The evening came about a bit too sudden with a drop in the temperature, the gray mist turning into a thick, choking fog that hung no more than three feet off the concrete paths.
Caleb walked at the head of his trio, his leather shirt open, a half-empty flask of cheap soda clamped firmly in his right hand. His two companions followed close behind him, their heavy boots kicking at the loose gravel as they cleared the faded yellow tape line at the corner.
They were bored, their minds dulled by three hours of exam prep, and they wanted nothing more than to break the curfew rules before the state police checkpoints went live at midnight.
"This is stupid," the shorter guy in the back muttered, shivering as the cold wind from the ridge brushed past his neck.
"There's nothing out here but mud and old trees, Caleb. The coroner cleared the teeth three weeks ago."
Caleb took a long, sharp swallow from his flask, his face twisting into that familiar, bitter scowl as he thought about Fiona sitting between Damon and Ryan at the bar.
"Shut up," he rasped, his voice thick with a jagged, resentful energy. "The department heads are hiding something back here. I saw them tracking the brush yesterday. Let's see what they're keeping under the our noses."
They walked deeper into the dark canopy, their flashlights casting long, frantic beams of yellow light across the wet bark of the elder trees. To keep their spirits up, the two friends began to make jokes, their voices rising in high, artificial bursts of laughter that sounded brittle in the heavy silence of the wood.
"Hey, maybe a wild beast is going to jump out of the bushes," the second guy laughed, throwing his arms out in a mocking gesture.
"Watch out, Caleb! A werewolf's going to attack us from the ridge because we didn't log our IDs at the terminal!"
"Yeah, right, bad wolf," the first one chimed in, giggling as he kicked a rotten log. "He's going to eat you unless you give him a fair girl...man."
*GRRRRRR—*
The laughter died instantly in their throats.
The sound didn't come from the distance; it erupted from the deep, unventilated darkness directly in front of them—a low incredibly bass-heavy growl shook the very needles on the pine branches. The air in the thicket dropped ten degrees in an instant, taking on the distinct, metallic stench of old blood and wet fur.
Before Caleb could even raise his flashlight, a huge, shadow-like wolf leaped from the cedar brush. It was a massive creature, its coat as black as river clay, its pale, vacant eyes reflecting nothing of their light as it launched itself forward with a violent, terrifying speed.
"Jesus—!"
The beast attacked them with its massive claws, the sharp talons tearing through the canvas of the second guy's jacket with a sickening *rip*. The two companions tried to dodge, their boots slipping on the wet moss as they scrambled to escape the perimeter, but the wolf was too fast. With a sharp, heavy snap of its jaws, it bit down hard on their legs, the crushing pressure of its teeth breaking the bone with a loud, hollow *crack* that sent both of them collapsing into the ferns with screams of agony.
Caleb reeled back, his flask dropping into the mud as the spray of blood hit his cheek. He had been positioned a half-step to the left—the single point of least pressure from the initial attack.
Panic completely overrode his pride and he turned his back on his screaming friends and ran, his boots tearing through the brambles as he lunged toward the light of the university block, his breath coming in ragged, suffocating gasps as he screamed for help.
"Help! Someone help me! There's something in the—"
He broke through the last row of cedar trees, his hands reaching for the faded yellow tape line that marked the boundary of the quad.
Suddenly, a hand reached out from the shadow of the brick pillar, grabbing Caleb by the front of his jacket with a strong grip which brought him to an immediate halt.
Caleb blinked, expecting to see a campus cop or a security guard. Instead, he found himself staring into the face of a man whose features were completely hidden beneath the low brim of hoodie—a man who smelled faintly of French chalk, linseed oil, and the cold dampness of a basement.
Before a single word could clear Caleb's throat, the man's other hand shot forward. A silver syringe gleamed for a split second under the sodium lamp before the long needle was driven straight into the side of Caleb's neck.
"Ah—"
Bill's thumb depressed the plunger with a slow, deliberate pressure, injecting three ounces of a thick, dark liquid directly into Caleb's carotid artery.
The effect was instantaneous. The words died in Caleb's throat, his eyes rolling back as a cold, paralyzing numbness spread from his neck straight down to his limbs, his body going completely limp as Bill dragged him back into the heavy shadow of the limestone ridge before the curfew bells could even begin to ring.