This Jack had died three times in three days, so his body was a little slower in catching up. He tilted his head and started off in the direction where he might be needed. He stepped over dead bodies of werewolves, picking up his automatic. He was loading it and narrowly missed attack from another one. "Jesus Christ, close that rift," he muttered to himself, using the automatic to crack the wolf's jaw. He took another bite on the shoulder for his trouble, reaching up with the Webley and sticking it under the wolfs jaw and pulling the trigger. He didn't stumble, but the pain in his shoulder was immense. He kept moving, intend on finding Gadget. No matter how many times he died to get there.