Out of This World by Charles De Lint Page B

backpacks. Their noses are working, reading the scent trails in the air.
    â€œWe have intruded,” Manuel says.
    â€œNo, it’s cool. Really. My friend and I are trying to wake up this map thing in my head, but he’s off taking a break.”
    I give a vague wave around the campsite. “Grab yourselves a seat,” I say.

As the dog man lifts his horn again, I know I can’t let him send a warning to his friends. I don’t even think before I act. I just sweep my length of pipe in an arc and whack him across the back of the leg. I don’t have the room to put any real power behind the blow, but it’s enough to make his knee buckle. The horn drops as he goes down. Still on automatic, I give him a hard tap on the top of his head and he collapses.
    Time seems to stop as I look at him lying there. Blood trickles from the gash on his head and he’s not moving at all.
    I think I might have killed him.
    I feel sick.
    The raggedy man doesn’t share my concern. I turn to find him holding a big chunk of rock. When I realize that he plans to bash it on the dog man’s head, I get between them.
    â€œWhat are you doing ?” I ask.
    â€œHe’s still breathing.”
    â€œWell, thank God for that.”
    He gives me a puzzled look, but at least he lowers the rock.
    â€œYou know he wouldn’t give you the same mercy,” he says.
    â€œI don’t know any such thing. I just know that if we startbashing in their heads when they’re already unconscious and
    can’t hurt us … well, we’ll be no better than them.”
    â€œBut we’ll be alive.”
    â€œWe’re alive right now,” I tell him.
    â€œFor the moment.”
    I refuse to move. His strange eyes study me for a long beat.
    â€œFine,” he says finally and puts the rock aside. Then he nods.
    â€œYou’re probably right. If we’ve only hurt him, they’ll be angry and looking for settlement of the wrong, but they won’t make it their life’s work. If we finish him off, they’ll never stop until they’ve hunted us down and killed us.”
    â€œThanks,” I say.
    I dust myself off and pick up the pipe again. I might not want to kill anybody, but I’m not stupid.
    â€œI need to go back,” I start to say, but the hunting horns sound again.
    â€œIt’s too dangerous at the moment,” he says. “Right now we need to find a better place to hide.”
    I think about the mark I scratched on the road where I arrived. I think I can still find it, but if I follow him now, will I get too turned around?
    The horns sound once more. Closer.
    The raggedy man sets off at a quick jog. I have no choice but to fall into step behind him.
    It’s another hour of winding through the streets of this ruined city before the raggedy man deems it’s safe enough for us to rest. He leads me up to the third floor of some kind of old warehouse building, most of which is still standing, although the wholenorth wall is missing. It’s a huge cavernous place. We sit near the missing wall, which gives us a good view of the city. There’s dirt here—three floors up—with weeds growing out of it. Vines trail down the sides of the building where the missing wall would have connected to it.
    A cool breeze blows in, fresh and clean compared to the closer air in the streets below. This So-Cal girl isn’t used to the humidity.
    When I look out over the view, I can’t believe how huge this place is—as big as New York City, I’m sure. The ruins seem to go on forever. The buildings are taller here than they were where I first arrived, but nature’s also reclaimed them. We haven’t seen anybody. Just birds and animals. We haven’t heard the horns for the past half hour. The last time we did, they were faint and distant.
    The raggedy man pulls something wrapped in cloth from his pocket. It proves to be flatbread and cheese. He