by Kyla Stone
“You heard them. Let’s move!” Horne yelled. They hurried along the road, cresting a small hill before turning left on Wickingham Lane, a road infested with weeds and potholes. By the time they spotted the warehouse, they were running. The sky blackened. The rain fell harder, slapping their exposed faces.
They dashed inside, wiping water from their eyes and shaking out their hair.
The warehouse was dim and empty, the dark shapes of forklifts and hovercarts slumped somewhere in the back of the vast space. Plastic sheeting covered several doorways wide enough for semi-trucks to back into. It smelled like sawdust and something old and rotting.
Micah checked to make sure everyone was present and accounted for. Amelia and Benjie sat shivering against a wall half-finished with drywall. He moved within a dozen feet of them, wishing he could come closer, give Benjie a hug and let Amelia know she wasn’t alone.
He blinked in the dimness. It was hard to see anything, but Amelia seemed paler than he remembered. He couldn’t tell if rain or sweat beaded her forehead. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said with forced brightness. “Just freezing, you know?”
“I have a Mylar blanket in my pack. I’ll get it.”
She shook her head. “You won’t get it back. It’ll be infected.”
“I’ll be fine.” He tugged his pack off his back and twisted it to get at the zipper. His wet glasses slipped down his nose, and he shoved them back in place with his palm. “I’m too manly to get cold.”
She grunted. “Is that how science works these days?”
Before he could respond, a noise came from behind them. A soft rustling. Something scraping against concrete.
Amelia’s eyes widened. She heard it too. The hairs on Micah’s neck prickled.
He whipped around, searching the shadows deep inside the warehouse. The wind-whipped trees outside mixed with streaks of lightning made the shadows dance and waver.
One shadow seemed to separate itself from the others. It moved independently, neither dancing nor wavering. It skulked.
“Amelia, don’t move.” Ice flushed through his veins. His heart constricted.
Yellow eyes peered out of the darkness. First one pair, then another, and another, until at least a dozen gleamed. And still, there were more.
A low growl emanated from the bowels of the warehouse.
They weren’t alone.
19
Gabriel
Gabriel didn’t hear them at first.
He stood a few steps from Jericho and several others at the front entrance of the warehouse, watching the trees thrash in the storm. His clothes were soaked, his hair wet against his scalp. Rain dripped down the back of his neck, but he didn’t try to wipe it off. The water soothed his bruised, chafed wrists.
The black sky reminded him of the hurricane that battered the Grand Voyager before it sank, consumed in smoke and flames. Lightning split open the clouds, lighting up the warehouse in pulsing flashes. A crash of thunder hit so close it shook the cement floor beneath his feet.
“Dogs.” His brother’s voice came from somewhere behind him.
The next crash drowned him out. Then came another sound. A low, vicious growl. Gabriel spun around, peering into the dark.
He saw them in a flash of lightning. A glimmer of eyes and teeth. More than two dozen shapes slunk low to the ground. The creatures were coming at them from the left, the right, and from behind in a loose circle. They were stalking them. Hunting.
Gabriel gritted his teeth, his pulse leaping. His hands balled into fists. He was helpless without a weapon. His eyes met Micah’s. For once, he saw no resentment or recrimination, only a wary, growing fear.
“Stay calm,” Micah said.
Gabriel nodded. They were outnumbered. Only a few in their group knew the first thing about defending themselves from anything. There were packs of strays in Gabriel and Micah’s neighborhood, but they’d usually gone after smaller, weaker prey. Pet dogs and cats, raccoons and rats, occasionally a small child.
Once, Gabriel clubbed a rabid mutt who attacked him for the prefab beef in his grocery bag. Usually a shout and waving hands or weapons would scare them off if they grew too bold. But this was different. He saw it in the way they moved, the strange, unblinking intensity of their gazes.
“Dogs,” he said to Jericho, who hadn’t heard Micah over the thunder. “Behind us.”
Jericho stiffened. “How many?”
“Too many.” Between crashes of thunder, he heard several muffled growls. He scanned the warehouse again. Now that his eyes were accustomed to the dark, his gaze snagged on the fluffs of fur scattered across the floor.
He made out the faded imprints of hundreds of scuffed, dirty paws. There were a few small bones here and there, squirrels or chipmunks, and a pile of bloody chicken feathers in one corner. His throat tightened. “This is their lair.”
Silas’s typical sneer froze on his face. “I hate dogs.”
“You hate everything,” Willow said, but there was an edge of concern in her voice.
One of the dogs, a husky, crept within a dozen yards of them. Gabriel liked dogs. But he didn’t like these dogs. He stared at the husky with growing unease.
“Here, doggy, doggy,” Celeste called.
Willow shot her a look. “Celeste, stop it!”
“What? They’re just dogs. Where’s that nasty faux-meat jerky we had?”
Willow slid her knife out of its sheath. “I don’t think they’re hungry.”
The husky’s jowls writhed in a snarl, its eyes like two demon eyes in the night. It looked wolfish, predatory. “Actually,” Gabriel said, “I think they are.”
Jericho gave a sharp jerk of his chin. “I need everyone to calmly and carefully form a circle, facing outward. Arm yourselves and be ready to fight. We have visitors.”
“Or, more accurately,” Finn said, “we’re the visitors, and the hosts aren’t so happy to see us.”
The group hurriedly formed a circle, Jericho crouched on Gabriel’s left, Finn like a mountain on his right. He watched the husky stalk closer in the pulses of lightning.
“Benjie!” Willow gasped, pointing.
Gabriel’s gaze flicked from the husky to the far wall, where Amelia and Benjie pressed themselves against a steel beam as a retriever and two bulldogs advanced on them. “Don’t move!”
Micah gripped Willow’s arm to keep her from running after her brother. “We’ll get him, I promise. Just stay still.”
“This is an excellent time to see if food might do the trick,” Elise said tersely.
Nadira reached into her pack and pulled out the last of their prefab beef jerky. She flung it at the dogs. They yelped and howled, scrambling for the food, plunging over each other. The dogs devoured it within moments, but it gave them the time they needed.
Lightning split the sky, lighting the hard planes of Jericho’s face. He whirled, his rifle up and sighting the dogs. He shot once, twice. He missed. A dog barked. The growls grew louder.
Silas spun and shot at a hunched shadow streaking by only a few feet away. They were spirits in the darkness, shifting like oil in water.
Gabriel recognized a few German Shepherds, several Pitbulls, a snarling golden retriever, a Siberian husky, a couple of mutts, and two Rottweilers. They darted in closer, growling and snapping, but still hesitated to attack.
These dogs were former pets, most still with collars. But there were a few mutts that must have been strays for years, their skeletons showing through their mangy fur.
A gangly gray creature slunk closer. Its ratty tail hung low, its ribs gaunt, a jagged scar arcing from above his eye socket down across his muzzle. His eyes blazed savagely.
Scarface, Gabriel thought. Their leader.
Something wasn’t right about them. They were driven mad by starvation or disease; Gabriel didn’t know or care which. But they were scavengers now, used to feeding on prey already sick or dead. They weren’t used to taking on humans at full strength
. They stalked and circled and growled, darting in for a nip or a slash of fangs before leaping back.
Maybe they didn’t want to attack. Maybe they just wanted the humans to leave their lair alone.
“You think they’ll run if we act like the predators?” Micah said, echoing Gabriel’s thoughts.
As if Scarface read their minds and strongly disagreed, the large stray gave a savage growl and sprang at Nadira with a snap of its fangs.
Nadira screamed and fell back, collapsing the circle.
Gabriel lunged at Scarface with a roar, ramming into the beast with his lowered shoulder. Taken by surprise, Scarface rolled and skittered back on its feet, hackles raised, growling. Something dripped from its mouth.
Jericho yelled something, the sound obliterated by an explosion of thunder overhead. The rain slammed against the metal roof, spilling over the doorways in a gray curtain.
Finn bent to help Nadira. Micah turned and shot at a German Shepherd closing in on Finn as he yanked Nadira to her feet. The bullet ricocheted, puncturing the wall a foot from Gabriel’s thigh.
Micah shot again. The dog howled and fell, then jerked itself back to its feet, limping with one bloody hind leg.
“Stop shooting!” Gabriel shouted. “Stop shooting! There’s ricochet!”
Silas flipped his rifle and used the stock as a club. Micah pulled a hammer out of his belt. Elise and Nadira gripped their knives, but their blades were far too short. The dogs would tear their throats out before they could use them.
A retriever lunged at Jericho. He smashed the animal’s snout with the butt of his rifle. It yowled and staggered back, shaking its head, its mouth foaming.
The other dogs were the same. Some with only a tinge of white flecked in their slobber, others with jowls dripping with red-streaked foam, the fur of their chests and front legs matted with it.
The realization hit him with a sickening jolt. The dogs were infected. If they bit anyone, it was likely a death sentence.
He searched for Amelia. She stood frozen, still as a statue against the wall, two dogs barking viciously at her but not yet attacking. Benjie was no longer beside her.
He scanned the dark warehouse. A streak of lightning revealed movement against the far wall. Benjie climbed on top of a forklift. He screamed and flailed his arms at two German Shepherds trying to leap onto the machine.
A righteous rage filled him. Death was coming for him and he yearned for it. But he wasn’t going to die like this, chained up like a dumb animal, completely helpless. He wasn’t going to stand by and let another little kid get killed. He wasn’t going to abandon Amelia. Not again.
He scanned the warehouse, spotting several lengths of two-by-fours leaning against a forklift. He turned to Jericho, thrusting his handcuffed wrists at him. “Free me! Let me help!”
Jericho hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he pulled the key from the cord around his neck and unlocked the handcuffs. “If you try to run, I’ll kill you.”
Thunder exploded. In the next flicker of lightning, there were three dogs after Benjie, snapping at his legs. They were growing more daring. A Pitbull snarled at Gabriel’s feet. Gabriel kicked the dog with all his might. The Pitbull howled and fell back, dazed.
“I’m coming with you!” Micah raised his voice above the rain pounding the roof.
“You go for Amelia, I’ll get Benjie.” Gabriel headed for the pile of two-by-fours. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Micah racing for the dogs circling Amelia, his grip tight on his rifle.
Micah had a handle on it. His brother was stronger than Gabriel gave him credit for. He could protect Amelia.
Gabriel reached the woodpile, snatched up a two-by-four in each hand, and raced for the forklift. The thought only entered his head for a moment—you can run.
In the chaos, he could easily escape, fleeing into the forest where Jericho wouldn’t be able to find him. He could end it all on his own terms, finally stopping the storm of shame, loathing, and hatred he endured every moment of every day. Or you could even choose to live, free from these people, from justice and judgment . . .
The temptation flared—a bright beacon flashing in the darkness for a brief moment—and then a scream brought it crashing down. He would consider his options after everyone was safe. For now, he could do something. His white-hot rage had an outlet—those damn dogs. So help him, he would destroy every single one before he ran off into the woods like a yellow-bellied coward. Gabriel was many things, but a coward wasn’t one of them.
Nadira screamed to his left. She backed away from a viciously barking retriever. The retriever crouched, its ears laid back against its skull, foam drizzling from its slavering fangs.
It launched itself at Nadira. She stumbled and fell, her arms raised to protect her face. The dog leapt on her chest, about to go for her throat—but that’s as far as it got.
Gabriel angled himself at Nadira and lunged, swinging hard and nailing the beast in the head with a loud crack. It slumped on top of Nadira and didn’t move. Gabriel aimed a kick at a skulking terrier who yelped and skittered away. He dropped the wood, leaned down, and jerked her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, her eyes wild. Her headscarf was knocked askew. Her palms and elbow were scraped. Her pants were ripped over her left thigh.
“Did it break the skin?”
She hastily fixed her headscarf. “I don’t think so.”
“Follow me.” He thrust one of the two-by-fours into her hands. “On my count, get Benjie, climb inside, and close the doors.”
“But he’s—”
There wasn’t any time to worry about the possibility of infection. Not with the very real threat of mauling or death by dog attack. “Don’t touch him and keep your mask on! Now, go! I’ll take care of the dogs.”
His anger blazed with a white-hot fury that burned the darkness from his mind. He raced for the forklift, screaming like a madman as he ran.
The German Shepherds and the Rottweiler dropped to all fours and turned toward him, snarling, red-flecked foam dribbling from their muzzles. Two more mutts came at him from the left.
He sprang into the middle of the pack, using the board as a club, nailing one dog in the ribs, another in the haunches, and the last square in the head. The dog crumpled and fell, limp and lifeless.
The other dogs smelled blood. Gabriel stumbled back, startled, as the dogs lunged in, barking savagely, and attacked the fallen one. His stomach lurched, but it would give them the time they needed. “Go!”
Nadira raced past them and climbed into the forklift. She grabbed Benjie’s arm and pulled him inside. There wasn’t room for Gabriel. He hadn’t expected there would be.
He slammed the door shut and turned back to face the dogs.
The Rottweiler advanced, head lowered, snarling, blood staining its fangs and lips.
“Come on, you filthy, ugly beast!” Gabriel lifted his club. “Come and get me!”
20
Willow
Willow couldn’t find Benjie. In the chaos of the attack, everything was slinking shadows and bursts of lightning. Thunder crashed, wind shrieked, the rain pelting the roof like stones. The storm roared so loud she could hardly hear.
And over everything, screams and shouts of terror, and the dogs slinking closer like silent demons from hell. It felt like some terrible, distorted nightmare.
The circle was broken. Every person defended themselves. Only, Benjie couldn’t defend himself. They’re your responsibility. Take care of them. She had to protect him.
She spun around, searching for her brother, shouting his name, peering into shadows. She darted aside as a great dark shape leapt past her, snarling and snapping its jaws inches from her left leg.
The lightning created a stuttering strobe effect. With each flash, the chaos of the warehouse froze like a flashbulb—dogs running, crouching, snarling. In the next flash—people backing against each other, lashing out with two-by-fours, knives, and the butts of their rifl
es.
Fear plowed through her. “Benjie!”
She felt hot breath on her arm, smelled wet fur and something rancid. She turned slowly, so as not to startle the creature into attacking her. A German Shepherd stood less than three yards away, its eyes trained on her, the hackles on its back raised, tongue lolling as it panted.
Her lola taught her what to do near strange, aggressive dogs when she was little. She made Willow practice with Benjie and Zia. Stand as still as a tree. Benjie would stand on one leg and giggle until he lost his balance and fell over, knocking into Zia and sending them both tumbling to the floor, laughing hysterically as they tried to take Willow down with them.
Her heart lurched in her chest. She couldn’t think about that now. She had to focus. She had to survive.
The German Shepherd growled, slinking closer.
She froze, her gun clutched in her right hand, her arm flat against her side. Her muscles trembled with the focus it took not to bolt. She stared below the dog’s eyes, not meeting its gaze.
In between flashes of lightning, the Shepherd advanced a step. Then another. A low growl rumbled in its throat. Its jowls lifted in an ugly snarl. She saw the foamy blood on its blackened lips. She could guess what it meant.
This was no ordinary dog.
It wouldn’t care if she was still as a freaking tree. It would tear her apart anyway. “Stay back,” she murmured. Slowly, she lifted the gun, bringing her left hand to close over the grip, willing her fingers not to shake, trying desperately to focus, to think over the thunder and the screams, through the panic spiking through her.
She remembered what Jericho told her. No safety. Aim, press firmly, and shoot.
This dog was someone’s pet once. Like the one at the gas station. She’d never hurt an animal before in her life.
But this was different. This dog raged with diseased fury. Whatever gentleness had once been a part of it was gone now. She couldn’t let sentimentality make her hesitate. She must be strong.
