SNAFU: Wolves at the Door

There were snarling faces above him and below and George decided enough was enough. He cocked back his mauled foot and then drove the heel of his boot into the snout that was snapping at him. Something in the monster’s nose crunched and the beast pulled back, shaking its head violently from side to side.

The one near his head was reaching in to grab him and George returned the favor; even as the long, deadly fingers of the werewolf were grabbing at his clothes, the beast got close enough for him to drive his thumb into the left eye of the thing.

It tried to pull back, but George used his other hand to grab into the thick ruff of fur near its neck and forced his thumb deeper into the soft tissue, snarling himself.

He was as good as dead, so he decided to at least leave them knowing they’d been in a fight.

As the werewolf jumped back, George followed; his face in that moment was almost as feral as the ones on the wild things near him. The werewolf snarled and came for him, one eye closed against the furious tearing and, yes, the blood that was flowing from it. George drove his fist into its throat as hard as he could and was delighted to hear it let out a choking cough. He liked the effect so much, he did it again while the giant thing was hacking and trying to catch a decent breath.

The werewolf backed off, clutching at its throat and half growling, half whining. George moved forward again, determined to push his advantage over the unnatural monstrosity.

The weight that hit him from behind slammed him into the road with enough force to knock the wind out of him and to crack a couple of ribs. George grunted and tried to breathe again as the pressure increased.

“Get the fuck offa me!”

The one he’d struck in the throat fell to all fours in front of him and vomited a stream of blood. It looked at him with both eyes, one still red and swollen looking, and then loped forward until it was staring him in the face.

All the anger left his body even as he managed to draw in a decent breath. Out with the bad air, in with the fear. He’d hurt it, but the snarling thing staring into his eyes was far from out of the fight and another one was sitting on top of him, pinning him in place as it huffed warm breaths on the back of his neck.

As he lay there, waiting for the creature to kill him, the others came closer. Apparently they had finished their murderous appetizers and were now ready for the main course.

* * *

Mark Loman panted heavily in the deepening cold. The run wasn’t that long, only ten miles, but still he was exhausted and the arctic air was scouring his lungs with every gulp of oxygen he took in.

Not surprisingly he reflected back on the night he helped murder an innocent woman as he kept moving.

He’d thought Cullie was joking at first, and had said he’d take the head. It seemed like a good joke right up until the time Cullie started cutting.

He should have been disgusted. He should have knocked his friend on his ass and been done with it, but once the animal’s cries started, he found himself fascinated.

Mark had been a hunter since he was very young and he’d never once felt any regrets for his actions or pity for the creatures he killed. He’d been raised to believe that man was the ruler of the world by God’s decree; everything else was here for man’s use. His family had owned only a few pets, and in all cases they were servants as well. Hunting dogs. He’d never gotten close to any of the animals because his father had always believed that the dogs were tools, not toys.

So, no, there had never been any guilt, but he’d also always made it a point to make sure he had a clean kill. The animals were here for man to use, but not for man to misuse. None of God’s creatures were meant to suffer if it could be helped.

Until that night. Watching Cullie cut and abuse the animal hadn’t been as exciting as it had been fascinating. Okay, he was a little freaked out when he realized his friend was, well, getting into the torture a bit much, but Cullie had always been weird. That didn’t really mean much as long as he kept it to himself. He’d even decided to talk to Cullie about it later.