HOWLS AND HUNTERS

The night had fallen, and the full moon's light illuminated our surroundings. My father threw his weapons bag into the truck's open trunk. Around his waist, he wore a black leather belt containing his dagger, a grenade, night vision goggles, and other portable equipment. His long black sleeve was covered by protective armor, guarding against werewolf claws. His black trousers allowed for seamless movement, and he looked like a soldier prepared for any obstacle.

My sister emerged from the house, dressed in a battle dress uniform. She held her favorite crossbag, laced with wolfsbane, tightly in her right hand. Her long blonde hair was concealed under a beanie, and like my father, she wore long black sleeves and black trousers.

We were all dressed in black, allowing us to blend into the night and remain hidden from natural forces.

The full moon had a profound impact on werewolves, making them aggressive and uncontrollable. It drew them out of their hiding spots, causing them to howl loudly, making them easier to locate.

I secured my favorite weapon, a silver pistol, on my thick black leather belt, awaiting my father's command, "Let's go." He closed the trunk, took the driver's seat, and invited, "Let's go." My sister and I agreed, making our way to the back seat. He locked the windows and started the engine.

Our "Battle wagon," an ash-colored Ford F-150, was like a family member. We rarely retreated from a fight, but if necessary, this truck never failed us. Its sturdy tires navigated uneven terrain effortlessly. Its color allowed us to remain hidden at night, and its quiet movement was an added advantage.

As we journeyed into the woods, rain began to fall from the clouds. I saw raindrops slowly sliding down the car window. My father was unwavering, and a little rain wouldn't deter him from his mission.

Upon reaching the woods, my father carefully parked the vehicle near a massive tree. He opened the trunk and retrieved his gear. Slung his crossbow around his neck, he loaded his rifle with bullets coated in wolfsbane. My sister also readied her crossbow for the mission ahead.

Our approach was simple: my father would lead the way with his rifle, my sister would follow, and I would bring up the rear with my pistol. In case we were forced to split up, the primary objective was to regroup and ensure my safety as the youngest.

With night vision goggles over our eyes, we began our meticulous search for werewolves, guided by the distant howls.

As we approached a stream, my father raised his left fist, signaling us to stop. This meant he had spotted a werewolf. We crouched down and took cover beneath a large rock. My dad cautiously lifted his head, aiming his rifle in the werewolf's direction. He peered through his scope, carefully adjusting his aim until he had a clear shot. He fired a bullet, striking the werewolf's neck. Whimpering, the injured werewolf fled the scene, seeking a place to die.

Wolfsbane acted swiftly, causing death within seconds. This meant that any creature hit by a bullet laced with wolfsbane would not go far.

"You both stay here, let me investigate," my father instructed, moving toward where the werewolf had been shot.

My senses heightened when I heard the growls of wolves. My sister and I raised our heads and saw that our father was facing an entire pack of werewolves. Without hesitation, we began firing bullets and arrows at the large wolves.

One particularly furious werewolf charged at me and leaped onto my chest, knocking my gun from my hand. I grappled with the creature, struggling to prevent its fangs from reaching my neck. Using my left hand to restrain the wolf's neck, I retrieved my dagger from my belt and stabbed the wolf repeatedly. It whimpered and fell to the ground beside me.

I quickly regained my feet, retrieved my gun, and joined my family in the fight. I had only three bullets left, so I made each shot count. I fired one to protect my sister and the other to aid my father. The wolves fell to the side, bleeding heavily.

Exhausted, I dropped to my knees, gasping for breath. My father rushed towards me and asked, "Are you okay, honey?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a moment," I replied.

"You did well," my dad remarked, walking toward my sister.

That night, we had taken down eight werewolves: seven died nearby, while one succumbed to its injuries at a distance. My father collected the bodies, which had reverted to a human-like state. They were naked, and I noticed that the werewolf that had attacked me was female.

Returning from the truck with a gallon, my father opened it and doused the bodies with gasoline. My sister and I sat on the ground as our father ignited a fire. The woods fell silent, the howling ceased, and smoke filled the air.

I watched as the bodies burned, reminding myself of how these supernatural creatures had taken my mother. I breathed in deeply, hoping the fire would consume my fear and anger.

I could see the satisfaction on my father's face, knowing he was one step closer to avenging his wife. He believed that by eliminating them all, The Alpha would be forced to defend his pack. He saw that day as the one that would finally free him from his pain.

My sister remained unfazed, seemingly uninterested in the matter.

"Let's go home, kids. We're done here," my father said, returning to the truck with his equipment.

My sister approached me, hugged me, and said, "Thank you for saving me, Emily."

I embraced her and replied, "I love you, Emma."

"Let's go," my sister said, heading back to the truck.

I glanced at the fire one last time. The fear I had felt before the hunt had transformed into a sense of exhilaration. I couldn't wait for the next hunt.