Uncertain Justice

Chapter 28

The dog stopped in a relatively clear space and howled his triumph. Miles winced as he saw flashlights on the mountain turn and begin moving in his direction. Pushing away his fear of the big animal, he advanced a few paces and held out his left arm to the dog.

Not trained as a police dog, Pepper didn't have any trained reflexes that would send him forward in attack. He was young though, and used to rough play with his pack mates. Excited as he was, he could be tempted.

Miles bent and picked up a handful of dirt and needles and flipped it at the dog that was hanging back for some reason. The spruce needles stung Pepper but he scarcely noticed. Obviously, he had found a master who wanted to play. Pepper pranced forward, happy to oblige.

Miles offered his left arm to the dog again. The animal sprang forward to grab the flapping thing in his jaws and set his legs to tug hard. It was his second-most favorite game.

Miles could feel the powerful jaws close about his arm, but the thickness of the parka and the jacket wound round his forearm kept the animal's teeth from penetrating to Miles' skin. Once the dog had a good hold on his arm, Miles pulled upward with his left arm. The animal's front legs came off the ground, exposing the hound's underbody.

Twisting his body to get his right hand as low as possible, he brought the heavy knife up from his ankles in a tight arc and drove the blade into the dog's vulnerable underside. Thrusting deep into the dog's body, he ripped the cutting edge upward with all his strength to do as much damage as he possibly could to the animal. The razor sharp steel sliced easily through the dog's gut with a wet, sucking sound.

From there, the knife's course continued upward through muscle and vital organs. It cut into the right lung and nicked a corner of the heart before being stopped by the breastbone. Bright red blood, black in the shadows, began to pump out in a heavy stream.

Miles wrenched his knife out of the ghastly wound. Shoving the mortally wounded animal away, he staggered back a couple of paces before he got control of his legs. He stared, sickened by what he'd just done.

The dog yelped his hurt and released the jacket when he felt the first pain in his lower body. It hadn't been that firm a grip anyway--he'd thought he was playing.

Confused by the agony, and already near death, the dog coughed blood and limped a few feet back into the tree line. He didn't notice he was stepping on the ropy coils of his own intestines as he collapsed near a sapling. He whined for a little while in confusion and torment, trying to get his head around to lick at the terrible gash in his belly. Presently, he died.

Miles remained hunched in the position he'd fallen into while he was gutting the young dog. He panted in exhaustion and fear, not sure at first whether the fight was over or not. He didn't know what he was going to do if the animal resumed its attack. He didn't think he could use the knife again.

When the dog stopped whimpering, he looked around at the mountain to his right. The flashlights and voices were nearer. The helicopter danced closer in the night sky. He couldn't see his right arm and the front of his clothing were covered with the animal's blood.

Suddenly he was blinded. A brilliant ring of light projected from above surrounded him. The chopper had gone ahead of the group of pursuers and found the scene unfolding below. Miles suppressed a reaction to look up. He was almost successful; his muscles were really too tired to react to the initial desire to look up anyway. He couldn't avoid all the light though. He squinted and shielded his eyes with a hand.

The impossibly loud, pounding beat of the rotor blades filled his ears. The heavy downdraft plucked at his clothing. His hair flew in all directions.

Blinking to clear the stars and galaxies swinging in improbable arcs behind his eyelids, Miles stumbled to his backpack and struggled to pull it on. Still trying to fasten the straps one-handed, he ran, carrying the b****y hunting knife n***d in his other hand.

He turned to jog at an angle up the side of the mountain he had just descended, running at a right angle away from his pursuers. He hadn't run a hundred yards before his leg muscles began to fail, showing him a climb up the ridge was impossible. He had to find an easier way.

When the helicopter's engines roared and the aircraft suddenly leaped upward and away from him, the circle of light lost him. He took the opportunity to pivot on his right foot and dodge ninety degrees to his left without losing a step. With the change in course, he was quartering down the slope again and his momentum began to increase. A few minutes later, it was clear he was gaining some small separation from the searchers.

Behind him, the gaping hole in the dog's abdomen steamed in the cold night air.

§

"THERE HE IS, THERE HE IS!" The observer's shout was deafening over the intercom. The pilot didn't need the observer's pointing finger to see the man nailed in the center of the thirty-million candlepower beam. He worked the controls to stay as close to a hover as he could manage, fighting both the altitude and the wind building in strength from the southwest.

"We've got him!" he announced over the radio, switching to the agreed upon general net frequency. "Get someone up here. He's right under my light."

"We're coming!" The deputy who replied on his walkie-talkie was badly winded already. He saved his remaining breath for clambering up the mountain.

The observer saw the fugitive hoist a huge backpack to his shoulders and run southeast up toward the ridge crest. The poor maneuvering capability of the helicopter in the thin air made it difficult to keep the circle of light under control but the observer was experienced and able to manipulate it well enough to keep the runner in sight even when he fled into a heavy growth of trees.