Aurora Wolf

Strays

by

Mark Wolf

 

OCHOCO NATIONAL FOREST FORTY MILES EAST OF PRINEVILLE, OREGON NEAR BIG SUMMIT PRAIRIE

Billy Timms bit his bottom lip and tongue when he crashed into the deer with his Ford pickup. One moment a flash of brown reflected in the sunlight outside his driver’s side window, beneath the canopy of old-growth Ponderosa Pines and green understory of alder brush.

The next moment, the deer dancing on the hood of his ’72 four-wheel drive. Billy stomped hard on his brakes; the tires squealed, the smell of asbestos and rubber briefly overcame the smell of the Copenhagen dripping from his lips.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” Brown spittle and blood flew from Billy’s mouth into the windshield as the deer catapulted forward to roll off the hood.

The deer hit the pavement, struggled to stand on its broken limbs, collapsed, then dragged its rear quarters across the asphalt road and over the cut bank using its front legs, frantically trying to escape. Billy kept the remedy for the deer’s pain in the form of the 30/30 Winchester loaded for just such an opportunity in his rear window gun rack.

He jerked the door open, hinges groaning in metallic protest, stepped from the cab, and turned to pull the gun from the rack. More movement and a group of smaller flashes of greens, blacks, and browns, this time from behind the truck.

For a second, confusion. Then his mind registered. The strays he’d been tasked to shoot for the lab guys were now covered in camouflage paint. The escaped ones, led by the little Jack Russell, the mate of the one he’d already shot. They pulled up short when Billy jacked a chamber into his rifle.

“Five thousand dollars you little son-of-a-bitches!” Each of them was worth that to the lab guys; dead or alive. Ignored, the deer continued to pull its busted frame into the alder patch near a small stream. “Screw the deer. Here’s the real money.” He raised the rifle to his shoulder as a pair of Dobermans leaped over their pack leader to attack.

They slammed into his chest, his rifle discharged, hitting one of the Dobermans and flew from his arms; he crashed head first into the open door of his truck and then to the pavement.

As his vision faded to black the frothy saliva from the rest of the Dobermans dripped onto his face, their hot breath a prelude to what was to come.

#

NEAR LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN OCHOCO NATIONAL FOREST OVERLOOKING BIG SUMMIT PRAIRIE

Steve Daugherty, Sergeant First Class, wiped the tears from his eyes with his knuckles and tried to cheer himself up. First Max, and now, one of the Dobermans had been killed, but their killer had been served justice, also. He pulled the command and control link helmet from his head severing his tie with the pack. They’d find their way back to the support vehicle on their own.

Others would show up soon. Steve harbored no illusions that his mission was anything other than suicide, now. The best he could do for his charges was to take as many of their enemy with him as they could.

FOUR HOURS LATER NEAR BIG SUMMIT PRAIRIE

F.B.I. Agent Travis Xavier crouched down and removed the sheet from the deceased, gazed at the corpse for a minute, then dropped the sheet back over the body of the redneck hunter. He shifted to look back over his shoulder at his partner, Sybil Muldoon, who looked a little pale. They shared a grimace of disgust over the corpse’s condition. Face and hands missing, body cavity open and organs gone.

Sybil’s startling blue eyes, blonde hair, and Barbie-girl face and figure that screamed “California bimbo” belied the fact that she graduated second in her class at Quantico and held special honors in marksmanship and martial arts.

In sharp contrast to Sybil, Travis barely made it through F.B.I. academy, scored only average in marksmanship and hand to hand combat, and had a face that scared grandmothers. Nevertheless, he held some appeal to the ladies, because he looked like a dangerous man. He was a dangerous man, too.

Despite their dissimilarities, the two functioned well as a team; Sybil providing a keen intellect and Travis, street smarts. Both were driven by a common bond to excel in their profession.

Travis glanced over to see the coroner still speaking with the ambulance attendants. He stood up.

“No face, I guess we can go for dental records. No hands, no fingerprints,” Travis said. “We can start by checking his truck registration and also see if he has a wallet on him.”

A gunshot rang out from behind them, making both of them reach for their guns, and then a voice from the same location. “That won’t be necessary. I know who it is. I’d know his truck anywhere.” The alders thrashed. “He got his deer, anyway.” The voice belonged to the Forest Service Law Enforcement Officer, Marcy Taylor, who stepped from the alders and approached the agents.

Travis and Sybil exchanged a glance of incomprehension and re-holstered their guns.

“Deer?”Sybil asked.

“Oh, yeah. I just finished it off.” Marcy pushed back her gray baseball cap. Beads of sweat from the exertion of searching the alder brush lined her forehead. “Billy Timms is …, I mean WAS a repeat poaching offender.” Marcy’s expression changed. I never heard of him having no Doberman, though, but it don’t surprise me that he would shoot it, too.”

She waved the agents over to a still form on the ground near the old red pickup. The three crouched down to get a closer look.

“It IS a Doberman,” Travis exclaimed in surprise. “What’s with the camouflage?”

“I don’t know,” Marcy replied, taking her cap off and wiping her forehead with a pink bandana. “I’ve seen hunters put orange vests on their dogs to make them more visible to other hunters.”

Sybil’s look of puzzlement caused Marcy to continue. “Keeps them from mistaking the dogs for coyotes, which are fair game to shoot.”

“Oh,” Sybil’s brow furrowed, then she reached her latex gloved hand forward to the dog’s head. “What’s this?” She lifted one of the dog’s ears to the side. Two small rubberized antennae were embedded in the animal’s head equidistant between its ears.

“My Favorite Martian’s dog?” Travis quipped, then noticed tears in Marcy’s eyes. “You said you knew Billy?”

“Yeah, we dated back in high school.” A hint of a smile. “It’s a good thing pickup truck seats don’t talk. These would have plenty to say about Billy and me.” Her voice broke.

The agents waited for Marcy to gather herself. Sybil leaned forward and put her hand on her shoulder. After a minute, Marcy nodded she was okay.

“I’m guessing Billy and his dog cornered the deer and somehow Billy got kicked in the head and knocked out,” Marcy said, unconvincingly.

“What about the missing parts?” Travis asked.

Marcy’s expression looked unsure. “Mountain lion, maybe.” She slipped her cap back on. “No. More likely a pack of coyotes. They are opportunistic scavengers.”

“You might want to have a look at this,” the coroner said from behind them. They all turned. The coroner and the attendants had rolled the corpse to its side and the coroner held out its billfold to the agents. Sybil reached for it.

She looked through it quickly, checked the driver’s license, then opened it to expose some large denomination bills and a bank deposit slip. She shot Marcy a glance.

“A deposit slip for forty-five hundred dollars and five hundred dollars. What did Billy do for work?”

“Work?” Marcy shook her head. “He used to sell some pot. Maybe he still does,” she paused. “Up until the economy crashed, he also did some carpentry. I didn’t think he was working, last I heard.”

“Well, we will check out this deposit,” Travis said then waved to the drivers that they could load up the body.

#

FERAL  LABORATORIES LOBBY  REDMOND, OREGON

A tall, handsome man, Matt Davidson, and an average-looking man, Daniel Archer, greeted Travis and Sybil at the lobby and escorted them into the secure offices of the company.  Matt carefully checked the agents’ identification cards when they presented them.

“I apologize for not being able to answer any of your questions over the phone.” Matt took three guest badges from the security guards desk and handed them to the agents as soon as each of them signed in. “Feral Labs is engaged in highly classified contracts with the government that are bound by non-disclosure agreements. I had to verify that you were who you said you were, and also get permission from the military to share classified information with you to help in your investigations.”

Matt ushered them through a doorway and past another security guard checkpoint. “When I received your phone call concerning the bank deposit, I thought it best to brief both you F.B.I. agents and Mr. Archer from the N.S.A. at the same time, since he arrived shortly before you,” Matt said. He pushed his thumb against a fingerprint scanner at a metal door. A buzzer sounded and the door opened.

“You said military projects? I don’t understand,” Sybil said. What does this bank deposit have to do with the military?”

“Behind the next door, all of your questions will be answered,” Matt said. He walked quickly to the next metal door and placed his finger on the reader and stepped back to allow his guests to precede him.

Inside the next room everyone was greeted with the sounds of dogs barking. Several cages filled with canines were along the walls. In the middle of the room was an examination table. On it laid a small dog. It appeared dead.

Matt stepped up to the dog and pointed to a bloody spot on its chest. “This is Max. He is a Jack Russell terrier and half of a mated pair and co-leader of a special unit developed by Feral Labs for the use of the military for covert operations. He was shot by Billy Timms on our request.”

“Shot? Whatever for?” Sybil reached her hand forward to pet the fur on the dogs head, exposing a similar set of antennae like they’d seen on the Doberman. She pointed them out to Travis, who nodded.

Matt sighed and waved at a lab technician who placed Max on a rolling cart then wheeled him over to a cold storage and set him on a tray inside and closed the door. Matt turned back to his guests. “A little background is in order, I guess.” He pointed to some chairs. Sybil shook her head at the offer, folded her arms across her chest, and remained standing. The three men sat down.

“Feral Labs has developed cutting edge technology incorporating modification of behavior in canines and real-time imaging. In short, we can make dogs do what we want and watch them do it,” Matt said with a touch of pride in his voice.

“Amazing. I can see how this could be used for scouting missions for the military,” Sybil said.

“Scouting and much more,” Matt said. The missions we were training the dog teams for, code named Operation Pack Hunters, were for seek-out-and-destroy operations. The dogs were being trained to assassinate high ranking Taliban leaders.”

“What went wrong?” Daniel asked; the first sign from him to the group that he was there also.

“The dogs performed even better than expected. So well, in fact, that they were deemed ready for deployment. The unforeseen problem that occurred was that their handler had developed a strong attachment to them, an obsession in fact. When he heard they were to be deployed, he took most of the team and the operations platform they work from and is now somewhere in Ochoco National Forest.”

“Where we found Billy and the Doberman,” Sybil said.

“Has something happened to Billy?” Matt asked.

“Billy Simms is dead. A Doberman is also,” Sybil replied. A friend of Billy’s thought it was his dog.”

Matt’s face turned pale. “Dead? Was Billy’s face and hands missing?”

“Yes, why?” Sybil said.

Matt paused and shifted his glance to all three in turn. “Then you are now investigating a murder.”

#

“A murder?” Travis asked.

“The dogs were being trained to work in close concert with ground and air strikes to identify and kill officers during assaults, then eat their faces and hands,” Matt said.

“I can understand the shock effect and rationale for targeting the leaders, but why have the animals eat part of them?” Daniel asked.

“One directive we have been tasked with by the military is deep insertion into enemy territory to seek out and kill the very top leaders,” Matt said.

“You are referring to Osama Bin Laden?”Sybil asked, having made the connection.

Matt nodded. “Taking him and others of top stature out; we needed a way to positively verify that the team had accomplished their mission.” He paused and scratched his nose. “If the dogs brought back some DNA from the target, we could match it against samples we have to confirm the kill.”

“So after the kill, the Fidos have a Big Yak Attack back at base and the DNA gets analyzed?” Travis said.

“Yes. We were able to isolate and trigger very primal pack behaviors similar to those found in other canines to have them regurgitate their meals for their young. In this case, their handler represents their young,” Matt said.

Sybil looked thoughtful. “Then it stands to reason that the handler is the murderer even though the dogs actually did the killing.”

“I would say that is the case, though there is more here to this situation that also implicates the dogs.” Matt turned to a computer keyboard and typed in some commands. On the screen an image of a sophisticated Humvee sporting a bulbous cab and satellite dishes came up, with a man and a pack of dogs sitting before it. Sagebrush, juniper trees, and sand spread out in the background of the picture. Vehicle, human, and dogs are camouflaged in desert tans.

“This is Steve Daugherty, Sergeant First Class, who is the handler and his team. The kill team is comprised of mated pairs of two Jack Russell terriers, two bloodhounds, and four Dobermans.” Matt changed the picture to show a cargo transport plane.

“Once tasked with a kill, the handler is given an item of clothing once worn by the primary target for the bloodhounds to work with. The whole team is airdropped into the desert from a C-5 transport and quickly goes to ground.”

The picture turns to video of the dog team traveling in desert terrain at night. The pictures have the grainy gray and green look of night vision goggles. “The bloodhounds and the male Russell and two Dobermans take the point positions. By the way, as an aside, all of the animals that have been cleared to function at this level of operation have had their ability to bark surgically removed. They are very stealthy.”

The picture changes to show a point of view switch between the two teams of dogs. The rearmost team of dogs occasionally shows a picture of the camouflaged Humvee following the two teams at a distance. “All of the animals have been trained to sniff out and avoid mines and other explosive devices. As long as the handler follows their trail, he remains safe.

Matt changed the picture to a chain-of-command graph. “The command structure has the handler as the team leader and the two Russell’s as the field strike leaders. The male Russell goes in first with two Dobermans as point guards and the bloodhounds to locate the target. The second team, with the female Russell provides a wide angle view and a reserve force in case the first team is taken out.”

“Why Russells as team leaders?” Daniel asked. I would have thought that you would use the more powerful Dobermans.”

“For two reasons,” Matt said. “The Russells are a lot smarter and are able to process complicated requests better AND they present smaller targets for small arms fire.”

“Are they the only ones that you have the ability to monitor live images from?” Sybil asked.

“No. All of the dogs have the proprietary implants to relay video and audio feed back to the handler. The problem that occurs is mainly in the interface between the implants and the feedback hardware the handler uses,” Matt paused for a second as he switched the image to a split screen. “Here on the left, you see an image of a field operation from the perspective of ONE of the Russells.” The image has the grainy appearance of night vision photography and is very clear. 

“On the right side is the imagery from the whole team simultaneously.” This image looks like a movie montage of an acid trip with a riot of swirls and explosions of color. Nothing is distinguishable. “As you can see, the imagery is so riotous as to be incomprehensible. That’s why we mainly toggle between the perspectives of the two Russells.”

“Getting back to your statement that both man and dogs might be responsible for a murder, here. What makes you think that?” Sybil asked.

“As soon as we discovered that Sergeant Daugherty had absconded with the team we notified the military and the N.S.A. They had the primary need to know as per our contract. Then we activated Billy Timms. We hoped if he took out the two Russells, we’d have a better chance of capturing the rest of the team. Billy had a reputation as a hunter in the Ochoco Mountains, the last place the Humvee transmitted a GPS signal before Sergeant Daugherty deactivated it.”

Sybil uncrossed her arms and walked over and took a seat, frowning. “And with the Russells dead, the team is handicapped.”

Matt nodded.

“Billy ran across the team yesterday and was lucky enough to drop the male Russell from the road before the rest of the pack fled.” Matt stood up, agitated. “I suspect when he shot Max the image of Billy and his truck was captured by the team and used as Intel for when he returned to search out the rest of the pack.”

“So, you’re saying that the pack was just waiting for him to return and attack him and took advantage of the situation when he also took the opportunity to poach a deer?” Travis said.

“That’s possible. It’s also entirely likely that the pack, under the direction of Sergeant Daugherty might have driven the deer in front of Billy’s truck to set up the whole situation,” Matt  speculated.

“If the dogs are under compulsion to do the commands of their handler, why would they also be implicated?” Sybil asked.

“First of all, you must understand. We have located the instinctual base to manipulate an extremely strong pack instinct of protectiveness for one another. Second, as I mentioned earlier, all of the members of the team are mated; the females are all pregnant and will deliver young in a few weeks. That makes the pack even more protective of one another,” Matt said.

“And Billy killed a member of the pack and the pack is retaliating?” Travis said.

“Exactly. The pack already had a motivation to get back at Billy. With Sergeant Daugherty reinforcing that, murder is what occurred.”

Everyone sat silent as they digested Matt’s words. Finally, Travis spoke. “So now there are two dead dogs and a dead man. Do we have a plan?”

“We do,” Daniel spoke up. “I’m assuming the F.B.I. has some involvement and jurisdiction in this case because of the incident occurring on Federal land?”

“Yes,” Sybil said. “We were called in as soon as a body was found near Big Summit Prairie.” She stood up again. “Normally, when a death occurs on Federal land, that isn’t connected to a murder, we file some paperwork and move quickly on to the next case. I don’t see that happening here.”

“Your roles here might still be reduced to just observers for the most part. I’ve used my authority to activate the Air Guard and the local National Guard. They are searching for the base unit and Sergeant Daugherty as we speak,” Daniel said.

“One of the limitations of the technology we use is that in order to transmit commands to the pack, the base unit has to have a excellent uplink-downlink satellite connection,” Matt said. “The best way for that to occur in the Ochoco Mountains is to seek out a site higher in elevation.” Matt typed in some commands on the keyboard. “The areas highlighted in red on this Forest Service map of the area are all over five thousand feet.”

“That still looks like a lot of area,” Travis said.

“It is; and there is no guarantee that Sergeant Daugherty won’t just hide out in a lower elevation and wait to see if some of the forces hunting him aren’t pulled for more pressing concerns. That Guard unit is part of the force that was going to be deployed in the coming weeks,” Matt said.

“So, if he’s smart, he holes up until the air and ground units are pulled, and then sneaks away?” Sybil asked.

Matt nodded. “Now that he avenged the death of the Russell he might decide to delink everyone and leave the base unit and hike out of the forest.”

“There’s still the Doberman that Billy shot,” Sybil said.

“True, and that might be enough that he decides to stay and fight,” Matt said.

“I have a chopper standing by for us to fly out and assist the ground forces. You are welcome to join me,” Daniel said.

“Inter-agency cooperation. I like that,” Sybil said with a radiant smile that had all three men grinning back.

#

AN HOUR LATER IN A JET RANGER HELICOPTER OVER BIG SUMMIT PRAIRIE

“The Humvee uses stealth technology that reduces its ability to be picked up by normal surveillance equipment,” Matt said, his voice muffled by the sound of the rotors outside the helicopter. The four sat in the rear of the helicopter, two bloodhounds lay at their feet, leashes held by Travis and Daniel. Matt held a laptop computer in a protective case between his legs.

“So, we go old-school with the dogs and track him down with them?” Travis asked.

“Yeah. This team was trained with the others and is a reserve team in case something happened to the A-team bloodhounds,” Matt said.

“Ah, don’t feel bad guys. You’ll get a chance to show you aren’t second string,” Travis said, petting the hound nearest him. The hound slobbered on his hand, jubilant with the attention shown her.

Matt smiled at Travis. “You might have the qualities to be a good handler, yourself, Agent Xavier. Oh, and that’s Freda by the way. Her mate is Fred.”

Travis grinned back at everyone, but particularly his partner, his scarred face showing a bit of the boyish appeal that ladies found irresistible. Sybil flushed under his gaze.

Off in the distance, near another set of mountains, two National Guard helicopters flew in formation in a grid pattern, first North-South, then East-West. Matt pointed at them then spoke.

“I’m going to have the pilot set us down here at the most likely location for excellent transmission to the area where Billy was killed. We’ll let the dogs sniff around a bit. If they pick up anything, we’ll cut them loose to hunt,” Matt said.

“That looks like a lot of forest cover for them to hide in. How will we keep up with our dogs?” Daniel asked.

“Ours have GPS transponders on their collars. This small link unit in my computer will give us the same capabilities as Sergeant Daugherty’s; we will be able to see and hear what the bloodhounds do.” Matt shifted his laptop to the side and reached forward, tapped the pilot on the shoulder and pointed at an abandoned and ramschackle Forest Service lookout. “Set down, there, please.” The pilot nodded.

The helicopter neared the ground. Suddenly both of the blood hounds stood up and wheezed excitedly, noses frantically sniffing the air. “They’re close!” Matt hollered over the thumping of the rotors. Matt leaned close to the pilot and gave the command. “Lift off as soon as we clear the doors.” The pilot nodded.

As soon as the helicopter’s skids hit the ground several things happened at once. Matt yelled. “There they are!” Several camouflaged shapes ran out from the cover of the surrounding alpine firs. He shoved everyone out through the open side doors away from the charging Dobermans. The first one flew through the air and crashed into his chest, knocking him down inside the helicopter as his laptop slid across the floor and fell outside.

The pilot lifted from the ground as another Doberman flew through both open doors, landed hard and rolled to its feet to face the three agents. All three pulled their revolvers. Another Doberman dashed forward under the tilting helicopter. The Doberman inside of the helicopter released his grip on Matt to clamp down on the hands of the pilot, making him lose control.

A tremendous crash of metal and suddenly a huge explosion and plume of fire blew everyone from their feet. 

#

Travis rolled over and sat up to gaze at a hellish scene. Flames from the burning fuel of the crashed helicopter raced in all directions in the short dried grass. He could see the burning, charred silhouette of the pilot and one of the Dobermans in the cockpit. There was no sign of Matt, Daniel, and one of the bloodhounds. Perhaps they were under the crashed helicopter.

“Travis, over here. Help!” Sybil called. Travis looked over to where she had backed up against a rock escarpment; two of the Dobermans had her cornered. Freda’s fur hackled up on her back and she bared her teeth as she took up position in front of Sybil’s legs facing the Dobermans.

“Don’t make me shoot you,” Sybil cried, not surprising Travis at all. A few cases before this, Sybil had gunned down a serial-killer rapist that had kept running when she’d said: ‘Stop or I’ll shoot!’ The same Sybil that had shown tears in her eyes when she’d accidentally run over a squirrel crossing a street in Portland. Travis felt his gun under him and lifted to his knees and took aim.

“I got them if they decide to charge,” Travis said.

“Wait as long as you can. I want to try something first.” Sybil very carefully and slowly put her pistol back in its holster and showed her empty hands to the Dobermans. They stopped snarling and sat back on their hind quarters.

“Now what?” Travis asked.

“Now we stay out of the fire and wait for Sergeant Daugherty to show up,” Sybil said.

Travis made his way over to stand beside Sybil in the open bare rocks, facing the Dobermans and lowered his gun. A quiet standoff ensued that was broken a few minutes later by the droning rumble of a fire fighting retardant plane as it flew overhead and dropped a load of retardant on the fire, which had worked its way into the surrounding forest. Overhead, the sound of a second plane and a line of parachutes opened up as smoke jumpers fell out of a small Twin Otter smoke jumper plane. The guard helicopters flew the perimeter of the fire.

Off in the distance, on the access road to the lookout, Travis could see reflections off of the windshields of approaching Forest Service fire engines and National Guard vehicles. Matt hoped they’d keep their distance until they apprehended the Sergeant.

Sybil spoke to the Dobermans. “It’s over, Sergeant. Lives have been lost and now there are a lot of innocent people that have a job to do, fighting this fire. Please come in and give yourself up. I’ll do everything I can to be sure the rest of the dog team is protected and placed in good homes.”

One of the Dobermans turned its head to look at Travis. Travis didn’t want to, but Sybil made motions to him to holster his revolver, so he did. “Sergeant, if Sybil says she’ll watch out for the dogs, I know she will do it. She loves animals,” Travis said, mustering his most open expression of sincerity.

“How do I know I can trust you?” a voice said from behind them. The agents turned to see Sergeant Daugherty in a camouflaged uniform and the female Jack Russell approaching from the burning forest, his face and clothing covered in black ash. The Sergeant held a small machine gun in his arms. The little terrier backed up protectively against his legs and showed her teeth.

“Your choices are becoming more and more limited as time goes on, Sergeant. Here, I’ll demonstrate good faith,” Sybil said. She took two fingers and carefully drew her pistol and tossed it to the ground to land at the Sergeants feet. Travis knew she also had a little back up snub nose 38 in an ankle holster. Sybil reached down and pulled up her pant leg showing the gun to the Sergeant, who nodded for her to remove it also. She did and tossed it over. The Sergeant turned to Travis, nodding.

“And you? Can you also be trusted?”

Travis glared at the Sergeant, then saw Sybil’s pleading expression. He duplicated Sybil’s actions, though grudgingly.

“I’m really sorry to have to do this after you proved yourself so trustworthy, but I need to make a really strong statement and get as much exposure for the dogs as I can to protect them,” Sergeant Daugherty said as he raised his machine gun to point it at the agents.

#

A shot rang out. Travis and Sybil both jumped. An expression of confusion crossed Sergeant Daugherty’s face and then he toppled forward onto his knees, the gun rolling out of his arms. The little Jack Russell whined and moved forward to lick at his face. The two Dobermans walked over to sniff at him.

The two agents turned to see the Forest Service Law Enforcement Officer, Marcy Taylor, standing there, eyes opened wide with a look of horror on her face, her service revolver held loosely in her hands. She fumbled as she replaced it in her waist holster. 

Travis and Sybil recovered their weapons quickly and checked on the Sergeant, but there was nothing to be done for him.

#

A FEW WEEKS LATER IN PORTLAND, OREGON SYBIL’S APARTMENT

Sybil poured a ladle of spaghetti sauce over Travis’s noodles and sat down and topped off their red wine. There were a couple of whines. Freda, Travis’s hound dog and Misty, Sybil’s Jack Russell sat up from their pillows in the corner of the room, begging. Sybil smiled as Travis tore off a couple pieces of bread from the French loaf and tossed them to the dogs.