Between them, Lux whined and leaned into Henry’s leg. Whatever they were, they were closing in fast. Henry looked each one in the eye, except for the black one whose eyes he couldn’t find. He couldn’t remember if that was the right thing, making eye contact, or if he should’ve been appearing submissive. Somehow he didn’t think it was going to matter.
The creatures around them stopped. They rose up on two legs, and their forelegs stretched until they hung like arms. Their torsos shifted until they were upright, and Henry could barely imagine them on all fours.
“What are you?” Andie asked angrily.
Pain.
Said the gray with the matted fur. It hadn’t spoken with its mouth. Its tongue hung out, mute, bleeding drops onto its chest.
Panic.
Said the one with red fur and fierce yellow eyes.
Famine.
That was the white. Flecks of something dropped from its dingy fur: dry skin or parasites.
Oblivion.
The black wolf. Its voice was deeper than the others, and more terrible. Hearing it, and looking into the utter blackness where its eyes should have been, made Henry sick to his stomach.
Pain, Panic, Famine, and Oblivion. The names felt familiar. But Henry couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything besides stare, and breathe, and move closer to Andie.
“What do you want?”
Is this the boy? asked the wolf called Pain. The boy he said to kill? Who they said must be killed?
This can’t be the boy. Famine sniffed and snapped its jaws. He smells like ordinary meat to me.
Oblivion snarled, and the other three whined and stepped sideways.
He smells like blood. And a job to be done. As does the girl. As does the pup.
Andie, Henry thought feebly.
The wolves attacked together. Pain collided with him with the force of a small truck, Henry’s nose stuck deep into sick-smelling fur. Claws tore into his coat, down to the skin and straight through. Henry shouted and twisted his head away, and saw the red wolf sprawled in the snow like it had tripped. It snarled and kicked, and he refused to blink, terrified that the snow would turn red, that he’d see black hair and hear Andie screaming. Blood dripped onto his face from Pain’s tongue, and he pushed back hard, on instinct, so the teeth missed his throat and sliced through his cheek instead.
The gray wolf was heavy and incredibly strong. Cold snow worked into Henry’s coat, and claws dug deep into his shoulders.
Lux growled loud, and in the corner of his eye Henry saw the brave dog up on two legs, biting the neck of the thin, white wolf. He bit and held, until Oblivion came at him in a flash of black. Then he yipped, and flew, and lay still.
“No! Get away from my dog! Andie! Run!”
Henry wrenched himself hard, as hard as he could, and Pain wheezed as his knee crunched the wolf’s ribs. Fear and surprise washed away. He looked at his dog, and the wolves, and the fear washed away red.
“Get away from him!” Andie shouted. She swung a thick branch across Oblivion’s back, coming out of nowhere, running into the clearing from the trees. Henry wanted to scream for her to run, run, you idiot, but he couldn’t. She looked so damn brave. She’d gotten out, somehow gotten away, but she’d come back. For him and his dead dog, when she might have lived.
“Lux, get up! Henry!” She swung the branch between herself and Panic. Famine edged around behind her. And Oblivion wouldn’t stay down in the snow for long.
Andie adjusted her grip, and her balance. She ducked fluidly when the white wolf jumped, and then looped the branch at Famine’s feet to send it rolling. The other end she thrust into Oblivion’s chest, popping it back. Watching her, Henry could almost believe she could win. He watched so close he didn’t notice Pain regaining its feet in the snow beside him.
“Andie, run!”
“Not without you,” she shouted, and Henry barely dodged left as Pain sprang again. He caught the wolf’s jaw in his hands and its fangs slid into his palm. Don’t let go. Tear its head clean off. But it was the wolf who pulled, jerking on his arm like Lux at the end of his tug rope.
He didn’t know how, but he caught the creature’s shoulders and lifted it, his hand coated in hot blood and spit, and threw the wolf away. He ran to Andie, his eyes on the wolves and not on the motionless bit of black and silver fur at her feet.
Henry leaked blood from his hand and cheek. The wounds on his shoulders were hot and wet. The wolves hadn’t taken much worse than a couple of tosses into soft snow.
“We have to move together,” Andie said.
“Right.” But it wouldn’t matter. They were going to die. Torn apart, red and steaming in the snow. Pain would slice them open. Panic would spread them out. Oblivion would swallow their hearts and eyes, and Famine would eat the rest. All their families would find was red snow. Red snow, and the body of a discarded German shepherd.