Within a minute after the final shot, the beast had transformed into Kronin, lying there naked, leaking blood from multiple wounds.
Sam waited for some feeling of guilt or pity to come over her but none came. There was simply a sense of... finality. Not quite closure, but a recognition of a circle that was now closed...
Or was it?
Sam ripped a strip of fabric from her shirt and wrapped her bleeding arm. It tingled below the elbow and she could not yet flex that hand. What concerned her most was that she'd been bitten. Lifting her right hand, she turned it over and looked at the palm; at the scar that existed there from the bullet Kronin had fired through her hand and into Elias's chest.
That scar looked a bit like the mark of the beast.
Then, once again that voice came to her - You're gonna be just fine, baby girl. No matter what, you're gonna be fine. I'm proud of you, every day.
Sam smiled and with her right hand, brushed away the tear that trickled down her cheek. Would she really be fine? What if she turned? What if she became one of those... Things?
She thought of Elias, of what he had told her: "There is a plan for each of us. I don't know your part in all this yet. I don't know God's plan but I have faith in its existence."
The faith that Elias had... she respected that, even though she still remained unconvinced that God existed, and even more skeptical that he had laid out some kind of plan just for her. One thing she knew with certainty: if she had been... infected, she would not serve anyone. Satan or otherwise. She would find a way to lock herself up on the nights of the full moon. Or maybe... maybe she could find a way to use such a condition to fight the hell hounds.
Fight them she would, one way or another. Whether she turned or not. From here on out she would find those that had pledged their service to the Dark One and she would end their lives.
As for as whether or not she herself would turn... that question would be answered in thirty days.
For now, she had a long walk ahead of her, to one of the farms down past the foothills. Maybe they could help bandage her arm properly. She would need to make up a story about her wound and her car's flat tires but that should be easy enough. She would use what little money she had to replace the tires, fill her tank, and from there...
From there the road that lay ahead was a question mark; one giant mystery full of both peril... and promise.
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Hard to believe it's over! See the next page for the final author's note!