In Laymon's Terms

Sonia froze as she heard Scruffy’s barking take on a frantic edge. The barks became yelps, then stopped abruptly.

“Boys, get back to the van, now!”

Billy didn’t seem to hear her, still staring into the desert. “Scruffy?” he called. “C’mere boy!”

John went back to collect his brother. Sonia detected movement just over the rise Scruffy had run over; maybe he was coming back. But there was more movement than one little dog could make. A dozen furry, reddish-brown forms crested the horizon, blending with their surroundings. The dog-sized animals were too small to be wolves, but she thought they might be coyotes.

She’d read an editorial in the paper not long ago about coyotes getting to be as bad as rats, their population growing since man had killed off most of the wolves that normally hunted them. They were spreading all over the country, even adapting to urban areas, living off garbage and begging for handouts. Sonia and Rich had been followed by one for blocks one night when they’d walked home carrying doggy bags from the restaurant he’d taken her to. It had seemed almost cute at the time—until the next week when she’d read about a coyote attacking a man in an alley who wouldn’t give it a handout.

“Billy, get back here now!” Her voice was strained with sudden fear.

The animals came on slowly, teeth bared, hackles raised, approaching on an extended front toward her sons. They were small, perhaps thirty or forty pounds each, but their eyes flashed with a menacing, feral-yellow shine. They came on slowly, yet determined, growling. She shut the back hatch, leaving the rest of the bags on the ground, then edged cautiously around to the side door.

“Billy,” John said, “don’t turn around, walk backwards to the van slowly. Don’t run; don’t show any fear.” He looked around for something on the ground, then bent and picked up a large stick.

Still moving slowly, the pack was headed directly for Billy. He took a few cautious steps backwards, but then fear got hold of him. He turned and started running back to the van. “No!” John yelled. The coyotes charged.

John reached his brother just before the first coyote. It leapt forward as John swung his makeshift club, catching the beast full across the side of the head, sending it spinning. Then he grabbed Billy’s arm, and turned to run back to the van, but it was too late. Some of the animals had come around the side and were cutting them off from safety. “Mom, get inside and shut the door!”

Sonia got inside, but slid the door only halfway closed, hoping her sons would break away in time. Sally stared out the passenger seat window, her magazine forgotten, watching with a look of terror as her brothers were surrounded.

The boys backed up together to the closest tree, John holding the animals at bay with his club. With his free arm, he helped Billy climb up to the lowest branch, then turned quickly back to the coyotes. “Get up there, as high as you can,” he told his brother. The animals were circling now, having cut them completely off from the van a dozen yards away. John feinted with the stick while his brother climbed.

Several coyotes broke off from the pack and charged the van. Sonia slammed the door shut just as the first one thumped into it. God they were fast! The front door windows were still open, and she lunged over the driver’s seat, pushing the automatic retraction levers on the driver’s door. But the engine was off; there was no power. One of the beasts leapt up at the open window and Sally jumped back as its jaws snapped inches from her face. The window was just a bit too high for it to get inside. It retreated a few feet away for a better run while two more continued to bark and scrabble at the window frame.

Where were the keys? Had Rich taken them? Sonia looked around frantically then sighed in relief when she saw them still hanging in the ignition. Thank God! She turned the key and the engine roared to life. The windows hummed closed and Sally screamed as a coyote jumped up at her window, cut off by the thin plate of glass.

The sound of the car engine distracted the coyotes around the tree, and John took advantage to turn and lunge up into the branches. He was seconds too slow. The pack charged. One of them leapt and clamped onto his left calf, teeth sinking deep into the muscle. He screamed in pain, still trying to pull himself up. The animal didn’t let go. Billy reached down to help him, and for a moment it looked like he’d make it, but then another coyote leapt up and tore into his right ankle. He screamed again.

“Come on, John, you can make it!” Billy yelled to him. But as John reached up to grab the next branch, his strength failed and he dropped to the ground with a cry of pain.

Sonia watched in disbelieving horror as the pack surged over her son and she lost sight of him beneath the mass of furry attackers. He managed to throw off one or two, but there were too many of them. She could hear his screams through the closed windows, even above her own.