H10N1 by M. R. Cornelius, Marsha Cornelius Page A

or maybe his pant leg. Better to save his face first and go for the pit bull.
    There actually was a third option. Wait for Sanchez. She’d distract the dogs long enough for him to crawl out and shoot. Now was that before or after one of the dogs ripped out her throat? No, he didn’t need her help. He had this under control.
    He rolled his eyes back to the dog at his feet.
    That miniscule move turned all hell loose. Rick heard the dog scrabbling on the dirt near his head, crawling closer.
    Fumbling for the gun in his waistband, Rick raised his arm towards the pit bull. But before Rick even got his hand past his shoulder, the pit bull clamped onto his wrist, sinking his teeth to the bone. Rick gritted against pain so intense it made his eyes water. The shepherd at his feet latched onto his boot and tried to drag Rick out from under the van.
    He kicked at the shepherd with his free leg, but his pant cuff caught on a bolt, and he raked a layer of skin off all the way up his shin. It felt like his leg had been flayed open with a dull hunting knife.
    Then when he tried twisting the wrist in the pit bull’s mouth to get the Glock aimed in the right direction, all he accomplished was widening the tooth gashes in his skin. He swore he could hear his bones crunching.
    Okay, now he needed help. He screamed for Sanchez.
    The pit bull evidently didn’t like that because he used those beefy shoulders to tug harder. Rick felt his arm pop out of the socket. At first, he thought he might barf from the pain, but then everything just went numb. His ears started ringing, and he couldn’t focus.
    A disturbing image flashed through his mind. Sanchez grinning as she peered under the van, seeing him helpless. He watched her feet as she dashed to the driver’s door, heard her cackle as she started the van and hauled ass.
    It would serve him right, after being such a shithead. He’d pissed the Doc off one too many times.
    Maybe she’d take out one of the dogs with a wheel as she sped away.
     
     

CHAPTER NINE
     
     
    Every nerve in Taeya’s body prickled when she heard a dog growling under the van. She dropped the toolbox and snatched her gun out of her pants, aiming at the open passenger door as she crept forward. Was it some drifters and their dog?
    She took quick glances out the windshield, while keeping her gun trained on the door. Nothing. Then hunkering down between the seats, she crawled onto the driver’s seat and peeked out the rearview mirror. No desperados were edging their way up the side of the van.
    But the grumbling dog had grown more frantic. It sounded like her brother’s yellow lab when those two played tug-of-war with a rawhide bone. Craning her neck up higher, Taeya caught sight of the hindquarters of a dog, digging his back claws into the pavement and tugging. Who was he with?
    She ducked back down and crawled into the foot-well on the passenger’s side. If she stuck her head out the door, would someone blow it off? Why hadn’t she closed the door when she got back in the van? Then she could at least check the rearview mirror before leaping out to her death.
    Rick’s next cry sounded desperate. Surely, he wouldn’t coax her out to an impossible situation. If there were men with guns, wouldn’t he warn her away?
    She eased her gun out, then her head.
    A dog crouched halfway under this side of the van as well, his hind quarters missing patches of fur. As the dog’s claws dug into the road, scrabbling to back out, Taeya heard Rick bellow. She squeezed off three quick shots. The dog yelped and flipped onto its side, its hind legs quaking. Its mouth snapped twice in a reflex, and then gaped open.
    Taeya charged past the dead dog to the back of the van, then skidded to a stop and slammed against the side panel. Maybe whoever owned these dogs was lurking in the tunnel, allowing his lead team to do the dirty work. Then he would step out of the shadows, finish her and Rick off, and take the van. She squinted as she