Et tu, Assiah?
Dog Soldiers
The van lurched dangerously sideways as something the size of a small car began crashing against it mercilessly. The phone forgotten, Sam scrabbled for a gun in the chaos, then another as the first yielded nothing but empty clicking.
"Shit!"
Eventually, and with skull-crushing fate, the top of his head came into contact with the butt of a pulse rifle. It would do. Two shots through the side of the van and the barrage stopped, leaving Sam sitting on what used to be a wall, the rubble of their journey strewn all around him. Outside, something sniffed carefully, and he could hear the soft crunching noises as feet the size of plates paced around the van. There was more than one; well, of course there was, the Dogs always hunted in packs. Maybe if he was very quiet...
Metal screamed, and Sam was greeted by a set of huge claws that had perforated the side of the van not two inches from his head. He lunged aside quickly as the claws were brought down in a wide, jagged line right through the place formerly occupied by the left side of his body. A short, undiginfied scrabble later, and he was crouched in the centre of what was beginning to feel more and more like a large tin of dog food. The claws changed their arc, turning inward, intent on cutting some kind of hole in the structure. Ironically, none of the van's doors were locked, but Sam was reasonably sure that the Dogs weren't particularly smart... Either that or they just liked taunting him. At any rate, a mass of gunmetal-grey fur had appeared just behind the rend, and one mad, red eye was just visible beyond. Sam took careful aim -- a little hard to do considering his position -- and fired.
The loud electrical burst of the rifle was submerged under the outraged howl now being admitted from somewhere outside the van. Dogs were tough, though, and a single shot from a pulse rifle wouldn't slow one down for long. Hopefully, the shot had been true and hit the thing's eye full on; Sam doubted he could kill these things, so was more intent at simply dirving them off. Hopefully, if they discovered he wasn't such easy prey they'd leave him alone; at least for a little while.
Another dull metallic thud and an alarming buckling in the roof indicated that the Dogs must have decided height was an advantage. More shrieking metal heralded the return of more claws and Sam grinned dangerously. This was a different one than before -- the fur behind the jagged slits of metal was a dappled brown -- and Sam waited until the thing had gotten a good slab of the van's roof away before emptying half a dozen shots into the thing's face and chest. Blood and drool and fur came cascading down into the van, and Sam cursed from the sheer mess of it all. The brown Dog fell prone across the top; jagged metallic spears of its own making pinning it there for the time being.
One half-blind, one pinned... how many more were there? Sam listened carefully, but couldn't hear anything substantial over the wails of the pinned Dog atop him. Either they'd gone, or were simply waiting. Well, they weren't the only ones with a hunter's patience. Carefully -- and quietly -- Sam arranged himself into a reasonably comfortable position, and began preparing himself for the long haul.