of the heavy dining chairs, did a feeling of unease start to pluck at his thoughts. The rain started to lash down against the windows, and the winds were whistling in the trees surrounding the farmhouse.
Surely, she couldn't have gone far? She would have just driven to the village, probably to visit the modest shop there. But he didn't sense her anywhere nearby yet, so she was still out of his range.
His discomfort grew until his instincts were almost screaming at him that something was going terribly wrong. Finally, he could no longer fight it. He put on a warm, waterproof coat and left the house to investigate.
For a moment, he paused near in front of the barn containing his trusty old Landrover. No, the route through the forest would be quicker, as well as more sheltered from the elements. His feet carried him forward almost involuntarily, and by the time he made it through the farm gates, he was sprinting.
He'd barely crossed the first tree-covered hill that lay between him and the open heathland nearer the village when a sharp pain pierced his chest. This was no longer a merely hypothetical worry that had inspired him to leave the house and brave the storm. He could feel the danger, the pain Clarice was in with as much clarity as he could feel the rain hitting his face.
Despite being fully clothed, he didn't stop to undress but shifted instantly. The winds were battering against the trees with so much intensity, it drowned out the sound of ripping fabric as his once smooth human torso sprouted thick brown fur and ripped its way through the much too small jacket. Everything he had worn only moments earlier was left in tatters on the wet, moss-covered ground underneath.
Up ahead, dim lights filtered through the trees and dense rainfall. As he approached the scene, he could see that it was indeed Clarice's gray hatchback. One of the first things he noticed was the smell of burnt wood, originating from a tree that had split in two across the base, causing the top end of it to fall into the road. The second thing was... blood.
His heart sank. There were no cries of pain, no noises at all coming from the car itself, just the incessant drum rolls of heavy rain, hitting the roof. Inside, Clarice slumped forward, her head resting on a blood-stained airbag. Of course, he feared the worst. She wasn't moving, and he couldn't hear her vital signs through the howling winds surrounding them.
He grabbed at the handle, but the car door wouldn't budge, so he rushed to the passenger side of the car and broke the window with a powerful blow from his paw. The glass shattered into a million little pieces, covering the seat inside, some of it landing in Clarice's hair. He grabbed at the rim of the door, and a strong tug later, threw the twisted remnants of it into the shrubbery behind him.
It didn't matter to him anymore that he risked discovery, that if Clarice was, in fact, fine, she could open her eyes at any moment and come face-to-face with a huge brown bear. He couldn't just leave her here, stuck inside this tin box. The road to McMillan Farm was secluded and lonely at the best of times. The nearest help was the voluntary fire brigade based in Portree, forty minutes away, and during a storm like this, there was no chance of them arriving anytime soon.
Whatever had to be done was up to Derek, and Derek alone.
He climbed into the car, his massive weight causing the suspension to creak dangerously. Although he could reach Clarice with his snout, he was too big to fit in far enough to get her out. At least from here he could hear her heartbeat. She was alive, but who knew for how long if she stayed here.
With one surprisingly accurate tap of his claw, he managed to undo the buckle of her seatbelt. He reached out and gently pushed her back into her seat, and then aimed the next blow at the airbag, tearing it free from the steering wheel to give him more of a view of what was going on.
She seemed to be in one piece though there was
Pati Nagle, editors Deborah J. Ross