I ran, hiking boots scuffing the blacktop of Lone Lake Road as fir trees flew by on either side of me. The trees amplified the hunting howls of wolves that National Geographic would have had wet dreams about.

     I was gasping for air after a quarter mile run in sheer panic. Adrenaline gave me a nice boost until reality hit my knees that had little enthusiasm for outrunning jumbo sized predators. My right knee burst into fiery slivers of pain as my hiking boots hit windblown needles and seed cones from last night’s storm sending them sliding far apart. A popping rip announced my jeans were now headed for the rag bin as my rear slammed into the pavement.

     Thoughts of huge wolves with death riding in on their tails took a backseat to the need of remembering how to breathe. I stared down for a few seconds at a faded cartoon image of a zombie eating brains from a can of Spam on my black t- shirt. Few people take zombies seriously when they are munching on Spam brains. The thought of the fictitious undead brought my mind whirling back to the Godzilla sized wolves chasing me and with it a gasp of air as my lungs cooperated.

     I took a greedy lung full of air as I got my bearings and saw an empty road that was growing shadows as the day was marching towards evening. Just down the road, the front bumper and hood of a powder blue Volvo station wagon wrapped around a fir tree like some gleeful tree hugger. Smoke billowed from the car's engine. I couldn't remember hitting the tree with my car or why I was being chased by super-sized wolves. Seeing the wolves suddenly vanish had me wondering if this was a bad dream. My right knee was insulted from being ignored and sent throbbing pain up my right thigh. My dreams never hurt like this. I cursed and rubbed my knee; it didn't ease the pain.

     I mentally pulled up a map of South Whidbey Island and groaned. The nearest bus stop was 2 miles away; a nightmare hike with a wrenched knee. Hot breath, reeking of old blood and rotting meat washed over me forcing me to gag. I looked up from my knee to see a flaring black nose the size of a baseball perched above rippling gray fur. Very large, jack knife sized fangs seem to sprout among that gray fur, gleaming with saliva and edged with rubbery black lips.

     My hazel eyes must have widened in horror as I saw the gray beasts blue eyes harden; its ears swiveled forward, all the better to hear my hammering heart beat. The wolf had all the classic signs of an aggressive dog on the verge of attacking. My mind slipped a proverbial gear and sent common sense gibbering in horror when I back handed the large wolf's wet nose and screamed,

"Bad dog! No kibble for you!"

     The mammoth wolf gave a surprised yip and backed away several steps. The hesitation wouldn't last long and the wolf had buddies out there I couldn't see, howling menacingly. Quickly I reached for the left thigh pocket on my cargo jeans. I was a veterinarian and not a hunter. This fact was painfully obvious when I withdrew a simple, white and blue braided nylon leash from the pocket. I looked at the massive wolf and it stared right back at me with eyes too intelligent for a normal wolf. We both knew I had jack-shit for defense and Jack just left the fight. I made a simple noose out of the nylon leash and watched the wolf. A snappy head line for the Whidbey Island Record flashed through my mind: Beloved Veterinarian Eaten By Wild Dogs.

      Fangs bared, the wolf made little sound when it struck. With a sudden surge forward, the wolf was a quick bolt of fur, fangs and power. Now if this was a movie I might have done something fancy, maybe a bit of kung-fu to flip the huge beasty over or a nifty trick shot with a trusty gun; all to an accompanying sound track of cool grunts and action music. This wasn't a movie, it was my life and the production budget seemed to cover only horror movie sound effects. I screamed as the giant wolf slipped its head smugly into that noose I made at full speed, ripping the nylon leash out of my fingers and seized my left forearm. Pain blossomed up my left arm like hot lead injected straight into my veins. I kicked at the beast with my left boot while trying to beat it off of my arm with my right fist. Pain and fear stripped any semblance of strategy from me.

      The wolf wasn't letting go and began to drag me along the blacktop toward the trees. Pain flared more as the flesh on my arm tore under those sharp canine teeth. I screamed more and desperately jammed my thumb into one of its blue eyes. The large wolf screamed and let go of me, retreating in pain. I felt dim satisfaction seeing blood slick down the beast’s furred cheek. The revelry was short lived as the rest of the pack loped in from the sides of the road. There were four of them just a large as the now one-eyed wolf that had taken up a grizzly Cyclops glare at me. You ever wonder how Custard felt standing on that hill during the battle of the Little Big Horn? I could sympathize with the arrogant dead man on one simple fact; looking at your inevitable death scares the hell out of you!

     Cradling my left arm I tried to work out an explanation of how these wolves could even exist on Whidbey Island. Growling began in five part harmony as the five pony sized wolves closed in on me with a wafting growl coming behind me where One-Eye had decided to take up position. Bowing my head I gave in to a brief second of despair and panic. I was going to be torn apart by predators that haven't been on the island for decades after spending several years patching up their smaller domestic cousins. Where was the justice in all of this? Pain was fading to shock and with that fading of pain false courage sprouted within me. I began to laugh at huge wolves.

"That's right. Come closer and get dinner. I'll blind every one of you curs with my fingers before I go." My voice belonged to the throats of shell shocked soldiers or mental patients that dove over the line of sanity.

     The circling wolves stopped for a brief moment as if considering what I had said. That behavior made no sense to my addled mind. Wolves do not understand humans. It doesn't happen in the real world! The wolves must have decided that dispatching a crazy man wasn't beneath their dignity and resumed closing in on me. This was all a bit too much to take just sitting down. My mind asked what my patron saint, MacGyver, would do in this situation. I began fumbling with the laces on my right hiking boot which ducked me under one of the wolves leaping at me. I felt fur brush past my neck and warm drool splattered my cheek. Jerking upright after that close call I threw the boot and nailed the landing wolf in the back of the head eliciting a startled yip. The Sherman-tank of a wolf spun and growled intently at me. I threw my right hand up, palm open in a desperate attempt to defend myself when it would leap for me again.

     The massive wolf bounded for me and sprang into the air already tasting my blood in its mind. It hit something that shimmered like a cloud with electric blue arcs firing rapidly within it, hovering between me and the wolf. A half yelp, half human scream greeted my ears as I caught a glimpse of something very human flying past me. A dull impact was heard behind me. The growling around me ended so suddenly that a cricket was heard chirping off in the woods. I stared at the circle of wolves; they were all standing motionless, as if frozen. Looking behind me I saw a naked woman covered with road rash where skin and black top had met.

     My mind completely shifted to neutral and I just stared open mouthed at the unconscious woman. This made no sense at all. Wolves just don't turn into women! Flickers of bright light touched my eyes, clouding my vision in nauseating sparks of color as a whopping migraine roared to life in my head. I blacked out and fell into a swirling nightmare of naked girls trying to rip out my throat with large canine teeth.