MY FEET SEEMED ROOTED TO THE GROUND. I wouldn’t, couldn’t move.
The dogs were evenly matched. They fought with a terrifying fury.
I wanted to look away, but I had to watch. If the dogs stopped fighting, they could reach me in just a few moves. What if one dog survived? Would he still be on a killing mission?
They were trained not to stop.
It felt like I stood there for hours, but it was probably only a few minutes before one dog lay motionless. The winner stood over him, watching for movement, before lifting his head.
I snapped a branch of the forsythia I hadn’t realized I’d been clutching.
The dog’s head pivoted in my direction.
Adrenaline shot through my system. I moved backward, away from the dog, one foot, then another.
The canine matched me, step for step, moving forward.
My back collided with something hard. Hawkins’s truck. I couldn’t retreat any farther.
Moonlight glinted off the dog’s yellow eyes. His lips pulled up, revealing bloody teeth.
“Why won’t you die?” I whispered as I raised the squirt gun.
The dog crouched, ready to spring.
Pumping the trigger, I aimed at the dog’s eyes. Several blasts of perfume hit their mark.
The canine let out a roar, shook his head, then pawed at his eyes.
Quickly, find it. My only chance to keep the girls safe. Dropping to my knees, I looked under the truck. Not there. I stood, frantically seeking my rifle. I tried to blot out the snarling.
Look at Hawkins. He held it last.
The dog was near the prone body. Too near.
I threw the squirt gun to my left. It smacked the gravel, then skidded a few feet.
The dog pivoted toward the sound.
Racing over, I spotted an edge of the pink stock. I dropped next to Hawkins and thrust my hands under him. The rifle was slippery, but I gripped it and tugged hard.
The dog spun toward me, still digging at his eyes.
I turned and leaped toward the truck, grabbed the exterior mirror, and shoved up from the hood. The sharp bark behind me propelled me to the roof of the truck. My legs wouldn’t hold me, and I sat on the cold metal.
The canine’s vision had cleared. He raised his head, eyes locked on mine and muscles bunched.
I lifted my rifle and took aim. “Pink is a killer color,” I whispered.
He jumped.
I pulled the trigger.