Page 7

F ear gripped me, a stabbing pain in my chest so fierce, I thought my heart was going to give out. The Blackhawk hovered, our emergency escape suspended in the air, causing the wind to blow about and push us back from the safety we so desperately craved.

Wes came to a screeching halt, arm outstretched with his gun pointing toward the mass of hounds that had slowed their pace and stood in our way. And for the first time, I was able to get a good look at them, and they were disgusting.

They were covered in matted black or brown fur, patchy, as though spots of their body had been shaved to expose sickly gray skin.

And they were huge —as in, massive! Their paws appeared to be the size of saucers, with black claws that clicked on the asphalt of the street as they paced impatiently before us.

Their eyes glowed yellow, orange, and red, as though the flames of hell raged within them, peeking through the windows of their eyes.

And as they snarled, their lips peeled back to reveal rows of sharp, yellowed canines glistening with the drool that dripped from their mouths.

They weren’t pretty beasts, and they absolutely terrified me.

But what could you expect from the most horrible science experiment ever conducted in Telvia?

Let’s just say that Dr. Frankenstein had nothing on Raúl.

“We’ve got to get to the Blackhawk,” Wes said to me with the deep timbre of his voice.

I swallowed, casting a glance over my shoulder to see another mass of hounds behind us.

“Yeah, I got that part. My question is, how the hell do you propose we do that?” I turned my body around to keep a better eye on the pack that was stalking toward us. I reached for the stunner holstered on my left hip. It may not be my gun, but it was way better than nothing.

Wes stayed quiet for a moment as his eyes focused on the beasts in front of him until a slew of obscenities came out from under his breath.

That wasn’t a good sign. Wes cussing up a storm was no surprise.

The man practically lived for cursing. But in this particular situation, Wes’s typical communication style wasn’t welcomed.

It meant he had no plan, no idea of how we were going to get out of this mess.

It meant we were royally screwed.

My eyes darted about, searching for an escape route, anything we could use to get the hell out of this, but I came up short. All I saw was the pack of hounds—at least two dozen of them—circling us, closing in.

This was it. It was going to all come down to this.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

My mini-tab vibrated on my wrist. I ignored it. This wasn’t the time to check my messages.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

The tab shook on my wrist again, begging me to pay attention to it. I quickly lifted my wrist and cast a quick glance at it. It was Edith. I tabbed the screen.

Edith: Duck!

What?

“Watch out!” Wes screamed as he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me down to the floor.

A whistle sounded through the air and then fire exploded into the mass of snarling dogs that had been standing in our way.

The shockwave of the blast threw me forward, sending me onto my belly and Wes onto his back beside me.

My ears rang, the high-pitched sound blocking out all else.

I opened my eyes, feeling dazed and lost as I tried to scramble back onto my feet.

I looked to my right, catching Wes’s lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a word of what he said.

All I heard was the ringing…the incessant ringing.

I looked away from him, out at the pack of hounds that had been at our backs.

Some of them had been knocked over. A few had scattered off, ears pinned flat against their heads as they slouched low to the ground.

Only a couple remained determined to see us as their next meal.

I felt a tug on my arm and turned to see Wes on his feet, clearly yelling at me, pulling on my arm with one hand as the other pointed vehemently to the chopper in front of him.

I looked out in that direction and saw that a path had been cleared.

Most of the hounds lied in chunks of charred flesh and in bloody pools.

A few trotted about still, seeming not to notice the fire burning the little fur they had.

Apparently, these things felt no pain. But despite the few that remained, a clear path had been set. And we took it.

Using my hands to push off, I broke out into a sprint, watching as Wes fired his Glock—once, twice, three times—the bullet casings flying into the air in silent discharge, as he broke out into a sprint beside me.

The ringing kept sounding as I looked behind me to see the hellhounds had broken into a run to chase us.

I couldn’t focus on them…I had to stay focused on the Blackhawk.

I turned back around, pumping my arms as I gave it all I had, eyes focused on the black helicopter that was still hovering above the ground.

Why wasn’t it lowering? How the hell did they expect us to get on with it hovering in the air like that?

I glanced at Wes running at my side, and as if he could sense my gaze on him, he looked at me.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay, if we were going to survive, but my lungs gasped for oxygen as my chest tightened and squeezed.

I looked forward again, the helicopter only twenty yards away, and then I caught sight of the measly little rope dangling from the side of it.

It dropped all the way down and stopped approximately six feet from the park floor.

Oh hell no. There’s no way they expected us to shimmy up that rope in time before the bloody hounds ate us.

The ringing finally subsided, and the ambient sounds of the huffing and snarling behind me, ever closer, were an unwelcome change.

I looked back at Wes again as we closed in on the dangling rope.

Just as we reached it, his hand darted out, wrapping around my waist in a death grip as his opposite hand lashed out and grabbed the rope.

Before I could understand what the hell was happening, my feet were flying off the ground.

The Blackhawk pulled straight up—six feet, seven feet, eight feet.

And then the hounds were under us, leaping high into the air, snapping at our dangling limbs.

Wes held me tight against his bloodied body while his other hand stood as the only thing that kept us from plummeting to our deaths.

Holy mother!

I gripped on to him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his tactical vest with all the strength I had.

Ten feet, twelve feet, sixteen feet, twenty.

Higher and higher we climbed until the chopper had cleared the fake trees of the park, the hounds becoming nothing more than glowing red eyes. And then it flew off, straight into the night sky as Wes and I clung to each other, holding on for dear life.