Bloodtrail

A fractured moon peered at Thomas's back through rusted bridge supports, pushing his shadow closer to the door to the library. After his resurrection, the pale moonlight usually brought him a strange sense of comfort. Not this time. 'Doevm gave me an hour and it's nearly up,' he thought. 'This is do or die. Have I done everything I could?'

Thomas licked his lips, ashamed of the joy that both the metallic taste and smell brought him. At least it distracted him as he waited for Shay to emerge, drawn to the smell of blood like a moth to the flame. He glanced over his shoulder at a bloodtrail.

The children had dragged Mr. Fisher past the bridge, which acted as a divider, to the back of the garden. Thomas could still hear them over the whistling wind. They struggled to get their father past the snow, cursing Thomas's name and wheezing along the way.