“What?” Nigel asked as Hal took off running, reflector held over his head.
“Cow!” Jane shouted again.
A big black angus bull came thundering toward the men, who scattered in all directions. Jane swore as she realized that the loose bull could only mean a break in the fence, which meant something had taken the eight strands of barbwire down. Worse, Taggart and Nigel weren’t heading toward the safety of the trucks. They looped around Batman with the bull chasing them.
The idiots didn’t understand that the bull wasn’t the real danger.
“Stay!” She gave Chesty the command to keep him out of her line of fire. Snatching up her weapons, she charged from the production truck. She ran toward the water trap, shouting as she ran. “Nigel! Taggart! Stop looping!”
Taggart shouted, waving his arms to get the bull’s attention as Nigel scrambled up onto the roof with the Batman statue. Once safe from the bull’s charge, Nigel yelled and kicked at the passing bull, trying to lure it away from Taggart.
“No, no, no. Incoming!”
Jane flung the stun grenade ahead of the bull and then ducked down, hands on her ears. Even with sight and hearing shielded, the explosion was a loud brightness on her awareness. The bull staggered backwards, disoriented by the light and noise.
Luckily, Taggart still had his combat reactions. He’d shielded himself from the blast. Unfortunately, he still seemed flabbergasted into inaction. “What the hell was that?”
“It’s a flashbang.”
Taggart swore, uncovering his ears. “I know what the hell it is! Why?”
“Because I can’t shoot the damn bull without having to pay for it! Get to the truck!” She pointed toward the production truck. Hal knew the drill; he was already clambering into the back.
“Nigel?” She turned to order the Scot down off the low roof.
A saurus loomed over the Batman statue.
“Nigel! Down!”
“Huh?” Nigel hadn’t shielded himself from the stun grenade. He was blinded from the flash. He clung to Batman’s arm and shuddered like a worm on a fishhook.
“Down!” Jane grabbed Nigel by the leg and yanked him down.
The saurus struck even as Nigel came tumbling down onto Jane. She shouted in wordless dismay as she saw the massive head lunging downward at them as she and Nigel slammed onto the ground, all elbows and knees. The smell of rotten flesh blasted over them on the saurus’ breath.
Nigel twisted and kicked at the mouthful of daggerlike teeth. The jaws snapped shut on Nigel’s foot and the saurus jerked him upward, off of Jane. For a moment, all she could do was watch in horror as the saurus gripped Nigel in its claws and tore his foot from his leg.
Feel the fear, but don’t be it, Jane! Feel the fear, but be Jane, and Jane can kill anything that crosses her path.
She scrambled up, swinging her rifle off her shoulder. Nigel was in the way for a heart shot, so she aimed for the wide left eye. Hold your breath. Squeeze.
Even fifty caliber wasn’t strong enough to move the massive head. And like a beheaded chicken, the damn lizard didn’t know it was already dead. Something misfired in its brain enough, however, for it to open both claws and drop Nigel. It was all Jane needed. She unloaded the magazine into the saurus’ chest.
The massive beast staggered to the right and then toppled with a heavy thud.
Her ears ringing from the gunfire, she reloaded and then caught hold of Nigel and dragged him back, keeping her rifle aimed at the still monster. Nigel’s booted foot stayed beside the dinosaur even as she pulled him to safety.
“Hal! Call 911!” she shouted. “Get an ambulance out here.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Nigel said weakly. “Just a few scratches.” He had parallel furrows on his back, seeping blood. He tried to sit up and she pushed him down.
“Lay still!” Jane jerked off her belt and slapped it around Nigel’s thigh and twisted it tight. There was surprisingly little blood. No blood actually.
“Jane. It’s all right.” Nigel gave a weak little laugh. “I don’t have feet.”
“What?” Jane cried.
“I was born without all the bones in my legs. The doctor amputated them at the knee when I was baby. I’ve never had feet.”
Right. She knew that.
It was a typical Pittsburgh Backyard and Garden production in terms of content: angry creatures trying to eat them, explosions, screaming, yelling, occasional gunshots, and eventually a dead monster. The actual saurus attack was gorgeously filmed. A true professional, Taggart had locked back on Nigel moments after the flashbang had gone off and kept focus on him despite the fact that he could have been filming the man’s death.
Jane comforted her pang of jealousy in the knowledge that Taggart had only been able to get the footage because she was dealing with the saurus. If she and Hal had an actual crew, they could get shots just as good.
“It’s good!” Jane reported to the others. “Let’s film a closing.”
Nigel’s wounds had been sanitized and bandaged but he opted to put the torn shirt back on to wrap up the episode. He thought it counterbalanced the “very dead” state of the saurus, and Jane had to agree. The men set up to film. With Nigel sitting on the ground beside the massive head and the foot it had torn free, they started to film.
“This is not how I wanted this segment to end,” Nigel said. “Considering the alternative, I’m happy to be alive, thanks to our brave and wonderful producer, Jane Kryskill.”
Jane blushed hotly. She would have to edit that silliness out.
“Unbelievably, this is an adolescent male,” Nigel continued on a more professional vein. “The elves say that saurus typically live about a hundred years, which makes them fairly short-lived for an Elfhome species. This male is probably ten years old and would have reached full maturity around fifteen. That’s lucky for us, since if he was an adult, he probably would have had a mate and up to a dozen young nearby.”
There was an odd noise over the microphone and after a few seconds, she recognized it. A police siren echoed off the hills as the squad car raced toward them. Had someone actually called the cops on them?
“Hold up, guys. We’re getting company.”
A few minutes later a Pittsburgh Police black-and-white came down the road, braked hard when it spotted their trucks in the parking lot and came up the driveway at a cautious speed.
Jane went out to meet it, careful to leave all her weapons in the truck.
The responding officer was her best friend, Brandy Lyn Pomeroy-Brooks-Abernethy, which could be a good thing or very bad. Brandy had grown up with a burning desire to be Wonder Woman, complete with golden lasso and bullet-deflecting wrist guards. She’d settled on policewoman as the nearest thing, much to the dismay of Honorable Lissa Pomeroy, her grandmother and Pittsburgh’s only judge. Brandy gave out tickets to anyone that pissed her off, friend or foe, on the theory that it made it easier to find out who her true friends were. At any hearing, the offenders would find themselves locked in a legal battle between Judge Pomeroy and Brandy, as if it were a contest for Brandy’s soul.
Thus Brandy was the only cop in Pittsburgh who would arrest Hal and anyone else rather than ask for an autograph.
“Hey, Jane. We got a call that a war was breaking out. Are you okay?”
“We’re fine. Things got a little hairy, but I’ve got things handled.”
Brandy looked at the Chased by Monsters truck, then at Jane, and then back again. “Is Hal okay? I heard he set himself on fire the other day.”
“He’s fine. Network just has us working on this show for a few weeks.”