Something struck him behind his knees and Henry fell to the ground. He felt the whisper of the axe passing by as he fell and stared, open-mouthed, as the axe head buried itself into the cabin wall, severing a transfixed leg in half. Breaths came thick and fast as he scrambled to reach the pistol but, as his fingers scraped the revolver to him, he saw Annie standing over him, shotgun in hand.

The blast from the weapon caused a ringing in his ears, forcing him to duck his head closer to the blood-drenched soil, but the fearsome woman did not allow him any time to recover. With a hand gripped into the collar of his jacket, she dragged him to his feet, pulling him backward, the shotgun pointing toward the forest, where Henry could see no sign of their attacker.

"That was a might close for anyone's liking." She tucked a finger into a new tear in the shoulder of his jacket, pressing into his flesh. "Lucky son-of-a-gun."

Henry's hand rose to his shoulder, checking himself but found no blood. He felt no pain and realised the head of the axe had missed his actual shoulder by a mere fraction of an inch. Had he not fallen, the axe would as like have buried itself into his chest, any story he had to tell becoming as dead as him. He wanted to thank God for His infinite mercy, but considered he had Annie to thank even more.

She dipped, picking up her pitchfork and slipping the sling over her shoulder. With eyes staring toward the forest, she cracked the shotgun, replacing the spent cartridge with a fresh one before flicking her hand, snapping the breach closed. A steady hand roved the barrel from one side of their line of sight to the other, but Hennessy had disappeared.

"Did you hit him?" His entire body shook, the barrel of his pistol bouncing so much, he doubted he could hit the cabin if he tried. "Is it over?"

"It ain't over." She began to move to the edge of the hunter's cabin, glancing around the corner. "Even if'n I hit him, it ain't gonna slow him down none. Take more'n one shot to relieve this one of his life."

"Even before his change?" Henry watched behind them as Annie slid around the corner. "That is interesting to know. It brings terror to my soul, but good to know, nonetheless. I suspect you have a plan?"

When no answer came, Henry whipped his head around to find that Annie had gone. Disappeared as Hennessy had. Without the woman to protect him, he felt more alone than he had ever felt in his life and his thoughts returned to the words of Sheriff Earp. He had warned Henry that she would abandon him. Earp had made that more than clear as he had related the tale of Doc Holliday's demise. She had said as much herself.

Now, both of them were proven correct. The eerie silence that surrounded the cabin did nothing to salve his fears. Before, out in the forest, he had heard many a natural sound. Birds and critters in the undergrowth. Even when Elisabeth had started to change, it had caused a sensation with the wildlife, but they still made noise. Here, he heard nothing. Saw no birds overhead. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place where blood and soil had become one.

Now his bladder threatened to fail him and he did not relish the derision he would face from Annie, should he wet his pants in fear. That is, if he managed to survive at all. He didn't consider that Annie would survive. Somehow that felt like a given. An inevitability. Whether she survived by ending the life of Hennessy, or turning on her heels and running, Henry could not figure. He wondered if she had already run back to the horses, but he doubted that. Annie had as stout a heart as any he had met and she thirsted for revenge as Hennessy thirsted for blood.

He had almost circumnavigated the cabin, finding nothing but more viscera, and body parts nailed to the log walls, clay and dirt stuffed between the untreated wood. He moved with his back to the cabin, though still felt greatly aware of the gruesome decoration. He could smell it. The decay. The rotting flesh. The innards cascading their contents upon soiled ground. He didn't have to look as he sidestepped his way around, catching no sight of Annie, nor of Hennessy.

He saw the trail that led back to the horses and remembered Annie's orders. To run to those horses and ride. Ride away as fast as the animal could carry him. Behind him, the door to the cabin sat wide open. He couldn't remember whether it had always stood open, or whether someone, Annie or Hennessy, had opened it in the meantime.

Lips dry, no matter how often his tongue flicked out to moisten them, Henry hesitated moving closer to that door, but he had only two options. Run to the horses or into the cabin, closing the door and hoping the tales of a Skinchanger's unnatural greater strength were only that. Tales. Tales that would once have fascinated and scared children on cold Winter nights. Henry doubted people told those tales any more, firelight dancing upon expectant, excited faces. Monsters were real and needed no embellishments.

In the distance, a flock of bird's took to the skies, wings making a furious beat as they fought against the urge to fall. They wheeled in the air, choosing their direction of flight, but came nowhere near to the clearing or the cabin. Could that mean Hennessy had disturbed them? So far away. Did it give Henry a chance to reach the horses?

He could hold back no longer. Stuffing the pistol behind his leather belt, Henry rocked back and forth, his eyes fixed upon the trail, leading back down the mountain, past the gory Drifter gatekeepers, put to final rest by Annie. Never one for running, Henry tried to calculate how far he could run before his lungs threatened to collapse. How far he could get to the safety of those horses.

All the way. That was how far he could get. How far he had to get. He continued his rocking as though that prepared him, gave him impetus to rush the entire way. There to unhitch his horse and take flight back to Prescott. Back to safety. Back to high walls that could withstand the attentions of any number of Skinchangers, any number of Drifters. Back where people huddled together in a sanctuary away from the damned.

He moved before he realised he had decided to. Even as he ran, he pushed his spectacles back up his nose, held a palm to the gun bouncing around in his waist band, the cold metal feeling like ice against his skin, the barrel jabbing into his groin. He couldn't remember the last time he had run with such abandon. As a child, most assuredly. He was no child, not any more. A grown man running for his life and he felt no embarrassment in doing so.

Even running, however, he still appeared so far from the trail. His heart pounded within his chest, lungs rising and falling with each ragged breath. Body parts, strewn across the ground threatened to catch at his feet, sending him tumbling but, by some miracle, he remained upright, though his chest already pained him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it. Saw him.

Running upright one second, on all fours the next, Hennessy kept pace with Henry, flashing between trees and Henry realised how useless those trees would have been for protection. They would have offered no respite from any attack by this man. This creature. And, when Hennessy quickened his pace, Henry knew he stood little chance of reaching the horses.

"Where're you goin', little chickadee?" Hennessy bounded from out of the forest, landing before Henry and rising to his full height. "I can't find the girlie, but you'll make a fine meal. Oh, yes you will. Chubby little thing like you, with your fine, fancy clothes. I just bet you been eatin' all that fancy food from back East. Fancy food. Lots'a fat and spices. Makes me lick my lips at the thought."

Henry had seen nothing of the like before. He had seen transformed Skinchangers, fully the animal that they mocked with their unnaturalness. Twice the size of wolves and with degrees of greater hunger and savagery. He had seen, also, the untransformed Skinchangers. No different from the people they once were, yet still with bestial looks in their eyes. Elisabeth was one of the few that Henry had seen where the ravaging transformations had left permanent marks upon the afflicted. He had never seen anything like Hennessy.

As though caught in mid-change, Hennessy looked half-human, half-wolf. Standing upon hind legs, giving him great height, fur-covered chest and face, jaw distended with sharp teeth pressing against almost-human lips. The young girl had spoken true. Hennessy had, somehow, learned to control his change and those eyes, almost-human, almost-wolf, both, neither, looked at Henry with undisguised gluttony.

The pistol found its way into his hands and Henry began to fire, surprising even himself that every bullet hit, though Hennessy offered a large target. The creature jerked and twisted as each bullet hit, one way and then the other, until Henry's finger pulled a trigger that no longer shot hot, death-dealing lead the monster's way. Click, click, click and Hennessy only gave a snarling grin, cocking his head to the side.

Henry ran. Back the way he had come. Back to the stomach churning clearing. Back to that cabin. He knew Hennessy could have caught him at any time. That the creature could have fallen upon him and devoured him without the slightest compunction, but Hennessy loved the chase, that seemed clear.

The cabin door still stood wide open and Henry crashed against the door frame. His eyes had fallen upon the axe, still embedded in the wall, but he doubted he could wrench it free in time. Instead, he spun around, grabbing the door and slamming it closed, pushing the wooden bolt into place and searching for something, anything he could use to barricade that door and give himself precious extra moments of life.

Moments in which Annie could prove that she wasn't the woman Sheriff Earp accused her to be. A woman that would not abandon Henry without a thought. He prayed that she was not that woman for, if she were, Henry would meet his end this day, his only wish that someone could find his notebook and publish his story. If he was to die, he would die a reporter.