Wolfsbane and Mistletoe

"It’s reached the lower spine, and it’s working its way up," said Taylor. "Give him a few minutes. He can still swing those arms."

"Suits me fine," said Edwards. "I already got one bite tonight."

Too bad the gate was working so well, thought Lehrmann. If it had jammed, at least the other dogs would have been spared their last meal.

The other dogs.

Nicky, do you know where the switch to the cages is?

No. That was put in after I left.

I do, thought Waldo.

Can you reach it?

Outside the door, the Rottweiler and the German shepherd looked at the Doberman. He bared his teeth.

Taylor looked at his watch.

"We should start now," he said. "I don’t want him to die without feeling it."

He looked down at the werewolf, who was breathing hard.

"Mister Lehrmann," he called. "Please don’t struggle when we pick you up. You may be strong, but we outnumber you."

"Other way around," gasped Lehrmann.

Waldo shot across the arena, gathered himself, and leapt, crashing into the switch on the wall, then falling in a heap on the floor. The doors to the cages sprung open. There was a brief moment while everyone was silent and looking at each other.

"Playtime," said Lehrmann.

For all the pent-up rage and primal savagery of the pack, it was Arnie the dachshund who was the first out of his cage, baying and scampering on his short legs as hard as he could. The others took his cue and crashed into the room ahead of him. Of the four men, only Hidalgo managed to get a shot off before a pit bull clamped down on his wrist. The gun fell from his hand as he screamed.

A minute later, the hand fell from his arm.

The dogs piled on top of the four men, clawing and gouging whatever they could reach. Arnie, the last in, jumped as high as he could and sank his teeth into Taylor’s thigh. The watcher, staggering under the weight of five dogs, uttered a piercing shriek, then fell.

Nicky came in, surveyed the scene, then came over to where Lehrmann lay on the floor. She looked into his eyes, then licked his paw.

"Nice to see you, too," he said. "Is everyone okay?"

Waldo’s a little woozy from jumping into the wall. He’s a good dog. I like him.

"Tell Max to get him home," he said. "Then help me get to the tool room."

She ran off, and he started to drag himself across the floor with his arms. Nicky came back, saw him, and gave a quick bark. Several of the larger dogs separated themselves from the carnage and ran to help. Together, they pushed the werewolf along the floor until he was inside the tool room. He tried to pull himself up, then collapsed.

Mona drove her Prius extremely carefully. She worried that she might be driving too carefully, a sure tip-off to any patrolling cop that she was anything but sober.

Somehow, she made it to the farm road without inflicting any damage. As she turned on to it, her headlights picked up a pair of dogs loping toward her. She stopped the car and stared. A German shepherd and a somewhat dazed Doberman looked back at her. The Doberman bared his teeth. Then she could have sworn that the German shepherd recognized her. He growled softly, and the two dogs resumed their journey past her.

She drove on until she reached the warehouse. The front door was open. A strange cargo van was parked in front. She reached under her glove compartment and grabbed her gun. She got out of her car and walked quietly to the door. She listened for a moment, then stepped inside.

Immediately she was ringed by a pack of snarling dogs, many with their teeth and muzzles bloody, but before any of them could make a move, a familiar bark greeted her.

"Nicky!" she cried, and the Rottweiler bounded up to her.

The rest of the pack ceased their menacing and trotted back into the other room.

"Nicky, where’s Sam?" she asked.

The dog whined and ran to the entrance to the tool room. She ran after her, looked inside, and screamed.

There was a wolf lying on the floor – no, larger than a wolf, larger than the biggest wolf who ever lived, with fangs that were bared and claws that could slice through tree trunks, and she raised her gun and was about to shoot when it rolled its eyes in her direction and whimpered.

"Sam," she cried out, dropping the gun and throwing herself down to hold him tight.

"Mona," he breathed hoarsely. "Medicine cabinet. Box labeled ATROPINE."

She leapt to her feet and flung open the cabinet. The box was on the lower shelf. She opened it and saw three syringes, their needles capped.

"How many and where?" she asked, kneeling to hear him.

"Two," he gasped. "Right in the heart. Then wait five minutes and give me the third if there’s no response."

"Your heart," she said, feeling the matted fur on his chest.

"Same place it always was," he said. "Don’t hit a rib."

She pulled the cap off the first needle and felt along his ribs under the chest until she located the gap. She took a breath, then jabbed the needle deep into his chest and pressed the plunger until it could go no farther. He grunted with pain. She removed it, repeated the process with the second, then leaned down and wrapped her arms around him.

"What if the third one doesn’t work?" she asked.

"Then I’m dead," he whispered.

Sally was standing on the spot where Waldo left her, his lead in her hand. She gave a cry of relief when she saw him, then stopped when she saw the German shepherd by his side. Waldo came up and sat by her feet.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He nodded, still groggy. She looked at the other dog.

"Are you a friend of his?" she asked.

The dog nodded.

"Did Mister Lehrmann train you?" she asked.

The dog nodded again.

"My name is Sally," she said. "Very nice to meet you."

The dog nodded once more, looked at Waldo, then ran off.

"Merry Christmas!" she called after him. She clipped the lead onto the Doberman’s collar and went home.

"Ahh!" he cried.

"Sam, do you need the third injection?" she asked.

"Just pain," he gasped. "Pain’s a good sign. Means the nerves are coming back."

He made a fist several times.

"Help me sit up," he asked.

She reached her arms around his body and pulled.

"God, you’re heavy," she said, wrestling him to a sitting position against the wall.

"I think it’s going to be okay," he said. "My heartbeat sounds good."

"But you’re a werewolf," she said.

"Atropine doesn’t cure that."