Corroboree by Graham Masterton Page B

‘Off! You damned creatures! Get off! Damn you!’
    He kicked one dog hard in the ribs, and it screamed like a child. Another went for his trousers, but he seized its hind leg and threw it end-over-end, howling, into a patch of bottlebrushes. But two more dogs launched themselves at his calves, and one of them bit right through into the muscle with an audible crunch of flesh, and the other scrabbled with sharpened claws at his ankles, ripping off skin in ribbons. Eyre shouted out loud, and yet another dog threw itself at his elbow, gripping the bone with relentless jaws and refusing to let go, even when he twisted its ear right around.
    He dropped to the grass; first to his knees, then as the dogs went for him again, on to his back. He was too frightened even to cry out; and angry, too, in an extraordinary way.
    Captain Henry reached the ha-ha, and managed to beat off two of the hounds with a stick; at least for long enoughfor Charlotte to be pulled, crying and bloody, to the safety of the dog-handler’s side. But now the rest of the dogs hurled themselves at Eyre with redoubled fury, and one of them bit him right in the cheek, only an inch below his right eye, while two more of them ripped at his arms and his legs.
    He thought, Jesus Christ, I’m dead. I’m already dead. These dogs are going to kill me. And his whole world was crowded with snapping and biting and flying saliva and flailing claws.
    Quite suddenly, however, he felt the dogs stiffen, and lift their heads. One of them stepped back from him, and then the others followed, and in a moment all six of them changed from snarling beasts into elegant canine statues, standing in the light of the moon quite motionless, noses slightly lifted, as if they had inhaled some rare and indefinable essence that was undetectable by humans but which could instantly turn greyhounds into figures of limestone.
    Lathrop said abruptly, ‘Utyana. Tie the rest of those dogs up and bring Mr Walker up here. Captain Henry, do you hold your ground.’
    â€˜Yes, sir, Mr Lindsay.’
    Digging his heels into the grass, Eyre managed to push himself a little way up the side of the ha-ha on his back. He was shocked and trembling and he felt as if his skin had been curried all over with a wire brush. Utyana hurried over and lifted him the rest of the way out of the ditch; and then he lay back on the grass, sniffing and shaking, and up above him the sky was impossibly rich with stars.
    Utyana knelt beside him, taking off his wide felt hat so that he was wearing only a red headscarf over his scalp. He was big-nosed and ugly, and his breath smelled of sour fruit, but he smiled at Eyre and touched his forehead very gently.
    â€˜How’s … Miss Charlotte?’ asked Eyre.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ nodded Utyana.
    â€˜Going to be all right, no thanks to you,’ remarked thevinegar voice of Lathrop Lindsay, from somewhere out of sight.
    â€˜And me?’ Eyre whispered. ‘I’m not going to die, am I?’
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ nodded Utyana.
    â€˜Only English the blighter ever learned,’ said Lathrop. ‘Understands it, doesn’t speak it’.
    Eyre reached down and felt his chest. His waistcoat was badly torn, and his lapels were hanging in shreds. Then suddenly he felt his stomach, and to his utmost horror he could feel something wet and stringy. He lifted it up in his hand, and raised his head a little way, and there between his fingers was a bloody mess of tatters, with something pulpy right in the middle of it all.
    He let his head drop back on the grass. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, out loud. A feeling of nausea surged up in him, and his mouth flooded with blood and bile.
    Lathrop came into view, on the right-hand side, and peered down at him. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Lathrop asked him, shortly.
    Eyre took three or four quick breaths. ‘I’m going to die, aren’t I? Those dogs have ripped my guts