Legacy of the Wolf

Arsenal

She remembered it all: sitting in the daylight basement and finding the bullet in the box of her dead father's things, hearing her stepmother scream. She remembered the thing she saw outside the window, the thing that forced its way into the house as she ran out, ran out and found her stepmother's body; she remembered running for her life, crawling through the woodshed, finding the corpse of their dog, Chewy, on the others side; she remembered retrieving a rifle from the gun vault in the pole building... and she recalled with great clarity seeing the beast when it came inside, a monster very much like what Nina had become in the basement. Sam remembered shooting the beast, thinking it was dead... and then running once more up into the treehouse when it had turned out to be very much alive— through the home and back to the daylight basement where she had taken up that same bullet, the bullet her father had left behind... a silver bullet, which she had put into the rifle and used to kill the wolf beast that came down the stairs and tried to kill her.

These images had played through her mind like some kind of quick-cut sizzle reel. When Sam opened her eyes, she was lying on her back, staring up at the sky. The bombardment of recollection had knocked her out, for a little while at least; the sun had moved a bit from where she had last seen it. But the pain... the pain in her head was gone. Now that the dam had finally burst, the flood was past, and the waters had become placid.

Sam sat up and stared down at the pendant in her hand. Such a small thing... but it's value was beyond measure. This token had given her peace. Clarity. A sense of self that she hadn't really realized had been missing.

I know who I am now. I know why Uncle Brewin and the others did what they did. They thought they were doing the right thing; making me forget.

But now... now she remembered. The question that worked its way to the forefront of her mind was: why did Kronin want so badly for her to remember?

As if in answer, Sam heard the scuffling of boots on gravel; the muted sounds of hushed voices.

There were people; back over by her vehicle on the other side of the home. Just beneath the sounds of the people she could hear what sounded like a motor.

Sam got up, heart racing as she rounded the corner of the house. There was a van pulled up just on the other side of her Mustang—engine running, driver's door open.

Seated on and around her car, like a murder of crows on the branches of a dead tree, was a gang of vagrants. Eight at least. Standing just this side of her car was a man in a ragged coat with the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, a scarf hiding the lower half of his face.

Kronin.

Sam sped up, reaching behind her back for the Desert Eagle...

A man perched on the Mustang's hood—a tall man with a gray beard, whom Sam recognized from the first hell hound gathering she had attended with Elias, raised a rifle and pointed it at her.

"Don't do it," Kronin said to Sam, reaching up and pulling the hood down. He lowered the scarf as well to reveal a dark-complexion. His eyes were so brown they were nearly black. There was a thin beard covering his chin. The long hair that lay back on his head and the hair on his face were both streaked with gray.

"He won't kill you but he would put a bullet through your shoulder before you shoot," Raggedy Man said in a thick accent.

Sam stood, waiting, considering drawing the gun anyway, while Kronin simply watched. Glancing down, she noticed that the tires of her car were flat. Finally Kronin said "You remember now, don't you? Good, good..."

He took a few steps forward. Sam fought the urge to pull her gun once again. "I wanted you to remember every detail; I want you to know why."