All Hell (3 page)

My head is on a swivel. I expected Ivory or Scout to be on me by now.
So far they’ve been cautious, content in just killing everything around me. I can only guess they’re afraid of the guns they don’t know I lost and are killing the horses to draw me out into the open. Another horse screams his death knell and it’s like a knife to my stomach. I brought the wolves to their door. Now the horses are paying the price. I light up another matchbook and toss it at the sound of the most recent death. It lands on a hay pile and immediately catches. The horse will get a Viking funeral, which has to be preferable to being devoured by wolves, and hopefully it will cause Scout and Ivory to think twice before they kill another one. I throw the entire canteen there for extra measure.

With one side
of me aflame and smoke filling the air it was time to make my move. I lift the bar, freeing the poor palomino stuck with me. As he makes his mad dash for freedom, I stay low beneath the fumes to get a better view of the situation. I see Scout’s furry legs to my left, retreating outside. To my right, the rear doors are pushed wide open thanks to the horse that just raced through them. I head in that direction, opening up every stall gate on the way. Two black beauties leap out in front of me and flee to fresh air. Behind me my canteen pops, invigorating the burn. I bolt toward the exit, but something bolts faster.

It’s
Ivory bursting through one of the gates. Chunks of wood splinter in every direction then he’s right there, his fangs going straight for my throat. I get three spikes through his jaw before he has the chance to snap down. His tainted blood dances on my fingers as he skids off to the side. I hurt him but not nearly enough. He turns on a dime, shows me the teeth he’s going to use to end my life.

Our eyes lock.
I stare him down, directly challenging his dominance, and position myself in an offensive stance. He doesn’t care. We both know he’s coming in for the kill. I bring my arm up, dagger out in front. He lunges, coming at me claws first. I sidestep and twist to simultaneously avoid him and slash across. I’m only half successful. My blade slices the paw closest to me but the other hits me hard and kicks me back. I tumble beneath the smoke feeling flames that lick my back.

I
quickly remove my coat as it catches fire and toss it at Ivory. It pillows out, falling well short, creating a bonfire that both of us circle around. I can see him thinking about clearing it in one jump. It would be easy enough for him, but it would bring him too close to the inferno. Besides, I’m the one pinned down. The next move has to be mine. I have three choices; circle around to the right, circle to the left, or burn. I choose right, eyeing a large piece of wood that lay there. I snatch it then light it up in the bonfire like a torch. I swing it in front of me, momentarily keeping Ivory at bay. It’s a desperate play that only lasts the time it takes the board to burn to cinders in my hand.

“Go home,” I
order him. “We both know fire and werewolves don’t mix.”

He grins. “Hell P
ack likes the heat,” he snarls back.

I don’t know what Hell Pack means
. I guess that’s what they call themselves. But I’m not going to ask. The time for talk is over. The fire is eating up the board, threatening to singe my hands. It’s time to get wet. I throw the fiery remains at him, forcing him left, and lunge in with my knives. My first slash misses by a mile. He slashes back, grazing my ribs enough to draw blood. But I’m too pumped up on adrenaline and fear to let that stop me.

Before his front quarter pulls back I punch
through it with a spike. His jaw snaps forward. I arch back and slash forward cutting his snout. A claw slices through my cheek. I don’t let myself feel it. I’m in pure panic mode. My ferocity has to equal his. I stop fighting, even for one second, and I die. I stab down. My blade pierces his shoulder. He picks me up and slams me to the ground. I react by throwing my left hand up. My dagger pierces his belly. He yelps. His fangs come for my face. I twist the knife, making him momentarily recoil as I really give him something to howl about. Silver works best when it stays on the inside so I leave it in place.

His jaw
comes at me again. I roll beneath him as his fangs tangle with my hair. I thrust my other blade toward his heart. Something gushes. His fangs scrape my forehead and suddenly I’m in his mouth. His breath is hot and fetid and I’m surprised I have the time to notice it. My arms push him away, and I go into a stabbing frenzy, plunging my knife everywhere and anywhere until I realize he was dead even before I pushed my way out of his mouth.

I’m scratched, bloodied
, exhausted, and Ivory’s saliva coats my skull. The pain I ignored comes forth with a vengeance. My senses are on overload and I try to regain control from the blind panic that took over. I breathe, thankful for the primal instinct that runs in my family that tells us to fight on, even one second past the moment we’re dead. Smoke fills my eyes and lungs. Heat washes over me, warning me I can’t remain here for long. I look down at the mess I made and reclaim my knives. There’s still one big problem ahead of me. One I’m in no condition to take on.
Scout.

Over half the stable is now consu
med and the fire’s hunger is growing fast. In the few seconds I have, I sort through the situation. Setting the fire may have cut off a double attack, but it limits me to only one avenue of escape, a severe tactical disadvantage. Watching Scout in action, I’m certain he’s already picked up on that. I have one place to go and he’s gonna be there waiting for me. He is the trap and I’m the mouse. The moment I step out, the moment he sees it’s me and not Ivory, he’s going to snap down on me hard.

The only question is
, which direction will he come at me from?
Hell Pack likes the heat
. I immediately know. Still, I’m only going to get one shot. I tighten my fist, making sure the silver knuckles are firmly in my grasp and dip my blades in the flames… a hot knife through butter and all that. Then I run like the north wind through the stable doors out into the night. My peripheral vision sees all clear to my left and right. Straight ahead I see the lights turn on in the Smithfield house in the distance. But I don’t see Scout. That means I’m right.

I immediately pivot, whipping both my arms around in as
high and wide an arc as I have, praying that I created enough space for me to get fully around in time. I see his golden eyes, practically on top of me. An instant later I feel the spurt as both my blades enter his throat. His body collapses on mine, the air shoots out of my lungs, his blood puddles over me.

T
hen everything goes black.

Chapter 6

I come to, but I don’t move. Laying here with Scout seems like
the only choice right now. My eye catches the back ledge of the stable, the perch where Scout waited for me. Fittingly, flames crackle around it like a log in a fireplace. It was romantic. A starry night sky, a fire, and me lying next to the thing I love more than anything else in the world… a monster. I chortled til the pain no longer lets me.

“Hey
,” a voice screams in the distance. It repeats. I tilt my head back and see Mr. Smithfield running toward me as fast as a man of his age can. He has a rifle in his hand. Then he halts in his tracks, catches a good eyeful of something, and flees back to his house as if he’s seen a thousand ghosts.

“Fuck. What now?
” I mutter to myself. I come face to face with Scout. His empty eyes stare at me like I should feel guilty about what I’ve done. “Fuck you,” I say. I kiss him on the nose then kick him off of me and get up, my joints snapping and cracking with each little movement. I think about dusting myself off, but between the shit, blood, and guts I don’t even want to touch myself. Something scared the piss out of Smithfield. Maybe they can do it for me.

I’m on my feet, facing what’s to come
. I chuckle. All I can think of is that God fucking hates me. There has to be at least twenty of them… twenty more nasty fucking werewolves, marching in lock step like they were army. I don’t bother to run. I wait for them to come to me. I want the satisfaction of seeing the looks on their stupid faces when they see what I did to their friends. If war was coming, they’ll know I won the first battle. Even if it’s my last. They’ll know a midget kicked their ass.

The pack stops, all except t
heir leader, a large old silver bastard I’d recognize anywhere who comes closer to me than my prom date. I met him before and call him Silver Joe. I was never sure if our relationship was one of mutual respect or mutual hate. He smells me and recoils. He takes in the burning stable, the scent of death, and the blood that’s pooled around the carcass I named Scout.

He turns, issuing silent orders to his pack. A few break off toward what’s left of the horse house. A black one comes forward. It gives me the stink eye then flings Scout’s body over its shoulder and carries him away, a trail of blood following. Silver Joe never takes his eye
s off of me the whole time.

“How many?” he snarls.

“Six,” I answer. “Seven if you count the prick that started it.” I spit. Equal parts blood and saliva hit the ground. “I don’t get back by morning, this is just the beginning,” I threaten.

I could see the hatred building behind
his seasoned eyes. We stare each other down. He takes my full measure. I take his. Now I know our relationship. It’s mutual hatred. His paw strikes like lightning across my head. My last thought is regret that the war will go on without me.

Chapter 7

They say your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. My freak show starts with the first time I met Silver Joe.

It was the day my brother died… or more accurately thirteen hours after he was viciously slaughtered by something supernatural. I’d spent the afternoon in shock. By nightfall, I needed an outlet for my irrepressible rage. They were all the same to me back then.
A monster was a monster. My pa said a monster killed him, I vowed to kill a monster in return. I grabbed my pa’s rifle and night vision goggles and headed out into the woods. Whatever treaty we had with the werewolves be damned. Consequences were an afterthought… I was getting some revenge.

I was always a naturally good hunter, but at the time, I was fueled by hate, not thinking clearly… a powder keg ready to explode, woefully ignorant of the true power of the paranormal forces that occupy our world. I came across some paw prints and tracked a small pack of werewolves deep into their territory. I found an advantageous position and spied four of them feasting on a deer like it was Thanksgiving dinner. Two of them stayed on all fours, like real wolves. The other two walked on their hinds like they were half-human.

Four monsters for my brother.
It still didn’t feel like an even exchange—my brother was worth a thousand of them—but it was sure better than just an eye for an eye. I ran my scope over all of them, getting a good close look at the hideous beasts. One had a real stupid expression on his face, like a hyena. Another was making a mess of things, spitting deer guts everywhere as he plunged his snout in and out of Bambi then howled with his mouth full. One of the uprights had long fur. Another had a belly so big he resembled a bear more than wolf. I named ‘em the fuck brothers; Dumb fuck, Sloppy fuck, Hairy fuck, and Fat fuck. But they were all dead fucks to me.

I lined up Fats in my sight, centering my target directly on that oversized stomach of his for no particular reason other than he was standing tall and I wanted to splatter his guts all over the others. With the butt of my gun in the pocket of my shoulder, I took careful aim. My finger tightened on the trigger. Then they all turned toward me at once. It took me a split second to realize they knew I was there the whole time.

Something I didn’t even see knocked the rifle from my grasp. Something sharp ripped across my thigh, involuntarily dropping me to one knee. Claws lashed out of nowhere, digging parallel gashes into my shoulder. I turned in time to see the finishing blow. A jet black werewolf with piercing orange eyes, standing on his hinds like a human, his fist curled in a ball of fur, landed a haymaker right across my face. I fell like one of Mike Tyson’s opponents, a tooth of mine hitting the ground a second before my head did.

Through a fog I saw the five of them surrounding me. The fat one’s drool dripped on my face. “Dessert,” it said.

“No,” growled the black one. “Bring him.”

A dark hairy paw with a vise-like grip latched onto my ankle. My head bounced on the dirt as I was dragged through the woods leaving a trail of my blood behind me. I went in and out of consciousness until the ride finally
stopped. I was tossed head first into a clearing, the dirt and wet grass caking against the side of my face as I landed. Snarls, growls, and howls echoed all around me as if I was grand prize in their victory parade.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, dizzily taking in the landscape in hopes of finding an exit strategy. Behind me lay the dark forest, two wolves standing guard. In front of me was the crowd. They easily numbered over fifty, a sea of angular glowing eyes and triangul
ar teeth. A series of caves stood behind them. This must have been the main entrance to their den.

A large silver one, taller and more powerful looking than all the others, stepped forward, staring me down, appraising my worthlessness. I could tell all it wanted to do was rip me apart. “You are free. Go home,” he snarled.