The further they get into the house, Man moves step-by-step down the stairs. Hound growls next him but is silenced with a quick kick. Man reaches the bottom of the stairs, his foot squelching on the bloodied floor. The two men stand with their backs to him, slowly moving down the hallway, lights shining into each room they pass. A quick kick to Hound reignites the beast within and Man lets loose his dog of war. The figures turn but for one it is too late. A quick aim of the crossbow and the slightest pressure on the trigger releases the bolt in a mechanised twang. The projectile finds its target: the figure on the right’s throat. He falls quickly, his hands cupping the aluminium arrow. The other figure has no time to react and Hound is on him, tearing at his throat with yellowed fangs, white strings of bearded flesh spreading like a split fig. It is only when Man walks up on the figure that he sees Hound’s damage. The windpipe flaps loose, torn clean in two and the skin either side of the wound glimmers yellowy-red in the torch light. Man pulls Hound off him, pats the dog on the head and collects the torches. The figure with the crossbow bolt through his neck is still writhing silently on the floor. A quick stamp of Man’s red Converse crushes the figure’s skull.
Man drops the crossbow and picks up the over/under, cocks the hammers. In the near distance he hears the hum of worried voices getting closer, the low growls of pack-dogs. They must’ve gotten quite far. He steps outside, the shotgun swung up and straight ahead. Hound begins to bark.
Man looks at the dog and aims the shotgun at the back of his balding head. His finger presses against the cold steel of the trigger and he looks away. A quick jerk from the dog forces Man to relinquish his grip on the cord and the dog runs free, lightning fast into the darkness, towards a group of men who want Man’s head on a stick.
Man turns and runs and hears the clash of beasts, the canine howls of a dog being torn to pieces. He nears the front of the house and sees eight horses tied up to a fence post, heads towards them. As he nears the horses a figure comes from the blackness. Man sees the pistol in his hand and lifts his shotgun. His left hand comes across his body to prop the barrel up and he squeezes the right trigger. The figure slumps back in a black explosion of parts, the speckles of a blood cloud sparkling in the moonlight. But all Man can think of is Emma’s poor ears.
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The horse feels powerful between his legs and with each bound he can feel himself getting closer to safety.
Man took the horse, a black, stocky creature and cut the other seven loose, frightened them so that they ran off into the night. In the distance he can hear screams and gun fire but he knows he is too far away. The pack-dogs bark with each bound but he knows that as soon as he clears the paddock he’ll be safe from them too.
One hundred yards ahead lies the paddock wall, a black blockade, barely visible in the moonlight. He slaps the leather reigns against the horse’s back, taking his hand off every few seconds to secure the child to his chest. The wall nears as the horse charges with the might of an ancient force. Man imagines himself sat on a stallion, a warrior horse of old, escaping capture, continuing on his heroic quest.
Three yards short of the wall, the horse falls. The beast can’t see well in the dark, panics at the solid shadow of the paddock wall. Man is thrown from the horse, straight into the barbed wire fence, and then through it, falling to the floor in a roll. A sickening thud of flesh against stone and the wail of a horse cry out from the other side of the wall; the scratching of hooves,
Man drops the crossbow and picks up the over/under, cocks the hammers. In the near distance he hears the hum of worried voices getting closer, the low growls of pack-dogs. They must’ve gotten quite far. He steps outside, the shotgun swung up and straight ahead. Hound begins to bark.
Man looks at the dog and aims the shotgun at the back of his balding head. His finger presses against the cold steel of the trigger and he looks away. A quick jerk from the dog forces Man to relinquish his grip on the cord and the dog runs free, lightning fast into the darkness, towards a group of men who want Man’s head on a stick.
Man turns and runs and hears the clash of beasts, the canine howls of a dog being torn to pieces. He nears the front of the house and sees eight horses tied up to a fence post, heads towards them. As he nears the horses a figure comes from the blackness. Man sees the pistol in his hand and lifts his shotgun. His left hand comes across his body to prop the barrel up and he squeezes the right trigger. The figure slumps back in a black explosion of parts, the speckles of a blood cloud sparkling in the moonlight. But all Man can think of is Emma’s poor ears.
************************
The horse feels powerful between his legs and with each bound he can feel himself getting closer to safety.
Man took the horse, a black, stocky creature and cut the other seven loose, frightened them so that they ran off into the night. In the distance he can hear screams and gun fire but he knows he is too far away. The pack-dogs bark with each bound but he knows that as soon as he clears the paddock he’ll be safe from them too.
One hundred yards ahead lies the paddock wall, a black blockade, barely visible in the moonlight. He slaps the leather reigns against the horse’s back, taking his hand off every few seconds to secure the child to his chest. The wall nears as the horse charges with the might of an ancient force. Man imagines himself sat on a stallion, a warrior horse of old, escaping capture, continuing on his heroic quest.
Three yards short of the wall, the horse falls. The beast can’t see well in the dark, panics at the solid shadow of the paddock wall. Man is thrown from the horse, straight into the barbed wire fence, and then through it, falling to the floor in a roll. A sickening thud of flesh against stone and the wail of a horse cry out from the other side of the wall; the scratching of hooves,
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