An Unwelcome Development

Those first few steps turned into a jog, then a full out sprint, spurred by the shrill scream that was suddenly cut off. My hands were pumping as I ran, pistoning to do their small part in propelling me as quickly as I could. Somehow a pistol was in my right hand and it came into view every other step.

Other than the little girl's scream, I hadn't heard anything, so I was unprepared for the sight that greeted me as I turned the corner. A large pack of dogs was trotting away from me. They had surprised me because, other than the padding of their feet and the clicking of nails on pavement, they were silent.
I recognized the playful pup who'd served as bait to lure the prey to the pack. She was off to the side, her part over, and now, because of her size, relegated to the periphery. A very large dog had the girl, her left leg in it's maw, being half dragged, half carried down the street. I don't know if she was still alive or not. Her head, being dragged along the road, wasn't at a weird angle. The fact that she wasn't being carried by her neck left me some small hope. She was probably too big for even this monster to have snapped her cervical spine by worrying her.

They stopped as one, as they heard me make the turn behind them. The alpha growled low, around the leg in its mouth. The others joined in. Instant goose bumps and the hair on the back of my head and neck stood up. Racial memory buried deep in my DNA came rushing to the forefront, freezing me in place.

Part shake, part shiver, I twitched free of the chains the fear response shackled me with. I shucked off the prey response and took on the mantle of hunter. They all recognized it. After all, we'd been running down food together for a thousand generations.
This stayed them, as they evaluated and waited on Alpha.
He was fifty yards off, facing me. He must have gone well over a hundred and fifty pounds. Part of my brain tried to place the breed. Presa? Some type of Mastiff?

Didn't much matter. He was large and in charge. A sharp yap, repeated, and the pack slowly spread out and headed towards me. All except him.
I didn't have a shot. Whether chance or smarts, the girl was between us. If I'd had my rifle, maybe.
A German Shepard Dog, belly almost dragging the ground, slunk toward me to my right. Pivoting, the Glock came up, pressure building on the bang switch. The tops of the sights aligned with his shiny black nose as my elbows locked and the trigger bar dropped at the end of it's travel. The hundred and fifteen grain hollow point screamed across the short intervening distance, rising an inch or so above point of aim, stiking the skull between the eyes, sliding up the slope of the skull before whanging off into the countryside.
The dog, stopped, stunned, legs wide and locked. I put two more rounds into it then noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. Knees bending, I pivoted at the hips, driving the sights to the next dog. Indeterminant breed, but every bit of a hundred pounds. I got lucky hitting something important with my second shot, his front legs crumpling, sending him ass over tea kettle.
Watching two of their bigger compatriots being dealt with made the rest cautious, but didnt' keep them from moving. They started circling, looking for an opening. I needed to move too. But which way? I risked a quick three sixty look.
If I wanted the girl, I needed to move on Alpha, trying to flank him and get a shot. I started shuffling that way, my ancient targeting system working the angles, trying to keep track of all the data points. My people were good at this.
But so were their's.
Two dogs charged, as near to a hundred and eighty degrees apart as to not matter. I managed to not dawdle deciding which one to take first. Righties swing left more easily, so that's what I did. I snapped off a quick shot, took a long sidestep and pivoted on the balls of my feet, gun moving through Sul out of habit and coming back out, right eye waiting for confirmation from the top edge of a small piece of steel about four inches in front of and an inch and a half above my trigger finger.
There!
Satisfied, I stroked the trigger, eased off, the reset remarkably loud to my hearing which, oddly, was cranked way up, but not bothered by the muzzle blasts. I watched the front sight snap up, and back down and registered that something momentous had occurred and the dog was somehow 'wrong'.
That's when my brain recognized the 'dehdeh, deh, dehdeh, deh, as galloping paws. My next sidestep got me off the train tracks, the first dog of the latest pair slid past me, overshooting, front legs locked, sitting on the rear, trying to dump velocity for a turn.
A pair of 9mm bullets took him between the shoulders, and he dropped, panting heavily, tongue lolling, dragging his broke backed ass off to die.

This was getting old. Who was the one on his hind legs? I didn't wait for them to come after me. I targeted the nearest dog to me, a ridiculously wrinkled Sharpei. A round went into him, a little wide of the mark as I was already swinging on the next dog. The Sharpei went down, snapping in fear and anger at the thing in its side that was hurting it.
I pumped a round at a pup and moved. A round at another dog and another step. Pivoting ninety degrees between each rushed shot so no part of the circling pack started to feel too comfortable.
Time slowed and strange things started happening to my perception. Instead of narrowing, my vieual field widened. Two dogs snapped at each other as they got too close to each other and their fear and excitement made them momentary adversaries.
Sunlight glinted off a brass case, spinning through the apex of it's arc, followed immediately by another. The slide came back and didn't go forward again. Pistol shifted left in my hand of it's own accord, pushing the mag release against my thumb. The mag fell away to be replaced by another that made itself available. As it seated, the slide jumped its catch and slid forward, striping the top round from under the magazine lips, bullet nose smashing into, then up the feed ramp, slamming home with 'THAT' satisfaction, only to be fired a small portion of a moment later as sights confirmed final trigger pressure and another canine crumpled.

I'd closed the distance to ten yards from Alpha and moved around to his left flank. At some point in the last few seconds he'd dropped the child who now laid inert between his enormous front paws.
I finally had the shot I wanted, that I'd worked for. The sights drove themselves and found a good stopping point, and trigger was well on its way to tripping. I had some small hope that when the Alpha dropped, the rest would give it up.

I never got a chance to find out.

 

D@@@@yymmmmnnnn!!!! That was intense Zen!

 

;-)

 

This sounds like something that Keith Gilbert would have written...

 

Who is this Keith Gilbert and why are we talking about him?
Next person mentions him, I'll have his nutsack as a Tabaco pouch!

 

Ouch...

Rancher

 

Who? ;-)

 

Exactly!

 

Gosh, I'm flattered…no one else wanted them. ;-)

 

I started reading this story last week, not realizing that there was a previous book - "The Unwelcome Sign". Now that I've caught up on this one, I've gone back to the first book and started reading it. I'm enjoying both stories immensely, and find your style of writing very easy to read and follow. Two thumbs up from me! Now I have to get back to the other story.

 

I agree with you, not reading the first story is a bit like putting on a suit without putting on your underwear and socks first. ;-)

 

As well as being a story with sustenance for the reader, not relying on mere shock content in place of an original story line.

 

Yeah, you're probably right; I left my 'PC' at the door! ;-)

 

Looks like the wait was worth it.

 

Damn right it was!

 

Hey, I like both stories...

 

Me too! ;-)

 

Me three!!!