Flying isn't for werewolves. Flying on a unsafe triplane driven by a madman who finds some time to pet his cat while he's handling a experimental aircraft at excessive speeds towards enemy territory isn't right for anybody.
In the rear seat of the Millennium plane, Hans couldn't help but stretching and shivering while he saw the sea all around. If they fell here, they'd never be saved. But anyway, even provided they made it, what was going to save them from Doc?
A distant city appeared in the horizon. London. That's were they were headed. Straight into the lion's lair.
How was it possible nobody noticed an approaching plane? How was it possible nobody shot them down while they flew near the city, and not a single plane intercepted them while they were landing?
The answer was standing near the isolated landing pad where Doc stopped the plane. A British officer, dressed in his uniform and wearing thick glasses, walked to them as soon as they landed.
He shook hands with doc, then said something rude to him. Neither Hans nor Zorin could understand English- but it was clear that the officer was either a traitor or a complete idiot to trust them. After he and Doc exchanged a few words, the Englishman left the alone. Doc adjusted his glasses and pulled his cat out of the plane's cockpit.
"Sooooo..... what are we going to do?" asked Zorin.
"We were hired to exorcise the nearby graveyard from all supernatural presences. What we will do instead, is look for a certain grave and take the corpse that's inside it."
Doc walked on without adding anything. Zorin and Hans looked at each other for a few seconds, then they followed him.
The graveyard was not far away from their landing point.. During the walk they all mutually agreed not to talk- even as deserted as the place was, speaking in German wasn't safe.
This kind of silence was a blessing for the werewolf. Since they could only speak in eye contact and body language, he was more expressive than anyone else. And while Doc led the way up ahead, he could speak with Zorin, speak his way, in his word-less language in which he could express all he felt.... more than any word could.
Or, so he could do if she was paying attention. She seemed distracted- not by the landscape, solitary and uninteresting, not by the doctor, who seemed too busy reading and checking a notebook, but by some remote though he couldn't understand.
What's on your mind?
No answer. Was she even looking?
Come on... look this way...
Please?
Are you looking?
She seemed to realize. As she turned around, she looked so....
so....
...pretty.
Her rose skin in the sunlight, the eyes, of that strange, ochre-like colour, the tattoos, the slightly reclined pose of her head and the perfect shape of her mouth in that moment of curiosity.
Had any other woman in his life ever looked so alive? So perfect? Not that he could recall.
So what's on your mind?
She smiled, her lips a perfect crescent on her face. Surely she couldn't say what she was thinking, but maybe she could express it anyway. He encouraged her to.
She shook her head. Later.
Later. It was a promise.
They finally got to the graveyard. As soon as they entered, Doc ordered to lock the gate, then began searching for a certain tomb among the multitude. He soon found what he was looking for. A simple grave, surmounted by a huge stone cross. The name on it was Wilhelmina Harker.
"Dig it."
With what?
"There are shovels in that shed."
And how do you know?
Either Doc didn't understand the question or didn't want to answer. He riffled through his notebook again, silently.
Hans opened the shed's door- there were shovels as promised. Even though he didn't mind fatigue, the place wasn't encouraging to work in. Not just because it was a cemetery- the air seemed to dense, as if it was polluted by a cold and supernatural presence.
The deeper they went, the more the still air and cold sensation increased. Even though the job as tiring and they were both sweating, they didn't feel hot at all. Hans' intentions of short before were completely drained. There was no space for affection in there.
Finally the shovel hit something hard: the coffin. It took a while to clear it from all the dirt and lift it. They got in in a standing position, then with a strike of the shove, Hans broke the seal.
The doctor descended into the dig, with an expression of growing excitement. He slowly opened the battered wooden cover, caressing it, smelling it. The corpse was almost decomposed. A narrow film of skin still covered the bones, of the eyes remained nothing but the holes. Doc grabbed her chin and looked straight into her orbits, so close that for a second Hans though he was going to kiss that rotting corpse.
"One day" said the scientist "Someone will gaze upon us and wonder, why did we chose to flirt so closely with the death of this world?"
He snapped his fingers. "Soldier Gunsche, take this corpse. Let's return home."
He walked out of the pit with a satisfied grin. Even more satisfied when he saw the soldiers who surrounded them.
"It looks like Limeys aren't so dumb after all." he commented. "Three and unarmed against 20 riflemen. Definitely an interesting situation. If only it could be night and full moon."
Twenty automated rifles around them clicked as their safety was being removed. The English officer intimated to surrender.
Doc laughed for a few, endless seconds. Then he said: "Soldiers, dispose of them."
The werewolf, even unable to transform, didn't think twice before charging the enemy. Bullets flew all around him as he leapt on the enemy leader, knocking him to the ground.
"Preventable. Since their leader is in danger, the forget about us" stated Doc "Although if I were you, Private Blitz, i'd try and be ready for when they'll remember."
Easier said than done, she though. Then she remembered of something she had seen in the tool shack. Something that could be very handy.
Hans lifted the officer as a human shield, hoping to force the enemies in close combat. He had acted impulsively, he knew. In his human shape, bullets could be quite deadly for him. And even assuming they'd fight hand to hand, he was still alone against twenty opponents.
Alone.
"SHIVER AND FEAR THE GRIM REAPER!"
Zorin?!
Or at least it was her voice. Although it came from a indistinct figure in a black cape, standing between the graves.
The soldiers started. That second of distraction was enough for Hans to take advantage. He cracked the officer's neck and jumped on the two closest soldiers, banging their heads together.
Why the Hell is she just standing there!? They'll kill her!
Shots were fired. The cape fell and foiled to the ground.
This can't be....
"Oh, by the way- I meant THIS reaper!"
Hans felt a cold splat of blood landing on his left cheek. Beside him, a military was agonizing, with his neck almost severed.
And she was there, wielding a scythe.