Ginger Snaps – Beneath the Skin
Chapter Two: Hunters
The foul stench of death and excrement seeped into the air and lingered for a moment before slowing working its way into Brigitte's senses causing her to cough uncontrollably in disgust. Though regrettably all too familiar, she had never gotten use to the repulsive smell. She would probably have been sick if not of the fact she was fighting for her life at that exact same moment. Pined against the cold, hard concrete beneath, Brigitte stared up at the grotesque creature bearing down on her, restrained only by Brigitte's own hands which gripped desperately around its thick, mangy neck.
Hot, sticky streams of drool dripped slowly from the monster's maw onto Brigitte's cringing face, their noses mere inches apart. Jaws lined with razor sharp fangs snapped repeatedly at the struggling prey below, their master's impatience growing with every failed strike. Gathering all her strength, her heart pounding fiercely within the confines of her chest, Brigitte released her left hand from the beast's neck, slamming her freed fist multiple times into the fiend's side, blindly aiming for any tender spot. Brigitte soon realized however that even if it felt her attacks, it showed no signs of distress. And at that precise moment, her other arm buckled under the colossal weight.
A deafening blast of man-made thunder echoed loudly into the still night air causing Brigitte and her inhuman attacker to pause momentarily, as if the record of time itself had skipped its groove. The beast's self-protective nature took over, inquisitive of the distraction's source, rashly neglecting the victim it had viciously fought with not a second earlier. In one quick decisive stoke Brigitte seized upon the welcome reprieve, reestablished her grip around the monster's neck and wrenched as hard as she could muster. The resulting sound, similar to a tree trunk shattering, caused her heart to beat even faster, fear turning to excitement, even joy, the beginnings of a predatory smile forming across her pale face. But the smile disappeared under a brooding veil as quickly as it had appeared, leaving Brigitte to ponder momentarily whether that spark of cruel delight had come from the monster within or the monster without.
Leaning back down against the pavement, taking care to rest her head gently, Brigitte allowed herself to relax, still under the immense weight of the dead lycanthrope. Even though struggling to breathe, she just laid there silently, staring up at the sky, black and all encompassing, gazing at the hundreds of tiny tears in the dark tarp of night allowing pin pricks of light to twinkle through. After a lifetime of peace relative to a single waking moment, Brigitte heaved the dead mass off of her, dragged herself onto her own shaky legs, and stared at the figure standing in front of her.
"You know, you really should learn kung fu or some shit. I might not be around to save your life next time."
It was Sam of course, smoking revolver in hand, cigarette over his ear, sporting his typical cocky grin. She wasn't impressed.
"This isn't a fucking TV show Sam. If you want to save me next time, just shoot the bloody thing, okay?"
She immediately regretted being so harsh. It wasn't like he intended to be critical. Sam by nature was an embodiment of undiluted sarcasm, nurtured by cynicism and rolled into an above average male package. One with a nice heart underneath all that self protective bull shit, one that Brigitte sensed she just rammed a stake through.
"Fine, whatever. I just thought it would have been nice for you to still have a head after the nights' proceedings, that's all. My arm's still a little shaky these days."
"I'm sorry," Brigitte sincerely responded. "I'm just freaking. That was a little too close for comfort."
"How did the 'fanged mullet' get the drop on you anyway?" Sam queried in his usual combination of oddity and drollness that bugged his companion so. "Can't you like sense when they're around or something?"
"Wrong way around Sam," Brigitte replied glumly. "They sense me. Why do you think we run into so many? Ginger on the other hand…"
Brigitte paused, cutting off her own sentence, her voice trailing off into the cold void. She knew where it would lead should she continue, Sam's reaction always the same. Still the thought pestered her and she risked letting it once again out into the open.
"We need help. Ginger should be here with us."
Sam's mask of cool cracked.
"That whack job is precisely were she needs to be," he snapped almost on reflex, just as Brigitte had predicted. "She fucking out of control and we don't need her complicating things!"
"What do you call this?" Brigitte spat in disbelief, throwing her arms into the air, displaying the empty street as if the whole world was watching their domestic unfold. "Here we are wondering the streets in the middle of the night without a clue, while a perfect tracker is sitting at home waiting for us. She's stronger, faster..."
"And completely insane!" Sam barked, forcefully rubbing his arm in an unsubtle protest. "I don't trust her Brigitte."
"Are you ever going to forgive her for that?" Brigitte retaliated, gesturing towards Sam's over- dramatized act of discomfort. "A little childish don't you think?"
Quickly composing himself, Sam took a few steps towards the glaring, raven haired young woman. "She's getting worse and you know it. She's dangerous Brigitte."
"I know," Brigitte spoke softly, anger turning to despair, staring at her own trembling, blood-soaked hands, "better than you could ever imagine." She boarded on the edge of tears caught in the irony she now witnessed, her life not in her hands, covered in blood, signifying her own dwindling humanity.
Encasing her delicate hands in his, Sam looked down on Brigitte warmly, silently reassuring her that everything would be fine. She leaned in slowly, allowing herself to be taken into his arms, resting her head tenderly on his chest, moving in accord to the rhythm of his breathing. All the pain and misery of the past three years melted away in an instant. Every image in her mind from as far back as that fatefully night in the old park, Ginger's savage attack and her subsequent changes, the inevitable confrontation with her monstrous sister that lead to her own infection, to the last few years of fighting, killing, relocating, rinse and repeat, all expelled in an instant, like a film roll exposed to the blinding sun.
"Do you mind taking care of dead and ugly over there?" Brigitte mumbled, her introverted nature shattering their moment. "I really do need to check on my sister."
"Ok, but you're loading it into the truck."
Sam's beat up but reliable vehicle, loaded with freshly killed lycanthrope, zoomed off and disappeared into the gloomy night, leaving Brigitte alone on the curb outside their meager dwellings. The air was cold, working its will on Brigitte, sending shivers up her spine. Unlike her big sister, her tolerance to such elemental forces had yet to build, and Brigitte quickly sought the inviting shelter of home. As she moved along the path to her door, the neighborhood dogs began their familiar chorus of barks and howls as if on cue, waiting only for her presence to begin. She had never been fond of those animals, but lately they had begun to share the same sentiment, radiating fear and loathing.
Slamming the door behind as she entered, Brigitte took a deep and calming breath as she basked in the modest comfort her cozy little home provided. She entered her usual routine, switching on lights and heating, placing her keys on the lounge room table, turning on the TV followed by stepping into the kitchen. A news announcement caught her ears as she made herself a leftover cold meat sandwich, something about a 12 year old girl charged for arson of the family cabin. She couldn't help but chuckle when the words 'sociopath' and 'delusional' were use in the description of the suspect.
Little freak!
Desperately craving a hot and relaxing shower Brigitte freed herself from her ruined overcoat, tossing it onto a nearby chair, exposing her bruised and battered arms and shoulders. She lightly massaged her latest battle wounds and then started up the stairs, not giving them another thought. She was confident in the fact that by morning they wouldn't even be visible, a small gift, one of many, from the beast that was slowly waking within her. Just like her sister.
"Ginger," Brigitte called out, pausing mid step when no response came. Slowly retracing her steps back down to the lounge, she tried again.
"Ging."
She knew something was wrong. Her sixth sense, heightened by her own internal demon, began sending out warning signals telling her to be on guard. It forced her to focus on the adjacent room, demanding her full attention. It was then that she noticed the lone warped figure stepping slowly out of the dark, the shadows trying desperately to cling to its form with no avail. Hunched over, her curved spine no longer able to sustain her full height, Ginger stood fully revealed to her now trembling sister, caked in dried blood, poised to strike, an image of pure bestial fury.
"Hi B. We really need to talk."
