Coyote by David L. Foster Page A

forgotten that he had been walking all day. “Like the wind. I like that plan. Let’s run away.”
    She unslung her rile from her shoulder as she spoke, sliding the bolt half-way back to make sure there was a round in the chamber, then seating it home again. “No. Run past the greenhouses and the barn.”
    “What?!”
    “You are the bait. Run past the greenhouses, see what happens. Then keep running, go around the barn, and circle back here.”
    “What? No way. What about the dog? It can be bait.”
    They both glanced at the dog, still lying low, looking tensely toward the barn and the greenhouses.
    “If you can explain to the dog what it must do, then it can be bait. Until then, it’s you.”
    “Ah, uhh… I don’t know. What if something happens?”
    “Run quickly.”
    “Uhh…”
    She looked him in the eye as he stuttered at her. She took a step toward him, lowering her voice, but adding a threatening tone. “Run. You are the bait. Run!”
    Swallowing, he set down his pack, took one more look at her as if making sure she wouldn’t change her mind, and ran.
    He took off right down the middle of the driveway. And he really could run. Not as fast as the wind, maybe, but certainly very fast. He pumped his arms and legs, accelerating away from her and down the driveway that led past the greenhouses.
    For the first few moments, it looked like this might all be for naught. He ran, the quick slap of his footsteps getting quieter as he got further away from her, and closer to the greenhouses. There was nothing else to be seen or heard. Then, just as her shoulders were beginning to relax, it happened.
    From the second greenhouse, two silver forms burst through the glass walls, tumbling in a confused spray of bodies, limbs, and broken glass. As they pulled themselves up and began to sprint after the running man, she could begin to make out their shape. They ran on four skinny legs, making clicking, scraping sounds on the gravel of the driveway, and had powerful torsos that lunged and stretched as they ran. The clicking of their legs on the gravel was soon joined by two high-pitched, shrieking calls as the beasts tore off in pursuit of their prey. They were running away from her so she could not see what their heads looked like.
    She looked behind her, to check what the Mule thought. He was, slack-jawed, watching what transpired in the driveway. He had never truly believed the tales that others told of monsters and carnage. Now, faced with this, she wondered how he would react. He glanced her way, briefly.
    “Shit,” was all he had to say.
    Then he looked back, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly open.
    She turned back to watch the man run. She was confident he could see what the heads of the creatures looked like, and he didn’t like what he saw. He broke his stride as they crashed out of the greenhouse and looked back, then gave a strangled yelp and resumed his run. This time, his panic gave him new speed.
    In just a few steps, his driving legs and arms almost became a blur. It reminded her of the athletes she’d seen running sprints in the Olympics. It was good that he was able to hold up to his boasting, because he would need every bit of his speed to keep away from the things pursuing him.
    He kept going straight up the driveway, then curved around the barn, taking the corners as tightly as he could without losing traction. The things pursued him, skidding as they rounded the corner and allowing him to gain a few steps. Soon they were all out of sight behind the barn.
    She realized that she had crouched there behind the wall, frozen, acting the spectator, when there were things that she should be doing. She rose up a bit, resting her rifle on the wall before her and looking to the back of the barn, where she expected the trio to appear. A few anxious moments passed, and she had cause to wonder what might have gone wrong. Then the man appeared again, rounding the barn, still hotly pursued by the two forms.
    The