Blood on Sand

JAILBREAK

Zoe edged back from the weasel. He clasped the keys, wishing he had a better weapon, but it would have to do. He took another step, positioned one key between his thumb and forefinger, the metal from the others cutting into his palm. A growl told him that the rat wasn't pleased to see him move, if he had seen him—his small eyes seemed quite vacant in the soft light. The more Zoe studied him, the more he realised that he probably relied on his hearing far more than he did on his sight. It wouldn't help Zoe much; he was far too slow to be able to get out of hearing distance, not to mention that he didn't know shit about this creature's sense of smell. The nose sure resembled a dog's snout, not something he considered to be in his favour.

He moved his feet a little, drew in a deep breath, tried to balance himself, and searched for the warm rush that came with changing. He tried to find it somewhere within, but it wasn't there. Nothing happened. He took another wobbly step backwards.

The weasel snarled.

Zoe didn't know where he should go. To fight in the wine cellar would be damn near impossible, not to mention that he was too weak to stand up properly. Should he move toward the door or the counter? He couldn't run, couldn't hide.

He took another step. His breaths came quickly. The animal hunched down as if ready to leap. Zoe knew he didn't stand a chance, but he wasn't going down without a fight. He didn't want to die down here—not at the hands of this creature.

Without much thought of what to do, he threw himself toward the counter. Powerful jaws closed around his calf even before he landed. Instinct took over. He used the momentum of the fall to get down closer to the animal and delivered an elbow to the side of his head. Teeth sliced through his skin. He stabbed at the ribcage. Thick, soft fur touched his fingers. The animal yelped and let up on his grip momentarily. Zoe tried to get his leg out of its jaws. His naked foot connected with a wet muzzle. Warm spit hit him as jaws snapped shut mere millimetres from his skin. He wanted to cheer for getting loose from the teeth. But the triumph was short-lived. Just as he thought he would be able to crawl away, sharp teeth buried into his arm, punctured his flesh. Blood trickled down his hand, which still clutched the keys, and dripped onto the pale stone tiles.

Zoe stretched out on the floor and reached for the bottom shelf with his free hand. His fingers closed around the cold neck of the closest wine bottle. He swung around, smashing it down as hard as he could. The angle was bad, but the bottle shattered. The animal dropped to the ground but didn't let go of his hold. Zoe tried to yank out of the grip.

It didn't work.

Desperation welled up inside of him. He was stuck. His pulse pounded in his ears. Blood and wine pooled around them, and the animal was up in no time at all, a bit unsteady but otherwise unaffected by the blow to his head.

With new determination, his strong legs started pushing against the ground, dragging Zoe across the floor. He tried to find his bearings, but each painful tug on his arm made him realise how defenceless he was. He was too cold. The keys fell to the floor with a clatter. Why wasn't Wojtek here?

If the bear, weasel, rat, whatever he was, had wanted him dead, he'd have been that by now. One swipe with those long, sharp claws could have killed him, not to mention that the teeth would have shredded his calf with the first bite if that had been the animal's intention. He bled, both from his arm and his leg, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been. He was too dazed to feel any real pain, though he knew it was there somewhere. It burned, but he couldn't really pinpoint it.

As he was being dragged toward the door, Zoe glanced back toward the wine cellar. They were leaving a trail of smeared blood and wine behind them, and there was a steady drip coming from the animal's side.