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The boy-thief's posture changed. Before, he'd been relaxed and unhurried. Now his shoulders hunched, breath panted and his scent screamed DANGER! and made Shadow bristle and bare his teeth.
September stood over there, up high on the ladder against the loft. But Shadow knew guns could reach out and bite from far away. His notched ear twitched at the thought, and his tummy tightened when the pale man steadied his wobbly hand, and pointed the gun.
At September.
He didn't wait for direction, his heart told him what to do. He sprang, paws digging deep in the muddy soil, and leaped high to muzzle-punch the gun away.
At the last second, the man spun, flinging Steven to the ground. He adjusted his stance, ignoring September to aim at Shadow.
Shadow grabbed for the gun. So did Steven. The gun spat.
Steven squealed, swinging from the boy-thief's arm. He'd jogged the gun enough for aim to go wide.
"Steven, run!" September screamed and rushed down the clanging ladder, but Shadow didn't move his eyes from the pale man. "Shadow, good-dog, go-to Steven."
His ears rang from the shot, making September sound far away. He snarled at the gun’s acrid oily stink.
"Demon dog bit me." The tall man's voice shook. "Sick of dogs. Sick of ungrateful kids." He brushed off Steven, set his legs apart, and aimed with both hands. The empty eye of the gun stared back and followed when Shadow danced forward and back.
September cried out with desperation. "Run, Steven, get away. Please Shadow, please go."
But Shadow didn't budge. Sometimes dogs knew better than people. Even smart people like September. As long as the gun sniffed after him, it couldn't bite September or his-boy Steven.
The man reeked, the whites of his eyes shined bright as the moon. Shadow heard the man’s heart thud so hard and loud it might come out of his chest and his pungent breath wheezed like Bear-toy’s broken squeak.
Steven ducked around the man’s spider legs, and dashed for September on the metal ladder.
"No, no, no, run away." September's anguished voice shook, her hands waved Steven away.
The boy-thief tracked Steven's scrambling escape and Shadow's challenge at the same time, head moving side to side.
Shadow's lips curled when the man's concentration wavered. He adjusted his posture so his head, neck and back flowed in one smooth line. His tail, only the tip, jerked as he watched the pale man's eyes return to him. Once the bad man’s attention moved from Shadow’s family, calm descended, surrounding him like September’s embrace.
Good-dogs don't bite. But Shadow wanted to be a bad-dog if it meant protecting September and Steven. This man needed biting. He remembered the dry taste of fabric, the flex and give of muscle, the salt-bright blood smell. He wanted that taste on his tongue again, to rend this man's flesh. To punish. To protect his family.
Shadow dodged left, ducked right, and charged. The gun popped, and white-hot pain creased his neck. But his teeth crunched, bones broke, and he tasted blood. Shadow shook the hand and pulled hard, snarling without releasing his grip, relishing grim satisfaction at the man's ratcheting screams. The gun fell in the dirt.
"Shadow, good-dog. Hold him." September moved to meet Steven at the halfway point on the ladder.
He put down his ears and wagged at her happy encouragement. And hung on. September would make everything right.
The boy-thief kicked Shadow hard in the stomach. With a gasp, he let go, and struggled to catch his breath. His stomach cramped.
"I'll kill you dead dead dead!" He shrieked so loud, Shadow winced. When he scrabbled with his good hand for the gun, Shadow snapped the air in warning. He didn't want to bite again. The man tasted bad.
The pale man's expression changed. The pain in Shadow's gut and neck slowed his reaction. He couldn’t stop the man's spider climb up the ladder toward Steven and September.
