Amongst the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

pointless. She could never outrun a canine. Deciding to take a stand—her best chance to survive—she found a large tree with low branches, slung the rifle over her shoulder and began to climb.  
    The backpack proved cumbersome, constantly snagging on branches, making her ascent slow.  
    She hadn’t heard the dogs since first hearing them, wondering if maybe they found a deer or rabbit to occupy their taste for meat, when a stab of pain struck her foot.  
    She felt her body being pulled down, followed by growling. Her fingers turned white as she held onto the branches. Snapping jaws could be heard below. Looking down, she saw three Doberman pinschers, one hanging onto her left foot. The dog was heavy; her arms were fully extended and shaking from the strain. They had stopped barking while sneaking up on her. They were devious canine devils. Or was it in their training, assassin-like.  
    Gripping the branch with all of her strength, she managed to pull herself up enough to get her right foot onto a limb, relieving some of the burden from her arms and fingers. The dog was refusing to let go, shaking its head, probably trying to get its prey to fall or at least come away with a morsel.  
    Adjusting her arms for a better hold, Riley held on and let her right leg fall and began kicking at the dog’s snout. After a couple of hard stomps to the nose, the Doberman yelped and released its grip, falling to the ground. The other dogs barked as if in protest and they began launching themselves into the air at her. She sped up the tree, her left foot paining her, but manageable. When she was about ten feet up the tree, she stopped, knowing the dogs couldn’t get to her. She’d have to shoot them, then quickly climb down and get to the cabin, hoping no one found her.  
    She slid the rifle off of her shoulder, steadied herself and took aim. The dogs were jumping and darting around in small circles under the tree making it difficult to get a kill shot. Worst case: she’d have to use more than one bullet per dog. With her finger around the trigger, ready to pull and send the canines to the next world, she heard a whistle. Looking outward she saw a man dressed in black fatigues standing off in the distance.  
    The dogs stopped moving, becoming statuesque, before heading over to the man.  
    Riley took the man in her sights and fired, but she’d moved too quickly and the bullet missed its target, the dirt exploding by the man’s right foot.  
    “Hey, don’t shoot,” he said, holding out his arms.  
    She fired again, hitting the man in the center of his chest and knocking him backward. The dogs turned and ran off into the woods.  
    She’d hit him, feeling a satisfied twinge in her gut, and used two bullets. The rifle was on her shoulder in seconds as she climbed down the tree. As soon as she hit the ground, she took off running.  
    She arrived at the cabin an hour later—starved, thirsty and tired. She hoped the dogs wouldn’t pursue and if they did, would lose her scent.  
    Inside the cabin, she felt secure, safe, like a priest in a church. She gobbled down cereal, stale pretzels, canned peaches and water before gathering enough energy to set up the perimeter alarms—strings of cans and broken bits of glass.  
    She went into the pit and began gathering the smallest, most filling and nutritious foods that she could take with her should the need arise to leave. She couldn’t take the chance of the army men finding her. Fighting off a couple of losers was one thing, but military men, even if they weren’t officially trained, were another story. She would hide out somewhere far away, returning when enough time had passed, the area cooling off. The weather was becoming warmer, making survival outdoors much easier than a few months ago.  
    When she finished gathering food goods, stuffing a nylon bag with them, she returned upstairs.  
    “Hello,” a male’s voice said from behind her.  
    Riley froze, her mind