She reached to her waist, grabbed her T-shirt and skinned it up over her head.
The dog fixed its eye on her.
“Go, guys!” she yelled.
Rusty and I dashed for the snack stand. I slammed my side into its front wall to stop myself fast. As I ducked and interlocked my fingers, I saw Slim in a tug-o-war with the dog. She had her right knee on the ground. Her left leg was out in front of her, knee up, foot firm on the ground to brace herself against the dog’s pull.
Rusty planted a foot in my hands, stepped into them and leaped. I gave him a hard boost. Up he went. I half expected him to drop back down, but he didn’t. I didn’t bother to look. Instead, I kept my eyes on Slim and the dog.
The dog, teeth clamped on its end of her T-shirt, growled like a maniac, whipping its head from side to side and back-pedaling with all four legs as if it wanted nothing more out of life than to rip the T-shirt out of Slim’s hands.
On both feet now, she stood with her legs spread, her knees bent, her weight backward. The stance, her shiny wet skin and her skimpy white swimsuit top, almost made her look as if she were water-skiing. But if she fell here, she wouldn’t be going into the nice cool river. And the dog would be on her in a flash, savaging her body instead of the T-shirt.
“Get up here,” Rusty called down to me.
Slim’s arms and shoulders jerked hard as the dog tugged.
She saw me watching. “Get on the roof!” she yelled.
And as she yelled, the dog let go.
Slim gasped and stumbled backward, swinging her arms, the shirt flapping. Then she went down.
The dog attacked her.
Shouting like a madman, I ran at them. Slim was on her back. The dog stood on top of her, digging its hind paws into her hips while it fought to rip her apart with its claws and teeth. Slim, gasping and grunting, held on to its front legs and tried to keep the thing away from her neck and face.
I grabbed its tail with both hands.
I think I only meant to pull the dog off Slim and give her time to run for the shack. But what happened, instead—I went slightly berserk.
As I jerked the dog away from her, I saw her scratches, her blood. That may be what did it.
Somehow I found myself swinging the dog by its tail. I was hanging on with both hands, spinning in circles. At first, the dog curled around and snapped at me. Its teeth couldn’t quite reach me, though.
Pretty soon, it stopped trying and just howled as I twirled around and around and around.
While I swung the dog, Slim got to her feet.
I caught glimpses of her as I spun.
She was there, gone, there, gone ...
Then she was on the move toward the snack stand. Closer. Closer. Around I went again and glimpsed her leaping. Around again and Rusty was pulling her up by one arm. Next time around, I glimpsed the faded seat of her cut-off jeans. Then I saw her standing on the roof beside Rusty.
Around and around I went. Glimpse after glimpse, I saw them shoulder to shoulder up there, staring down at me.
I saw them again. Again. They looked stunned and worried.
I was awfully dizzy by then and my arms were getting tired. I thought maybe I’d better end things soon—maybe by slamming the canine into a wall of the snack stand. So I started working my way in that direction.
Rusty yelled, “Don’t bring it here!”
“Just let it go!” Slim called.
So I did.
Waiting until it was pointed away from the snack stand, I released its tail. The weight suddenly gone, I stumbled sideways, trying to stay on my feet.
I didn’t see the dog at first, but its howl climbed an octave or two.
Then, still staggering, I spotted it. Ears laid back, legs kicking, it flew headfirst, rolling through the air as if being turned on an invisible spit.
Far out across Janks Field, it slammed the ground. Its howl ended with a cry of pain, and the dog vanished in a rising cloud of dust.
Slim’s voice came from behind me. She said, “My God, Dwight.”
And Rusty said, “Jesus H. Christ on a rubber crutch.”
Then, growling like a pissed-off grizzly bear, the dog came racing out of the dust cloud.
Rusty yelled, “Shit!”
Slim yelled, “Run!”
I squealed a wordless outcry of disbelief and panic and sprinted for the shack.
Chapter Six
Leaping, I grabbed the edge of the roof. Rusty and Slim caught me by the wrists and hauled me up so fast I felt weightless. An instant later, the dog slammed against the wall.
I sprawled on the tarpaper, gasping for air, my heart whamming.
While I tried to recover, Slim sat cross-legged beside me and patted my chest and said things like, “Wow,” and “You saved my life,” and “You were a wildman” and so on, all of which made me feel pretty good.