Bookshelf Battle

The soldiers fired at the rampaging werewolves, but their bullets, with nary a trace of silver in them, were of no use. The wolves just kept coming.

All order was lost. The women gave up on the line and ran towards Illinois. Even some of the men, upon noticing that the soldiers’ attention was diverted, added to the madness by running across the bridge.

Major Culpepper rattled his saber high above his head.

“Halt, filthy dog monsters!” the Major yelled. “By authority of the President of the United States, I command you to…”

“I don’t think they’re listening, sir,” Bartlett said as he emptied his pistol at the werewolves. “And shooting at them is pointless.”

Bartlett snapped to attention and saluted his commanding officer.

“We’ll die with dignity, then sir, for a good soldier would never…”

“Retreat!” Major Culpepper shouted with roughly the same tone of a crying school girl. “Run for your lives! Every man for himself!”

“Oh Hell,” Bartlett said as he ran behind his fearless leader.

The werewolves made it to the bridge. They slashed soldiers and innocent bystanders alike.

Doc flicked his wrists to draw his six-shooters. He was about to take aim at a henchwolf when he felt a tug at his arm.

“Come on!” Annabelle urged him. “Now’s your chance.”

The good doctor surveyed the bridge. So many men were fleeing now. It would have been so easy for him to have joined them.

But then he spotted the Major and the Corporal running towards a very confused Robards.

Each officer gave a the demolition expert a different order.

“Blow the bridge!” the Corporal hollered. “Now! Before it’s too late!”

“Damn it, man!” the Major shouted. “Keep your grimy hands off that plunger until I’m on the other side!”
“What are you two yammering about?” were the last words Robards spoke before Mayhew’s teeth chomped through his carotid artery, spraying blood all over the faces of the Major and the Corporal.

Mayhew pulled the detonation box out of Robards’ hand just before the body of the demolition expert hit the ground. Then he looked at Culpepper and Bartlett and snarled.

“You there!” the clueless Culpepper bellowed. “That is official government property! Set it down at once!”

“But carefully,” Bartlett added.

An indecisive Doc stared at the unfolding chaos between the werewolves and the soldiers, then back to Annabelle’s sweet face. To the soldiers. To Annabelle. Back and forth went his head until he saw Mayhew’s henchwolves reach their claws into Culpepper and Bartlett’s backs and rip out their entrails.

“Woooooo! Wooooooo!”

The train was getting close. It’s whistle was carrying through the air.

With the fate of the nation resting in the paws of a damn dirty werewolf, Doc knew what he had to do.

He snuck one last kiss from and one last glance at his beloved.

“Remember me, my dear.”

Doc walked toward the werewolves, but continued to shout instructions at Annabelle.

“And tell the world of my story.”

The good doctor was free of fear as he stepped down the bridge.

“For when men of great intellect and excessive humility such as myself dare to leave their mark upon the world, even the most scholarly of scribes will scarcely understand how to record the doings of such remarkable men, and thus it is up to the common folk to…”

Doc stopped and turned back.

“Oh right. She’s gone.”

The trio of werewolves surrounded the half-man/half-zombie.

“Right then,” Doc said as he pointed one pistol at a random henchwolf and the other at Mayhew’s head. “I shall be taking that box, my good man.”