Peter Corris - Beware of the Dog

I stepped down into a cold that I hadn’t really expected. The cessation of the rain had lulled me into a feeling that the outside world was benign. Instead, it was colder than in the mountains. A steady, knife-edged wind blew from the south. It cut through three layers of clothing and chilled my feet immediately. I forced myself to open the back of the Cruiser and search for the things I needed-torch, matches, groundsheet, gloves. My fingers were stiff and clumsy and I fumbled in the dark, touching icy metal and cursing softly when the object proved not to be what I wanted.

I heard it before I saw or felt it: the dog must have growled as it launched itself into a tremendous spring. I reacted instinctively, throwing myself to one side and holding on to whatever my hand touched in hopes that it was a weapon. The velocity of the dog’s leap and the vigour of its attack on the padded thickness of my parka almost pulled me down. It wrenched its jaws free of the material and sprang again, directly at my face. I screamed and threw up my hands. I was holding the soggy, mildewed leather jacket and the dog’s teeth fastened on it. It snarled and let go as it realised that old, wet leather wasn’t fresh meat. I stepped back, still holding the jacket which was now minus a sleeve. I tried to wrap it around my arm in the approved fashion but the dog was on me again, snapping and attacking low.

I kicked it and connected solidly, only enraging the animal. It howled and threw itself at me. I knew that if it got me down I’d be finished; I flailed at it with the jacket, probably howling myself. I felt the weight of the Colt in my pocket and struggled to get it out while the dog backed off with another chunk of leather and lining in its jaws. I got the gun free and when the dog jumped again I hit it as hard as I could, bringing the gun butt down on its head. The blow glanced off bone and gouged into an eye socket. The dog seemed to turn in midair and attack again without having touched ground. I pounded the gun against the side of its head, mashing an ear. It snarled and grabbed my ankle. I beat down at it, feeling bone and flesh turn soft and pulpy until its grip relaxed.

I leaned back against the Land Cruiser breathing hard. My breath made clouds of steam in the icy air but I was sweating. Perspiration trickled down my body. My hair was prickling all over my scalp and I could feel the adrenalin pumping through me like an electric current. The dog twitched and thrashed, then lay still. It was a big, yellow dog. I like dogs, but the feeling has to be mutual. Years ago I had to shoot one that was attacking me. This was worse, and there was a single thought in my head: are there any more of them? I wasn’t sure I could go through it again.

The phone bleeped. I staggered around to the cabin, jerked open the door and picked up the instrument in my left hand. My right was locked around the Colt as if it would never let go.

‘Yes.’

‘Cliff, it’s Glen. Are you all right?’

‘I’ve just beaten an attack dog to death.’

‘My God, where are you? I’ll get some people to you. Cliff, where are you?’

‘I’m OK,’ I said.

‘You’re not. You sound terrible. Cliff…’

She was right. I wasn’t OK. My pulse was racing and the sweat was freezing on my body. I was trembling as I stood there and I didn’t know whether it was from the cold, or fear or relief. All I knew was that I was going on with what I’d started.

‘I’m OK,’ I said again. ‘Don’t worry.’ I slammed the phone back into its housing.

No more yellow, snarling shapes came hurtling from the darkness. The wind blew steadily; the light scrub seemed to bend aside to let it through. I wondered if it snowed out here. If so, this could be the night. My pulse rate and breathing returned to normal. I stepped over the carcass of the dog and returned to the job of collecting things from the back of the Cruiser. To do so I had to release my grip on the Colt. I shoved it back in the pocket of the torn parka and found the gloves and a knitted cap. With their protection, things didn’t seem so bad. I contemplated taking the phone with me, but if there was a way of muting its ring I didn’t know about it and I didn’t fancy having it bleeping away unexpectedly.

Torch in hand, I moved along the track in the direction of the house. I knew it would be a fairly long tramp but I couldn’t risk taking the vehicle any closer. I’d studied the survey map but things are very different on the ground and in the dark. I didn’t know for certain where the kennels were located; I wasn’t even sure where the creek was. If Paula Wilberforce was here she certainly had the advantage of knowing the territory. For my part, I had military training, a lot of experience in dangerous situations and a very high regard for my personal safety when I stopped to think about it. I also had a bigger gun and, very likely, more bullets.

The house loomed up suddenly like a mountain. ‘Cottage’ had given me the wrong impression. It was a three-storey job with a high-pitched roof and several chimneys. The moonlight gave it a certain grandeur but even so I could see that it was almost a ruin. Windows were boarded up; creeper had invaded the masonry and guttering on one side and at least one section of the verandah, which appeared to run right around the building, had collapsed. The front porch was heaped high with wooden pallets and bales of barbed wire. From where I stood I couldn’t see how to get into the house or even if entry was possible. I moved closer and risked a quick flash of the torch. The verandah threatened to collapse completely any second and the wall I was looking at had a crack from top to bottom wide enough to put your fist in. I circled the building, keeping twenty metres away, stepping through overgrown garden beds and across cracked cement paths. A garden hose, attached to a tap, but otherwise covered in weeds, almost tripped me up. I swore as I stumbled and then I went to ground deliberately. Something or someone, off to my left, was moving towards the house. I squinted through the weeds. My first feeling was of relief- the figure was human. I lifted myself a little to get a better look A tall person wearing a long coat with a hood pulled up stopped ten metres short of the house and gave a long, low whistle.

‘Rudi. Rudi.’

I recognised the voice and got to my feet. As I did she turned in my direction. The hood fell away and the moonlight caught on her blonde hair, turning it silvery. Suddenly she was the younger, female image of her father.

‘Paula.’ I moved quickly towards her, watching carefully, if her hand moved towards her coat pocket…

She stood stock still. ‘Who’s that?’

I pulled off the cap. ‘Don’t be scared. It’s Hardy.’

I was only a few metres away now. She glared at me and took her hands out of the folds of the long scarf she wore around her neck. “Where’s Rudi?’

‘What?’

‘Where’s my dog?’

I couldn’t say out on the track with his brains beaten in. I didn’t say anything. She got closer and those blue eyes transfixed me. I dropped the torch to the ground, unzipped the parka for easier access to the Colt.

‘You’re covered in blood. You’ve killed him, you bastard!’

She threw herself forward, clawing for my eyes with fingers bent like grappling hooks. I stepped back to give myself space to grab her wrists. I got one, missed the other, and her fingernails raked my face from cheekbone to jaw. She was a fury with the strength of a man. I wrestled with her there in the weeds, struggling to avoid her flailing, slashing right hand, trying to imprison it while she wrenched and jerked, trying to get the other hand free. She swore and spat and kicked at me; she had long legs and wore heavy shoes. She caught me solidly on the ankle the dog had bitten and I yelled. I clubbed her with a roundhouse right that took her behind the ear and made her gasp. Only gasp. I didn’t want to hit her with a real punch but it was beginning to look as if I’d have to. She got the left hand free and I knew it would be coming for my eyes in a split second. I slapped her right cheek hard and stepped aside. She rushed forward and I tripped her. She fell hard, face-down into the grass and I straddled her, pinning her wrists together behind her back.