The Iron in Blood

I drove as fast as I could within reason, but reason had nothing to do with how I felt. I wanted to floor that accelerator, to hear the engine shriek, to feel the surge that carried me faster to where I had stupidly, blindly left Rebecca earlier that day. I clenched my jaw and tried not to imagine her anguish, and what might be happening to her at that very moment. Instead I tried to concentrate on some sort of strategy for her safe extrication from the nightmare she occupied, right now, while I drove through the Scottish countryside, trying desperately not to attract the attention of anyone who might want to stop me.

Then the iron I had swallowed a few miles back began to kick in and I joyfully liberated the beast within me, and let its rage wrap around my soul and obliterate my anguish, like a dose of morphine that erases pain and leaves you feeling good.

I drew a deep breath and felt the world slow as it was all reduced to the here and now. The monster uncurled itself in my belly, awakening the hunger, the irresistible urge to tear flesh and snap bones and feel the hot blood flowing down the back of my throat. The van lurched as the transformation within me settled, and the speedometer fluttered ever higher as the engine screamed its objection. My muscles flexed and tightened, and my heart slowed, and an incredible, terrible focus gripped me.

Focus.

Today was going to be a good day for somebody else to die.