After: The Echo (AFTER post-apocalyptic series, Book 2) by Nicholson Scott

Author:Nicholson, Scott [Nicholson, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Stephen King, Justin Cronin, Paranormal, Suspense, walking dead, Science Fiction, Bentley Little, Supernatural, Brian Keene, Dean Koontz, Zombies, Horror, Joe Hill, zombie, After series, post-apocalyptic, world war Z, Adventure, Mystery, dystopian, technothriller, J.L. Bourne, action
Publisher: Haunted Computer Books
Published: 2014-01-29T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The shepherd hit Rachel high, knocking her flat on her back.

She was dimly aware of the other two dogs closing in, but her world narrowed to the stinking, slavering mouth snapping at her.

She thrust her forearm into the dog’s neck and pushed, yellow fangs clacking inches short of her face, the steaming pink tongue lolling against the black maw of the throat.

Up close, the glittering eyes were hellfire. It was easy to think of the dog as a demonic creature shot from the land of myth, but its moist, putrid breath was all too real against her skin.

She rolled, something in her backpack digging into the base of her spine. She debated the pistol, knew there was no time, and kept rolling as the dog’s paws skidded painfully across her breasts. She made it to her knees and, as the shepherd fell away, the beagle lunged for her midsection.

During the roll, her pack slid from one shoulder and she shrugged it the rest of the way down her arm. Rachel punched at the only soft point she could find, the dog’s quivering, slimy nose. The blow landed flush and the dog yipped, backing away and howling in surprise.

The dogs circled her, keeping out of reach, apparently finding her more challenging than their usual prey.

How many people have they slaughtered? Or is this their first taste of warm blood?

She shrugged free of the backpack and held it by one strap. Slinging it before her, its fifteen pounds of weight was like a sledgehammer. She’d quickly grow weary, but for the moment, the threat kept the dogs at bay.

The retriever made a play for her ankles and she whipped the pack against its ribs. It yelped and hobbled away.

“That’s right, Cujo, I’ll kick your ass back to Maine.” The bravado felt hollow, and the shepherd’s attack had driven the wind from her lungs, but at least she was standing.

Four legs good, two legs better.

Stephen had made it safely around the truck, so Rachel began backing away from them, using the truck as a wall so they couldn’t surround her. She swung at the beagle when it snarled at her, and when it retreated, she was able to gain a position by the truck’s front tire. She thought about climbing the driver’s-side runner and trying the cab door, but if it was locked, the backs of her legs and buttocks would be exposed to attack, and she doubted she’d get a second chance.

The dogs barked, hissed, and howled in a sickening mix, like coyotes strung in an electric fence. As the dogs paced back and forth, searching for an opening, Rachel found the backpack’s zipper and worked it down, never letting her gaze stray from the dogs. Their glittering eyes were both mesmerizing and repulsive.

If fear encouraged them to attack, maybe arrogance would drive them away. So she shouted at them, channeling gangster movies and tough-guy clichés, figuring the dogs wouldn’t give a damn if she mangled a few lines.

“Are you looking at me? Wanna piece of this? You can’t handle the truth.

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