Free Gears of War: Anvil Gate by Karen Traviss Page B

hadn’t thought about the bastard in a long time.
    “I’m bettin’ on that puppy.” Cole’s voice boomed in her earpiece. “He’s a natural born racin’ hound.”
    Cole always managed to snap her out of it, whether he planned to or not. “Where are you, Cole Train?”
    “On your right, Boomer Lady, comin’ through the trees.”
    Bernie was a long way behind now. The Raven was circling high over the open ground between the patches of woodland, with Mitchell calling directions.
    “They’ve split,” he said. “One’s heading back to the river and two are making for the woods.”
    The rest of the noise in Bernie’s earpiece was ragged breathing and disjointed words. “Cole, Dom—take north.” That was Marcus. “Baird—you take the guy in the brown coat.”
    Now the ground dipped away a little, and Bernie caught sight of the dog pelting through knee-high grass on an intercept line with the other two Stranded. Then they parted in opposite directions. If they thought splitting up would confuse Mac, it didn’t work. The dog was set on his prey—the guy in brown—and he jinked left like he was closing in on a rabbit. Baird was about fifty meters behind him. Then Mac put on a sudden spurt. Bernie found her second wind and started running again.
    It was almost impossible for Bernie to take in the sequence, and not just because she felt her eyes were being shaken out of their sockets with every stride. The Stranded guy slowed, turned, and tried to level his rifle to aim. But the dog was racing at fifty kilometers an hour and simply launched himself into the air about four meters out. It was like watching a missile hit a ship broadside. Mac smashed into the man at chest height and knocked him flat. The rifle didn’t matter a damn to a dog.
    Bernie couldn’t tell where Mac had sunk his teeth, but now that he’d pinned his prey down he was getting stuck in. The man was screaming, curled up in a ball. This wasn’t a police dog carefully trained to seize a specific limb and hang on. Mac didn’t know what an arrest meant.
    The other Stranded guy stopped, took a few paces backward—he had a handgun—and seemed to realize he couldn’t get a clear shot at the dog. Was he going to abandon his buddy? He lost crucial seconds. He hesitated, then aimed as Marcus ran at him yelling at him to drop the weapon. Marcus really was going to try to take the guy alive, the crazy bastard. He was going to get killed. No Stranded was worth that.
    “Drop him!” Bernie yelled. “For fuck’s sake—”
    She stopped to aim her Lancer but in the second it took, she saw a blur of blackened metal shoot out of the trees behind the guy and cannon into him so hard that he lifted bodily into the air. The thud was sickening. The noise of the bike seemed to follow later. Sam Byrne skidded out of control, tearing up grass and soil, but righted herself and circled the bike to a halt by the man’s body. She was on him in a second with her chainsaw to his throat.
    “
Shit,
” Marcus said. “Did you have to?”
    “Yes, I
did
. He had a clear shot at you, and you were going to
tackle
him like some thrashball game.” Sam felt for a pulse, then looked up, indignant. “See? He’s not dead.”
    Marcus checked for himself. “Let’s get him on the Raven.”
    But the screaming went on. For a moment Bernie thought it was the man Sam had run down. But it was the one Mac was still busy savaging. Baird hovered uncertainly, trying to break it up.
    “Shit, Bernie, how do I call off this thing?” Baird panted. It surprised her that he wasn’t just standing there applauding the dog’s technique. “He’s
killing
this asshole.”
    “Say
out.
” She tried to yell a command that Mac would hear, but her lungs could only handle so much at once. “
Out
. It’s
out.
”
    This is how I’m going to die. Trying to keep up with men half my frigging age. And a bloody dog
.
    By the time she reached Mac, she could see the blood. Baird was yelling