The Ravager was like a juggernaut. Hatred had replaced the craving as it made its way out of the woods and onto the highway. The memory of its imprisonment was fresh and top of mind after sensing the Angel. Cars swerved to avoid him, and he ignored them. There would be time to kill later. Now the enemy and his sword must be destroyed. Slowly, deliberately, with his fury fermenting, he headed toward the town lights in the distance following the scent of the warrior. The scent seemed different now, but that mattered little to the Beast, it needed to annihilate the source.

Jacob left before dark, much as he wanted to be of more help to Albert, he felt it prudent to keep his distance until the battle was done.

Albert had been on an emotional roller coaster all day, from fear to shock, to dread, to denial and finally to regretful acceptance.

"Was it to be tonight?" he wondered. And thinking it might be, decided that some plan was called for. He determined to make his stand by the garage, surrounded by the junk of his life, feeling that by not battling in his house, there might be some unbroken objects left for his heirs to inherit.

"Calm down!," he said aloud to himself, "You can do this. You're a fighting machine."
He almost believed himself, until he stepped on the throw rug at the entrance to the garage. That in itself wouldn't have discouraged him except for the rake underneath it, which promptly smacked him square on the forehead almost knocking him out.

"Some warrior," he said pitifully. Albert went over and picked up the sword out of the cement. He tried swinging it over his head, but it weighed too much for him to do anything impressive except almost cut his leg off.

He looked around hoping for inspiration. Last year's plastic Christmas tree and lights, a lawn chair, a ladder, a rolled up rug, a water-gun, baseball bat, motor oil, extension cord, tape, empty boxes, and not much else.

This is gonna' be tough, Albert thought, almost smiling, the only weapons I've got are a baseball bat and a sword I can't use. Even the shotgun that killed the Angel was borrowed from Jack.

The stress of the past few days hit him all at once and he just sat on the floor fighting off the tears he was holding back. He tried focusing on the things he knew were real and realized that he had no idea what those things were.

Finally, Albert just chose to pretend nothing had happened. He convinced himself that everything would just work out and most of what happened was just a delusion after the stress of the hunting accident. He didn't really believe that, but Albert had had a lifetime of experience at lying to himself.

He decided to go ahead and go to the Sheriff's office and transport the remains of the hunters to the dentist, Doc Crosby, for identification as he had promised. It was grisly business, but it would keep his mind occupied.

Albert arrived at the Sheriff's office and was surprised to find it almost completely empty. The only person he saw was Miriam, the dispatcher. She looked up at him, smiling.

"Hello Albert, Jack said you might come by," she reached below her desk and dragged out a small cooler, "here's the remains to take over to Doc Crosby. Jack said to let him know as soon as you get positive identifications."

Albert walked over and lifted the cooler to check its weight. It was lighter than he expected. "Thank you, I'll do that. Where is everyone?

Miriam shook her head, "Terrible business. It's all about that killer bear. We got word it walked out on the highway. All the units, the State cops too, headed out that way to stop it once and for all. They aren't there yet, I'm listening on the radio."

Albert considered staying awhile to listen, but the mere mention of the 'bear' started his back itching again and his anxiety level to peak. It was probably a false alarm anyway.

"Is Doc Crosby still at the medical park on Lakeview?" He asked Miriam before leaving.

"He sure is, I'll let him know you're coming," she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level, "I really don't like that man one whit. He was the terror of my childhood."

Albert smiled for the first time in a while. He said goodbye and carried the cooler to his car.

As Albert headed out of town to the medical park, he thought about what Miriam had shared. Doc Crosby had been the town dentist for over forty years and he was the terror of many a childhood. Albert was no exception. He remembered all too clearly the dental appointments each year when it seemed his cavities had multiplied over the previous twelve months.

He remembered that the good doctor refused to administer novocaine, citing some, almost certainly fictitious, study which determined that the painkiller was detrimental to children. The parents never questioned it and Albert suspected they took some guilty pleasure in their child's torment as karmic punishment for eating all those sweets. A cosmic told-you-so.

Whenever Albert thought of Doc Crosby now, the image that came to mind was of Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man, drilling Dustin Hoffman's exposed tooth, while asking, "Is it safe?"

The thought sent a shiver through Albert's body that quickly became a laugh when he realized he'd joyfully have his teeth drilled again if he could just go back in time four days.

When he reached the medical park there was only one car in the parking lot. He assumed it belonged to the dentist. He parked next to it and went inside.

Sheriff Jack Tramell felt helpless after the killings in the marsh. He knew everyone who died and it weighed on him. He couldn't help feeling like the hunting accident had something to do with what was happening, but kept that feeling to himself. His deputies hadn't found the Angel's body and Jack was starting to believe it was all some hallucination caused by swamp gas. The horrific deaths, however, were all too real and it did seem like an incredible coincidence that all this weirdness was happening at the same time.

He pulled his squad car up to where the animal had been reported. The state troopers were already there. He got out of his car and asked the senior trooper what was going on.

"Well, Jack, that fella there...," he pointed at a very shaken bystander sitting on the hood of a car, "...said that a big thing was running down the highway, then cut into the woods over there." He pointed at an area on the edge of the road where the vegetation was crushed flat.

"What does he mean 'thing', was it a bear or not?"

"Not according to him. He said it was ten feet tall and a monster, running on two legs. He ain't drunk, I gave him a breathalyzer."

"Could still be a deformed bear," Jack looked at the crushed path into the woods, "Where the hell is it headed? This path leads in the direction of town. You get some of your guys to follow from here and we'll head back in toward town and try to cut it off."

"Sure thing Sheriff."

"And for god's sake, be careful, this animal has already killed a bunch of armed men."

As Jack headed back to his car he glanced at the shivering bystander, who looked him in the eye desperately repeating, " No animal....no animal...Monster!"