Thinning the Herd by Adrian Phoenix Page A

aiming for the figure he’d seen for a split second in the flash from the gun.
    But before Hal reached the figure, another form, slim and fast, darted past him just as the gun fired a third time—capturing a moment in flash fire; a moment etched forever in Hal’s mind: Galahad grabbing the man’s wrist with one hand while ramming the heel of his other into the shooter’s chin. The gun fired. Into Galahad. A faint ching rang into the air.
    â€œGally!” Hal screamed, a scream echoed by Nick.
    Hal swung his catch pole around, spinning it up and over. It caught the shooter mid-temple, knocking him backwards. Hal twirled the other end around and smashed it against the shooter’s other temple—two hits and the man hadn’t even crumpled to the ground. Yet.
    Something huge loomed up behind the shooter—something that seemed to unfurl from the darkness like a poisonous night flower—and grabbed him, skewering him with claws. Unnaturally long claws.
    Hal stared as the thing straightened, the shooter shish-kebabbed on its claws. Blood glistened. A suffocating musky smell cut through the stench of rot. Wolf-man. Galahad’s word circled through Hal’s mind: abomination .
    â€œRun!” Hal yelled, never taking his eyes off the creature.
    Nick had thrown Galahad over his shoulder. Hal met his gleaming yellow gaze. “Get him out of here,” Hal said. “Get them both out.”
    The wolf-man yanked its claws free of the shooter’s limp body. The body thudded bonelessly to the ground. The beast’s hellfire eyes locked on Hal.
    â€œI’ll run,” Nick said. “As soon as you do.”
    The monster opened its muzzle, saliva drooled from a mouthful of fangs.
    â€œOkay, then,” Hal said. “Let’s go!”
    Nick darted down the tunnel, flashlight beam bobbing. Hal spun and ran after him. He grabbed Desdemona’s hand as he flashed by, pulling her with him. Several corridors suddenly branched out from the tunnel and Hal swerved into the left hand one almost on instinct. Even with his burden, Nick loped past Hal. A moment later the corridor dead-ended.
    Hal stopped, shoving Desdemona behind him and ignoring her “Hands off, fruitcake!” endearment, and whirled to face the monstrosity stalking them.
    Silence except for his own rapid breathing. And Nick’s panting. Hal waited, muscles knotted, quivering with adrenaline, catch pole in both hands. Another long moment passed.
    â€œNick?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œStill got your flashlight?”
    â€œNope.”
    â€œMe neither.” Hal paused. “You’re sure outta breath for a wolf.”
    â€œ You’re the one panting, not me.”
    â€œOh, fuck,” Desdemona whispered. She aimed her flashlight down the corridor.
    The wolf-man hunched a yard from them, down on all fours, panting, eyes burning. Desdemona swung the flashlight away.
    â€œDidn’t really want to see that,” she said, her voice surprisingly level, given the circumstances.
    â€œAim it again,” Hal said, resolve burning through him. Time for the hero to stop running.
    Without a word, Desdemona did so. The narrow beam illuminated the wolf-man monstrosity. It rose in a half crouch, jaws opening. A card fluttered to the ground. Desdemona’s gasp told Hal it was from Louis’s angel and oak tree deck.
    Hal stepped forward. “Name is Rupert,” he said. “Hal Rupert. Remember it.”
    The beast hesitated. Hal thought he saw recognition flash within its hell-spawn eyes. He nodded, the smile on his face a hero’s grim acceptance.
    Behind him, he heard Desdemona breathe, “Loon.”
    Fire flared within Hal as he took another step forward. Sucked down a deep breath of air. And leapt, catch pole whirling. He hit the creature hard two, three times, dancing up, onto it, then over, smacking and jabbing it with alternating ends of the catch pole.
    Squirrel attack.