Thinning the Herd by Adrian Phoenix Page B

He’d learned something from his enemy.
    The wolf-man howled and roared and swung its clawed hands at Hal, air whistling as the claws swiped above him or beside him—missing. Hal danced away, then launched himself again. His pole smacked against the beast’s skull. A sharp crack echoed through the corridor and the wolf-man staggered. It hit the wall shoulder-first.
    Something clicked.
    Hal and the monster both fell as the floor opened beneath them. Someone screamed his name—he was pretty sure it was Nick. Time didn’t slow. Time refused to stretch or distort in any way, shape, or form. Before Hal had time to think anything beyond Crap, he slammed into the ground with breath-stealing force.
    The ground shuddered as the monster plowed into the floor like a boulder. Its howl stopped abruptly. Hal struggled for air, willing his body to get up and move, willing his fingers to lock around the catch pole. A catch pole he no longer held.
    The wolf-man grunted.
    Move! If it got up first, Hal would become another piece in the body trail. If it got up first, Desdemona would also become a piece of the body trail. That cold thought kicked Hal over onto his side, kicked him up to his knees, and kicked him onto his feet again.
    Hal groped around in the dark for his catch pole, the monster’s grunts and shuffles trailing an icy finger along his spine. Sweat beaded his forehead. A waterfall of dirt and gravel cascaded over him from above. He sneezed.
    â€œHal?” Nick whispered. “That you? You alive?”
    The creature roared and the sound of its rage echoed throughout the pit, spurring Hal to search faster for his catch pole. He felt a ground-shaking thump-thump as the creature gained its feet. Hal’s heart pounded in time with each step.
    Animal musk snaked through the air. Animal musk and blood stink.
    Hal’s fingers finally slid across wood; his fingers clenched around the catch pole. He swung it up, then forced himself to hold still. Forced his quivering muscles to wait. Focused on the rasp of the beast’s breathing, the stench of its breath. Focused on the tiny hellfire flames floating in the air above him.
    Hal slid his right foot forward, his boot scraping across dirt. The flames shifted. Hal tucked the pole alongside his left arm, lowered it to his side. Drew in a deep breath. The flames shifted again. Drew nearer.
    Hal listened to the measured beat of his heart. Lifted the pole overhead in both hands, stood poised, like a samurai facing a demon. Stared into the darkness. Picked out a darker outline. Waited. One heartbeat. Two. The flames suddenly dropped, and Hal twisted the pole down in an air-whistling blow to the head.
    The creature roared again and its hot breath baked Hal’s face. Hal pivoted smoothly past its bulk and stepped behind it. As it turned to face him again, he swung the pole, smacking it across the neck. KRRAAACK! The wolf-man dropped to its knees. The flames dimmed. It crumpled and the flames went out. Hal stood beside the black bulk, heart pounding, his fingers tight around the catch pole.
    But the pole’s weight felt wrong. Hal traced the fingers of his right hand along the smooth shaft to an abrupt and jagged end. He felt sick.
    A hero without a catch pole. Eugene without a hero.
    â€œHal?”
    â€œHere,” Hal said, surprised at the calm in his voice. “Shine a light.”
    A narrow beam of light jiggled across the dirt floor. Hal stepped past the dead wolf-man and stood in the flashlight’s beam. He lifted his catch pole into the light. Half of it was gone. Hal swallowed hard. He lowered the pole to his side.
    Nick whistled. “Fucking hell! What happened to your catch pole?”
    â€œBroke it when I killed the beast,” Hal replied, voice still level. “Any way to pull me out of here?” The lip was a good fifteen feet above him.
    Nick shook his head. “Didn’t bring rope. How about we join