The rest of the Force were arrayed to bring maximum firepower to bear on the alpha and catch him in a crossfire, assuming he entered the riverbed where Char and Terry waited.
Char dropped to all fours and snarled. Her hackles rose and spittle flew from her mouth. Those on the banks were unnerved by the sight and the sound. The bonfire reflected off her shiny pelt. Lacy was on the south riverbank, and she was the first one to see him approach, only glimpses as he glided over the Wastelands in the weak moonlight.
Terry put Lacy there because he assumed the alpha wouldn’t attack a woman.
Marcus unerringly bore down on Lacy. She fired, then panicked and flipped the lever to automatic. She yanked back on the trigger, spraying her rounds skyward as the barrel jumped. She emptied an entire magazine and didn’t hit the massive creature running straight at her.
Marcus hit her at full speed, throwing her ten feet in the air and twenty feet backward. She landed in a heap and rolled down the bank. No one knew if she lived or died. The alpha stood overlooking Char, but only for an instant.
Long enough for Terry Henry Walton, expert Marine Corps marksman, to send a round behind the Werewolf’s left shoulder. Marcus yipped like a wounded pup. Clyde picked up on the creature’s pain and started to bray. He crouched as if he was going to run, but Terry yelled.
The alpha jumped down the bank and powered straight toward Char. She dodged, as she’d been practicing, avoiding his jaws and sinking her teeth into his neck as he passed.
He was wider than she remembered, and he jammed her hard with his shoulder as he leapt skyward. She lost her grip and fell in his wake, rolling to get back on her feet.
Terry fired and instantly dropped the weapon as the alpha continued toward him, leaving Char on the ground. Terry couldn’t uncoil the bullwhip quickly enough, so he pulled his knife with his left hand and waited to dodge the incoming freight train.
Marcus was in pain, but his anger was overwhelming. There she was, with the human. It drove him beyond the edge of reason. The small man’s heart would be his and Char, he could tell, was in heat. Wolf pups. He would make them this very night while dancing in the blood of the dead.
Terry wondered how much silver it would take to affect the massive beast. He didn’t think he had enough, no matter what.
He stabbed at the paw that came for his head, leaving a clean slice on the outside of the Werewolf’s leg. Marcus kicked hard with his back legs, catching Terry Henry in the mid-section.
Terry went down as if a pile driver hit him. He gasped as all the air was forced from him. His knife was gone. Marcus hit the ground, stopped on a dime and turned, his massive jaws heading straight for Terry’s face.
Char’s silver belly fur flew over Terry’s face. She landed on Marcus’s head with her front paws. She held his head down as she attempted to clamp her jaws on the black beast’s neck. It was too wide and she only got a mouthful of hair and skin, but her fangs ripped inward.
Marcus stood on his back legs and roared his pain. Clyde darted in and bit the alpha’s back leg, but the Werewolf kicked him away as if shaking off a fly. James and Devlin were ready to fire, but Char covered Marcus’s back. They didn’t have a clean shot.
Marcus dropped to all fours, vaulted over Terry, and ran straight for the bonfire with Char bouncing around on his back. He slid to a stop, ducked his head, and arched upward. Char flew from him and into the fire. She kicked through it and ran out the far side, hitting the ground and rolling to put out the flames.
Marcus stalked to the side, trapping Char between the fire and the riverbank.
Shots rang out. Dust puffed from Marcus’s hide where the bullets impacted. James and Devlin kept firing. Char scrambled up the bank behind the bonfire, escaping the alpha’s trap.
He turned and growled, his yellow eyes glowing as he raged. Blood ran from the gash on his leg. There had been very little silver on Terry’s bullets and those wounds hurt, but they were starting to heal. The regular bullets just made him angry, and he’d had enough. He charged to his right and up the bank.
“Get down here!” Terry yelled as he tried to stand. His stomach hurt and he thought a couple ribs might be broken. Char was nowhere to be seen.
The two men jumped from the top of the bank and landed in the soft dirt, sliding down until they were at the bottom. The alpha leapt after them, creating a mini-avalanche when he hit the soft ground. He tried to push off, but the dirt gave way and he fell, sliding face first down the hill.
James and Devlin jumped to the side as the Werewolf slid in between them. James spun and snap fired into the vast black side. He pulled the trigger quickly, unable to flip the lever to automatic as he stumbled backwards. Marcus jumped toward him and Devlin fired into his back leg until the bolt locked to the rear. He fumbled for another magazine.
Marcus grabbed James in his great jaws, shook his head and threw the man aside. He turned and jumped, but his back leg failed him. He staggered forward and bit the rifle, yanking it from Devlin’s hands.
Char howled her challenge from atop the riverbank. Her purple eyes glowed with her fury. They stood like two beacons, auroras calling to the alpha. He stood transfixed, giving his leg time to heal. He scrambled up the bank behind him, looking like he was running from Char’s challenge.
She jumped down the bank, running to the bottom.
“No!” Terry yelled, expecting the alpha to leap back into the ravine to land on her.
He didn’t. The fire snapped and popped. Clyde barked and pranced. A slight breeze blew across the Wastelands.
“Where is he, Char?” Terry asked as he struggled to stay upright.
She growled and snapped her jaws. Terry couldn’t understand her when she was in Werewolf form. He splashed through the small stream and stood on the opposite side, not far from Char. He uncoiled his whip and waited.
James groaned in agony. Devlin crawled through the soft dirt at the bottom of the bank to get to him. There was nothing he could do to help James, but he took his rifle, crouching to remain between the corporal and the Werewolf.
Marcus howled from somewhere beyond the riverbank, not far away but not close. Char howled in reply, muscles tensed. She looked to be uninjured, despite getting thrown into a roaring bonfire.
Her eyes continued to radiate their purple glow. “That didn’t go too badly,” Terry said, laughing. It was the Marine’s way to joke during a battle. It was too easy to get lost in the black and white world of combat’s life and death. One wrong move and you could die. You could do everything right and still die. Sometimes the reaper cleaned house. When it was your time, it was your time.
No sense crying like a baby. A Marine’s mettle was based on his ability to sow death and destruction, while at the same time having fun. Not too much fun, just enough that when the reaper knocked, you could laugh one last time.
Fuck that guy.
“My gut hurts,” Terry said out loud.
Char growled and crouched.
“Go time, mother fucker!” Terry yelled into the darkness as he twirled the bullwhip beside him. Marcus arced high over the ravine as he jumped toward his mate. Her muscles uncoiled and she darted underneath him.
Terry snapped his wrist, aligned the whip with where Marcus was going to land, and watched the tip lash forward. The great black Werewolf was hit! The whip cracked and wrapped halfway around his neck. The silver of the necklace tore deep. Terry yanked the whip back, tearing skin and hide away from Marcus’s throat.
Marcus reared back and howled his pain to the stars of the night sky. Terry took one step closer for a second try with his whip, but Marcus bolted away, jumping off a vertical bank to turn and face his enemies.
His dangerous enemies.
They all needed to die. He was done playing.
Devlin fired, hitting the Werewolf again and again. The bolt locked and he smoothly changed magazines.
Marcus was done getting used for target practice. He ran wide, like the wind, his back leg functional after
giving it time to heal. He circled and lined up for his attack on Devlin.
The young man never knew what hit him as Marcus seized his upper body in his jaws and bit down, crushing Devlin’s chest. The Werewolf tossed the body to the side, keeping his head low to protect his neck. Char started circling him, assuming the role of aggressor.
There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal that is cornered.
“Watch out, Char!” Terry called.
“Your human boy-toy wants you to be careful,” Marcus growled at Char.
“At his worst, he’s better than you’ve ever been,” she replied, goading, egging him on.
“How often is he at his worst?” Marcus countered, watching her carefully. She was uninjured and he needed to heal. Whatever hellfire came from that whip was causing him enough anguish that he considered retreating and coming back another day.
Terry angled away from Char, trying to find an opening where he could use his whip again. Did he see Marcus wince?
The Werewolf backed up and turned, darting away, trying to keep Char between him and the whip.
“Got an ouchie?” Char taunted.
Marcus lunged. Char dodged, but not quickly enough as he powered into her, driving his back legs until they both rolled, snapping and biting. Char twisted wildly as she tried to get out from under the alpha.
He bit her side and pinned her to the ground.
Crack! The tip of the whip ripped across Marcus’s rib cage, a second time lashed into his back leg. Marcus let go and jumped away, out of range of the whip.
Char stood, bleeding heavily from the deep bite. She staggered.
Marcus charged, ramming her with his shoulder and bowling her over as he headed straight for the human.
Terry snapped the whip back as Marcus’s jaws drove straight for his chest. The tip of the bullwhip wrapped once more around the Werewolf’s throat. Terry twisted until he thought his back would break. Marcus’s jaws scraped across the front of his chest, tearing his shirt and slashing into the skin and muscle.
Terry caught the looped whip and pulled tightly as he was dragged alongside the massive beast. Marcus bucked and tried to shake his head, but the pain was too great. The whip found the gash of the previous injury and was digging through the muscle and into his throat.
The pain! The flame of the sun was pouring through the wound. He kicked with a front paw, trying to dislodge the human. Then he hit the ground and rolled, trapping Terry beneath him.
Terry couldn’t breathe and his arms were pinned. He couldn’t pull the whip tighter. He gasped and struggled.
For a moment, the weight became heavier. He tightened the muscles in his chest to keep the bones from cracking. His injured ribs screamed in agony.
Then Marcus was pulled from him as Char dragged the great black beast backward by the throat. The whip was pulled from his hand. With a last shake, Char ended Marcus’s life.
Terry dragged himself to her. She couldn’t lift her head, resting it between her paws on the ground. There was an ugly cut on the side of her face in addition to the bite in her side.
Terry’s whip, she’d dug in and finished the alpha, even with the pain from Margie Rose’s necklace digging into her.
“You’re a warrior, Char,” Terry said as he stroked her face.
She changed back into human form. The light from the bonfire showed that she had been injured far worse than what he could see before. Her skin bubbled in places from where she’d gone into the bonfire. Dark purple surrounded missing flesh on her side. And the gash on the side of her face was raw and deep.
He pulled Char to him, cradling her as she moaned in agony.
“That could have gone better,” he said, as was his way during combat.
“I think we did pretty well, don’t you, Colonel?” Char gasped one word at a time.
“Indeed, Major. The battle is won, we just need to recover our wounded, bury our dead, and prepare for the next battle.” Terry gently stroked her hair as she relaxed against him.
“That easy, huh?”
“I don’t know how you keep ending up naked and in my arms. People are going to talk,” Terry said.
“I really could give a fuck,” Char replied, smiling as much as she could. “I need to rest and I need meat, as much as you can find.”
Terry propped Char against the dead Werewolf and rushed to the fire to find her clothes, bringing them back in short order. There was no way she was going to get her jeans on in her current condition, so he removed his torn shirt and draped it over her.
“My Knight of the Round Table,” she murmured.
“Try not to bleed on that. I just got it how I liked it,” he said quietly, holding her face in his hand. She looked tired. Her eyes no longer glowed like purple fireflies.
“Of course you did,” she snickered, wincing at the pain. “For the record, I feel like shit.”
“That makes two of us,” Terry agreed. Clyde whimpered as he appeared next to them. He walked stiffly, but wasn’t bleeding and nothing looked broken. He laid down next to Char, resting his head in her lap as she reclined into the dead alpha’s fur.
Terry left them there and splashed two steps across the river as he headed for James and Devlin.
Terry knew as soon as he saw. Devlin was dead, his chest crushed by Marcus’s jaws. Terry kneeled and closed the young man’s eyes. He next went to James, who was injured but alert.
“I think I’ve got a broken leg and a rib or three,” he said, grimacing as he talked.
“We’ll get you fixed up. It’s done. We did what we had to do and you stood your ground, like a real warrior. I’m proud to have you in the Force,” Terry said softly, resting his hand lightly on the young man’s shoulder.
“Gerry! Get down here,” Terry yelled as he stood and went in search of Lacy.
Terry heard the horses splashing in the river as Geronimo approached. “What the fuck are you doing? We’ve got injured people down here and you bring the horses?”
“Oh shit! I’m sorry, Colonel. Let me take them back up stream, hobble them, and then I’ll be back,” Gerry apologized.
“Wait!” Terry called as he pulled the saddle bags from his horse, then he waved the young man away. Terry took the bags to Char, who looked like she’d already fallen asleep. He put the bag next to her and pulled their complete stock of beef jerky that Antioch and Claire had given them.
Char sniffed at it, then opened her eyes. She took the first piece and fed it to Clyde. She offered Terry the second piece and he stood, putting his hands on his hips.
“I have to find Lacy,” he said abruptly and walked off. Char didn’t hesitate as she wolfed down the remainder of the stash, sharing only one more small piece with the dog.
Terry quickly found the young woman, lying almost in the river, not far from the bonfire that was starting to burn down.
He rolled her unconscious form over. He found a growing bump on her head, but that was the only injury. He splashed water on her until she came to. Her eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the fire.
“Come on, James needs some company,” Terry told her as he lifted her, draping an arm over his shoulder. He bent his knees to be closer to her level. She leaned into him and a new wave of pain coursed through his body. He wondered how badly he was injured, expecting the nanocytes would take care of it.
He’d lost one person that night, and he’d lament Devlin’s loss later, when they were settled and he could be sure that he’d lose no more.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When morning came, Terry and Char stretched, having mostly healed during the night.
“We have to make sure he’s dead,” Char whispered, pointing to the great black Werewolf.
“He looks plenty dead to me,” Terry replied.
Char shook her head. “Cut off his head with your silver blade. There’s no coming back from that.” She tilted her head. “Well?”
“Are you the alpha now?” Terry asked, as he recovered his knife
from where it had been thrown the night before. She tipped her head as if looking over the top of glasses, her purple eyes staring at him, unrelenting. “Fine.”
It took ten minutes of hard work to finish the deed and he was up to his elbows in blood by the end of it. He kicked the head to the side and washed up in the river’s trickle of water.
They then surveyed the damage.
Clyde was stiff but hungry, which they took as a good sign. James looked to be on death’s doorstep. He was pasty white, and his breathing was shallow. At least his leg wasn’t broken, Terry thought.
Lacy was out of it, her head lolling as she remained incapable of focusing. Gerry had done what he could during the night--cold compresses, plenty of water--but there wasn’t anything else to do.
Terry closed his eyes and recalled the medical book he’d read. The symptoms suggested that James may have internal injuries.
“I think we might have to open him up,” Terry suggested.
“What?” That surprised Char. “Don’t tell me you’re a doctor?”
“No, but I read this book once.” When Terry heard himself say it, he realized how lame it sounded.
“Really? You read a book and now you’re okay with cutting him open? And you plan to do it in the middle of the Wastelands?” Char was skeptical.
“He’s not looking good and Lacy has a concussion. We’re in a deep pile of shit. Things may fix themselves, but maybe they won’t. We’ll see what today brings and decide when we must.” Terry looked concerned at James, who was sweating, cold, and clammy. He seemed delirious.
“Keep your eyes on them, Gerry. We have two graves to dig, and then we need to hunt, find something to eat, because I don’t think we’re leaving any time soon.” Terry pursed his lips and looked around for something to dig with. They’d already scrounged the driftwood from places nearby.
Char offered to turn into a Werewolf and dig out a grave using her mad canine digging skills, but Terry declined since she refused to dig a grave for Marcus.
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