I stay as still as I can.
The animal lets go of Syria, its growl extending and twisting into a snarl. There’s a gap in the clouds, enough to let in a little light from a hidden moon. I can’t stop looking at the creature’s mouth. Its teeth are a dull white, and saliva drips from its bottom lip.
A small part of my mind, walled off from the terror coursing through me, is fascinated. Outside of those in pictures, this is the first animal I’ve ever seen.
As my eyes adjust further, I pick out more details. Its two ears lie flat against its head, and its eyes have a lethal, primal shine. It’s low to the ground, waist height, no more, with spiky, ragged hair–or is it fur?
The growl comes again, and that’s when the fascinated part of me disappears. It might be the first animal I’ve ever seen, but it definitely isn’t friendly.
Very, very slowly, I get to my feet. The beast takes a quick breath, interrupting the growl, but then it comes back at an even higher pitch. A tongue darts out from between the teeth, liquid and agile.
Terror has a way of sharpening my senses. How many times have I felt it on Outer Earth, and how many times has it made me a better tracer? It works now, because that’s when I see the other two.
One of them is on the edge of the depression, almost invisible in the darkness. It’s standing stock still, its head tilted to one side. The third is on my right: smaller, its fur darker than the others, opening and closing its mouth.
I raise my hands. The white vapour of my breath is coming in quick, trembling bursts. I’m speaking quietly, nonsense words, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
I take a single step back, and that’s when the first animal attacks.
It’s shockingly fast. One moment it’s motionless, and the next it’s crossed the space between us and buried its teeth in my leg.
There’s a frozen moment where I feel its teeth crushing through the leaves in my pants. Then they pierce my skin.
I lash out with my other foot. I’m already falling backwards, my arms whirling, but my shoe takes the animal in the head. It squeals–an oddly human sound–and lets go of my leg, its head twisted sideways.
Wolf.
The memory comes from nowhere. I was once ambushed by the Lieren, an Outer Earth gang intent on jacking my cargo. One of them had a tattoo on its neck. A red wolf.
I scramble to my feet. I don’t know how fast a wolf can run, but right now speed is the only weapon I have. Ice crunches under my feet as I scramble into a sprint, hyperventilating, pumping my arms.
Behind me, the wolves give chase, their barks echoing across the plateau.
There might be a little moonlight, but it’s like running through a black hole. Picking out details on the ground is impossible. I barely make it twenty yards before the wolves are on top of me.
And I’m not even close to fast enough. The wolves’ speed is unbelievable. One of them lands on my back: a huge, hot, horrible weight knocking me to the ground. I feel its breath, burning against my skin. I twist and roll, shaking it off before it can get its teeth into me.
I spring onto my feet, legs apart, in a fighting stance. I’m surrounded–the three wolves have me in a loose circle, with a boulder at my back. The smaller wolf was the one I threw off; it’s getting to its feet, its eyes never leaving mine. The bite on my leg is itching and burning. I’m trying to remember if wolves have poisonous bites, if that was something we were taught in school, but I can’t marshal my thoughts.
All at once, the terror is gone. So is the hunger, and exhaustion. All of them burn away to nothingness, replaced by that seething anger.
I glance down. There’s a loose rock, nudging up against my foot. I reach for it, eyes locked with the lead wolf.
It snaps at me, darting forward, but the anger strips away all hesitation. I bellow as hard as I can, swinging the rock in a massive sideways arc. The wolf drops before I smack it in the head again, twisting its shoulders as it skips backwards. Its legs are bent, quivering with energy.
Movement, on my left. This time, the rock connects, and the second wolf gives a pained howl as I smash it to the ground. My hand is buzzing from the impact, but I bring it back, driving it down into the animal’s skull.
There’s a crunch. Hot blood soaks the back of my hand, and the wolf’s body jerks, its legs beating the air. It gives one final, piteous whine, then falls still.
I look up at the other two. They’re backing away slowly, their teeth bared. Their growls fill the air.
I put my arms above my head, still clutching the rock, and scream at them. I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s as if the anger has tapped into a part of me that I didn’t know existed–something fundamental, a survival instinct buried deep in my DNA.
The wolves take off. The big one gives me a last look, and then they’re gone, slipping into the darkness.
I’m still standing there, frozen to the spot, when there’s a voice from behind me. “Guess you ain’t such easy prey after all.”