Page 3 of Junkyard Dog

He had a few hours of darkness left. Enough time to return to the scene and establish the exit route the man had taken.

Few campers noticed him as he walked through the grounds to the gates and crossed the highway. He took his time climbing the small ridge at the perimeter of the park, listening in the stillness for intruders before he stripped down and stood naked in the faint wind until the transformation dropped him to all fours.

He arched his head up to scent the air.

Diesel.

Gasoline.

Chuffing in disgust, he began his leisurely descent into the park to hunt. The cooler nighttime temperatures brought out the wildlife of the desert, the skittish rabbits and the lone coyotes being his favorites. He crossed the rough terrain slowly, his ribs protesting as his paws navigated the brush. The vastness of the barren land made hunting more difficult than in the forested regions of the northern states, but the challenge of stalking prey without natural cover appealed to him.

As did the distance from his brothers.

Picking up the scent of another rabbit, he made his way across the uneven ground, taking special care to avoid the chollas that were interspersed with the less problematic plant life. The path of his prey was fresh, the tracks in the sand clean and unblemished. The sedan temporarily forgotten in favor of a fresh meal, he sped up his pace, his predatory side taking hold as he closed in on the small animal.

“You promised me an hour. It’s only been twenty minutes.”

Alex flattened himself to the ground as a woman’s voice carried on the wind, mentally cursing the spines of a cholla digging into his belly.

“Fine, fine,” a surly male voice relented, pulling Alex’s attention to a truck parked in the distance, its lights and engine off. “You’ve got forty minutes until sunrise, and then you’re buying me breakfast. Anything I want. Now get those damn binoculars off me.”

Keeping his attention on the white truck, Alex inched across the landscape and listened in on the pair, squinting in the dim light of the quarter moon to read the decal plastered on the body of the vehicle.

US Park Ranger.

He cringed, flattening down a little further.

Of course the hit had drawn their attention.

His work was about to become much more difficult.

“It has to be out here,” the woman muttered. “The damage to that guy’s car was too great for an animal to escape unscathed. Whatever it was could be injured. Hurt.” Her voice rose as the man grumbled something unintelligible. “Yeah, well, if it does make it to one of the campsites and attacks someone, you’re doing the paperwork.”

Alex bowed his head, keeping the glint of his eyes hidden from the prying gaze of the binocular-wielding park ranger. The slope of the stretch of land he was on was wide open for observation from the truck’s vantage point, his movements easily visible if he was too quick or rose from the minimal camouflage of the brush.

A stalemate, with the sun’s appearance threatening on the horizon.

As the first illumination of the desert approached, the truck’s engine revved to life.

“What the hell, Max?” the woman hissed, her window rolling up.

“We have drive time and clocking out to account for,” the man explained, the red lights of the truck’s brakes lighting up the sand. “And you owe me a shit-ton of bacon and eggs, Chuck.”

The truck rocked as it pulled off the slope and onto the gravel route used by the more adventurous drivers. The voices disappeared with the rumble of the engine until neither the truck nor the lights were visible in the slow arrival of the morning sun.

Rising carefully, he backed up over the slope and eased his way toward the more inhospitable territory. He skirted the low ridge, ignoring the prickly stems embedded in his fur while he made his way to his backpack, the scrawny rabbit meal long forgotten while he put as much distance between the humans and himself as he could.

Chapter Two

Charlotte tugged atthe hem of her gray shorts as she made her way alongside the large tracks still visible on the sandy plateau. She paused to photograph a print next to her hiking boot before kneeling and pushing her hands into the ground to mark the length of the animal’s stride.

“Is there something interesting down there, or do you need to be airlifted out of here?”

Falling gracelessly onto her elbows, she scrambled to right herself. “Interesting. No.” She shook her head, brushing the sand from her auburn ponytail and glancing up. “No, I’m fine. Just looking.”

The tall backpacker grinned down at her from a small incline in the brush a dozen meters away. “Wanted to make sure,” he called, maneuvering his way across the terrain. “Watching out for my fellow hiker and all that.”

“Appreciate it.” She smiled, tightening the straps on her backpack and putting her phone into the pocket of her shorts. “You doing the Lost Horse Mine trail?”

---