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“So, you’re
a nonbeliever?”
They walked a few paces before Raven answered, “Dunno. Ever since ancient times, people have written about paranormal sightings, contact, what have you. So who’s to say? Makes for some interesting TV when there’s nothing else on the History Channel, anyways.”
Micah smiled, shaking his head. Raven was one of the most straightforward guys he knew, not prone to speculating about such things. That was a typical answer from him. “True.”
“What do you think?” his friend asked, curious.
“I say, we are not alone,” he mimicked in his best Twilight Zone voice.
“Well, you’ll never be alone. You’ve got those little voices in your head to keep you company.” His friend smirked and walked ahead.
At least Micah had succeeded in getting Raven’s mind off his hot, itchy underwear. They were all in the same boat, and nobody wanted to know. The men continued through the thick undergrowth, using the barrels of their weapons to push aside limbs and foliage. Damned if he would complain, but Raven was right. It was so fucking hot, they could literally fry an egg on the hood of one of the trucks if they had to.
If they had an egg. Or anything at all resembling fresh food and not something freeze-dried from an MRE.
“Hold up,” Jax whispered, coming to a halt. Tensing, he studied the mountain forest around them, frowning. Somewhere hidden in the greenery, a footstep crunched to their left. Another to their right. And one from behind.
Micah went cold and looked at Raven. “Don’t like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “This area is supposed to be clear. We’ve got miles to go before we reach our target.”
Just then the forest went silent as a tomb. Never, ever a good sign. Micah’s eyes met Raven’s, then Aric’s. The men tensed, ready for anything. Or so they thought.
Thud, thud, thud.
The ground trembled and the leaves shook. When a deep-throated roar split the air, Micah’s heart almost stopped. Beside him Aric jumped, pointing the muzzle of his M16 into the trees, a bead of sweat dripping off his nose.
“Shit,” Micah whispered. “What the fuck is that?”
Staring in horrified shock, he knew that if there were more of this creature, they might not live to tell anyone what they’d encountered. The thing that broke through the foliage to their left stood erect on two legs and was more than seven feet tall. Covered with a thick mat of grayish brown fur, it had a long torso, two arms, muscular shoulders, and a head sporting two upright ears and a long, snarling muzzle full of sharp teeth.
“A fucking werewolf?” Micah whispered. Nobody heard him.
Because right at that moment, their buddy Jones started screaming, pumping bullets into the beast’s chest. And everything went completely FUBAR—Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
The creature staggered backward and then rallied quickly, rushing Jones. With a swipe of a paw the size of a dinner plate, the big bastard ripped out Jones’s throat, then tossed him aside like a twig.
Then it turned and pounced on Raven, biting into the vee of his neck and shoulder as the man screamed. Micah started to rush toward his friend, but more of the beasts emerged from the forest, and he was forced to turn and open fire. Again, the bullets seemed to have little to no effect at all. In fact, it appeared the creatures’ wounds were healing before his eyes almost as fast as they were shot full of holes.
“Oh, my God,” he moaned, spinning around, eyes wild. Guns weren’t going to do the trick. Quickly, he threw down his M16 and slid the long knife from its sheath on his calf.
Hand-to-hand combat with a werewolf. Who was almost eight feet tall and could heal instantly.
This was not going to go well.
Nearby, Aric dropped into a crouch and palmed a grenade as their friends fell all around them after waging a battle they couldn’t win. The one who’d killed Jones shook Raven like a rag doll, released him, and ran toward Aric.
Micah’s friend let the grenade fly. It landed at the target’s feet and exploded, sending the damn thing to hell. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly.
Micah faced his own battle, squaring off with one of the big bastards. Then it grinned, peeling back blackened lips to reveal long, uneven yellow teeth, and he fought down a shiver. Okay. Hand-to-hand combat. He’s got a throat and a heart, so go for those. You can do this.
As if reading Micah’s thoughts, the creature roared and rushed him. Ducking low, Micah made his charge, evading the lethal sweep of the sharp claws as they sailed over his head. The wolf-man grunted as Micah hit its torso, and let out a screech of rage when he plunged the blade into its chest and thrust upward. Quickly, he yanked out the knife as they tumbled to the ground together; then he leapt on the beast’s chest. Its eyes were wide with very human knowledge of his intent in the split second it took Micah to slit the monster’s throat.
Breathing hard, Micah watched the light fade from the werewolf’s gaze and knew that moment of humanity he’d glimpsed would haunt him for a long time. What were they? But there was no more time to think about it.
Another one jumped on him from the side with a roar, knocking him off its fallen companion. Off balance, Micah landed on the arm holding the knife and desperately tried to roll, change positions. Get the knife free, his body in fighting position. But a strong set of jaws clamped down on one thigh, and he screamed, twisting. Agony tore through muscle and bone, and he beat on the creature’s head to no avail.
The beast released him, but only to pounce again, going for Micah’s throat. Instead, Micah shoved his forearm into the wolf’s jaws, getting it snapped like a twig for his trouble. A hoarse cry escaped his lips, and the creature struck out once more, clamping down on his shoulder, fangs sinking deep and shaking him like a dog with a bone. With the last of his strength, Micah plunged the blade into the creature’s neck.
