Free Monster by Frank Peretti Page B

gotten the brunt of this monster’s rage—
    She dared not think it.
    But then came more bad news. A further inventory revealed a large smear of blood on her leather jacket where she’d been pressed against the creature’s side. She looked and found a corresponding dark stain on the big ape’s shoulder and left flank.
    If her fear had ebbed even slightly, now it returned. She met the creature’s eyes and thought, What have you done?
    The monster stiffened, suddenly alert and alarmed. The lips pulled back slightly, revealing the edges of the teeth—sharp, white incisors between an imposing set of canines.
    Beck cowered. Oh no, I’ve made it angry.
    But the big female wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even looking at her. It was listening. The look on its face, the piercing stare of its eyes, its motionless body reminded Beck of their dog, Jonah, and how he reacted whenever he heard a distant coyote or the UPS truck approaching a half mile away. And there was that foul smell again, a new, sickening wave of it.
    It happened so fast Beck didn’t have time to object or resist. Before she could even scream, the big hands enfolded her and snatched her from the ground, shaking her insides and nearly giving her whiplash. Limbs, leaves, and berries blurred past her eyes and whipped her head and shoulders. She covered her face.
    There was a burst of acceleration so fast that the wind swept her hair from her face. She lifted her eyes.
    She was flying, lunging through the forest at an altitude of six feet, her body held fast against that abundant bosom by two muscular arms. Tree limbs blurred by like fence posts on a freeway. She curled her legs up as her hands grabbed fistfuls of red hair in a death grip. Beneath her, the creature’s big feet pounded the ground as she leaped over logs and dodged thickets and brush with incredible agility, slowed by nothing.
    With a little whine, Caesar the German shepherd balked only a few yards into the trees, turned back, looked down the hill at Agnes, his handler, tried again, whined again, and finally, at a timid trot, ran to his master and cowered behind her legs. Agnes, whose dogs had served the county sheriff’s department, the state patrol, and local police departments for the past twelve years, looked puzzled to say the least as she stroked the shy dog’s neck. “Caesar, what is it? What’s the matter, boy?”
    Reed did not find the dog’s behavior one bit surprising. He felt that way himself—he just wasn’t going to whine about it.
    Pete Henderson and his team of searchers looked as mystified as Agnes, gawking up into the woods from a small clearing on the mountainside. Scatter Creek ran through this clearing, cutting across the trail just below them and cascading over a ten-foot waterfall. Agnes had taken Caesar to the base of the waterfall, the spot search teams call the “LKP,” the Last Known Place Beck had been, and let him go. He’d hesitated, whined, followed a scent up to the trail, spun in circles, followed it across the trail and up the clearing, turned back at the trees, and then, with some goading from Agnes, continued into the trees. A few yards in, he’d had enough.
    Pete’s radio squawked. “Team 1 in position at the campsite.”
    Pete spoke into the handheld, “Team 2 above the waterfall at the LKP.” He gazed curiously at the dog. “We’re, uh, working the K-9 right now. Good hunting.”
    He clipped the handheld to his belt and looked down toward the trail where Reed and the others waited for further orders.
    Reed tried to keep his impatience in check. He knew all these people were as eager and on edge as he was: the two Search and Rescue volunteers, one the dental assistant and the other the heavy equipment operator, both tracking apprentices; the two marksmen, one of them a newcomer named Thorne who looked like a marine; two medical technicians with emergency kits and a stretcher; Don Nelson and Tyler Jones, experienced trackers, who would form the