by Vella Munn
He’d stand his ground. Be a man. There was no getting away. He might as well get it over with. Despite the thought, when the beast kept coming, he scrambled back.
The beast paused and extended a paw, raked the rifle.
“Oh God, oh God!”
Something slammed into him from behind and sent him nosediving into the ground. The cell slid—somewhere.
At least two dogs! One still standing over the useless-as-hell rifle while the other straddled him. Not that it mattered, but weren’t the monster’s hind legs outside his? One thing he did know—the front legs dug into his back near his shoulders, holding him down.
He opened his mouth to scream, then suddenly it didn’t matter. His dad was dead. Any moment now he’d join him. The getting there was going to hurt, but maybe it wouldn’t last long. Images of his little sisters filled his mind.
The dog pinning him to the ground was growling in a singsong way and didn’t seem to be bothered by the need to breathe.
Try to get up. Don’t quit.
He almost laughed at the stupid advice or instinct or whatever it was. He smelled dry grass and dirt. Weeds pricked his exposed skin. He turned his head to the side so he could draw a breath.
The melodic growl stopped. Silence closed around him. Something pressed against both sides of his neck.
Fangs! The end coming!
The pressure increased, and he screamed. A rumble from the darkness silenced him. He saw a blur of movement. An instant later two bodies collided behind and over him. Suddenly the weight holding him down was gone.
Strength returned, and he rolled onto his side. Two large dogs faced each other. They were only a couple of feet from him, their fangs exposed. He sensed more than saw raised hackles. His newly keen eyesight held, leaving him with no doubt that one monster-dog had knocked the other off him. Challenges had been issued and responded to. Shouldn’t they be united in his destruction?
Right now they were engaged in a wordless stare-down. Could he reach his rifle? Hope clawed its way back into him, and he scrambled to his knees, trying to be as quiet as possible. Thinking to crawl the short distance to the weapon, he turned in that direction.
Another dog! No, not another but probably the same one that had been standing guard over the rifle.
Three. Oh God, three beasts!
A low growl turned him back toward the combatants. One mutt threw itself at the slightly larger one, knocking it off balance. The underdog gave way but quickly righted itself. Snarled. He was so close that if—when they started fighting, he might get hurt.
Sounds somewhere between howls and growls swirled around him as the trio engaged in a stiff-legged dance. None showed any sign of giving way. The longer he studied them, the more he suspected two were aligning themselves against the largest beast. Either they were trying to change the holdout’s mind or were listening to the third’s argument. They seemed to have forgotten he was here.
Get the hell out of here. Somehow.
Fighting weakness, he stared all around. When he spotted a tangle of bushes, he tried to convince himself that if he could reach it, the bushes would hide him. Much as he needed the rifle, he was afraid any movement toward it would catch their attention.
He’d stood and taken three or four unsure steps when reality caught up to him. The dogs might be in the midst of an argument, but they’d come here for one reason. Nothing would distract them from their murderous mission.
Tears tracked down his cheeks as he walked and waited for the attack to start. As he slipped behind the bushes, deep-throated yips and snarls cut through the sounds of crickets and other night creatures. He hated leaving his dad, could barely face his cowardice, prayed to be taken back in time.
Cursed his old man and himself for what had brought them here tonight.
Halfway through the question of where the truck was, he jerked upright. Silence closed in around him. Hand to his throat, he filled his lungs. Every nerve screamed at him not to turn around, but he had no choice.
Two of the dogs were a few feet from him. He couldn’t see the other. At first the two were side by side. Then they separated and started closing the distance between them and him. His heart pounded, and his urine-soaked jeans rubbed his inner thighs as he back stepped. The two walked with their heads up, tongues protruding a little, and tails waving slightly.
He was still alive. Nothing else mattered—except getting to the truck. Turning his back to his pursuers, he stumbled and shuffled. Now they were out of the trees and into the open where the moon and stars helped define his surroundings. Looking up, he spotted the distant metal lump that was his father’s vehicle.
Dad, I don’t want to leave you. Dad, I have no choice.
His heavy arms hung at his sides. He was glad he’d left his rifle behind, because he no longer had the strength to carry it.
Not walking but being driven.
The thought flitted away. When it returned, he glanced over his shoulder for what felt like the thousandth time. Two beautiful and deadly beasts were still matching their pace to his. They appeared friendly. Maybe they knew he loved dogs.
Even the ones that had destroyed his father?
He sweated and shivered. His surroundings kept blurring, and he wished he had the strength to wipe his eyes, not that it would do any good.
Only one thing made sense or mattered. Reaching the truck. Living that long.
Finally he was close enough so he could see he’d left the driver’s side window down. He again patted his pocket for reassurance that the keys were still there. Because he’d lost his cell, he wouldn’t be able to call nine-one-one until he was near a telephone. Later, surely. Once or if he—
Oh shit!
The fence Dad and he had crawled under was just ahead, but there was no longer a straight shot to the truck because a massive, motionless dog stood between the fence and the vehicle. Confused, he looked behind him. Two pairs of knowing eyes glittered back at him.
Another glance at the waiting mutt reasserted what he didn’t want to know. All three were around him.
What do you want? What have I done to deserve this?
A stinging sensation at the back of his neck caught his attention. When he felt there, he encountered several puncture marks. The dog that had knocked him to the ground must have broken the skin.
Trapped. Two dogs behind him. One ahead. And beyond that, escape and survival.
So scared he was afraid he’d throw up, he sank to his knees and slipped under the bottom barbed strand. It took two tries to get his feet under him. The dog between him and freedom continued to stand with its head lowered and tail lashing.
I dare you, every inch and ounce of its strangely seductive body said.
“What do you want? Why’d you let me come this far if you intended to kill me?”
The large mouth opened, revealing teeth capable of great destruction.
“Just do it. Kill me and get it over.”
Something that was more sensation than sound resonated behind him. A second thud followed the first. A glance back reaffirmed what he already knew. The trailing pair had jumped the fence. Awe for their ability to clear that height momentarily distracted him. Then he again acknowledged the waiting fangs. He could be wrong. He didn’t trust his judgment in anything tonight. But maybe the dog ahead of him was the one that had knocked him down and bitten his neck. The others had stopped it from finishing the job.
“Are you giving up on me?” he asked. “You’re not going to stop him or her?”
Perhaps in answer, the pair separated, made their way around him and approached the lone dog. Noses touched. Whatever message they were passing between them, they wouldn’t share it with him. One thing he did know—he had no choice but to try to reach the truck.
His legs had never been this weak. Every step felt as if someone else was taking them. Any moment the trio would attack. Tear him apart.
Mom, I don’t want someone telling you that you lost both your husband and son
. I’m trying—oh God, I’m trying to get back to you.
The dogs made no move to stop him. They watched his every move, curious and challenging, not accepting him but not hating him either.
Maybe.
His fingers closed around the handle. He jerked the door open, heaved himself inside and yanked it closed. It took several tries to get the key in the ignition but only one to wind up the crank window. The engine bucked to life. He shifted into first and somehow held back from punching the gas pedal.
I’m sorry, Dad. I don’t want to leave you but—God, I’m so sorry.
He hadn’t intended to look in the rearview mirror, didn’t want to, but when he did he spotted the faintest outlines of two oversized dogs. The third, the one he thought of as the enemy, was gone.
“Quiet yourself. Listen to your heartbeat. Get past the rage.”
Growling, Smoke replayed the moment a half-grown deer had gone from alive to dead. Humans were responsible and, like the two men who’d imprisoned and tortured helpless dogs, these deserved to die. Both of them.
“No. Listen to the ancients. Never fight them. You were created to pass on their wisdom.”
Her growl died and she began whining. No matter how hard she sometimes tried to silence the inner voice so she could simply be a dog, she couldn’t.
“That’s better. Relax and learn. Embrace your life’s mission. Take pride in your journey.”
Smoke longed to run full out until exhaustion overwhelmed her, but there were too many fences in the way. Resigned, she settled into a trot that took her from her brothers. She didn’t want to think about them, hated that they’d prevented her from killing the second man.
“Don’t let hatred blind you to the truth about the young man. Balance passion with wisdom, learn from tonight.”
“Learn what?” she demanded.
“Self-control. If you are to be judge and jury, you must first understand.”
Was the Force saying her siblings had more wisdom and patience than she did?
As puppies the three had squabbled and tested their growing strength against each other, but they’d never fought. They hadn’t tonight, but neither had they let her have her way.
In recent weeks, the Force had been sending them on countless journeys. Turning them into hunters. They’d spent more nights than not waiting, watching. Learning. That was why they’d known to wait until the two dog abusers were together before attacking.
Unfortunately, they’d been too far away from the two male humans tonight when the rifle spat death. Left to herself, she might not have known what to do, but the Force had consumed her, filling her with potent hatred. She’d assumed her brothers had been driven by the same powerful need for revenge and had simply chosen to let her destroy Rifle-man. Now she wasn’t sure.
That shouldn’t be. Since they’d left puppyhood behind, the Force had made it clear they existed for one reason, to right wrongs against animals and defend the defenseless. A terrible wrong had been righted when Rifle-man breathed his last. Why then had her brothers stopped her before she could sink her teeth into the young human’s neck and end his life?
“Because he did nothing to deserve to die. Your brothers understood that.”
Why couldn’t she simply accept their wisdom and commands? After all, her brothers, Food-man and the Force were all she had.
But it wasn’t enough.
She needed more.
Even if she couldn’t comprehend what that something was.
On the tail of a frustrated whine, she ran faster.
Sought exhaustion.
Or—what?
Chapter Fourteen
Wayde Carlson couldn’t put his finger on what had gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night, but he didn’t spend much time worrying about it. After all, he’d always been a light sleeper. According to his mother, who’d died from pancreatic cancer when he was sixteen, he’d stopped napping before he turned two. She’d tried to keep the house quiet at night, but it didn’t seem to make much of a difference. He’d wake up if the furnace turned on. Then she’d gotten sick and he’d spent most nights in her room listening to her snores, moans and, near the end, her heart-wrenching screams.
Shaking off the memories he wasn’t sure he’d ever make his peace with, Wayde grabbed a flashlight, stuck his bare feet into his tennis shoes and slipped outside. Hoping the moon was bright enough, he didn’t turn on the porch light.
His four wolf-dogs were awake, which wasn’t uncommon. What bothered him was that he couldn’t determine what had caught their attention. They were silent and on the move. Their silence sometimes spooked him. Dogs barked, darn it. Granted, these were only part dog, but he wanted them to bark when they were agitated, which they obviously were.
He got to within a few feet of their enclosure before he turned on the flashlight. The moment he did, three of the wolf-dogs stopped pacing and regarded him. He’d like to believe his presence calmed them, but they’d always been self-contained. They needed him for food and water and precious little else.
One of the half-wild canines continued to race back and forth inches from the fencing.
Lobo.
“What is it, boy? A herd of rabbits get too close?”
Even as he asked, he knew rabbits had nothing to do with tonight. The jittery creatures never elicited that kind of reaction from Lobo. It was as if Lobo considered them beneath him.
Hardly for the first time, he studied the lean, finely muscled young male. When Lobo had been a puppy, and even as a juvenile, Wayde had held out hope that eventually he’d see how much the human in his life loved and respected him, but that had never happened. Lobo occasionally allowed himself to be touched, but he never reciprocated. Bottom line was that Wayde needed Lobo. Lobo didn’t need him.
Wayde had nearly convinced himself to go back inside when he sensed a change in the animals’ demeanor. They’d already been tense, but became more so. He’d felt much the same way while waiting for his mother’s oncologist to give them the test results that left no doubt her cancer had returned.
Lobo stopped, rose onto his hind legs, hooked his claws through the fencing and stared at the night as if he loved it. Wayde turned the powerful flashlight in the direction he was looking.
A dog. Taller than the wolf-dogs. Lean with short, gray hair. Standing maybe a hundred feet from the kennel. Staring at Lobo.
Lobo stared back.
The newcomer moaned. It wasn’t as if the dog was in pain, more like it was trying to communicate with Lobo. The other wolf-dogs were reacting, but there was something unique about the connection between Lobo and the maybe one-hundred-and-fifty-pound mutt. Something meant for just the two of them.
It started moving forward, every step confident. It glanced at him, then turned its attention back to the wolf-dogs. Wayde wondered if the gray-haired animal would act the same way if he were armed. Maybe the unnerving creature knew what a rifle was.
Crazy thought, he chided himself as the gray erased even more of the distance between itself and the kennel. The others aligned themselves behind Lobo as if acknowledging he was the leader. For his part, Lobo was more animated than Wayde had ever seen him. Experience had led him to conclude that there wasn’t enough dog in the hybrids to compel them to wag their tails. At least his wolf-dogs never demonstrated the kind of enthusiasm a dog’s owner took for granted. Lobo’s bushy tail didn’t trail down like it usually did. It was curled up, which gave the male-in-his-prime an even more alert appearance.
Lobo’s ears pointed forward. His stance reminded Wayde of a ballerina. He swore Lobo was smiling.
With every forward step the gray took, Wayde knew he was losing more of the animal he’d first held when Lobo was only a minute old. Lobo had just made a shift Wayde might never understand, a dismissal of the dog half of his nature and a further embracing of his wild side.
It took everything Wayde had not to open the gate and free the prisoner.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as L
obo pushed his muzzle through the fencing. “If I’d known you’d never be comfortable in your skin, I wouldn’t have let your parents breed.”
Because Lobo ignored him more often than he acknowledged his existence, he wasn’t surprised when the wolf-dog didn’t react. Neither did the newcomer. The unnerving and fascinating connection between the two continued. Lobo pressed against the fencing as the gray put an end to what little remained of the distance between them.
Two noses met. Wayde thought one or both of them might turn aggressive, but it was as if they’d known each other all their lives. Lobo started whining. The plaintive cry tore into Wayde because he understood it for what it was, the animal’s desperate need for freedom.
For its part, the gray licked Lobo’s muzzle while repeatedly lowering and lifting its rear end. Its hind legs were widespread, the tail sticking straight up.
A female in heat?
But this thing between the two was more than mating instinct. Deeper.
Lobo backed up and launched himself at the fence. His front legs hooked over the top while his hind paws clawed for something to hold onto. He managed to find an anchor for his left paw, but the right kept sliding off the metal. With a frustrated growl, he dropped down.
Lobo kept attacking the cyclone. Sometimes he timed his jump so his front legs settled over the top bar but most times he simply fell back. Wayde had watched Lobo pace for hours and knew the beautiful young male might continue his desperate fight for freedom until exhaustion won or he hurt himself.
“Go on!” Wayde yelled at the gray. “Get the hell out of here!”
The massive dog had been standing back watching Lobo. Now it—she—turned toward Wayde. She lifted her upper lip and growled.
He’d never been afraid of dogs, and figured they knew it. Maybe that’s why he’d never been bitten, but something about the gray’s demeanor brought him up short.
That and the two fatal maulings that had been making so much news.
“You heard me!” He reached behind him for the fishing pole he’d propped against the house wall the other day. “Go! Get out of here.”