dk.intensity-第54章

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t　an　angle　that　could　splash　the　ammonia　in　the　dog's　eyes。
　She　threw　herself　backward　against　the　side　of　the　motor　home；　much　as　she　had　hurtled　into　the　fireplace　earlier。　The　Doberman　was　trapped　between　her　and　the　vehicle　as　the　chair　had　been　between　her　and　the　river…rock　wall；　and　it　took　the　brunt　of　the　impact。
　Letting　go　of　her；　falling　away；　the　dog　squealed；　a　pitiful　sound　that　sickened　her；　but　also　a　good　sound…oh；　yes…a　good　sound　as　sweet　as　any　music。
　Buckles　jangling；　padded　chaps　slapping　together；　Chyna　scuttled　sideways；　trying　to　get　out　of　the　animal's　reach；　worried　about　her　ankles；　her　vulnerable　ankles。
　But　suddenly　the　Doberman　no　longer　seemed　to　be　in　a　fighting　mood。　It　slunk　away　from　her；　tail　tucked　between　its　legs；　rolling　its　eyes　to　keep　a　watch　on　her　peripherally；　shaking　and　wheezing　as　though　it　had　damaged　a　lung；　and　favoring　its　hind　leg　on　the　right　side。
　She　squeezed　the　trigger　on　the　spray　bottle。　The　creature　was　out　of　range；　and　the　stream　of　ammonia　arced　into　the　grass。
　Two　dogs　down。　Move；　move。
　Chyna　turned　to　the　motor　home　again…and　cried　out　as　a　third　dog；　weighing　more　than　she　did；　leaped　at　her　throat；　bit　through　the　jacket；　and　staggered　her　backward。
　Going　down。　Shit。　And　as　she　went；　the　dog　was　on　top　of　her；　chewing　frenziedly　at　the　collar　of　the　jacket。
　When　Chyna　hit　the　ground；　her　breath　was　knocked　from　her　in　spite　of　all　the　padding；　and　the　spray　bottle　popped　out　of　her　left　hand；　spun　into　the　air。　She　grabbed　at　it　as　it　tumbled　away；　but　she　missed。
　The　dog　ripped　loose　a　strip　of　padding　from　around　the　jacket　collar　and　shook　its　head；　casting　the　scrap　aside；　spraying　her　face　shield　with　gobs　of　foamy　saliva。　It　bore　in　at　her　again；　tearing　more　fiercely　at　the　same　spot；　burrowing　deeper；　seeking　meat；　blood；　triumph。
　She　pounded　its　sleek　head　with　both　fists；　trying　to　smash　its　ears；　hoping　that　they　would　be　sensitive；　vulnerable。　〃Get　off；　damn　it；　off！　Off！〃
　The　Doberman　snapped　at　her　right　hand；　missed；　teeth　clashing　audibly；　snapped　again；　and　connected。　Its　incisors　didn't　instantly　penetrate　the　tough　leather　glove；　but　it　shook　her　hand　viciously；　as　though　it　had　hold　of　a　rat　and　meant　to　snap　its　spine。　Though　her　skin　hadn't　been　broken；　the　grinding　pressure　of　the　bite　was　so　painful　that　Chyna　screamed。
　In　an　instant；　the　dog　released　her　hand　and　was　at　her　throat　again。　Past　the　torn　jacket。　Teeth　slashing　at　the　Kevlar　vest。
　Howling　in　pain；　Chyna　stretched　her　throbbing　right　hand　toward　the　spray　bottle　lying　in　the　grass。　The　weapon　was　a　foot　beyond　her　reach。
　When　turning　her　head　to　look　at　the　bottle；　she　inadvertently　caused　the　bottom　of　her　face　shield　to　lift；　giving　the　Doberman　better　access　to　her　throat；　and　it　thrust　its　muzzle　under　the　curve　of　Plexiglas；　above　the　Kevlar　vest；　biting　into　the　thick　padding　on　the　exterior　of　the　segmented　hard…plastic　collar；　which　was　her　last　defense。　Intent　on　tearing　this　band　of　body　armor　away；　the　dog　jerked　back　so　hard　that　Chyna's　head　was　lifted　off　the　ground；　and　pain　flared　across　the　nape　of　her　neck。
　She　tried　to　heave　the　Doberman　off　her。　It　was　heavy；　bearing　down　stubbornly；　paws　digging　frantically　at　her。
　As　the　dog　wrenched　at　Chyna's　protective　collar；　she　could　feel　its　hot　breath　against　the　underside　of　her　chin。　If　it　could　get　its　snout　under　the　shield　at　a　slightly　better　angle；　it　might　be　able　to　bite　her　chin；　would　be　able　to　bite　her　chin；　and　at　any　moment　it　was　going　to　realize　this。
　She　heaved　with　all　her　strength；　and　the　dog　clung；　but　she　was　able　to　hitch　a　few　inches　closer　to　the　spray　bottle。　She　heaved　again；　and　now　the　bottle　was　just　six　inches　beyond　her　grasping　fingertips。
　She　saw　the　other　Doberman　limping　toward　her；　ready　to　rejoin　the　fray。　She　hadn't　damaged　its　lungs；　after　all；　when　she　slammed　it　between　her　and　the　motor　home。
　Two　of　them。　She　couldn't　handle　two　of　them　at　once；　both　on　top　of　her。
　She　heaved；　desperately　hitching　sideways　on　her　back；　dragging　the　clinging　Doberman　with　her。
　Its　hot　tongue　licked　the　underside　of　her　chin；　licked；　tasting　her　sweat。　It　was　making　that　horrible；　needful　sound　deep　in　its　throat。
　Heave。　Spotting　her　point　of　greatest　vulnerability；　the　limping　dog　scuttered　toward　her　right　foot。　She　kicked　at　it；　and　the　dog　dodged　back；　but　then　it　darted　in　again。　She　kicked；　and　the　Doberman　bit　the　heel　of　her　Rockport。
　Her　frantic　breathing　fogged　the　inside　of　the　visor。　In　fact；　the　breath　of　the　clinging　Doberman　fogged　it　too；　because　its　muzzle　was　under　the　Plexiglas。　She　was　effectively　blind。
　Kicking　with　both　feet　to　ward　off　the　limping　dog。　Kicking；　heaving　sideways。
　The　other's　hot　tongue　slathered　her　chin。　Its　sour　breath。　Teeth　gnashing　an　inch　short　of　her　flesh。　The　tongue　again。
　Chyna　touched　the　spray　bottle。　Closed　her　fingers　around　it。　Though　the　bite　hadn't　penetrated　the　glove；　her　hand　was　still　throbbing　with　such　crippling　pain　that　she　was　afraid　she　wouldn't　be　able　to　hold　on　to　the　bottle　or　find　the　right　grip；　wouldn't　be　able　to　work　the　lever…action　trigger；　but　then　she　blindly　squeezed　off　a　stream　of　ammonia。　Unthinking；　she　had　used　her　swollen　trigger　finger；　and　the　flash　of　pain　made　her　dizzy。　She　shifted　her　middle　finger　onto　the　lever　and　squeezed　off　another　blast。
　In　spite　of　her　kicking；　the　injured　dog　bit　through　her　shoe。　Teeth　pierced　her　right　foot。
　Chyna　triggered　another　thick　stream　of　ammonia　toward　her　feet；　yet　another；　and　abruptly　that　Doberman　let　go　of　her。　Both　she　and　the　dog　were　shrieking；　blind　and　shaking　and　living　now　in　the　same　monwealth　of　pain。
　Snapping　teeth。　The　remaining　dog。　Pressing　toward　her　chin；　under　the　visor。　Shap…snap…map。　And　the　eager　hungry　whine。
　She　jammed　the　bottle　in　its　face；　pulled　the　trigger；　pulled；　and　the　dog　scrambled　off　her；　screaming。
　A　few　drops　of　ammonia　penetrated　the　visor　through　the　series　of　small　holes　across　the　center　of　the　pane。　She　wasn't　able　to　see　through　the　fogged　Plexiglas；　and　the　acrid　fumes　made　breathing　difficult。
　Gasping；　eyes　watering；　she　dropped　the　spray　bottle　and　crawled　on　her　hands　and　knees　toward　where　she　thought　the　motor　home　stood。　She　bumped　into　the　side　of　it　and　pulled　herself　to　her　feet。　Her　bitten　foot　felt　hot；　perhaps　because　it　was　soaking　in　the　bathh　of　blood　contained　in　her　shoe；　but　she　could　put　her　weight　on　it。
　Three　dogs　so　far。　If　three；　then　surely　four。　The　fourth　would　be　ing。
　As　the　ammonia　evaporated　from　the　face　shield　and　less　rapidly　from　the　front　of　her　torn　jacket；　the　quantity　of　fumes　decreased　but　not　quickly　enough。　She　was　eager　to　remove　the　helmet　and　draw　an　unobstructed　breath。　She　didn't　dare　take　it　off；　however；　not　until　she　was　inside　the　motor　home。
　Choking　on　ammonia　fumes；　trying　to　remember　to　exhale　downward　under　the　Plexiglas　visor　but　half　blinded　because　her　eyes　wouldn't　stop　watering；　Chyna　felt　along　the　side　of　the　motor　home　until　she　found　the　cockpit　door　again。　She　was　surprised　that　she　could　walk　on　her　bitten　foot　with　only　tolerable　twinges　of　pain。
　The　key　was　still　sewn　securely　to　her　right　glove。　She　pinched　it　between　her　thumb　and　forefinger。
　A　dog　was　wailing　in　the　distance；　probably　the　first　one　that　she　had　squirted　in　the　eyes。　Nearby；　another　was　crying　pitifully　and　howling。　A　third　whimpered；　sneezed；　gagged　on　fumes。
　But　where　was　the　fourth？　Fumbling　at　the　lock　cylinder；　she　found　the　keyhole　by　trial　and　error。　She　opened　the　door。　She　hauled　herself　up　into　the　copilot's　seat。
　As　she　pulled　the　door　shut；　something　slammed　into　the　outside　of　it。　The　fourth　dog。
　She　took　off　the　helmet；　the　gloves。　She　stripped　out　of　the　padded　jacket。
　Teeth　bared；　the　fourth　Doberman　leaped　at　the　side　window。　Its　claws　rattled　briefly　against　the　glass；　and　then　it　dropped　back　to　the　lawn；　glaring　at　her。
　Revealed　by　the　light　from　the　narrow　hallway；　Laura　Templeton's　body　still　lay　on　the　bed　in　a　tangle　of　manacles　and　chains；　wrapped　in　a　sheet。
　Chyna's　chest　tightened　with　emotion；　and　her　throat　swelled　so　that　she　had　trouble　swallowing。　She　told　herself　that　the　corpse　on　the　bed　was　not　really　Laura。　The　essence　of　Laura　was　gone；　and　this　was　only　the　husk；　merely　flesh　and　bone　on　a　long　journey　to　dust。　Laura's　spirit　had　traveled　in　the　night　to　a　brighter　and　warmer　home；　and　there　was　no　point　shedding　tears　for　her；　because　she　had　transcended。
　The　closet　door　was　closed。　Chyna　was　sure　that　the　dead　man　still　hung　in　there。
　In　the　fourteen　hours　or　longer　since　she　had　been　in　the　motorhome　bedroom；　the　stuffy　air　had　acquired　a　faint　but　repulsive　scent　of　corruption。　She　had　expected　worse。　Nevertheless；　she　breathed　through　her　mouth；　trying　to　avoid　the　smell。
　She　switched　on　the　reading　lamp　and　opened　the　top　drawer　of　the　nightstand。　The　items　that　she　had　discovered　the　previous　night　were　still　there；　rattling　softly　against　one　another　as　the　engine　vibrations　translated　through　the　floor。
　She　was　nervous　about　leaving　the　engine　running；　because　the　sound　of　it　would　mask　the　approach　of　another　vehicle　in　case　Vess　came　home　earlier。　But　she　needed　lights；　and　she　didn't　want　to　risk　depleting　the　battery。
　From　the　drawer；　she　withdrew　the　package　of　gauze　pads；　the　roll　of　cloth　tape；　and　the　scissors。
　In　the　lounge　area　behind　the　cockpit；　she　sat　in　one　of　the　armchairs。　Earlier；　she　had　stripped　out　of　all　the　protective　gear。　Now　she　removed　her　right　shoe。　Her　sock　was　sodden　with　blood；　and　she　peeled　it　off。
　From　two　punctures　in　the　top　of　her　foot；　blood　welled　dark　and　thick。　It　was　seeping；　however；　not　spurting；　and　she　wasn't　going　to　die　from　the　wound　itself　anytime　soon。
　She　quickly　pressed　a　double　thickness　of　gauze　pads　over　the　seeping　holes　and　fixed　them　in　place　with　a　length　of　cloth　tape。　By　tightening　the　tape　to　apply　a　little　pressure；　she　might　be　able　to　make　the　bleeding　slow　or　stop。
　She　would　have　preferred　to　saturate　the　punctures　with　Bactine　or　iodine；　but　she　didn't　have　anything　like　that。　Anyway；　infection　wouldn't　set　in　for　a　few　hours；　and　by　then　she　would　have　gotten　away　from　here　and　obtained　medical　attention。　Or　she'd　be　dead　of　other　causes。
　The　chance　of　rabies　seemed　small　to　nil。　Edgler　Vess　would　be　solicitous　of　the　health　of　his　dogs。　They　would　have　received　all　their　vaccinations。
　Her　sock　was　cold　and　slimy　with　blood；　and　she　didn't　even　try　to　pull　it　on　again。　She　slipped　her　bandaged　foot　into　her　shoe　and　tied　the　lace　slightly　looser　than　usual。
　A　folding　metal　stepstool　was　stored　in　a　narrow　slot　between　the　kitchen　cabinetry　and　the　refrigerator。　She　carried　it　into　the　short　hallway　at　the　end　of　the　vehicle　and　opened　it　under　the　skylight；　which　was　a　flat　panel　of　frosted　plastic　about　three　feet　long　and　perhaps　twenty　inches　wide。
　She　climbed　onto　the　stool　to　inspect　the　skylight；　hoping　that　it　either　tilted　open　to　admit　fresh　air　or　was　attached　to　the　roof　from　the　interior。　Unfortunately；　the　panel　was　fixed；　with　no　louver　fimction；　and　the　mounting　flange　was　on　the　exterior；　so　she　co