Unharmed, the horses galloped away, reins flapping freely as the hounds circled the glen a few times, checking the dead. Coming near the companions, a bull mastiff jerked its boxy head in that direction and sniffed loudly, the first sound Ryan had heard any of the beasts make, aside from breathing.
Padding closer, the black animal walked through the bushes and faced the companions directly. Baring its teeth, the hound raised its haunches preparing for a jump. J.B. made a move toward the Uzi, and Ryan grabbed his hand in an iron grip.
“Don’t move,” he whispered hoarsely. “Make no threatening gesture. Just follow my lead.”
Doc nodded. The swordstick was in his hands, but the blade still nestled in its ebony sheath. Jak swallowed hard, hands tucked into his pockets, knives tight in his grasp.
Twitching its ears, the animal walked around the companions, coming close to Ryan and bumping hard into Dean. The men did nothing, and the animal sniffed their clothing, backing away a few feet, snarling and bobbing its head, clearly confused. More of the animals arrived, stepping from the bushes with only the noise of their claws on the dirt to announce their arrival. The pack of killers circled the companions, sniffing away, and a bitch licked at Doc’s pants. The man’s eyebrows arched upward, but he forced himself to do nothing.
“Confused,” Jak said, frowning. “We smell wrong.”
“Smell right, you mean. These are Nathan’s clothes.”
J.B. said quietly, watching the hounds study them closely. The head of the bull mastiff reached his gun belt. On its hind legs, the dog could look him directly in the face. A chilling concept.
“I knew what he had in mind when I saw the dirty clothes in the bags,” Ryan said out of the side of his mouth. “Now start toward Front Royal. Nice and slow. No sudden moves.”
“We could have been halfway there by now,” Dean said.
“No, we had to let them smell us first,” Ryan replied, taking a step toward the fortress. “If they saw us moving while they were excited from a kill, they would have attacked immediately.”
The boy accepted the statement, fighting to stay calm. As the smallest member of the group, he was that much closer to the dogs and could smell the fresh blood on their breath. Sweat broke out on his brow, and the boy realized in horror that soon his own scent would overpower the stink of the old clothes.
“What about the snipers?” Doc asked, forcing a smile on his face but keeping his mouth closed. A toothy grin was a deadly challenge to most animals.
“Head north,” Ryan answered, pausing with a boot off the ground to avoid touching a hound standing in the way. He didn’t make eye contact with the beast, and after a few seconds, it moved aside. They were being tested for hostile intent, and failure meant swift death. “There’s a tunnel used to release the dogs without lowering the drawbridge. Only the family knows the location.”
“A tunnel?” J.B. asked, sweat trickling along his jaw. “Hate those. Had a bad experience in those once.”
At a slow walk, the friends proceeded through the bushes into the trees. The dogs stayed with them every step of the way, circling constantly, exposing their fangs and sniffing at the bare flesh of hands.
“Keep hands pockets,” Jak ordered in a pleasant tone. “Don’t let smell!”
Ryan led the way past a tangle of thorn bushes, finally locating an outcropping covered with ivy. Climbing over the rocks, he clambered down a sloped incline covered with wooden boards. The way would be an easy climb for a dog, but a difficult descent for men, which was the design. At the bottom, Ryan gratefully stood in a pool of sunlight on a brick-lined passageway. Ahead was him was a low tunnel no more than a yard high, the sunlight only reaching a short distance into the darkness.
“Cover yourselves,” he directed, pulling his sleeves over his hands as the others joined him.
Going to his hands and knees, Ryan started to crawl into the tunnel, his head rubbing against the ceiling to help him steer past the many traps ahead.