goddamn you!”
“Kick him loose.”
“I can’t—it’s a pit bull!”
“Hold it, Bunch—hold up.” I kicked the dog hard in its ribs, and it coughed twice and chewed deeper.
“Owww! Quit it—you’re making him mad!”
“Hold still!” Jamming the leg of the monopod at the back of its jaws, I twisted the animal’s mouth open, and Bunch yanked his leg away. The dog growled and swung after me, the teeth a rip of white against the black earth.
“Bunch, where the hell are you going?”
“I ain’t staying here!”
He was gone, leaving me to back away from the snarling dog, which sprayed saliva and blood as it rushed to get past the sharp monopod leg and make acquaintance with my own. “Bunch!” I jabbed at the dog’s chest and it yelped, pulling back, and I charged after it. The animal turned into the dark and I did too, running under the weight of the equipment and hearing a growling breath circle around me. Wheeling once more, I held the dog at bay as I stumbled backward and dueled with its teeth. “Bunch, you son of a bitch, help me with the goddamn fence!”
“Nobody helped me.”
“I’ll dump this crap. So help me God, I’ll leave all this stuff!”
In the distance behind one of the long, dark ridges, I heard the snarl of motorcycles like hornets swarming from a nest. Bunch pulled the Bronco down into the ditch and up close to the fence and leaned out the window to grab the gear.
“Not the monopod—not yet!”
“Christ, I hate dogs.”
I jumped on the aluminum running board and made a last savage jab at the rabid-looking beast, feeling the metal leg hit something that resulted in a very satisfying yelp. “Go—goddamn!”
He did, the vehicle rocking up on one side as he floored the gas and surged across the ditch and onto the gravel road. Behind, blinded by dust and falling farther and farther back into hazy darkness, the pit bull tried for one last bite of me or the tire or anything else it could sink those jaws into.
“Stop a minute, Bunch! Let me get in—hold up, goddamn it!”
He slammed on the brakes and I scrambled in, tossing equipment and looking back for the snap of teeth. “Okay—go!”
“Did you get the battery pack?”
“No—you had it.”
“I put it on the hood. Damn thing must have fallen off.”
A line of bobbing headlights crested a ridge in the black far behind us and dropped out of sight. “Can’t go back, Bunch. Here come the boys.”
“Shit.” He lurched the Bronco forward, and we drove without lights and peered through the dark for the next section road that would lead back toward I-25.
“That goddamn dog still chasing us?” Bunch used the gears rather than the brakes to slow for the hard turn.
“Yes,” I said without looking. I didn’t have to look.
“Dogs!” He reached down and groped around at something below the dash.
“Will you watch the road, Bunch! You’re doing sixty miles an hour without lights!”
“I’m watching. My goddamn leg’s chewed halfway to the bone and hurts like a bastard.”
“I hope the dog wasn’t rabid.”
“He wasn’t. Just high on crack. Damn, that hurts. Goddamn dog bites really hurt.”
We scratched from the gravel onto pavement, and Bunch flicked on the headlights and stepped harder on the gas. At the next intersection, we turned onto a county highway and slowed to blend with the occasional car or pickup truck. A few minutes later, a pair of motorcycles came up fast, and we watched in the rearview mirrors as they rode beside each car for a few seconds to check it out and then speeded up to the next.
“Duck down—they’re looking for two people.”
I slid into the darkness beneath the dash, my knees tight against my chest. The rattle of engines pulled up to the driver’s side and hung there for a long time. I saw Bunch glance toward them, and his hand hovered over the Python Magnum slung in its holster riveted beside the steering column. Then the engines revved and the bikes pulled
“Kick him loose.”
“I can’t—it’s a pit bull!”
“Hold it, Bunch—hold up.” I kicked the dog hard in its ribs, and it coughed twice and chewed deeper.
“Owww! Quit it—you’re making him mad!”
“Hold still!” Jamming the leg of the monopod at the back of its jaws, I twisted the animal’s mouth open, and Bunch yanked his leg away. The dog growled and swung after me, the teeth a rip of white against the black earth.
“Bunch, where the hell are you going?”
“I ain’t staying here!”
He was gone, leaving me to back away from the snarling dog, which sprayed saliva and blood as it rushed to get past the sharp monopod leg and make acquaintance with my own. “Bunch!” I jabbed at the dog’s chest and it yelped, pulling back, and I charged after it. The animal turned into the dark and I did too, running under the weight of the equipment and hearing a growling breath circle around me. Wheeling once more, I held the dog at bay as I stumbled backward and dueled with its teeth. “Bunch, you son of a bitch, help me with the goddamn fence!”
“Nobody helped me.”
“I’ll dump this crap. So help me God, I’ll leave all this stuff!”
In the distance behind one of the long, dark ridges, I heard the snarl of motorcycles like hornets swarming from a nest. Bunch pulled the Bronco down into the ditch and up close to the fence and leaned out the window to grab the gear.
“Not the monopod—not yet!”
“Christ, I hate dogs.”
I jumped on the aluminum running board and made a last savage jab at the rabid-looking beast, feeling the metal leg hit something that resulted in a very satisfying yelp. “Go—goddamn!”
He did, the vehicle rocking up on one side as he floored the gas and surged across the ditch and onto the gravel road. Behind, blinded by dust and falling farther and farther back into hazy darkness, the pit bull tried for one last bite of me or the tire or anything else it could sink those jaws into.
“Stop a minute, Bunch! Let me get in—hold up, goddamn it!”
He slammed on the brakes and I scrambled in, tossing equipment and looking back for the snap of teeth. “Okay—go!”
“Did you get the battery pack?”
“No—you had it.”
“I put it on the hood. Damn thing must have fallen off.”
A line of bobbing headlights crested a ridge in the black far behind us and dropped out of sight. “Can’t go back, Bunch. Here come the boys.”
“Shit.” He lurched the Bronco forward, and we drove without lights and peered through the dark for the next section road that would lead back toward I-25.
“That goddamn dog still chasing us?” Bunch used the gears rather than the brakes to slow for the hard turn.
“Yes,” I said without looking. I didn’t have to look.
“Dogs!” He reached down and groped around at something below the dash.
“Will you watch the road, Bunch! You’re doing sixty miles an hour without lights!”
“I’m watching. My goddamn leg’s chewed halfway to the bone and hurts like a bastard.”
“I hope the dog wasn’t rabid.”
“He wasn’t. Just high on crack. Damn, that hurts. Goddamn dog bites really hurt.”
We scratched from the gravel onto pavement, and Bunch flicked on the headlights and stepped harder on the gas. At the next intersection, we turned onto a county highway and slowed to blend with the occasional car or pickup truck. A few minutes later, a pair of motorcycles came up fast, and we watched in the rearview mirrors as they rode beside each car for a few seconds to check it out and then speeded up to the next.
“Duck down—they’re looking for two people.”
I slid into the darkness beneath the dash, my knees tight against my chest. The rattle of engines pulled up to the driver’s side and hung there for a long time. I saw Bunch glance toward them, and his hand hovered over the Python Magnum slung in its holster riveted beside the steering column. Then the engines revved and the bikes pulled
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