Free Impact by Rob Boffard Page B

back. The smaller wolf was the one I threw off; it’s getting to its feet, its eyes never leaving mine. The bite on my leg is itching and burning. I’m trying to remember if wolves have poisonous bites, if that was something we were taught in school, but I can’t marshal my thoughts.
    All at once, the terror is gone. So is the hunger, and exhaustion. All of them burn away to nothingness, replaced by that seething anger.
    I glance down. There’s a loose rock, nudging up against my foot. I reach for it, eyes locked with the lead wolf.
    It snaps at me, darting forward, but the anger strips away all hesitation. I bellow as hard as I can, swinging the rock in a massive sideways arc. The wolf drops before I smack it in the head again, twisting its shoulders as it skips backwards. Its legs are bent, quivering with energy.
    Movement, on my left. This time, the rock connects, and the second wolf gives a pained howl as I smash it to the ground. My hand is buzzing from the impact, but I bring it back, driving it down into the animal’s skull.
    There’s a
crunch
. Hot blood soaks the back of my hand, and the wolf’s body jerks, its legs beating the air. It gives one final, piteous whine, then falls still.
    I look up at the other two. They’re backing away slowly, their teeth bared. Their growls fill the air.
    I put my arms above my head, still clutching the rock, and scream at them. I don’t even know what I’m doing. It’s as if the anger has tapped into a part of me that I didn’t know existed–something fundamental, a survival instinct buried deep in my DNA.
    The wolves take off. The big one gives me a last look, and then they’re gone, slipping into the darkness.
    I’m still standing there, frozen to the spot, when there’s a voice from behind me. “Guess you ain’t such easy prey after all.”

18
Okwembu
    Mikhail is panicking.
    He’s rocking back and forth, trembling like a leaf. Okwembu stares at him. How did she ever think he would be useful?
    If he wants to stay here, fine. She may not like Prakesh Kumar and Aaron Carver, but she’s a lot safer with them than she is with him. But which direction did they go? They’ve long since vanished into the trees. Okwembu tries to remember. Her thoughts come slowly, the cold sapping her energy.
    I have to get out of the wind.
    She strides back to the table. “Move,” she says to Mikhail. When he doesn’t respond, she climbs on top of it, barking her knees against the wood, then puts a hand on his back and shoves. He falls forward, crying out in surprise, the sound whipped away by the wind.
    Okwembu doesn’t wait for him to get up. She clambers off the table, dropping back to the ground. She’s not used to this amount of physical activity, and her arms are already aching. The wood is soft and rotten beneath her palms, but she pushes hard, using every ounce of strength she still has. If she can lift the table upright, she can make a windbreak. It’s far from ideal, but it’s the best she can do.
    The table lifts an inch, then thumps back down. Okwembu tries again, leaning into it.
    No good. She’s going to need Mikhail’s help. But when she turns to find him, he’s walking away, hugging himself, head down.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” she yells after him. No reaction. She abandons the table, shielding her eyes against the biting wind.
    By some miracle, she manages to get in front of him. He doesn’t look at her. His eyes are fixed on a point in the distance. He keeps walking, as if determined to get as far away as possible.
    â€œMikhail, no,” she says, putting a hand on his chest.
    He shrugs her off. “We have to go back,” he says.
    â€œWhat?” She can barely hear him over the wind.
    When he doesn’t answer, she plants herself in front of him. He finally looks at her, and that’s when she sees what’s really happening. The