Viper Game (GhostWalkers 11)

I don't see or hear anything at all, Ezekiel said, but the dog is getting harder to control. I think we're going to have to get out of here for tonight and rethink our plan of reading to that man from the good book.

That wasn't happening. You go on ahead and I'll meet you at the pirogue.

Wyatt stared hard at the man who had shoved his grandmother into the swamp. He'd patted her down and pushed her. She could easily have broken a hip, and the guard had known it but hadn't cared.

The guard brought the dog twice up to one of the gates and stood waiting, as if he'd receive a signal to let the animal loose. The dog barked, baring its teeth, looking out behind Malichai.

He's feeling something I can't, Ezekiel said.

Fall back, Wyatt told them. He's goin' to come out and investigate.

Not alone, he's not, Malichai said.

As the guard opened the gate, two other guards ran up to join him. Neither of the others had a dog, but they were heavily armed. They came outside the fence and immediately spread out, keeping about five feet apart as they moved toward the grove of trees where Wyatt and the Fortunes brothers had taken up residence.

That dog has the scent of something, Ezekiel said. And it isn't us.

Wyatt inhaled deeply, taking in the odors of the night. Jasmine hung heavy in the air, mixing with the smell of the swamp, the moss hanging in ropes from the cypress groves and the mix of wild flowers. The pharmaceutical field had its own perfume from hundreds of varieties of herbs and flowering plants, some poisonous, some not, but all with their individual scents.

He caught the odor of the alligator. A bobcat lurked close. Somewhere a little farther off was a small herd of deer. Raccoons caught fish near the riverbank and a family of opossum trailed through the vegetation seeking dinner. Nutrias, originally from South America, traveled in a small group as well, wandering around destroying the plants as they devoured the stems and roots.

The wind shifted just a fraction and he caught the same scent the dog had. Elusive. Beckoning. Mysterious. Impossible to identify, but there. It made every hair on his body stand up. His heart beat faster and blood ran hot through his veins. He felt an itch between his shoulder blades as if someone had a scope and a rifle with their centers on him.

The dog burst from the gate and, slipping its collar, sprang away from his handler, rushing across the clearing and low-level plants straight into the cypress grove. He made no noise at all, but he moved fast with purpose. His handler raced after him, calling his name, clearly alarmed at the dog being off the leash. What was out there that might harm his dog? The other two men moved much more cautiously, exchanging a quick signal with one another before they followed into the grove, maintaining a five-foot spread from one another.

Wyatt ran lightly along a heavy branch that nearly touched another tree next to the one he was in. He leapt for the tree, landing lightly and quickly moving to the next. He used the branches as a highway above the swamp, following the three guards. He knew their exact positions but he couldn't always see them through the thick vines and foliage.

Someone shouted - the dog handler, he was certain. The guard fired his gun in short bursts. The dog yelped. In the distance, through the tree branches, Wyatt caught a glimpse of something moving fast - too fast for anything human. It was small, no more than a foot or so tall. It ran, zigzagging as the guard fired at it.

Movement drew Wyatt's gaze back to the guard as something hit the dog handler hard in the back, knocking him forward and down. For a moment, Wyatt thought he might actually be catching his first glimpse of the Rougarou - shapeshifter of the bayous and swamps - but this was no tall creature with a wolf's head. It was small in comparison to the guard, but not tiny like the first creature. He was fairly certain whoever had struck the guard was human.

He moved carefully, knowing he would draw fire from the other guards if they spotted him in the trees. By the time he was able to see again, whoever it was had smashed the guard's gun into pieces against the trunk of a tree. The dog hurled itself on the smaller figure, driving it to the ground. Animal and human rolled for a moment and then, to his astonishment, the dog went flying backward with such force that when it landed, the blow was strong enough to knock the wind from the animal.

Whatever it was that had attacked the guard ran in the direction of the much smaller creature, just as fast, with blurring speed, leaping over fallen logs and yet never once running into an obstacle in spite of the speed.

The other two guards laid down fire, spraying the swamp with bullets, but none appeared to strike their target. The two small creatures, one no more than a foot and a half tall and the other maybe hitting five feet or an inch or two above, ran through the dense vegetation without hesitation or a hitch in their strides.

None of the guards gave chase, and that was significant as well. The guards, as armed and as well trained as they were, didn't want to follow the two figures into the swamp at night. They were afraid.

One of the guards reached down to help the dog handler from the ground. He immediately rushed over to kneel by the dog.

"Is he alive, Larry?"

"Yeah." The dog handler sounded grim. "She didn't kill him, but his rib might be cracked. We were lucky."

"You shouldn't have let him loose, Larry."

"Go to hell, Blake, he slipped his leash." The dog handler gathered the animal into his arms and lifted him gently.

Wyatt liked him better for that. Still, the man was due a good beating, and he wasn't getting out of that.

"Gentlemen, put down your guns," he advised softly. "I'm only goin' to tell you once. If you don' comply, I'll shoot you in the leg. If you still don' comply, it will be the other leg. We'll just keep goin' until you run out of blood or I run out of bullets."

"Don't you worry, my friend," Malichai said, his voice coming out of the night low and purring. "I've got enough ammo to keep on shooting long after you're out."

"And then I'll start," Ezekiel added.

Surrounded, the guards put their weapons on the ground, stepped back away from them and linked their fingers behind their heads.

"You're making a mistake," the one named Blake said.

"No, I think you're the ones who made the mistake." Wyatt leapt from the tree, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet, right beside Blake's gun. He tossed it up into the tree where Ezekiel was concealed and then threw the second one to him as well.

"Put the dog down. I don' want to hurt an animal, so if he's protective of you, leash him and hand the leash to one of your friends. They can just make themselves comfortable while you and I settle our score." Wyatt pinned the other two with a serious gaze. "Don' make the mistake of thinkin' you can go for your holdout guns or your other weapons. I know you have 'em and I just plain don' give a damn. That's how angry you've made me. So know my two friends will shoot you down the moment you make one wrong move."

Larry set the dog near the third guard, clearly not trusting Blake. He snapped the leash back on him and handed the end to his friend. "Don't let him loose, Jim," he cautioned, and then turned slowly. "Who the hell are you and why do you have such a hard-on for me?"

"You know that sweet old lady you thought you'd shove into the swamp? The one you threatened? The one you told you'd come by her home and take care of her?" Deliberately, and making a show of it, Wyatt placed his gun a distance from them and walked within feet of Larry. "That's my grand-mere, and I don' take to anyone threatenin' her or puttin' hands on her."

"It wasn't personal," Larry said with a small shrug. "I was doing my job. We don't want anyone coming around, not only for our protection but theirs as well."

"It's very personal to me," Wyatt said. "So let's get to this."

"You swamp rats are all alike. We go to that shack you call a club and everyone wants to fight us to prove what men you are," Larry accused, shaking his head.

The other two guards laughed. "This ought to be fun."

"No, we're not alike," Wyatt said quietly.

"That's where you're wrong. The boys at the Huracan are out for fun and they were invitin' you to join in. No animosity and nothin' to prove, just a good Saturday night bataille. Me, I'm dead serious about teachin' you some manners, there's no funnin' in my mind at all. Swamp rats know how to treat women, and apparently you need to learn that lesson."

"You're going to be one sorry rat," Larry said, and circled Wyatt, his hands coming up in the classic boxer's stance. "I'm so sick of all of you, thinking you're so tough just because you grew up around alligators. I'll bet that's what they call you around these parts - Gator." He said the name in a sneering taunt.

"No, that would be my brother, and you should be damn glad he's not here. He wouldn' be quite so gentle as I'm goin' to be." Wyatt nodded at the man's boot. "If you think you're goin' to make your try for that holdout gun, all bets are off."

Larry scowled at him. "I won't need a gun for this." He stepped in close and fired off three rapid punches at Wyatt's face.

Wyatt blocked all three, and delivered a hard right to the man's belly, punching deep, driving the air from his lungs and letting him know it was a punishment, not a dance. The breath exploded out of Larry and he stumbled back, doubling over. Wyatt slammed an elbow on his back, driving him straight to the ground. He stepped back.

"The thing you should know comin' into a neighborhood, Larry," he said, his voice gentle, as if he was a mother instructing a child, "you treat the people decent. That's all, just decent. And you don' ever put your hands on old ladies or any woman for that matter. It just isn' done."

Larry got to his feet slowly, this time looking at Wyatt warily. His two friends stopped laughing, watching as he staggered a little. All traces of amusement and contempt were gone from Larry's face.