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The Victor-wolf has brown fur with black streaks running through it. He creeps around and leaps, but Sot jumps and kicks him in the throat, landing with a backwards barrel roll. She never realized she’d be using Krav Maga to fight oversized dogs. “Now would be a good time to fire at them. If we keep kicking them, their parents will sue us.”
“It takes a minute for it to warm up. Keep them at bay,” Klein replies.
The assumed Jordan-wolf, with sand colored fur and red spots, starts to creep forward. Sot picks up a chair and starts beating his head with it. He yelps and jumps back. “I would like, just once, to have a normal day here,” Sot sighs. Klein snorts.
Klein’s cure gun finishes warming and he begins firing. Victor and Jordan go down. Their bodies start convulsing as their bones shift and bodies twist. In seconds, they are once again teenagers, dressed in maroon singlets. Two down, one to go.
Perreten leaps onto the figure of Klein before he can fire a third time. His jaws clamp around his arm and Klein grunts, trying to force him off. He twists the gun around and fires, catching the Tyler-beast on the back of his head. He detaches, collapsing on the floor, slowly transforming. Klein drops the gun and falls onto the floor. Sot runs to him. “Klein! Klein! Josh?!” She shakes him but he doesn’t move. Darkness spreads in veins from his wounded arm up the rest of his body. Klein convulses, throwing Sot ten feet. She sees stars and blinks, looking back at her infected friend. In his place is a jet black Pomeranian, growling violently. Sot notices someone running towards her out the corner of her eye. The Kleindog leaps, but is kicked to the side with a yelp by the unknown being. Sot crawls towards the cure-gun and shoots at the tiny animal, breathing a sigh of relief.
She looks back and gasps. It is the image of Howes, one of the many sad ghosts doomed to walk the haunted halls of Severn for eternity. He smiles wanly and fades into oblivion.
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The school is empty as the clock strikes midnight. Faint moonlight filters through the window into the otherwise dark Creeden Commons. Slowly, steadily, a figure lowers from the ceiling suspended by steel wire. His shiny baldness glimmers in the moon’s rays. He swabs a small dab of blood from the carpet. Gvozden chuckles, returning to the ceiling.
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