Karli’s shoulder as she cried out again.
Shep had closed the gap in a couple of fast, extra-wide strides. He grabbed for the gun, yanking it above Karli’s head. Karli twisted out from underneath his arm, and, with her own arm twisted behind her, leaned forward over and against the car hood. She then whipped a backward kick to Shep’s groin.
He grunted, letting go of Karli to cup his groin with his right hand. He didn’t fall, though.
In one continuously fluid move, Karli flipped the leg she’d kicked over the hood of the car and rolled across it. Landing smoothly, she tugged her skirt down from where it had ridden up to her waist and reached for Pamela. Karli grabbed two massive handfuls of Pamela’s dress and yanked. Enough inner fabric ripped that Pamela, freed, tumbled backwards to the ground.
Karli grabbed Pamela’s hand and half-dragged, half-helped her up onto her feet. Then, pulling Pamela with her, she dashed toward the nearby forest.
“Yes, run,” Shep called after them. He didn’t bother raising his voice much. He was still recovering from the groin kick. “I missed my morning jog. Not that this will be much of a challenge.” He actually seemed rather mournful.
“I will shoot you, asshole!” Karli screamed back. “Get within three to five yards and you’re put down!”
Pamela and Karli disappeared into the woods.
Shep straightened, and, walking gingerly, popped the car trunk.
“Get them back, Shep,” Mr. Doyle ordered the second the truck opened. “Maim, no kill.” Shep wasn’t happy about the last part of the order, but Mr. Doyle knew best, as he always did. “You can have your blood later, after I get my answers.”
THE HUNT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Capilano Regional Park Forest
Shep had been with Mr. Doyle since he was sixteen, at which time his mother had finally given up on him and took off for parts unknown. Sometimes, when he bothered to think about such things, he wondered if Mr. Doyle was actually his father.
His mother had always used to shriek and shriek at him about all the little bloody things he did, but Mr. Doyle hadn’t ever cared about the animals that died whenever Shep was around a place for too long. Indeed, Mr. Doyle soon provided much larger canvases with which to work, and oversaw his development in this area. Guiding him, much like a father would have guided a son into the family business.
Though he preferred the bodywork, Shep didn’t mind his other duties. He knew what and when Mr. Doyle wanted to eat everyday, and where the best bagels and lox were to be bought from. He perfected his espresso shots even though he had to use that cat-shit coffee. He didn’t even remotely care it was actually civet feces, nor did anyone dare correct him about it.
•••••••••
The Capilano Regional Park Forest encompassed most of the upstream areas of the Capilano River below the Cleveland Dam, which was a popular tourist destination. The fish hatchery, located about five hundred meters downhill from the dam, offered educational displays. During spawning season, salmon could be seen using the fish ladder. None of this, of course, was remotely relevant to Karli or Pamela as they fled through the massive cedar and fir trees. Pamela actually had no idea where they were, though she could hazard a guess that they were somewhere on the North Shore. Karli just hoped that the piles of brown needles underfoot would muffle the atrocious amount of noise Pamela was making as she crashed through the forest.
“I’m not really supposed to shoot him. I am kind of on probation over this Grady thing,” Karli confessed, and then promptly turned her ankle for the third time on her four-inch heels. She slowed to rip off the offending shoes.
“I thought you were a kindergarten teacher?” Pamela couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“Well, that’s just really code for stripper.” Karli tossed one shoe and then the other in the opposite direction to where they were
Shep had closed the gap in a couple of fast, extra-wide strides. He grabbed for the gun, yanking it above Karli’s head. Karli twisted out from underneath his arm, and, with her own arm twisted behind her, leaned forward over and against the car hood. She then whipped a backward kick to Shep’s groin.
He grunted, letting go of Karli to cup his groin with his right hand. He didn’t fall, though.
In one continuously fluid move, Karli flipped the leg she’d kicked over the hood of the car and rolled across it. Landing smoothly, she tugged her skirt down from where it had ridden up to her waist and reached for Pamela. Karli grabbed two massive handfuls of Pamela’s dress and yanked. Enough inner fabric ripped that Pamela, freed, tumbled backwards to the ground.
Karli grabbed Pamela’s hand and half-dragged, half-helped her up onto her feet. Then, pulling Pamela with her, she dashed toward the nearby forest.
“Yes, run,” Shep called after them. He didn’t bother raising his voice much. He was still recovering from the groin kick. “I missed my morning jog. Not that this will be much of a challenge.” He actually seemed rather mournful.
“I will shoot you, asshole!” Karli screamed back. “Get within three to five yards and you’re put down!”
Pamela and Karli disappeared into the woods.
Shep straightened, and, walking gingerly, popped the car trunk.
“Get them back, Shep,” Mr. Doyle ordered the second the truck opened. “Maim, no kill.” Shep wasn’t happy about the last part of the order, but Mr. Doyle knew best, as he always did. “You can have your blood later, after I get my answers.”
THE HUNT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Capilano Regional Park Forest
Shep had been with Mr. Doyle since he was sixteen, at which time his mother had finally given up on him and took off for parts unknown. Sometimes, when he bothered to think about such things, he wondered if Mr. Doyle was actually his father.
His mother had always used to shriek and shriek at him about all the little bloody things he did, but Mr. Doyle hadn’t ever cared about the animals that died whenever Shep was around a place for too long. Indeed, Mr. Doyle soon provided much larger canvases with which to work, and oversaw his development in this area. Guiding him, much like a father would have guided a son into the family business.
Though he preferred the bodywork, Shep didn’t mind his other duties. He knew what and when Mr. Doyle wanted to eat everyday, and where the best bagels and lox were to be bought from. He perfected his espresso shots even though he had to use that cat-shit coffee. He didn’t even remotely care it was actually civet feces, nor did anyone dare correct him about it.
•••••••••
The Capilano Regional Park Forest encompassed most of the upstream areas of the Capilano River below the Cleveland Dam, which was a popular tourist destination. The fish hatchery, located about five hundred meters downhill from the dam, offered educational displays. During spawning season, salmon could be seen using the fish ladder. None of this, of course, was remotely relevant to Karli or Pamela as they fled through the massive cedar and fir trees. Pamela actually had no idea where they were, though she could hazard a guess that they were somewhere on the North Shore. Karli just hoped that the piles of brown needles underfoot would muffle the atrocious amount of noise Pamela was making as she crashed through the forest.
“I’m not really supposed to shoot him. I am kind of on probation over this Grady thing,” Karli confessed, and then promptly turned her ankle for the third time on her four-inch heels. She slowed to rip off the offending shoes.
“I thought you were a kindergarten teacher?” Pamela couldn’t seem to catch her breath.
“Well, that’s just really code for stripper.” Karli tossed one shoe and then the other in the opposite direction to where they were
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