Punish (Feral Justice Book 1) Page 2

  “What is it?”

  Struck by Andrew’s quavering voice, Bruce glanced at him. His half-brother’s mouth sagged open and his nostrils flared.

  Not wanting to, he turned his attention back to where his brother pointed. The sun bleached everything so it was all pretty much the same non-color. There might be—what?

  “I don’t know.” Something. He thought about moving to the right a bit but didn’t want to do anything that might draw any more attention than necessary to himself. His heart was doing things he didn’t recall it ever doing. He measured the distance between where they were and the trailer. There were weapons in there, pistols and rifles.

  Why then couldn’t he make his feet move?

  “What the fuck?” Andrew muttered.

  His heart thumped hard enough to make his chest hurt. He still needed to get out of here. At the same time, he needed to know more than he did about the possible threat. It was as if something was holding him in place, making sure he saw what was heading their way.

  A trio of beasts at least four foot tall was slowly approaching, one ahead of the other two as if leading the way. The bodies were substantial and chalky gray in color. The eyes reminded him of a winter night, but were full of a strange heat. From what he could tell, the one in the lead wasn’t blinking. It kept its gaze hard on Bruce.

  Dogs.

  Damn big ones, well over a hundred pounds each. Muscular but with so little fat an outline of their ribs showed. Their chests were broad, their hair short, their legs long and strong, tails like whips, big heads held low like they were tracking something, ears pointing forward.

  Coming closer. Still moving slowly, almost as if they weren’t sure what they were doing. The leader occasionally looked over his or her shoulder at the others, maybe seeking reassurance. The other two kept studying the one that appeared to be in charge and were timing their steps so the distance between them stayed the same.

  Fangs exposed. Growling low. Not stopping.

  “Hell.”

  Ignoring Andrew, Bruce backed up. The beasts didn’t once bark. Even their paws landing on dry oak leaves barely made a sound.

  Would they charge if he ran?

  What did they want? Did they even know?

  “Think they’re after food?” Andrew asked.

  “I don’t know.” Why hadn’t he taken off for the trailer the moment he’d become uneasy?

  Because he hadn’t wanted his brother to call him a coward.

  Better that than dead.

  Even as he tried to shake off the thought, he struggled to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Occasionally someone dropped a mutt off in the country, and those dogs tended to wind up on his property. When that happened, he shot the discard and added the body to the pit. Except for a couple of pit bulls last winter, the strays had all been so scared they wouldn’t come close. The pits had been half starved but aggressive.

  With a start, he realized he’d lost track of a few seconds, enough time for the sleek gray mutts to eat up too much of the distance between him and them. Now he had an even better view of their teeth and eyes, not that he wanted it.

  Strength wrapped like wire around the muscled bodies.

  “You got your pistol on you?” He already knew the answer.

  “No. You?”

  “Back at the trailer.”

  “Think we can get there?”

  “If we run, they’ll attack.”

  Andrew breathed like his nose was plugged up. “We don’t know that. Maybe they’re just—I don’t like anything about them.”

  Neither do I.

  The one in front stopped. A step later the other two did the same. The lead dog whimpered. Its companions answered. Bruce couldn’t help wondering if they were trying to make up their minds about something.

  After a bunch of whines, whimpers, growls, and barks that sounded like a conversation, the trio started walking again. Maybe the grays were deliberately drawing out their approach, letting their intended victims know what they had in mind.

  Victims? What the hell was his problem? This wasn’t Stephen King’s Cujo. Ordinary—ordinary?—dogs didn’t stalk and attack humans unless they had wolf blood in them, were starving, had gone wild or—

  “This is freaky,” his brother said. “As long as we don’t startle them we’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Closer and closer they came, their ears flat and hackles now raised. Group courage. That’s what it was. For some unknown reason the three had decided to come here and—what?

  The lead dog stopped, causing the others to do the same. It repeatedly shook its head, trembling a little as it did. After several seconds, it lowered its head as if in surrender, only to lift it and start walking again. Three pairs of lips curled back. Too many fangs showed.

  “Back to the cages,” he ordered. “Better the bitches and pups than us.”

  “You really…”

  If he lived long enough to add up Andrew’s contributions to life, he’d give him credit for realizing some questions were too stupid to finish. With barely fifty feet between men and mutts, Andrew back-stepped down the row of cages. As he was about to follow suit, he reached for the latch on the cage closest to him. After opening it, he grabbed a dog and threw it overhand at the grays. The dog hit the ground, rolled and started squealing.

  The lead gray straddled the little one and tried to nose it back onto its feet. The unearthly squealing continued. Judging by the little dog’s actions, it had some broken bones. One at a time all three grays licked the twisting, yelping dog.

  Then the lead gray stepped away from the injured mutt and positioned itself so it was staring at Andrew and him. Again it curled back its lips and growled from the depths of its chest.

  “Shit! Amy!” he screamed. “Amy, get out here with the rifle!”

  “Pitchfork!” Andrew bellowed.

  Grateful for a plan of action, he stumbled toward the hay they used to cover the shit that fell under the pens. Looking more determined than earlier, the lead dog stalked after him. Even with the fangs, no-nonsense hackles, flat ears and unmoving tail, the brightness in its too-dark eyes scared him the most.

  As he leaned over so he could grab the pitchfork, he caught a glimpse of his brother. Andrew hadn’t appeared this dumbfounded since, drunk, he’d backed his pickup into a ditch. The difference was that back then Andrew hadn’t been terrified.

  “Where’d they come from?” Andrew asked.

  “How the hell would I know?”

  His fingers closed around the weapon. He brought it up, clutched it in both hands and started to lift it as if he was some home-run hitter.

  The lead gray stopped just out of reach. Barked once. Heads low, all three swiveled and headed for Andrew. He half believed he could hear their hearts beating. They practically walked on their toes the way poodles did, which made him think of ballerinas—deadly ballerinas. Too close.

  Determined.

  With a plan.

  Behind him the caged dogs howled.

  Switching his hold, he threw the pitchfork as if it were a spear. The prongs struck one of the two followers on its shoulder, making the mutt yip. The prongs didn’t stick but they’d drawn a little blood. Then, growling, the beast picked up the pitchfork by the wooden handle and shook it.

  “Oh God, oh God.” He hadn’t prayed in years, didn’t believe in a deity. “God, please—”

  Snarling, the lead dog leaped at him. Everything happened in slow motion as if the beast wanted Bruce to appreciate its great, graceful body. It hit Bruce full on the chest, knocking him off his feet and onto the hay. Bruce landed easy, except for his legs folding under him.

  Gripping a double handful of hay, he stared up at his attacker. The monster planted its legs on either side of his body. The steel-like torso pressed against his belly. The biggest, whitest, sharpest fangs he’d ever seen were inches from his face—his throat.

  You’re mine. The ebony eyes were full of hate. Payback
time.

  Payback? What for?

  After dropping the hay, Bruce struggled to pull his arms from under the dog so he could grab its head and keep those damnable teeth off him. But the dog was all muscle and determination, easily pinning him, not biting.

  One of the other dogs growled, the sound coming straight from hell. “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” Andrew screamed, his voice gurgling at the end.

  Another growl followed by a snarl.

  “Bruce! Help me!”

  Hot urine burned the insides of Bruce’s thighs. Somehow he worked his fingers into the solid neck and pushed up. He tried to bend his knees so he could kick. That didn’t work, so he desperately whipped his body from side to side. He kept pushing. For the better part of a second, he believed he was stronger than the damn dog.

  Then the four-legged wrestler turned its head. Something sharp pressed against the sides of Bruce’s neck. Moist, hot canine breath made his stomach lurch. Sick with fear, he arched off the ground and dug his stubby nails into wiry fur.

  Instead of the deadly but mercifully quick bite he expected and now prayed for, the fangs slowly penetrated. Inch at a time. Agony clawed at him. Blood erupted. The metallic smell pushed him over the edge, that and the belief that the cur enjoyed what it was doing.

  Had a reason.

  He screamed. Anger fought fear and pain, compelling him to press his belly against his four-legged attacker. His fingers cramped, but he dug at the devil.

  The fangs continued their measured assault, penetrating ever deeper. Bruce’s mind splintered, started to melt. He continued to cling to the hope that the beast’s jaw would cramp. If that happened, he stood a chance of getting free.

  Free? He was bleeding out, a hot river down the sides of his neck, staining hay and clothes.

  Someone bellowed, maybe him, maybe Andrew.

  Why is this happening? What have I—? Mama! I need my mama!

  The devil released his throat. Shaking its head and frowning, it backed away, leaving him free.

  House. Gun. House. Gun.

  He managed to roll onto his stomach and get his hands and knees under him, started crawling. Teeth like skewers sank into his buttocks. He tried to scream but only a gurgle escaped.

  Where’s the damn pitchfork? The bat? Gun. Kill—kill.

  One stumbling crawl-slide followed another. Teeth buried in his other ass cheek. Losing balance, he plowed nose first into dirt.

  Mama.

  The man’s legs flopped as if they were trying to get away from a hot surface. After a while the strength in his arms faded. They jerked randomly and remained outstretched as if he were on a cross. Lowering her head, the young female gray sniffed at the blood coating his throat. She made a sound the man might have interpreted as a mix of satisfaction and confusion if he’d been able to think.

  “Good,” the Force told her. “Be proud.”

  The Force’s words confused Smoke. It had gotten so powerful recently, coming between her and her ability to process what had happened. Wanting distance between herself and what she’d done, she slowly circled the still-jerking body. She watched until the man’s hands stopped moving, then, obeying the Force, closed her teeth around a thumb. She bit down, forcing a weak moan from her victim. After a moment, she spat out the thumb and started in on the other fingers. The smallest broke off. Holding it lightly, she carried it a distance from the body and dropped it. Felt repulsed and uneasy. She’d just done a bad thing. Something prompted in part by the small injured dog’s cries.

  She looked around for it. When she found the poor creature, she walked over and nosed it. It didn’t move.

  “See what the abuser did,” the Force told her. “He got what he deserved. Be proud of yourself.”

  It was too much. She couldn’t think, or maybe was thinking more than she ever had. Either way, she needed to focus on something else. Her male siblings stood over the other body. One of her brothers—Food-man called him Gun—was pushing against the man, trying to turn him over, while Stone nipped at his shoulder.

  Smoke’s bark caught her brothers’ attention. Their demeanor said they were waiting for her to tell them what to do, but she wasn’t sure. She again tried to push the limp dog onto its feet but it slid along the ground. Memories of what the human had done to it swamped her. She remembered it flying through the air and slamming against the ground, screaming in pain. Soon after, the human had thrown something at Stone that made him cry out. That’s when something hot and fierce exploded inside her. She’d attacked. Bitten. Made the human pay.

  She exposed her fangs and lifted her head so her siblings could see the blood on her lower jaw.

  “You did what you had to. What the Force says we must.”

  She walked over to the closest cage. The pregnant female in it backed away. Smoke fell silent. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears.

  Smoke sniffed the wire. After repeatedly biting it, she lifted herself onto her hind legs and started clawing. The cage rocked but didn’t tip over. She’d managed to break a few strands, which made it possible for her to get her teeth around the vile-tasting wire. She attacked with fangs and claws, didn’t stop until the opening was large enough for the pregnant female to get out.

  Smoke started to step back, but the cage was too high off the ground for the little one to safely jump down. Whining softly, she called the much smaller animal to her. She took the skinny captive in her mouth and lowered her to the ground.

  Two noses met. Then, driven by the need to finish what she’d begun, Smoke sent a mind message to Stone and Gun.

  “Help them.”

  Her brothers yapped excitedly. Gun padded over to another cage, which held a single occupant, an older female with a long, matted coat and nails that had never been trimmed. Gun nosed the latch that held the door closed then bit it, breaking it. The door swung open and the female stuck her head out. Licked her rescuer’s muzzle.

  Gun’s lips lifted in a smile. Stone clawed another latch.

  Satisfied that her brothers were doing what was necessary, Smoke turned her attention back to the man she’d attacked.

  “You aren’t done with him,” the Force told her. “Do what I tell you.”

  She obeyed.

  Chapter Three

  Deputy Douglas Holt’s cheeks usually appeared as if he’d been out in the sun too long. This afternoon, however, he lacked color, his nostrils were pinched and his hands shook. “I’ve never seen— Shit. Damn never seen anything like this.”

  Nate Chee stared at his friend through the open Oakwood County Animal Control SUV window. “Are you all right?”

  “I don’t know. No, I’m not.”

  “What is it?”

  Douglas swallowed and jerked his head, indicating behind him. “See for yourself. Word of warning, there’s no way you can prepare for what you’ll see.”

  Nate had been on his way to check on a horse welfare case he’d been dealing with for over a year when Douglas had called with a terse command. “Head for Duggar Road, immediately,” Douglas had ordered and hung up. Nate had let the office know his plans had changed. Then, pushing aside the weariness he’d been living with for too long, he’d turned around.

  Now he was where he already knew he wouldn’t want to be.

  Reluctantly getting out of the vehicle with its not so reliable air conditioning, he joined Douglas. Usually Douglas, whom he’d known since they’d played high school football together, was the more vocal of them. Today, however, all he did was open and close his mouth.

  “Bad,” Nate said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Bad and then some. This is one of those times when I wonder why I ever wanted to be a cop.”

  I understand.

  Because Douglas seemed reluctant to return to where he’d been when Nate pulled off the sparsely used county road, Nate led the way to where a couple of sheriff’s department vehicles and an equal number of ambulances were parked. No lights flashed. The vehicles were near an older trailer. There were no othe
r buildings close to the trailer, just a rusting truck and several large piles of used building supplies.

  On a rise to the left and behind the trailer stood a double row of what looked like rabbit cages. Acknowledging them tightened Nate’s stomach. Experience told him he didn’t want to see what was there.

  “I should have given you more details when I called,” Douglas said as they walked, “but things were pretty crazy. They still are.”

  “You wouldn’t have called me if animals weren’t involved.”

  “It’s more than that. Shit.”

  Nate’s lungs started aching, reminding him to pull in a breath. As he did, he caught the stench that more and more lately made him wonder if he was in the wrong business. He’d been so naïve when he’d first gone into animal control. He’d thought he’d be rescuing cats from trees and reuniting lost dogs with their owners. There’d be the occasional stray and neglectful owner, but those things wouldn’t dominate his work days. Ha! Wrong. In addition to abuse and neglect, his reality included a facility crammed with more animals than there were homes for and a gutted county budget ill-equipped to handle them.

  “My God,” he muttered. No matter what he wanted, he couldn’t pull his attention from the two ramshackle rows. “It reeks.”

  “Wait until you get closer.”

  “I know what I’m going to find.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He stopped, torn between doing what he needed to and wanting to see what had caught the others’ attention. He belatedly noted that there were no animal sounds. Please don’t let the dogs all be dead.

  Douglas touched his arm. “You’re going to have to deal with the dogs, but maybe you’d better first…”

  From this distance, he saw that two bodies lay not far from the other officer’s feet. Arms and legs were at crazy angles, clothing was torn and there was blood, a lot of it. His first reaction was relief because he wasn’t looking at a dog or dogs. The victims had to be dead. Otherwise, the paramedics would be working on them. Had the paramedics tried to resuscitate them or had it been obvious from the start that the pair was beyond help?