My knives are in my hands before my feet even hit the muddy floor of the ditch. I listen for the kid's screams of pain, but all I hear is the terrified pounding of my heart. He has gone completely silent. It scares me shitless.
The dark beast hovering over the prone body lying at the bottom of the ditch is silhouetted sharply against the blood red sky. From this angle, it looks like some huge freakin' bear. A bear about to eat the kid's face off! The sound of the cocking gun beside my ear reassures me that whatever it is, it's about to be blown to smithereens. I pull back, clearing the way for Luke to take the shot.
"Don't shoot!" Gordon yells.
Relief washes over me in waves as the tightness in my chest eases off, allowing me to breathe again. The kid's still alive. But why the hell doesn't he want us to shoot that thing?
"Gordo?" Luke grunts, his finger hovering on the trigger. His question is met with giddy laughter.
"Guys, it's okay. Don't shoot. It's just a dog." His voice is muffled by the hovering thing...but did he say a dog? What the hell? A dog? Is the kid mad? Only dogs we know of would’ve had his throat ripped out by now.
I figure since Gordo’s still alive, it's safe enough to move closer. The beast stops whatever it’s doing and turns its massive head my way. The shaggy, overgrown fur hides its eyes, but the pink tongue hanging out of the drooping jowls is panting happily. Noticing my interest, the dog decides to make me its next target. Before I can back away it lunges at me. Rearing up on its back paws, the two huge front paws come down on my shoulders like a jackhammer, nearly knocking me over. It's just as tall as me. The smell of doggy breath combined with jerky assaults my senses before my face gets covered in wet, sloppy dog spittle. The disgust that’s rolling my stomach at the dripping slobber is evenly matched by my irritation that it ate the damn jerky.
"Get down," I yell, pushing it away.
It doesn't let my anger bother it at all. It just stands there staring up at me, the shaggy tail brushing back and forth in the dirt like it was just so happy to see somebody.
"Ugh," I mutter, as I wipe the slobber from my face with my sleeve. By now the others have joined us in the ditch, their curiosity overriding their initial fear.
The thing is huge. It has to be a hundred and thirty or forty pounds at least. Black, snarled fur covers it from head to toe, like it has never known a brushing in its lifetime. Floppy ears and paws as big as Luke's size thirteens, I swear. Where the hell did it come from out here in the middle of nowhere? And more importantly, how the hell is it still alive?
We stand around, peering at the thing in utter disbelief. It stares stupidly back at us, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. Gobs of spittle drip from the corners of its droopy mouth.
"Definitely a face only a mother could love," Kelly remarks drily.
"Oh, I don't know," Doc Blondie replies. "I think he's kinda cute, in a goofy sort of way."
Of course she would.
"What is it?" Dom questions and I can't help the eye-roll I send his way.
"Duh, a dog, you twat-waffle," I say in derision.
"I know it's a dog," he snaps back. "I mean what kind of dog. And why isn't it a vicious mutt like all the other ferals around. Why didn't it rip out the kid’s throat? It attacked him--why didn't it kill him?"
"I don't think it 'attacked' me at all," Gordon says as he gets to his feet, brushing himself off. He squats beside the dog eye to eye, and scratches the beast’s ears. "You were just hungry is all, and you wanted my jerky. Right, boy?"
A low woof resonates from deep in its chest, and its tail thumps the ground double time in response to the attention.
"No shit, Sherlock," I mutter at Gordon. "I'm surprised it didn't swallow you whole along with the jerky. Look at the fucking size of it! It looks more like a bear than a dog."
"I think it's a Newfoundland dog." Kingsley peers at it through the gloom. "If memory serves me correctly, in spite of their impressive girth, they are a very stoic breed. Quite gentle and loyal. But any dog, no matter what its demeanor, will turn feral if it has no contact with humans. This one hasn’t, which tells me it’s very used to human companionship. Someone reared this animal or else it would be as feral as the rest of them by now. Question is, who? And where are they?"
We go on the defensive at Kingsley's observation. Is this a trap? Are there people surrounding us at this very moment? Silently we survey our surroundings guns at ready, but we don't see or hear anything out of the ordinary.
"Guys?" Gordon's whisper breaks the drawn out silence. "It's injured. It's bleeding."
He pulls his flashlight from his belt and directs it toward the animal’s right side, studying the wound.
"Looks like a knife wound and recent too."
I pull my eyes away from the trees long enough to see the hand Gordon holds up. In the weak beam, the blood looks black, but the smell is unmistakable.
"Well, odds are if that monster got injured, its owner didn't fare well either. That's not the kind of animal that would leave its master alone and injured," Kingsley adds.
"Either way, we've wasted enough time already." Luke pulls us back to the task at hand. "Each minute we stand here it's getting darker. We need to move."
He's right.
"Come on, Hawkeye. Stop petting the doggie and move out."
Gordon gives Luke a curt nod, but sighs sorrowfully as he rubs the dog’s ears one last time.
"Sorry boy, we gotta go. Go on now."
The dog woofs at him again, almost as if pleading with him to stay.
"Go...git!" The kid tries to shove the dog away, but he can't budge it.
"Just leave it, Gordo," I say, hoisting my pack back on my shoulder. He stares after it sadly as he follows the rest of us up the embankment.
"You think it'll be okay? What if it was ravagers that hurt it? What if they finally capture it?"
"Then they'll have delicious doggie steaks tonight for supper, which isn't such a bad idea. Maybe we should finish the job and cook him ourselves." Wentworth cackles at his own words and Dom joins in. It even makes me grin, but Gordon doesn't seem to find it funny at all.
"We’re not eating the poor guy!"
"What's the issue, Kid?" I can't help but tease him as well. "Not like we've never had dog before. Or what did you think you were eating in Cookie's mystery stew?"
"That's different. That was wild dog...feral. Not even dog, really. This poor guy is...was someone's pet. It trusts humans. We can't kill it. It's just wrong."
"Calm down, Gordo. They're yanking your chain." Luke tries to pull us all back in line again, but I can hear the laughter in his voice. "Besides, we don't have time to kill and clean it right now. If it's still there when we come back; however..."
"Why the hell do I stay with you guys?" Gordon questions, not really expecting an answer, I don't think. "You’re all no better than a bunch of ravagers yourselves."
The dog, totally unaware of our conversation about its dismal fate, has starting following us up the embankment. Gordon glances with worried eyes between it and us.
"Why are you still here? Git!" He stomps his foot at the dog and the beast startles a little, but it doesn't run.
"Big and stubborn...just how I like 'em," I tease, and it seems to pull a laugh out of everyone but Luke and Blondie. I can feel him glowering at me in the gloom as she glances back and forth at us in puzzlement.
"Forget it, Gordo," Luke says as he turns and continues down our original trajectory. "It'll take off soon enough when it realizes there's no more jerky to be had. We’ve more important things to think about right now."
Luke is right. We have a hotel full of survivors depending on us to keep them safe by destroying a warehouse full of alien, regenerating hybrids. A tamed dog is the least of our worries.
The dog has other ideas, however. It follows us on silent, padded feet. It shies away every now and again when Gordon yells at it, only to continue its tailing of us just a few minutes later.
"Why won't it go away?" Gordon mutters in concern.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms what he’s saying. The dog is still accompanying us down the wooded road, its massive frame easy to spot loping along in the last lingering glow of light from the fading sunset.
"Probably hopes you're gonna be stupid enough to wave around a hunk of jerky again," Luke teases.
"Or maybe it thinks you're its mamma now, since you're so concerned over it," I rib him mercilessly, though the dog kind of worries me some too. It's the first non-feral dog I’ve seen in years. I really don't want to see anything happen to it.
Without warning, the animal leaps back onto the road and rushes ahead of us, cutting so close to Luke that he almost trips over it.
"What the hell--" Luke begins, but the ferocious growling emanating from deep in the dog's throat is enough to shut him up.
That warning is unmistakable. The animal senses something up ahead. Something it does not like. Odds are we probably won't like it either. A quick indication from Luke to get off the road and we scatter in record time. Hidden by the cover of the thick brush, we wait for the threat to show itself.
We don't wait long. A light soon cuts through the rapidly descending gloom, sweeping back and forth across the road and into the trees. Flashlights. So not leeches. Definitely human.
As much as the dog had growled and stood its ground, it isn't stupid. It too, has taken cover in the trees and is brushing up against my leg now, standing stiff at attention and still rumbling deep in its throat. I run my fingers through the dog’s matted fur down its side, trying to calm it. It seems to work. The growling stops, but I can feel its heartbeat racing against my palm, matching my own. Whatever’s approaching, the dog is frightened by it.
Voices float through the air, reaching us long before the owners appear in our line of sight. The voices differ in pitch, almost as if they’re arguing. I strain my ears trying to pick out words.
"...so fucking stupid! That animal is long gone. We ain't gonna find it. Why is Gunner so intent on finding that stupid thing anyway?"
"Because the fucking thing bit him, so now he wants revenge. He's gonna skin it alive and cook it real good. And he says he wants the coat. So you may as well stop grumbling about it and help look for the goddamned thing. We're not going back until we find it, so just shut your trap."
"But that could take us all night." The voice is deep and raspy, definitely no child, even though he is whining as badly as one at the moment. "Plus, we’re going to miss the cookout and I'm starvin'. We have enough meat back at camp right now that we don't need this dog. Gunner is a fucking idiot."
The laughter that follows has a ring of madness to it.
"I dare you to say that to his face. Just repeat it a little louder, the camp ain't far...he'll probably hear you. Come on, I dare ya!"
"I'm not gonna yell it and take the chance of scaring the dog away. But I'd say it to his face. Right now, if he was standing here in front of me."
"Ha! No you wouldn't, you lying bastard. Let's just say that old fogey and kid won't be the only things roasting on the fire tonight if you did." A new voice and another round of braying laughter. There are three of them at least, possibly more.
"Yeah, you're probably right about that. We could all end up on a spit if we go back empty handed, without the dog. I'm pretty sure I cut him bad earlier when he attacked us; he can't have gone that far. What was the old guy calling him again?"
"Scruff. Or Scruffy. Something like that."
A whistle burst and then a coaxing shout. "Scruff. Here boy. Come on, Scruffy, we ain't gonna hurt ya."
The dog growls quietly again, and I scratch its ears even harder. We don't need it barking and giving away our position.
"Oi! You still got the kid's sweater? Wave it around a bit. Maybe the scent will draw the dog to us."
If the conversation we just overheard isn't proof enough as to the identity of "Scruff's" pursuers, the sight of them as they’re finally illuminated by the moon verifies it. Ravagers. All dressed in their attack skins. Literally. Like olden day hunters who would wear coats and hats made from their prey, ravagers wore the skins of their conquests as well. Layers and layers of human skins worn about their shoulders like a cloak of honor. Or horror depending on how you looked at it. Some of them even wore necklaces of dismembered ears or fingers, sometimes teeth; whatever appealed to their sick fetishes. The dog shivering beside me is more human than those creatures, of that there’s no doubt.
Question is, what are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Ravagers’ hunting grounds are usually confined to people trapping in the city. Out here the population’s too sparse. You could go for weeks and not see anything other than leeches. Kind of hard to hunt when there’s no prey. Plus, we knew the names of all the ravager leaders in the city. We’d heard enough horror stories from the odd survivor. Gunner is definitely not a name we’ve heard before. Which means these are probably no city ravagers. Trust us to be lucky enough to stumble across the country bumpkin’s version.
We stay hidden as they pass by, still yelling to the dog and waving something around in the air. I eyeball Luke to see if we’re going to do anything about the offending pieces of shit, but he shakes his head at me through the dusk. Seriously? I don't agree with his decision, but I don't argue the point. We let them pass by unharmed. Scruff, however, has other plans. The dog lets out a pitiful whine and then takes off like a shot, blending into the dark. Gordon's urgent whispers don't do any good. The dog is gone.
We wait for the voices to fade before we climb back onto the road.
"Fuck me, are there no more normal people left in this world?" Kelly questions in a quiet voice as he stares after the ravagers.
"Normal isn't a reality anymore," I whisper back.
"I agree," Dom says, causing me to do a double take. "We should have popped those bastards. A few less flesh eaters to worry about."
"No, they would have been more trouble than they’re worth," Luke responds. "We have a job to do. Let’s just stick with the plan and get it done."
I stare at Luke like I don't quite hear him right. "You heard what they said, yeah? They have an old guy and a kid they’re planning on roasting tonight. A kid, Luke. We have to find them and help them."
"No, Whitman is right, we can't afford to get involved. We need to get to the warehouse and take care of our own problem," Wentworth interjects, and I turn my glare on him.
"Those ravagers are our problem. We have to do something. Don't you agree?" I look to the others, hoping for some backup. I get it from the most unexpected source.
"Bixby’s right. We have to help save those people. If we stand by and do nothing, then we’re no better than those cannibals ourselves."
Great. Just what I need. Backup from the bimbo. Better than nothing, I guess.
"Right. What she said. Come on, don't be a bunch of douchebags. You know this is the right thing to do."
"Girl, don't be so fucking stupid. You know it doesn't make sense to get involved. We don't know how many of them there are, how well armed they are. Why tangle with ravagers when we don't have to? Let’s just stay out of their way and continue on with the damn mission," Wentworth says.
Wentworth is seriously starting to piss me off. I step closer and stare him in the face.
"Call me 'girl' or 'stupid' again and it won't be just ravagers you'll have to tangle with tonight."
He glares back, lowering his head to mine. "You threatening me, Bixby?" His rancid breath nearly makes me gag, but I don't back away.
"Okay, that's enough you two. Knock it off." Luke grabs me by the shoulder, but I shake his hand off angrily.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to drop my gaze from Wentworth and turn my back to him. He’s right, as much as I hate to admit it. We really don't have time for this.
"Thor to the rescue...like always," I hear Dom mutter under his breath to Wentworth and their combined laughter drives me over the edge.
"You know what...fuck you two idiots!" I whirl on them, knives drawn. I'm not sure what I was planning on doing, but I don't get to do anything. An unholy scream of terror cuts through the air, shattering the night's stillness.