Song of the Street Wolf

Fury, Failure, Fire

The smoke from John's cigarette drifted into the air. For several moments, that was the only movement. Many sets of eyes stared at him and Bone, and the faces of the Pack ranged from shock to outrage to fear. John shifted his stance and remained standing tall, but he felt a bit uneasy. He didn't understand why there wasn't any movement or reaction.

He had won the battle that their leader agreed to. They all saw him agree to the conditions of the battle, among the tears of the Spirit, before their god. Alpha was their connection to the Spirit, so with Alpha gone, they had no choice but to bend to John's will.

He too, was a god in their eyes. Therefore he should have had no problems with the group of wily survivors.

He took a drag on the cigarette, the bright, burning end of it flaring momentarily. Bone's front paws shifted, his shoulder bumping against John's hip. That wasn't a good sign. Bone always knew when something was afoot.

John struggled with the notion of saying something else. 'Should I?' he thought, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. He flicked it to the ground, where it skidded away from him and went to rest beside Alpha's severed hand. It's tiny orange light flared once more, and then winked out.

"You've lost."

And all at once, the clearing exploded into movement.

"You killed him!" screamed one woman, whose wild hair and gaunt form made her appear almost skeletal. Several members began to run towards him "You killed Alpha!"

"Shit!" John hissed, turning on his heel at once. "Bone, run!"

Bone didn't need to be told twice. Him and John were off the second the first woman spoke. Though John didn't dare look back, he heard the rising snarls, screams, and howls of the Pack as they were incited into action.

"Demon!" cried one voice.

"The fires of Hell will burn you, Ember Lord!" snarled another.

"False god!"

John zigzagged through the park that surrounded his enemy's camp, hoping to throw the Pack off his trail, and even though Bone could easily outrun John, he stuck close to his master's side, matching John stride for stride. Blood pumped through John's veins quicker than it ever had before.

The thoughts were already running through his head. He was no closer to finding his family. The only thing he had succeeded in doing is killing a very important figure of the Pack's society, and angering the members enough to give chase. John knew that if he got caught, he wouldn't survive. The Pack's fury was too great that night; he would die should he fail to get away.

John had failed.

The word sounded within his mind with every footfall. It burned trails of regret and anger down his throat and chest, where it went to rest at the bottom of his belly like a piece of lead. There, it seethed and burned like a hot coal, a constant reminder of his failure.

Gunshots sounded. He saw a spark to his right; a bullet had just missed his right foot and bounced off the ground. The Pack were developing better aim. John swore again, and swerved down a route he had never taken before, hoping to shake his pursuers.

Howls and snarls and screams all pierced the air. The concrete crunched and shifted as feet pounded over it for the first time in ages, and the weeds creeping through the cracks in the asphalt shuddered as they were disturbed after so long of being at peace.

A singular crow turned away from his meal to stare forlornly at John and Bone. There weren't many humans anymore. The crow blinked, cocked his head, and ruffled his inky feathers. He wondered why the two wolves ran from the crazed humans. Shouldn't they be fighting?