Chapter Six

*Reggie*

The outside world is terrifying enough during the daytime. At nighttime? I jump at every little sound I can hear within the lengthening shadows, terrified that something will hop out and try to eat me. Earlier, when I realized I had to keep going, we both traipsed through the trees for hours in silence. My monster didn’t complain but every so often he would shift my path, leading me in a certain direction. At the time I wanted to argue, but even I realized it wouldn’t be wise. If we got off track, I could always fix it tomorrow.

Now I can see why he was so determined to lead me off track. In the trees, almost completely hidden in the dense underbrush, is a building. I can’t quite say it's a house, there are no distinguishable features to tell me what it once was used for, but it is a shelter. Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Pulling my rifle up, I scan the clearing for any threats. It's a ridiculous notion considering Godzilla’s great grandson is just waiting to pounce should something pop out at us, but it makes me feel better. Like I have some form of control over the mess that is my life. It's like living in limbo.

I feel the safest I have in years, but I also know that if he wanted to, his massive jaws could snap me in half before I even knew it was happening. My mortality is so close I can almost taste it and yet, I feel lighter than I ever have.

Since the world went to shit, I’ve constantly needed to look over my shoulder, fear every noise. These last few hours with him have eliminated that. He is at my back, protecting it. Death has only one avenue now and nothing I do can stop it.

It should be terrifying, knowing that the teeth above me would make the megalodon look like a puppy, but instead I just shut it out. If he is feeling hungry? I’m on the menu. Otherwise? I'm going to do what I gotta do.

Which includes finding shelter so that I don’t get eaten by something bigger and meaner. Silently I send up a prayer that such a thing doesn’t exist. He is easily fifteen feet tall. Bigger than him would be absurd, and hopefully impossible.

Letting him be rear guard, I slowly approach the building. It is larger than I first anticipated but the closer I get the more I can see it is basically just a storage shed. There are no windows and only two double doors to enter. It is sturdy though, made of cinder blocks that stood the test of time. Behind it is a massive windmill that is missing most of its blades.

The doors are intact despite the derelict appearance. Looking at the ground in front of them, I see no signs that the doors have been opened in a very long time. Looks can be deceiving though. Slowly I walk around the perimeter, looking for any signs of life. I see none, only a crumbling but sturdy concrete foundation.

Every step of the way, my monster is there shadowing my footsteps. He takes it a step further and sniffs the ground around the base. Whatever he smells isn’t alarming enough to worry about because he moves to the doors and waits for me to open them.

“Not so cool not having opposable thumbs, is it?” I murmur, laughing at my own joke. I’m no expert on alien-wolf facial expressions but for once I have no doubt he is done with my shit. Not enough to eat me, just enough to give me a “seriously?” look.

The big doors open with a creak. As soon as a gap forms, my rifle is up to scan the interior. The smell hits me first. Musty, stale and old, but oddly clear from rot. Though I second guess myself as I look around at the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and the broken down, musty piles of junk. Mostly farm equipment, which fits with the area.

Feeding buckets, tubs and old feed sacks litter the ground everywhere. I could almost cry with relief at our good fortune. Grabbing up one of the feed sacs I swing it around to clear some of the cobwebs, going deeper to make sure nothing is hiding. When nothing else appears, I finally relax. Turning to grin at my monster, I give him a thumbs up which makes his head tilt in an oddly adorable gesture.

“All’s clear.” I murmur, just in case he doesn’t understand hand gestures. He has earned enough trust that I barely even think twice about turning my back on him to start piling up some of the feed sacks so I can sit facing the door. It is almost heavenly compared to the tree from earlier, a small sigh of relief escaping me. It feels good to finally be off my feet, somewhere that feels safe, hidden from view.

My monster plops down as well, his massive head in the building but nothing else will fit. As it is, just his head seems to swallow what space there is, but I don’t complain. Instead, I busy myself pulling supplies out of my bag. The first thing I dig to find is my flashlight, setting the small black tube on the ground by my leg.

Next, I grab some dried veggies from my pack, trying to stave off the incessant buzz of thought that is hovering right beneath my calm demeanor. Now that we aren’t fighting off nightmares or trekking through the forest, I can’t help but wonder upon everything that has happened. Why me? Why is my monster here? Why didn’t he just eat me? Was my decision to travel with him wise? Will I fail?

Round and round they go until my mind feels like it will burst. Robotically I take a bite of some dried squash. The grumbling of my stomach all day has disappeared and despite the food tasting like ash in my mouth, it gives me time. Time to order my thoughts from least important to most important.

Most important: why am I not dead? Least important: can I trust him? I have no choice but to trust him, though his motivations give me pause. Am I a convenient snack that he picked up for the road? That doesn’t really sit right with me. I’m a human. There are larger, tastier, easier prey about. Why go through so much trouble to save me? It didn’t seem as important earlier when I was just thankful to be alive. Now? Now I need answers.

My eyes find him unerringly, roving over his form. His eyes are closed, and I feel myself relax, taking the opportunity to look at him. I’ve made jokes about his appearance all day, but they were to keep myself from really seeing. Seeing is believing and somehow it makes him more real. A laugh escapes me at the irony of that statement, as if his massive, smart car sized head doesn’t make him real enough.

This close up he is ten times more terrifying than before, but now that the adrenaline has passed, I can also recognize his beauty. His scales are black, but they shimmer in the fading light, switching from black to dark blue and then purple. His body is wolf shaped but truly he is nothing like a dog, wolf or any other canine I’ve ever seen.

His scales are almost like armor and the sails along his back are sharp and shimmery, even when flush along his spine. As we traveled, I noticed that they don’t always stay upright. When he isn’t as alert, they fall down, lying flat against him. His legs are massive, scaled tree trunks that end in four toed paws. Each one is tipped with a four-inch, obsidian claw. On the back of each leg is another sail-like appendage, each one tipped with spikes to match the ones along his back. His tail has its own sail at the end, much smaller but no less deadly. The spikes there never go down, shimmering in the light like the tip of a dagger.

All in all, he is beautiful, deadly and alien. To my shame I must admit, if only to myself, that I never considered if the aliens that invaded our world were sentient or not. I saw monsters in every shadow and never considered it possible. They could still all end up being true monsters but now that I know that they can at least understand us, I will never quite look at them the same.

Ending my perusal with his face, I am shocked to see his blue gaze open and staring back at me. A blush heats my face to have been caught staring. Slowly, as if afraid I might bolt, my monster scoots out of the door frame and sits up, shaking his head as if to clear away the lasting effects of his cat nap.

A distant call has us both looking into the trees. I barely breath, waiting for the animal call to come again. His massive body is as tense as my own and long minutes pass as we wait. When it doesn’t happen again, I turn to look at him, only to find him watching me once more. Then he does something I didn’t expect. He changes.

Never breaking eye contact, he leans towards the ground and his bones begin to shift. The popping sound is horrendous and loud, but it is over quite quickly.

Instead of my 15-foot tall, quadruped wolf, in his place is a much shorter yet no less terrifying humanoid version of himself. Though, as the shock and horror of what I just witnessed begins to subside I see that humanoid is a loose term. The only thing human about him is that he stands on two…paws and has a torso that leads to a muscular neck. His much smaller lupine face remains the same. The scales are still there as well as the sails, they are just miniaturized.

“What the hell is going on? This can’t be real!” Though I want to shout, the growing number of animal calls keeps my panic to a whisper.

Amusement is much easier to see on this version of my monster’s face, and there is no mistaking his grin. Screw him! He’s living his best life while I’m concerned I might need a grippy sock vacation.

My mouth hangs open in shock when he begins to speak. The words are foreign, I understand none of it, but I’ll be damned. Sentient and capable of speech. For just a second, I consider hunting for Alice’s rabbit hole if only to escape the madness of the real world.

“Hold the hell up. You can talk?” I ask, my shock manifesting as some serious attitude. Unfazed, he nods.

“Hold the hell up. You can talk?” He mimics my words, jumbled and growly but still understandable. Falling silent, I don’t even bother trying to close my mouth. Shocked seems to be my permanent state since meeting him.

Shaking myself and trying to find some semblance of control, I run through my questions from earlier. He can talk, but the broken language barrier presents a problem. Just because he can understand me and mimic me doesn’t mean he can answer my questions. Taking advantage of my silence, he struts through the doors. Squeaking in alarm at how large he still is, I scoot back against a stack of feed buckets, unable to escape as he gets closer, sucking up all the free space.

A shudder wracks my body as he stops right in front of me, crouching down. Every muscle on his big body is taut, standing out starkly. One dagger tipped finger reaches forward and runs down the side of my face in a dangerous caress. He says another growly, garbled word and the reverence in his voice is clear. My fear shifts to embarrassment, my body subtly leaning backwards, creating distance.

He drops his hand but doesn’t move away, his blue eyes scanning me from head to toe and quieter this time he repeats the same word. For all I know he could be calling me ugly in his alien language. The emotion he puts behind his words won’t let me believe the lie. Desperate to change the dynamic, to distract myself from the strange sensations growing within me with just that one caress, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

“What is your name?” The moment the words leave my lips I want to kick myself. How the hell is he supposed to tell me that? Surprisingly he just smiles before saying a growly word I can’t quite catch. After speaking he gives me an expectant look, as if waiting for me to confirm I understood. When I say nothing, I swear he rolls his eyes before saying it again, this time slower.

“Rargrar.” He mumbles, the syllables drawn out in an extended garble. Unwilling to just sit silently once more, I give it my best shot.

“Rograr?” He huffs and shakes his head no. “Rogknar?” Again, he shakes his head. After a few more tries he takes pity on me.

“R-a-g-n-a-r.” Each letter is drawn out with intense concentration and difficulty. A smile lights up my face in understanding, appreciating the effort.

“Ragnar!” His lupine grin is almost adorable as he nods.

“What is your name?” He mimics, the words once again sounding off, but I applaud his hard work. Now that I know he can speak, he is quite the linguist. His nearness still lingers at the back of my mind, the heat of his body blazing in such a small space. Though as we speak, he relaxes enough to sit. It doesn’t diminish his overwhelming effect on me.

“Reggie.” I murmur back, amused that we are managing to converse. Even if it is stilted. His smile is breathtaking for multiple reasons. Though his dimensions are smaller, his fangs are still terrifying to behold. Terror equals my bemusement because his whole demeanor changes when he smiles. It isn’t the smile of a human, but it is a semblance close enough for me to recognize it for what it is.

“Rergree.” He mimics, his smile falling when the letters come out jumbled. He tries again, butchering it worse this time. A small laugh escapes and I take pity on him.

“R-e-g-g-i-e.” I sound my name out slowly, letting him hear how the letters are supposed to sound.

“Regreee.” He tries again, frustration building. A growl escapes him, his fangs grinding with his anger. My eyes widen and I grab his attention, needing to derail this before he explodes in this small of a space.

“Regreee is close enough for me. Good job.” I say, nodding to show my approval.

“Regreee, trraga.” The second word makes me pause, glancing up at him in confusion.

“Trraga?” I murmur, but he shakes his head before scooting closer. I freeze in place, watching with varying emotions as he leans forward to place his clawed hand upon my chest.

“Regreee. Ragnar. Trragaran.” He repeats the word before motioning between us. When he reaches for my hand I hesitate, unsure where this is going. Still, I try to understand because I don’t want to let go of our newfound communication. It leads me one step closer to answers, answers I so desperately need. With that in mind I let him take my hand, threading our fingers as best he can.

His hand is massive, dwarfing mine so badly that I stare in awe at our differences. He repeats his words again, clasping my hand tightly. My brow furrows with confusion, staring at our hands differently.

“What?” That single word carries the weight of everything I am feeling and want to know, inadequate yet all encompassing. In answer, Ragnar pulls our hands apart, gestures between us and then repeats one word.

“Trragaran.” A terrible kernel of knowledge niggles free of my brain, filtering into the rest of my body as nothing short of dread and disbelief. Maybe it is the way he is looking at me, maybe it is in his tone but suddenly I understand. I understand completely and I do not want to. It makes too much sense.

He saved me when I should have been nothing more than a nuisance to a creature like him. Yet here he sits, trying to communicate and keep me safe. You don’t do that unless there is a reason, and his reason is abundantly clear. Still, I find it hard to say the words. I want to be wrong; it is so crazy that my own brain wants to reject it. All the monster stories Bethany used to tell me about are coming back to me when I wish they wouldn’t.

“Trragaran. Does it mean together?” I ask hopefully, praying he nods. When he looks confused, I seek to clarify, hoping upon hope he doesn’t confirm my suspicions. “Reggie and Ragnar are Trragaran. Together?” I gesture between us again, but he shakes his head.

“Ragnar trragar. Regreee trraga. Ragnar, Regreee trragaran.” He responds, his words broken but clear. Garnering what little courage I have left, I decide to be upfront, tired of beating around the bush.

“Married?” I guess, praying I am wrong. It is the only thing that makes sense with what he is motioning. The joined hands sealed it for me but then again, who knows? Maybe he is just trying to tell me we are buddies. Buddies I can handle. Buddies is logical, but nothing that has happened since leaving the bunker has been logical.

Turning to watch his response, my face falls when he nods. The world begins to spin around me, coalescing into a tornado of emotions and regrets. One thing is clear: I'm not sure being eaten would have been worse.