This horrific thought was enough to get her moving, her face hot with embarrassment. Slowly, wincing as she placed each foot on the ground, Bonnie went down the steps. The dog followed her, and she felt subtly comforted by its presence.
No wonder I dreamed you were Meredith, she thought, examining the dog while walking. It was a gorgeous animal, with pure white f
ur and golden eyes. It had a lot of fur around its face and neck and very long legs with enormous feet. Its tail jutted out like a horizontal brushstroke. It didn’t wag, even when Bonnie petted it, but it did hold still and look vaguely pleased, tongue lolling.
It looked like an Alaskan Husky. A cousin of hers had owned an Alaskan Husky, and it had been as thickly furred as this dog, although it hadn’t been as beautifully big and white.
“Who do you belong to?” Bonnie asked conversationally as she hurried along, uncrossing her arm from her chest to pet it again. “You don’t have a collar.”
The dog glanced up at her, as if listening for a word like “walkies” or “dinner.” Bonnie suddenly found herself intensely and specifically glad to have him as a companion. She was terrified of meeting someone who would laugh at her, or worse. What if it was a guy? There was no way to hide; she didn’t dare leave the concrete pathway with its really-quite-distantly-spaced lampposts for the shelter of trees where she might be less conspicuous.
A wicked draft blew straight up her nightgown and she realized that she was shivering uncontrollably. The white dog with the golden eyes looked at her, tongue still lolling.
Please, God, Bonnie thought, resisting an impulse to clasp her hands together because she was already hugging herself, trying to keep warm. Please don’t let Meredith wake up and find that I’m gone from my bed. Please don’t let Meredith ever find out that I’ve been parading around campus in the middle of the night, with a strange dog as my only hope of protection!
“But I did it in my sleep,” she said out loud. At that, the big dog looked up as if sympathetically. “And how I am supposed to watch out for myself when I’m not even awake? It isn’t my fault.”
She was talking, she realized, to keep her spirits up. This sudden understanding brought tears to her eyes and a piteous little whimpering sound to her throat.
The white dog, still looking up at her, echoed her whimper with a tiny whine.
“Oh, you good boy,” Bonnie said again. Suddenly curious, she bent to check whether her choice of words was correct and saw that the dog was, indeed, a male. “You make me feel better. What a good boy!”
Still, she felt badly enough as she followed the path, which seemed to have gotten ten times longer at night than it had ever been in the daytime.
If only she could call . . . call someone for help . . . somehow. Bonnie shook her head, frustrated. She wasn’t even sure what she meant but there was something in her mind that believed she could just yell and . . . someone . . . would find her. No cell phone needed.
But that was insanity. It was the same kind of thinking as whatever had caused her to say terrible things to Elena earlier and then faint and hit her head and not even remember what she’d said. If anyone needed more evidence that she was having a break with reality, this little night’s excursion should convince them.
Suddenly the unpleasant and somehow cobwebby thoughts she was struggling with were brushed away by a frightening conviction. She felt as if someone was looking at her. Not merely looking at her, but staring at the back of her neck with malicious intent.
Slowly, Bonnie turned her head to look behind her.
With a shock, she realized that she had been correct. There were two large dogs—very large dogs—padding along the concrete pathway, coming straight toward her. Bonnie felt her eyes go wide at the sight. The animals were Alaskan Huskies, too, but their coloring was different from her companion’s. They were sort of brindled on top and white on their stomachs.
They were the biggest dogs she’d ever seen in her life, except for . . . darn it! She’d had a flash of an image of a black dog the size of a small pony. But of course she didn’t know any dog like that!
Definitely I’m going crazy.
There was a truly pathetic whimper and for a moment Bonnie thought it came from her own throat. Then she realized it was the white dog. His tail was no longer horizontal; it had curled completely down and under his belly. His head was down, his body was held low to the ground, and his ears were so flattened that it almost looked as if he had none.
“Some help you are!” Bonnie gasped involuntarily. For a moment she wished she had Yangtze, her mother’s spoiled, fat Pekinese who had died last year. He would be no good in a fight, but at least he would put up a shrill yapping that sounded vicious. The white dog was whimpering and, she realized, actually trying to hide behind her.
“Good boy, you’re a great big coward!” Bonnie muttered. But she couldn’t pay attention to him now.
The other dogs were approaching fast. Their eyes seemed to reflect yellow light at Bonnie. Their tails were held erect and their muzzles were shut—no lazy tongue lolling. Their paws made only the faintest of sounds as they loped in for . . .
For the kill, some faraway part of Bonnie’s mind said matter-of-factly. These weren’t domestic dogs at all. They were feral. They were hunting her and they were going to attack her when they reached her.
But she couldn’t run. She couldn’t. Her legs were paralyzed beneath her, and besides her brain was telling her that running was a really stupid thing to do. The wild dogs’ legs were so long that they would catch up in seconds.
Desperately, Bonnie looked around her for some kind of aid. Even a rock . . . no! There! A big stick was lying just a few feet off the concrete pathway. It must have broken off from a tree and been carried here by the wind.
Before she even finished recognizing what the stick was, Bonnie had it in her hand. She had jumped back in front of the trembling white dog and brandished the stick like a baseball bat, not even caring how silly she must look.
The dogs were so close that she could see their yellow eyes clearly, and see the feral coldness in their expression. Neither of them were snarling or even baring teeth. Was that how wild dogs hunted? In silence, ready to jump without warning?
The branch was heavy in her hand and she planned on aiming at sensitive ears and noses.