Werewolf

Israel stood up from her couch at the sound of the first of a series of screams. She pulled her mid-back length hair back into a ponytail and rushed to find her survival knife and her pistol.

Another scream tore through the air, immediately setting her insides on fire. She hurried as fast as she could, sweeping the room for her boots. Once she found them, she jumped into them, and without bothering to lace them up, ran out the front door.

The normally empty cobblestone streets were full of people, screaming and running for their lives. They pushed through all others.

Israel looked around frantically. She couldn’t see why everyone was running. The gang, or whatever was killing off everyone slowly, was hiding very well.

There was a blood-curdling, run-inside-now scream at that moment.

Whipping around, she saw a few people, all dressed in black, jump up off a woman and run through the crowd of people.

Israel got her pistol ready and ran along the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on the man that had killed the lady. She jumped over a fallen street lamp and weaved through the silly bushes on the sidewalk.

She was going to help end this once and for all. After all, one of them had killed her best friend, Adam, and she wasn’t going to let anyone else die.

A horrid ripping noise filled the air, along with screeches and chunks of flesh. Flinching, Israel kept running, trying to ignore it.

The sky began dimming and she swore beneath her breath. There’d be more coming soon; that’s how it always happened.

She passed an alley that seemed empty until her ponytail and jacket tail were yanked and she was pulled back into the alley.

Israel pulled herself out of the person’s grasp and turned to face him.

He had a black hood up, lightly shadowing a pale, scarred face. He was tall, thin, yet muscular. His body was crouched into a predator pose and his lips were pulled back into a snarl, which erupted from his chest.

Israel looked up and down him. He was barefoot, she noticed. He didn’t seem like a gang type of person.

Anyway, she lifted her pistol and pulled the trigger.

The bullet pierced his chest, quieting the growl. He stood up straight and looked down at his chest.

There was no blood.

He wasn’t bleeding! She began to gasp, losing her air and trying to get it back.

She stumbled backwards; this didn’t make sense!

“Mmmmm,” he murmured, “I’m hungry now, and I don’t think I can wait…”

Israel was frozen in her spot, and cursed herself for it. She couldn’t find the strength to move her feet and run away.

He stepped closer, took her neck in his hands, and tipped it to the side.

Suddenly, she ducted down, out of his loose grasp, and ran down the way opposite she had come. She pushed herself as fast as she could go, but, somehow, he caught up.

He tackled her to the ground. With much force, he kicked her shin, then her thigh and the cracking of bones filled her ears.

He kneeled down, flipped her over, and slapped her face, leaving fingernail marks on her cheek that ran down across her throat.

Grasping her by her now loose hair, he yanked her up as hard as he could, ripping out most of her hair on the left side.

She swore loudly and he swiped her lips. She could feel blood running down her chin and onto her shirt.

Israel fumbled to reach her knife, in her boot, and pulled it out. Gripping it tightly, she shoved it in the arm he was holding her with.

He dropped her to the ground, howled, and fell to his knees; only to get right back up again before Israel could scramble away.

He kicked her up into the air, caught her arm, and resumed the position with his hands on her neck, tilting her head. He opened his mouth and clamped down on the left side of her chair. His teeth pierced it deeply.

She could feel his sharp teeth hit the bone and rub against it.

“Dominik! No!” a man shouted at the end of the alley.

Dominik, apparently, pulled away from Israel, dropping her to the ground. He looked around and sprinted off in the direction of the voice.

Israel, watching him leave, saw him jump into the air and when he landed back down, he was a wolf.

 

Author's Note

Ignore my sentance structure.

Drop that review. You know you want to.

Reviews

[Max]

I really liked this, but for some reason I feel like this should be a book. You could use this story as an outline for a book if you wanted to.