JAMES WALTERS

I opened my eyes when I felt a soft tap on my right hand. It was my uncle; he had awakened from what could be deemed as a short nap.

"We need to keep moving; it's not safe here," my uncle said.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"I don't know, but I know we're going to get killed if we remain here," my uncle said, moving forward.

I stood on my feet and joined him as we navigated the woods.

"You know why I joined the military?" my uncle questioned.

"Don't know. Probably because you love hunting," I answered.

"Well, that's a secondary reason," he said. "I joined because I wanted to protect my family. When I was in high school, they used to call me 'weak.' I was the eldest of three siblings, but I couldn't protect my sister. She was killed when a terrorist group came to attack my hometown. All I could do was hide and cry like a weakling."

"Dad told me you loved her so much."

"Everyone did. I was afraid I was going to lose more people, so I joined the army to make myself a weapon," he sighed. "I never knew the army was going to break me. The trauma of losing my sister was exacerbated when I served my country."

"What happened?"

"I saw a lot of despicable things," my uncle halted. "I saw children butchered like animals, families burnt like firewood, soldiers die like ants, and communities destroyed like plastic. The trauma made me understand that I couldn't protect everyone, including family."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

He turned to me and said, "Because I want you to see what your father can't."

"What's that?"

"It wasn't his fault that your mother died. He doesn't blame himself in front of anyone, but inside him, he does. The blame keeps pushing him to endless vendetta."

I blinked.

My uncle faced the path once again and said, "I can see a house. Let's go."

As we walked toward the house, I thought about my uncle. Indeed, my dad was consumed with the thought of avenging my mother. It dawned on me that his thirst for revenge and great acrimony for werewolves was because of the guilt he felt inside of him. The guilt made him push relentlessly, even when he wasn't getting any closer to my mother's killer.

When we reached the house, my uncle cocked his firearm, prepared for a spontaneous move. "Stay behind me," he said, trying to access the door. His touch on the door made it open, making an eerie sound. He walked in, surveying every area like a spy.

Upon seeing a kettle on a gas cooker, he yelled, "Get down!" A shot resounded on the ceiling before I could bend down.

"What are you bastards doing in my abode?" a middle-aged man asked. He had a shotgun aimed at us. His body was clad with a dark brown long-sleeve shirt and tattered black trousers. The look in his eyes wasn't welcoming; he was more prepared to shoot another bullet than listen to us.

"We're only seeking refuge," my uncle answered.

"Refuge? Where do you think you are? In a futuristic city?" the man retorted. "No sensible human seeks refuge in the woods. You've got two minutes to tell me who you are or else, I'll blow your brains out."

"It's two against one; the odds aren't in your favor. It's better to calm down right now," my uncle replied.

"I'd rather take my chances," the strange man replied in a defiant tone.

"We're hunters, okay?" I chimed in. "We were attacked by wolves and lost our team members."

"Many hunters come around here, but no rational one comes around during a full moon. You both aren't just hunters; you're werewolf hunters," the man postulated.

"What makes you so sure?" I asked.

"Real hunters don't go around with a battle belt. Many don't even have pistols or walk into random houses," the man answered. "Tell me, why are you killing werewolves? Want to use them for charms?"

"Charms?" my uncle scoffed. "As if witchcraft exists."

"One who has stayed in these woods would know better," the man cocked his gun. "Now tell me, why are you both hunting werewolves?"

"They killed my mother!" I yelled. "They sabotaged my parent's vehicle when they were coming back from a show. My dad managed to escape, but my mom couldn't. They killed her," I broke down in tears, sitting on a weak sofa.

The man lowered his gun and said, "I lost my daughter to one of them; the Alpha, I presume. I left her in the car to go pay for a fuel refill. I came back and saw blood and wolf claws in my car and outside of it. I searched everywhere and even informed the police. We couldn't find her body. She was celebrating her twenty-second birthday that day."

My uncle placed his gun in its sheath and sympathized, "Really sorry for your loss, man. Those vicious creatures have done more harm to families than good."

The man dropped his shotgun by the wall and introduced himself, "My name is James Walters, a retired kickboxer."

"I'm Adam Noah, a retired military officer. And that's my niece, Emily," my uncle said, taking a seat in the dining area."Never seen you on TV before."

"Probably because I left to take care of my family before I blew up," James said, switching off the gas. He poured some water into a cup and made tea with it.

"Why do you stay here?" I asked. "Aren't you supposed to be with your wife?"

James scoffed, poured tea into three cups, and placed them on the dining table. He brought out pieces of green bread from one of his cupboards and said, "She divorced me after I lost my daughter. According to her, 'you aren't worthy to be called a father. A father should be able to protect but you can't even save our daughter.'"

My uncle sighed and said, "Women never understand."

"Nah, it wasn't her fault; it was mine," James tore the bread open, took a cup of tea, and indulged in his meal. "Join me. Trust me, it's not poison."

"I'm hungry," my uncle said, taking a loaf of bread. "Emily, come eat. You need strength."

I joined them at the table and indulged in my meal.

"Your team, who are they?" Mr. Walter's asked.

"My sister and my dad," I answered.

"You sure they're gonna survive out there?" James questioned.

"Emma is a viper on the field; she'll make it," my uncle said, chewing his bread. "John is going to make it. The hate he has for those beasts is enough to keep him alive."

"How well do you know these woods?" I asked.

"Like it's my backyard," James answered.

"We will be leaving soon," my uncle said.

James scoffed, "Guess you wanna do another round of retirement. This time, to God."

"Why did you say so?" I asked.

"This night is quite unusual. The whole forest is surrounded by wolves as we speak. I believe they have a ritual of doing something weird during these times," James answered.

"What is that?" I inquired.

"I have no idea, kid. Just pray your family is safe," Mr. Walter's swallowed his bread.

James' words sent shivers down my spine. I immediately understood why I kept being attacked by wolves. I prayed for my family's safety and also prayed for the day to dawn quickly.