by Chad Huskins
Movement from behind!
Spencer turned just in time, and sliced a half-Cocker-Spaniel-half-something-else across its left side, exposing its ribs as it landed and crawled away. In a sickening display, a few of the others, sensing weakness, pounced on it, grabbing it by its neck and legs and tearing it to shreds like a school of starved piranhas.
Two more wolf-things leapt at Spencer in the span of a heartbeat—two quick swings of the chainsaw saw to them; half a leg gone, and the other’s face a ruin. A few others jumped on these wounded, as well.
The dire wolf advanced a few steps on him. Spencer backed further up the street, near the Civic. He put his back to it, figuring there was no way they could surround him now. He heard clambering, though, and turned to spot a part Labrador, part wolf climbing up the hood, over the windshield and onto the roof. Spencer swung high over the roof, taking out one of its legs, and then ran and leapt onto the hood himself. As the wounded beast yapped away, he laughed, “A three-legged dog walked into a bar, and said ‘I’m looking fer the man that shot my Paw!’ ” He laughed, and the dire wolf’s grin turned into a kind of grimace. “C’mon, big honkin’! C’mon!” He revved the Husqvarna and tapped the hood of the Civic, sending up a few small shards of fiberglass.
The dire wolf dashed through the crowd of others, knocking them aside, and leapt up onto the hood just as Spencer dashed up onto the Civic’s roof. The creature slipped on the ice covering the hood, then regained itself and snarled at him, those twisted fangs dripping with blood and the tongue still licking out, still spurting pus. “You got a pretty mouth!” Spencer said, and thrust forward with the blade. The dire wolf tested those chains, snapping at them and even biting down on the blade. A few of its teeth were ripped out or cut in half, and a slice of its tongue came flopping out, but the dire wolf didn’t seem to mind. Its grin never wavered.
Spencer backed away, onto the Civic’s trunk. The other dogs were leaping up, trying to climb the back. They formed a pit of churning fur and anxious teeth for him to fall into. The dire wolf came at him, swatting at the chainsaw with a testing paw even as its weight buckled the Civic’s roof. It lost a piece of its front left paw, and again, it didn’t seem to care all that much.
Spencer looked back at the pit of death waiting for him, then back at the dire wolf. “All right, big honkin’. You wanna end this here? Let’s do it! Let’s work, motherfucker! Let’s work!”
It was as though the beast had been waiting for the invitation. It opened up its mouth and bellowed, a kind of battle cry completely unwolf-like, and leapt at him. On an instinctive level, Spencer had sensed it a moment before it happened. The chainsaw roared to life as he threw himself fully into a tackle. The two of them merged, the blade went straight straight through the dire wolf’s belly and out its back. Its forward momentum took Spencer over the side and slammed him onto the pavement, half squishing one of the smaller wolves underneath him. The dire wolf snapped its massive jaws at him and Spencer kept squeezing the chainsaw’s trigger, grinding on the insides of the monster as he pushed it away from him. A few of the clipped teeth grazed his cheek, even as blood poured out of the beast’s mouth and surely into its lungs.
Its great weight and mass caused it to sag on him. Spencer brought his heels close to his butt, and bridged his hip off the ground, rolling it over. He yanked the chainsaw’s blade free of its stomach and swung the blade wildly at the others surrounding him. He clipped a mutt, which whimpered and darted back. “Not like this!” he cackled. “I ain’t dyin’ here, not tonight! Ya got that, bitches? Not tonight! Not here! And—not—like—this!” He slashed at another, and it leapt back.
Desperate, dying cries just over his shoulder. He glanced back. The dire wolf was up, and had hold of one of its pack, its throat clenched in its considerable jaws. The dire wolf shook it like a ragdoll, and then threw it to the ground, put both paws on it to hold it down, and ripped out its throat. Three others dove in to join the meal, but the dire wolf snapped at them. Big dog eats first.
But it wasn’t planning to eat. The dire wolf just wanted to make its point. The foolish animal had perhaps tried to make good on the opportunity—with the dire wolf wounded, perhaps it had sought a moment to usurp the throne? The dire wolf wanted it left alone, as an example to the others. It glared down at its dead challenger. I did this to you, those eyes said.
Meanwhile, Spencer had backed further down the street, slicing at the air around him, warding off the others. His face was dripping in blood and his clothes were soaked with it.
The dire wolf turned its attention back to Spencer. Having made its point with the others, it now had control again. It came at him, as surefooted and eager as ever, oblivious to its gaping wounds. Only one thing had changed: its eyes. The eyes had become more deranged, twitching like a maniac off his meds. Spencer had heard of bears driven mad after having swallowed a plastic bag. The bag got lodged in the intestines, and, being unable to digest food, the bears just kept vomiting up the food. Crazed because of the hunger and agony, they were said to have eyes that didn’t blink, and salivated constantly like a slobbering lunatic. The dire wolf also had something in its gut, Spencer wagered, but it was something more than just a plastic bag. A rotting need buried deep inside, fighting to get out.
Two other wolf-things tried to come at Spencer, but the dire wolf shoved them out of the way, even lifted one up by its black mane and flung it against a mailbox. Two or three other dogs fled. Another four just backed off, watching. It seemed that, though moments ago they had been very confident about their attack plan and their leader’s capabilities, they no longer knew which way this thing would go.
The dire wolf didn’t care. It didn’t need them. It came at him, snapping and spitting up its own blood. The eyes never left him. Spencer laughed. “Well, come on then, big honkin’! Let’s see it! Let’s see what you got! Come on, big honkin’! Come on!”
It did come on. Hard and fast. It leapt at him and Spencer shuffled to his right, slashing out with the chainsaw. His right arm screamed at him, telling him it still wasn’t up for that kind of activity just yet. But the chainsaw’s blade glanced off the beast’s teeth, and ran down the side of its face, giving it a half Glasgow smile. Like mine! he thought madly. The dire wolf landed in the snow, slide sideways, lost its footing, and struggled to regain it.
Spencer seized the moment. He ran straight at it and raised the chainsaw above his head, and brought it slamming down on the wolf’s head. He squeezed the trigger and the blade went deeply into its skull. Then, something grabbed him, another wolf pulling at the bottom of his left pant leg. He spun and slashed at it, ripping off half of its snout. It cried havoc and turned and bolted. Other dogs chased it, no doubt eager to make a meal out of it.
They’re all mad.
He turned his attention back to the dire wolf, but it had already leapt back from his next slash. Despite half its skull missing, and a portion of its brain spilling out, it still persisted, circling him like it meant for another assault. It came at him, slowly, head down, its mangled snout snarling. “Come on, big honkin’!” he shouted, tapping the chainsaw’s blade on the pavement. “Come on now, it ain’t finished yet! Come on! Let’s git-r-done! Hahahahaaaaaa!”
The dire wolf glared supreme enmity at him, and then answered his challenge. It came charging at him. It leapt, and Spencer got a slash across its neck, opening its throat. Gallons of blood spill across the snow, and yet it still kept coming. It swiped at him, its claws ripping at his upper thigh, taking a piece of flesh with it. Spencer staggered backwards, recovered, and aimed the blade at the beast’s muzzle.
The dire wolf moved slowly towards him, blood pouring from various wounds, and still the fire in its eyes never dwindled. Then, on its next step, it staggered. It was just a moment of weakness, and it quickly recovered, and again came slowly lumbering at him.
Spencer tapped the chainsaw on the pavement again, and backed further up the street. It was strange that no cars or pedestrians chanced
this way. Strange, but perhaps not surprising. Some creatures knew when to stay away. Squirrels, rabbits and chipmunks sensed when predators were near in a forest, sensed when two predators were having territorial disputes, and knew when to keep huddled inside their little warrens, waiting for the clash to take its course.
The dire wolf lumbered at him once more, staggered, and fell. “Come on, big honkin’! You ain’t finished yet, are ya?” At his challenge, it pushed itself back up. But it couldn’t stay up. It fell back to the pavement, and got back up. It came at him, staggered, fell over again, and this time stayed. It rolled to one side, impossible amounts of blood spilling across the snow, a gargantuan red stain that moved up the street, rolling into the gutter.
Panting heavily, Spencer looked around at the remaining animals. Only three mutt-things remained, snarling at him and backing away.
Then, a putrid smell assaulted his nose. Spencer recoiled from it. A piece of the dire wolf’s fur fell off, then another piece, and before long great clumps were falling to the pavement. Its lips peeled back in rapid decay. Its eyes were soon turned to nothing more than pus, and the concaves of its empty sockets still looked at him. The jaw moved up and down, even as the flesh was corroded, as if by some acid. Spencer figured, if the dire wolf was twisted and mutated by some other world’s poison, perhaps so too were the bacteria inside of it. He backed away, lest those eager bacteria somehow find him, and his own open wounds.
Spencer’s right arm was singing. Finally, he lowered the chainsaw, shifted it to his left hand, and let it sag. Still panting, he watched the rest of the animals turn and slink away.
In front of him, the dire wolf’s jaw continued moving up and down, as if trying to say something. And then, it did. Spencer stepped away mistrustfully as the strange syllables came through, even as it gargled on its own blood. The syllables were strange, but obvious. “Arrruuugunnnzzz…buhhhhfhhhhuuurrrr…thuhhh…gotttsss…” it said, its breath even more rancid than its decay.
Strange words, but somewhere in the back of Spencer’s mind, they took root, connecting with something from ages ago, and rolling around. His brain was like a computer with its hourglass cursor, telling him it was searching, searching, searching. Then, it found the correct algorithm and released the data: Arrogance before the gods. He knelt, and from about fifteen feet away, he stared at the remains of the dire wolf. “Nemesis.”
A lonesome howl from behind. Spencer turned, and spotted a moderately-sized wolf-thing throwing its head back, summoning the others. It stood at the end of the street, and was quickly joined by a few other mutts and wolf-things, and together they slinked off into the darkness.
He looked back at the rotting corpse, which was now infested with maggots that had come from nowhere.
It was difficult to say how long he remained there. When he finally stood up, Spencer dropped the chainsaw to the pavement, and hobbled down the street to the Acura. He opened the door, got inside, and shut the door. The seats were ruined, and the windows were spiderwebbed or shattered, with the dire wolf’s blood spread across them in great fans. He’d need another vehicle soon if he didn’t want to attract attention. He started it up, and just sat there a moment, looking at his bleeding upper thigh.
Sighed. Took out a Sobranie. Lit it. Sucked on it. Looked in the rearview mirror. Shook his head and chuckled.
Spencer’s humor soon dissipated, and he sat staring out the spiderwebbed windshield. He turned on the wipers, removing the snow that had collected on the outside.
Nemesis.
Was it just another weird item from Kaley’s or Shannon’s fucked up charm? Probably not. For Spencer, there were few coincidences in life, only convergences. He sucked on the cig, rolling the thought around in his mind. If it somehow saw into my mind, it might’ve just drudged that nemesis shit up, and brought it up the way a dying person might talk about a random softball game from their youth, just before they croak. He took another toke. Either way, he intuited that it meant the dire wolf hadn’t just been after the darkness it smelled on him, but after him. Him, specifically.
Why?
Spencer took another toke, savored it, and exhaled slowly. Finally, he put the SUV into drive, and pulled slowly away. He rolled over one mutt’s corpse, and trundled slowly down the street, cautious of the ice. He reached into the plastic bag, which the dire wolf had kicked to the floorboard, and retrieved his antibiotics. He took a few pills, and then a few Demerol tablets for the pain. Spencer glanced into his rearview mirror. For a moment, for just one second, he thought he saw someone standing in the middle of the street, watching him go. A tall figure, kind of humanoid…or maybe just a lamppost? He couldn’t be sure, because the next instant he turned the corner and was moving down Mayakovskogo Pereulok, not knowing where it would take him. He spoke into his iPhone, “Find airport.”
“Airport…found. Take…next…right…ahead.”
He put pressure on his thigh to stop the bleeding. On his way to the airport, he would have to find a new car, and a means to change clothes.
Sirens off in the distance.
Spencer smiled. The best time to be alive. Right here, right now.
Epilogue
Echoes…
There were things there in the darkness, in the nothingness, that swam about and played and frolicked. Something churned. Something else was dying. Something else collapsed. She felt like she was turned inside out.
Echoes…
There were such strange echoes. Like a pebble tossed down a long cavern, ricocheting and plopping down into a well, and just when you thought the pebble could go no further, it ricocheted once again. And then again. And then again.
She sensed no borders or boundaries. She was walking…kind of. There was definitely something beneath her feet, although it wasn’t exactly terra firma. She could propel herself along, but it was only half done by her feet, the other half was by force of will. She willed herself forward, down into a miasmic cavern with no discernible reason for being. Somehow, she sensed that the tunnel was spinning around her, and that it was just one part of a vast, intricate network of wormholes burrowed by old worms. Each one was either a half forgotten or totally forgotten passage, left by Other travelers.
Echoes…
She knew many things about her environment but she did not know how she knew them. Her hands were out and searching for purchase, a behavior that was more revenant than relevant here.
Though her eyes didn’t work, the darkness wheeled over end with such permanence that she knew it was the truth. There were no stars here. Indeed, there might not even be a sky. Or rather, perhaps it was all sky and there was no ground. Almost assuredly there was no way to clearly define one over the other. She somehow knew (though again, she didn’t know how she knew it) that there were no stars here, at least not for trillions and trillions of light-years around, and she suspected that that wasn’t even the case.
Echoes…
Nothing lit the path. Indeed, her eyes fed her no information at all. There would be no adjusting of her eyes, no way of taking in more light, no way of gaining her nighteyes like she did after half an hour in bed back home.
Back home.
She thought briefly of Shannon, of her mother, of Aunt Tabby, and wondered what they would make of her disappearance. She wondered…No, don’t think about that. Best not to dwell on things that can’t be helped. Best if I just take stock of everything I’ve got, and make the most out of it. It was what Spencer had called “resource management” back at the dock house.
Echoes…
Taking an inventory of her resources didn’t take very long. She had her arms and legs, but they weren’t very efficient at handling the materials around her. Certainly she found purchase here and there, but not the kind she wanted. It was like reaching into cotton candy at times, and through cold pudding at others. Her ears detected sound (echoes) but she didn’t like the sorts of sounds they were detecting up ahead. She could smell…acrid smoke, or something. It was an unusual sm
ell, mixed with roses at times and bile at others. She had her eyes, but those didn’t work here, so they didn’t count.
She continued down whatever tunnel she was in, sensing a trembling in the “walls” around her. Something was burrowing another hole above her. As this happened, her passage underwent some changes. It closed up ahead, but opened up to her left. She didn’t know how she knew this, she just knew that it was an inescapable truth.
Echoes…
She had already retched twice. The vomit had come out easily, almost as if though it were pulled out of her. It had happened when she first arrived, feeling strange forces exerting themselves on her. Every organ, every cell, every particle felt like it was being elongated, then mushed, then elongated again, then mushed again. Like somebody was using her basic atomic structure like Play-Doh.
Still, somehow she managed to keep it, and herself, together.
Thunder…
There was some great power quaking beneath the surface of everything, but a dark curtain kept it shrouded. She had a feeling that if she peeled that curtain back, something would find her that she didn’t want to find her.
Echoes…
She no longer felt Shannon. Nor did she sense Spencer, or anyone else nearby. She hoped Shannon was okay. As for Spencer…He’s always okay. She had no doubt that the monster was back to his old ways, running and skulking, constantly scavenging what he needed to survive off the corpses he left behind him, off the people he had conned, off little boys and girls too innocent to know any better.