SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

He came to a halt in cold, running water and sputtered as he felt the runoff cover his face. He rose as quickly as he could, shivering and spitting the water from his mouth along the way.

“Fuck me! What the hell kind of shit is this?” All of his thoughts of surviving the night evaporated in an instant, replaced by the sudden realization that he was in the middle of nowhere and would be lucky if anyone even realized he was missing.

Up above, where he’d been standing a moment ago, he saw movement through the surrounding trees. Cullie did his best impersonation of a statue, forcing his muscles to stay still despite the chill.

His eyes had long since adjusted to the darkness as best they could and he saw the beast as it moved into view. In the center of the diner he’d been too stunned to really see much of anything, but watching as it moved from a distance he could see the play of muscles moving under fur, the impossibility of its shape and the unsettling grace with which it moved.

He could also see with perfect clarity when it suddenly turned its head and looked down the hill for him.

“Oh, God, no.”

The teeth of the black furred beast stood out remarkably well as it grinned and looked him in the eyes.

Cullie turned and ran, his feet lifting and splashing down into the cold stream of run off, as he did his best to escape. What in God’s name had he been thinking when he was toying with actually trying to hurt that thing?

“Ohgodohgodohgodohpleasegod.”

The monster dropped to all fours and bounded toward the stream, its forepaws almost looked like hands, but its hind paws were designed for pushing and clawing.

The thing leaped and cleared the last twenty feet, splashing down five yards in front of him.

“I swear I didn’t know! I thought it was just a dog! I know I was wrong, but I didn’t know any better!”

Hot tears spilled from his eyes, washed across his face in thin lines of warmth as the creature came closer. When it was in front of him, it rose on its hind legs and studied him with deep green eyes that showed no sign of mercy.

Cullie was still crying when he pulled the knife from its sheath. “Fine. Come on then, you fucking pussy!”

The werewolf lunged, growling deep in its chest, and he swung the hunting knife hard and low, trying to cut through its defenses. The blade glazed the long torso of the creature: its claws ripped into his jacket, tearing through the heavy padding and taking close to a yard of material with them.

Barely believing his luck, Cullie swung again and this time felt the blade push through the thick fur and slice deep into the monster’s muscles. The beast grunted and twisted, taking the knife from his grip as it fell back. Blood drooled from the wound, and the black furred nightmare carefully gripped the handle in a hand never designed to carry a weapon of that size. It looked like something from a kid’s play set in that massive paw.

Barely even letting himself think, Cullie charged and slammed his shoulder into the creature’s side, staggering it. The werewolf rolled onto its back and snarled as it hauled the hunting knife’s eight-inch blade from its ribcage.

He didn’t know if the wound was fatal or not, he just knew he couldn’t take any chances. Cullie swung his fist hard and slammed it into the creature’s armpit, pounding at the spot where a nerve cluster would be on a human body. The creature let out another yowl as it dropped the hunting knife, and Cullie dove for the blade.

The weapon fell into the cold waters and he reached for it, his hand scrabbling, touching first the sharpened blade — that sliced into his ring finger and his middle finger — and then grasping the hilt again.

At exactly the same time he wrapped his hand around the weapon’s grip, the teeth of the monster sank into his foot and his calf, pushing through clothing like it was air and then driving together, cutting past flesh and meat and shoe with remarkable speed. Cullie was dropping the blade and screaming around the same time the werewolf ripped his Achilles tendon away from his body.

Frigid water mingled with hot blood as Cullie flopped into the stream, clutching at his ruined leg with both hands.

The werewolf shook off his hide, reversing the transformation until the man he knew as John was looking at him, panting, bleeding from his chest, and grinning around a mouthful of Cullie’s leg. He spat the piece of meat away and swayed, naked in the cold night air.

“I thought a big hunter like you would be a challenge, Landers.” His form was human again, but the words were still a growl. “I thought you’d do more than scratch me.”

Cullie shivered, his hands the only part of him that felt warm as blood flowed from his leg. “Just go ahead and kill me! Get it done!”

“No. Not yet. I’m going to watch you die slowly for a while, and then when I’m sick of looking at you, I’ll finish the job.”

Cullie reached into the waters a second time, wincing at the pain in his entire leg, and grabbed the hunting knife. The naked man stepped closer, smiling.