Wolf: A Military P.A.C. Novel by KL Mabbs

walked through a stable post to see the action of the hologram all the better. The satellite view was from an angle as it passed over Michael Scott’s house. In a few minutes, the overhang of the mountain would hide the view again.
    He watched the wolf tear through the wooden slats of the door as if it was more like smoke than a rough-hewn board. The claws of the animal ripped huge strips of lumber from the timbers. Its teeth, ordinary looking for all their size, gouged the material as if it were cotton candy. The growls from its throat sounded like thunder. In slow-motion playback, the animal tore its way into the stable. Once a hole had been made, it used its teeth to pull the rest of the planks from the metal strapping of the entrance. And then it was inside. The horses screamed with fright and the shod hooves of the animals struck stone and sparked in the narrow confines of the cave adding an eerie light to the already bizarre scene. Michael Scott ran into view. Light flared in the cave.
    A complete opposite to Gerund’s physique, Michael was two met res tall and one hundred and twenty-five kilos of solid muscle. Gerund would look like a child in comparison. A large child, at one-point-six metres and sixty-eight kilograms, but still.
    Gerund was jealous. Something he wouldn’t admit, even to his P.A.C.
    Then the gun in Michael’s hand had gone off. And his P.A.C. had shown up, and Gerund was still uncertain how the technology could be a woman and a wolf. But there was no other explanation. A woman couldn’t survive in that weather nude, and wolves don’t help humans.
    “Any results on the military model ?” Gerund asked the machine.
    “No direct results.” 
    “That confirms a military connection.”
    “There is no proof . . . .”
    “Shut the fuck up, Jacob.”
    The machine called Jacob did as he was told, knowing that it would not have to be silent for long.
    “Get a squad together. Have them read Michael’s dossier and put together a battle plan to take him alive. A comatose state due to injuries is acceptable, providing it’s temporary. Tell them he may have a woman or a wolf travelling with him. Do not tell them they are the same thing or that they are a P.A.C. unit.”
    “There is no . . . .”
    “Shut the . . . .”
    Silence settled into the office.
    Gerund had one further thought: the black wolf must be a P.A.C. unit as well. But who had it gone rogue from? Huer? Boyen? Ariyan? And why was it hunting down Michael?

Chapter 13 Michael
    Tiny is a name that has come to mean the opposite for many men. An oxymoron. Opposite to the word fatso, or bitch, or even asshole, because those invariably mean just what they are in relation to the person holding them. When Michael stepped into the recruiting office for the Canadian Army, the sergeant on duty looked him in the eye and said, “I get a Tiny every month. So far this month I got a fatso, a bitch, and an asshole.” His accent said he was from Ontario and that at one time he spoke French. He smiled, put out his hand, one that engulfed most peoples. “Today I got me my Tiny.”
    Michael looked down on him with a stare and a handshake that could have left his fingers crushed. “No sir, my name is Michael Scott.”
    The sergeant tried to pull his hand back. It didn’t work for some reason. The smile that came after that effort was just as intimidating. Not for the amount of teeth it showed, but for the feral grin that said this man could kill. Easily. The sergeant didn’t know if that was true, but at the same time, he didn’t want to find out. “Right, Michael, we have some papers for you to sign.”
    “That’s why I’m here.”

    “Decisions, Michael,” Faelon said. She had settled onto the couch the way a dog would, limbs extended in front of her for support, her chin on the back of her forearms. Her legs curled under her. Her face showed confusion.
    “Yes. It’s still early enough in the year to leave the mountains. If I wait a month ,