The carnage among the hounds was terrific, but they had neither fear nor blood. When they were hit hard enough they were blown to bits, but they neither bled nor cried out in pain. They dissolved into phosphorescent green mist. Half the pack was destroyed as it charged across the open cavern, but there were still maybe forty hounds left. Some were maimed and limping, but all were crying ferociously as they struck the team.
Ray suddenly found himself the center of a snarling pack of mad dogs. There were so many of them that they snapped at each other in a frenzy to get at Ray.
“All right you mother-fuckers, come and get it, come on, come on,” Ray snarled, not even knowing what he was saying. His expression was a locked, frozen grin as he fought like he’d never fought in his life, whirling and striking with hands and feet, growling back at the hounds, snapping limbs and breaking necks, dodging slashing fangs, ignoring the half-dozen wounds he received in the first half-dozen seconds of combat.
Four bodies lay at his feet, then dissolved, making room for more to attack. Part of his mind told Ray that he wasn’t going to make it, that he was going to be gutted again like when Mackie Messer opened him up on national television and he tripped in his own intestines as he tried to fight the psychopathic ace. But the other part of his mind didn’t care because this was what he lived for and it didn’t matter that his foes were goddamn ghost dogs or aces, as long as they were tough, as long as they were good.
He killed two more of the hounds and then a big brute fastened his teeth in Ray’s left forearm, biting through flesh and muscle. Ray bit back a cry of pain as it shifted its grip, trying to get the arm back far enough in its jaws so that it could crush Ray’s forearm like a candy cane, and then Ray heard the scream.
It was terrible, high-pitched and wailing, full of pain and fear. It stopped even the hound for a second as it lolled its eyes in the direction of the scream and looked, as Ray did, to see Danny Shepherd go down under a wave of the dogs.
Ray screamed in return. He grabbed the dog’s lower jaw and ripped it off. He flung the jaw away and grabbed the hound by its front legs. He surged to his feet, swinging the thing like a flail, instantaneously creating an open space around him.
He glanced around wildly. Battle had his back to the wall and was firing as quickly as he could at the circle of dogs closing in on him. Cameo, or whoever she now was, was holding the hounds at bay with balls of crackling electricity that were more deadly than bullets. But Danny was down and one of the brutes worrying at her pulled her back and lifted his muzzle to howl at the ceiling, his jaws running red with Danny’s blood.
The Fist ace, finally close enough to participate in the brawl, lifted his arm to fling his spear and Ray realized that he was the target.
He threw the hound at three others who were springing on him just as the ace loosed his spear, and grinning like a madman, he snatched the weapon out of the air. It felt good and solid in his hands.
Staring straight ahead, he cut through the pack of hounds ripping at him, the spear slicing through them like a sword through smoke. Ray locked eyes with the ace as he charged and saw more astonishment in his foe’s expression than anything else. One of the hounds rose up in front of his master and leapt at Ray, but Ray caught it on his spear and skewered it. It worked its way down the shaft and snapped its jaws inches from Ray’s face, but Ray kept charging. He felt another shock run through his arms. When the dead hound dissolved Ray saw that he’d speared the stallion in the side and the force of his charge had run the shaft through its rib cage and knocked it off its feet.
Its rider had slipped off, falling on the other side of the stallion’s body. Ray leapt over the horse before it dissolved and landed on the Fist ace, snarling and pummeling his face and body with hammer blows that were too fast to see.
The ace was much stronger than Ray. He grabbed Ray around the waist and flung him away. Ray twisted in midair like a cat and landed on his feet. His opponent lowered his head and charged.
Ray put out his hands and grabbed the ace’s antlers, but his huge foe had built up too much momentum to be stopped. Ray screamed as half a dozen points penetrated his side. The ace tossed his head, lifting Ray off the ground and flinging him against the cavern wall.
Ray slammed against the rock, feeling his spine vibrate as if he’d been hit by a car. Blood spewed out from the deep wounds in his side.
“Motherfucker,” Ray ground out. He clamped an elbow against the wound and the ace charged him again.
This time Ray sidestepped. He lashed out with his leg as the ace passed him, tripping the Fist who fell heavily to the floor. Ray was all over him in a second. The ace twisted under him and got to his hands and knees, Ray clinging to his back.
“Fuck you, you fucking animal bastard!” Ray screamed. He grabbed the rack sprouting from the right side of the ace’s head. He heaved, twisting with all his strength, and the antler snapped.
The ace cried out in distress and pain. Ray hammered him twice in the kidneys, linked an arm around his throat, and yanked, flattening him to the ground. Ray shoved the tip of the antler against his foe’s neck hard enough to draw blood.
“Call off the dogs!” Ray screamed, spraying spittle. “Call off the flicking dogs or I’ll cut your flicking throat!” He yanked on the ace’s neck for emphasis.
“I can’t,” the ace gasped.
"Do it!” Ray screamed, jabbing the antler deeper into the flesh of his neck.
And suddenly the hounds were gone.
“So,” Danny asked him afterward, “you like this model?”
“I like this model just fine,” Tom said. His hand moved down the smooth skin of her back. “My favorite.”
“Hah,” Danny said. She rolled over, straddled him. “Liar!” She was all bare skin and energy. “You like her better, admit it.”
“Who?” Tom said, confused.
“Me,” Danny said. “The me in the hospital. Admit it.”
“Why would I like her better?” Tom said.
“I designed her for men to like. She’s got all the features. That gorgeous hair. Longer legs. Bigger breasts.”
“I like your breasts just fine,” Tom said. He touched one of them, watched her nipple harden. This Danny had a tomboy’s body, all girlish energy and taut athleticism.
“That feels good,” Danny said. “Don’t stop.” He didn’t. “Most men like them bigger than this,” she said. She examined her chest critically. “This isn’t bad, but hers are better. My ass is tighter. But she’s tighter in other places.”
He was getting confused. “Are you jealous?”
Danny laughed, shook her head. “You men are all so weird,” she told him. “How could I be jealous of myself?”
Tom was getting hard again. Danny noticed. She reached back with her hand, fondled him, then rose a little off the bed and slipped him back inside her with a small gasp of pleasure.
“This isn’t happening to me,” Tom said.
“Sure it is,” Danny said. She bent forward, kissed him, rocked back and forth gently. He felt her breasts brushing lightly against his chest as she moved.
Tom was just beginning to lose himself in her when suddenly she stopped. He felt her body stiffen.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
At first she didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were far away. She trembled, and climbed off him without a word. "Danny, what is it?” Torn asked, sitting up in bed. “Did I do something wrong?”
That got through to her. She gave him a quick glance. “Not you,” she said. She stood in the center of the room, naked, trembling, turning as if she were looking for something only she could see. “The dogs.” she said in a scared voice. “Oh, shit.”