Dweller - Jeff Strand [61]
A roar of pain. Owen.
Toby grabbed for the branch he’d been pulled from. Found it in the dark. Used it to steady himself as he stepped up onto the lowest branch and started to climb again. In his panic, he tugged so hard on the next branch that it snapped free and he nearly lost his balance, almost plunging into the bedlam below.
He kept moving.
The tree shook as both monsters slammed into it.
Toby climbed up a few more feet, just to be sure he was high enough. His left hand stung like crazy—he’d really gouged it bad on one of the branches.
He held on tight, trying to catch his breath as he watched the two black figures struggle. His eyes had only barely begun to adjust to the darkness, not enough to let him make out any details, but the sounds and the shapes were enough to prove that neither creature had any intention of letting the other live.
A wail from farther away. The child?
Toby let go of the tree with his bloody hand and unzipped the backpack, fishing out the flashlight. He turned it on and shone the beam downward, just in time to catch a glimpse of Brutus’s talons tearing across Owen’s chest.
Owen howled and returned the vicious favor.
They circled each other, snarling. Brutus dove at him, and both monsters rolled on the ground, clawing, growling, biting.
Toby watched the spectacle with horror. Please don’t let Owen die…
But a small part of him, a part that remained an eight-year-old boy, watched in amazement, unable to believe that he was actually getting to watch two bloodthirsty monsters battle it out in a death match.
Then he cringed as Brutus jammed his talons deep into Owen’s side.
Owen threw back his head and let out a sound of such intense distress that it felt like a crossbow bolt piercing Toby’s brain. Toby screamed Owen’s name, wishing he could do something to save his friend.
Owen clearly had no intention of giving up the fight. He lowered himself into a crouch, then locked his jaws onto Brutus’s leg. The other monster bellowed with pain and tried to shake him off, but Owen’s teeth remained deep in his flesh, not coming loose until Owen tore off six inches of bloody fur.
Toby threw the only thing in his backpack that had any real weight—his thermos. It was a perfect throw, cracking against the back of Brutus’s skull, but it didn’t seem to faze the monster.
Though Toby couldn’t see Brutus’s eyes, he could imagine them, bloodshot and red with rage. Brutus slashed Owen across the chest with his claws once, twice, three times.
Toby didn’t know what he could do to help, but he had to try something. He couldn’t just hide in a tree and watch Owen get ripped apart. Better to die on the ground. If he had to, he’d beat Brutus to death with the goddamn flashlight.
He climbed down a couple of branches, then jumped all the way. The light beam shifted as he landed, clearly illuminating Owen’s face. Owen gaped at him as if to say, “What the hell are you doing?”
Brutus looked at him as well. Despite his blood-soaked fur and a protruding bone, the monster still appeared hungry.
Owen grabbed Brutus by the wrist and swung him into a different tree. Brutus’s elbow collided with the trunk, his arm snapping backward, bone bursting through fur.
And then Owen’s hands were in Brutus’s mouth, and he was pulling, Brutus’s teeth were embedded in his palms but Owen kept pulling, and Brutus’s tongue lashed back and forth, and blood dribbled between Owen’s fingers, and Owen’s eyes were squeezed shut and his jaws were closed tight as he struggled and struggled and then there was a wet rip as Brutus’s cheeks tore apart and a crack as the top half of his head was wrenched backward.
Owen released his grip, and the dead beast dropped to the ground.
Another wail.
Toby swung the flashlight beam around. Esmerelda and Scruffer stood there. Scruffer moved first, but within seconds both of them were cradling Brutus’s limp form.
Owen stared at them. He raised his palm