by Alan Russell
My partner tried his bark on me once more. Emily decided to back him up.
“Hush,” I told them.
So much for a silent approach.
The night was on the cool side. I opened all four windows almost a third of the way down so that there would be plenty of ventilation. Then I took Emily’s lampshade off so that she would be more comfortable.
“You two be good,” I whispered.
In my right hand I held the heavy Maglite, but I didn’t turn it on. The night was cloudy and there was little in the way of moonlight, but I hoped it would provide enough light for me to make my way to the picnic site.
I walked forward along Big Tujunga Canyon Road, glad I’d electronically visited the area, especially with the darkness. The drop-off was too steep, and there was too much brush, for me to consider bushwhacking over to Doske Road. Keeping hunched down, I approached the closed gate across the road that led down to the picnic area. I could see that, past the barrier, Doske Road was paved but in a state of disrepair. There were potholes and loose asphalt and plenty of potential stumbling blocks. I tried to be a silent shadow, moving off the asphalt and following a rain-carved gully downwards. My boots crunched in the loose grit, sand, and hard dirt.
In the distance I could see the outline of a large pine tree. It was breezy, and the wind was stirring up the needles of the tree so it sounded as if it were whispering. The temperature was on the cool side, but I was producing a puddle of sweat. Part of that was the Kevlar vest; the bigger part was my uncertainty.
I moved slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Every few steps I found myself holding my breath and listening. There was nothing to be heard except for the occasional clicking of pine needles. Those sounds didn’t explain the hairs on my arms rising up or the prickle I felt along my spine. My veneer of civilization had been quick to fall away, and my primordial instincts were screaming caution.
In the distance I saw a flashlight go on, then off, then on again. Instead of signaling back, I hunched down low, trying to disappear from view. Using the brush as a barrier, I moved farther away from the road and hoped the foliage and the darkness were now shielding my movements.
The light flashed again. Maybe because of my new angle, I saw something that I hadn’t seen before: next to where the light was being shined, two pairs of eyes glowed green in the dark.
These were nonhuman eyes. These were eyes that were tracking me with senses of hearing and smell and night vision far better than mine. These were eyes that came with huge, cutting teeth.
I wanted to tell myself that the ghoulish-looking eyes, and all that I imagined accompanied them, were but a momentary illusion. Still, the realist in me knew the purpose of the light was to draw me in toward those waiting eyes.
The gun I’d brought was meant for a human opponent or opponents. I’m an adequate marksman, but hitting two moving targets in the darkness would take more than luck; it would take a miracle. That wasn’t something I was ready to count upon.
I considered flight or fight, and which was the better option. The car was too far away. I probably wouldn’t even get to the top of the road before being run down by the dogs. Fight didn’t seem much more feasible. I would need some kind of barrier or fort, something I could hide behind and shoot from, but nothing showed itself as a possibility.
The breeze kicked up and the pine needles started their whispering again. This time I listened to what they were saying. If I could get to the pine tree before the dogs ran me down, I might find both safety and high ground.
I was running through the chaparral even before I was aware I’d made my decision. The ground was uneven, prime territory for twisting an ankle, but I couldn’t slow down. My legs pushed through brush and high grass. I kept my eyes on the prize. Though I tried to keep the sound of my breathing in check, I was soon gasping for air. The Kevlar vest cut into my side like a lead corset. Still, the pine tree was getting closer. Maybe the element of surprise had worked; maybe my race to safety had gone unnoticed. There was no barking, but then I heard something off to my side—the crackling sound of brush separating. It’s the wind, I prayed, but a quick turn of my head realized my fears. A streaking dark shadow was on an intercept course to take me down.
One dog, I could fight, but I didn’t like my odds going up against two. I was now committed to the tree.
A dozen steps separated me from it, then nine, then seven. Now I was close enough to see that there were no low-hanging branches. I would need to throw myself at the tree’s thick trunk, and then start shimmying upwards. From four feet away I took off, leaping toward the tree, my arms outstretched. The first impact I felt was the tree. The trunk was thicker than my extended arms, but I managed to get a good grip. Without an instant’s hesitation, I dug my boots into the bark and pushed upwards. That’s when the second impact hit.
I screamed, a cry of both pain and fright. One of the dogs had his teeth deep into my calf.
That’s when the second dog leapt at me. The force walloped my torso and head against the tree, and I screamed again. The second dog’s target had been my back, but the Kevlar vest saved me from being ripped open. For an instant, I almost lost my grip on the tree, but then I tightened my bear hug.
The second dog fell to the ground. I knew he’d be up and at me again; my only hope was to try and get out of his reach. Gritting my jaw, fighting off the pain, I used two arms and one leg to hoist myself up another foot. Covering that distance was made all the harder by the anchor I was dragging. The first dog hadn’t loosened his grip on my leg. His teeth were deep in my sinews and flesh, and he was not about to be shaken off. The dog’s additional weight put a toll on my waning strength. In fact, just holding on was tough enough; trying to climb higher up the tree was quickly taxing all my reserves.
The second dog came at me again. He must have used the first dog as a ladder of sorts, climbing up its back and using its body as a springboard. I screamed again as the dog’s teeth opened up my lower back, but again my vest mostly rebuffed the attack, causing the dog to fall.
Even though my arms were beginning to twitch, I managed to hoist myself up another foot. I hoped I was out of range of the second dog, but even if I was, all I had managed was to buy myself some time. The dog that had the bite on me didn’t even appear to be winded. He was just waiting for his prey to fall.
I tried not to be terrified, and to keep a clear head. If I could get at my gun, I might have a chance. But time was running out. In another minute or two, it was likely the dogs would have human company joining them to take down their quarry. Could I cling to the tree with just one arm for long enough to get my gun? I shifted, trying to find a position that would allow me to loosen my hold, but then found myself slipping. Panicked, I reestablished my hold. For how long could I hang on, though? It was like riding the back of a tiger and not being able to get off.
I thought about the best way to drop to the ground, and what I would need to do to survive. If I was able to land on my feet, there might be time to draw my gun before the two dogs were on me. I’d likely have only an instant’s reprieve.
But if the fall from the tree resulted in me losing my balance, then I’d have to roll and try to come up with my gun. From there I’d need to fight to my feet. Even if I couldn’t get my gun free, during my time at Metropolitan K-9 I had been trained in how to best defend myself from a dog attack. None of the instructors had ever thrown a second dog into the equation, though. Going up against two dogs that had been trained to kill changed everything.
That’s when I heard something. At first I doubted my ears, thinking it was wishful hearing, but then there was no mistaking the sweet, sweet sound of sirens. There was no guarantee those sirens were coming for me, but I wanted to believe they were. Still, I quickly learned my mental celebration was premature.
The second dog came at me again. Vaulting off the first dog, he pushed off high enough to bite my upper thigh. It was all I could do to scream and cling to the tree. My pants ri
pped, and once more the dog fell to the earth, taking some of my flesh with him.
I didn’t have the strength to climb higher, and the sirens were still too far away. That was when I heard the roar of an engine. What sounded like a motorcycle was making its escape up Doske Road. The hellhounds were too intent on finishing me off to even notice their ringleader’s exit.
As desperate as my grip was, I could still feel myself slipping. The next hit, I was sure, would bring me down, but I tried to prepare myself anyway. Protect the throat, I thought.
Survive.
Up until that moment, the battle had been fought mostly in silence, punctuated only by my screams. That suddenly changed. There was a roar, followed by cries of throaty rage. A life-and-death battle of vicious intensity broke out below me.
Somehow, my shepherd had arrived.
The dogs were rolling, biting, lunging, growling, and screaming. It was the meeting of Sturm und Drang, the frenzy of kill or be killed.
But as brave and determined and fierce as my partner was, his opponent was a trained killer, and I feared Sirius would not survive this fight.
I readied to drop. I would take on my attacker, and then try to help my partner. But suddenly I saw another shadow enter the fight, and the sounds of war redoubled. Emily had joined Sirius, and the two of them acted in tandem. They attacked as a team, each of them coming at the second dog, lunging with a ferocity that was driving the hairy assassin back.
My grip was about to give, so I decided to act before my strength gave out. I pushed off from the tree, dropping down about six feet. Even with the first dog’s weight pulling at me, I managed to keep to my feet. It took me only a moment to pull free my Glock with my right hand; my left hand grabbed the Maglite from my belt. And then the dog was up, jumping at my throat.
I clubbed him first with the Maglite, and then my gun, and before he could jump at me again, I jumped at him and kicked with all my strength. A sound came out of my throat that I had never voiced before, something feral and savage and wild. And then I was the aggressor, coming at the dog and screaming my rage. I took the battle to him, swinging at his forelegs, slashing at his eyes. I was ready to use my fingers and nails and teeth. Civilization’s veneer was gone.
The first dog bared his teeth and backed up, but I didn’t pause, and was able to club his nose with my heavy flashlight.
Dogs are good at suppressing and hiding their pain. It’s how they evolved. Despite that, there’s no better way to get their attention than to strike them on their nose. That is a sensitive spot for them, and a most painful place to be struck. And I wasn’t done. I followed up with another limping, but aggressive, step forward. I was attacking. As loud as the dog’s growls were, mine were louder.
And that’s when he turned tail and ran.
A part of my mind recognized that there were flashing lights coming from Big Tujunga Canyon Road, as well as shouting voices. But at the moment, I was a berserker. Had I not been seeing red, I probably would have thought to shoot my gun into the air. That might have scared off the remaining dog. I was in attack mode, though, and ready to join in with my pack.
You never get into the middle of a dogfight. You will only get bit if you do. Those words had been indoctrinated into me. So, naturally, I stepped into the middle of a dogfight. Sirius and Emily had done well against this fighting machine, but both were bloody. Two against one had allowed them to survive. But now it was three.
I didn’t fight by the Marquess of Queensberry Rules. I blindsided the dog, aiming a kick at his balls. What works on human males also works on male dogs. I ignored the pain in my savaged calf for long enough to step into the kick and punt with everything I had. That actually lifted the dog into the air. He didn’t land on his feet but fell to his side. As the rest of my pack attacked, he got to his feet and, for a moment, faced off against the three of us.
As our united front came at him, the last assassin fled into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Two
To Come to a Head
When an LAPD officer made his cautious approach to the three of us, we were in the middle of a group hug and I was telling the dogs how brave they were, and how no one could hope to have better friends, and how they were the best dogs in the world, and how they had saved my life.
I heard no arguments from them, and they seemed to take joy from all my praise. It was a paltry enough offering for their loyalty and the wounds they’d suffered.
All of us were the worse for wear. As scarred as Emily had been, she now had new wounds. Sirius was carved up as well. It had been a hell of a fight, but we’d survived.
I was holding up my wallet badge for the cop to see, even as I was hugging the dogs and doing a post-battle inspection of their wounds. I wanted to make sure LAPD knew we were the good guys.
The cop called, “Detective Gideon?”
“That’s right,” I said.
I gave Sirius and Emily a last hug, extricated myself from our group huddle, and rose from my knees. Now that the fight was over, I was finding any movement hurt like hell.
A light shined on me. “Are you all right?” the cop asked.
“Bloodied but unbowed,” I said. “My two dogs are the same.”
“An ambulance is on the way,” the cop said.
“Cancel it,” I said. “Our next stop is an animal hospital. In the meantime, you need to put out an alert about two vicious pit bulls that are loose in this area. Maybe you can roust someone from animal control to come out at this time of night.”
“What happened here?” asked the cop.
“I was stupid enough to be ambushed,” I said, “and almost paid the price. Your sirens and my dogs saved my life. Let me guess: an individual named Seth Mann contacted you.”
“That’s correct,” said the cop. “Dr. Mann told us that immediately after you supplied him with your location, your phone conversation was suspiciously terminated. According to Dr. Mann, he suspected it was a situation of an officer down.”
Dr. Mann, I thought, had invoked words that guaranteed a police response like nothing else. The next time we were together I would ask him to never ever do that kind of manipulating in the future. Of course, I would make that request right after thanking him for saving my life.
“I’ll call Dr. Mann and tell him I’m all right,” I said.
“You said you were ambushed,” said the cop. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“I know who arranged it,” I said. “And I hope to soon be arresting him.”
The officer opened his mouth, but I spoke before he could ask his question. “Right now I am going to drive the dogs for medical treatment, and then I will also be making a trip to the ER to get my own wounds treated. Your questions will have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Fine,” the cop said.
He asked to look at my ID, and took down the best numbers on which to reach me. By that time, a second cop had joined us.
“I’m going to need a favor, guys,” I said. “I don’t think I can get up that hill by myself. But if I can use both of you to brace me, I think I can swing and hop my way to my car.”
It took almost fifteen minutes of stopping and starting to get to my car. The adrenaline was long gone, and I was cold and hurting and weak. I was also as stubborn as ever and refused the ambulance that was waiting for me at the top of the hill.
Once the dogs and I were inside the car, I did a quick study of the interior door handles. The handle nearest to where Sirius always sits showed scratches and what I was sure were bite marks. Houdini’s talents weren’t only limited to doors and windows at my house. Sirius had figured out the car handle all on his own. I was glad I hadn’t locked the doors, and had left all the windows at least six inches open. My partner would have heard me being attacked. Hell, the way I had screamed, he would have heard me from a mile away.
I touched the scratched-up door handle. Despite the videos I’d seen of dogs opening car doors, Sirius’s springing himself from the confines of the
car still seemed like a miracle. And damned if I didn’t get all teary-eyed and insist upon another group hug.
Before calling Dr. Mann, I wiped those tears away. Then I told my friend that we were all alive, but that drinks were definitely in order for tomorrow night.
My next call was to Dr. Wolf-Fox’s answering service. I explained the emergency and said I knew it was long after office hours, but that I was sure Sirius would prefer seeing his own vet. If Dr. W-F could accommodate him, I said, she should call me on my cell.
Two minutes later, Dr. Wolf-Fox called. She has a soft spot in her heart for Sirius. Everyone loves a dog in uniform. Dr. W-F was given an abbreviated story of what had happened and the wounds involved on both dogs, and then told me she’d be ready to see us at the clinic in half an hour.
“What a brave, sweet boy you are,” Dr. Wolf-Fox said to Sirius.
“And you,” she said to Emily, “couldn’t be any sweeter than you are.”
Both dogs were showing off for Dr. Wolf-Fox, doing all they could, and more, to be everything she said they were.
“What about me?” I asked.
“You should have known better,” she said, “than to put these two in danger.”
“I didn’t put them in danger,” I said. “It was Sirius who opened the car door with the handle, and Emily who chose to follow him.”
“Incredible,” she said.
“What?”
“Your whole story. First, that Sirius opened the door to get out of your car. And then your rescue dog, with a broken leg and still-healing wounds, follows him into battle and comes to your rescue.”
“The bastards that hurt her,” I said, “that left her for dead, said there was no fight in her. You should have seen her tonight when she was saving my ass.”
My voice caught, and I turned away from Dr. Wolf-Fox. She pretended not to hear, or see, my tears splattering on the floor.
She gave shots, stitched up wounds, whispered sweet nothings, and checked the two heroes from head to toe. I watched her eyebrows wrinkle as she examined the abscess on Emily’s head.
