So here they were, out of ammo, hunted by dog-things and still in this godforsaken city.

“We’re almost out of this,” Marcus said. “Look at me, Olena. We’re going to be okay. Just a little farther. We’ll reach the soldiers and we’ll be safe then. Okay? We’ll get the fuck away and let the army deal with this shit.”

Olena’s eyes caught on something. “No,” she said. “No, no…”

One of the dog-things stepped into view, closer than ever before, moving on its overlong legs. Where a canine face should’ve been was a decidedly human visage. A man’s eyes and nose and mouth. Lips drew back from human teeth as the creature snarled. Its cheeks quivered, and its nose scented the air.

Olena said, “Its face … Its face is…” Instead of finishing the sentence, she screamed.

Marcus whirled at a sound behind them. Another of the creatures, this one with a woman’s face, chattered behind them. He grabbed the Glock from Olena and waved it. The person inside the beast must’ve recognized the danger of the weapon. It paced, looking frustrated. Eager. Others of its kind emerged, each of them just as horrible.

Marcus scanned the scene. Cluttered street, storefronts with shattered windows, a car with a fractured window … That would have to do. He pulled Olena toward the car. He yanked the old-style handle of the backseat several times before it opened. He stuffed Olena inside and slammed the door. She looked at him, confused, scared. Her hands banged against the glass. And then she stopped. Her eyes widened as she took in something behind him.

He turned just as the first of the dog-men leapt at him. He punched it, clocking it good on the chin. He spun with the motion, his long serpentine length squirming with him. All the dog-men converged, snarling, rabid, their faces bestial, teeth bared and snapping. From then it was a full brawl. Marcus punched with both fists, his torso tilting and swerving and dodging from atop the coiled muscle of his tail. He swiped one dog out at the legs. Grabbed another by the neck and pounded its face with his other fist. He slapped his palm to the forehead of one that tried to bite him. He tagged it with his venom-soaked tongue. One down. He tried to count the rest, but everything was a blur. His veins pumped with murderous fury. If he let them, they’d eat him. They’d eat Olena. He wouldn’t allow that, so he fought like he’d never fought before. Fists flying. Torso twisting. Tail a thick whip. His tongue shot out again and again, wet with venom.

But he needed to hit bare skin for it to work, and that was limited to their faces. A small target, with a ravening mouth as part of it. The dog-men tore at him with their paws. They raked his scales and carved trenches in his flesh. As much as he spun, there was always one he couldn’t see, biting his back. Arm. Clamping down on his shoulder. One of them bit down on his wrist and savaged the skin there as it yanked its head from side to side. He couldn’t shake it off. Another one got a grip on his shoulder. Others pressed down on him, gradually overpowering him.