Not once in her life had Eunice experienced such rage. At best, she could recall two times where her anger blazed out of control, but those lasted less than twenty seconds. Her father instructed her how to master her temper. “No hothead without self-discipline has any business touching a pistol,” he said on multiple occasions before he took her shooting for the first time. Under his tutelage, the day her fingers caressed around the grip of her first Smith and Wesson, she had the ability to drain herself of all emotion to become stoic as stone. The memory of her father’s proud face every time she displayed this skill made it harder for her heart to bear now.

Teeth grinding, he gripped the steering wheel in a white-knuckled clench while the veins on his head and neck looked close to bursting. An irritated redness pulsed around his skin. The truck barrelled down the road at unnerving speeds. Taking a sharp turn, they came close to slamming into the wooden side barrier. That makes three times, she noted, holding her tongue. She could count how many words she said since entering the trailer. At school, she overheard what some said about their parents and the hot tempers that bubbled in the depths of their souls. A girl named Ramona claimed that she stayed in her room until her parents' awful spats came to an end, listening to music without a care in the world. Martin, a more hard-nosed boy, said he faced his father when rage overpowered him, forcing the man to see the error in his ways. Eunice was never sure if either told the truth.

Worse than that, she had no idea how to deal with her father. He was the most cool-headed man she knew. There was a time, when she was six, that she broke the front door’s window. They needed a new door to fix it. Her father never raised his voice once. “It’s replaceable,” he had said. “Nothing to get upset over.” That was the man she knew. The entity that careened the truck down the road, risking to verge off into their own fiery end, was unknown to her. He paralyzed her tongue with fear.

Assisting her father, they buried Raymond in a shallow grave. Using rocks, they covered the grave; it was the best they could do under the circumstances. Few words were said in parting. “Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. Goodnight sweet prince.” Not once in her life had Eunice found her father so short on words. “When this is all over, we can dig him up and give him a proper burial,” her father had said as he climbed into the truck. “All that matters is he’s under the ground. That way he can rest in peace when I enact his vengeance.”

As they took another turn, Jeannie’s motionless body pressed against her for the dozenth time. The woman made no attempts to right herself, letting her weight lay on Eunice’s shoulder. Using a gentle prod, Eunice pushed their catatonic friend back into her own space. Saying nothing, she leaned forward, arms gripping her knees. They had no choice but to bring her along. If the monsters that killed Ray returned, they wouldn’t grow hearts and spare her a second time.

A dusty police scanner rested on the dashboard. “Just a relic of foolish days,” her father stated, dismissing any further questions not that Eunice could find her tongue to breathe a word.

As they tore down the roads, they listened to any relevant information that might point them in the direction of Ray’s killer. The moment they turned it on, Eunice knew it would be a chaotic day on Brasil. Reports of strange fog rolling in from the north. Officers were on route to check it out. At the beach, the tide was higher than anticipated, bringing a school of odd fish onto the shore. As to what kind of fish they were, the dispatcher didn’t say. Officers were dealing with tourists that didn’t understand the severity of the situation. A freight ship missing its established arrival window. That was unheard of. Old Giles took pride in every ship entering and leaving the port at its appointed time. He must be going out of his mind, she thought. Search parties would form soon.

They were ten minutes from town before they finally found something of interest. “One of you might wanna check this out. Some freak is hanging around the graveyard,” the tired dispatcher yawned. “If anyone gets a chance, check it out before the fool breaks his neck in a shallow plot.”

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The pedal slammed the pedal against the floor, the engine roared with fresh intensity. Eunice's head bounced against the headrest with a teeth rattling jolt, but she hardly noticed. Jeannie let out a whimper, but again, she paid no attention. Her eyes laid transfixed on her father. His eyes blazed with a ferocity she never knew the man had. Once a drunk tourist picked a fight. She was eight and accidentally bumped into him. He flew into a mindless rage that only liquor brings. As a little girl, there was nothing she could do against someone far larger than herself.

The man never laid a finger on the girl’s head. Her father’s knuckles fended off the bully in seconds. During that fight, his eyes never blazed. They remained cool as a gentle river. He dealt with his opponent as he would kill a deer. There was no anger in his actions. He bore the man no ill will, even though the man intended his daughter harm. How did Dad keep calm? she wondered for years. Most men went ballistic when their children were close to being in harm’s way. News stories from the mainland reported instances of men murdering those that hurt their kids. How did her father maintain control?

Where is that control now? she lamented as the man careened his vehicle toward the cemetery, weaving in and out of the morning traffic as he darted on and off the major streets of Brasil. Eunice was sure they would strike another car at any moment. She gripped the seat, squeezing her eyes shut. Desperate for peace, she tried to go back to her childhood where simple faith in her father was all she needed. He wouldn’t crash the car because she was with him. Daddy will keep me safe, a little girl’s voice echoed at the corners of her old memories.

When her eyes opened, she saw the old cemetery gates looming ahead. There were various graveyards dotted across the island. Some belonged to churches. Others were on family estates. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Brasil had one cemetery where people of all walks of life were laid to rest. In recent years, the tourists called it Brasil Memorial Park, but the locals knew it as Tech Duinn or the House of Donn, a celtic god of death. Those born on the island couldn’t forget the Irish roots of the first settlers, no matter how hard the affluent wished to leave it all behind.

Mom’s here, the little girl said.

Eunice ignored her. At the moment, her father was all that she cared about. The truck’s engine cut off a second after the terrifying man swung his door open. His rifle was already cradled in his tight grip. His constant lectures on gun safety came rushing back. One of his highest pet peeves was to never drive with a rifle in the cab. “Accidents happen,” he had said. “A sidearm can be stashed in the glove box or under the seat, out of creating more chaos in a bad situation. Rifles are troublesome to secure and if you are desperate for something to grab ahold of, a rifle shouldn’t be one of your choices.” Breaking his own rule, he raced across Brasil with his rifle resting against his thigh, gun barrel resting on his shoulder.

“Stay with Jeannie,” he ordered. His eyes searched the graveyard as a bullet waited in the chamber.

“No,” Eunice said at last. Her voice was weak, squeaking. She retrieved her rifle from the truck bed. “You need backup.” She refused to leave him alone. Perhaps this was the man he was looking for. If that was the case, she wasn’t sure if she had the willpower to stop her father from putting a hole in the murderer’s head. However, if this man was an innocent man, she wouldn’t sit back and let her father’s temper affect his better judgment.

Do you have the strength to stop him? the frightened girl asked. To this, Eunice had no answer.

“Do as I say,” he barked. He marched toward the graveyard, not waiting for her to obey. “If this creep comes after Jeannie, someone needs to kill him first.”

He had a point. Looking at the pitiful widow, she knew that Jeannie had no hope of defending herself. While the other two had climbed out of the truck, she sat glued to the seat, rocking back and forth. Her lips trembled, forming the same word her voice had become too weak to speak. Dragon.

Still, she couldn’t let her father go alone. She watched his back quiver in anticipation as he stepped into the cemetery. Groaning in frustration, she pulled Jeannie from the cab, slinging her rifle over one shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “We have to avenge Raymond.” At the name, his wife burst into silent tears. Some avengers they were. Pulling her along, Eunice charged after her father, but would she stay by his side when the fog rolled in?