Attack of the wolves

“Get a bloody move on, you louts!” Gunther yelled, rounding the corner of the shed. “We ain’t got all night! Tyron, you lazy sack of fat, what are you doing?”

Tyron was slouched up against the cart. The dogs, all six of them, were mostly huddled on the ground, bored and motionless.

“I’m just the bodyguard, remember?” he grunted.

Gunther threw his hands up and swore. He marched into the shed and came out with a crate. Before long the cart was loaded full of booze. Runt noticed that several sacks had not been taken from the cart. The empty buckets, too, were left in the back. Was there another brewery hidden further in the scrub?

It seemed not. The cart turned and, as a group, the party began marching back towards the farmlands. If anything, the men seemed more nervous, now. They clutched the lanterns tightly and constantly waved them left and right, squinting past the glare into the dense scrub. They jumped at the slightest noise from beyond the circle of light. One of them actually screamed when, as they pushed through some bushes, a raven burst out and flew overhead.

The fear seemed infectious. The horse began pulling at the bit and rearing its head. The dogs, too, were restless. The horse reared again and stomped its feet. Gunther swore and jumped down. He walked to the front, grabbed it by the brace, and began leading the horse by the head. It moved only reluctantly.

Runt watched from a safe distance. The men continued waving their lanterns to-and-fro trying to pierce the darkness. The shadows loomed. Gunther swore again as the horse broke his grip and reared back. The dogs began to growl with their hackles raised and their ears pricked up.

Runt became aware, in degrees, of a silence falling around the party. It felt like a thick blanket was being draped over the scrub, starting from behind, then over, then in front. The crickets, frogs, and birds were all, one by one, falling silent. Runt’s hair prickled and his heart thumped. Something was coming.

Standing perfectly still, as he was, the pack of wolves marched straight past him. Runt held his breath and stared. The wolves really were quite similar to dogs in their size and the way they moved. Beneath the silver moonlight, the dark vertical stripes across their backs and down their sides stood out against the sleek golden-brown fur. One of the wolves yawned nervously as the pack slowly padded forwards and its mouth opened enormously wide. Runt immediately saw the resemblance in Stripes, who could open his mouth wide enough to fit the boy’s head inside.

As a pack, the wolves paused, then all at once galloped forwards. Chaos erupted.

Several of the men screamed. One of them scrambled at the side of the cart trying to climb up. Runt heard Tyron curse and fumble at the leads. Gunther screeched and swung his boot at the nearest wolf. The dogs were free, then, and a bloody fight commenced.

The wolves attacked soundlessly in contrast to the growling, barking, and snapping of teeth from the hounds. The dogs were hopelessly outnumbered. Runt saw four wolves surround Bruiser, biting him from all directions. Two others attacked Shank head on, while a third grabbed the dog’s hind leg and started dragging him backwards.

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Runt’s pup, meanwhile, stood apart, frozen, neither attacking nor being attacked.

The grim battle continued. Several of the men, now, made it up onto the cart. Gunther swore and ripped a lantern out the hands of the nearest one. He slung it down hard in amongst the pack of wolves and cackled as the flames erupted. The wolves leaped back. One of them, on fire, raced off into the scrub. The others paused.

“Fire! Fire, you layabouts! They’s afeared of fire! Throw down!”

Gunther snatched a second lantern and hurled it. As a fireball ballooned up the remaining wolves turned tail, and ran. Gunther garbled a string of wordless insults as they fled and then stood there, panting.

“Fire, lads.” He croaked, grinning madly. “Looks like they don’t like fire. Next time, we bring torches, soaked in pitch. A whole stack of torches. They won’t get the better of us.”

He turned slowly and his grin faded to a look of disgust. He cast his eyes first over the cowardly men piled in the cart, then the dogs, covered in bloody scratches and bites, then at Tyron who stood clenching and unclenching his large fists. Finally, his gaze fell upon Stripes.

“That blasted mutt,“ he growled, “was completely bloody useless! I told you we should’ve killed him! Did you see? He didn’t attack. He didn’t help. He don’t know what bloody side he’s on.”

Gunther reached under the seat of the cart. Runt heard the oily snicker of a sword unsheathed, and saw the orange glow of the fires reflected across the blade.

“I’m gonna kill him and you ain’t gonna stop me this time, you fat dope.”

Tyron, though, didn’t even seem to be listening. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his ham-sized fists, looking off in the direction the wolves had fled. Gunther marched forwards and raised the blade.

A sharp whistle cut through the darkness, and a high-pitched voice.

“Stripes! Here!”

Runt ran forwards into the carnage. Gunther, sword still raised, twisted his head, and glared across in confusion and anger. His mouth formed a perfect O as he saw Runt emerge into the torchlight.

“What the bloody hell is that thing doing here? Tyron! What’s it doing here?”

Gunther began lurching towards the boy and his dog. Tyron turned slowly in a dreamlike state.

“Wait,” he said, “what? What’s the runt doing here?”

Runt hugged Stripes around the neck, trembling, and yelled in a high and wavering voice “You shan’t kill him, you shan’t! Not my Stripes!”

“Tyron, you idiot! I warned you this would happen. It knows! That creep seen the whole bloody setup. It’ll rat on us to the troopers. If the creep dobs us in we’ll be done for. I told you we should’ve killed it!”

Gunther gripped the sword in both hands and raised it directly overhead. Without thinking, Runt rolled to one side as the sword slashed down. To his joy, he saw Stripes roll, too. Just like they practised. The sword clattered on the ground. Gunther threw his head up and seethed through gritted teeth.

“Run, Stripes, run!” Runt yelled and, instinctively, he leaped across the shoulders of his dog. Stripes took his weight easily and, in a flash, they were both gone into the dark.