Ancient Awakening (The Ancient)
Page 22
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Miller did his best to follow the wolf, Bill, and Mike. He cursed his shattered leg once more as he limped along, moving as quickly as he could. Ann stayed behind him. Reaching the door that his companions had recently passed through, he paused.
“Ah stairs, my old nemesis,” Miller said.
“What? What are you waiting for?” Ann yelled. Miller looked at the shotgun in one hand and the axe in the other. He passed the gun to Ann.
“Lass, would you be so kind as to hold this for me?”
“What am I supposed to do with it?” Ann demanded.
“Just hold it. It looks lovely with your,” he paused, looking Ann over, “trousers.” Miller then hopped down the first stair, holding onto the railing and using the axe, blade down, as a sort of crutch. Seeing that this seemed to be a manageable mode of transportation, he repeated the maneuver as rapidly as he could down the rest of the stairs. The vibration was not kind to his wounded leg, but speed was of the essence.
At the bottom of the stairs, he found the wolf that he had wounded, still trying to drag Mr. Tirhsred away to whatever den these creatures were using. The man was still screaming like a wee girl, which Miller found shameful, but his task was not to judge. He was here to rescue. Miller swung the weapon up by its handle, catching the wounded wolf under the chin. Its face split, a fountain of black blood spraying Mr. Tirhsred. Ann let out a short scream and turned her head away.
“I do apologize for the delay. I got here as quickly as possible.” Miller lowered a hand to Mr. Tirhsred, who was still in too much of a panic to take it.
“Mike? Where’s Mike?” Ann shouted, coming to her senses.
Where was Mike? That was certainly a good question. Miller limped into the hallway to see him pinned against a wall, locked in a contest of strength with a werewolf. His arms were at the wolf’s throat, trying to keep its deadly fangs away from his face. This was not a contest that Mike could win and Miller knew he had precious little time to act. He threw the axe overhand and prayed that his aim was still true after all these years.
It struck the wolf in the center of the back. The thing let out a howl and released Mike, who dropped to the floor.
“Ann! Gun!” Miller commanded. Ann, who was still in the hallway seeing to Mr. Tirhsred, stumbled a bit at this request. She tossed the gun in the air but it did not quite reach Miller. He flinched slightly, but the gun did not fire when it hit the ground. She would need to work on her throw. Miller snatched the weapon off the ground and raised it in the direction of the beast. The wolf, bested, was long gone, leaving behind a bloody axe and a winded Mike.