Wolf Hunt Read Online Free PDF

a new dog that was
running toward them, having come from behind the store. Another
Doberman. Who the hell owned all of these Dobermans?
    He fired. A perfect head shot. The Doberman
tumbled forward.
    Lou reached the blue car. He grabbed the dog
by its long tail with both hands and gave a sharp tug. The dog
twisted around, bashing its head against the steering wheel and
honking the horn, then scrambled out of the car, lunging at Lou's
throat.
    Lou slammed his hands together, boxing the
dog's ears. It yelped but didn't stop fighting. As Lou quickly
backed away, the dog snapped at his legs.
    Yet another goddamn dog--was there a dog
factory in the area or something?--came running toward the gas
station, followed by two more. All big ones. One of them was
dragging a leash.
    The gas station attendant fired the rifle.
Either his first shot had been total luck, or he was getting too
scared to shoot straight, because this one didn't even come close.
He fired again. Another complete miss.
    George's fuel hose wasn't
long enough to reach the dog that was attacking his partner, which
didn't matter because Lou stood between the dog and a possible
gasoline stream. George dropped the pump and rushed forward,
kicking the dog in the side, hard enough to produce a crunch .
    The brown-and-white dog stumbled away, then
launched itself against the car, bashing itself against the metal
over and over.
    George looked at the woman. Her shoulder was
a mess. The gas station attendant fired again, this time hitting
one of the oncoming Dobermans in the ear. That didn't stop the
animal. The top half of its ear dangled in a bloody flap, and the
attendant adjusted his grip on the rifle, holding it like a
club.
    "Behind you!" the woman shouted at
George.
    George didn't even have time to turn around
before the dog knocked him to the ground. He couldn't see the
creature, could just hear its growling and feel its hot breath on
his neck. He elbowed it in the face, which probably hurt his elbow
worse than its face. Some froth got into his eyes.
    George frantically tried to blink it out, as
Lou grabbed the dog under its front arms and pulled it away. The
dog snarled and twisted around and bit at Lou's nose, while Lou
struggled to get the thrashing animal away from George.
    "Help!" the attendant shouted.
    George pushed himself up again. The attendant
lay on the ground, kicking at the dogs that had brought him down.
He swung with his rifle, but one of the dogs sunk its teeth deep
into his forearm, creating a spray of red, and he lost his grip on
the weapon.
    "Pull your legs in the car," George told the
woman, putting his hand on the door. She seemed to be in shock and
didn't respond. Instead of acknowledging his command, she was
staring off behind--
    George looked to see what she was staring at.
A pit bull. Running right at him. Fast.
    Again, there wasn't enough time to get the
van door open, or even to grab the fuel pump. George, less
concerned with dignity than survival, quickly climbed up onto the
hood of the van, just as the pit bull's teeth snapped at his ankle.
George had a lot of good physical attributes, but few would call
him nimble, and the process of scrambling up onto the hood of the
van was a sloppy one.
    While the pit bull was distracted with
George, Lou managed to run around to the other side of the van.
George heard a squeal of pain as Lou apparently kicked a miniature
dog, and then Lou successfully got into the driver's side of the
van and slammed the door shut behind him.
    The pit bull jumped for George's tender and
succulent (he assumed) flesh. It didn't get his ankle, but it did
get his pants leg. George grabbed for the first thing he saw--a
windshield wiper--to steady himself as the dog tried to pull him
off the van.
    He pounded on the windshield. "Start the car!
Start the frickin' car!"
    As George tried to shake the pit bull
off his leg, he helplessly watched the gas station attendant's
desperate fight for life. One dog was at his legs, the other