Reign of Wolves

Chapter I

"Hun." A soft, soothing, female voice.

His mind begins to stir with images from the TV news. He sees the chaos in his town as he searched for his family and friends. There were many quarantined houses and buildings with broken barricades. The town was being destroyed. A man and a boy handcuffed to one another spotted him. He turned and ran towards the woods on the edge of town.

"Hun, wake up..."

He abandoned the trail and ran through the brush. Thorns cut at his exposed arms and legs like razors. He ran some more. Spotting a group of boulders he ducked behind them. No sounds emanated from the forest, not even birds singing. Daryan held his breath as he glanced around the boulder. Nothing. He leaned back against the cold surface of the boulder and took a slow, deep breath.

"Daryan...", a soft whisper lost in the adrenaline induced panic in his mind.

'Is that blood I smell?' He looked to his left and there stood the little boy just feet away. His hand severed at the wrist, the handcuff gone, dark red blood dripped onto the ground. Daryan spun on his heel, stopped short by a man who stood stood in his path. Before Daryan could react, the boy pounced on him and bit deep into his shoulder.

"Daryan, wake up!" An alarming voice echoed in his mind.

Daryan swings his arm to his left, knocking an arm away as he jumps to his feet, the ground feeling soft and spongy under them. Sounds of a child playing waft in from an unseen place. Daryan groggily stares at the person in front him.

"That must've been some nightmare, babe. I was beginning to think you wouldn't wake from it," she calmly says with a smile.

His pulse racing, muscles tense ready to spring, Daryan's senses start to return. He looks around at his surroundings quickly, then looks again. He is crouched on his bed, in his bedroom. Neatly kept, there are two dressers and a nightstand in the room. Two Windows along the same wall overlooking the backyard.

Crouching at the head of the bed, he looks at the female as he cautiously steps down onto the soft carpeted floor. With black hair pulled back into a pony tail, and sharp blue eyes, his wife, Sierra, stands there watching him. With one hand on her hip and smiling, "Breakfast is almost ready. Alex doesn't want to eat without you," she says as she turns to leave the room.

Daryan watches as Sierra leaves the room. Feeling somewhat disoriented, perhaps still groggy from his nightmare, he takes another slow look around the room. Hanging on the wall above the head of the bed is a picture that depicts a family of wolves in the woods. Of varying sizes, the four smallest seem to be playing with one another. One of the larger wolves, perhaps their mother, is lying comfortably on the ground watching them. The largest wolf, a male, possibly the father, stands apart from the group, attentively calculating any onlooker of the picture with his steel grey eyes.

It takes Daryan several long seconds to break his gaze off from the wolf's eyes. Its then that he realizes he knows the area painted in the picture. Several boulders sat in the background, and thorn bushes were clustered off to the side. Blurry images flash through his mind. The more he tries to focus on them and remember, the more they elude him.

"Daddy, are you coming?" a child's voice calls from downstairs, snapping his thoughts back to the present.

"Be right down, Alex," he replies as he puts on a t-shirt and jeans. Daryan shakes his head lightly from side to side, his mind still cloudy from his nightmare.

Glancing at the picture one last time, 'It was all just a bad nightmare,' he thinks as he leaves his bedroom.

To the right of his bedroom door is another door. Alex's bedroom, with all his son's toys scattered across the floor. To his left along the same wall as his bedroom door is the bathroom, spotlessly clean and smelling of pine-sol. At the end of the short hallway is another bedroom used as a home office, and a stairway to the right of it.

Daryan takes the stairs down to the living room. A few pairs of shoes are neatly placed on the steps near the landing. Sounds of a child happily humming coming from nearby.

"Hi daddy! I'm starving!" Alex who is sitting on the floor behind the living room table exclaims. "I drew you a picture!" He says as he gets up with a piece of paper in his hand. Alex hops around the table and gives Daryan a hug, then hands him the paper.

Daryan takes the paper and looks at the picture smiling, "thank you, Alex," he says with a smile.

Roughly drawn in a child's fashion is a man holding a boy's hand. Around them are several houses.

"That's our house right there," Alex says pointing to the house drawn behind them. "That's us," he says pointing to the two figures.

"I like it Alex, but where's mom?"

"She's the one who took the picture!" Alex exclaims as he points at the picture.

"I'll hang this on the fridge for everyone to see my son's work. The great artist, Alexander!" Daryan exclaims. "Let's go show your mom and eat breakfast."

Daryan and Alex walk through the dining room to the kitchen, Alex skipping just ahead. The bare wooden table has three places set.

"Have a seat, men, its just about done," Sierra says as she works the pan and spatula on the stove top.

Daryan puts the picture on the fridge door, then joins Alex who's being unusually quiet at the table. As he sits in a chair he makes a face at Alex, their normal morning routine, but Alex doesn't make one back.

"What's wrong, Alex?" Daryan asks.

Alex just stares at the table, no answer forthcoming.

"Alex?"

"Okay boys, I hope you're hungry," Sierra says as she turns the stove off.

Alex's face suddenly contorts into an expression of pain, his head snapping to the side. His arm shoots out in front of him, bent at the elbow in an unnatural way. His other arm twisting by his side.

"Sierra....Alex is....but he's too young...." Daryan states dreadfully.

Sierra doesn't seem to notice as she hums to herself. She places a hot pad on the center of the table, then goes back to the stove.

Alex screams, his voice filled with agony as his body contorts and twists. His shoulders snap backward with a sickening pop sound as he falls to the floor.

Daryan tries to stand up, but stops suddenly. Sierra stands next to him, frying pan and spatula in hand.

"Breakfast is served!" she exclaims, a smile on her.

Before Daryan can protest, Sierra scoops a piece of food out of the pan and puts it on his plate.

"Sierra..." his voice trails off, a metal clunking sound on his plate grabbing his attention.

Daryan jumps back from the table sending his chair flying, the room becoming very quiet. On his plate is a hand, a young boys hand, with a pair of handcuffs attached at one end just above its wrist. His muscles tense and he slightly crouches as the memory of his nightmare slowly returns.

"You never were much of a breakfast person," Sierra says smiling.

Daryan turns his gaze to his wife, ducking suddenly to avoid the frying pan that is hurdling towards his head. A murderous expression on her face, Sierra stands poised ready to pounce with a knife in her hand.

"Don't," Daryan pleads. An image flashes through his mind. It was nighttime, the air silent, devoid of any sounds.

Sierra doesn't seem to hear his plea as she rushes him, knife held off to the side ready to strike. Daryan deflects her arm as she tries to stab him, spinning her around. He shoves her away.

A pit forms in his stomach, fear welling up inside him. He glances towards where Alex should be, but does not see him. His screams of agony suddenly quiet.

Sierra regains her balance and spins around, knife still in hand.

Not wanting to harm his wife, Daryan turns to run. He stops abruptly. Before him is a wall. The doorway leading to the dining room was no longer there. Another image flashes in his mind. He remembers lying on the ground in excruciating pain with an injury to his shoulder.

Alex's growl snaps him back to reality. Small arms suddenly wrap around Daryan's neck and chest. He grabs Alex's arm that's across his neck as his son sinks his teeth into his shoulder. Daryan spins, yanking his son from his back and throwing him.

Daryan feels the wound on his right shoulder; his flesh is ripped deeply, blood flowing freely down his back.

Looking up, he sees Sierra and Alex on the ground, struggling to get up. His son struggles to get off of Sierra who is being smothered by his body. Something is wrong. The knife in Sierra's hand is gone. One end of a handcuff is secured to her wrist, the other end attached to a small child's decapitated hand. His son, his hand is missing. The stump on the end of his arm sliding on the floor as he tries to get up, smearing blood like a paint brush.

Daryan backs up against the wall as he watches them get up. It is not his wife and son who now stand in front of him.

"You did this!" The man and boy in front of him say. Their clothes are torn, their bodies riddled with cuts and bite marks as if a wild animal had attacked them.

"You did this!" They yell in unison with hatred dripping off every word.

Daryan has nowhere to run. The kitchen is bare of any furniture, of any windows, any doors. He leans against the cold stone wall, breathing rapidly. His body starts feeling heavy as if stuck in cement. The man and boy rush him, slamming their bodies into his.

Everything goes black.