He staggered toward the figure, wincing with every torturous footstep. By now the ache was no longer in his trick knee. Every bone in his body seemed to be crying out in protest, begging for him to find a safe, quiet place where he could lie down and replenish. Swinging to his left, Nate noticed items strewn about the floor. Bags of chips, stacks of canned food and cases of Bud Light. It was as though someone had gone on the mother of all shopping sprees only to dump their spoils in a heap. But maybe heap was the wrong word. Scanning the items, it was starting to look less like heaping and more like stockpiling.
A sound came out of the darkness to his right. He turned and froze when he spotted a pair of silvery eyes glaring back at him. The unsettling orbs were housed in a large cage, the kind people used on planes to transport pets. Was it a fox? he wondered. No, it was far too big. A stray dog maybe? There was a feral, menacing look in those eyes.
The two stared at one another, unblinking, for what felt like an eternity.
You don’t belong here, that look said.
And Nate could not have agreed more.
If the dog had surprised him, what he witnessed in a cage barely ten feet from the first truly knocked the breath from his lungs. A girl, no more than fifteen years old, curled into a ball, sleeping. She had black, matted hair tucked under a bright red winter hat.
Each of the cages was secured with a heavy padlock. He swung back to the wounded man on the bench, who was reaching out with a single, bloody hand. Nate racked the shotgun and centered the barrel at his chest. A pistol sat on the floor next to him. It was a Beretta 9mm. Nate bent down, scooped it up and slid it into his jacket pocket.
“I need water,” the wounded guy said in a barely audible whisper.
This guy was beyond caring about warding off intruders. Had Nate put a gun in his hand, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to pull the trigger.
Ignoring his pleas, Nate shouldered the shotgun and began rifling through his pockets. “Where’s the key, you sick son of a bitch?”
“Water, man. I need water.” His skin was pale. The blood from his wounded abdomen had saturated his clothing. The thugs he might have once called friends had not even bothered to clean or dress the bullet hole, let alone attempt to stop the bleeding. Dead man walking, that was what he was. They were no better than that wild animal they had put in a cage.
“This hole in your gut was my gift to you, for stealing our truck.”
The man’s sallow eyes widened.
Nate found keys in the front pocket of the guy’s jeans at about the same time he caught the raucous sound of people approaching. They were practically around the corner. Nate tossed the keys to the girl, who was now sitting up. They skidded along the laminated gym floor, clanging as they struck the front of her cage. She grabbed and worked them up the bars and toward the padlock.
Nate then swung the shotgun off his shoulder and spun.
“Drop it or you’re dead,” a gruff voice called out.
Standing before him were two men. The first stood with his feet firmly planted, gripping an assault rifle. He was a giant of a man, six four, wearing a duster jacket and heavy work boots. Although most of his face was covered in shadow, Nate could make out just enough detail to tell the guy was an ugly SOB. And judging from his height and confidence, he was probably also the leader of this upstart band of thieves.
Before Nate could get a good look at the other thief, he disappeared into a patch of darkness. Any way you sliced it, Nate was at a serious tactical disadvantage. He was out of the effective kill range of his weapon. With luck, he might pepper one of the thugs, but the other would surely get him before he had time to take a second shot. It also didn’t help the two had split up with one hiding in darkness.
“Gabby, you got sights on this guy?” the tall ugly one asked his buddy.
“Sure do, Jack,” came the disembodied reply.
Ugly grinned. “This is your last chance before my friend here puts you out of your misery.”
“I’ve seen how you take care of your friends.” Nate raised the shotgun in the air with one hand. “If I drop this, I have your word you’ll let me go?”
Ugly held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Nate knew he was lying, but set the shotgun down. It wouldn’t do him much good anyway.
“We good?”
“He’s got my piece,” the wounded man called out.
“Everything,” Ugly shouted, referring to any weapons Nate was hiding. “Or there’s no deal.”
Nate sighed, removing the 9mm, holding it in the air with two fingers.
“What about now?”
Gabby emerged from the darkness with a Glock 21. He reached to snatch the pistol from Nate’s outstretched hand and that was when Nate dropped the gun and lunged. For a split second, Gabby’s eyes traced the falling weapon. Nate’s focus was squarely on the weapon in Gabby’s other hand. In one motion, he grabbed and twisted it back and out of the man’s grip and into his own. Gabby’s cheeks flared out with anger as he struggled in vain to regain possession.
Seeing what was happening, Ugly leveled his semi-automatic and began firing, following Nate as he rolled out of the way. Ugly’s rounds tore up the wooden bleachers, thudding into the wounded guy and then into Gabby. Nate began firing back while in mid-roll, aiming for center mass as he’d been taught. Head shots were for movies, video games and anyone who had never been in a real firefight.
One of his rounds struck Ugly’s left leg, another tore open his right bicep. The rifle fell from the thief’s grip and clattered to the floor. Nate squeezed the trigger to finish him off and heard a click. He looked at his pistol and saw the slide was all the way back.
Ugly noticed too and pulled back his duster. He was going for a secondary weapon.
Nate had one too, his Sig, tucked into the concealed-carry belt holster. The question was, who would draw first?
Ugly was in the process of raising his pistol when a blur leapt through the air and sank its teeth into his wrist. Ugly screamed in agony, trying desperately to wrench his hand free from the animal’s vicious jaws. Nate took that opportunity to close the distance and put two in Ugly’s chest.
The thief slumped forward dead. The dog disengaged and stood watching Nate, its maw smeared with blood. But this wasn’t a dog, was it? The thing was too large, its grey fur tinged with patches of light and dark. The charcoal-colored pattern around its eyes was particularly striking. It looked like a mask. A family pet this was not. Nate was staring back at a full-fledged wolf and it was coming this way.
To his left was the young girl who also stood staring at him.
“Can you tell your wolf to back down?” Nate said. It was a beautiful, majestic beast, but if it came at him or showed the slightest hint of aggression, he would drop it without hesitation.
The girl smiled nonchalantly, scooping up the 9mm Nate had dropped on the floor. “He isn’t mine.”
The wolf’s attention was suddenly diverted by something Nate could not hear or see. A second later, a fat guy stepped into the gym, pushing a dolly stacked with cases of Coors beer. He stopped so suddenly the top cases rolled off and onto the floor with a loud thud. A handful of cans burst. Foamy beer leaked out from the thin cardboard cases.
“What the…?” he stammered, his enormous jowls quivering with stunned surprise.
The wolf was facing him now, a growl emanating from the back of its throat, low and threatening.