Now What?

“Come on, Rusty. Let’s find the other elevator.” When they got into the freight elevator, Rusty sniffed and growled. “Yes, Eloise and Carol were here.” Sarn patted Rusty’s head. In the short while that Sarn had known Rusty, he had come to have a deep affection for the large reddish dog. Rusty continued to sniff and growl all the way down to the basement. When they left the elevator, Rusty circled ahead and had plainly picked up the scent of Eloise and Carol. He ran for the garage door with Sarn right behind him. When it opened, Rusty bounded up the driveway toward the street. Suddenly, he came to a stiff-legged halt and growled. To Sarn, Rusty’s actions made a plain diagram. Carol and Eloise had run for the street just as the Surnainians had come up from the direction of the terrace. “Follow Surnainians, Rusty. Track.” Rusty, hackles raised and casting back and forth to pick up the scent, started down over the terrace toward the rear of the next building. Sarn followed quickly and noiselessly, holding his stun pack ready. Soon, the alley led to a dark, paved lane that he could see would eventually come out on the street at right angles to the one he had been on. Even though it was no longer raining, everything was dripping wet, and the damp, dark night seemed to muffle the very air. Slowly, with all senses alert, Sarn and Rusty started down the alley. They passed two closed doors and looked behind the untidy rows of trashcans, prepared for a possible ambush. They both sensed the sudden danger at the same instant. Out of nowhere, two hurtling Surnainians landed, one on each side of Sarn and Rusty. Instinct fired Sarn’s weapon at the nearest one as the other smashed a hard blow on Sarn’s head. Rusty turned into a raging beast, went for the second Surnainian’s throat while Sarn, down on one knee, fought for consciousness. Through blurred eyes, he saw two more figures, one at each end of the alley. “Bushwhacked, by the gods.” A fragment memory of television homework. Now What?

Searing white pain started at the base of his skull when he felt the beginning of a mind blast. With all his mental strength and training, he tried to ward it off by sending strong mental calls to Tarla. Rusty had the second Surnainian down but, even so, was absorbing terrific punishment from the Surnainian’s fists and boots. Sarn sent a wide hard blast of the stun pack to one end of the alley, but the fourth man was already on him. Rusty ripped out the throat of his enemy and turned to help Sarn. At the beginning of the fourth man’s onslaught, the stun pack was lost in the darkness. It was a silent, brutal fight. All the training and tricks of both strong men were brought to bear. They injured each other badly, but neither could gain the advantage. An unlucky slip on the wet pavement brought Sarn down. His head hit the concrete with a sickening sound. Blood ran from a gash on his unprotected head. Sarn stayed down, limp and apparently dead. Some kind of a sharp weapon had ripped his side, and wetness oozed on the black pavement. Rusty, himself almost unconscious, feebly harried the enemy who had got to his feet and was bracing himself to kick Sarn’s head to make sure of his death. The Surnainian kicked Rusty instead, and a wide gash opened on Rusty’s already bloody head. One ear now hung lower than the other. Rusty collapsed. The last Surnainian, bent over with pain, thinking everyone else was dead, slowly made his escape. With just enough strength to bare his teeth and growl, Rusty slowly and painfully dragged himself over to Sarn’s side. He licked Sarn’s face—and cried. He laid his big sad face on Sarn’s chest and cried as if his heart was broken. Losing consciousness, his crying turned to whimpering—then silence. Slow dripping water made the only sound. Once more, dark wet, quiet settled over the alley.