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

flopped over to his side, the new wounds between his crotch and inner thigh moaning dully. The fever blazed and throbbed deep in his head making his skull feel bloated and tender.

The bitter, German wind and spatters of snow did nothing to ease the fever; instead they sent his body into convulsive chills.

Max curled into a ball and tried to sleep.

As he closed his eyes, he saw a man wrapped in a thick fur coat and hood, step around the corner. The man stood so still Max wondered if he had been frozen by the storm. An errant shift of wind blew the man’s scent to the dog.

It was the man who killed the bear.

A noise sounded from behind Max and he turned that way. Two Fingers and The Huge Man were walking toward him. Looking back Max saw that the man who killed the bear was gone. Maybe he had been a dream. The fever made him dream many strange things.

Two Fingers poked a long, thick stick with a forked end through the bars, jamming Max’s neck to the icy ground and trapping him. Max was too tired and sick to resist. The Huge Man opened the cage and strapped the muzzle into place. He jerked Max to his feet by a leash he snapped onto the chain they put around his neck. They dragged him back into the barn. The din was deafening. There were more than a hundred people crammed into the rotting structure.

Max saw the circle of the ring and the animal that would be his opponent. It was a monster of a dog; part mastiff, part husky, with a little wolf thrown into the mix. It weighed at least two hundred pounds with large dense bones covered by slabs of meaty muscle and jaws that could crush boulders.

Max could barely breathe.

Two Fingers kicked Max in the ribs and shoved him into the start chute. The chute was basically an open ended cage that slanted down into the recessed bowl of the ring. From above, the handler could pull off the muzzle and release the leash with little danger of the dog being able to come back on him. The Huge Man grabbed the strap of the muzzle and pulled it free. Across the ring, Max saw the enormous bulk of the other dog charge out of the chute. Until that moment Max felt powerless, but at the sight of the challenge his fighting spirit burned. He ripped through the chute, sprinting at the enemy. The monster came straight at him, long teeth bared.

Before they could meet a commotion rippled through the crowed. A smell of smoke and the word “fire”, screamed and repeated, fear riding the word and spreading through the packed throng of gamblers. Black clouds poured into the barn from the south end, sweeping to the high rafters before rolling back down on the heads and shoulders of the panicking people.

The mastiff mix ignored the crowd and angled straight into Max, but Max learned from the Rottweiler and dove down and under, feeling jaws snap harmlessly just above his spine. He swooped up, his razor sharp canines slicing deep lines across the dog’s exposed hamstring. Max let his body swing to the opposite side and took out the other leg, the momentum carrying him behind the big animal who went on for three more steps before falling as his legs gave out.

Max watched as smoke fell from the roof down over the crowd turning them into a mindless mob intent on self-survival. They ran for the doors, jamming them. Men fell and were trampled and crushed. Others tried to rip boards from the walls, seeking any possible means of escape. A man was knocked into the ring, landing at a bad angle on his shoulder and neck, almost hitting the mastiff. Before he could get to his feet, the giant animal grabbed the man by the face and smothered his screams in a crushing grip.

The mastiff was no longer a threat to Max, so he started back toward the chute. He made three steps, the world suddenly shifting and whirling, his lungs clamping down with brutal force. He dropped to his side, wheezing, pawing at the air as though he could physically pull it into his chest. Solid black smoke pushed down on him like a heavy hand and the screaming panic of the mob began to gray out as he drifted toward unconsciousness. Pain fell away, replaced by a peaceful buzz that grew as his vision faded. The burns on his chest and shoulder no longer hurt. Even the newest wounds lost their sting.

The wooden barrier of the ring crashed in, spilling bodies into the fighting bowl. Someone landed on Max’s stomach, jolting him fully awake. He snapped around, ready to attack, saw the man scrambling to his feet in terror, and let him go. Max forced himself up, jumped over the broken railing and staggered through the crowd until he was outside. He limped over to the corner of the old barn, away from the stream of rampaging people, wanting only to get away from the mad humans. A loop of coarse rope slipped over his neck and tightened into a strangulating noose.

“Where you think you’re going, mutt?” It was Two Fingers. He kicked Max in the ribs, then in the chest, and dragged him to the back of the structure toward the cage.

Max spun as far as he could, biting at the rope and the stick it was attached to, but unable to get a grip on either. His legs gave out and he landed on his side. Two Fingers dragged him by the noose, cutting off what little air Max’s lungs could suck in. The Huge Man was by the cage. As Two Fingers dragged Max past the open door, Max lunged, catching The Huge Man just below the kneecap. The man punched him in the face — once — twice — a third time. Max felt the darkness