scars across the muzzle.
I felt its half-blind stare work its way into me like a burrowing worm,
leaving me rubber legged, sweating.
He turned completely.
It was slow and graceful, belying his age. His torso unfolded like the
sluice of a great black whip. In full view he was enormous- easily
four and a half feet from the tip of the flat black nose to the base
of his tail. Standing on his hind legs he'd be seven feet tall, I
guessed. As big as a bear.
Of bastard parentage, I think now. Somethingof the Great Dane about
the head. Something of the wolf in the set of the shoulders.
The pitchfork and axe handle seemed like toys.
A pair of tin soldiers was what we were.
No axe handle was going to crack that skull. No ridiculous garden
implement was about to pierce that hide. My brain computed the heft
and sinew of both of us and compared it with an old sick dog's and we
came up looking like sparrows.
I could see the mad strangeness in those eyes.
He could crack us like eggs.
My fear of him was almost superstitious. My voice still echoed in the
room.
And I thought what if there are more of them? Beside me Steven went
rigid.
It stared at us. Head down, eyes rolled high and moving from one of us
to the other. Deciding. Black eyes deciding. A casual,
And I knew we were no surprise to him. Downwind or not, we'd been
expected. He was in no hurry. We were not a problem. It was a matter
of who to take down first. He could do it at his leisure.
The animal drooled.
Pleasure. Anticipation.
I'd seen enough dogs to know how it would happen. He'd drop the tense,
stiff-legged stance in favor of a very loose, very amiable-looking,
very doggy trot. The trot would turn quickly into a deadly lunge of
teeth and claws and muscle.
Nice dog. Watch the spume of blood. Good doggy.
The only way to go was to move before he did.
I used my smallest voice. "I'm going to move on him," I said.
It took Steven a while to respond. Then he told me okay and I knew he
was as ready as he was going to get.
I watched the slow drift of the animal's eyes from Steven back to me.
When they returned to Steve again, that would be the time.
I'd have to try for the heart. The eyes would ideally be better, or
the soft, sensitive nose, but both those targets were too small for me
at this distance and I knew how fast and well he'd move them.
I looked down at the massive bony chest and then back to the eyes. I
knew where the tines would have to go. I tensed to put them
The growl was loud as a buzz saw in that space. The teeth snapped.
Impatience. Display. And knowledge, too, of what we had in mind. I
know that now.
The eyes held on me. Through the cloudy white lenses I sensed a
recognition. Yes, it's me. We've met before. You know me.
Arrogantly, they shifted.
I rushed him, arms and legs moving like machines in fine order. No
missteps. No faltering. My arms drew back the pitchfork and plunged
forward with power and accuracy. I surprised myself. I was good. I
was very good.
And not nearly good enough.
I was prepared for bone and muscle. There was every bit of me behind
it, one hundred seventy pounds. He'd be hard to kill, so it had to be
that way there'd be no second try. So I gave it everything. And felt
a sickening scrape along his backbone and a tug of resistance at the
hip joint of the right hind leg, and then there was nothing but air.
I fell forward hard, the flashlight skittering out of my hand. I heard
it crack and saw it die against one of the vertical columns next to
Casey. I still had the pitchfork. I rolled as I fell and hit
shoulder-first and kept rolling, over on my back, and pulled the tines
up close, expecting to see it looming over me, knowing it would go for
the neck.
But it wasn't there.
His flashlight beam slid erratically over the ceiling. I looked up and
heard the heavy thunk of his axe handle and sighted him in time to
watch it bounce off the animal's skull as though it were lightweight
plastic.
I heard him wail as the head came up at him and he tried to hit it a
second time and it moved so that he overshot his mark, and saw the jaws
clamp down on his arm just above the wrist. His scream went higher,
shriller. Beneath it the awful crunch of bone as the jaws ground down
and through him and the hand crumbled away, falling off his arm,
falling slowly like the limb of a tree under a chain saw.
I got to my feet.
Light swung wildly around me as he battered the dog with his
flashlight. His bad hand, I thought idiotically. I could see the gout
of blood pulsing, pouring off his other wrist, the long slash mark on
the animal's back where I'd hit him.
I ran toward them, off-balance this time, and reached them just as the
flashlight flew out of the bandaged hand in a wide arc and the animal
moved again. The light guttered out, clattering against stone, and
then went on again, its beam playing over the floor to the right of me.
My second stab at him had been darkness. The pitchfork jarred against
solid rock.
When the light went on again there was just a gurgling sound.
Steve was facing me, sitting, his back to the wall beside the
entranceway. His eyes were rolled up so only the whites showed. His
head lolled off to one side. His mouth was open, and something dark
spilled down across his chin.
The dog was at his stomach.
Pulling.
I froze.
The dog's haunches tensed as it tugged again.
He seemed to fold and sigh, his body sliding down the dark wet wall.
Ismelled urine and feces. In his lap everything turned a ghastly
white.
The dog let go. Its jaws continued working something. Its head turned
slowly and looked at me.
I backed away.
The animal just stood there, watching me. Its eye catching a beam of
light. The room was filled with the stink of us. I backed away
further, slowly. There was a column just to the left of me. I wanted
to put it between us. I wanted to hide.
I watched his eyes.
My hands clenched the c<
The animal turned, its old dark body full of luxurious power, and
stalked me.
It crossed the beam of light. I saw the tongue slide along its chops.
Its mouth was bright with blood. I saw the calm assured ness in every
move.
When the easy trot began, I turned and ran.
It was ludicrous, impossible.
Just as impossible not to try.
I ran for the column.
He caught me high on the calf and I went down. The pitchfork tumbled
from my hands. I felt the fangs go through me almost painlessly, like
razors through soft butter. There was a moment of shrieking terror.
Then my head slammed hard against damp, slimy rock. I saw something
move far away in front of me, against the farthest wall.
I heard laughter. Female laughter.
It was not Casey's. It was old and clogged and choking.
And then I felt nothing at all.
^^^^^^^^Am . m