“Lieutenant Erin,” General Lyons said.
A soldier peeked into the cubby. “Sir?”
“Send a squad up the hill. Make sure they’re locked and loaded.” General Lyons frowned as the lieutenant left the cubicle.
Moraine said, “You should take precautions.”
General Lyons delivered another smile, this one not as pleasant. “Don’t give me orders, Baxter. Let’s find out what my troops scare off the hill.”
Robert placed his fingers on the tender red knot on his head and winced. “If you scare something out, good luck in escaping here alive.”
23
Molly obeyed her orders. Racing to her destination, she stopped and whiffed green moss, ferns, and squirrel poo before running ahead.
She paused at the road, sniffed, taking in the dead human’s blood. Hot metal graced her wet nostrils, a mixture of iron and urine. Three of her soldiers died in the spot she investigated. She let out a high yelp loaded with sadness before crossing into the brush.
Below she faced more dense foliage. Her skin tingled and itched from fleas as they latched against her tender flesh, gorging on her blood.
Molly hated the itchiness and pinches. She halted and performed a furious scratching session with her left rear paw behind her ears. Once done, Molly dashed toward a tree line and hid near an oak to survey the scene.
Beyond the trees, people walked amongst fluffy houses. The scent of greasy food permeated the air, her stomach growled despite eating minutes ago.
Black and White kept their most delicate plans to themselves. But, dished out missions to each dog commander. Molly not only provided enemy intelligence before an attack, she recruited dogs for the army. No one dared answer the call to war if a thick-brained pit bull forced its way into a small town or a big city. Black and White knew humans feared pit bulls, so they became the infantry, the fighters for the army.
Molly recited her mission several times. Recruit, recruit, and recruit. Now, she exercised caution. The dogs cleared out a subdivision and ate themselves full. This time their goals centered on conquering their two legged threats and enslaving them. Black proved this with Akiko.
Molly hurried into camp, stopping at a tent where food cooked. She sat, shifted her head sideways. Someone dropped a chicken drumstick at her paws. She ate fast, allowing a hand to scratch her ear before scooting away.
She trotted along rows lined with soft houses. The wind caused them to flutter and puff. Oil and human sweat fumed off the rough fabric with a powerful stench. Every other scent saturated the air except for a canine's.
Molly’s tiny heart pumped as she skittered her paws across the macadam. Black and White waited for her to complete the recon and recruitment effort.
She searched row after row of tents. Hands tried to grab her, children chased her. Men with long, black, metal things smiled. She dodged the obstacles. An angry human aimed a kick at her rump but missed.
A thick dog musk rushed her nostrils. Strong enough to send her tongue lolling out in what her dead master once called a smile. The odor, perfume to her, launched Molly into a quick run. Barks and yelps filled her short ears as she neared a fenced in park carpeted in green turf. Dogs leashed and unleashed, played with their humans and each other. Even the stronger breeds rolled in the grass on their backs in dumb ecstasy.
Molly stopped at the cyclone fence. She swept her eyes left and right, searching for a space to slip through and begin her speech. When she spotted an opening, a huge woman sitting on a stool blocked the entrance. Fat rolls bulged underneath her yellow shirt. Molly’s stomach grumbled, she missed eating butter sweet human fat.
Molly planned to sneak inside, figuring the human might ignore her. She sniffed along the black ground, licked the sugary sweetness from a Coke bottle cap, and pawed a cheeseburger wrapper. Onward she went until she reached the fat woman.
“Whoa there, sweetheart.”
Molly wagged her tail. She didn’t understand human speech excluding a few cursory words, and those depended on the familiar sounds the humans made. Chubby hands scooped Molly off the ground, patted her back. She loathed the back patting unless her master did the act.
“Let’s check that collar,” she said. The woman twisted the tag. “Molly. Who owns you Molly? And that’s a nice bling you wearing.”
Molly stretched her neck, making the tag more visible. How she held her, gave Molly a perfect view. Dogs played in a park reserved for them and their masters. Molly yipped, drawing their attention.
Black and White told Molly to be fast. Get the message out. Escape if you can. She yelped and barked a quick announcement, conveying urgency. The dogs gazed at Molly in awe, humans who held their pets on leashes or in arms fidgeted in growing fear.
Human fear crossed the warm air in little green droplets, reaching her wet black nose. She topped the speech off, urging them to go beyond mere fucking and fetching.
For a moment Molly thought she failed in her task. The entire dog park fell silent. Not even a bark or yelp reached her small ears. Humans stood, pulling on leashes, making clicking and clucking noises with their tongues, calling their pets. Molly did her best to stare at each dog in the park, hoping for any intelligent spark.
The collies understood first, followed by the labs. They bolted hard, leashes snapped from human hands. An explosive uproar erupted as dogs raced for the fence. The lady’s fear caused her to squeeze Molly’s body. Molly turned and sank tiny sharp teeth into loose meat. Salty blood bloomed in her mouth as the woman screamed. She tossed Molly aside.
Molly landed hard, rolled and scrambled onto four paws as the raucous uprising began. She didn’t intend for the dogs to attack now, but wanted them to escape from their master’s grips and meet on the hill. People screamed, children ran towards the adults as dogs abandoned the park.
Molly barked, directing the new recruits to the hill above the camp. Humans with the long black sticks sprinted for the unfolding madness.
Molly salivated for the excitement. She stole a glance at the dog park. A few dogs remained with their masters, rolling, bellies exposed for rubs. Others lifted their heads, turning away from her stare with contempt. She marked their faces and bounded off into the chaos.
Molly slipped into the collage of trunks and foliage. She leaped a fallen log and vanished within the confusion of leaves and branches. With her task successful, the next step loomed.
Dogs in the hundreds filtered out the city. Thousands more fled from the surrounding areas as her message spread. Black and White proved right. She barked their language, opening their feeble minds. War, she thought. A war intended to bring freedom to the canines.
24
Moraine paused her chatter once the barking erupted.
General Lyons opened his mouth in surprise, swept his eyes over the five strangers crammed into his makeshift office.
“Must be a cat out there getting the dogs roused up,” General Lyons said.
“It’s them.” Moraine headed for the door. She cared less if they followed. Her family sat in a tent and their safety remained her top priority.
She plunged outside into a world swirling with canines and running people. Soldiers abandoned their posts, sprinting to where the barking rose the heaviest. Dogs from the smallest to the largest raced by her. One stopped at her feet, growled. She drove a fist into the animal’s nose. The dog ran off yelping with its tail tucked underneath its balls.
Moraine glanced at the east hills expecting a canine army breaking from the wood line. Instead, she saw pets racing for the verdant hillside. Children bawled, people yelled in confusion and shock.
She sensed the terror to come. Black and White recruited more soldiers for their fight, and she did not want to be around when they stormed the refugee center.
Charles and his team caught up with Moraine. They exchanged frightful glances. Moraine resumed her dash, entering an aisle, she rushed into a tent.
She spotted Erik in a corner grasping her rifle. Casey clutched on
e of her father’s spread legs, tears streaked her clean face.
Moraine snatched her rifle from Erik. “Grab the bag. We are out of here.”
Erik shrugged on the bag as Captain Reynolds, Bill, Dorothy, and Robert slipped through the open flap. “Charles Reynolds.”
Charles nodded. “Hello, Erik. What you doing, Moraine?”
“Leaving, Charles. Those dogs will attack soon.”
Erik clasped Casey’s small hand, the girl hitched and cried. “We leave now, Moraine?”
“That’s what we’re doing, baby.” She stared at Robert and back to Charles. “What are you going to do, Charles?”
“Follow me to the Hummer.” Captain Reynolds departed the tent with six people in tow.
Moraine charged her M4, kept vigil on the hill to her right as they moved. The other camp occupants huddled in groups, trying to figure out what made the dogs rush for the hillside. Moraine knew why the dogs fled. Someone showed up and offered the canines an ultimatum. Live with us or die.
Dorothy picked up Casey as Erik wrestled with the backpack weighted by ammo. The group ran for the camp exit jammed with cars, trucks, and foot traffic.
“Hurry, this way,” Charles said above the raucous crowd. They fought to stay together as the last dog, a Pekingese, waddled into the brush.
Moraine grinned at the madness as the tiny dog vanished beyond her sight. A thought to shoot the animal crept into her mind. She flung the idea away, maintaining her tail gunner position until they reached the black Hummer.
She noticed how the frightened spectators and vehicles formed a clot, not giving them the space to maneuver. Soldiers entered the brush, armed and more curious than careful.
Moraine shouted at Private Oliver. “You guys better be alert.”
“We got it, Master Sergeant Baxter.” Private Oliver called. “We’ll return in a blink. Don’t worry.”
Moraine whispered at Charles. “Everybody needs to jump in the Hummer, Charles.”
Charles unlocked the doors. Robert started for the rear passenger seat but Dorothy grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back.
“Not yet, asshole,” she said with venom in her voice. “Casey goes first, Erik you next.”
“Slide in tight,” Charles said.
Bill swung the rear door wide and hauled out his OICW. He opened the grenade tube, shoved a 20mm grenade inside and slid the tube shut. He gave Moraine a wink. “You like this?”
A smile spread over Moraine’s lips. “Where you get that junk from, Bill?”
“My private stash,” Bill said. “My badass stash.”
“I’ll keep my tested and proven.”
“Dorothy get in, Bill, you too. Moraine, you’re my shot gunner,” Charles said. “Robert, fold your ass in with the ammo.”
Moraine bumped into Robert on her way to the passenger side. Dorothy filled in the backseat with the two other adults and Casey. Robert moved quick to the Hummer’s trunk, jumped in and found a spot between two duffle bags.
Moraine adjusted herself in the soft passenger chair, an opposite of her uncomfortable Hummer in Afghanistan. She noticed the brush no longer trembled from dogs working their way up the hill. “We gotta move, Charles.”
Captain Reynolds started the Hummer, revved the big engine to warn the crowd behind him. He couldn’t back out. People thickened the parking lot. Most climbed the hill searching for their pets. Onlookers gawked at the unfolding scene in awe and amusement.
Charles honked the Hummer’s powerful horn, revved the engine a second time. Slight movement occurred from a few people fearing being run over by a big black truck. Yet not enough to shatter the astonished crowd’s attention on the hill.
Moraine watched the pet owners trail the soldiers. Charles cursed and struck the horn. Her patience thinned. A man broke from the woods waving for the crowd to flee. Gunfire echoed from up above the rattled crowd.
“They’re shooting,” Robert said from the trunk. “Why are they shooting?”
Moraine narrowed her eyes, straining them against the thick green foliage. Gunfire continued for a few seconds after and fell silent. Howls emanated above their heads. No barking, just long dreadful howls. She recognized the canine's fury, rising strong, and freezing the refugees in place.
“Charles, move the truck.”
Charles shifted the truck into reverse, clipping a woman, sending her to the ground in a spin.
Someone dragged her from the Hummer’s big tires. The mob came alive. Fists and feet beat against the Hummer’s sides. A bottle crashed on the hood spilling glass shards. Casey screamed.
Moraine found herself back in Afghanistan where you forced the crowds to move and move they did. They glared at the Hummer, knowing the driver wanted to pull out. “Go,” she said. “They’ll move, trust me.”
Charles adhered to Moraine’s advice, struck a stalled car and sent another onlooker stumbling to the macadam. “We’re stuck.”
Moraine flicked her gaze towards the hill. Pet owners who earlier pursued their beloved animals, spilled out the tree line bloodied with shredded clothing. A woman burst from the bushes with her bloody blouse torn and her large breasts swaying. A bystander tossed a green army blanket over her. No soldiers trailed the fleeing civilians. Private Oliver occupied her thoughts, young and willing to serve.
“Charles, drive the Hummer as if you stole it. Drive.”
Charles threw the Hummer into reverse again. He pushed the car behind him. Metal screeched, horns blared. Shouts sounded close to the truck.
“Move people,” Charles said.
Moraine pointed the rifle barrel at a furious cluster of folks. They backed off with fear washed faces.
Charles put the Hummer into drive and traveled ten feet from the camp before snarling in traffic again. “Moraine, the traffic isn’t moving.”
Moraine bolted from the Hummer, her rifle in hand, eager to motivate the cars and trucks to break the jam. She became the ultimate anger management candidate.
People ignored Moraine. Their gazes locked on the hill, eyes spilling with expectant hope for their dogs. The howls grew in increments. The crowd walked backwards one step at a time, stiff legged. Hands pressed against mouths. Still no one bothered to escape.
The howls exploded with a haunting chorus. From the brush they arrived, slow, dangerous, and confident. Pit bulls and Rottweilers materialized in the hundreds. The dogs stood in silence. Their eyes riveted on the humans as howls rolled from above the stoic canine warriors.
Moraine’s mouth dried. The fighting dogs stepped onto solid ground awaiting orders. She faced the team, stuck in the Hummer, eyes widening. She assumed the dogs killed the soldiers on the hill and now waited to kill the others.
“Fuck this,” Moraine said. “I’m not waiting for them to make the first move.”
Moraine lifted her rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger.
25
Moraine killed two pit bulls and a Rottweiler. The dogs crumpled while their legs performed a last run. Screams erupted. Pandemonium followed. Dogs assaulted the National Guard center from different directions. Teeth gleamed from the hot sunshine. Blood spilled.
Moraine kept up her fire, sending dogs plowing headfirst into the ground. Bill stepped from the Hummer armed with his OICW. He launched off a 20mm grenade. The red blast sent fur and flames into the air. Soldiers who did not follow the others up the hill rushed to the scene armed for war.
“Get back into the Hummer, Bill. It’s too many.” Moraine emptied her magazine, dropped it and slapped a fresh one into the rifle. Snarls, barks, and screams tore through the camp. Soldiers shot and killed the attacking dogs. A second wave stormed from the hill eager to fight.
Moraine escaped to the Hummer, mounting the passenger seat, her face sleek with sweat. Casey cried in the back seat. Dorothy opened her window and shot targets spilling from the hill.
“Charles, go. Now.” Moraine opened her window, pointing her weapon at the fast moving dogs. Rottweilers attacked the soldie
rs, several sacrificing their lives so others could kill the armed troops. Next, the pit bulls went after civilians, launching themselves into the air, clamping on necks, arms, or legs. Their victims hit the ground dying.
Charles got the Hummer going. He crashed the big truck into cars, forcing a hole. Metal crunched, steam burst from hoods. Forty feet to their front sat an unclogged street, a place open enough to escape the surrounding madness.
Moraine destroyed a multitude of dogs with uncanny speed and accuracy. A scream ripped from the backseat. Moraine jerked towards the cry to see Dorothy pulled halfway out the rear passenger window. A pit bull clamped his jaws onto her right hand. Dorothy’s rifle fell outside the truck.
Charles continued to push the Hummer through the jam. The dog’s rear paws no longer touched the ground, but its jaws remained locked on Dorothy’s hand.
Moraine turned in her seat, drawing her Glock pistol from a side holster. She reached forward and placed the barrel against the dog’s bullet shaped skull, pulled the trigger. One pop and the pit pull’s eyes rolled up to whites. His jaws unlocked from Dorothy’s mangled hand.
Erik yanked Dorothy inside the Hummer. Blood gushed from the wound and Casey’s screams pitched higher. Dorothy’s head lolled, her face shading from almond to gray.
“Stop the bleeding, Erik,” Moraine said. “Bill, you guys stop the bleeding now.”
Erik fumbled with a green pack Robert tossed him from the trunk. He removed white bandages. Bill reached across the hysterical Casey to help Erik work with Dorothy’s wound.
“Stay cool,” Moraine said as blood poured from Dorothy’s hand in copious amounts. “Dorothy, look at me.”
“Here they come,” Robert shouted and pushed back from the trunk’s window. A muscular black object struck the rear window, bouncing off the glass. “They’re trying to break the glass.”
Moraine gazed at Erik’s forearms washed in red along with Bill’s hands and Casey’s white sundress. Horror contorted her daughter’s tiny face. She wanted to protect the girl from the madness but felt impotent.
Baxter’s War Page 9