Chapter Five

*Reggie*

Something is very wrong, and not just the fact that this monster can understand me. My brain can hardly comprehend that, so I shove it to the back of my mind in the face of the current threat. A roar echoes around us, an unspoken promise of violence. Something is coming, the crashing of the trees preceding it.

My hands fly to my ears, covering them as my monster roars in response. The sound is bone chilling, and my fight or flight threatens to kick in. Running is stupid and I fight my instincts. I know what is right and right now letting fear rule me isn’t the best choice. The devil you know is always better than the one you don’t.

So far, my prehistoric pooch has done nothing but lick my leg and vibrate in a way that makes my skin tingle in more ways than one. Shame heats my face when even in my panicked state I recognize desire. Unwanted and unwelcome but desire all the same. Nope, not happening. It was the vibrations. I refuse to even consider desire in the face of a fifteen-foot-tall monster that looks like a Spinosaurus fucked a dog and their love child could defeat King Kong and Godzilla without breaking a sweat.

Right now? My prehistoric pooch is so terrifying that for a moment I let myself feel secure. Safety. Something I haven’t felt in ages. Long before the waves that came if I’m honest with myself. Not since the law that I loved and worked for betrayed me. Its presence feels like a blanket of security, a truly indestructible beast that is on my side for the moment.

My sense of safety flees the moment I catch a glimpse of the monstrosity in the trees. Even my poodle poo takes a step back, bracing for impact with the first spiked tentacle. With a shriek of terror, I turn and grab onto the truck of the tree, the impact of the two giants is jarring.

Snarls and snapping jaws make for a horrific symphony of noises and as much as I want to see if my pooch wins, I dare not release the tree trunk. The ground shakes as the monsters clash. One of the writhing bodies hits my tree and I cry out as my arms loosen against my will. This time the ground shakes with a roar.

Against my better judgment I turn my head to get a better look at the attacking monstrosity. I immediately regret that decision and fight the bile that rises in my throat. Compared to my monster, this one truly is a nightmare. Where mine is sleek, scaled and undeniably powerful, this one is an atrocity to nature.

It has no definable body; it is just a writhing mass of spiked tentacles with a hilariously small orb like body in the center of it all. My stomach rolls as the stench of the thing hits my nose and I want to vomit. It smells of death and rot.

The tumbling mass of limbs, teeth and spikes rolls across the forest destroying everything in its path. Every so often a tentacle will reach towards me, as if seeking me among the branches before it is ripped away or off by my prehistoric pooch.

Little-by-little the Cthulhu wannabe is dragged further and further from my hiding place. My monster is littered with scrapes and wounds, a thick green blood oozing from each one to coat its black scales. As hard as the tentacled ick fights, my monster fights harder, dragging it away. Almost as if…almost as if it is protecting me.

The impossibility of this day weighs heavily on my mind. So much so that when the tree beneath me no longer shakes I collapse in defeat. My mission isn’t forgotten, my sister's face twisted with pain something I will never forget. I am tormented with images of her slowly wasting away and yet what can I possibly do? I’ve barely made it ten miles from our home, and I am already embroiled in a world of monsters and pain.

How am I to succeed when I can’t even make it to town? Failure is not an option, and neither is death. At least not until I know that I have done everything I can to ensure my sister doesn’t die of infection. Again, the weight of my unspoken task threatens to overwhelm me. To be the protector. To be the one to solve all their problems while juggling their safety on my back. To fill the unfillable space left by my father.

Tears prick my eyes and for once I let them fall. Tears for the world I’ve lost. Tears for the holes in my heart where my parents once were. Tears for the roll I’ve been forced to take upon my shoulders. Tears for myself and the version of myself that died long before the monsters took over. Most of all, tears for my absolute humanity in the face of the inhuman. Still my resolve remains. I will not fail. If that means grasping at whatever straws I am given, then I will do so.

My eyes narrow on the battling beasts, assessing. Deciding. Savage roars make my ears ache and I find my eyes glued back to the battle. I shouldn’t want either of them to win. I should want both to die because of their wounds, but my survival is contingent upon who wins. My prehistoric pooch at least doesn’t intend to kill me right now. Cthulhu? That fucker wants me dead. Every tentacle he can get free comes writhing towards me before poochie poo takes care of it.

I have one choice in this. I can be a fainting maiden, letting my fate be decided for me or I can pull on my big girl panties and make the choice myself. Fear has gotten me nowhere and as loath as I am to admit it, my skills as a deputy and protector are useless in this world. Not that they did me much good before, but they are doubly useless now.

The silence when it comes is almost more jarring than the roars. My eyes find the beasts, neither moving in the clearing their bodies created. Severed tentacles create a path from me to poochie poo but the main orb-like body lies still. My monster, on the other hand, lays panting as his green blood coats his body. Decisions, decisions. All my self-doubt and self-recriminations float around in my head, but one thing is glaringly obvious and undeniable. Poochie poo means safety.

Safety is more valuable than gold and I so desperately want and need to be safe. To ensure the safety of my sisters. This plan could backfire. It could eat me as fast as it licked my wounds but without it, my chances are slim. There really is no debate. I’m with the prehistoric pooch for better or worse.

Grabbing my gun, I wrap my hands around the branch I am on and swing downwards. My arms are shakier than anticipated and so my graceful arch and release from the branch is closer to an unexpected launch and short shriek of alarm as I fall. My body hits the ground with a thump, and I curse my stupidity while trying to catch my breath.

Rolling to my front, I hit something squishy with my shoulder. Turning my head I gag and jump to my feet to get away from the severed, slime covered tentacle that I nearly fell right on. More gagging as I locate my gun that fell when I did. It is laying directly upon another severed limb. The desire to run hits me hard, a desire to be done with this nightmare.

No! Failure is NOT AN OPTION. I mentally scold my weakness, using my sister’s face as motivation. It lasts all of ten seconds until I find myself staring down at another tentacle. This one’s spikes are smeared in green blood. Bile rises, the world spinning as my focal point locks on that one, icky thing.

I am not meant for this world, but again I wield my determination like a weapon against my fear and shove it down, not willing to second guess my decision. Reluctantly I navigate the carcass field towards my monster, noting his eyes watching my every move. Those eyes seem to ground me, helping me have a focal point so that I don’t stare at every tentacle I pass. I’m sure it expects me to run away screaming like a mad woman.

If my instincts had their way, I’d be halfway back to the bunker by now. Instead, I am walking towards a living, breathing, wolf-dinosaur. My sanity has obviously left the chat as I walk around my monster, taking note of his wounds. There are tons of small scratches, but I see no major wounds. It doesn’t react to my closeness, just more panting breaths and massive side-eye as I make my way towards its head.

For a second, I am right next to the orb-like body of the tentacled ick and I cover my mouth to hold back the gags. It looks worse up close, something I didn’t think was possible considering it made me want to rip my eyes out from afar. As if sensing my emotions, or not wanting to find out what the gagging noises I was making meant, my monster kicks out one of his massive, clawed paws. Like a fucked-up soccer ball, the body goes rolling until it is swallowed by the brush surrounding their carnage.

This time my vomit cannot be contained. Rushing away from my monster I fall to my knees and release every bit of my stomach's contents, the smell of death only making it worse. A fluttery sensation against my back is almost soothing as the shakes wrack my body, a physical manifestation of all the emotions I am feeling.

For long, agonizing moments I dry heave until I can heave no longer. My determination dies a sad, sad death. Exhausted now, I flop to the side, resting my cheek upon the grass as I wait for the nausea to pass. I can ask it to take me to town later. Right now, I need time. For a moment I let myself close my eyes and imagine I am asleep on a feather pillow, that this is all a terrible dream.

My illusion bursts when something brushes against my back again, soft and comforting. Or at least I assume it is meant to be comforting. The illusion of comfort shatters when I roll over and see the scaled tail hovering over me, only the tip touching me. It has a comically small sail along it, a miniature of the one on his back.

As much as I want to jump up and put space between us, I’m not sure I have the energy. Which is crazy considering the monster pooch just fought World War III for me against the blobby ick. That would make one hell of a movie title. I’d have totally watched it. A small laugh escapes me as I roll over to look up at the sky. The tail hovers over me, as if unsure how to handle my reactions.

Sitting up, I dust the grass off me while stoutly ignoring the random stains I come across. If I examine them too closely the nausea will come back. As it is, I keep my eyes on my monster who is now sitting up, its massive legs curled beneath it. It is a deceptive pose, making it seem almost harmless and normal…well as normal as it can be with the massive sails along its back, though they are deflated, collapsing before my very eyes to lay flat. Frustration fills me and a question escapes before I can think better of it.

“I’m tired of referring to you as an “it” in my mind. Are you a male or a female? Does your kind even have a gender?” The question is absurd, but once it's out, I don’t take it back. For a moment I think that it doesn’t understand until a lupine grin splits its face. I never really considered how it…or rather he would answer the question, but I didn’t NOT imagine him to split his legs and the absolute most terrifying cock to emerge from a slit along his belly.

My face heats and I turn away, coughing to cover my gasp. I mean really what did I expect? He can’t exactly talk to me, even though he understands. He answered the question in his own fucked up way. Odd feelings assail me as my mind unwillingly conjures the massive appendage and a burn low in my belly makes me well and truly question my sanity. Sure, I can recognize a pretty cock as well as the next girl, but this one is attached to a monster. It also splits into three parts which sends another shiver through me.

My childhood best friend would be so proud. When we were teenagers my friend, Bethany, would bring the craziest books to school and gush about monsters that I couldn’t even imagine. She would be living her best life right now. She used to have a hoodie that said #monsterfudgerforlife. It was banned from school, but she wore it everywhere else. Sadly, she passed away in a drunk driving accident long before the monsters took over the world. She was what led me to become an officer, to prevent as many drunk drivers from being on the road as I could.

“Male. Got it. I guess using words is out of the question?” The silence is loud, and I realize that I can’t see his nod if I’m not facing him. That weird fluttering low in my belly makes me reluctant to get another face full of…that. Squaring my shoulders I turn to him, needing to see his responses if my plan is to work.

As if he was waiting for me to turn, I see him nod. Well damn. It would have been super convenient if he could speak English. Avoiding glancing down, I take this opportunity to examine his injuries. Green blood is dried and flaking from his scales, but I can no longer see any cuts or injuries. My eyes widen in surprise and a thought occurs to me. A terrible, yet easier solution to my problem. He could eat me for the audacity, but I must try.

“My sister is injured. I am traveling to get her medicine from the nearest town to help her. Can your superhuman healing and saliva heal her? Can you lick her like you did my ankle? I’ll even let you eat me if you wish afterwards, but I need to get her better.” The pleading fills my voice until I am annoyed by myself. I can’t help it though; I will literally beg. This day has taught me one thing, I cannot do this. Not without help.

The heart shattering disappointment when shakes his head no makes me want to scream. Why can his alien saliva heal me and not her? Can he not or will he not? I can’t decide which is worse. He must see the anger on my face because he releases another vibration that hits me square in the chest. I want to hold onto my anger, I want to hate him for not being able to relieve my stress but that is a lot to put onto someone I just met. Someone I can’t even speak to.

It also feels wrong to refer to him as a monster. Knowing he can understand me, has protected me and can answer me-limited though his answers may be-make me reluctant to continue to come up with cutesy names for a deadly predator. Poochie poo is only funny for so long. Frustration builds again, and I have to remind myself of the goal. Get safely to town, get the medicine and get back. As much as I hate it, I need him to do so.

“Then I must go to town. I must continue.” I don’t wait for his response, I simply climb to my feet, grab my gun and get to walking. Every step is an agony. My ankle hurts, my lungs hurt, my heart hurts. Everything fucking hurts. I’m tired, I’m hungry and I’m mad. It is overwhelming. Tucked away in the bunker, it is easy to pretend. Easy to see the world through rose tinted glasses. Those glasses are long gone, and reality sucks a big one.

As expected, or rather as I hoped, I hear the sounds of pursuit. It is alarmingly quiet for such a large creature but a look over my shoulder shows him there, a few paces behind me. The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to be limping after his fight, the blood flaking away with the brush of branches until little evidence remains that it happened at all.

With jerky motions, I pull out my compass. Pausing, I tilt the compass until the north is clear to see. Casting a dubious look up at the sky I realize most of the day has passed. The sun is already making its descent in the sky. The crunching of leaves alerts me that he is beside me now, casting a dubious shadow.

“It's going to be nighttime soon.” I murmur, half to myself and half to him. When I look up, I catch the fleeting look of alarm that is recognizable even on his lupine, alien features. Fear flashes through me, what could possibly be out there that even he is afraid of? My eyes scan the darkness, afraid that the answer could jump out and reveal itself any moment. I consider going back to the bunker but once there, I know my resolve to continue will waiver. I must keep going which means I am going to be out in the forest. At nighttime. With a monster as a companion. Yay me.