Blood dripped from Henry's chin and his hand rose to wipe it away, only serving to coat his entire face. His shaking hand held before him, he mouthed words that did not emerge. After several seconds, he took to his feet and made hesitant steps away from the shrieking remains of Hennessy until he stood beside the remnants of the door. There, he vomited, curling over and marvelling at how much of his stomach contents remained to evacuate.

With a sickening slurping sound, Annie pulled her pitchfork from Hennessy's back and kicked him over. Even though she had removed his arms and legs, he still lived. Still raged and snarled, even as his wounds began to close, the flow of blood becoming a trickle and then only drips before stopping completely. His head thrashed to each side, jaws chomping toward Annie, but she appeared to have no more worries about the dismembered man.

Her booted foot pressed upon his chest and she put all her weight on to the heel as she bent over, cigar smoke drifting from her mouth as she appeared to examine the creature beneath her. She took the cigar from her mouth and spat some fleck of the tobacco onto Hennessy. Henry still could not find his voice. He turned and left the cabin, his mind in turmoil.

Off to the side, outside the cabin, he saw a water pump and a trough. It felt as though some other person, some other being controlled his legs. Stiff-kneed, he made his way to the trough and began to pump the handle until water billowed out of the spout. He held his blood-covered hand beneath the intermittent stream, watching as the blood mingled with the water, cascading into the trough. Once he had pumped enough water, he plunged both hands into it, cupping them and throwing the water against his face.

That wasn't enough. He fell to his knees, hands upon the side of the trough, and ducked his head into the water. He stayed there, eyes open, staring at bubbles escaping his nose, until his lungs began to scream at him. He resisted, keeping his head submerged until instinct overrode whatever thought had held his head beneath the water for so long. He threw his head back, gasping for precious air that he had starved of himself, and looked up to the skies, wondering why God hated the human race so much.

Birds sang. It seemed odd to notice, but it occurred to him that those little creatures somehow knew that Hennessy no longer held sway here. Above, carrion crows circled, no longer afraid of the beast that had prowled these woods for so long, and Henry didn't need to look around to know that the crows had a feast awaiting them. He could smell the death. The decay. The rotting flesh of the body parts that adorned the cabin.

His breath back to normal, Henry cupped his hands in the water again, scrubbing his fingers and palms, the backs of his hands, the webbing between the fingers. Once he thought his hands clean, he began to rub at his face, running fingers through his hair. All the while, more blood dripped into the water until it looked as black as coal, but he felt a little more clean and that helped.

Walking proved a little easier, now that he had cleansed himself of most of the blood from that creature. He didn't want to return to the cabin, but he had to. The story was in there, not out here with birds and pieces of people that Henry would never know the names of. That he would never know whether they were innocent people, Drifters or Skinchangers. He doubted any were Murcies. Those creatures were far too wily to get caught by such as Hennessy.

He paused at the doorway, wary of reentering. In there, dead people were strung up like sides of beef. In there, blood and viscera coated the rough, wooden floors. In there, the creature that had almost killed him still lived when any other man, any human man, would have died. He still heard the beast's snarls and the soft voice, but rough words, of Annie as she chided the creature.

"Go on, snap all ya like. Y'ain't gettin' outta here, son." She had moved Hennessy. Propping him against a wall, away from the hanging, swinging corpses. She now crouched before him, hat tipped back, revealing a glimpse of her auburn hair. "Way I see it, y'all either tell me what I want to know, or I start'a cuttin'. It'll be worse for you, seein' as you don't die so easy. It'll give me plenty'a time to figure put your most painful points. And I will. I'll figure all'a 'em."

Hennessy's eyes fell upon Henry and the creature's tongue flickered out, licking lips pushed outward by his part-transformation. A slap reverberated around the cabin as Annie brought Hennessy's attention back to her, leaving Henry to stare at his surroundings. He had nothing to say to Hennessy. The creature had played when it should have killed Henry. He had no sympathy.

The sight of his derby hat gave Henry some relief and, as he placed it back atop his head, it gave him a small sense of normality. Whatever passed for normal in a time when the dead walked the Earth. Likewise, he spied the pistol that had fallen from his waistband and then the knife that had not even made a scratch against Hennessy. He picked both up, putting the revolver back into his belt, then turned back toward Hennessy.

Annie caught his hand in time and had no trouble keeping it, and the knife Henry held, at bay. He fought against her, but she had a strength born of much use and everyday physicality. Nevertheless, Henry tried to pull away, then redoubled his efforts to kill Hennessy. Everything would be fine as soon as that man had passed from this world. Countless dead, because of him. Poor Elisabeth, only wanting to live and not harm others, dead. Henry. Still alive, though Hennessy had almost taken Henry's life. Almost.

"Damn you! And damn him!" He allowed the knife to fall from his hand and Annie released him immediately. He spun away, gripping the brim of his hat. "And damn this world! And damn the Starfall! And damn God for allowing this!"

"Don't you worry. This boy'll get his, sooner or later." She patted Hennessy's cheek, avoiding the snapping of his jaws. "I jus' need a little time is all. You c'n kill him once I'm done, but, I reckon leavin' him'll prove far more of a justice."

"Now, missy, I wouldn't go thinkin' I'm done. Not yet. I'll find a way to kill y'all and I'll take my sweet time doin' it. 'Specially with your pretty boy. Yes, ma'am. I'll have me some fun with him." Again, Hennessy's tongue flicked against his lips and Henry felt filthy just from that look. "This ain't the end for me. This gift'll keep'a givin'. You'll see."

Even without arms and legs, Hennessy still showed no fear, no remorse. He still expected to escape the situation, somehow, and return to finish what he had started. Henry wasn't certain whether the man was delusional, or whether he knew some thing about the disease that ravaged Skinchangers that no-one else did. A quick look across to where Annie had removed the man's arms and legs showed that they did not move of their own volition. He kicked one, but it didn't react. It did not have a mind of its own and Hennessy grinned as he watched Henry's test.

"Here's the deal, boy. You answer my questions and, if'n I think y'all ain't lyin', I'll kill ya quick. No sufferin'. Can't say no fairer than that. If'n you don't answer, or y'all lie? Well, that will not work out to your advantage." She picked up Henry's knife from where he had dropped it and bounced it against Hennessy's distended nose. "Where can I find Shipton?"

"Artie? That lyin' son-of-a-bitch! Hell! Why didn't y'all say straight up?" As though his injuries, great though they were, did not affect him in the slightest, Hennessy laughed, throwing his head back. "Why, I'd'a told you that and we wouldn't'a had to get all dirty about it. He sent me here to die!"

Hennessy spoke the words of that last sentence in slow, halting steps. As though emphasising each and every word. The man at the farm had said something along similar lines. That Shipton had told him to come to this cabin should they need to separate and meet up. This cabin, in the middle of Skinchanger territory. No doubt, had he made it, Henry and Annie would have had to have faced two Skinchangers. Or one well-fed one.

"Then you got no problems. I tell you what, I'll even sweeten the deal." Annie looked around, as though checking to see if anyone listened in to a private conversation. "You tell me how to find Arthur Shipton and I'll leave you alive. What d'ya say? Give you a chance to partake of that there revenge you're'a cookin' in that big old mean head a'yours."

"Head north, followin' Mint Creak, 'til you reach Simmons in Williamson's Valley, then head direct east, to'ard Santa Maria Mountains." All the while, as he talked, a sly smile remained upon his face, watching every move Henry made. "Keep Mount Hope in front'a ya and ya can't miss it. Ol' Artie thought no-one knew about his ranch and his pretty Mexican wife, but I'm smarter than he thought. I always knew that information would come good one day."

Annie stood upright, taking up her pitchfork that she had leaned against the wall. She slung it over her head and then moved across to where she had set down her shot gun, hooking that over her forearm. Hennessy's eyes followed Annie as she moved, a little squint appearing as he considered whether she were about to hold to the promise that she had made. She flicked Henry's knife in the air, catching it by the blade and offering it to him. Then she frowned, looking down at Hennessy.

"You remember a farm? Young family. Husband, son and a woman with bright, red hair. You knifed her in the gut. She took that." With a casual wave of the hand, Annie pointed toward the empty eye socket of Hennessy. "Consider this vengeance."

Henry expected her to kill Hennessy, then. She had her shotgun, had her pistol and her pitchfork. Even had a knife that could do the job. One cartridge, one bullet, one tine of the pitchfork or the blade of the knife, penetrating Hennessy's brain would put an end to the man and relieve the world of one creature that Henry did not doubt was evil even before he became bitten by a Skinchanger. She didn't kill Hennessy. Instead, she walked out the doorway, reaching into her vest pocket for that chewed up piece of cigar.

"You're letting him live? Just because you said you would?" Henry chased after Annie, catching up but skipping to keep pace. Inside, Hennessy had started to laugh once again. "He deserves to die! He certainly does not deserve mercy, or the comfort of a bargain held."

"Oh, he's gonna die alright." Annie paused, struck a match and dipped her head to light her cigar. Once lit, she nodded toward the trees. "Not by my hand or yours, but he'll die. Don't be eatin' his head, now! That's mine!"

Henry followed her eyes as she shouted and saw what she knew awaited Hennessy. They had waited. Calm. Patient. Angry. They let Annie and Henry pass and Henry turned his head and watched as all the creatures began their change, fur appearing upon their bodies. Bones snapping, breaking, reforming. Metal collars rattling. The Skinchangers ignored Annie and Henry, they had other prey in mind. Prey that had taken the life of Elisabeth. One of their own.