Chapter 7: Pack Tactics
The wolf-creature tensed, hackles rising along its spine. For a suspended moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the inevitable clash.
Then, in the stillness, another sound—the soft click of claws on stone, coming from behind Mike.
He spun just in time to see a second wolf emerge from between two buildings. Smaller than the first but still larger than any Earth wolf, it shared the same six legs and triangular eye arrangement. Two more appeared to his left, and a fourth to his right. In seconds, Mike found himself surrounded, the pack forming a rough pentagon with him at the center.
"Shit," Mike breathed, back-stepping toward the only remaining open direction. "They hunt in packs. Of course they do."
The smaller wolves looked to the larger one—clearly the alpha—as if awaiting instruction. A short, gruff bark from the leader set them in motion. They began circling, moving with coordinated precision that spoke of practiced hunting tactics. The alpha remained in place, three eyes unblinking as it watched.
Mike kept turning, trying to keep all five predators in view, hammers at the ready. His mind raced through limited options. Running was futile—they'd catch him easily. His shelter was too far. The well might offer temporary refuge, but he'd be trapped. Fighting five at once was suicide.
The first attack came without warning. One of the smaller wolves lunged from Mike's right, jaws snapping for his leg. Pure instinct saved him. He pivoted, bringing the ancient hammer down in a desperate arc. The weapon connected with a sickening crunch against the creature's skull, driving it to the ground where it twitched once, then lay still.
"Four left," Mike panted, immediately backing away as the remaining wolves adjusted their formation.
The alpha growled, the sound containing what might have been displeasure. It had misjudged its prey. The remaining three smaller wolves spread wider, more cautious now, but still advancing. They weren't retreating, just changing tactics.
Mike's momentary advantage evaporated as the wolves attacked simultaneously from three directions. He managed to dodge one, kicked at another, but the third clamped its jaws around his calf. Pain exploded through his leg as dagger-like teeth pierced fabric and flesh.
Shouting in pain and rage, Mike brought his modern hammer down on the wolf's back. The blow wasn't fatal, but it caused the creature to release its grip with a yelp. Before it could recover, Mike slammed the ancient hammer into its skull. The second wolf dropped, but the damage was done—Mike's leg throbbed, blood soaking his torn pant leg.
The remaining two smaller wolves circled more cautiously, while the alpha still hadn't moved from its position, watching, assessing.
"They're smart," Mike realized, limping backward toward his shelter. If he could reach it, the narrow doorway might neutralize their numerical advantage.
His injury slowed him critically. With each limping step toward safety, the wolves adjusted their positions to cut off his retreat. The alpha finally moved, trotting at an angle that would intercept Mike well before he reached the building.
"New plan," Mike muttered, changing direction toward a cluster of fallen columns.
The wolves pressed closer. One darted in, teeth snapping at Mike's injured leg. He swung wildly, connecting with enough force to send the creature skittering back but not enough to disable it. The second followed immediately, aiming higher, jaws closing on Mike's forearm as he raised it defensively.
Pain lanced up his arm. The wolf shook its head violently, trying to unbalance him. Mike slammed his other elbow into the creature's throat, then brought his knee up into its chest. The wolf released his arm, but immediately circled back for another attack.
Mike staggered between two fallen columns, blood dripping from his arm and leg. The narrow space provided momentary cover as he caught his breath. Both injuries burned like fire, but adrenaline kept him moving. The wolves paced outside his temporary refuge, seeking a way in.
"Can't stay here," Mike told himself, searching for an escape route.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Beyond the columns lay a partially collapsed building—not his shelter, but perhaps defensible. If he could reach it, gain higher ground...
The decision was made for him as one wolf leapt atop a column, preparing to pounce from above. Mike bolted from his cover, sprinting as best he could toward the ruined structure. Pain shot through his injured leg with each step, but desperation lent him speed.
He was halfway to the building when the alpha finally joined the chase. It moved with shocking speed, cutting him off with contemptuous ease. Mike skidded to a halt, nearly falling as his wounded leg threatened to buckle.
Surrounded again, Mike backed against a low wall, giving himself at least one protected side. The three wolves spread out before him, the alpha in the center, flanked by its two remaining packmates.
"Come on then," Mike growled, gripping both hammers so tightly his knuckles whitened. "Let's finish this."
The wolves attacked together, a coordinated assault designed to overwhelm. Mike met them with desperate fury. He swung both hammers in wide arcs, connecting with one smaller wolf's shoulder, sending it tumbling with a pained yelp. The alpha ducked under his swing, teeth closing on his already injured calf. Mike screamed as the pressure threatened to snap bone, but managed to bring the ancient hammer down on the creature's back.
The alpha released him with a snarl, backing away momentarily. The third wolf darted in from the side, but Mike was ready. Putting everything he had into the swing, he caught the creature squarely under the jaw with his modern hammer. The impact lifted the wolf clear off the ground, its neck snapping audibly. It crumpled in a heap, dead before it hit the ground.
"Three down," Mike gasped, now bleeding from several wounds. "Two to go."
The remaining smaller wolf and the alpha circled more warily now. Mike had proven more dangerous than expected, taking down three of their pack. But he was weakening visibly, blood loss and exhaustion taking their toll. His leg quivered with the effort of standing, and his wounded arm moved sluggishly, the hammer in that hand dipping lower by the second.
As Mike began to back away again, an idea formed—desperate, probably stupid, but possibly his only chance. If he could reach the explosive sap trees at the settlement's edge...
He began moving laterally, trying to work his way around the ruins toward the trees he'd discovered earlier. The wolves shadowed his movement, the alpha occasionally testing his defenses with quick lunges that forced Mike to expend precious energy defending himself.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the ruins. Mike's vision swam occasionally—blood loss taking its toll. He stumbled over debris, barely catching himself before falling. Each time he faltered, the wolves moved closer, sensing weakness.
Still, step by painful step, he maneuvered toward the tree line. The wolves, focused on their injured prey, didn't seem to recognize his strategy. They were simply following, waiting for him to collapse.
When Mike finally glimpsed the distinctive bark of the sap trees thirty yards ahead, hope surged through him. The smaller wolf, growing impatient, rushed forward in another attack. This time, instead of merely defending, Mike set his feet and swung with everything he had left, both hammers connecting in a devastating combination. The creature went down and didn't rise.
Now only the alpha remained—the largest, smartest, and most dangerous of the pack.
It stopped, three eyes blinking independently as it reassessed the situation. Four packmates dead, yet the prey still stood. The wolf's muzzle wrinkled in what might have been calculation or grudging respect.
Mike used the momentary reprieve to close the remaining distance to the sap trees. His leg threatened to give out with every step, but determination kept him moving. Reaching the tree where he'd earlier cleared the spout, Mike saw with relief that a substantial puddle of the amber sap had indeed formed at its base, just as he'd hoped.
Positioning himself with the tree at his back, Mike faced the alpha wolf. "Come on," he panted. "Just you and me now."
The alpha approached slowly, no longer rushing. It sensed a trap but couldn't comprehend what form it might take. Step by cautious step, it advanced, muscles bunched beneath its mottled fur, metallic teeth gleaming in the fading light.
Mike waited, conserving what little strength remained. His plan required timing and luck, neither of which felt particularly abundant at the moment. The Zippo lighter weighed heavy in his pocket—his final gambit.
When the alpha was ten feet away, it paused, sniffing the air. Something about the tree's scent apparently registered as unusual. Its head tilted slightly, three eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Now or never," Mike decided.
He lunged forward as if to attack, a move so unexpected that even the cautious alpha was momentarily startled. It recovered quickly, leaping to meet his charge, powerful legs propelling it directly at Mike's chest.
Mike tried to sidestep at the last moment, but his injured leg slowed him. The wolf's shoulder clipped him hard, spinning him against the tree trunk. Pain exploded through his ribs as he slammed into the rough bark, the impact driving precious air from his lungs.
The alpha landed in the exact spot Mike had been standing—directly in the puddle of sap. Its paws slipped on the viscous fluid, temporarily throwing it off balance. As it struggled to regain its footing, more sap splashed onto its fur, coating its legs and underside.
Gasping for breath, Mike fumbled in his pocket for the Zippo. The wolf regained its balance, turning toward him with renewed fury. It gathered itself to pounce again, unaware of the deadly substance now coating its body.
"This is gonna hurt," Mike wheezed, flicking the lighter open. The familiar scrape of the wheel sounded unnaturally loud in his ears.
The alpha lunged just as the flame caught. Mike threw the lit Zippo directly at the wolf's chest, then hurled himself sideways, away from the tree.
He didn't get far enough.
The explosion was far more powerful than Mike had anticipated. The sap ignited with a sharp *WHOOMP*, instantly engulfing the wolf in blue-white flames. The creature's momentum carried its burning form into the tree trunk, where more sap ignited in a secondary explosion that shook the ground.
Heat and pressure slammed into Mike, throwing him several yards across the clearing. He landed hard on what should have been solid ground, but instead felt something crack beneath him. The impact splintered ancient, rotted wood—a hatch or trapdoor that had been concealed by years of accumulated vines and debris.
As the wood gave way, Mike plummeted into darkness, tumbling down into some hidden space beneath the ruins. His descent ended with a bone-jarring impact that sent fresh waves of agony through his already battered body.
Through a haze of pain, Mike stared up at the fading square of light above him. The alpha wolf lay motionless at the edge of the broken hatch, its body still burning with intense flame, illuminating what appeared to be the top of a stairwell or shaft he'd fallen through.
"That," Mike croaked, "was more boom than I expected."
He tried to move but found his body uncooperative. The world tilted and spun around him, darkness creeping in from the edges of his vision. Blood soaked his clothing from multiple wounds, and each breath brought stabbing pain from what were almost certainly broken ribs.
As consciousness began to slip away, a notification appeared—different from any he'd seen before. Larger, more ornate, with pulsing golden light around its borders. Even through his fading vision, Mike could make out a number 4 transforming into a 5.
Level five, his mind registered dimly. The thought brought no satisfaction, merely a detached acknowledgment as darkness claimed him completely.