Rule of Four (Damned of the 2/19th Novella)

Joke

"I'm gonna kill ya, Red."
"No. Your going to eat me, just like the story says..."
- Little Red Riding Hood to the Big Bad Wolf

It was big, nothing like the ones I'd seen before. Chest high on me, the size of a small goddamn horse, jaws drooling thick ropes of saliva onto the waxed tile of my room floor. It was massive, its eyes a gleaming green in the sudden darkness, reflecting the light of my chemlight.

Cold rolled in with it, from ahead of me, and from behind me. I could hear the one behind me scrabbling in the boxes, trying to get its footing.

The shotgun went off and I heard the sound a canine makes in pain.

The one in the doorway stood there, growling. Black and gray fur, one ear missing the tip, tail curved aggressively. The growl was a low bass rumble as it bridled up in front of me. I slid my heavy fighting blade into the sheathe on the LBE, moving slow.

The shotgun went off again, the snaps of the .45 lost in the roar of the 12 gauge Remington.

The one in front of me took two steps forward, still growling.

"SERGEANT!" The Private yelled.

The Specialist emptied out the pistol in rapid trigger pulls, one long crashing explosion. There were two more shotgun blasts.

"ANOTHER ONE!" The Specialist screamed.

"Back to back!" I yelled.

The one in front of me took two steps forward, lowering itself slightly.

The lizard put one clawed hand on the big red button, pressing lightly. I felt the cool trickle of adrenaline down my spine and the thrumming feeling in my muscles as my body produces ATP as my system pre-charged with adrenaline, endorphins, dopamine, cortisol, and glucose to keep me in the fight.

A normal wolf would run at the sound of a shotgun, much less a .45 added to it, being discharged in an enclosed area.

The one in front of me? He was five feet tall at the shoulder and weighed at least a half ton of solid muscle and raw bone. He had as much in common with the wolves I'd seen on Disney's Wild Kingdom as they had had with a chihuahua.

His ancestors had been the ones outside the caves that my ancestors had feared.

The shotgun went off behind me with the scream of an injured wolf. There was a snarling, tearing bark slash growl and I heard the Specialist scream.

The one in front of me lunged, going up high, intending on knocking me down. It would drop me back, bite my face to suffocate me or go for throat. It would rake my gut with its claws, hoping to disembowel me.

The lizard threw a structural map of the wolf on one of his monitors, the skeletal structure, musculature, organs, everything I needed to fight the big monster in front of me.

I stepped into it, ducking under the snap of the jaws, bringing my hands up, wrapping my fingers around the inside of its front legs, explosively exhaling as I pushed my hands and the front legs of the wolf away from me. The wolf was strong, thick heavy muscle, hardened from years, maybe decades, of exploring the wilds of Alfenwehr.

But the muscles and joints weren't designed for the pressure I put on them, in the direction I shoved them. The muscles and joints were built for back and forth movement, not what I was doing, which was spreading its legs wide by gripping them just above the elbows.

The legs went to the side, pushed by all the strength I could bring to bear and its own momentum. The legs crackled, cartilage exploding, tendons and ligaments snapping, bone twisting and snapping. I turned with it, still pushing my arms out, not stopping as the breastbone sundered and the ribs spread open inside the skin.