The Night Killer

he said.
    “Are they vicious?” she asked.
    “Not usually. Hunting dogs that destroy their prey aren’t much good,” he said. “I would think it will be the man who is after you who is the dangerous one.”
    “You believe someone is after me.” Diane felt relieved.
    “You don’t hunt with dogs in a downpour like this, not with all this lightning, unless you really need to find something. I guess that would be you. No one needs a raccoon that badly,” he said. “I’ll take you to safety.”
    Diane shook her head again. “I can’t take that chance. When you get back to your campsite, I would appreciate it if you would go for the sheriff and tell him what happened. Tell him I’m Diane Fallon of the Rosewood Crime Lab. He’ll know who I am.”
    He reached under his poncho and came out with a knife. Diane sucked in her breath and jumped back, raising her flashlight, ready to fight. She pushed the on button with her thumb and was about to shine it in his eyes when he tossed the knife over to her. It landed at her feet. He took off his poncho and hat and tossed them to her.
    “You need some kind of help,” he said. “If the dogs find you, their handler won’t be with them. If they have radio collars on, cut them off and throw them away if you can.”
    “And if they attack me?” said Diane.
    “If you’re attacked by three vicious dogs, there’s no hope. They’ll get you,” he said.
    Diane’s stomach, already in knots, lurched and she thought she’d be sick.
    “Thanks for these things,” she said, and started to pick them up.
    “Give me your jacket,” he said.
    “What?”
    “Your jacket. It’s soaked, but maybe I can lay a false trail. If not, I can leave it in a tree for them to find, somewhere you haven’t been.”
    She took off the jacket and fished her billfold out of the inner pocket and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. Diane had developed a habit when she worked in other countries of always carrying important papers on her person. She never lost the habit.
    “Thanks,” she said again, throwing him the jacket. “I appreciate your help. I won’t forget it.”
    “You’re hard to help,” he said.
    “There are some chances I never take,” she said.
    “I wish you well,” he said. He turned and walked away with her jacket under his arm.
    Diane bent down and picked up the offerings and put them on. When she looked up at him again, he was out of sight. She shined her flashlight around the area and caught no sign of him. She realized she had not asked his name. Who was that masked man? she thought, and smiled in spite of herself, relieved at any levity she could muster.
    At least she had a weapon now. A pretty good one. Better than the flashlight. The knife had about a six-inch blade and an ebony handle. It felt heavy in her hand. She held tightly to it. It made her feel more secure, more in control. It was more precious than her flashlight.
    And she was warm. The hat kept the cold rain off her head, and the poncho kept her dry and held her body heat. Things were looking up. She’d take blessings where she could find them. She was worried, though, that her pursuer had seen her light, even though she’d tried to use it so sparingly.
    Diane set out again, looking for a large creek, listening for the dogs—listening for their strange mewling barks to get more frequent.
    She felt like she’d been walking for hours, climbing up one ridge and half sliding down the next. She tried to keep in mind where the national park was in relation to the Barres’ house, but she still wasn’t sure she was going in the right direction. And worst of all, the rain was letting up and the lightning had stopped. The dogs, at least their voices, had been her ever-present companions the whole while. Don’t they ever get tired? she wondered.
    She stopped to rest, leaning against a tree. She was so weary. She closed her eyes a moment. She dared not sit, afraid of falling asleep. Even in the rain she felt she could easily lie down and fall into a deep sleep. She did doze off a moment, then started awake. Probably about to fall, she thought. Then the realization dawned on her. The dogs—their voices—they were frantic.
    Shit .
    Diane drew a sudden breath and beat down the fear about to take her over. She started off walking again at a faster clip. The rain clouds had shifted, revealing the gibbous moon, and she could see well enough to go a little faster.
    She climbed, hand over hand, to the top of yet