Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) by Lesley Woodral Read Free Book Online Page B

focusing with his left eye. Jock had no way of knowing that he'd suffered a micro stroke when he saw the bear thing coming for him.
          With a roar, the bear crashed into the side of the camper and the whole place shook, rocking on the cinder block foundation. It hit it again, the booming blows making Jock's world spin. Jock was screaming gibberish, though to him it sounded like he was saying. "Just you try to come in here, bitch! Just you try!"
          Whatever he was saying, the bear seemed to understand him just fine. Because come for him, it did. A single blow of its axe tore through the cheap aluminum door, ripping it off its hinges, and the bear pulled itself halfway through the doorway before getting stuck. Its bulk wedged tight in the narrow opening. It had one huge arm inside. The axe was trapped outside the camper, otherwise Jock would've died right there. The bear glared at Jock with beady eyes glimmering with anger and something like intelligence. Roaring, it lashed out at him with its fearsome claws, falling short of where Jock lay.
          The inside of the camper was a horror show. Jock soiled himself, bellowing at the top of his lungs and holding his bloody free hand against his ear. Blinking through sweat, blood, and tears, he couldn't even see to aim. He pulled the trigger once. Twice. Three times before the slide kicked back and the gun was empty. The first round punched into the wall, ploughing up into the ceiling. The second and third rounds hit the bear in the face. One in the cheek that kicked its head to the side, splashing the low ceiling with black blood to mix with what was left of Bryan. The second slug popped its left eye and killed the thing dead.
          It collapsed in a heap, its ear splitting roar cut off with a short bark, and the only sound in the camper was Jock's own hoarse screaming. Jock fell silent and lay on his side, breathing hard and staring at the dead monster blocking his only exit. He let the empty gun drag his arm down until it was on the floor.
          The silence was maddening.
          But it didn't last.
          The first sound was a snuffling snort from just outside the camper, then a furtive step. A snout appeared, testing the air around the massive dead bear's shoulders, followed by a shaggy mane of ratty fur as the wolf climbed up onto the bear's back and leered at Jock. It was dressed in armor as well. A rusty shirt of steel links with a heavy belt cinched tight around its waist.
          It held a long curved knife in one of its twisted hands.
          In the other hand it held a bloody handful of what looked like rags. It tossed the wad onto the floor where it hit with a splat, just in front of Jock. The creature made an undeniably human gesture with its gore covered hand. And it WAS a hand, albeit a misshapen one, with a sharp nailed thumb and three long fingers.
          The gesture was unmistakable. It said, this is yours. Take a look, brother.
          But Jock didn't want to look. Oh no, he didn't. He just wanted to go home. All thoughts of meth and the things he could buy with that precious poison were blasted from what remained of his ruined mind. "Please." It came out "Pweesh", through what felt like a mouthful of mush. A film over his left eye made the world look pinkish and blurry.
          The wolf grinned, its pink tongue lolling from a mouth full of jagged teeth. Its bright human eyes never left Jock's and it gestured again. It chuffed at him, a bark that sounded far too much like a word to Jock's damaged brain. "Look." It seemed to say.
          Jock tried not to look, to keep his gaze locked onto the too intelligent eyes of the wolf, but against his will his eyes dropped to the wad on the floor before him. He tried to convince himself that it was what he originally identified it as. Just a wad of bloodstained cloth.
          But that wasn't what his eyes were showing him. Because there was an ear