The mutant wolf was attempting to drag the kid out the door and down the ramp. I slammed my boot into its head again and again and again. It let go and leapt at me. The air around the beast was freezing. I knew I’d only have one chance. I dropped the sock I’d filled with loose change, wrapped my hands around its throat and attempted to force its muzzle away from my neck. My hands were in agony as they gripped the freezing fur. And then a gun 1 went off. It was deafening in the closed confines of the aircraft. The wolf shuddered. A second shot thundered out. And then a third. The wolf went limp.
I kept my hands locked around its throat as I looked down the ramp. The rest of the pack seemed to be in retreat. Of the other two wolves that had come up the ramp one had grabbed a passenger and dragged him back down to ground level. It looked like the other had slipped off the side of the ramp when a passenger was trying to wrestle his way free. Both had fallen off and landed in a heap in the snow. The wolf looked fine. But the passenger looked like he had broken his leg. The man with the gun aimed at the wolf but he missed his first shot and the poor bastard’s throat was torn out before he could fire the second. The third shot caused the wolf to flee without its prize. But the snow around its victim was bright crimson. There was nothing I could do.
Once I was convinced my wolf wasn’t playing dead I got up and surveyed the rest of the plane. Neither of the other two ramps had been assaulted. But there were corpses at the base and at least twenty wolves were patrolling along the length of the plane. We were going nowhere.
It took a while before my ears stopped ringing. When I mimed that I couldn’t hear the man pulled out a badge identifying himself as a Federal Air Marshal Michael Johnson. He pointed at the wounded passengers and towards first class and indicated I should help bring them there. The kid was in bad shape. He wasn’t bleeding but his leg was coated in frost and his pants were ripped to shreds. The other two injured weren’t much better off. I picked up my improvised sock club, grabbed the kid in a fireman carry and headed towards the front of the plane.
To my regret, my hearing was starting to clear by the time we reached the bathrooms dividing first class from economy. “I will not give up my seat! I paid good money for this seat. And I expect to get the service I paid for.” A woman with a garish Gucci purse and stiletto heels was haranguing a gentleman with greying temples and a well fitted, expensive looking suit.
“Ma’am this is only temporary while we treat the injured,” the man replied in an upper class English accent.
“I don’t want blood and shit all over my seat. This is not acceptable. When my lawyer hears about this he is going to have a field day.”
The air marshal had come up behind me with another of the injured. “When this crisis is over feel free to sue. But if you do not leave that seat willingly I am going to have this gentlemen over here drag you to the back of the plane and handcuff you to a toilet stall.”
She turned around with a start. When she saw what we were carrying she backed off; but not without a getting a final word in. “This is extortion. I am going to have your job for this.”
The doctor who had been helping the non-responsive woman back in third class was talking to a man in a flight attendants uniform. His patient was not with him. I hoped she was OK. But from the look on the doctor’s face it didn’t seem likely. When I deposited the kid in the empty seat he hurried over. He sliced off the kid’s pants leg like he had done it a hundred times before.
“How cold is it outside? The bite should not have developed frostbite this quickly.” Despite his turban and dark skin, the doctor had an upper class English accent.
“A wolf bit him. The wolf’s fur looked like it was covered in frost.”
The doctor’s eyes went wide when he realised I was being serious. “Wolves covered in frost? Did we somehow get teleported into Narnia?” I didn’t have time to reply when he started talking again. “We need to warm up his leg as much as possible. But be careful. Rubbing against it might make it worse. Try breathing on it through cupped hands. Hopefully I won’t have to need to amputate under these circumstances.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
I spent the next ten minutes following the doctor’s instructions while he went to help the other patients. Apparently there were three other physicians, two nurses, a paramedic and a veterinarian on board. But none of them had his expertise in trauma medicine.
As I was working the other English gentlemen in the suit came up to me. “Where did you serve soldier?”
“Corporal Donovan Meacham of the United States Marine Corps. I’m not a soldier sir. That’s the army”
“Oh. My apologies. Phillip Reynolds. I was a major in the Royal Air Force before I retired. I spent a few years as a commercial pilot before being hired as VP of sales for the airline. Both the captain and first officer died in the crash so I’ve been drafted to coordinate the rescue effort. “
“I’m not sure I can help you much. I’m a bit busy at the moment.”
“One of the nurses will come take over. I think we need someone with your skillset to help neutralise those bloody wolves.”
“I’m a rifleman. Not a wolf whisperer. Somehow I doubt there are many M4s on board’
“I think you’ll find discipline and determination to be more valuable skills than being able to fire a rifle. I want you to go help the flight attendants take a census of the passengers skills and try find something that may be useful. A few passengers saw a town on the way down. We managed to rescue a few flare guns from the emergency kits on the slides before we jettisoned them. We’re going to fire them off after nightfall. But we can’t rely on rescue. Whatever happened here must be happening all over whatever region we’re in. The more prepared we are the better.”
Most of the passengers had returned to their seats after the wolf attack. The emergency ramps had all been jettisoned and the doors closed. I had no idea how we were supposed to get down; but figuring that out was above my paygrade. I quizzed each passenger down the row that looked older than sixteen trying to get a sense of what might be useful. I didn’t get much. A lot of British families going on summer vacation. A couple of South Africans travelling to Florida for a kitesurfing competition. Some businessmen in a variety of field with no useful skills. A few engineers who I noted might be helpful in the future.
I was halfway through economy class when a voice piped up.
“I’m travelling to America for an archery competition. I’ve got a bow stowed with my luggage in the hold.” It was a black girl with long cornrows who looked about fifteen. I couldn’t place her accent. Before I could respond her companion, who only looked a few years older than her started arguing with her in a language I don’t understand. I waited until a break in their conversation before I responded. “I’m sure the bow would be useful. But you’re too young to be hunting wolves. Anyway, I’m not sure there’s a way into the cargo hold without going outside.”
“There’s an emergency exit over the wing. They won’t be able to hurt me from there. I’ve only got about a dozen arrows; but it should be enough to scare them off.”
I went to grab a flight attendant. She said that there wasn’t a direct hatch into the cargo hold from the main deck. After a good bit of thought I went to major Reynolds with an idea. “There are a lot of useful supplies in the cargo hold. It’ll be a nightmare to sort through them. But a lot of it is stuff that wouldn’t be allowed in carry ons. If we tear up some of the blankets we can weave a solid rope and someone can repel down to the cargo doors and start bringing up baggage from the hold. Just from the few passengers I have spoken to there are large kites, a bow and arrows, non-perishable food, flashlights and slightly warmer clothing.”
Reynolds groaned. “We’re going to be arrested if we start looting bags.”
“I’d rather be in jail than be dead before rescuers arrive. I have no idea how cold it’ll be come nightfall. And I’d do it sooner rather than later.”
“Do you know how to rappel?”
“No. We can ask if someone on board has air assault training. Otherwise I’ll do it. I just need the air marshal to keep those damn wolves off my six.”
“The air marshal has limited ammo. And considering the baggage is stored in cargo containers they’re going to be very difficult to access. We’re going to need to clear the ground of wolves for at least a few hours. But it’s a better plan than anything I can come up with. Based on the height of the sun we’re nearing midmorning. We’re still not going to be able to get everything up here before nightfall. I’ll see how many volunteers I can drum up to assist. You need to be well rested if this is going to work. Take a break and set your clock for four hours from now. I’ll handle anything else that comes up.”
1 A gun is a weapon rarely seen in the Eastern Lands. It uses alchemical powders to fire projectiles out of a metal tube. The one carried by the air marshal was reportedly more efficient than those of the Pirate Isles, but it requires resources to maintain that do not exist on this world and was therefore of limited use to the maroons.