Echo

with the bat. The small dogs ranged from six pounds to fifteen. They were training bait; ripped to shreds. The authorities reluctantly admitted many of the bait dogs had been reported stolen over the last two years.
    Scotty figured the live dogs couldn’t be far away from the dumpsite. An hour later they turned off the main road onto a gravel road that led to an empty field. Scotty hadn’t seen a house in about twenty minutes.
    “Stop here, Brother.” The aura swirled in his mind as they got out of the Jeep with a flashlight. Covering the lens, he turned it on and knelt down, examining the trampled grass and abundance of tire tracks. He surveyed the field, locating an opening on the far end. As they crossed the field, the dark silence penetrated, setting off his chattering nerves and fluttering heart as he tried to remember what he knew about Florida snakes and their hunting habits. He picked up Echo, depositing her on his shoulder as he stepped into the woods on the far side of the field. He could clearly make out a well-traveled path that led deeper into the woods.
    “You sure we’re in the right spot, girl?”
    “Yes, my Brother.” They walked another twenty minutes before they heard the sounds . Barking dogs . They crept through the woods, trying to be silent while sweat rolled down Scotty’s face, attracting bugs that deviled him unmercifully.
    Suddenly, they found themselves on the edge of an open clearing. Creeping closer, they could see a shed that housed the dogs, a spotlight fastened to a tree lit up the tableau focused around a bench underneath. To their consternation; a cluster of men milled around the bench. As they watched, one of the men dragged a bloody pit bull from the shed, the dog clearly on his last legs. In one practiced motion the dog was lifted onto the bench while another man swung a giant sledgehammer over his head and down on the dying pit bull’s head with a sickening crunch. Rivulets of blood spattered the jeans of the jostling men. The dog was slung into a waiting wheelbarrow filled with other dead dogs. They heard a guttural cry from the wheel barrel, the victim not yet dead.
    Echo’s golden aura darkened, grinding with tumult, as Scotty’s stomach turned with revulsion. Tears flowed from his eyes as he berated himself for not arriving sooner. They froze at the sound of a round being chambered into a shotgun from behind them.
    “Anything I can do to help ya, boy?” Scotty found himself looking down the barrel of a rifle held by one of the fattest black men he’d ever seen.
    “Brother Scotty, this is not a good human.”
    “You’re probably right, Echo.”
    “What’d you say, boy? Get your ass up and start walkin’. Yo, Red; got some company.” The man with the rifle lifted his foot, giving Scotty a rough shove. As he fell to his knees, Echo scrambled around to face the man, her stance ready to fight. Unexpectedly, the obese man’s hand shot out, grabbing Echo by her antlers, upending her. He threw her over his back and booted Scotty over to the gathered men where he heard the sound of other weapons being cocked.
    “Well, looky—”
    “Hey—”
    “—just a kid—”
    “ Quiet. ” A black man, about thirty years old ( kind of hard to tell with the glare of the spotlight ), with dyed red hair stepped forward. He set the sledgehammer down on the ground. Silence settled on the group as Red stepped forward, flexing his rippling muscles. An atmosphere of barely controlled violence clung to him like stink on a skunk. In the background the soft whining and whimpers from the shed signaled the dog’s sensitivity to the charged atmosphere around the killing bench.
    “What the hell you got there, Ton?”
    “Don’t rightly know.” Ton slapped Echo down on the bench, her golden fur soaking up the blood from the dog they just butchered. Red looked over to Scotty, eyeing him up and down.
    “Well, if you don’t look like a pretty boy. I think we might have some plans for you. Keys?” He stuck his hand out to Scotty. Scotty looked at Red’s hand, struggling to control his adrenaline and interpret the question.
    “Car keys, hand them over.” Scotty quickly pulled his keys from his pocket. Red snatched them up, signaling to his men. Scotty felt a punch to his kidneys, the man swearing and holding his hand.
    “What the fuc—” Scotty felt his shirt being ripped from his back, his tail unfurling and his wings shake out.
    “Holy mother; bring him to the bench.”