Wolf Flow by K. W. Jeter Page B

probably from the piss he'd taken off the edge of the verandah, had brought them slinking around, soon as it had turned dark. Now they were hanging back, waiting to see if he were dead or alive. Essentially chickenshit; the ones down south, in California. had to be completely desperate from hunger to come out and snatch a toy poodle from beside a Beverly Hills swimming pool.
        "Beat it!" His shout croaked out of his throat. "Come on, get out of here!" The red eyes-there seemed to be about six or seven pairs in the dark now-didn't move from the positions they had taken. And the fuckers looked too big to be coyotes. He leaned forward, sweeping his hand across the verandah, trying to find something to throw.
        He came up with a piece of wood, a pointed fragment a couple of feet long that had been knocked loose from the boards over the door. Straightening back up, he whipped the piece around by the end and let it fly. The effort sent him sprawling forward; he caught his balance with his good hand, the palm sliding in the layers of dust.
        Moonlight caught the wood as it flew; he looked up in time to see one of the pairs of eyes shift aside, in an unhurried fluid motion, as the piece hit the ground.
        The watching eyes stayed where they were. Maybe I should've kept it . The sharp point would have at least given him a weapon to defend himself with, if the animals grew bold enough to sidle up onto the verandah. If they determined, however their minds worked, that he was weak enough to make easy prey…
        They gazed back at him, unmoving and patient. Where was that stupid kid? Mike glanced from the corner of his eye toward the distant road, then quickly back to the animals out in the dark. A couple of them had shifted, padding silently to new positions, to crouch down and watch. Even that small movement of his eyes brought on the blurring, the red sparks hazing out of focus.
        "You fuckers…" Blinded, he sensed that the coyotes had edged closer. "Sonsabitches…" That brought a laugh rasping in his throat. Of course; what else would they be ? A salt taste welled up on his tongue, and he spat it but.
        A sputtering mechanical note sounded in the distance. He turned his head and saw another blurred point, yellowish white instead of red. The motorbike's beam swept around toward him as the rider slowed for the turn off the road, onto the lane.
        The patient creatures melted back into the hills' darkness. He had a glimpse, for only a fraction of a second, of one of them, the loping, sharp-muzzled figure disappearing into its own shadow running before it. Then they were gone.
        The motorbike came to a halt in front of the building, its engine wheezing to silence. Mike could just see the kid Doot climbing off it.
        
***
        
        Up ahead, Doot saw the pickup trucks and a few spavined old Chevys and Fords parked around the front of the hamburger place. Most of the guys were lounging against the fenders, shooting the breeze with each other. Their girlfriends-only a couple of those-looked bored. A few guffawing bursts of laughter floated across on the still night air.
        He'd pulled the bike over to the side of the road, about fifty yards away from the noise and the lights. Nobody over there had turned around from talking and caught sight of him.
        "How you doing?" Doot looked over his shoulder. "You okay?"
        The guy looked like hell. His face was just a few inches away, the guy's chest pressed close to Doot's spine. That had been the only way to get him out here, this far away from the old clinic building; the guy hadn't strength enough to stay upright on the seat behind Doot. He'd had to take the bungee cord off the bike's carrier rack and loop it around the man's frame, then fasten the hooks together in front of his own chest. To conceal the cord, he'd draped his denim jacket over the guy's shoulders, fastening the top button to keep it in