The Butcher's Bride
Boxed in between two fallen giants.
The silence that followed was heavy, ringing in my ears. The engine idled nervously. The dust settled slowly.
"They cut us off," Vance whispered, drawing his gun. His hand was shaking. "They knew the route. They knew exactly where to hit us."
Then, the howling began.
It wasn't the lonely, mournful howl of a wild wolf. It was a war cry. Dozens of voices rose from the fog, surrounding us on all sides. It was a sound of triumph. A sound of hunger.