Redzone (12 page)

After pulling the wire loose, Lee went to work on her pack. She hoped to reach the town of Heartbreak by sunup, blend in, and find the woman named Myra Meo. But what if she failed? What if she had to spend the next day under the hot sun?

With that possibility in mind Lee filled her pack with bottles of water from the case in the truck. Four in all. Those plus the sleeping bag, a change of underwear, some toiletries, her gun kit, and a box of energy bars would be enough. The rest went back into the truck.

Lee spread a tarp out under the trees, made a pillow out of her jacket, and tried to sleep. That didn't seem likely because of the heat. But then she awoke to discover that it was 5:30
P.M.
She felt groggy and it took a major effort to stand up, find a place to pee, and return to the truck.

Lee couldn't risk a fire and the smoke it would produce but didn't have to. After boiling water over a tiny backpacking stove, she made a cup of instant coffee and poured the rest of the hot liquid into a foil bag labeled
CHICKEN AND RICE
. She'd eaten the freeze-dried meal before—and actually liked the glutinous mixture. So after consuming about half of the bag's contents, and washing it down with instant coffee, Lee felt better.

It was six thirty by then. The light had begun to fade, and half an hour had passed since a vehicle had rolled by, so Lee figured it was safe to go.

So after a final look around she shouldered the pack and set off. The trail was steep, but the air was a good deal cooler by then, and she felt a sense of anticipation. What would it take? Four hours? Six? Then she'd be there. After that, well, time would tell.

*   *   *

A rocky overhang jutted out from the side of a hill to provide a patch of shade during the hottest time of day. As the sun went down, and the temperature fell, the pack began to stir. The animals weren't dogs or wolves. They were an unholy mixture of both. And thanks to mutations caused by
B. nosilla
, they were even more dangerous than their ancestors had been.

One Ear was an excellent example of that. He looked like an oversized Rottweiler rather than a wolf. But to a large extent One Ear
thought
like a wolf. A smart wolf who weighed 150 pounds, had senses keener than those of his predecessors, and possessed some primitive social skills. All of which helped to explain why the mutimal and his mate Silver were alpha dogs. Meaning the pair from which most of the pack was descended—and to whom the rest of the animals looked for leadership.

So when One Ear began to stir, the rest of the pack watched to see what he would do. Like the rest of them One
Ear had fleas. So the first order of business was to scratch himself. Then it was time to pad over to the shallow basin where cool, clean water was waiting. One Ear didn't wonder why the liquid was there—or give thanks for the fact that it was. What was, was. He drank his fill as Silver looked on.

She was lying on her side so that six hungry pups could suckle at her teats. She knew she would be left behind when the pack went out to hunt. Then, once One Ear ate his fill, he would return to regurgitate some food for her.

Gimpy couldn't run very well, not since the epic battle with the canyon dogs, but he was a good fighter. So he would stay with Silver and protect both her and One Ear's pups from harm. Then, once the kill was made, he would be summoned to feed on the carcass. That level of specialization was a relatively recent development but one that was consistent with the wolf-dog instincts of the past and the natural extension of greater intelligence.

Silver produced a whining noise and One Ear went over to nuzzle and lick her. Neither one of them could speak nor did they need to. Both understood their roles and the nature of the relationship that bound them together.

But the moment was brief. One Ear was hungry and knew that the others were as well. So as he made his way out into the bone-strewn common area, his supersensitive nose was sampling the evening breeze. He, like the rest of the pack, could discriminate between thousands of different odors. Hundreds of them were associated with food. But none of those were in the offing, so the pack would have to go out and search for prey.

All of the hill dogs were ready, their bodies quivering, waiting for their leader to make the first move. But some of the pack's best trackers were missing. That included Loner and Spot. One Ear threw his head back and produced a long-drawn-out howl that could be heard from miles away.

Loner heard the call and answered with a series of
distinctive yips followed by a howl of his own. Spot, who was off to the south, joined in. He was following some meat—and not that far away. The hunt began.

*   *   *

Lee heard the first howl and the blood-chilling chorus that followed. The sound of it caused her heart to race. Dogs.
Mutant
dogs. Everyone knew how dangerous they could be . . . especially at night.

How far had she gone? A mile and a half maybe? It felt like more since she'd been trudging uphill. What should she do? Continue on? Or retreat? But because there was no way to know where the dogs were, either move could prove fatal.

Lee swore, shrugged the pack off, and opened a side pocket. She had a laser sight. It was designed to slip onto the rail under the Glock's barrel just forward of the trigger assembly. That could be useful at night.

But, to ensure accuracy, she should mount the sight, aim through the pistol's iron sights, and fire at a target. Then she would use a small wrench to align the laser with the open sights. That would produce a lot of noise however. And noise could attract the very dogs she was afraid of. So Lee decided to forgo the procedure and take her chances.

Suddenly, what had been a simple night hike had been transformed into a terrifying trek through a scary landscape. Each dimly seen bush, each rock, could be a mutimal. What would Lee notice first? The rattle of stones as toenails sought purchase in the gravelly soil? A chorus of howls coming from all around? Soon to be followed by an onslaught of wiry bodies?

Lee knew she would fall at that point, firing wildly, as the dogs swarmed her. Chances were that she'd be conscious when they ripped her belly open. It was a terrifying thought and Lee discovered that it was difficult to hike and look over her shoulder at the same time. She hurried up the trail.

*   *   *

Spot was black except for the patch of white that rode his back like a saddle. One Ear was his father, Silver was his mother, and he would try to take over if One Ear was killed. Meanwhile he was hunting with the big dog, even leading the way at times, completely unaware of the fact that One Ear
wanted
him to do so. Especially when they were hunting a two-leg. That was because the alpha knew that most of the two-legs carried bang sticks. And the first dog to attack such a creature was likely to die. So it was better to be the second, or even the third dog, if he hoped to survive.

Spot paused next to a rock and sniffed all around it. A two-leg had been there. He knew that because of the complex combination of odors that hung in the air. He produced a throaty growl and surged up the trail. One Ear, Jitters, and Short Tail followed.

*   *   *

Lee had two choices. She could try to outrun her pursuers, a hopeless task if there ever was one, or fort up and face them. By using the flashlight she'd been able to examine various possibilities as she climbed. The key was to find a place where she could put her back against something solid and thereby force the dogs to attack one at a time. Unfortunately most of the hill was open, bare of significant vegetation, and therefore indefensible.

So it was only when Lee arrived on the summit that she saw what might be a possibility. There were lots of shadows. But, thanks to the starlight, Lee could see that part of the hilltop had sloughed away at some point. The result was a flat area and a big pile of rocks. And it was within that tumble of boulders that Lee sought safety.

It was also a natural lair for mutant rattlesnakes that, according to pictures she'd seen, could be eight feet long. But Lee couldn't concern herself with that. All she could
do was follow a natural passageway back to a dead end, place her back against a rock wall, and get ready for what promised to be a desperate battle. Doing so made her feel better. So much so that she stripped the foil off two energy bars and threw them into the passageway. “Here, doggy,” she called. “Come and get your treat.”

There was no reaction. Each minute felt like an hour. There were no more howls, and Lee was left to ponder the meaning of that. Had the pack lost her trail? Were they off chasing a rabbit? Or were they only twenty yards away—preparing to charge up the narrow corridor?

The answer came in the form of a huge beast that attacked from
above
. Having found its way up onto the rocks, and done so silently, it dropped into the passageway not six feet away. Lee tried to pin the green dot on the target and fired. Both bullets went wide.

Lee didn't know if that was as a result of her failure to zero the laser sight earlier or a bad case of nerves. Whatever the reason she resolved to rely on her natural talent and triggered the flashlight. The dog was airborne by then. Lee fired and saw a splash of blood where the bullet struck but knew that the mutimal would hit her. It did. And the force of the blow drove all of the air out of her lungs. Had a second dog attacked the fight would have been over. Fortunately, none did. And as Lee tilted the flashlight down she saw that the dead dog had a white spot on its back. It twitched, and she shot it again.

Silence settled over the scene. Lee checked her watch. It was 10:22. Dawn was still a long ways off. Should she venture out? Or wait for sunrise? Daylight would even the odds quite a bit. With that in mind Lee resigned herself to spending the rest of the night where she was. The first order of business was to reload the Glock—plus the magazine that had been in the Glock.

Once that was accomplished Lee took an energy bar and a bottle of water out of the pack, put them off to one side, and turned the flashlight off. The batteries were relatively
new, but she didn't have any backups. Then, with the Glock and flashlight within easy reach, Lee ate the energy bar and drank half a bottle of water. The air was cold . . . And she was wearing everything she had.

There was the sleeping bag, though, which she could unzip and drape around her shoulders. That helped, but as the adrenaline began to fade, she felt sleepy. A sudden chorus of bloodcurdling howls took care of that. Lee suspected that the pack knew that one of their members was dead—and this was their way of mourning him. She braced herself for another attack, but none came.

The minutes and hours seemed to crawl by. Lee heard movement from time to time and was on guard against another drop-in. But it appeared that the dogs were smart enough to avoid making the same mistake twice.

Then the sun rose. And as the lavender light found its way down into the passageway, Lee got a better look at the animal sprawled in front of her. And that was when she noticed the collar around the dog's thick neck. What did
that
mean? That the big brute was a stray? Probably. Such things were common. There were tens of thousands of such dogs in Pacifica . . . And police officers had to shoot hundreds of them each year.

As the light level continued to increase Lee knew that the time had come. She held a pistol in each hand as she stood. Everything else would be left behind. Assuming she won the battle, the supplies would be there waiting for her. If she didn't, it wouldn't matter. Maybe someone would find her badge and mail it to LA.

There was a queasy feeling in the pit of Lee's stomach as she stepped over the body and made her way forward. She paused just short of the open area and took a careful look around. There was no sign of the dogs other than piles of fresh feces. Had they left? Or were they hiding? There was one sure way to find out.

Lee sprinted out into the very center of the open area, brought both weapons up, and started to turn. The targets
seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They were crouched low, teeth bared, ready to attack. If Lee had a gift, it was the ability to shoot. One-handed, two-handed, it didn't matter. But with
four
dogs coming at her from different directions that talent might not be enough. Add to that the necessity to put at least two slugs into each mutimal, and the task was even more daunting.

But Lee knew that the trick was to let go, and she did. The Smith & Wesson seemed to go off of its own accord. The first bullet entered the dog's open mouth and blew a large chunk of meat out through the back of its head. The second clipped an outstretched paw but did no additional damage.

Lee wanted to fire at the first animal again but knew that would be a mistake. So she sidestepped the incoming body even as she fired three rounds from the Glock. The first bullet missed the dog charging in from the left. That meant it was only four feet away when she fired three slugs into its hindquarters. One of them severed the mutimal's spine, causing it to fall. It snapped futilely as it tried to sink its teeth into her.

All of which was good—but not good enough. What felt like a sledgehammer hit Lee in the back. The force of the blow threw her forward. She hit the ground hard, the Glock popped loose, and skittered away.

There was barely enough time to turn over before the remaining dogs were on her. One of the slavering beasts straddled her body and was about to go for her throat when the .357 magnum went off. The stubby barrel was only an inch away from the animal's rib cage so the hollow point made a small hole going in and a
big
hole coming out. The dog died instantly and collapsed on top of her.

Lee struggled to push the body off, and the corpse served as a temporary barrier between her and the last dog. It was a big beast with one ear and a black muzzle. It growled at her. And Lee, whose weight was resting on her left elbow, growled back. “Eat lead, asshole.”