Sheep's Clothing (16 page)

             
“Save yar bullets, Doc,” Wolf chastised me. “Otherwise he’ll just keep dancing around us until ya’re dry.”

             
My nerves were not terribly inclined to follow this advice, but I took my finger off the trigger as I levered the next round into place.

             
A heartbeat later, the monstrous bat congealed from the shadows, headed straight for me. I fired, putting a hole in the thing’s wing and kicking up an unexpected flash of sparks. It screeched and spun off to the side, sounding as much surprised as it was in pain. I levered and fired again, tracking its haphazard progress. It tumbled to the ground in an ungainly heap and started to get up.

             
I kept firing, again and again, advancing on the thing, and more and more sparks leapt up from its inhuman flesh. I watched with grim satisfaction as it recoiled from each successful shot and blood sprayed from its wounds. Looking back on the battle, I seem to recall that I was screaming like a berserker as I sought to empty my gun into Russeau, but I cannot say for certain.

             
It would have worked out just fine had my gun not jammed. I instinctively glanced down at it, just for an instant—but by the time I realized my error it was too late. Russeau leapt on me, lightning-fast, and it was all I could do to get my rifle in the way of those horrible jaws. He wound up biting down on the barrel instead of my face, but spit it out almost immediately with a screech of pain and rage.

Unfortunately for me, he had more weapons than just his teeth, and he raked at me with those horrible claws of his. These were not the attacks of a sane animal, but the enraged frenzy of something determined to simply tear me apart. He snapped at me again and again, and I blocked with my rifle to the best of my ability, but he was far too close for me to bring my weapon around to shoot him properly even if my rifle wasn’t jammed. A claw raked against my scalp and face, filling that side of my vision with blood. In desperation I swung my rifle like a club. The stock caught him in the side of the head with a solid
crack
, and I heard and smelled the sizzle of burning meat.

In the next heartbeat, I heard the heavy bark of some huge dog, and Russeau was torn away as a heavy, furred shape leapt over me. I sat up to identify this new threat and saw a second monster grappling with Russeau, this one with the head and shaggy fur of a wolf and long, hooked claws on its hands and feet. It stood up like a man, and it was still clad in tattered clothing. I tried to stand, but my head spun and I still couldn’t see out of my right eye.

I glanced down and saw that I was covered in blood—enough blood that if it all came from me I ought to be passed out by now. I fought to maintain consciousness, though, and fumbled for my rifle. I cleared the jam, levered another round, and set it to my shoulder. Aiming with my non-dominant eye was going to be dicey, though, especially with the two bestial figures tumbling and fighting like they were.

One I knew was an enemy. One might be an ally. I couldn’t risk missing the former and hitting the latter. My vision dimmed and blurred. I shook my head in an effort to clear it and sighted along my rifle’s barrel.

I took aim.

I fired.

The bat-thing flinched and howled, and the distraction was enough for the wolf-man to gain the advantage. It bared vicious fangs in a snarl, and then bit out the bat-monster’s throat in a fresh spray of blood. The bat-monster fell back onto the turf and lay motionless, and the wolf-man stood up and howled, a resonant sound that I felt in the center of my chest.

My head swam and my vision dimmed. My limbs suddenly felt like lead, and I sank back down onto my back. Russeau was dead—or what passed for dead in such a creature.

As I closed my eyes, I heard a voice—familiar in its own way, but harsher tones than I’d ever heard—as something on heavy paws bounded over to me.

“Doc!
Doc!
”

My last fleeting thought was that it sounded a whole lot like Wolf.

***

             
I am told that I spent the next two weeks drifting in and out of consciousness.

I remember nothing clearly, only vague visions of people watching over me, dressing my wounds, and occasionally coaxing some broth into me. There was no pain, as far as I can remember, which was a blessing.

              When I was next aware of my surroundings, I found myself warm and dry, lying on clean linens. Sharp apothecary smells met my nose, and a few puzzled moments later I realized where I was: back at my office. Thinking that the previous terrifying events had been a particularly vivid nightmare, I attempted to get up—and every single damnable injury I had suffered in my supposed ‘nightmare’ suddenly exploded into fresh pain, letting me know that, while I had regained consciousness, it was a very bad idea to try moving about right now. I fell back to the bed, biting my fist to keep from crying out. I had been torn up one side and down the other—quite literally—and to judge by the binding and pulling sensations when I moved, some charitable soul had apparently used up all my sutures and linen bandages to patch me back up.

             
I paused to take stock of my injuries. My memories of the battle were feverish and unclear at best, but what I remembered of being raked over and over by Russeau’s claws matched up with the marks I found. It was a miracle I’d even survived. But even after two weeks every part of me hurt like the blazes. I tried to remind myself that the pain was proof that I’d survived and overcome what had seemed like an impossible challenge, but somehow I couldn’t quite muster the appropriate level of enthusiasm for this theory.

As I tried to catch my breath, I heard movement in the next room, and presently some of my field nurses entered: May (tired but relieved to see me awake), Sarah, and of course Wolf. I noticed that Sarah’s wounds—in particular the horrible bite wound on her neck—had utterly vanished. Wolf’s clothing appeared to have suffered extensive repairs as well, and probably bore as many stitches as I did.

              Sarah rushed forward and hugged me. It hurt, but it was the most wonderful pain I had ever experienced. Then she kissed me on the mouth, and the pain simply went away for several blessed seconds, during which I became acutely aware that I was clad only in bandages under the sheets and blankets.

             
“Thank God ya’re awake!” she said, once she’d finally pulled away. “How are ya feeling?”

             
I tried to speak, but only managed a dry rasping sound. My throat was utterly parched.

             
“Miss May, he needs some water!” Sarah called over her shoulder, and May vanished. She returned her attention to me. “Wolf told me what happened—that ya saved my life after the vampire attacked me and then ya went out and fought him!”

             
I glanced at Wolf, who shrugged. “The whole town knows by now, Doc,” he said. “They all pitched in to take care of ya after the fight.” He grinned. “People are starting to call ya Mad Dog Meadows.”

             
I blushed; I didn’t consider myself a mad dog. I was just defending Salvation from a monster, the same as anyone would do.

             
Presently May returned with a glass of water. Wolf helped prop me up, and I took a few tentative sips, and then coughed.

             
“You made sure he was dead?” I asked Wolf. My voice was barely a croak.

             
“Ayup,” he said. “And good riddance. The marks went with him, too, ya might notice.” He inclined his head towards Sarah, and I nodded. “Yar eye might be a bit dicey for a bit, but ya won’t be blind or anything,” he continued. “Ya’re going to want to rest up for a while, though.”

             
“But, my practice—” I protested, but May waved me off.

             
“Ya’ve been taking care of the whole town since ya got here,” she said. “And especially these last few days. Let Salvation take care of ya for a while.”

             
She appeared to have recovered magnificently from her own blood loss—but then two weeks is a long time for healing to start.

In the next instant, however, I realized that the Harvest Festival—if it was even held—had long since come and gone. It seemed a small thing compared to everything that had happened, but it was still disappointing.

“I trust you were able to enjoy the festival, then?” I asked Sarah.

She offered me a gentle smile. “If it weren’t for
ya and yar Indian friend, we wouldn’t even have had one this year.”

“So I talked to the mayor and he agreed to postpone it,” May said. “Until
ya’ve recovered.”

I thought of Mayor Cavanaugh and how eager he seemed to be to throw his lot in with Russeau, just for the promise of eternal youth. My stomach twisted, but I said nothing on the matter.

“Has his wife recovered?” I asked instead.

May nodded. “Everyone’s doing fine, Doc, now that
he’s
gone. Gib wanted to take the thing’s head and stuff it so ya could mount it on yar wall, but it smelled so awful I refused.”

That made me laugh. “Well, I don’t know how long it’ll be before I’m up and about,” I said, “But I’ll heal up as fast as I can. Could I just have a private word with Wolf?”

Sarah gave me one last kiss on my unbandaged cheek, and the ladies both left. Wolf approached and hunkered down beside the bed. I lay there in silence for the better part of a minute, gathering my thoughts.

“During the fight,” I said finally, “You transformed, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “I did. Ya were in trouble. I wasn’t gonna let him kill ya without a fight.”

I nodded.
“And were you able to destroy the last lair?”

“Ayup. Next morning I went to talk to yar mayor and I was able to talk some sense into him.”

I raised my eyebrows, remembering our previous conversation with Cavanaugh.

He snorted. “Acourse, the dozen or so people I brought with me to help find the thing probably helped.”

I laughed, imagining Cavanaugh on the receiving end of a posse. “And Russeau’s horses?”

“I took care of ‘em,” he said. “They won’t be able to hurt nobody neither.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” I was silent for a bit. “What are you going to do now?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. People like me tend not to be welcomed in civilized parts.”

“You could stay,” I offered. “You’re as much a hero as I am.”

He glanced over at me, but shrugged again. “I’ll stay on until
ya’re back on yar feet, at least. After that, we’ll see.”

I nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you,” I said.

***

             
I healed up faster than even I anticipated. Whether it was due to the nature of the vampire wounds knitting faster once he was gone or some element of Wolf’s skills at healing, I can’t really say, but two days later I was on my feet, albeit walking with a cane.

             
I attended the rescheduled Harvest Festival and was lauded as a hero, in the same league as Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan, for having faced down a monster like Russeau and not only surviving but also defeating him. I made sure that credit was given where it was due, though I did not mention the part where Wolf turned into a big hairy monster for the task.

Cavanaugh was there
as well, but the whole time I was there he seemed to have a hard time meeting my eye. I couldn’t imagine what recent events had done to his political aspirations, but I could only imagine that it was nothing kind.

             
Wolf moved on to greener pastures the following spring, leaving me as the resident vampire hunter in Salvation. I had begun formally courting Sarah by that time, and a year later we would be quite happily married.

             
I was never quite afraid of the perils of the frontier after tangling with Alexandre Russeau and his ilk—at least not the mortal perils. This became quite obvious the summer after Wolf left, when a drifter had gotten it into his head to try to rob the Lucky Lady. It was before nine in the morning, meaning most of the regulars weren’t in, as I wandered into the scene of a bearded man holding a shotgun on May.

             
“Listen,” he was saying. “This ain’t hard. Just give me everything in the cash box and nobody gets hurt.”

             
I walked right up to him and snatched the shotgun out of his hands.

             
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, breaking open the shotgun and emptying the shells onto the floor.

             
He whirled on me, his mouth open to say something, but whatever he had planned was lost on his lips.

             
I’d had a few side effects crop up when healing, you see. My hair had grown back white along the patch where Russeau had nearly scalped me, and it stood out starkly against my own dark hair. My eye on that side was strange, too, between the scars—a pale shade of ice-blue that I’d only seen on certain breeds of sheep-herding dogs.