The Devil Inside (Wolf Guard Book 1) (4 page)

Chapter 6.

Werewolves; a genetic mutation of evolution.

But
evolution wasn't done.

Gone
are the days where a person shifts to a wolf; a four legged animal that answers
the call of nature. No, these werewolves were beasts.

Monsters
of nightmares brought to life. There were few wolves of old left. Evolution had
turned nature's proud canine into a horror story.

No
less than seven feet of thick muscle, a two legged creature with thighs you'd
struggle to wrap your arms around. Toughened skin, coarse and hard to the
touch. Biceps large enough to suffocate. A thin film of rough hair; their body
temperature too high for need of the old wolves coat. Hands that span triple
the normal size, claws like a demon, long and sharp and hard to break. The face
of a modified wolf, the body of an obscene man. The perfect hunter, the perfect
predator.

The
human that held such a beast had grown to be larger than its predecessor's. The
body changing to accommodate such a large animal.

What
evolution had gained in power and strength, it had lost in beauty and agility.
Though fast in its bipedal form, it was no match for an old wolf. Should it
catch you in its grip, a life could be so easily crushed. Those demon claws
sinking into your skull as effortlessly as through water.

But
first it must catch you.

The
few old wolves left were protected, revered for their speed, the beauty of
their shift, the softer stature of their human.

I
don't know what I am. I can guess; my mother was one after all. My size seemed
to indicate an old wolf; even the women of the evolved shift were larger, more
muscled, more delineated. I'd be confident in what I was, if only it wasn't for
that creature breaking through. It seemed so much more than what an old wolf
should be.

If
this is what I am, then the nearest pack shall feel my wrath. Protected?
Revered? They failed both my mother and myself. I feel anger, hate, blame
towards them. It boils in my veins. How could I just have been left here? My
vengeance is expanding, including people I have never met, wolves I have never
seen. I don’t know how to control this rage, it's burning from the inside out.
I don't know any more if this is just. My morality is skewed.

I
woke early to the morning sunshine. The light once again picking up the glint
of my knife, taunting me with its infinite possibilities. I had sat for a
while, my dreams of the previous night fresh and living.

I
stood, clawing at the wall for purchase until I could feel my legs again, the
blood rushing fast and hot, pounding in its racing. I walked the room, following
the walls, round and round in my square prison. My steps became more assured
with each lap, my legs though tired, more steady. I was panting when I reached
Clara's clothes for the twentieth time, this was more exercise then I'd seen in
years.

I
took her jeans from the nail. Her jumper, a soft, green material felt like silk
in my hand. She had been taller than me, more athletically built, but the jeans
would stay up and the jumper didn't matter on the size. I ran my hands over the
clothes I'd dressed in, it was odd wearing them after so long but the jumper
especially was a comfort. I hoped I didn't ruin it.

The
knife pulled out of the hem easily and slid into a pocket seamlessly. I could
feel it's slight weight against my hip and the coolness of the blade penetrated
the thin pocket. I looked above to the grey ceiling, my eyes closed as I took a
breath and made another promise: Last call for freedom or death. I'd planned
and I'd constructed, a rolling wave of thought, a swirling swell of conscious
and yet.....I'd failed. No more planning, I would succeed or I would die
trying.

I
stood next to the door, staring at the handle, waiting for it to turn. I
bounced on the balls of my feet, my atrophied muscles protesting. I can only
assume they haven’t completely deteriorated due to my buried nature. Even so I
doubt I’ll last long on these withered tendons.

I
could not stop the anticipation rising. The darkness like fingers stretching
and reaching. Pulling itself along under my skin. If I looked hard enough I
swore I could see those fingers, pushing my flesh out, clawing at my innards.

I
thought of Clara and her death. Despair replaced my expectancy. I was more
comfortable in despair. I let it swallow me whole as I heard his tapping from
far above, an echo resounding in my ears.

I’m going to cut those fucking shoes.

The
nearer his footsteps, the harder the pounding of my heart. It was hard to stay
in my bubble of despondency, Clara's last words the only thing keeping me on
track. I had a feeling about him, how he kept a step ahead of me so often. A
mind reader he was not but, something was there. A thought spiralling around my
head.

His
footsteps halted outside my cell door. My breath stopped in my chest. The key
slid into the lock, the clang of metal on metal reverberating in my stomach.
The knife appeared, cold and hard in my hand. I don't even remember reaching
for it.

The
handle moved. So slowly it was almost agonising. A gap appeared in the doorway,
I pressed myself against the wall harder. A hand first. A wrist following. Most
of his arm was through the doorway before his head would come into view. I saw
his hand falter on the handle. My heart was too loud, my mind all over the
place.

He knows.

Now.

Do it now!

I
grabbed his arm and brought my knife down in quick succession. It slid so
easily into the meat of his forearm I spent a second too long marvelling at its
work. Blood. Deep red. Slimy and viscous. My grip slipped in its sticky path. I
returned my knife hand to behind my back as he grabbed his arm and I pushed
through the door. He panted out breaths from between his teeth.

"Fuck!
You fucking bitch!...... "

His
pants changed to huffing laughs, a wince thrown in for good measure.

"You
like scars, huh little girl? I'll show you scars. I've obviously been too lenient."
He took a step towards me, still holding his bleeding arm. His blood running
thick through his fingers. "Drop it. You know you'll never get away, this
is pointless. Drop it and I'll agree to keep your punishment light."

Oh
he was reaching right now. I don't think he fully understands my resolve. It's
okay though, I'll teach him.

I
crook my head to the side and stare at his inadequacy. I couldn't stop the
smile or the derision in my eyes. I may not be the wolf I was born to be but I
was more than whatever he was.

His
eyes turned evil. A promise of pain. A declaration of injustice. He launched
towards me in the seconds it took me to comprehend his intention. My leap back
was not far enough and my legs failed under his weight. I fell crashing to the
floor underneath him. Winded by his force and stumped for long moments. Long
enough for his hands to wrap around my neck. Blood smeared on my skin. My
stomach revolted at his essence leaking on my bare neck.

My
eyes widened when I felt a hardness on my leg. His grin sickened me.

"Oh
pretty girl, if you just wanted to play why didn't you say so?"

His
hands tightened, I had no breath left inside me.

My
hand still clutched the knife.

I
looked into his crazed eyes as I brought my arm up and plunged straight down again.
I felt the jerk of his body against me as I slid my prize home. His side was a
soft fleshy target and it gave way beautifully under my strike.

His
hands released almost instantly and he howled when I yanked out the knife with
a twist of my wrist. He threw himself off me and raised a meaty fist. It
connected well and I had no hope of avoiding it. The force caught my face in a
harsh grip and rebounded my head against the floor.

I
lay still for a moment cradling my bloody knife, catching my breath in deep,
heavy gasps, my face throbbing and my head dizzy. I watched him crawl away to
the wall, his perverted hand clasped to his wound. Sweat dripped on his
forehead, his bodies reaction to the shock of pain.

My
own was dulled; I'd had more practice.

The
doorbell was a piercing klaxon. An interruption of our stand off. He tried to
stand first but fell, his left side weakened. I was next, I didn't fall. My
legs supported my route to freedom. I yelled in answer to the door, "one
moment please," I was robbed of my revenge for their presence, but then so
was he.

I
stepped into his slouched form. Leant against the wall, legs spread out in
front. He panted through the pain looking more the dog then I ever was. His
eyes were closing. He was losing too much blood. It was pooling around his
legs, spreading along the wooden floor, staining the ground with his
ineptitude.

I
unbuttoned his shirt to his chest and tugged it over to reveal his left
breastbone. My hand flicked unconsciously to his skin and I carved an 'A' over
his heart.

"I'm
coming back for that," I whispered.

I
limped to the front door and hid my knife in a pocket. I walked bloody
footsteps in my wake. I think I was almost in a daze. My mind taking a
temporary break from reality. I opened the door to a terrified looking
man...I'm sure the bloodstains were worrisome.

"He's
been attacked. Please call the police."

He
looked past me and gasped at the scene, running into the house. I looked at the
street in front of me, one I had not seen for nearly four years.

It
was the same yet not. Same houses, different cars. Same Street, different
people. I took my first step off the front porch and my mouth over ran with
laughter. It bubbled up through my chest and escaped unwillingly in momentary
madness. The grass felt new and enticing on my feet. I looked towards the
forest, the start of the trees to my right. This is where I'll go. There's a
stream running through and it'll be no colder than that room.

I
closed my eyes and smiled up at the sky. "Thank you Clara." I looked down
at the bloodstained green covering me and sighed, "I'm sorry about the
jumper."

Chapter 7.

I'd
managed maybe three miles that first day before my legs collapsed. I wasn't
overly worried about being found, he would take a while to heal, I'd given myself
some time.

The
Autumn leaves, crisp and dying beneath my feet, were cushioning to my bare
skin. Small animals scampered around me, in the wandering light of dusk I
wasn't overly concerned about the predators. The old mining town of Black-wood
was northerly to me, a town high on promise and low on delivery. When the mines
had shut the old coaler’s had remained but anyone south of forty had left so
fast that thick, black dust had yet time to settle. With the redundancy of life
came a lower sustainability in the environment. The larger predators moved on,
following their smaller food source. Natural wolves suffered extinction on this
land many years ago, humans with their guns and repressed ideals lost a species
on par with the Arctic wolf.

I
made my bed beneath a large English Elm, the branches still thick enough to
provide some cover, it's fallen leaves a tribute to Summer lost. Sleep came
quickly; I'd obviously overdone it, my tired muscles sore and aching but I
welcomed the feeling – tomorrow would bring thicker sinew, broken down and
rebuilt better. I suppose the same could be said for me.

The
following day I woke with a peace I'd not felt for too long. Once the tightness
in my body stretched and burned I resumed my trek North. I hadn't planned on
specifically Black-wood, but it seemed as good a place to begin again as any.
By the afternoon I was stumbling my way through woodland, I'd pushed too far
again. Still I kept going. I had a plan, a need, a craving deep inside. I saw a
light at the end of a bloody tunnel.

When
dusk fell once more I was a swaying drunk. My eyes glazed and my sight misted.
I fell to my knees, the lack of food and water adding to my weakness. I gave up
on standing and proceeded to crawl. I liked crawling, it served to move me forward
when my legs could no longer hold me up. I didn't notice at first, so caught up
in moving forward that my most valuable sense was overridden by will.

The
quiet shook me first. That lack of sound that creeps under your skin and raises
the hair on the back of your neck. I couldn't see well enough in front, I
reversed to have the nearest tree at my back and sat, waiting for what was to
come.

I
heard rustling, the movement of bodies too large to be wildlife through the
broken branches. A snuffling through the leaves as if my scent was calling
them. A whistle on the wind and a rough bark in answer. I saw the shapes moving
in shadow, large and clumsy yet fluid in motion. A low growl proceeded the
snapping of twigs as they came into view. Approaching slowly, stalking and
rounding me up like sheep.

Another
whistle and they sat before me in tandem. Muscles bulging and jaws hanging.

They
were a beautiful example of their breed. Proportioned perfectly, one black, one
tan.

The
Boerboel: a heavily muscled, intimidating mastiff.

I
sat still, my eyes drunkenly taking in the sight before me. I still had my
knife but my arm refused to move now that I had stopped. It was locked in
place, limp and useless. Their master came crashing through the bushes a second
later and they acknowledged him with short little grunts of pleasure.

My
eyes closed before I could burn his image into my brain. I made a soft sound of
protest when he took an arm and hefted me off the floor.

"Well...you
a tiny little thing ain't you? Now dun ya worry nuthin' girlie, ya come on home
with ol' Sam."

I
registered his words but I lost consciousness well before I could think to
struggle.

****************

The next time my eyes opened it was to a
hiss of displeasure. The bright light burning into my sleep filled eyes. The
cot I lay on was hard and stiff though definitely not the worst place I'd ever
slept.

To my great relief I was still fully
clothed, the blood dried and brittle on the jumper but comforting in its
presence. I sat up too quickly and had to remain still while blood pounded
around my skull. I took the time to look at my surroundings. The wooden floor,
walls and door. An old four paned glass window in front of the cot.

I heard barking outside and forced my legs
to stand and hold my weight. Slipping to the door I opened it quietly and blew
out a breath at the vacant living room and kitchen it revealed. With the front
door in sight I moved quieter than I thought possible and eased the latch off
soundlessly.

I stood on a porch, wooden like the rest of
the little cabin. Squeaky floorboards that moaned beneath my feet. I winced at
every sound and hoped the dogs boisterous barking would cover my escape enough.
I was almost to the steps and could see the forest covering at my right.

"Ya goin' somewhere, girlie?"

I startled so hard I nearly fell down the
remaining steps. That voice, an odd concoction of American and British, an
accent of broad English with a touch of deep South.

"Shit."

He chuckled at my exclamation and I turned
around to face him. Tall, nigh on six and half feet. Weathered skin with deep
lines on a soft, black face. Liver spots on his forehead and an aged nose that
spoke of a whisky habit. He was fit enough for his age, sixty or so and still
flat in the stomach with broad shoulders and large hands that showed a working
man.

"Ya done checking me out, girlie? I
look suspect ta you?"

The smile on his face softened his words
and I couldn't help but quirk a lip in return.

"I have to go," I answered, my
feet moving forward before my words finished.

"Hm, well I guess tha' stew on the
stove'll keep sum. Probly end up feedin' them damn dogs tho'."

My feet locked in place, willing them with
everything in me and yet they refused to move one more step.

"Yeeep, smell good too. Been stewin'
all night an' mornin'."

I heard him step right up behind me. As
quiet as his footsteps were, I felt his presence like a balm at my back.

He reached out a hand and touched my
shoulder lightly.

The fire burned and raged inside, a blaze
that ignited in seconds and tore through perspective and sanity.

I whipped my body around with a snarl, my
face screwed in distaste and anger. My eyes flashing a promise of death and my
lips curled up to reveal my teeth.

He stood a few steps away from me, his
hands in the air raised in surrender, a smirk on his dry lips.

Oddly, it was enough to pause my instinct.
A reaction the fire did not expect.

"Uhuh. You goin' ta need ta cage tha'
beast, girlie. She angry." He stared into my confused eyes and rumbled.
"Yeah. I see you. You ain't comin' out yet ya hear? It ain't your
time."

My anger dissipated to a puff of smoke. He
grinned and walked back to the porch.

"Come now, girlie. You look like ya
need sum feedin'."

I was lost in a sea of confusion and found
my legs taking me back into the cabin. The smell of cooked meat and gravy
drifting towards me, leading me on.

The man was insane...and yet I followed his
dementia to the cabin, curious and slightly awed.

He sat me down with a gentle nudge to the
table and resumed stirring the pot on the stove before placing a dish piled
high in front of me. Steaming hot goodness that forced saliva to form in
appreciation. The window arching over the wooden table showed the sun setting
over distant trees. I'd been asleep far longer than I thought.

He sat his own plate down opposite me and
gave me a silent gesture to eat. I picked up my spoon and shovelled a mouthful,
it seemed I'd found a new love for stew.

After a few minutes of settling the gnawing
hunger I looked at the strange man in my company.

"You're Sam, right?"

He wiped a hand on his faded jeans and held
it out in front of him. "Sure am. Pleased ta meet ya."

I took his warm hand curiously and narrowed
my eyes at his."So, what are you?"

He chuckled, a deep gruff sound that
reminded me fondly of my father.

"Werewolf, obviously."

I raised an eyebrow, the man was at least
sixty years old, did he think I was stupid?

"Now dun go lookin' at me like tha'. I
been around a long time, seen many things." He swallowed another mouthful
before continuing. "Then you get ta be around too long. My babies grown,
their babies grown. Lost my Amelia in tha war of '98. Dun want nobody else. Ya
stop shiftin' fo' long enough ya start agein'."

I looked at his long face, I didn't realise
that was an option.

"Eat up girlie, we talk on tha porch
afta', got me some whisky go real good wit' stew."

I rolled my eyes at his obvious habit and
managed a few more spoonfuls before my stomach protested.

I stepped on the porch, the setting sun low
in the sky. A burnt orange on the horizon. Two rickety old chairs sat in the
corner and I claimed one before Sam joined me with tumblers of gold.

He had an old pipe in one hand and tapped
it against the rail before refilling the tobacco. The monotonous sound of
lighting and sucking at the pipe lulled me to relaxation, the whisky doing the
rest. He started talking as a cloud of smoke billowed around his head. I was
glad I was upwind.

"Met my girl in my two hundredth year.
Had nigh on two hundred an' fifty years wit' her." He chuckled at the
memory shaking his head. "Woman was crazy. Gave me a heart attack more
often en' not. Came over here in tha seventies." He screwed up his face a
little at the thought. "Worst decade eva'. Them damn peaceables wit' their
drugs an' free love. Amelia got so high on acid one day, thought she could fly,
damn near hurled herself off a cliff."

My jaw was hanging down and he gave that
chuckle again at my reaction.

"Oh I saved her tha' time." His
forlorn expression came so suddenly my stomach sank. "Lost her head in
tha' war. Packs became greedy, tryin' ta take what wasn't theirs. A boy, no
olda' then you, not shiftin' long, came at her. She didn' even raise her hand
at him, dun think she coulda. He took her head easily enough. I knew tha moment
she went."

He puffed a little on his pipe as we sat in
silence, I had nothing to say to that; loss is a given. He gave a bellowing
laugh and I frowned at the tears streaming down his face.

"She was tha ugliest thing ya eva did
see as a werewolf."

I stared at him in shock.

"It's true, I swear down. Snaggle
toothed if ya can believe it. Drooled so much I bought her a bib one year. Took
a picture ta show tha kids. She dun speak ta me for a week!"

His tears were falling freely now, not
sadness but joy, a sparkle in his eye when he remembered. I wondered if I'd
ever have that feeling.

"Dun you worry nun, she got hers.
Shaved my damn ass when we was sleepin' in tha forest. Only werewolf in tha
whole country had a pink ass when he bent ova'."

I spat my whisky out in a cough and a snort.
Spluttering over the jeans I still wore.

"I loved tha' woman." He sighed
into his glass. "I been waitin' ta see why I'm still here. Seems I been
waitin' on you."

I peered at him, his cheeks still wet with
laughter. I could tell him but I don't think he'd except what I had to say.
He'll be waiting a long time for me. I'm buried deep, under a mound of sifting
soil. He can cage the beast, he can tell me all the stories he likes but I'm on
my own path now and it's paved in scarlet before me.