~ Chapter three ~
I react instantly, rushing forward and tackling it. The dog snarls and snaps, reacting instantly. My mind darts back to when I was a child and John and I would play-wrestle with our dogs when we lived in France.
It was nothing like this. This animal is rabid, all sharp teeth and claws. Al I can do is show it no fear, to fight with the hope that mama might still be out there, somewhere – needing my help.
Its teeth snap at my face and for the first time I become aware of cheering from the men. I push my hands into its throat – hard, digging my fingers into its jugular. It lets out a snarl, its hot rancid breath in my face.
I manage to somehow get my leg up – the heavy weight of the rabid dog bears down on me and it’s almost too much of an effort to kick it.
It must have been a powerful kick because it flies back a few feet – but it gets up almost instantly.
I climb to my feet hastily, my breathing harsh and watch the dog as it warily circles me – trying to back me up into a corner of the pen.
“Come on then mutt!” I growl, crouching slightly as I circle with it – moving around but refusing to back down.
At this short distance, I can tell exactly what kind of dog it is. Rottweiler mix – maybe with husky or something as equally big. It’s almost foaming at the mouth as its wild eyes remain pinned on mine. Boulder...that was the name, right?
This time when he leaps, I’m prepared, dodging to the side and then rolling when he attacks again. He growls, clearly pissed off, on his feet as agile as anything.
“Come on Boulder!”
“Chew her to pieces!”
“Rip her to shreds!”
“Get her boy!”
I focus on the words for a moment but then a second passes and they fade away once more, leaving me with nothing but the animal before me.
Everything slows down and I pick up on the way the dog crouches, backside sticking up slightly, body terse and ready. I feel my own body prepare, get ready for the weight of the dog.
I know what I have to do, my mind returning momentarily to when my papa taught me how to kill an attacking dog. How to end its life in one brutal movement.
The dog lets out a series of barks and then leaps at me. This time I don’t move, instead, I let its weight hit me – and I grab its front legs.
It snaps into my face and it’s harder then I would have thought to avoid those nasty teeth in order to end its life.
With a roar that sounds more like the dog than myself, I rip the legs apart, efficiently splitting it open.
I pant heavily, the weight now dead upon me. I can’t even push it off me, I’m just so exhausted. Angry voices, raised and shouting – at me, at the dog, at themselves and each other.
A moment later and the dog is removed from me and I’m jerked to my feet. I can’t focus, everything seems blurry and distorted. I fight but I don’t do any harm. My limbs feel heavy and my movements sluggish. It’s like I’ve turned into jelly.
One of the men drags me back to the box and throws me in, not bothering to tie me – thankfully. I kik out weakly with my leg but the door refuses to budge.
“Fucking bitch killed the dog. Useless mutt.”
“What now?”
“We should have put a bullet in her head.”
“No, Blakely obviously wants her for some reason – perhaps this is it. She’s a good fighter, good with a gun. Maybe he wants to convince her to be on our side.”
“A woman?” One scoffs.
“Yes, a woman. You saw her yourself, how she fought. She could be valuable.”
“But...”
“No buts, we wait for Blakely.”
The voices trail off into an uncomfortable silence as I heave for breath, vomit threatening to spill out of my mouth like acid.
I tell myself I can’t sleep, I shouldn’t sleep – that if I do it could all end for me. I have to be on my guard.
But none of this matter because the next second, I allow the sweet embrace of darkness to take me under.
