Valhalla - Post 2 (1182 words)
He follows her home.
Even though she traverses through old, torn up buildings. Even though she never touches the ground. Even though she twists and slips between concrete and metal, disappearing from view and reappearing tens, sometimes hundreds, of feet down the street, he follows her. He has an excellent nose.
The entire time, her mind remains locked on the question of where he came from and how healthy he is. When he arrived on her street, he merely vocalized at the animal, but did not chase it. A warning maybe? An alert? An announcement? Whatever his objective, it definitely wasn't to hunt. And, fuck, was he persistent. She tries to shake him off, darting through buildings she wouldn't have touched otherwise, due to their level of deterioration. She takes short cuts and long ways, going in circles. But every time she approaches the street again, there he is, tail wagging, panting, ears twitching. And his gentle, unwavering eyes, always locked on hers.
Half a mile from her secret entrance to the bunker, she hears them. Jolting, broken howls and titters. Her pulse jumps in her throat -- not for herself, but for the damn dog in the street. Coyotes have lived in the region for centuries, but when humans started to disappear, when food started to disappear... They became nasty. She read in some of the books she found on her adventures that coyotes used to be scared and cautious. It makes her laugh. Now, they attack on sight. They work in teams to surround and then torture before killing and eating every inch of their prey. They have become ruthless killers, but who could blame them? It's a cut throat world these days.
Tessa peers over a half broken wall of concrete and wood paneling. The husky sits patiently, for once not looking up at her, but around him, ears moving, tracking the noise from the hunters.
She clicks her tongue to get his attention. When he glances up, she makes a come hither motion with her hands, and when he doesn't get it, with her whole body. The coyote squeals grow in volume; they're getting closer. Tessa feels panic begin to rise in her belly. The coyotes cannot climb and they are terrible jumpers, so she knows she is safe, but the husky's chances are slim, despite his obvious muscle.
"Come here, boy," she calls, whistling. He stands and moves closer, but she can tell from his impatient steps that he doesn't know how to get to her. The raucous calls sound again and again, louder and louder. "Come on, boy, come here, you can do it." He perches his front paws on a pile of rubble but doesn't climb. She knows he can't. His breed wasn't meant for climbing, they were meant for pulling, meant for pushing through snow. All of a sudden, she notices that dusk is quickly falling; her vision will pale considerably while the coyotes' will improve ten-fold. She curses under her breath as tears prickle her eyes. Fucking dog!
She abandons her pack where she stands, and then starts the tedious climb down to the husky. He whines softly, sensing her distress. He's intelligent; he knows somehow that her stress stems from the arrival of the noises. When she's halfway to him, he looks suddenly to his left -- and just as suddenly, the noises stop.
They're here.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
Dropping from ledge to foot hold to hand hold, faster and faster and faster, Tessa knows time is running out. The dog will not last more than five seconds against a pack of rabid coyotes. Frantic yipping starts from the end of the street; the coyotes have spotted their prey and are forming a game plan. Now, Tessa scales a highly dangerous vertical wall, desperation pumping her with adrenaline. Finally, her boots hit pavement.
Shit
There are at least ten coyotes, clumped together but slowly spreading out to surround the unlikely pair. Tessa has never seen so many band together. Then again, she usually makes sure she's home by the time they come out to hunt. Scrambling, panting, she reaches the husky in five seconds, but she knows she's too late. There won't be time to get him up. But she doesn't care. He growls as her arms encircle is barrel chest, though he's asserting himself to the coyotes and not her. The front runners are now sprinting towards them.
"Come on, you bastard!" She heaves the dog up and shoves him over a small ledge, one the coyotes will have no trouble leaping onto, but it's a step in the right direction. Now, the husky understands, and he starts scratching upwards, with little effect. Tessa can barely see through her tears. She bends and pushes her shoulder up underneath his back legs and heaves, and for a second, she thinks he might not make it up to the small platform closest to them. He claws [desperately], slipping and sliding, and then his foot catches and he pulls himself onto it, Tessa not far behind him.
Coyote screeches echo painfully through the buildings, with obvious excitement. They can sense victory, can smell dinner. Two of the front runners have no trouble finding their way onto the lowest ledge just as Tessa is halfway onto the platform with the husky.
She knows what is going to happen before it does, but nothing can prepare you for the feeling of solid, sharp bone piercing skin and then muscle. The coyote's canines meet little resistance as they clamp around her calf. Tessa screams, a sound she hasn't made in a long time, if ever, but she kicks out with her free leg, making instant, bone shattering contact with the other coyote's skull. It shrieks and retreats. Even with the first coyote still latched on, she pulls herself onto the platform, crying out and thrashing, trying to loosen the wild animal's grip. And then, mud coated fur fills her blurred vision, deathly growls fill her ears. The husky charges the coyote, teeth barred, and eyes alight. He pounces on the smaller canine, jaws clamping around it's neck, [thrashing] back and forth. His front claws dig into the attacker's sides. Even with this assault, the coyote doesn't let go at first, though he squeals in pain.
Tessa' own pain is almost unbearable; she toes the edge of consciousness. But the fight hasn't left her, and mustering one last surge of adrenaline, she twists her body -- ignoring the gut wrenching agony this causes -- and kicks out again with her free leg. She catches her assailant between the eyes, and dual assault is enough to make it release its hold on her calf.
In the minute or so before she passes out, she curls into a ball and her eyes close, but she hears the husky finish the fight with the coyote. And then he lies down on top of her leg, ignoring her whimper, and [curls] towards her so that she can bury her face in his fur. With the smell of earth and blood clogging her nose, she blacks out.
Even though she traverses through old, torn up buildings. Even though she never touches the ground. Even though she twists and slips between concrete and metal, disappearing from view and reappearing tens, sometimes hundreds, of feet down the street, he follows her. He has an excellent nose.
The entire time, her mind remains locked on the question of where he came from and how healthy he is. When he arrived on her street, he merely vocalized at the animal, but did not chase it. A warning maybe? An alert? An announcement? Whatever his objective, it definitely wasn't to hunt. And, fuck, was he persistent. She tries to shake him off, darting through buildings she wouldn't have touched otherwise, due to their level of deterioration. She takes short cuts and long ways, going in circles. But every time she approaches the street again, there he is, tail wagging, panting, ears twitching. And his gentle, unwavering eyes, always locked on hers.
Half a mile from her secret entrance to the bunker, she hears them. Jolting, broken howls and titters. Her pulse jumps in her throat -- not for herself, but for the damn dog in the street. Coyotes have lived in the region for centuries, but when humans started to disappear, when food started to disappear... They became nasty. She read in some of the books she found on her adventures that coyotes used to be scared and cautious. It makes her laugh. Now, they attack on sight. They work in teams to surround and then torture before killing and eating every inch of their prey. They have become ruthless killers, but who could blame them? It's a cut throat world these days.
Tessa peers over a half broken wall of concrete and wood paneling. The husky sits patiently, for once not looking up at her, but around him, ears moving, tracking the noise from the hunters.
She clicks her tongue to get his attention. When he glances up, she makes a come hither motion with her hands, and when he doesn't get it, with her whole body. The coyote squeals grow in volume; they're getting closer. Tessa feels panic begin to rise in her belly. The coyotes cannot climb and they are terrible jumpers, so she knows she is safe, but the husky's chances are slim, despite his obvious muscle.
"Come here, boy," she calls, whistling. He stands and moves closer, but she can tell from his impatient steps that he doesn't know how to get to her. The raucous calls sound again and again, louder and louder. "Come on, boy, come here, you can do it." He perches his front paws on a pile of rubble but doesn't climb. She knows he can't. His breed wasn't meant for climbing, they were meant for pulling, meant for pushing through snow. All of a sudden, she notices that dusk is quickly falling; her vision will pale considerably while the coyotes' will improve ten-fold. She curses under her breath as tears prickle her eyes. Fucking dog!
She abandons her pack where she stands, and then starts the tedious climb down to the husky. He whines softly, sensing her distress. He's intelligent; he knows somehow that her stress stems from the arrival of the noises. When she's halfway to him, he looks suddenly to his left -- and just as suddenly, the noises stop.
They're here.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..."
Dropping from ledge to foot hold to hand hold, faster and faster and faster, Tessa knows time is running out. The dog will not last more than five seconds against a pack of rabid coyotes. Frantic yipping starts from the end of the street; the coyotes have spotted their prey and are forming a game plan. Now, Tessa scales a highly dangerous vertical wall, desperation pumping her with adrenaline. Finally, her boots hit pavement.
Shit
There are at least ten coyotes, clumped together but slowly spreading out to surround the unlikely pair. Tessa has never seen so many band together. Then again, she usually makes sure she's home by the time they come out to hunt. Scrambling, panting, she reaches the husky in five seconds, but she knows she's too late. There won't be time to get him up. But she doesn't care. He growls as her arms encircle is barrel chest, though he's asserting himself to the coyotes and not her. The front runners are now sprinting towards them.
"Come on, you bastard!" She heaves the dog up and shoves him over a small ledge, one the coyotes will have no trouble leaping onto, but it's a step in the right direction. Now, the husky understands, and he starts scratching upwards, with little effect. Tessa can barely see through her tears. She bends and pushes her shoulder up underneath his back legs and heaves, and for a second, she thinks he might not make it up to the small platform closest to them. He claws [desperately], slipping and sliding, and then his foot catches and he pulls himself onto it, Tessa not far behind him.
Coyote screeches echo painfully through the buildings, with obvious excitement. They can sense victory, can smell dinner. Two of the front runners have no trouble finding their way onto the lowest ledge just as Tessa is halfway onto the platform with the husky.
She knows what is going to happen before it does, but nothing can prepare you for the feeling of solid, sharp bone piercing skin and then muscle. The coyote's canines meet little resistance as they clamp around her calf. Tessa screams, a sound she hasn't made in a long time, if ever, but she kicks out with her free leg, making instant, bone shattering contact with the other coyote's skull. It shrieks and retreats. Even with the first coyote still latched on, she pulls herself onto the platform, crying out and thrashing, trying to loosen the wild animal's grip. And then, mud coated fur fills her blurred vision, deathly growls fill her ears. The husky charges the coyote, teeth barred, and eyes alight. He pounces on the smaller canine, jaws clamping around it's neck, [thrashing] back and forth. His front claws dig into the attacker's sides. Even with this assault, the coyote doesn't let go at first, though he squeals in pain.
Tessa' own pain is almost unbearable; she toes the edge of consciousness. But the fight hasn't left her, and mustering one last surge of adrenaline, she twists her body -- ignoring the gut wrenching agony this causes -- and kicks out again with her free leg. She catches her assailant between the eyes, and dual assault is enough to make it release its hold on her calf.
In the minute or so before she passes out, she curls into a ball and her eyes close, but she hears the husky finish the fight with the coyote. And then he lies down on top of her leg, ignoring her whimper, and [curls] towards her so that she can bury her face in his fur. With the smell of earth and blood clogging her nose, she blacks out.