Primal Threat - Earl Emerson [74]
“What the hell?” gasped Stephens, who was still a couple of bike lengths in front of Giancarlo. “Wait for me. You guys? Wait for me!”
For half a minute they pedaled as hard as they could. As the effort began to eat into their reserves, Muldaur and Zak gained more ground on the other two until Zak realized that by the time the dog reached them, he and Muldaur might be out of sight. “We need to talk about this,” said Zak, making a superhuman effort to get alongside Muldaur, who was slightly in front. “We can’t leave them.”
“You’re right. I think we better face him down, the four of us together. If we get strung out, he’ll take one of us down. Then the next. Maybe all of us one at a time.”
By now Dozer had halved the distance between them.
“There’s a bunch of rocks ahead,” said Muldaur. “Let’s stop. We can use the ammo.”
Zak and Muldaur headed for a cluster of stumps and new-growth trees on an embankment. In the ditch stood a row of stringy foxgloves, seedpods heavy on the stalks. On the other side of the road was a steep downslope; they could see the tops of dozens of trees and, over the trees, a skimpy view of the valley floor to the west.
They’d just gotten off their bikes when the animal hit Giancarlo, who kept pedaling despite the fact that Dozer had hold of his leg and wasn’t letting go. Towing the dog slowed his progress, but to his credit he managed to come to a full stop just below Zak and Muldaur, who began pelting the dog with the largest rocks they could heave. Zak hit the dog twice in the hindquarters, hard, while Muldaur hit him once directly across the middle of his back, but Dozer did not relinquish his grip. Three more solid strikes convinced the dog they meant business.
The moment he released Giancarlo’s leg, Giancarlo put the mountain bike between himself and the dog, a row of flashing spokes in front of the dog’s teeth. Slobber zigzagged through the air in silvery arcs as the malamute yelped and lunged.
As the others rained rocks down on the dog, Dozer switched targets and made a lunge for Zak, who backed up and used his bicycle as a shield. Soon the three found themselves trapped behind a line of bicycles, each holding his bike to fend off the attacks. Giancarlo worked his way around and was behind the barricade of bikes.
It didn’t take long for the four men to realize they’d achieved a draw, at least for now. “What we got here is a Mexican standoff,” said Zak.
“Somebody help me get a dressing on this?” said Giancarlo. Zak hadn’t really looked at it until now, but a flap of skin the size of a woman’s glove was hanging from Giancarlo’s left calf, muscle and tendon exposed to the air. It looked grisly, but it was mostly damage to the skin, and Zak had patched worse. While Stephens and Muldaur kept the dog occupied, Zak wrapped Giancarlo’s calf with several cotton four-by-fours and a roll of sterile cotton wrapping Muldaur kept in the pockets of his backpack. “We’ll have to disinfect it at the hospital,” said Zak. “It’s going to need stitches, but there’s no serious bleeding, and I don’t think he got any of the muscle. You were lucky.”
“Ordinarily I like dogs,” said Giancarlo. “But this one’s beginning to get on my nerves.”
Stephens gave him a puzzled look and heaved another rock. It had been awhile since anybody had connected solidly, and the dog was beginning to regain his courage, moving in for another surge.
“You guys try to hold him at bay,” said Giancarlo, hobbling up the embankment with a folded knife. Muldaur tossed him the camp saw he had tucked in his jersey pocket. Twice Dozer tried to circle and get into the trees so he could reach Giancarlo, and twice their bombardment deterred him.
“I think I know how to do this,” said Giancarlo moments later as he stumbled down the slope with a sapling in his arms.