Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay, Gordon Carroll [howl and other poems .txt] 📗

Shirt did a lot. Perhaps it had become so routine that even with a man holding a shotgun on him he still felt comfortable letting loose with his fists. Perhaps he’d forgotten I was even there.

I reminded him by smacking the butt plate into his temple. He fell hard next to Baldy.

I smiled at the driver. “Yeah, I think maybe you had better. It’ll be a lot less painful.”

This kid was bagging so bad, the seat of his pants was almost to his knees. I’ve never figured out how they can keep them from slipping all the way down and tripping them. At least he was wearing boxers.

“Hey, dude, some guy just paid us to bring you to him. That’s all I know.”

“Where were you supposed to take me?”

“To a gas station in Castle Rock.”

“And who’s going to meet us there?”

“I don’t know, dude, I swear. We’re supposed to go to the gas station and wait till someone comes for you. That’s all, dude. That’s all I know.”

“Where’s Shane Franklin?”

“Who?”

I would have kissed him with the shotgun, but I actually thought he might be telling me the truth. After all, the kid was scared. I was about to press the issue when I saw his eyes get big, looking behind me. I shoved him hard in the chest with the gun, to give me distance, and ducked and spun at the same time, the barrel turning in line at chest level.

There was a scream, and as I came fully around, I saw the bald kid going down hard. He was holding the chain with the lock at the end in his hand, no doubt planning to use it as a mace type weapon. But Max had seen the danger, hopped out the window, and was now firmly attached to his shoulder, all four canines sunk deep into human flesh.

Baldy hit the street on his ear and shrieked like it was a mortal wound. The lock and chain went skidding away.

Max gave the shoulder a hearty head jerk, then looked at me with contempt as if to say, sheesh, don’t you know better than to leave your back unguarded?

“I didn’t,” I said out loud. “I knew you had me covered.” I have a habit of talking to my dogs.

As if in answer, Max savagely jerked the kid’s shoulder back and forth, dragging him along the asphalt.

“Get him off,” he shrieked. “Get him off…please…please…” He was blubbering like a baby.

I hate that.

“Oh shut up your whining. That’s what you get for trying to bash my head in.”

“…please…please…get him ooooooff.”

Max crunched down harder and the kid shut up.

“All right, stop showing off, let him go, Max.” I gave him the release command, “Loose,” and grinned. “You proved your point.”

Max rolled his eyes, gave the punk a final shake, then dropped him. He padded silently back a few paces and lay down, licking Baldy’s blood off his lips.

I walked over to the kid and pulled the shredded remains of his t-shirt collar down. Four nasty punctures oozed blood, but internal pressure from swelling was already slowing the flow. In a few minutes, the damage caused to the surrounding tissue would force the flesh around the punctures to hump up like termite mounds. Painful, but he’d live.

I looked over at Max, and smirked. “I’ve seen better. Pilgrim would have taken off his whole arm.”

Max blinked once, as if to say, bite me, and smacked his lips.

He knows how to get to me.

Not having a good comeback, since he just saved me from a really bad headache, I turned back to the punk. “Get up.”

“I…huuurt.”

“Poor baby.” I poked the barrel of the shotgun into the mass of swelling flesh, which provoked the desired audible response from the kid. “On your feet.”

He was a mess. The ridged imprint of the shotgun’s butt-plate was stamped across his forehead. His right ear and cheek were scrapped raw with road-rash from the fall, and his left shoulder hung low, the shirt splotched red and his bicep, forearm and wrist smeared with blood.

I looked from Baldy to the driver. “Grab your sleeping friend. We’re going for a ride.” I grinned. “After you change the flat tire.”

12

Max

The dog had seen the boy get to his knees and pick up the chain. He hopped into the front seat, then jumped through the open driver’s side window, landing as lightly as a panther on the asphalt. The boy made it to his feet and took two steps toward the Alpha’s exposed back.

Max vaulted his ninety-plus pounds through the air and landed with his full weight on the boy’s back, his teeth sliding into the soft flesh of the boy’s shoulder.

The boy crumpled and screamed. The screaming triggered Max’s prey drive and made him bite down harder and move toward frenzy. He thrashed his head back and forth, tearing at the meat.

Looking up at the Alpha, the dog wondered how he could have left himself so open to danger. But then the Alpha spoke to him in a tone that held no fear, no shame, leaving his dog brain to ponder, in as much as it could; had the Alpha known all along that the boy was there and just expected Max to protect his flank?

The confusion made Max’s head hurt, which again triggered his prey drive, the instinctual need to shred and destroy an already vanquished opponent. In response; Max jerked the boy again, dragging him along the black surface of the street.

The Alpha ordered him to release the boy and grudgingly he did as he was told. He backed off a few steps and lay down, licking his lips.

After that, the Alpha put him back in the car and parked it under a tree. Max watched as the Alpha left with the other humans. This was fine with Max, it was quiet and cool. Max had a bowl with water and a nice soft seat to stretch out on.

The breeze from the air conditioner made Max think of the wind that lifted