was looking all bloody and there was a second wolf on it's way to his throat. The shot rang out, and the back of the wolf's head seemed to burst, it's momentum still having it knock into Serge, even if she was positive it was dead. If it wasn't, she was going to be pissed that there were now zombie wolves.
It had been a long time indeed since Serge was too close to a gunshot connecting; he hadn’t missed it. The shower of blood, the sting of bone fragments, and the inevitable collision with the wolf worked together to undo his already-weak footing and drop him under the dead beast, and even if he was disoriented through it all? He had a knife in hand and no guarantee that this was over. So his arm was the first visible thing, swinging up around the wolf’s body in a series of stabs before Serge heaved it to one side and scrambled back, wiping his forearm across his eyes hurriedly.
December was stepping up immediately, putting herself between Serge and the wolves, gun trained on them. She swore there was a twitch (which could actually have just been the wind blowing across furr) and another shot was fired. She then held her breath, listening. Waiting.
After she was satisfied she didn't think another wolf was waiting to leap out and eat their faces, she glanced back to Serge. "You okay?"
Serge couldn’t quite process the words at first, even if he heard them. There was a filter of rage and adrenaline cast over everything, slowing rational thought and separating it from the base side of his mind that had him snarling back at wolves as he stabbed and clawed at them. Even with both dead it still took a second, time that Serge used to get his feet down again and smear blood from his eyes, sucking in a copper-tasting breath.
“I am,” he said, even if he realized just then that he ached. Scrapes littered his neck and arms, and both his chest and back would probably be brilliant displays of bruising by tomorrow. But he was alive. “Are you?” he asked December then, “You are well enough to shoot, clearly.”
She got a better look at him as he got to his feet, and she winced. "...shit. You look like hell. The hospital seems like a good stop." she told him. "And I'm good." she answered, ignoring the scrapes on her side. They weren't worth worrying about. She'd gotten far worse from the vampire in the morgue, this was like, some brief cleaning and some bactine levels of 'injured'. Where as Serge looked shredded.
“No hospital,” Serge said, head shaking as he wiped his hands on the grass, then worked more blood from his arms. “Is scrapes only, and very little of my blood. Hospital brings questions and attention. I have supplies, I will tend to this.” Stalking back over to the first wolf, he looked away from December with a sharp focus lining his features as Serge realized that below his own labored breathing? He could hear this wolf struggling to do the same, despite the ragged tear he’d put in it’s throat and the two punctures to it’s gut. “This beast is more stubborn than I...” he muttered in soft disbelief.
"Um, no." December said. "That wasn't a suggestion." she was about to holster the gun when he said that the first wolf was still breathing. "...so...." she started, holding the gun to him. He'd started it, he may as well finish it. She knew she'd want to, in his shoes.
And there was no hesitation or pain slowing him then as Serge took the gun from December and put two rounds into the wolf’s head. “No hospital,” he said again, stooping low to recover his shell casings, picking a few scattered fangs from the mess with them surreptitiously. “I was not bitten, I was not clawed. There were more howls, there will be more wolves. The doctors have greater problems than my scratches from twig and rock.”
"When the bats showed, and people were bit, they were sick then dead within what, twenty-four hours? Now we have mysterious wolves--which by the way, we shouldn't--and you want to fuck around with this shit? Did it get you at all?" she asked, just wanting to be sure on things. "You swear to me none of this is from the wolf?"
“There is no time for this,” Serge cursed in Russian, spitting on one palm before wiping at his neck in a frenzy to clear away the wolf’s blood. The skin under it was largely unmarred, and the spots that did have scrapes and scratches weren’t nearly so reddened from the fight. “It did not draw my blood,” he stressed, “You have told me of the bats, if I were harmed by these animals I would not risk the safety of Delphi for my own well being. I do not, as you say, fuck around with this shit.”
"Okay." December said. "Then...apparently there are wolves out there to take care of." she said, dropping the subject, though she was thinking she'd have to monitor her health in the meantime.
This was why Serge worked alone. Having someone question his decisions, then feeling vaguely bad for possibly worrying them? It threw him off, and that was no way to work. Thankfully December had other eager hunting partners, and this would most likely be a one-off for her. “We must clear the streets,” he proposed, “Drive the beasts away, reorganize, hunt them on our own terms. Find survivors, gather them somewhere secure.” At least he knew Corey was in and safe tonight.
"And now is when I wish we had a car." December said. "Is there a police cruiser?" she asked. She'd never paid attention beforehand. "And I can call people. Get them out looking for the wolves too." she suggested.
“There is no car anywhere in Delphi,” Serge answered bitterly, wishing that wasn’t the case right now. “Your home is closer than mine or the police station. You will make your calls, I will clean myself, and we will do what must be done,” he said decisively, moving to recover his bow, then nodding for December to join him before starting a light run. She lived close to the station too; once they were close, Serge could at least find out how the others were faring.