Moby Clique by Cara Lockwood

ahead of us, didn’t see me fall.
    Blade helps me up. My elbows and knees are throbbing. I’m sure I’ve done some damage. I don’t have time to think about that because suddenly, poking its head out into the clearing, is one of the search dogs. It’s huge, and snarling, and it’s got drool dripping off its front fangs.
    “Nice doggie?” Blade says, putting her hands up. The dog just snarls. “Don’t make any sudden movements,” Blade tells me. “If it’s just the one, we can probably take it.”
    Two more dogs walk tentatively out of the brush, on our left and right sides. They also have their fangs bared and look like they might pounce at any moment.
    “You were saying?” I whisper to Blade.
    “I was saying we’re totally screwed,” Blade says.
    I am not a dog person. Not that I have anything against dogs per se, but my family never had one, and so I don’t exactly feel comfortable around them. Especially when they’re three very ticked-off mutts who look very much like they’re going to go for my jugular. I don’t know what kind they are, but they’re big, and they’re clearly mean, and at any second they’re going to jump for us.
    Blade and I take a tentative step backward.
    “I think we’re supposed to put up our hands and make ourselves look bigger,” Blade whispers.
    “I thought that was for bears and cougars.”
    “Same difference,” Blade says. “Aren’t they all carnivores?”
    “Wait, these dogs can’t be all that bad,” I say. “I mean, they’re trained to go after Bard students, but surely not eat them, right?”
    “Oh yeah, sure,” Blade says, nodding. “You want to test that theory?”
    “Nice puppy? Nice boy?” I say, offering up my hand to the nearest dog. He just growls and snaps his jaws at me. “Okay, okay—I get the message.”
    The dog closest to Blade decides to make a move. It leaps in the air, jaws open, eyes mean and wild. Blade throws up her hand to protect her face, and just before the dog reaches her, a flat gray rock hits it in the snout, causing it to fall back, landing on the ground with a whimper.
    “What the…?” I say.
    A stone whistles by my head and hits the other dog, square in the head, causing it to yelp in pain and bury its snout in its paws. A third stone zigs in and hits the last dog in the stomach. Then there’s a hail of rocks and the dogs back off, one by one. Heathcliff walks out of the brush, juggling two more rocks.
    “You okay?” he asks me.
    “I am now,” I say, relief running over me.
    “That’s animal cruelty,” Blade points out. Heathcliff gives her a dirty look. “Not, of course, that I’m complaining, exactly,” she’s quick to add.
    “Hey, uh, guys? Can you give us a hand?” Hana asks. I glance up and she and Samir are hanging precariously from a tree limb a few yards from us. Apparently, they scrambled up to avoid the dogs and now can’t quite get down.
    Heathcliff helps them down.
    “Where are the others?” I ask them when they’re safely on the ground.
    “Here we are,” Ryan says, stepping out of the brush. Parker, who is still winded from running, bends over and puts her hands on her knees.
    “I…am…so…going…to…sue…Bard,” she sputters, breathing hard. “When my dad finds out about the attack dogs, he’s going to have someone’s ass on a platter.”
    “Do they serve ass on platters?” Samir asks, quirking an eyebrow.
    “In Parker’s family, I’m sure they’re silver platters,” Blade says. The two of them share a laugh.
    Parker frowns at both of them, but they don’t seem too perturbed. I notice that Samir and Blade seem to be getting along. And Hana doesn’t even seem to mind too much. Hmmm. Interesting.
    Heathcliff ignores the banter and focuses on me. “We should go,” he tells me, and starts off to the right.
    “You sure you want to go that way, tough guy?” Ryan says as Heathcliff passes in front of him. Heathcliff pauses and looks up. He doesn’t say anything, just