Sleeping dogs, p.27
Sleeping Dogs, page 27
He had no power over her. Not her or anyone else. Not ever again.
The tears stopped.
“Rest,” said Nick. “You are safe. And you always will be.”
Nick Carlino clicked off, and her computer returned to what it was before.
But Pilgrim still growled, searching out the evil that had invaded the room.
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No Fingers continued to push his men hard, trusting their superior weapons and numbers to save them from a possible ambush. The rugged terrain and deep snow helped take his mind off the pain. That, and the fantasies he conjured up about what he would do to both the man and especially the dog once he had them.
The sun made his thick coat nearly hot, but the storm would be moving in soon, and they had to be ready for it.
His ankle twisted beneath the crust, slipping off a hidden something. He stopped himself just before any damage could be done. He was taking a big chance here, and he knew it, but it had to be. If Anthony Carlino were allowed to escape, his own life would be forfeit. And his passing would not be easy. The Scavo family was famous for their ability to keep people alive while torturing them.
No Fingers was not about to let that happen. He would retrieve the old man, kill the others, and take his time with the dog.
They were getting close; the farm was less than a mile ahead.
No Fingers checked the line, making sure his men were all accounted for. A few fell, but they got up and kept going. Like him, they sensed the end of the chase was near. Everyone was eager for this to be over and to get off the mountain. No one wanted to be caught in the next storm.
And they wouldn’t. No Fingers was confident. Victory was near.
The old man would be his.
The old man and the dog.
And even through the pain that was his barren hand, he felt his lips curve into a grin.
Following the Alpha’s scattered scent, Max continued to lead them. The farm smells were strong now—sheep, chickens, tobacco smoke.
Men.
Max saw the barn and the house. He stopped.
Billy, with Irmgard on his shoulders, came to a halt behind him. Max had brought them up behind the barn, in line with the house.
Irmgard climbed down and hugged Max’s neck.
“Good boy,” she said. “Isn’t he the best, Billy?”
Billy looked down at Max.
Max looked up at Billy.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess he is.”
“You say there’s a truck in the barn?” asked Billy.
“Yes,” said Irmgard.
“There are men at the house,” said Billy. “Guards.”
“Petra can take them,” said Irmgard. “Can’t you, Petra?”
Billy looked at Max again.
Max looked back.
“Well,” asked Billy, sarcastically, “can you?”
Scenting the air, Max ignored him and walked slowly ahead.
“There’s something else in the barn,” said Irmgard.
“What’s that?” asked Billy.
“Dynamite,” she said. “Daddy used it to blow out tree stumps. There’s a box inside the barn. Maybe you could use it to blow up the bad men.”
Billy’s eyebrows raised.
“Maybe I could,” he said. “The barn it is.”
Max hit a current of freshly blown air that brought familiar scents to him.
Spying the heads of figures behind a snow berm, he went past the barn.
The Alpha.
But there was another scent.
He searched—and there—he saw it—crouched low, crawling on its belly from the dark shadows of the trees behind the men, heading straight for the Alpha.
The Great Gray Wolf.
Max broke from a slow walk into a sprint.
“Where’s he going?” asked Billy.
Irmgard shook her head. “Maybe to kill the men at the house?”
“He’s going the wrong way,” said Billy.
But Max was not going the wrong way.
Billy saw the wolf. He saw something else too. He saw Gil Mason and Enzo and Marco.
Billy ran after the dog.
Leaving Irmgard.
Alone.
The wolf had finally tracked the men. He’d caught their trail a mile or more away and wound his way down until their odor was strong enough to air scent.
And now he had them.
He moved forward slowly, hidden in the shadows. He would kill the man he had fought earlier first, then take out the short man, and finally the weakest.
His highly sensitive ears suddenly caught the sound of the army coming down the mountain toward them.
But they were too far to make a difference. He could kill these three, then go back into hiding and pick them off, one by one.
Before him, the three men pointed their rifles toward the farmhouse, their backs completely open and their attention focused on their targets.
The wolf leapt, his jaws clamping on the back of the big man’s neck, slamming his body into the drift, his rifle lost in the snow as the two of them fell to the side.
The thick parka and hood blunted the attack, but not enough; the wolf ended up on top. One whip-snap of his head and the man’s spine would splinter, ending his life.
The other two men were turning toward him, but they were too slow to save the man.
Nothing could save him.
The wolf crushed down and snapped back and forth.
Something slammed into me from behind, pushing me hard into the snow and making me drop my rifle. Teeth tore through my coat and sank into the flesh of my neck, crushing in with horrible, mind-numbing force. My body was flung to the side as though I were weightless, and I landed on my face in the snow, unable to get a breath. I tried to turn my head, to steal a gulp of oxygen, but the monster on my back wasn’t having it.
Instantly, I knew it was the wolf, and I had to fight the panic that tried to overwhelm me. Being intimately familiar with canine attack behavior, I knew what was coming next, and if I didn’t counter it, I was dead. I tightened my neck muscles, anticipating the whip-snap that was coming, while simultaneously pulling my shoulders up as far as I could. I tried to shove my arms up over my head, to lock my neck even straighter, but they only made it partway before the wolf snapped.
The pain was excruciating, and I almost blacked out. But no bones cracked, and I was able to complete forcing my arms up, turtling my neck and head as deep into my shoulders as possible.
I tried to turn, but the wolf and the snow made it impossible. I had to buy time so that my partners could see what was happening and take action. But the wolf was too savvy an adversary. He attempted the snapping motion once more, and when that failed, he began to twist to the side, his teeth ripping through my flesh as he did, trying for the carotid and jugular.
Recognizing the maneuver, I knew I was helpless to stop him, but again, I was trying to buy time so the others could blast him out of existence. Spreading out my legs and digging my toes into the snow slowed his movement. He jerked my neck, an action that pulled my face from the snow, and I saw my companions staring at us, shock on their faces.
I had run out of time.
As good as they were, they were just too slow for the wolf, and he had maneuvered me just enough, despite my attempts to slow him, to break my neck.
As he jerked my neck out of the protection of my shoulder shell, I tried for my buckle knife but realized I was too late.
Max hit the Great Gray Wolf with a burst of speed, flying over the snow and into the creature’s massive frame. The angle prevented Max from the kill shot at the neck, but he didn’t have time to correct and save the Alpha at the same time. Instead, he bit down on the heavy muscle of the right shoulder and allowed his momentum to bowl him straight into the giant beast. Max shoved through, but his legs got tripped up going over the Alpha’s body. He landed on his side in the snow, the violence of the action ripping his teeth free and shoving all one hundred and sixty pounds of the Great Gray Wolf’s body into Marco and Enzo, who stood there, fumbling for their weapons. Both men were smashed into the snowdrift, and the Great Gray Wolf instantly attacked Enzo, who was closest, tearing into his thigh and then releasing to face Max.
Max sprang to his feet and charged, but a bullet whistled past his ears, kicking up snow beside the Great Gray Wolf.
Max dodged to the right as another bullet sped past him on its way toward his adversary. Again, it missed them both, but not by much.
Max dove into the snow, spinning to meet this new threat, and saw Billy, sixty yards away, firing at them, but the Great Gray Wolf was already back in the safety of the trees. Max stood, preparing to give chase, when the Alpha grabbed him, hugging him to his chest.
“You’re alive!”
And then the men from the house started shooting at them.
Scraping the snow from my eyes, I saw the wolf attack Enzo. And then I saw Max sprinting toward the wolf, making giant leaps in the snow.
Max?
It wasn’t possible.
Max was dead. I saw him die. I saw it.
But here he was, saving my life, again.
And then Billy was shooting at the wolf, with Max in the line of fire.
Billy?
My mind sort of freaked.
Billy was dead too.
Was I dead?
Were we all dead?
I knew better than that. This was not Heaven.
It was too cold to be Heaven.
But this wasn’t the time to contemplate.
This was war.
I grabbed my rifle from the snow and turned to shoot the wolf.
But the wolf was gone, his tracks disappearing into the trees.
Max was about to go after him.
I came up behind him and hugged him tightly. Tears rushed, hot and fast, and I let them fall. Max was alive … alive and in my arms.
Suddenly I didn’t care about the stupid wolf or the army of bad guys or even Anthony Carlino.
All I cared about was Max.
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The wolf found the safety of the trees, then turned sharply and ran hard for a short span before turning again, making a “U” that aimed him back to his prey.
He heard the shooting and would wait till it was safe to attack.
But attack he would.
He would kill the man.
Kill the dog.
But he’d also detected another scent.
The girl.
He would kill her first.
And the path he was taking would lead him straight to her.
The shooting sounded close. No Fingers knew they were almost on them now. The men he’d left at the house must have engaged them. If he could get his soldiers in place fast enough, they’d have Anthony Carlino’s men flanked and take them out quickly.
Charging in front of the line, he led his men straight down. His soldiers followed, hurrying to catch up. A couple of them fell, but sensing the urgency, they got up fast. And soon, the line was coming apart, no longer even. If the wolf had been waiting in hiding, he could have taken several men.
But the wolf was not there.
Irmgard started to run toward Billy but stopped at the movement breaking from the trees. It was far away, but she saw him just the same.
The wolf.
He was moving fast and right at her.
Irmgard screamed Billy’s name, but the shooting was so loud he couldn’t hear her.
Turning, she ran for the barn. The snow made it hard—so hard. Like running away from a monster in a dream when her legs would move so slowly while the monster was free to come for her at full speed.
Irmgard forged ahead, afraid to look behind her, afraid the wolf would be right there.
Sheer terror clutched at her, locking her breath in her chest and making her heart race. Little sounds broke past her lips, and she started to cry. The barn seemed so far and the wolf so fast.
There was no way she could make it.
In her fear, she thought she could feel the wolf’s breath hot on her neck.
She was so scared.
But then she thought of Billy and Petra—how they were always so brave—and that helped a little.
She forced her legs to obey. She ran, lifting her knees high and stretching out her gait as far as she could, the dream-feeling fading and the barn coming closer and closer.
Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she saw Billy running toward her. He was so handsome, but he was too far away. He would never get to her before she reached the barn because the barn was just there.
So close now that she was reaching out her arms, thinking that she might make it.
But she was wrong.
Her little legs really weren’t moving very fast through the thick snow.
And the monster really was right behind her.
Billy cranked off another round at the wolf. He almost shot Max, but he considered the dog's death as an acceptable loss, so long as he got the wolf.
Max broke right, leaving Billy a clear field of fire, and he blasted away. The wolf turned and moved faster than Billy thought possible, especially in this snow. Billy tried leading him, but the animal was too fast. And then he was gone. Swallowed by the trees and shadows.
Gunshots sounded, and Billy saw men shooting at him from the house.
Running toward the snow berm, he changed targets and shot back.
Enzo, Marco, and Gil followed suit.
Out of his peripheral vision, Billy saw Max running right at him. For a second, he thought of trying for a shot but realized Max would have him before he could hope to sight in. He breathed a sigh of relief as the dog sped past him.
Following Max’s movement, he saw Irmgard running for the barn.
And then he saw why.
Billy suddenly felt a new kind of fear. A fear he had never known.
While he was distracted, the wolf had curved through the trees and come out at an angle closer to Irmgard. And was moving at her with the speed of a missile.
Billy stopped running, aimed at the wolf, fired twice, missing both times, and then he was out of bullets, and he had no more magazines. Dropping the rifle, he started running again, but this time for Irmgard. He knew it was useless but was unable to stop himself. He cried out her name, a gesture as futile as running to her, but again he couldn’t stop himself.
He should never have left her.
Billy watched as Irmgard looked at him over her shoulder, her hands reaching for the barn, still ten yards away.
The wolf leapt, his huge frame flying through the air. His giant jaws stretched wide as they turned sideways and then clamped down on the girl’s tiny body, encircling her chest, flinging her up and around and then under, crumpling her into the snow and covering her in his deadly embrace.
Launching from twenty feet out, Max reached them a moment too late. The wolf caught sight of the motion, so he let Irmgard go and spun away from her. Max’s jaws clapped empty air, his lithe body bouncing off the wood of the barn. Max landed on all fours and saw the monster, its head lowered, its movements sleek and fluid as he circled, trying for an angle on the girl.
Irmgard lay on her stomach. She coughed up a gout of blood, her small fingers clutching at the snow as her lungs gulped for breath.
She tried to speak through the blood and the pain, but she could only manage a faint whisper.
No human could have hoped to hear what she said.
But Max heard.
“Petra,” she said.
Max had the tactical advantage with the barn guarding his back, but he gave it up, moving between Irmgard and the Great Gray Wolf.
Max broke free from my arms and ran towards Billy. I watched him until a chorus of gunfire broke my attention, and I had to dive for the cover of the snow berm. A bullet punched through the snow an inch from my face.
Change cover to concealment. Concealment hides you; cover protects you. The snowdrift was no protection.
Marco, Enzo, and I opened up, each taking our original targets. All three men went down. The fourth man took three hits, dancing a little jig before falling. But bullets kept flying our way, and it didn’t take long to realize they were shooting at us through the windows of the house.
Scoping the left window, I saw the outline of a head and put a round through it.
No more shooting from that window.
Marco and Enzo peppered the house and windows, shattering glass and plunking holes. I used the opportunity to skirt to the far left of the snowdrift and made a run for it. Knowing I’d taken out the shooter guarding that side gave me a chance.
Making it to the side of the house, I moved to the back and saw the unguarded door.
They might be waiting right inside for me.
But then again … they might not.
I asked God to help me do my best as I moved through the door, my rifle at the ready.
I came up behind the two men who were still alive. They were shooting at Marco and Enzo through the front windows. I killed them both from behind. Not a brave move, but like I said before, this was war, and they started it.
I yelled out to Marco and Enzo that I was inside so they wouldn’t accidentally shoot me and did a quick clearance of the house. It didn’t take long. I found the man I’d shot through the head in the main bedroom. There was another body in what looked like a little girl’s room. Other than that, the house was clear.
Marco and Enzo were just coming up to the door when I finished.
I opened it, smiling, but then I saw the army sweeping down the mountain straight toward us.
The first bullets hit the doorframe, splintering wood.
Marco and Enzo smashed through me to get inside.
Couldn’t blame them.
No Fingers saw the men as they made it to the farmhouse porch. He stopped and took aim, ignoring the pain, and fired. The men all fell inside. He thought he might have hit at least one of them.
