Last Shot

“I can’t do it anymore, Leonard!” Rosalee sighs, dropping into her favorite rocking chair with her head in her hands. “Full moon’s comin’. You know it as well as I do. An’ I know you’ll go runnin’ into the woods for a huntin’ trip before night falls, and you say I’ll be perfectly safe–”

“You’ll be as safe as I can keep you. I promise,” Leonard assures her, coming to crouch next to her chair. He takes one of Rosalee’s hands in his own, which dwarfs hers by comparison. “I love you, an’ I don’t ever wanna hurt you. The guys an’ I are workin’ on something to fix this.”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘fix’ this?! How do you fix turnin’ into a monster every full moon?”

“That’s exactly the question we been discussin’. So we’ve been thinkin’, what is it that makes us change?”

“Leonard, I just said it. Y’all change every time the moon is full.”

“Right, that’s just it. So we gotta keep the moon from gettin’ full.”

Rosalee snorts and snatches her hand from Leonard’s. “Ya might as well ask for the sun to move backwards in the sky, or for winter not to come,” she says bitterly, getting out of her chair and stalking into the kitchen, where she starts angrily washing the pile of pots and pans in the sink.

“Rosalee, darlin’. Trust us. We got a plan.” The tall, muscular man follows Rosalee into the kitchen, running his hand through his thick, dark hair.

“What kind o’ plan, Leonard? What the hell you think you can do about the moon gettin’ full?”

“We’re gonna get rid of the moon.”

The pan Rosalee’s been scrubbing splashes into the sink as it slips from her hands. Soapy water splatters her dress and the floor.

“Beg pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“How in blazes do y’all think you’re gonna get rid of the moon?!”

“Same way we gets rid of anythin’ else that causes problems.”

“Sure, yeah. That clears it up.” Rosalee rolls her eyes and throws a dish towel on the linoleum floor to soak up the water, then glares at Leonard. “Leonard, hunny, I love you, but this is crazy talk. Yer thinkin’ to get rid of the MOON?! Ya can’t exactly set it on fire or shoot it or–”

“We’re gonna blow it up.”

“You’re fixin’ to Blow. Up. The Moon.”

Leonard nods. Rosalee shakes her head.

“You an’ the boys done lost your minds,” she mutters, returning to the dirty dishes in the sink with a vengeance.

“You got a better idea, Rose?” Leonard demands, his eyes blazing. “Dammit, woman, I love you, and I hate how I gotta leave you every time the moon is full to keep you safe. I hate turnin’ into that hulking, bloodthirsty beast. I hate having silver and wolfsbane all over our house so that you can defend yerself if something goes wrong. Me an’ the boys, we’ve gone to the library, looked up all the myths, tried everything. There’s no cure. Nothin’s worked.”

“I know all that.”

“So why not try this? What we got to lose?”

“You gon’ do whatever you think you’ve got to, no matter what I’ve got to say about it. You think you gotta blow up the moon, fat chance I can stop you.”

Leonard sweeps Rosalee up in a hug, making her drop the pot she was washing. It clatters to the floor, sending soapy water everywhere.

“Put me down an’ go do whatever you’s fixin’ to do, and stop makin’ messes in my house!” Rosalee scolds, but she’s smiling.

“I’ll come back in a few days a changed man,” Leonard assures her as he sets her down and kisses her goodbye.

***~O~***

“You checked all the calculations, Rodney? You sure this is gonna work?” Leonard asks Rodney as they survey the massive, ramshackle rocket they’ve built in a clearing in the middle of the forest.

“Triple-checked, an’ Leroy checked ‘em, too,” Rodney confirms, dusting off his hands on his torn jeans.

“That’s right,” Leroy grins, sliding out from under the rocket on his mechanic’s creeper, wrench in hand. “Just got the fuel cap fixed on there. Whole thing’s loaded with propane. All we gots to do is attach the fuse and light ‘er up once the moon gets in the right spot.”

“An’ it’s aimed so we can do this before the next full moon?”

“Damn straight. Think we can do it tonight,” Rodney says, pulling a crumpled notepad out of his back pocket and scanning over some incomprehensible scribbles.

“I wanna check all them bolts up top again. Where’ve y’all got the ladder?”

“Stowed under those trees, there. Knock yerself out.”

“You don’t trust my engineering?” Leroy taunts as Leonard yanks the ladder out of the underbrush and sets it up next to the rocket.

“Trust you with my life. I just wanna make sure this works,” Leonard answers, climbing up the ladder with his tool box in one hand. “Rose an’ I got into it again. She’s tired of all this. Of bein’ scared. Of me havin’ to disappear every month so’s I don’t hurt her.”

“She think it’s a walk in the park fer us? We’re the ones changin’ into monsters every time the moon’s full. We’re the ones howling at the moon and tearin’ animals apart with our teeth. An’ when Wilbur went bad an’ mauled that cop a couple moons ago, we was the ones who put ‘im down,” Rodney rages. “I don’t wanna hear no more nonsense about how you’re doin’ this for damn Rosalee. You better be doin’ this for you an’ me an’ Leroy an’ all the rest of us who’ve got this goddamn curse.”

“Course I’m doin’ this for all of us, much as for anything else. Don’t you ever think I don’t care as much as you about fixin’ all of us. That’s why I put my life savings into this thing.” He pats the side of the rocket affectionately, then resumes checking the tension on the bolts holding it together.

“We all did. This is our last shot,” Leroy says soberly. “If this ain’t work, I dunno what we’s gonna do.”

***~O~***

Hours later, the light of a waxing gibbous moon shines over the clearing. The rocket’s hull glints in the moonlight. Three burly men feed a rope into the rocket and clamp it into place, then lay out the rest of the rope on a haphazard mat of corrugated sheet metal.

“Y’all ready?” Rodney whispers. Leonard and Leroy nod. Rodney pours gasoline on the rope, then lights a match and drops it. All three men run into the underbrush as the rope catches fire, then watch, hearts in their throats, as the rope burns closer and closer to the rocket.

Back in her house, Rosalee paces back and forth in front of her picture window, watching the forest and the moon anxiously. She feels a rumbling under her feet. A chorus of gleeful whooping meets her ears, and then an ear-shattering explosion knocks her to the ground.

On the floor, ears ringing, Rosalee watches out the window as the ramshackle rocket streaks out of the woods, headed straight for the moon.

“Hope them boys ain’t blown themselves up,” she mutters, smiling all the while. Maybe this time they’re actually on the right track.