Miller stood alone against the darkness. It was better this way. Maybe Ann and Mike would escape, but he knew he had no chance if he tried to run. His damn crippled leg was just too much. If only he had had only a few more days to heal. Well, nothing to be done about it now.
It had been a long time since he had seen a pack this big. There had been a bad night in London, about 200 years ago, and he could never forget his short stay in India, but this was impressive. He counted at least 20, which was already without the several he had dealt with earlier in the day, but between the darkness and the relatively tight quarters it was hard to get an accurate count.
“Good afternoon gentlefolk,” he said, “Joseph Miller, at your service.” He heard a growl from somewhere in the crowd as they began to approach. It was as if his manners, always perfect, had awoken them from their slumber. It had been odd that they did not attack before. Why had they waited? There was something more to this and he strongly hoped that he would have the chance to figure it out.
“I think you have had quite enough to eat this morning,” Miller quipped, as he surrendered a few more steps to their slow advance. He supposed that Ann and Mike had had enough time to get clear. There was no more reason to wait.
An ancient battle cry forced its way out of his mouth as he jumped forward. He was no longer sure what language it was in, but it was loud.
The pack surged forward like a furry tidal wave. For Miller, who had been in millions of battles in the past, time seemed to slow. Now, at last, he faced a real challenge. He fired his shotgun at the wolf in the lead, knocking several wolves back in the process. As he hobbled forward, he tossed the shotgun up, caught it with the same hand at the pump, pumped in the next round, tossed it forward, and caught it by the handle, firing again. Several more wolves were launched back. He knew he had one more shot. With the other arm, he swung the axe wide, not yet trying to hit anything, just making space. Wolves ducked and jumped, dodging the axe, but they did not close in.
Miller repeated his one-handed pumping trick, this time firing directly in front of him, blowing another three wolves back. He dropped the spent shotgun and gripped the axe with two hands. It was time for the messy part. Stepping forward, he again swung the axe, this time for the nearest wolf. Its head came off cleanly and was launched though the air. Miller ducked into a roll as several wolves dove for him. The now-dead wolf’s body landed on top of him. He braced it for a moment, holding it like a shield. The wolves pounced on the body, thinking it was Miller, and he let them carry it away. Another roll brought him clear of the wolves and, using the axe as a lever, he sprung back to a standing position. He then plowed the weapon into the head of a wolf in front of him. It slashed through the monster’s face and got stuck in the base of its spine. Moving forward, he pushed the axe down, bringing the dead body down flat with the ground. Then, he vaulted forward, freeing the axe from its victim and sending himself into another forward roll. He was clear of the pack and spun to meet them for another pass.
In trying to reach him, the wolves had collapsed into a confused, howling mass.
“Come on people, I'm over here!” After this he would have to come up with a name for his fine new axe. Wolfsbane? Perhaps that was a bit too much.
He took one step backward and lobbed another head off with a single swing. A wolf leapt at him, foaming at the mouth. Miller did not have time to pull back the blade of the axe, but still managed to deflect the attack with the blunt side of the weapon. Two more launched themselves at him. He hopped to the right and swung the axe again in a wide arc. It caught one of his attackers in the side of the face, splitting it open. Miller stepped back, his axe spinning again. He caught another wolf in the leg, and it fell, stumbling into another two. Miller quickly finished off another and kicked its body into the remaining wolves in front of him.
He continued his bloody work as more wolves freed themselves, attempting to charge at him by leaping over the bodies of their fallen pack-mates. Miller was faster than them all, killing at least one and dodging the rest. Black blood pooled across the width of the floor. It was quickly becoming so thick that Miller’s bare feet were sticking to the floor. What he wouldn't do for a good pair of boots!
In that instant, the lights came back on. Both Miller and the wolves froze for a long moment. It was an odd red light, but it was welcome. At least he could see his handiwork. The wolves were in a tangled mass, some dead, some alive. Several pulled themselves free, but by now it seemed that some semblance of fear was beginning to dawn on them. Their numbers had been too great for the narrow hallway and they simply could not get around their own dead quickly enough to reach him without feeling the touch of his axe. After a few thousand years, Miller had gotten pretty quick with an axe.
Behind him, he could hear the sounds of fighting and men screaming. He was getting close to their original goal, which meant that very shortly he would either be surrounded or have new allies.
The pack was thinning at this point. He had lost count of the dead. The row of bodies marked his path backwards. Suddenly, his cast hit something heavy and he fell, dropping the axe. Instantly, there was a wolf on him. Claws penetrated his chest and fangs dug deep into his shoulder as the wolf took vengeance for its pack-mates.
“None of that!” Miller shouted. The palms of both of his hands shot forward and clapped over the wolf’s ears. It howled and rolled off. He caught another wolf by the throat in midair as it tried to attack and snapped its neck with a quick jerk. He let it continue its trajectory, hitting a third wolf. Then, he snatched the axe off the ground and brought it down on the head of the wolf that was still cupping its ringing ears.
He quickly glanced at what he had tripped over. A man in blue lay sprawled out in front of him. Miller did not have time to check if the man was still alive. He was too busy trying to work the axe loose of the wolf’s head. His chest was a bloody mess, the bite mark on his shoulder being particularly deep. Looking behind him, he could see four more wolves approaching him tentatively. He chuckled. They could be taught, and he had taught them fear!
The axe was stuck. A trickle of panic crawled up from some dark hidden part of his mind. He grunted with his growing effort but the axe would not budge! He forced down the rising panic. There were only four left. No need for an axe.
The wolves smelled the hint of fear and approached more confidently, foam dripping from their fanged mouths.
“Come on then.” Miller abandoned the axe and waved his opponents forward. The first raised a clawed hand, preparing to slash. It had been a tall red haired woman, and was now covered in red fur. None of her clothes had survived the transformation, so Miller had no clue as to who she may have been. He focused only on her advance, readying himself for her blow.
All at once there was a sound like rapid thunder and the wolf’s chest exploded. Miller tossed himself flat on the floor as the other three wolves were cut down by what might have been gunfire. Two men dressed in blue appeared from behind him, firing the meanest looking guns he had ever seen. He stared in amazement. What awesome weapons. Of course, man had always been good at finding new ways to kill.
“A survivor!” One of the men shouted. “Sir, are you alright?”
“Aye!” Miller said, grinning at them. “You have fantastic timing!” Without further ado, the axe fell free of the wolf’s head with a clunk.
“Wait, did you do all this?” one of them asked. He was a huge man who whistled while surveying Miller's handiwork. Suddenly, the red-haired female leapt up, charging the man, the wounds on its chest already closing. Miller snatched his trusty axe and tossed it from a sitting position. It hit the wolf, splitting its head open. The big man shuddered, staring as the wolf crashed to the ground.
“I suppose that it was my handiwork, yes.” Miller grinned.
Chapter 15 - Lovers
Deceiver – Stream of Passion – Embrace the Storm
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