That innate part of herself spoke up now, whispering to her. Warning her.
Leaves crunched.
Something was near.
Hannah crouched in a tangle of weeds, allowing her muddy combat fatigues to blend into the foliage. Twenty-metres ahead, the forest shuddered as twigs snapped and branches swayed. She raised her rifle and closed one eye. Her heart beat hard in her chest, keeping time and breaking down every second for her appraisal.
The movement got closer. Something dark flashed through the gaps in the trees. Time passed in slow motion. Hannah drew into herself, viewing the world only through the scope of her rifle.
A bush burst apart, and a bounding shape leapt into view.
Followed by several others.
Hannah didn’t pull the trigger. She didn’t pull the trigger because she didn’t want to kill a pack of hungry dogs. Instead, she stood up and put her hands out. “Hey! Hey boy! It’s okay.”
The leader of the pack was some kind of leggy mongrel, black and brown. The other dogs were smaller breeds, two cocker spaniels and a Staffordshire bull terrier, each of them lithe and bony, yet not emaciated. They looked like their wild ancestors.
The pack leader growled, yellowing teeth unsheathed. Behind it, the other dogs followed suit and did the same. Hannah was still in no mind to shoot a bunch of dogs, and if she could shoo them off, she would. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just… stay calm.”
The mongrel snarled and took a step closer, lowering its head. The black and brown fur on its neck ruffled. Hannah held her hand out farther, close to its snout. She continued making soothing sounds and saying words the animal might once have known. Words like “good boy” and “heel.”
“Are you hungry, huh? Okay, let’s see what I have here.” She un-shouldered her rucksack and dropped it on the ground. She put down her sword and unzipped it, searching for some dried fish.
The snarling mongrel pounced. Hannah reacted just in time to keep its jaws from snatching at her face, but the impact of its bony shoulders knocked her backwards. Instinctively, she kicked out her legs and kept it from mounting her, so its sharp jaws clamped around her ankle instead. Burning hot spikes pierced her flesh. She cried out, then stifled herself to keep from attracting more attention, or stoking the prey drive of the other animals. The mongrel thrashed and growled—her ankle rolling in its jaws. Her tender bones might snap at any moment, but she couldn’t pull herself free.
The other three dogs closed in, too timid to attack yet, but it was only a matter of time before they worked up the courage. Hunger was a fierce motivator. Even for the weak.
Hannah scrabbled around in the mud, trying to keep from being rolled over onto her belly. Her rifle was strapped to her shoulder, but the way she’d fallen had trapped it beneath her. She tried to pull it around and get a shot off, but the strap was too tangled.
Then she saw the sword.
It glinted in a shaft of sunlight spilling through the trees. She reached it with her fingertips. “Thank yow, Frank!”
The mongrel yanked at her ankle, trying to tear it off. A wave of sickness spread through her and she gagged. As the mongrel pulled her along the ground, she lost her grip on the sword. She kicked her free-leg into the ground to shift herself back towards the sword. Inch-by-inch, her fingers curled around the sword’s handle.
One of the other dogs leapt into view—one of the cocker spaniels—overgrown and matted. It bit down on her outstretched hand just as she was about to retrieve the sword. It dug its front paws into the mud and shook her. More pain flared through Hannah’s body. She was going to die here, an hour’s walk from camp. And not at the hands of any demon, but a pack of stray dogs. She wasn’t the warrior she thought she was, and the people at the castle would never know what had happened to her, or how awfully she’d failed them.
No! No one else is dying on my watch. I need to complete my mission. This is what I trained for, and why I’ve been fighting to survive. This is my chance to make a difference.
Despite it causing her even more agony, Hannah pulled her arm inwards, dragging the cocker spaniel. Its claws ploughed lines in the mud, dragging the sword underneath it. Hannah heaved with all her might, even as the dog chewed her arm like a squeaky toy. It snarled right over her face and could remove its jaws from her wrist at any moment to clamp down on her throat.
Hannah acted fast. She lifted her head and bit down on one of the cocker spaniel’s floppy ears. She tasted matted fur, then greasy flesh. Finally, she felt gristle and veins give way to blood. It filled her mouth, viscous and metallic. The dog yowled, and she allowed it to pull away, opening her mouth and yanking her wrist free from its jaws—a trade of limbs. Her whole lower arm throbbed and burned, but she flexed her hand and found it moving. She threw out her arm and finally retrieved the sword, lifting it towards the sun and praying she didn’t drop it pommel first onto her face.
She brought the blade down on top of the mongrel’s thick skull.
There was a loud clonk, as the blunt sword acted more like a bludgeon than a blade, yet it was enough to stun the animal into releasing her ankle. It reared up and shook its head.
Hannah struck like lightning, sitting up and thrusting the sword out in front of her. The sharp point pierced the mongrel’s chest easily. It yelped, but the thrust must have struck its heart because it fell down dead with no further fuss.
The wounded cocker spaniel leapt again but retreated when it realised its pack leader
