"Before Dawn"

Chapter 19: Playing With Death

In much pain, Dawn struggles to get to her feet. She barely reaches her full height when she's hit in the back by what feels like another blow from Mortifer's paw. This time, the blow sends her stumbling forward and she topples over a tombstone. Naturally, she sticks her arms out to keep from following flat onto her face. She hits the ground clumsily and rolls over spread eagle onto her back. She hears Mortifer laugh and laugh and laugh. She feels weak, vulnerable, more afraid than ever. She's full-on teary-eyed now.

Dawn thinks back to her training with her father and Cat. They'd said that in certain moments that there'd be times when things didn't always go your way when hunting. They'd said that when moments seemed the bleakest is when you have to stay calm, show your enemies that the fight isn't over, show yourself that you have plenty of fight in you.

Get your ass up. Now! Make your father, Cat,—and mom—proud! Shut old, fat Martha Littlejohn's mouth up!

Dawn blinks and wipes away the tears from her eyes. She takes a deep breath and ignores the pain. Her night vision is returning, slowly-but-surely. She rolls into the prone position and inconspicuously draws her wakizashis. From her peripheral, she sees Mortifer's white-eyes. His dark form and fire paws approaching. She pretends like she's seriously injured now, moving slowly to get to her feet, careful not to expose her blades—playing possum. It's the oldest trick in the book. She waits until he gets closer...closer...closer.

Mortifer swings at her with a fiery paw.

Dawn ducks his lethal blow with ease and slashes the hellhound in his flank, eliciting a grunt from him. She's already rolled away from Mortifer and into the shadows by the time he realizes he'd been duped.

"Clever," Mortifer growls. "Extremely clever." He backs away from her, taking up a position in one of the rare lit up areas of a light pole's amber light, inviting her to come out from the shadows and face him. "Come on then, girl. Let's see what you're made of."

Dawn is well aware that Mortifer knows her position, and can easily attack her. He is clearly looking to seriously tarry with her now. It's not like she's got anywhere to hide—but she does have choices. She can come out and fight him alone, or she can take out the flare gun to get her father and Cat in here not necessarily save her ass, but help her. No. She doesn't want help, doesn't need it.

She steps out from the shadows and into the light in a defensive position, her wakizashis at-the-ready. Time stands still within the brick confines of the Yorktown Cemetery. Dawn knows that it's just the two of them here—a hunter and a hellhound—but it feels as though the spirits of the dead are watching in glorious anticipation of this battle. There is fear coursing through her entire frame. It's a good fear, the kind of fear that has integrated and heightened all of her senses. And the adrenaline rush...

Mortifer—head low—bolts toward her, his fiery paws a steady cadence of drum beats. The ground rumbles under his charge. Dawn flinches, but maintains her stance. When he reaches a mere few feet in front of her, she darts left, reverse striking him in his flank—only nicking him. The hellhound surprises her with his grace as he immediately comes back at her with his opposite paw.

Her reflexes are too good. She ducks low and under spins under, slicing his armpit. The velocity of her maneuver adds more power and precision to her strike and draw's hellhound blood. This time, Mortifer is wounded—hurt. Lava-like goop oozes from Mortifer's wound and onto the ground where it immediately starts to cool and harden. He leaps several feet away from Dawn, way too great a distance for her to continue an aggressive follow-up. His angry eyes are so narrowed that they're almost closed.

"It seems I've underestimated you, girl," Mortifer said. He paces left and right, not taking his eyes from her. "No matter. You will not leave this place." He stops, appearing as though he's ready to initiate another charge at Dawn.

Then—to Dawn's surprise—the hellhound makes a move that puzzles her. She sees his black form spin—and spin and spin and spin—in circles. She gives her six and her left and ride flanks a once over, wondering if this is some kind of signal to perhaps some of his vile cohorts to attack. She might need to fire of the flare gun after-all.

A bright projectile whizzes past Dawn's masked-face, sounding like a grotesquely loud gnat in her ear. Another one flies past her, ripping her sleeve in its wake. They're coming from Mortifer's direction. When she concentrates her vision in her enemy's four-legged, fiery-pawed direction, she sees more of them flying her way—lots of the them. She immediately recalls the first time she'd laid eyes on his form which seemed like days ago, she remembers his tail—and the barbs. Mortifer is launching fiery barbs from his tail in her direction. As has been the case up to this dangerous point in this, her first hunt, her training kicks in. She ducks, dodges, and rolls her way out of the harmful paths of the flaming barbs until this threat is over. Still—one threat remains—and it's rushing at her again with all of its might.

Dawn's confidence is soaring. She stands her ground, and absolutely no fear exists anywhere in her body. She takes a ready stance with her wakizashis, fully energized and prepared to kill this thing. She waits for Mortifer to make a move before making one of her own. His paw-strikes initiate a graceful dance of hunter versus hellhound in the Yorktown Cemetery. Each blow aimed at Dawn to obliterate her is met with a swift parry and deadly counter strike of her blades. Mortifer bears his jagged teeth as he presses the attack. The hellhound gets his tail in the mix as he spins his massive black form from time-to-time, using his tail light a bolo-whip. Dawn jumps over it or ducks under it with ease but the barbs that are beginning to reform are causing concern—and so is the fatigue that is setting in.

"You grow tired and weary, mortal," Mortifer said in between strikes.

Dawn is too damned winded to offer a bogus rebuttal of the smart-ass variety. The fatigue is forcing her to lose control of her timing and balance. The adrenaline is beginning to wane, exposing her pain. Her chest starts to feel the tiny hints of pain from the hellhound's first strike. Her arm is starting to sting from the barb that had ripped past her moments ago. The fear is back now, and creeping up on her, making her doubt herself. To make matters worse, Mortifer knocks her on her ass and she's fighting from the ground. She rolls away from the hellhounds paw-stomps as he tries to mash her like a scurrying roach, and she parry's his jutting head with her wakizashi's. The entire time she realizes that Mortifer is right—she's growing tired and weary. Yet again, her training kicks in.

Breathe...maintain your composure...your fear is draining your energy...

In the midst of the fight that she is clearly losing, Dawn has an incredible idea, one that only an uncanny calmness in the face of certain death can reveal. She'd blasted away at the hellhound with rock-salt shells, her .22, and struck him many times over with her holy blades. She'd only managed to slightly wound Mortifer, but had not garnered the respect she deserves. She needs to get the mangy mutt's attention—now! She needs to strike it in the most vulnerable of places, and she knew exactly where.

With what little strength that remains in her nimble body, Dawn rolls away from Mortifer and onto her feet. The muscles in her legs are deeply fatigued and is evidenced by the uncontrollable shaking in them. "Is that all you got," she said, breathing heavily and trying to mask her tiredness from Mortifer. "Let's go, mutt!"

"You barely have the strength to continue on with the likes of me," Mortifer said. He trots away, creating distance from her in concentric circles her. He barks—thousands upon thousands of metal chairs being dragged over concrete—and then snorts at her, unimpressed. "Time to finish you now, girl. Enjoy your last breaths. Here I come," he said. He charges toward her.

Dawn doesn't brace herself or let the menacing hellhound rushing in her direction unsettle her nerves. In fact, she's relaxed, as if she's watching a puppy in the dog bark playfully running toward her with the stick in his mouth that she'd thrown for him to fetch. As Mortifer nears, she allows the remaining tension to seep from her body. Dawn needs to be totally relaxed to execute the maneuver she'd had in mind to get Mortifer's respect. The hellhound is on her ass now—and she's ready. Dawn's tactic will be effective as hell and give her the upper-hand—if it works.