Beneath a Winter Moon (57 page)

The werewolf saw that two of the humans were speaking to one another. He strained to hear, but even with his extraordinary senses, he was too far away. He watched, and waited. He sniffed the air to see if he could detect anything new, but there was nothing. Suddenly, the leading human stood up and moved forward, holding something up in both arms as he moved. They all held similar things, he knew, and he took them to be weapons of some kind, and a possible, if not serious danger to him. The beast was confused as to why the other men remained huddled together. This new situation caused a new sense of danger. The humans might be aware of his presence, and might be setting up something to flush him out. He shifted his gaze from the single man out front to the three men still huddled close together. Using all the experience that he had, he moved quickly and silently, looping around to approach the huddled men.

The werewolf instinctively knew that the lead man was bait. If he moved on that man, the others would come forth and attack him somehow. Saliva dripped from his jaws as he relished the feeling of the coming onslaught—even the heightened sense of danger. Rather than instill fear, the feeling only served as incentive to stick to his instincts and to be the methodical killer that he was created to be.

Kaley stood stock-still. He had sensed movement to his left, but he did not want to turn in that direction yet. He waited for just a moment, then slowly craned his neck in the direction of the movement. He saw nothing, so he flipped the goggles back down in front of his eyes and used them to scan the forest. He saw nothing, though he knew it had not been his imagination. Something was out there. The minute was just about up, and Kaley knew that the rest of the team would be moving. He turned and looked in their direction. They were getting up, now, preparing to move.

Kaley froze. There was nothing that could have prevented the instinctive move to shutdown all physical movement while the brain utilized everything it had to quell the sudden leap in fear. It was the fight or flight mechanism, and very often there was a moment…not even a second…where the only response was the inadvertent locking of all muscles in the body, all the way down to the intestines. Everything ceased.

Everything, that is, except for the human mind. Before that second was up, the mind had made the decision—to flee or to fight. For Kaley, who saw not three green bipedal figures, but four, the instinct was to fight. He knew in that instant that the werewolf had reversed his trap, making it his own. While the three men to
Kaley’s
rear were focusing on Kaley and the area to his front where there sound had come from, they had ultimately—if only for a moment while they prepared to move, let their guard down to the rear. The beast had come up behind them, waiting until the men began to stand before moving in for the attack.

It all happened so fast that Kaley could scarcely even believe it. As he sucked in a breath to yell at his comrades, raising his rifle toward them in that same instant, the beast attacked.
Kaley’s
scream only served to make things easier for the werewolf, adding to the shock and surprise as he plowed through the three men, slashing and ripping. They never had a chance, though Kaley held some hope as he heard weapons fire and saw the suppressed muzzle flashes among the fray.

Kaley looked down the weapon sites, trying to make out the beast’s form among the men, but it moved too fast. The three men and the beast were fighting in a space less than two meters by two meters, clustered in what Kaley knew was becoming a bloodbath of ripped and torn human bodies. He had not fired for fear of hitting his teammates, but that was over. There was no chance for them now. He opened fire, trying to aim as best he could at the ever moving, ever slashing and attacking werewolf.

Suddenly, two men were down, and it was just the werewolf and one last man standing. Kaley took that moment to release a barrage of three-round bursts of silver death from his MP-5. Both bodies dropped, and he heard the werewolf howl in pain. He leaped toward the werewolf, firing again, but the beast was gone. It had leapt into the forest to his right. He could see the snow falling from limbs and see the plant life swaying as the beast ran through the forest.

There were moans coming from his feet. He saw Deluth and knelt beside him, not knowing anything he could do to help the man. Regardless of how little or how badly Deluth was injured, he was now infected, and would have to die. Still, he knelt and kept his weapon protectively aimed toward the area he thought the werewolf might be.

A hand grabbed Kaley by the arm. Kaley removed the goggles and looked down at Deluth. The man’s face was ripped to shreds. Massive cuts crisscrossed from forehead to chin—cuts so deep that bone was exposed in some places. Deluth tried to speak, but his first efforts failed. Globs of blood gushed out when he tried to use his voice. Kaley was unable to disguise either his pity or his disgust. Deluth was a dead man, but he was trying to hang on.

“The….the radio…” Deluth spit the words out, along with more blood. As he tried to speak, the gashes opened and closed, reminding Kaley of shark gills as they fluttered open and closed while the animal moved through the ocean. “You…have…to…get….Snow…out.”

Kaley nodded and reached for his radio. Deluth was right. Regardless of what happened next, Snow had to get out and get word back to the others. Deluth grasped
Kaley’s
hand, preventing him from getting to the radio. Blood smeared all over
Kaley’s
fingers. At that moment, Kaley smelled the death around him—exposed entrails, viscera, and blood. He finally saw that Huth and Sorret were dead—there could be no doubt. Where throats had once been, exposed spinal cord was all that remained as dead heads lay barely hanging on and at impossible angles. Kaley felt vomit rise in his throat.

“You…get…going. Radio….him…
on..the..waaa
…” Deluth collapsed, his head falling into
Kaley’s
extended knee, then flopping slowly to the ground.

He was right, Kaley knew. Alone, he had no chance to fight the werewolf. He had to retreat and go back for help. He pushed
Deluth’s
body away from his legs and he stood up, placing the goggles back in front of his eyes. Four hundred meters. He could make it. He lunged forward, reaching for the radio so that he could tell Snow to get the helicopter started.

The Werewolf was in pain that was simply unimaginable to him. His right shoulder and arm felt as though it were burning off of his body. He had not moved far before he succumbed to the pain and dove behind a snow-covered outcropping of rocks. He gritted his teeth, clashing his fangs together as he clawed at his wounds. He looked down and saw the hole where black blood gushed freely. This wound was not like the others. The hole was the same, but this time the pain was different—unbearable—deadly. The werewolf, for the first time, felt a fear of death. He had to get the fire out of his body. He snarled in pain as he dug two razor-sharp claws into the huge hole in his shoulder. He reached bone, and almost howled in pain, but knew that there was another human—another human with the same weapon that did this to him.

He felt something. A bump against the bone. That was it! He tore at both bone and the protrusion until he rolled it free from the hole in the bone, and then he pulled it out. He wanted to look at the thing, but just as he brought it up in front of his eyes for inspection, his fingertips began to burn and smoke as if on fire. He growled and dropped the thing into the snow.

It was not over. He had to do the same thing to his right forearm. He panted heavily, but otherwise remained silent as he ripped the silver bullet free from the forearm. He slumped down to the ground for a moment, closing his eyes as his body began its healing process. In less than a minute, the pain was nearly gone, and the beast was ready to move. There was still a human out there, and the beast would have him. He ran back toward the group of slaughtered men, his senses more alert than before, and ready to finish what he had started.

Kaley raised the radio to his lips and was about to speak when he was hit by a powerful force that knocked him off of his feet and downward toward the ground. The radio flew from his hands. As he fell, Kaley swung his body to the left side, looping his right arm out and upward with the MP-5. He thought that he had a chance. The beast had not bitten him, and though it was on him, his right arm was free. If he could get the weapon up and around, he could send a dozen silver bullets into the beast in a mere second’s time.

He felt the soft snow underneath him as he hit the ground and finished bringing the weapon around. Something was wrong, however. Though he commanded his arm to move up, and his finger to curl on the trigger to release a stream of silver death into the black demon who was now above him—nothing happened.

He lay on his back, staring right into the beast’s eyes as it straddled on top of him. He commanded his body to do many different things, and yet it would not move. He knew a dozen ways to get this thing off of him, split-second moves that would not only remove the beast, but give Kaley the upper hand in a one-on-one battle—still—nothing happened.

The werewolf looked down at the man, puzzled. The human’s eyes were open and glaring. His teeth were gritted and snarling sounds came from the man’s throat. But the human did not move. He did not thrash about, or fight back, or try to get up. He merely lay limp before him. This momentarily confused the werewolf.

Kaley was no longer confused. He understood fully what had happened. At some point during the fall, the beast had severed or broken his spine, paralyzing him from the neck down. He could not feel anything below his jaw.

The beast stood up and raised both of its arms high, howling down at
Kaley’s
unmoving form. He roared so fiercely that saliva flew onto
Kaley’s
face. Kaley cursed the beast. “C’mon you fucking bastard! What are you waiting for? Do it!”

The werewolf leaned down and brought his face to
Kaley’s
, almost touching him. Kaley could smell the fetid breath and the oily black fur covering the beast’s body. “You stink,” he said, keeping his voice low, trying to show the beast he was unafraid. But he was afraid—so afraid of what was to come. Immobile as he was, if he could not entice the werewolf into striking down at his throat, he would have to lay and watch the beast as it ripped his body to shreds. He would feel nothing, and there was something in that, anyway…but he would see every slash, watch everything that happened until his heart stopped beating.

The werewolf moved back and roared again at the man, but he still did not move.

Kaley cried out again, cursing the dark beast with everything in him.

The werewolf had enough. He did not understand why this human lay unmoving, yet acting defiant, but it was of no concern. With a roar, the beast tore into
Kaley’s
midsection, ripping open his abdomen, reaching in with finger and claws, ripping out everything in
Kaley’s
body—just as the man had feared.

Kaley sobbed as he saw the creature pull intestines free, then plunge its face into the open abdomen, biting and tearing. The werewolf must have hit one of
Kaley’s
lungs during his feasting, because although the beast’s head was still inside
Kaley’s
open body, Kaley could no longer breathe. He didn’t want to fight it. He didn’t want to live another moment though this. His body tried to convulse as the air stopped pumping into his blood. His throat heaved, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

The werewolf sensed that the human was dying and so he brought his head and looked into
Kaley’s
eyes. He saw the black beast chewing on a piece of flesh and then, thankfully, darkness engulfed Dane Kaley and he was gone.

Snow thought he heard gunshots. He dropped the window of the pilot door and listened. He heard the sounds again, a muffled and distant barrage of automatic gunfire—barely audible. He shook from a chill as the cold wind and a few fluttering snowflakes rushed into the helicopter. He listened intently for a few more moments, but heard nothing more. Instinct told him to fire up the helicopter and get the hell out, now…but his sense of duty, however strained it was from the past day’s events, would not allow it. He gripped the
Glock
in one hand, and felt the MP-5 that sat in his lap. He shook his head. Silver bullets. It was all still so crazy.