Chapter Text
You’re being watched.
You can feel the instinctive tingling on the back of your neck, and fear—that near-constant companion—puts you on edge. You keep your ears pricked, head on a swivel, scanning the trees every few minutes.
Nothing is there.
You might think you’re simply being paranoid, but you know better. You’ve been in this forest long enough to know what’s normal and what isn’t. You’re far from stupid; you wouldn’t have lasted this long if you were, and you trust your gut.
So you walk on alert, every flickering shadow and loud rustle of leaves causing you to pause, to look, to listen. You’re even tempted to stop and throw your arms out, entice whatever’s trailing you to reveal itself.
Get it over with already, you’d scream. It would be better than living like this, on alert with no idea of what danger lurks, your mind left to imagine different creatures or scenarios that usually end with you either dead or badly injured.
Even armed with a knife and a stolen gun, you don’t feel completely safe. You’d never held a gun in your life before, but when you came across the body, you took what you needed, and in this new world, protection is crucial.
At first, you thought it was luck that you’d survived this far, untouched by the disease and rot that tore apart the once-solid foundation of society. With the lawmakers and law enforcers all dead, the power grid out, and the normality of life broken, chaos reigns, and those who survived have to fight for resources.
You realized quickly that it isn't luck, it’s a curse to survive without your family or friends, left alone and lost, more hopeless with each passing day.
You’ve hardened yourself into not caring (lies), moved on, can think of the past without wanting to scream and cry (liar).
You’re one of the last.
*********
When the sun dips behind the Huron Mountains, you settle in for the night.
Dusk became your favorite part of the day. It’s just light enough to stave off the unease that night brings but dark enough that you can watch the stars blinking into existence in the pink and orange-streaked sky. Since you began traveling in the forest, the cool summer nights have been cloudless. After the End, all the light pollution disappeared, and for the first time, you can see the entire Milky Way.
You unroll your sleeping bag and begin your nightly ritual of attempting not to think about how vulnerable and exposed you feel sleeping on the ground.
In your old life, you camped occasionally. You liked sitting around a campfire with friends, drinking and talking, protected from the wild by a sturdy tent and the company of others.
You aren’t camping now; you’re surviving. And it sucks. You’ve gotten used to how uncomfortable the forest floor is—lumpy, damp, and cold, but it still takes several hours of the exhaustion of traveling to catch up to you, your paranoia still wide awake.
Tonight, sleep will be even harder to come by. You can’t shake the feeling that something is out there in the trees, watching you. After settling into your sleeping bag, you take your gun and flashlight from your backpack, setting both within reach.
You’re just dozing off when the snap of a branch startles you awake.
Your heart rate skyrockets, bringing you straight to the edge of pure panic. You bring the flashlight up with shaking hands, swinging it around the trees. The thin light beam briefly reveals a large, dark form moving behind a tree and back into the shadows.
You’ve never been so afraid in your life, and the fear weakens your grip on the flashlight, your sweat-slick palm not enough to hold it steady. You swipe a hand on your sleeping bag and reach for the gun, aiming it at the tree where you saw the form hide behind.
“I know you’re there!”
Your voice echoes out, trembling and weak, hoarse from disuse.
Another branch snaps as whatever is out there begins moving away. When the forest returns to its usual nightly ambiance, you’re still frozen in place with the gun in your hands, staring at the trees until your eyes burn.
You don’t sleep that night.
*********
The next day, you find tracks.
Big, four-toed, with the indentions of large claws. You place your shoe beside one. It's three times the size of yours. You’re no expert, but you know the tracks are different than anything you’ve seen out here before—not the shape of a bear, coyote, or deer.
It’s clear it’s some kind of predator, so why hasn't it attacked you? You’ve been vulnerable many times. Since you first had the feeling of being watched, you try to stay awake as long as possible, even hold your pee until it feels like your bladder is going to burst, afraid you’ll be attacked with your pants around your ankles.
What a fucking end that would be—to survive this long, only to die with your bare ass out.
You sense the presence again when you stop by a river to fill your water bottle. You tuck the gun into the waistband of your pants, just like you’ve seen in the movies. It’s uncomfortable, but its weight settles your nerves, keeps you clear-headed enough not to bolt whenever you hear anything that sounds like something big passing through the trees.
You turn in a circle, trying to catch another glimpse of your stalker. Whatever it is, it wants to stay hidden. You wait until the feeling of being watched fades away, and the forest sounds return to normal before moving on.
Your stomach growls, but you ignore it. You’re running low on food, down to the last few granola bars and MREs. You have the second body you found to thank for them. Most of your supplies have been stolen from the dead because you weren’t prepared to run. Only when your brother died did you give up and let go of the foolish hope that things would get better.
You barely made it out before the looters moved in, the sounds of gunshots and screams fading away as you slipped into the woods. Not long after, you smelled the fires, and for several days, thick columns of smoke rose into the air, the last you’d ever see of your town.
Another loud growl from your stomach goes ignored, but you know you’ll have to start hunting soon, or you’ll starve. It's not something you want to do because you only want to use the gun for protection. Thankfully, you haven’t had to use it yet. You haven’t even encountered any other people, but you know they’re out there.
For now, you push those thoughts down along with all the other unpleasant ones. Instead, you occupy your mind by remembering song lyrics, books you’ve read, and characters from your favorite TV shows. You’re afraid those memories will fade the more time you spend alone, and you’ll forget even the simple things too, like the taste of real food or the touch of another person.
After admiring another stunning sunset, you eat half of a granola bar, washing it down with a few sips of water.
Your nerves return in full force as soon as the sky darkens, and you know attempting to sleep is pointless, so you sit down, gun in your right hand, flashlight in the left, prepared for another sighting.
It doesn’t take long before you sense it again. The fear that runs through you is even stronger than before, but still, you’re hoping it will finally reveal itself. At least then, when you picture your death by this large creature, you’ll know what to expect.
A branch snaps, and it feels like all the air is squeezed from your lungs.
It’s here.
It’s coming, and no matter what you tell yourself, you’re not ready to see it.
Your stalker emerges from the shadows, but you’re too scared to shine your flashlight directly on it.
You keep it pointed to the side, and that’s enough to reveal it’s not a bear, a coyote, or a deer. It’s tall, standing on two legs like a human, and a flicker of bravery—or just dumb curiosity—has you moving your flashlight to reveal the rest of it.
Its muscular body is at first similar to a man, until you see that it's partially covered in dense, short black fur, and its limbs are longer, the proportions off. Large, five-fingered hands are tipped with sharp black claws, and your eyes travel over its massive body to take in a broad chest and the inhuman shape of its face. It reminds you of a wolf—it has a snout, long, pointed ears, and deep-set, blue eyes, but the more you look, the more it seems like a mix between a man and a wolf, almost like a—but no, werewolves don’t exist.
You remember your friend Jesse telling you one night over a campfire about people seeing the Dogman in the woods. He said he’d seen it himself, but you brushed it off, thinking he was just trying to scare you.
This doesn’t look even close to a dog. This looks like it could pick you up and tear your body in half, something straight out of a horror movie. Or maybe this is a furry who kept his suit after the world ended and is living his best life out in the woods.
You would love that for him if he wasn't currently staring right at you, nearly seven feet of pure muscle.
It takes a step forward, and you have a brief flash of your death; its claws ripping into your skin, the curl of its upper lip revealing sharp teeth that will tear your flesh apart.
Man in a furry suit, Dogman, werewolf, whatever the hell it is, you’re terrified.
You stand up and aim the gun. “Stop!” you shout, a pathetic last resort to keep from having to shoot it. You know you’re not a killer, but you do know you don’t want to die, and both those things equal bullets in its body.
As many as it takes.
Your hands are still shaking, and as the beam of your flashlight bounces around, you realize the creature isn’t moving anymore.
It cocks its head, piercing you with an unsettlingly intelligent gaze. Its pupils are pinpricks as its nostrils flare out, and you can see now that its snout looks a little wet. Its eyes are a shade of blue so bright they practically glow, and the deep, rumbling sound coming from its chest is nothing a man can replicate.
Now that it isn’t moving, your blind panic starts to fade, and you’re able to grasp the reality of your situation. A strange creature is less than ten feet away from you; it hasn’t attacked or made any threatening moves, and when you told it to stop, it listened.
You lower the gun just enough to signal you’re not going to shoot but that you’re ready if you need to. “Can you understand me?”
You have a gut feeling that it can, even though you feel ridiculous for asking.
An uncomfortable silence settles between you. You’re not sure what to do anymore. You can’t stand here and stare at it all night, and your arms are beginning to ache from holding the gun and flashlight up for so long.
“What are—”
Before you can finish your question, the creature turns around and disappears back into the forest almost as quietly as it came.
You wait until you’re sure it's gone before releasing your white-knuckle grip on the gun. You slowly sit, grimacing at the tension headache now pounding in your temples. You’re stiff and uncomfortable as you settle back down. Just like last night, sleep escapes you, the image of those bright blue eyes and the gleam of its sharp teeth stuck in your mind.
*********
The next day, you can’t stop thinking about the creature. You want to think you’ve just been hallucinating (a couple more days with no sleep, and you’ll definitely be seeing things), but the large tracks it leaves behind won’t let you indulge that fantasy. So it’s real, but what is it?
Maybe it’s Jesse’s Dogman. You’ve seen it with your own eyes, but the rational part of you still wants to deny it.
The world’s changed, though. Everything you know is gone, and everything you thought made sense has been flipped upside down and set on fire.
The government thought it was impossible that the disease could spread so rapidly, and in their hubris, they thought they could contain it. For a short time, they did, but it seems the world was ready for a cleansing, though you’ve never believed in that kind of thing. Those were the words of scared people searching for meaning in tragedy.
“A sign,” some said. “A punishment.”
Bad fucking luck, is what you’d thought.
After society collapsed and everyone you knew died, you considered their words again. Maybe it was a punishment.
Humanity fell, and if you still had faith, you would’ve lost it a long time ago. The End took everything, leaving you alone. Alone, except for whatever creature is following you. It’s undoubtedly a predator, and maybe you do still have some luck left, considering it hasn’t killed you. It’s almost a relief to be able to put a face to your stalker, and hopefully, if your luck continues, it will keep its distance, content to observe you from the shadows.
Three days later, the creature appears again.
Even though you’re cautiously optimistic that it won’t hurt you, you keep your gun close as you lift your flashlight up to reveal it.
It's crouched down this time, which should be reassuring, cutting its intimidating height nearly in half, but instead, it has you imagining it running forward on all fours.
The mental image makes your skin crawl, and you take a deep breath, calling upon every ounce of bravery you have left to speak. “What are you?”
Your words hang in the air as it regards you silently for some time. You’ve almost given up on receiving an answer when it lifts a hand and points to the trees, then to itself, then back out at the trees.
That’s…not exactly helpful, but you’re encouraged by the confirmation that it understands you.
Maybe it has a name. That seems like a good place to start.
You introduce yourself by pointing to your chest and repeating your name slowly.
Its head lifts, scenting the air again, and you wonder if it can smell you. If it's as beastly as it looks, then it surely can.
“What’s your name?” you ask.
It opens its mouth—jaws?—and you hold your breath in anticipation. It rumbles out a word, something deep and guttural, and you can’t make it out beyond three syllables.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“Belenus,” it says, drawing the name out even slower than you did yours.
Its voice is the deepest you’ve ever heard, but it’s clear, and suddenly, all the fear leaves you as realization hits. It can talk. It's a sentient creature that can talk.
You sit up straighter. “I know you’ve been following me for a week now. Why is that? I don’t think you want to hurt me, you probably would’ve done that by now, so what exactly do you want?”
It cocks its head, one ear flicking forward. “Not hurt you,” it says, the words spoken slowly and deliberately, as if it doesn’t have a full grasp of the English language.
Even a little grasp is amazing. Has it learned by observing people in the forest? Is it possibly an experimental hybrid man who escaped from a government lab after the world ended? Or some beast from Native American mythology?
“Why are you following me?” you repeat.
Its eyes roam over you and then focus back on your face before standing to its full height. God, it’s so big. Powerful and deadly, but the way it holds itself isn’t like a wild animal, but something intelligent and calculating, clearly deep in thought as it considers you.
You’re about to repeat your question a third time when it approaches you.
Your fear returns, and this time, it freezes you in place. You realize you’re not a fight or flight person, you’re a squeeze your eyes shut, and hope the threat goes away kind of person. Make it quick, you pray, expecting to feel those claws rip you open, your scream already halfway out of your throat.
The warmth of its body reaches you first, then the smell—earthy, musky, and unmistakably masculine.
You feel a light touch on your cheek and reluctantly open your eyes.
He’s right there.
You could reach up and touch his muzzle, run your hands over his fur.
His breath puffs out hot against your face, one claw tracing over your cheek down to your jaw.
It’s surprisingly gentle. Tender in a way, and it makes your breath catch, your heart thumping madly in your chest, your fear heightened by his proximity.
“Watch you,” he says, his blue eyes so bright you can’t look away, fixed in place by the intensity in them, like you’re his prey.
You keep waiting for him to strike, the moment of your death, but he continues to stare at you. You blow out a shaky breath that has his nostrils flaring. Both ears flick forward in a motion that you take for curiosity.
You try multiple times to speak, but your tongue isn’t working, your mouth dry from fear.
Then he’s gone, one minute inches away, the next three, four, five steps back as he retreats. The cold forest air quickly seeps back into your body, and you can still feel his touch on your face, the first physical contact by another being in almost a year.
His dark form becomes one with the shadows again, and all you’re left with is his scent hanging in the air and even more questions than before.
**********
Belenus continues to follow you, and you catch glimpses of him between the trees, partially hidden by branches, his intense blue eyes staring you down.
What’s he thinking? Is he biding his time before finally attacking you? It’s a logical worry but also less likely as the days go by and he simply watches. You can hear his deep voice in your head confirming this. You don’t like being watched, but it’s better than being killed.
You know letting your guard down is dangerous, but there’s nothing else to do with Belenus following you. You try not to sleep, but exhaustion finally takes over, and when you wake up, you see his tracks in the dirt right beside your sleeping bag. He watched you sleep.
It’s unnerving and creepy. The fact that it didn’t even wake you up is concerning. What else could potentially approach you, mauling you in your sleeping bag, stupidly unaware of the world as you dream?
Eventually, you start to get impatient and irritated. Whatever he wants to do, whatever plans he has, you’re tired of waiting. And you’re also really lonely, and there’s someone—something—right there who you know can talk. That’s how you find yourself facing Belenus’ direction and meeting his eyes.
“You can come out now,” you say with the kind of false confidence you’ve been working up to all day.
When he does reveal himself, he walks closer, silently and intently, muscles flexing, ears forward and alert; every inch the predator. You deflate and lose all that confidence, but somehow, manage to hold your ground, albeit with trembling knees and sweaty palms as you crane your neck to look up at him.
You’re now at a loss for words. Do you say hi? Do you confront him for being a creepy stalker?
Belenus, luckily, speaks first. He points to you and says your name.
“Yes, hello,” you reply, pointing to him. “Belenus.”
Somehow, he stands up even straighter, looking down his snout at you, nostrils flaring in a way that’s undeniable proof he can smell you. You know you’re not exactly flowers and sunshine right now, but he doesn’t appear disgusted by whatever scent he’s catching.
In fact, if you’re reading his body language right—cocked head, pricked ears, intense gaze—he appears curious, but in a way that doesn’t strike you as purely innocent. Your eyes flick to his crotch, but there’s nothing hanging there, just a bulge (big, you can’t help but note) that could function in the same way as a dog’s. That’s a train of thought you quickly shut down.
“I know you’ve been watching me, and it’s making me uncomfortable,” you say.
You discover his wolfish face is capable of expression; his heavy brows draw together, the corners of his lips pulling down, and he tears his eyes from you to stare at your feet.
He holds one hand up, his palm facing you, the skin hairless and calloused. “Hungry.”
Your body goes cold. Fuck, is he going to eat you? Has he been prolonging it because fear makes human flesh more tender? You start backing away, but he holds his other palm up placatingly.
“You…” Belenus says, pausing as if to find the right words. “You are hungry.”
It’s a miracle you manage to keep your limp, relieved body from sagging to the forest floor. “Oh, yeah,” you laugh, the sound coming out a little too close to a manic cackle. “I’m…hungry.”
He nods and drops his hands. “Bring you food.”
What? Does he have a cache somewhere? You guess it makes sense, considering he appears to live in the forest.
You look back up at his face. If he’s a carnivore, as you suspect, you might need to clarify what you, as a one hundred percent human being, are able to eat. “I would appreciate that. And just to let you know in advance, if you have meat, I can’t eat it raw.”
Given his lack of clothing and any kind of belongings, you’re leaning towards him roughing it out here like the half-wild animal he appears to be.
He nods again, and before you can say anything else, he’s left you.
***********
Belenus is gone long enough that you begin to think he’s left you for good, and you’re surprised by how much that possibility upsets you.
Dogman or werewolf, whatever he is, he’s someone you can talk to. You’ll admit you’re so desperate for company that even his intimidating figure and broken English is good enough for you. You’re not going to be able to wax poetic about the end of civilization with him or reminiscence about what junk food you miss the most, but it was nice, however briefly, to not be alone.
And Belenus is an interesting mystery. He’s dangerous, but so far, the worst he’s done is watch you while you sleep. If he comes back, you’ll try to establish some boundaries and see how far that gets you.
He does come back.
When you see him, you’re even more shocked at how happy his reappearance makes you.
It’s a little unsettling because you know how easy it’ll be to get attached. You ignore that problem for now and instead focus on what he has in his hands. It’s clearly cooked meat, and you cringe internally at the lack of proper food handling that went into this gift. You can’t be picky during the apocalypse, though, and you’re painfully hungry. You thank him and take the meat, trying to eat it slowly so you don’t get sick. Belenus watches you like a hawk, making you a little uncomfortable. You’re still not sure you can fully trust him.
When you’re finished, you drink some water and lean back against a tree, basking in the feeling of being full. It's enough to make you drowsy, but you keep your eyes open and fixed on Belenus. He’s sitting down across from you several feet away, and he hasn’t moved besides the occasional ear twitch.
“Thanks again,” you say. Gratitude makes you feel warm and open, so you give him a big smile. It feels odd on your face, unfamiliar, but the sentiment comes through.
His ears perk up, looking from your mouth to your eyes and then back to your mouth. “Protect.”
“What?”
“Protect,” he repeats, pointing at you and saying your name. “Belenus protect you.”
You stare at him, mouth dropping open in disbelief before you understand that he’s being serious. “I—you don’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a short growl that instinctively raises the hair on the back of your neck. “I protect you,” he says slower and more firmly this time, as if he thinks you’re not understanding him.
But you do understand, and you feel silly for how relieved you feel. A budding hope rises within you, breaking through the walls you’ve built up to protect yourself from this cruel new reality, and you give him another smile. This time, it doesn’t feel unfamiliar but easy, and when Belenus makes a pleased chuffing sound, your smile grows wider.