Baptism Of Rage. James Axler

saw that the wolf was running in a tight circle, doubling back to lunge at him again with those fierce, snapping jaws. Mildred was trying to shoot the monster, but most of her shots were going wide because the hellish hound moved so fast. As well, those shots that did hit seemed to leave no impression on the enraged beast whatsoever. Still struggling on the ground, Doc saw that the nightmarish creature was almost upon him.

      But the dark-furred beast never reached the old man’s fallen form. A thin, pale hand lunged out and grabbed the wolf by the ankle of its hind leg. The beast yelped in surprise as it was pulled back, its leap abruptly curtailed.

      Everything was moving so fast that Doc had to recover his thoughts before he could process what it was he saw. Krysty had the hulking wolf by the ankle of its right hind leg and, as it snapped its jaws at her, her other hand whipped out and slapped it across its snout. Even with the sound of drizzle washing against the road, Doc heard the sharp noise of cracking bone when Krysty’s hand hit, and the monstrous wolf whined. Its jaw was misaligned now, Doc saw, and wouldn’t close properly on its hinge. The wolf’s putrescent yellow eyes were wide with terror.

      As Doc and Mildred watched, Krysty swung the dark-furred form down on the ground, letting go of its ankle as its spine cracked against the hard tarmac. The beast shuddered on the ground for a moment, struggling to stand. Krysty swung her leg back and punted the hound in the face with the pointed toe of her silver-capped boot. Doc felt his breath catch in his throat as the creature’s face—remarkably—caved in with the tremendous force behind that kick.

      And then Krysty took two wavering steps before sinking to her knees before the bloody carcass of the mutie wolf. She had used the power of Gaia, the Earth Mother, Doc knew, a remarkable spring of power that came from the earth itself, infusing Krysty with incredible, superhuman strength for a very short period of time. The Gaia power was brief, a firework burst of energy, and, as its glow faded, it left Krysty as weak as a kitten.

      Mildred was already crouching beside Krysty, concerned, checking that the remarkable redhead was all right. Beside them, the huge wolf lay still, its once proud snout now a concave mess of shattered bone.

      “Thank you kindly, my dear Krysty,” Doc managed to say as he struggled back to his feet and retrieved his lion’s-head cane from the ground.

      THE SCATTERGUN BOOMED as J.B. launched another blast at the wolf pack that had rounded on the little clutch of buildings. The pack was wary now, having lost several of its brethren to these lethal newcomers. A little way behind J.B., Ryan skipped backward, his SIG-Sauer blaster held before him, nearing the struggling group that had emerged from the caravan of mismatched wags.

      “Everyone okay?” Ryan asked in his authoritative voice, peering over his shoulder for a snap second before turning back to the circling mutie hounds.

      “We have three wounded,” someone—a young man’s voice—explained from over Ryan’s shoulder.

      Jak’s familiar voice called from behind Ryan then, providing a little more information in his strangely abrupt manner of speech. “Baby and Ma, not look good.”

      “Just get everyone inside, Jak,” Ryan commanded, not taking his eyes off the feral creatures before him. “They’ll be safe there.”

      As he spoke, one of the wolves made a break for it, lurching forward on its wide paws, picking up speed as it rushed at the retreating group of humans. J.B. leaned over his M-4000, firing three thunderous shots at the monstrosity while Ryan unleashed a flurry of bullets at its feet, as though daring it to come closer.

      The wolf turned, scampering back to the pack, its tail low. Watching the creature scramble away, a tight smile on his lips, J.B. held his ground a moment before taking a single pace forward and blasting another shot from the shotgun. The blast ripped into the creature’s back, knocking it over itself as the explosion rocked its hind legs. It struggled a moment, then got back on its feet and continued to run away, limping a little as it disappeared among the soaked shafts of wheat. The wolves around it watched, their heads low, snarling between clenched teeth before finally turning tail and running.

      J.B. and Ryan blasted off several more rounds, accompanied by Jak, who now stood at Ryan’s side. They watched as the creatures weaved through the high fields of wheat and disappeared from sight.

      “Come back, reckon?” Jak asked, his heavy revolver still trained on the field where the monsters had run.

      “Bastard sure of it,” Ryan growled. “We should find some cover of our own.”

      Ryan turned to peer around them, giving the little group of shacks the once-over before turning his gaze down the road to where his other companions were hurrying to join them. Doc had loaned his ebony walking cane to Krysty, who was now using it to aid her progress on weakened legs. Mildred brought up the rear of the group, her ZKR 551 target pistol poised in a straight-armed grip.

      “Krysty?” Ryan asked, jogging over to be at her side. “What happened?”

      Krysty looked up at him between sweat-and-rain-dampened strands of her red hair, and a wonderfully innocent smile crossed her face. “Just a little bump and grind, lover, nothing to get jealous over,” she assured him with good humor, but her voice sounded weak.

      Ryan shot the others a meaningful look and Doc took that as his cue.

      “She called on Gaia,” Doc said. “Saved this very grateful man’s life in so doing.”

      Ryan nodded. He knew the Gaia power affected his most precious companion. He knew, too, that she would come back around again, back to full health in a little while. It just took time, and right now, standing out here waiting for another mutie wolf attack was about the least smart way to spend it. “Let’s everyone get inside,” he instructed, putting his arm around Krysty’s waist to help her across the road to the nearest wooden building.

      A wooden fence stood waist-high with a gate that caught on a simple latch, the kind used to stop farm animals getting out or wildlife—like mutie wolves—getting in. Beyond that, a two-story shack waited, and piano music drifted from inside.

      A bewildered goat was tethered outside the rotting wooden shack, soaked through and bleating miserably in the downpour. The words Traid n Post had been carved into a sign beside the building’s front door with a smaller sign below that read Good Eaten. Music drifted from inside as someone pounded at the keys of a badly tuned piano.

      The goat bleated as the six travelers made their way past it to go inside, and Jak stopped to marvel at the sorry-looking creature. He felt an affinity for the animal as it looked up at him hopefully, its satanic red eyes matching Jak’s own, white fur and tuft of beard in imitation of Jak’s colorless skin and pure white stubble. The goat rested on a square of rough plywood, with two wheels on an axle running beneath it. Its hind legs had been removed high on the shoulder, not even the hint of a stump remaining, and Jak could see the jagged black thread lining the animal’s white fur where the amputations had been sewn closed. As Jak looked at the beast, its fur matted with the awful drizzle that was still lancing at the ground with needle-thin precision, they heard a bleating and two more goats, a nanny and her kid, came prancing around the corner. Each of them wore a collar with a short length of rope tying one to the other, preventing them from moving comfortably without butting into each other. All three sorry creatures looked hungry.

      The first animal bleated again, shaking its head from side to side as Jak turned away and followed his companions into the building. The goat scrabbled forward with its remaining forelegs, the rest of its body following on the wheeled base, until the tether line pulled taut at its neck and halted its progress. It let out another sorrowful bleat as it watched this kindred spirit disappear through the dirty, burn-streaked door.

      Jak smelled the air as he entered the run-down shack and a smile touched his pale lips as he scented rich cooking spices.

      The room that the companions had entered was roughly twenty feet square, encompassing the full length of the building. To one side, on a raised platform, stood the badly tuned piano, played by an attractive, dark-haired woman wearing a low-cut dress and a single incisor tooth in her open mouth.