Pulling the dagger from the sheath, I grip the handle tight and fuel it with magic. The blade glows red hot in the night, and I thrust it forward as the scrapper lunges for me, pretty much stabbing himself. Fire erupts inside its chest and it falls back, burning from the inside out until there’s a little smoldering skeleton left on the ground.
“Are there any in the barn?” I ask Hunter, looking around. The snow is melting and the moon is behind clouds tonight, making it hard to see what’s around us. Hunter lets me know the scrapper in the barn is out and dead, but there’s more running through the tree line at the edge of our property.
“Let’s get them,” I tell Hunter, pushing my shoulders back and holding up the dagger. The scrappers are small, but damn those demons are fast. Hunter and I make it behind the barn just in time to see them sprinting toward us. We’ve been marked a threat and they’ll work together to take us down.
Holding up my free hand, I gather energy around my fingertips. Flames gather in my palms, and I curl my fingers in, shaping the fire into a ball. I throw it at the incoming scrappers, magically fueling it to go farther than I’m actually able to throw. It hits one square in the chest and the thing catches fire immediately. The others abandon ship, leaving the burning scrapper hissing and shrieking until it’s nothing but ashes.
Instead of charging at me, they run to the side of the barn, trying to hide in the tangle of trees and overgrown bushes that line part of the pasture. I sprint after them, hair catching in the low hanging branches which slows me down. Hunter, on the other hand, is having fun chasing after the little fuckers, and pounces on another, shoving it onto the cold, hard ground, ripping its throat out.
Taking my eyes off the group of scrappers, I stop and reach up, trying to free my hair. The scrappers use my hesitation to their advantage, and one launches itself at me, landing on my back. It pushes me forward and I fall, hair painfully ripping as I go down. The scrapper grabs my leg and bites down on my ankle, but its fangs aren’t strong enough to penetrate through my fleece-lined leather riding boots. I kick the scrapper off and scramble up, branches scratching my face.
“These were new,” I tell the scrapper, knowing there are now two tears in my boots. The dagger glows hot in my hand against and I shove it into its chest. It takes a few steps, thankfully moving out of the dry bushes, and collapses onto the ground. The smell of charred flesh gags me, and I jump over its corpse, looking for Hunter.
He’s killed two more in that time, and by now the scrappers know they’re no match for us. Only a few more remain, and they’ve run down the road, attracted to the lights and music. That’s Donna’s house and—fuck—she’s hosting her book club tonight. She told me a lot of people were coming tonight, and it wouldn’t take much for the scrappers to lure someone outside, bite and paralyze them, and then consume the flesh and blood from their body in record time.
The cold air stings my lungs as I run down the street. Donna is my neighbor, but she’s still a decent distance away. I’m out of breath and panting by the time we near her house. And, shit, there are a lot of people here. How am I going to sneak into her yard and not get caught?
A scrapper dodges between two parked cars in the driveway, and another runs along the porch, causing a motion sensor light to flick on. I freeze, eyes going wide, and dodge behind a telephone pole, covered with frosty ivy. Hunter shadows through the yard, tackling another scrapper. We can’t leave the bodies, which means I can’t use my fire magic to burn them. No, they have to come back whole.
Donna’s dog barks from inside the house, watching us from the front window. The scrapper advances, drawn to the barking. Then the front door opens and Donna’s husband steps onto the porch, picking up a cable tie-out for the dog.
“Archer,” he calls, and a golden retriever comes running. It leaves me no choice. I summon another ball of fire and throw it at the scrapper, hitting it in the back. Screeching, it runs into the street, collapsing into the ditch.
“What the hell?” Donna’s husband, whose name escapes me at the moment, pushes the dog back and goes to the steps of his porch. I slink back, hoping the telephone pole is enough of a cover, though I know it’s not. At all.
Hunter bounds forward, barking and growling. He looks absolutely menacing, and Donna’s husband quickly retreats inside, yelling for someone to bring his gun. We need to go—now. The last thing I want is to get shot. I take off down the road again, not sure how much distance I’ll be able to put between the house and myself before Donna’s husband returns with a shotgun. Hunter shadows through the parked cars, grabbing another scrapper. He shifts back into dog-form and chomps down on the scrapper’s arm, dragging it away from the house.