"What's the matter with you?" The sound came from behind the closed door.

Curtis pushed open a sash that was decaying, white-painted, and flaking.

The old hinges creaked repulsively, followed by a coordinated clatter of weapons.

"They're ours", he cautioned, without even considering the possibility that someone had fired before he realized what was going on.

The machine gun muzzles did not fall instantly, but rested on his chest for a dozen seconds as he entered the door and stood in front of his men's clear eyes, what kind of aural hallucinations can occur?

Colin, who had been imprisoned for gross misconduct and had formed his own group on the second day, testified he had heard screams for help and had not simply waded into the swamp. He did not stumble, disobeying the command to follow the track, but purposefully plunged into the mire, barely escaping.

It was a good thing an obnoxious creature didn't attack the guys at the time. Otherwise, things could have turned out much worse.

"You'd never terrify me like that, Commander," said the burly lad, who stood nearly six feet tall and had light, almost colorless eyes, dark hair, a broken nose, and a crooked scar on his neck.

Curtis could barely reach his chin from the top of his head.

"Andre, I'm double-checking your readiness," He remarked tiredly, nodding at the unconscious man reclining against the wall.

He didn't look his best. He was pale, almost corpse-like, drained, and wore a scarlet bandage on his leg.

"How was he doing?"

"He'll bleed out if we don't get out soon", Eric chimed in.

"My guess is three hours."

"Not enough," Andre remarked sarcastically.

"You're not a big fan of Damian. Isn't he a good-hearted person? He will outlive both of us. If we're lucky maybe four."

Eric did not go along with his friend's plan. It was more than serious in his opinion.

"Then we have a corpse that is easier to dispose of than to burn or bury."

Curtis nodded, not agreeing but taking a not about such a matter.

"Burn it?" Andre grumbled, "it's pointless attracting werewolves."

"It's a lot more difficult than expected," Eric hushed.

"Wolfhounds", Curtis corrected. "They're called wolfhounds, not werewolves."

"And, of course, Colin in the swamp was called by a squirrel, as Jasper would say...?" grinned Andre.

"No, I don't believe so."

"The ghost of Virtuous Priest," Curtis chimed in, drawing smiles if not laughs.

The storekeeper stated that the ghost lived in a warehouse and liked to move things about or even steal what he wanted. A nursery rhyme persuaded him, 'Play, but... your thing must give it to me.' And, according to him, the object was bound to turn up.

Some people also tried this method, including Curtis. He wanted to see what that ghost looked like. However, he failed, even though no one imitated what the storekeeper did.

"Squirrel is white fever," Eric said again, "it affects individuals who drink liquor incessantly, and Jon is a teetotaller."

"Our recluse requested us multiple times to accompany him to the swamp, where he sat on the bank for an hour. You couldn't discern a snag from the side, according to Lucas. He was either thinking or calling out in his head."

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"And Lucas and Elena were almost eaten by a beast."

"Not at all!" Andre gave a snort. "Our Elena, and something nefarious? I do not think so. I'm sure she's the one who rescued Lucas by putting a tail on the trash."

"She certainly is", Eric agreed with a nod.

Curtis moved silently to the window and cautiously looked out into the street. It was not the first time he had heard all these tales, stories and assumptions about the swamp.

He himself had thought to delve more thoroughly into the devilry going on there, and indeed that had taken place, as the evil creatures had suddenly begun to get clever and startling in their coherence.

Like now, for example.

Three wolfhounds sat down on the cracked asphalt below and hypnotized the windows.

They were covered in dark grey hair; their heads werewolf-like, their bodies monkey-like. Allen, his guardian, showed Curtis pictures of animals on the ground before the cataclysm, and the wolfhounds looked a lot like gorillas.

Seven-toed paws end in curved, sharp claws. There are fangs about ten centimeters long in its mouth, blue-green rather than white as one would expect, and what infestation is beneath them.

Damian was lightly pinched in the leg, and he passed out almost immediately and was now bleeding, shivering and suffering from fever.

The wolfhounds' only weakness is their brains, or rather their lack of brains. They never ambushed or set traps, and there were no hunting tactics or strategies to speak of. If a wolfhound spotted prey or an enemy, he went straight ahead.

I was not hard-pressed to take down one, but there wasn't enough gunfire for all of them when there were a dozen or more.

Nevertheless, that was before.

Now, Curtis could not get rid of the feeling that they were being attacked in an organized manner and chased here according to all the rules of ground operations.

So now, they sit and wait for people to come out or prepare to storm in.

How did they even get into the perimeter? Did they make a dig? Or did a collapsed tree damage the wall? But where? When?

After all, they patrol every six hours, missing only midday, at which time you shouldn't go out, even if you're wrapped in a hazmat suit. Curtis looked wistfully up at the sky and turned away.

"Out of sight of about fifteen of them," Eric reported, walking over to him and leaning against the shabby wall with his back.

Curtis nodded. He had recently been checking the door leading from the stairwell to the ground floor hall and could clearly hear claws creaking on the old wood.

The wood was harder than a stone after the cataclysm, and even the wolfhounds could not fight it, that is, not with their claws.

"Won't they break through?" As if reading his mind, Eric asked.

Curtis shrugged his shoulders. "Unlikely."

"How long?" Andre muttered from his corner. "Don't whisper in there. It makes me feel uncomfortable."

Curtis shrugged again. "I'd give it three or four hours," he said, after thinking a little.

"So, as old as Damian," Andre said with a frown. "And my words may well prove prophetic, as to who will outlive whom."

"There are three of us," Eric remarked.

"Four!" Andre said with a threat in his voice.

"The combatants are three," Curtis corrected. "The creatures are eighteen muzzles, or even more. We cannot fight back head-on, we cannot escape. Unless we meet them in the narrow passage on the stairs when they break through and kill as many as we can, but they will sweep us away anyway."

"And eaten," Eric said without enthusiasm in his voice.

"They'll tear you to pieces first and do that while we still alive" Andre waved his hand.

He looked at the wounded man and said thoughtfully.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I envy Damian; at least he won't understand a damn thing.”

"Put aside the decadent mood," Curtis told him, stepping away from the window and making a sign to Eric not to stand too close.

"Going for a breakthrough is even more foolish than waiting for the creatures here."

"On the rooftops to the neighboring houses?" Andre suggested.

"There's no proper equipment," Curtis shook his head."

Even if we do, we won't leave Dami to the last man. How could you suggest such a thing? I'm going to carry him in my arms."

"And we're going to lose another mobile firing unit?" Eric shook her head and gritted her teeth.

"But while I was checking the stairs, I found a wonderful way down to the cellar," Curtis said.

Andre raised his head and squinted. "And that's the way out, Commander," he said thoughtfully.

"Where to? The other world?" Eric asked.

He, too, stepped away from the window, stepped on a rotten board, and it sagged down with a nasty creak-stone.

Curtis, grasping the fighter's shoulder, yanked him to the side.

"We're more likely to go to the other world from here," Andre said.

"And through the stomachs of wolfhounds, from which, as you know, there are also two ways out. Commander, if there's even a chance, it should be taken."

"You can barricade yourself in it and starve to death because werewolves won't go away," Andre chuckled, "but, you know, I like that idea a lot better than becoming a munchkin. If we starve to death, we could eat Damian.

"Fuck you," the wounded man suddenly responded. He struggled to open his eyes and mumbled. "I'll help in any way I can."

At that moment, a muffled growl was heard from the outside.