Sheepdogs: Keeping the Wolves at Bay by Gordon Carroll (good books to read for beginners TXT) 📕

too late then, and I was too late now. I realized I was about to die. Spock had been smarter and more resourceful than I’d thought. He’d gotten a sniper up there somehow and now I had no place to hide and the bullet proof vest that absorbed the rounds from Spock’s handgun would be useless against a supersonic bullet from a .308. There was no way I could reload and shoot him before he pegged me, but I had to try. I dropped the magazine from my gun, snapped in a replacement and let the slide go forward chambering a round.

The man knelt on the ledge of the cave, a rifle tucked into his shoulder. The sniper’s attention was on something below, allowing Max to walk right up on him. Max saw the drop below and instinctively timed his attack. He could not afford to go into frenzy — not here — not now — the drop would kill them both. Max grabbed the man by the bicep and jerked back — hard. The man, balanced precariously, stumbled, dropping his weapon and landing on his side. He jerked back, pulling a knife from his boot and slashed at Max. Max let go. The man was halfway to his feet when the tension released. He tumbled backward, over the edge, arms pin-wheeling, fingers grabbing at empty air as though he could somehow defeat the law of gravity. He fell.

Max walked out on the ledge, saw the Alpha far below. He turned back into the cave and made his way down to him.

I heard a scream and watched as a rifle fell from the cave, clipping an outcropping and spinning out and down until it shattered on the rocks below. A second later, a body followed, only it didn’t shatter when it hit bottom, it splatted.

I looked back at the cave and saw Max’s head peer out from the dark. How?

No time.

Sight, sound, smell, all returned in vivid detail. The sun shone brighter, splashing against the sides of Creation Rock and Ship Rock, and cresting the tops of the highest seats, making them glow. The rumble of a jet’s engine high overhead thundered in the theater’s near perfect acoustics. The smell of cordite and sulfur stung my nostrils and teared my eyes.

I spun, searching for Spock’s body. Gone. Along with Amber. I ran to the north, around the side of the stage and down the stairs, taking them five at a time. He couldn’t have gotten far. I had to catch him, I had to save Amber. I saw my daughter’s body huddled in the carseat, her forehead scraped and bleeding; crying. My wife reaching out for her. The flames and the noise. And the boots as they walked toward us, clicking insanely loud on the asphalt.

I pulled myself away from the memories, taking the last of the steps in a great bound. My feet hit, knees giving to absorb the impact. A car raced away to the south, tires screeching as it took a hairpin corner. And then it was gone.

Amber was gone.

44

I ran over to Tom and found him lying on his back amid a jumble of lighting equipment. Blood pooled in the indentation that rested at the bottom of his throat just above the collarbone. I saw a puckered hole in the center of his chest and another, high on the outside of his right shoulder. Blood sopped his shirt and a small puddle had formed beneath his head. I jumped down into the recess of the shed and threw the equipment off him. I ripped his shirt down the middle, stripping buttons in an easy flow. The Kevlar vest I’d made him wear stopped the chest shot, just as my vest stopped mine, but the one in the shoulder missed the wide strap that connected the front plate to the back plate. Swiping away the blood on his throat, I saw it had run down from his shoulder wound. I lifted his head, running my fingers along his skull, searching for a bullet hole, but instead found a gash where his head hit the equipment or the floor. I checked his pulse and his breathing, both were steady and strong. He’d live.

Pilgrim.

I climbed out from the shed and looked to the stage. Pilgrim lay beneath the man he’d fought on the rock. I grabbed the man by his hair and belt and tossed him aside. A bullet had ripped Pilgrim’s stomach and side open. Blood soaked his fur. He’d taken the brunt of the fall. Both canines on the right side and several of the molars were shattered. I felt along the underside of his neck and shoulder and side. The neck felt alright, but the shoulder was a squishy mass of destroyed bone. He was unconscious but still alive. My eyes burned and I had to fight the compulsion to stick my gun against the thug’s temple and put him away. If he woke up I wasn’t sure I could control myself.

Please wake up.

Jerking my cell phone out I dialed 911 with shaking fingers. Nothing. I looked down and saw there was no signal. I almost threw the phone against the side of the mountain.

I sprinted to the top of the seats, taking them two rows at a time and reached the upper lip of the amphitheater out of breath, my heart racing and fear eating at my insides. Nothing had gone right. Tom was wounded, Amber was gone and Pilgrim lay close to death. Yeah, a great plan. Everything had worked out just fine.

A signal. My phone had a signal. I punched in 911 and heard an annoying beep telling me the phone’s battery was low. A second later the phone died completely. What good is a warning that doesn’t give you enough time to do anything about it? My high dollar iPhone disintegrated against the asphalt of the upper parking lot.

By the time I made the bottom, Max sat