Sin City Wolfhound

by Rick Newberry

  Ivan catches on as well. He nudges graybeard with his snout. He’s pushing him toward the next pack. Graybeard sprints past an advancing pack and tears into the Alpha behind them. The kill is quick and ruthless. The pack disperses and wanders away.

  Hopefully, Graybeard is the first of many allies we’ll pick up as we go along. My spirits are lifted until I lift my head and look around. As far as I can see there are waves of advancing wolfhounds galloping straight at us. They won’t attack us unless they know what we’re doing. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just another pack searching for humans to kill. And they’re right, as long as those humans are Alphas, but they have no way of knowing that.

  Ramirez appears and takes up a position a few feet from us. He plays the role of Alpha well, motioning with his hands, pointing out targets. Little do the real Alphas realize, as they’re pointing out human targets to their packs, Ramirez is pointing them out to us. And we respond—Ivan, me, and our new recruit. Ivan takes down the next Alpha Ramirez motions to. I kill the one after that and Graybeard dispatches the next. But not without incident.

  Aunt Rose had formed the bond of a pack between Ivan, me, and Detective Ramirez using a magic touch, or spell, or charm—whatever she did, the other packs believe it. They know we’re a pack, they can sense it, and leave us alone. Not true for Graybeard. He has no pack, his Alpha is dead. The wolfhounds that pass us by begin to slow down and sniff at Graybeard. He’s a loner, a canine without a purpose. As far as they know, he has no business being here. If we don’t do something soon, he’ll be torn to shreds.

  It takes only a few seconds for Graybeard to be surrounded by a pack of four wolfhounds. They ignore their human prey long enough to size up this perceived threat to their war. Ivan barks and Detective Ramirez pulls out his handgun. It all happens in an instant. Ivan attacks first, taking down a wolfhound in one vicious bite. Graybeard engages another, and I tear into a third. Ramirez shoots, and before I can catch my breath I realize what we’ve just done: we killed four wolfhounds in as many seconds.

  “C’mon,” Detective Ramirez says, “we gotta get back to the car before the rest of them catch on to what we’re doing.”

  He’s right, of course. There are too many eyes on us now, both wolfhounds and Alphas. We may have gotten lucky taking down the four canines, but we’ll need more than luck to stop the hundreds more behind them. Ramirez sprints to the car and dives in. He opens the passenger side door and the back door. Graybeard follows Ivan into the backseat, and I jump in next to Ramirez. Our tongues hang out of our mouths. We’re all panting so hard, the windows fog up in a few seconds.

  Ramirez turns the key, fiddles with a few of the controls, and the condensation evaporates. Dozens of yellow eyes surround the car accompanied by menacing growls and salivating mouths. Ramirez throws the car into drive and the engine shudders. The car is dead.

  ****

  “Aunt Rose,” Dixie said, “do we know what’s happening? Is everything all right?”

  Aunt Rose put her hand up for silence. She closed her eyes and breathed in a deep lungful of air. The fire flourished, crackling to life. “I don’t hear anything, either good or bad. This is disturbing. My source has gone quiet.”

  “Who is your source?” Major Ransom said.

  Aunt Rose opened her eyes. “A trusted friend, one of my kind. In fact, many of my kind are here tonight to help, but something is wrong.”

  Dixie shook her head. “We can’t just sit here while Adam, Ivan, and Marco are out there risking their lives. We’ve got to do something. I just don’t know what that something is.”

  “Maybe it’s me,” Aunt Rose said, putting her hand on her stomach. “Maybe your colonel punched me harder than I thought. Let me try again, shall I?” She closed her eyes and the fire ignited into a dazzling array of blinding light. It changed into a greenish color, and finally fluttered down to an even flame. Aunt Rose shook her head. “No, it’s not me. It must be my source. I’m afraid something is very wrong indeed.”

  “C’mon, Major,” Dixie said, “we’ve got to get out of here and do something.”

  Aunt Rose sighed. “No, Dixie, you’ve never been to war. You’ve never fought a battle against creatures such as these.”

  “Yes, I have. I killed a wolfhound—hit it with my car—they’re not so tough.”

  “And what are you proposing? To run over them all?”

  “If I have to.”

  “You’re not thinking straight, my dear. No, you must stay here. I’m keeping you out of harm’s way. There’s an old saying: they also serve who sit and wait.”

  “I’ve got a new saying: I don’t want to sit and wait.”

  Major Ransom put a hand on Dixie’s arm. “I’m with you, Dixie. There’s another old saying, Aunt Rose: it’s time to break our duck.”

  Aunt Rose cocked her head. “Dogs?”

  “Ducks. It’s an English saying. It means there’s a first time for everything. I’ve never been to battle either, and yet here I am, a major in the Royal Marines. It’s time we stop sitting and waiting and do something. What do you say, Dixie? Shall we venture out?”

  Dixie grinned. “Let’s go break some ducks.”

  “I forbid it,” Aunt Rose said.

  “I’m a little too old to be forbidden.” Dixie tried to open the door, but it would not budge. “Aunt Rose! Open the door this very instant.”

  “No, it’s just too dangerous. They aren’t ducks; they’re Giant Wolfhounds hell bent on destroying humanity.”

  “Then come with us,” Major Ransom said, “we could use your special skills.”

  Aunt Rose blushed, turned, and then snickered. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to war. A very, very long time. It’s an awful thing, you know—meeting the enemy on the field of battle. Taking a life.”

  Dixie hugged her aunt. “I know. And right now Adam, Ivan, and Marco are doing that very thing. And they’re alone. We can’t cower back here while they take all the risks. We should do everything we can to help them.”

  The door flew open as if caught by the wind. “You are the most headstrong woman I’ve ever known.”

  Dixie smiled. “I’m my mother’s child.”

  Aunt Rose stopped Dixie from racing out the door. “No. Your mother would never rush blindly into anything. She always had a plan. She was very careful.”

  “Uh, didn’t you mention skydiving?”

  “Yes, well, she was careful in a reckless sort of way. What I mean is she and I tackled danger together. We always watched out for each other.”

  “And you’ll watch out for me.”

  “For us,” Major Ransom said.

  Aunt Rose nodded and put her hands on their shoulders. “Yes, I’ll be with both of you. And I’ll do my very best to keep both of you safe. Now you do have a plan, don’t you, my dear?”

  “I do indeed.”

  Aunt Rose raised her palm in the air as they scampered out of the house. The garage door rolled open, screaming into the night on rusted rollers and hinges. “I rarely drive it, only now and then.” She pointed at the 1957 green and white Chevrolet Impala. “It’s in great condition. The engine purrs like a kitten.”

  “You’re full of surprises tonight, aren’t you? I never knew you owned a car.”

  “It’s not a car, sweetie. It’s a classic.”

  They hopped into the sedan, Dixie behind the wheel, Aunt Rose beside her, and Major Ransom in the backseat.

  “Now, about that plan,” Aunt Rose said.

  Dixie turned the key and the engine did, indeed, purr like a kitten. She hit the gas pedal a couple of times, and the sound changed to the roar of a tiger. She pulled the knob on the dashboard for the lights and rolled down the driveway into the street. “I think we should pay Mr. Sonny Russo a visit.”

  “Russo? Why is that name familiar?” Major Ransom said.

  “He’s the most powerful man in Vegas. The main man on The Strip.” She shifted into first and stomped on the accelerator. The Chevy ra
ced down the street.

  “Why him?”

  “He’s the one who raised Adam’s pack. He should be able to give us some information.”

  “All we’re after is information?”

  “Hey, information is power. It’s what I do. Trust me.” She ran through the gears until they were flying down Las Vegas Boulevard.

  Aunt Rose smiled. “That’s my girl.”

  Dixie glanced at her aunt. The smile wasn’t quite a smile. It was more of a grimace. “Is there something I should know, Aunt Rose?”

  “I know who created Adam. I knew it when we met, but it didn’t make any sense. I can see into Adam’s heart, and I know his motives are pure. But still, I also know the Daemon who controls Sonny Russo—her picture’s been in the newspapers, standing in the shadows behind him.” Aunt Rose chuckled.

  “What is it?”

  Under her breath, but loud enough to be heard, “Has Gorgeous devised her own demise?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Detective Ramirez tries the ignition key again. This time the engine roars to life; the sound aggravates the wolfhounds surrounding us. They paw and scratch at the sides of the car, the hood, and the trunk. Some of them leap past the windows and onto the roof. They pad around, clawing at the sheet metal. The steady drone of barking and growling increases as more of them bunch around our sedan.

  Graybeard is going crazy in the back. He’s foaming at the mouth, snarling, and howling at the wolfhounds outside. His ruthless intensity and gung-ho attitude was more than welcomed when he first joined our little pack, but now it’s just plain annoying. If I were in human form, I’d tell him to “put a cork in it.” Instead, in my current state, being more canine than human, I join in and bark as loud as I can. Barking, like yawning, is contagious to us.

  Ramirez steps on the gas, cranks the steering wheel, and makes the car skid around in tight little circles. Wolfhounds fly off the roof, landing in heaps several feet away. There’s a thud-thud-thud as the vehicle strikes several of them. When the mob of wolfhounds is somewhat cleared, Ramirez lets off the gas, straightens out the wheel, and then hits the accelerator again. We slam into more than a few canines as we drive away. I glance through the rear window and see some of them chase after us. Ramirez is doing about sixty, and we leave them in the dust.

  “I’m going to go around the block and sneak up behind them. If we’re lucky, they won’t hear us. We can go after the Alphas again.”

  Even though I appreciate his enthusiasm, I’m not looking forward to round two. We’ve already faced swarms of killer wolfhounds, taken down several Alphas, and picked up an ally, but the odds of surviving another battle seem stacked against us. Ramirez doesn’t consult me. He doesn’t have to, he’s in charge.

  Graybeard has calmed down, but still seems jittery. We make a series of rights around the block and swing in behind the mass of canines who had just surrounded us. Wolfhound carcasses are strewn about the parking lot in willy-nilly fashion.

  My thoughts linger on Dixie, on what might have been, but now seems so far out of reach. I force those thoughts away as Ramirez flips off the headlights and cuts the engine. The car rolls forward to a slow and noiseless stop. He reaches back and pops open the rear door. Ivan and Graybeard slip out of the vehicle like ghosts. When Ramirez opens the passenger side door, I jump out and watch Graybeard sprint toward the enemy.

  “No!” Ramirez shouts. “Come back.” But Graybeard doesn’t obey, Ramirez is not his Alpha.

  The element of surprise is gone. Hundreds of yellow eyes are on us at once.

  “Get back in the car.”

  But it’s too late. Graybeard charges full speed toward the wolfhounds. Ivan and I exchange a quick glance. It would be suicide to go after Graybeard and try to stop him. I’m not even sure we can stop him if we catch him. He’s hell-bent on confrontation.

  Without warning, Ivan takes off in pursuit. Against my better judgment, I do the same idiotic thing—three lone wolfhounds against one hundred. For whatever reason, thoughts of Dixie fill my mind once again. This time, I make no conscious effort to force them out.

  Ivan catches up to Graybeard and paws at his hind quarters. This slows him down just enough for me to catch up. The fastest of the oncoming packs are on us. I’m knocked to the ground, but manage to roll and jump right back up. A wolfhound is on me and Ivan lunges at it, sending it to the blacktop. He bites the hound, it yelps, and staggers away. I tear into the flesh of an attacking wolfhound, blood spurts across my snout as the canine drops to the ground. Graybeard brushes past me. Two wolfhounds are latched onto his flesh. He yelps. They chew into him; a violent shaking of their heads sends blood spurting everywhere. His struggle is over. Graybeard is dead.

  More wolfhounds arrive. Ivan is, by far, quicker and deadlier than most of our attackers. He dispatches several wolfhounds and keeps them off of me as best he can. Ivan is a true warrior. Although I do my best to keep up, I’m tiring. There’s just too many of them.

  My vision is blurry; my eyes are covered with blood. The smell of it permeates the air. As more enemy combatants arrive, I give in to the fact that it’s almost over. We’re horribly outnumbered. It feels like everything is moving in slow motion. I begin to anticipate the fatal bite that will end my life.

  Three gunshots blast through the night in rapid succession. Ivan, me, and our attackers freeze in place for a moment. Three more shots. Bullets zip past my head and wolfhounds begin to fall. Detective Ramirez has driven up to us and stands outside the car, firing his pistol into the fray. The passenger’s side door is open.

  “Get in!” Ramirez yells as he fires more rounds.

  I try to move, but feel the heavy claws of a wolfhound rip into my hind quarters. I fall to the ground and look up behind me. It’s Mikael. His face is covered in blood. He pounces at me, opening his jaws as he goes for my throat. I roll away, and he falls flat on the pavement. A bullet whizzes past his head, followed by my paws tearing into his left ear. If he were human, I’d say the look he gave me was one of shocked-surprise. Since he’s a wolfhound, the look is fear.

  Mikael had come to Dixie’s house to kill both me and her. I open my jaws and bite into the fleshy part of his shoulder. He yelps and tries to stand up. He can’t. His neck is exposed and just waiting for my bite. It comes quick. His blood fills my mouth. Mikael lies motionless on the ground, his eyes open, staring at the clouds.

  Three large grays tumble to the ground in front of me. Ivan runs past me, a wolfhound right behind him. Ramirez fires at it, but misses. The wolfhound bites Ivan. He yelps.

  “C’mon, Adam, get in the car.” Ramirez aims at the wolfhound on Ivan and picks him off with a clean shot.

  I bite into the throat of an attacker, hack the blood from my mouth, and scamper to the car. Ivan joins me. He’s bleeding badly. A wolfhound jumps at him, but is brought down quickly by another shot from Ramirez. Our attackers are treading with caution now. They see the danger of a direct assault and scurry around, trying to flank both sides of the vehicle.

  “We gotta go, Adam.” Ramirez jumps in behind the wheel and revs the engine.

  Ivan lunges at me and I stumble backward, landing half inside the car. I try to stand up and get out, but Ivan presses me into the car. Ramirez grabs me by the scruff of my neck and yanks me fully into the front seat. I nip at his hand, canine instinct.

  The sound of helicopters above us fills my ears. Bright lights and bullets rain down from the sky. A few bullets penetrate the roof of the car and bury themselves in the backseat. Dozens of wolfhounds fall dead around us. The rest scatter, fleeing into the shadows of the black desert.

  I turn and look for Ivan only to see him being dragged away by two huge wolfhounds. When Ramirez hits the gas, the car door slams shut. We race away as the two wolfhounds tear into my brother’s flesh. His cries of pain fade away fast—my memory of his heroism never will. If he hadn’t prodded me into the car, I would have been ripped apart.

  I’m exhausted. It takes me a couple of
minutes to fully change back into human form; the process drains any energy I have left. I lay back in the seat, covered in a bloody coat of torn fur.

  Neither Ramirez nor I speak.

  Finally, he looks at the bite on his hand. “Am I going to become a wolfhound?”

  I shake my head. “I’m not a vampire.” I sit up and take a deep breath. “I’m a Giant Irish Wolfhound.” And proud of it.

  ****

  Sonny Russo heard the military helicopters overhead. At least he thought they were military, who the fuck knew? It took him over two hours to make the normally twenty-minute drive from Claremont to The Grotto. The car he’d stolen was a piece of shit Hyundai and the route he chose, staying off The Strip, took him through areas of Vegas he’d never seen before.

  Hundreds of people were out in the streets, some looting, some evacuating, and some just out. It was early in the morning—two or three a.m.—and a heavy blanket of rain and heat hung in the air.

  The scene in front of The Grotto reminded him of the Chicago riots of the sixties. People milled about, darting across the street, and generally just getting in his way. And the expression on their faces gave him the creeps: they were angry. Angry at being booted from their rooms; they were pissed at the world. He palmed the sweat off his face with one hand and banged on the horn with the other. People who had been happy campers just a few hours earlier—playing nickel slots, taking a dip in the pool, chowing down at the buffet—now banged on the hood of his car, flipping him off, and screaming at him.

  “To hell with this.” He stopped the car in the middle of the street and got out. Someone brushed past him, jumped into the driver’s seat, and drove off, hitting several pedestrians. More screams, more panic.

  Sonny began to think it might have been a bad move to come back here. Even though his getaway bag lay stashed in the penthouse, how would he ever get away with it? Somebody crashed into him from behind. He turned around and threw a punch at the hapless old man. The old man fell to the ground, his hands on his bloody nose. Nobody came to the man’s rescue, nobody offered assistance—no one said a word.