"Before Dawn"

Chapter 23: Attack of the Brood

Dawn fires off one shot—pop—at ghoulish-Wesley's left thigh. Blood-spatter lands on the sand next to him. She has easily hit her target, and he drops to a knee. He doesn't elicit any anguish or pain, only minor discomfort. He rises to his feet and smiles. He moves forward again. Dawn blasts him with another bullet, same leg, nearly the same area where the first round had struck—and Wesley only staggers—and keeps walking toward her.

"Wesley, snap out of it!" Dawn said. She continues to carefully step backwards on the troublesome sand with her pistol aimed at his other leg.

"Wesley, snap out of it," Wesley mimics her, with a nasally twang. He lunges again, and gets a bullet in his other leg. He falters but keeps moving forward.

Dawn can't believe this is happening. She's asking herself if this is really Wesley—a ghoul—attacking her. A fleeting thought, she thinks maybe the ghoul isn't Wesley, but someone else who may have been altered by this Master to look like him. But no, she knows its Wesley—but does a part of him still exist? "Don't make me really light your ass up," Dawn said.

"Aw, c'mon, baby-girl...don't be like that!" Wesley is rushing her at full speed now, slashing the air with those nails of his.

Dawn sends the remaining rounds from her .22 his way. The bullets strike Wesley in the chest and he topples toward her, still slashing away. Dawn side-steps him, and he falls face first into the sand—lifeless. Dawn executes a rapid-reload action all in one smooth motion—like she'd been trained. Without taking her eyes or aim off of him, she ejects the clip from her .22 and it falls to the sand. She reaches into her cargo pocket for a fresh clip, loads the .22, and hits the slide release, chambering a round. Wesley still isn't moving.

"Wesley," Dawn calls. "Heh." She takes a quick scan around her to see if her shots had alerted anyone unwanted attention. All is clear. She inches toward Wesley...closer...closer...closer. "Wesley". No response.

Dawn believes he's dead, and she hopes he's not. The pulse-check is just a natural formality, one that she'd never expected to perform on Wesley Price. She carefully reaches down to check his pulse, her gun-hand still aimed at him—just in case. "Please don't be dead," she whispers to herself.

Suddenly—and with an ear-piercing screech—Wesley the ghoul is alive and well! With the quickness of a mongoose, his face is out of the sand and he's in attack mode again, slashing away at her with those sharp nails. He trips her, and Dawn's back hits the sand. She gets to her knees, extends her arms, and aims at his chest as reaches for her. She doesn't want to kill him but she empties the clip into him anyway. His body convulses as each bullet rips through him. Wesley reaches down, grabs the barrel of Dawn's .22 and pulls it from her hand with ease. He tosses it into the moonlit night, and it lands—somewhere—in the sand. Wesley straddles Dawn. She feels his hands clamp down around her neck and the pressure is unbearable. Instinctively, she's trying to punch him in the face, but her arms are way too short. She grabs his wrist, trying to pull his hands away but all of the leverage belongs to Wesley. She's losing air. She attempts to interlace her fingers through his and is successful, but she can't seem to pry his fingers away. She's losing oxygen by the second, her world is starting to go black.

"Fight all you want. You'll just get tired quicker...and I can choke you out quicker," Wesley said, matter-of-factly. "When you come to, you'll be tied up and we'll be on our way to The Master." Foam from around his mouth drips onto Dawn's face.

Dawn is disgusted by the offensive mouthy liquid on her face—and she's almost out-cold. Her eyes feel as though they're bulging out of her head as she gasps for air like a fish out of water. She angles her head to try and bite Wesley's hands. No use. In an outright panic, she grabs a hand full of sand and launches it at Wesley's face. He catches it all in his eyes. His golden irises disappear as he closes them in despair. His hands are still around her neck, but Dawn feels his grip loosen just enough for her to grab some of his fingers and yank them in directions that fingers weren't meant to be pulled.