Wolves of the new dawn

Mutant attack

*Raze*

The rough-hewn wood of the bed frame digs into my arm, but I don’t shift. Jo’s small hand, clammy and cool, rests in mine. Her breathing is shallow, each inhale a tiny gasp. The fire crackles, casting flickering shadows on the walls of her makeshift room. Outside, the wind howls a mournful song, a fitting soundtrack to my anxiety.

She stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. A weak smile graces her lips. "Papa?"

"I'm here, sweetheart," I murmur, my voice rough with unshed tears. I brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Her skin is pale, almost translucent. The fever has been relentless for three days now with no breaks… usually there are breaks.

"Torren will be back soon," she whispers, her voice barely audible. She clutches my hand tighter.

He will be back. I repeat the mantra in my head, a desperate shield against the growing dread. Torren ventured into the City, a fool's errand, but what choice did I have? The herbal remedies we'd used were failing. Jo needs proper medicine, the kind they have in the High City, the kind only the privileged can afford.

The City. They say it's a paradise, walled against the wasteland, shielded from the toxic winds and the…others. But the stories I hear whisper of a different reality, a place where even the air is poisoned, a place where survival depends on ruthless pragmatism. A place where Torren could easily disappear.

Jo coughs, a rattling sound that chills me to the bone. I tighten my grip on her hand, willing my fear to disappear. She shouldn't see it. She needs strength, not my fear.

"Tell me about the stars, Papa," she mumbles, her eyes closing again.

Stars. A luxury I bet they rarely see in the city, choked out by the perpetual haze of pollution. But out here they shine clear and plentiful, Jo always loved the stars.

"They’re like tiny suns, Jo," I begin, my voice a low hum. I paint pictures with words, of distant galaxies, of celestial rivers and burning nebulae, anything to distract her from the burning pain in her chest, and to distract myself from the creeping fear in my heart. “And from up among them your mom is watching us.”

My words are a clumsy shield against the reality of our situation. Torren is gone. And Jo... Jo is fading.

The fire dips, casting long, ominous shadows. I add more wood, the crackling sound a small comfort. Outside, the wind continues its lament, a constant reminder of the harshness of our world. But inside, by the fire, in the meager light, I hold my daughter's hand, whispering stories of a world that may never again exist, hoping my love can keep her alive until Torren returns, until, somehow, everything gets better.

A shrill, piercing alarm rips through the night, shattering the fragile peace I’d managed to create. My heart leaps into my throat. Mutant attack. The icy dread claws at me, but my focus snaps to Jo. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even shallower.

I quickly press a kiss to her forehead. "Elara," I bark, my voice raw with urgency. Elara, strong and ever-watchful, is already on her feet. "Keep watch over Jo. I'll be back as soon as I can."

There’s no time for lingering goodbyes. The compound, a sprawling collection of interconnected buildings built into the side of a rocky hill, is already erupting in chaos. The shift is instinctive, the familiar rush of power flooding my veins as I change. My human form sheds, replaced by the raw, powerful form of a werewolf. My senses explode; scents, sounds, the very vibrations of the earth intensify a hundredfold. The wind’s howl is a distant hum, drowned out by the guttural snarls and desperate cries of my pack.

Bursting from the relative safety of Jo’s room, I'm met with a scene of brutal chaos. The night is alive with the feral howls of my pack battling against a tide of grotesque figures. These aren't the romanticized 'zombies' of old stories; they’re far worse. Twisted, mutated creatures, their flesh rotting and scarred, their eyes burning with a malevolent hunger. Some are almost humanoid, others… things I can barely comprehend.

My wolf's instincts take over, guiding my movements with brutal efficiency. I launch myself into the fray, a blur of muscle and fur. My claws rake across a creature's flesh, tearing and ripping. A guttural snarl rips from my throat… a challenge, a warning, a promise of swift, merciless death. The stench of decay is overpowering, but my senses are honed, my focus laser sharp. I move like a phantom, a shadow amidst the c*****e.

My pack’s fighters fight beside me, a whirlwind of fur and flashing teeth. Other pack members join the fight, their howls a terrifying counterpoint to the mutants' guttural screeches. We are outnumbered, at least 50 of us against easily 100 or more of these abominations, but we are better fighters. Our strength, our speed, our senses… all amplified beyond human comprehension. We are a nightmare incarnate against these things that were once men.

One particularly large mutant, a hulking monstrosity with a gaping maw filled with jagged teeth, lunges for me. I dodge its clumsy strike with ease, my enhanced senses predicting its every move. I twist, my powerful jaws clamping down on its arm, tearing through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. It roars, a sound of pure, unadulterated pain, but I don't let go. With a powerful shake of my head, I rip its arm from its socket. The creature collapses, its horrifying shrieks cut short.

The battle rages on, a brutal ballet of violence and desperation. I see a few pack members fall, their bodies ravaged, but the fight continues. We are defending our home, our family, our only hope, the only sanctuary for 150 people in this broken world.

We fight for survival, for Jo, and for the future of our fractured world. The night echoes with the sounds of a war that’s being fought not just for our lives, but for the very soul of our pack.

The air is thick with the scent of blood and fear, yet beneath it all, a primal fury burns within me. We will not fall. We will not break. We will survive. My loyalty, my strength, my very being are bound to the survival of my pack. And for Jo, I will fight until my last breath. The moon, a silent witness to our struggle, casts long, dancing shadows across the battlefield, painting a grim tapestry over the scene.