Free Monster Gauntlet by Paul Emil Page A

thinking.
    “It’s mine. You’ve got your own gear. Why should I hand my stuff over to you?”
    Marine said, “Because I will fucking kill you if you don’t.”
    Marine and Mason started getting into their fighting stances and I thought, Here we go. Boys and their testosterone.
    I said, “Guys, we ...”
    “OK, what the hell is this shit?” Bear said as he approached us.
    “We have situation,” Trish said. She had a weird smile, like she was amused and looking forward to the violence. Again, I thought, These people are dangerous, maybe as much as the monsters. I’m with a bunch of psychos.
    “Well, I’m outta here,” Bear said. “I don’t want to be near that body when the wolves or the vampires or who-knows-what shows up. I’m getting the hell out of the woods.”
    On that note, we were all in agreement. Mason handed over the med kit. Marine cleaned the wound – a swallow gash across his stomach – with impressive speed and efficiency and handed the kit back.
    Bear said, “I’m going back to the field. I’m ...”
    He looked around and I watch the fierceness in his face fall and melt into fear. “What ... where ... which way?”
    “That way,” Trish said. “I think.”
    We pulled out the map and compass and picked the direction we thought would get us out. We weren’t that deep into the forest. It was scary how close we were to the edge and still got lost.
    Everyone felt better when we were back in the gap between tree lines.
    Slumping as if he had shuffled off a heavy burden, Bear was visibly relieved. We all felt the same way. Then, as if realizing that if he wanted to assume command again he needed to look the part, Bear drew himself upright and said, “OK. Good. We’re back. Now let’s get moving. No stopping unless I say so. I want to get to that fort and hunker down. Got it? Move.”
    “Fort.” That’s what he called the castle. The very word conveyed as sense of power and purpose. It suggested strength and security, which was ironic. There was none of that here.
    We hiked in silence. Bear like to tell people to shut up, which was ironic considering how he would think out loud, complaining to the universe and anyone who would listen.
    “Goddamn idiots,” he said. “Picked knives instead of guns. This shit wouldn’t have happened if you’d all picked guns. Guess I’m the only one who’s not an idiot. I saved your asses and emptied half my clip to do it. Goddamn waste of ammo.”
    We all wanted him to shut up, but then again, nobody said anything because he was big and had a gun. I hated to admit it, but in a way, he was kind of right.

12
     
     
    We continued to trudge towards the castle in the north, and I was glad were still in a group. My situational awareness was shot. I was walking around in a daze, like I’d been out partying and binge drinking. I felt like I was pitching forward, and my feet seemed to fall into place. With my legs on cruise control, my mind was free to wander.
    I thought about what had happened. I was attacked in the woods by a stranger. That was scary, but was it a monster?
    Yes, I thought, It was. In fact, it was what everyone was afraid of.
    Still, I somehow felt cheated. I mean, this show was about Scottish monsters. Where were the faeries and the like?
    They’re still out there, I thought with a shudder. The thug and the cat were just to soften us up and wear us down, or maybe thin the herd by taking a few of us out. They’re saving the big monsters for the finale.
    Still, the hoodlum was out of place. I didn’t associate that with Scotland. Crime and violence and guns weren’t things I worried about, especially not in Skye. London is a huge city, and like anywhere else, you have to be smart and have good situational awareness when you’re out and about. But even then I felt relatively safe. I was never afraid of being held up at gunpoint or being shot. Guns didn’t fit into Britain. No, guns and gun violence were American fears. The producers