Free AFTER by Ronald Kelly Page B

table. "What do you want?" She suddenly realized that it was the stupidest question she had ever asked in her life.
    The two entered the shack. The big guy carried a baseball bat, while the wiry man held a wicked-looking hunting knife in one hand. They split ranks midway, one starting to the right, the other to the left.
    " Lookee there," said the man with the knife. "She's got a bed and everything. We don't have to do it on the ground like usual."
    The big one chuckled. "I'll take the mouth this time." He patted the fat end of the bat against the meaty palm of his hand. "I might have to knock her teeth out, though… so she won't bite me."
    Phyllis remembered the gun. Struggling, she pulled it from her pocket and pointed at the man with the knife. "Get out of here!"
    "Put that gun down, lady," said the one with the bat. "If you don't, I'll have to bust you up. And loving ain't too pleasurable when you're full of broken bones."
    It suddenly occurred to her that the threat of the gun wasn't going to deter the two. They were going to rape her.
    The one with the knife unzipped his pants and unleashed himself. His penis was swollen and purple, the veins dark and enlarged. Something yellowish-green dripped from the end, thick and stringy.
    He's going to stick it in me, thought Phyllis. He's going to put it in and poison me!
    Only one other option came to her mind. " Compadre ," she said. The word came out as a hoarse croak at first. " Compadre !"
    The intruders laughed. "Oh, we'll be your compadres , se
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orita," said the big fellow.
    The one with the diseased member took another step forward, then an expression of intense pain wracked his face. He shrieked long and loud as a deep growl rumbled directly behind him.
    Compadre had his jaws locked around the calf of the man's left leg. The fangs burrowed deeply, breaking skin and drawing thick rivulets of blood. Phyllis watched as the dog yanked his head sharply to the side, ripping the muscle completely from its moorings. The tendons behind the knee snapped first, then the ones just above the ankle. As if in triumph, the Malamute lifted his head, displaying his gory trophy.
    The knife spun from the thin man's hand, landing point down in the earthen floor. He collapsed under his own weight, continuing to scream and thrash in agony.
    Phyllis turned to find the big man starting toward the dog, the bat cocked over his shoulder. He was about to swing for Compadre's head, when she leveled the gun and fired. The bullet hit the man in his right side. It shattered a lower rib, tunneled through his guts, and exited on the other side in a ragged, bloody hole. He dropped to his knee, then, with a grunt, regained his feet and started for the dog again.
    "Get away from him, you bastard!" Phyllis aimed again, this time at his hands. The slug struck the center knuckles of his right hand, shearing off his index and middle fingers at their base. The bat dropped from his maimed hand and rolled along the dirt floor.
    Then both men left, staggering and pulling themselves into the deep brush. Phyllis walked to the door and watched as the dead vegetation to the south parted in their wake. She had a feeling neither one would have the desire to return anytime soon.
    Phyllis looked down to see that Compadre had laid a prize at her feet. Trembling, she knelt and picked up the bleeding calf muscle. She studied the ugly thing in her hands, staring past the coarse hair and sore-speckled flesh, seeing the potential underneath.
    Compadre whimpered. She glanced down to see the dog looking up at her, licking his blood-stained lips.
    Phyllis looked down at the bleeding hunk of man-flesh. "No," she muttered. "No… I won't go there." She stepped to the door and, with all the force she muster, flung the calf far into the thicket.
    The malamute cocked his head and looked at her, as if thinking, "Why the heck did you do that?"
    "I can't," she said. Phyllis dropped to her knees and embraced her only friend. "I haven't