A female dingo launched herself upward, body twisting, jaws snapping. Her teeth snapped shut an inch from my right foot. Her slobber splattered across my ankle, hot and wet.
"Get away!" I kicked at her face and used the swing to hook my right foot over my left ankle.
My heels slammed into the rough bark, shredding my raw wounds, and another scream tore out of me.
Below, the pack howled in chorus, a terrifying cry that vibrated through the air. Somewhere in the distance, another dingo answered. And then another joined in.
Oh, God. How many are there?
I glanced down as a young male crouched, muscles bunching. He lunged at me, and his muzzle hit my hair. As he fell, a few strands caught in his teeth, and I screamed as he yanked the hair out of my scalp.
If they get a solid grip on my hair, they’ll drag me down. But I couldn't let go to tuck my hair away. Couldn't move at all.
"Help!" My cry tore out of my throat. "Mitch! Help me!"
Sweat made my palms slick, and my hands slid, bit by bit, bark scraping skin. My fingers had locked into claws around the branch, but they were numb. I couldn't tell if I was even gripping anymore. Sweat dripped into my eyes, mixed with tears that I couldn't blink away.
"I'm slipping! Help!"
I shifted my grip, one hand then the other, fingers scrabbling for purchase. But my hands were too weak. Oh God. I'm falling.
Something slammed into my lower back.
Gasping, I twisted, looking down. The alpha had Mitch's shirt clamped between his teeth, hanging in midair, thrashing. The fabric stretched tight across my chest, pulling at my shoulders and arms.
"No!" A scream tore out of me. "Help!"
His full weight dragged at me. The branch dug deeper into my ankles, and my body slid lower, inch by inch.
The alpha whipped his head side to side, and every movement yanked me down. I was barely holding on.
Below, the pack erupted into yips and snarls, sensing the kill. Two of them fought each other, snapping and lunging, competing for position.
"Get off!" I twisted my hips, trying to shake him loose, but the movement made my grip weaken, and I froze.
"Mitch! Somebody! Help!"
Fabric ripped near my spine. For one wild second, I thought the shirt would tear free. But it held.
My left hand slid.
I'm going to fall.
The thought arrived calm and certain, as if someone else were thinking it.
I'm going to die.
The words echoed in my head, cold and final.
I'd never see Mitch again. Never know if he’d found Zeus. Never kiss him again, never tell him how he'd gotten under my skin in ways I didn't understand.
He'd come back and find just my blood and torn flesh. Maybe scattered bones.
Maybe nothing at all.
My fingers were so numb I couldn't feel the branch. Couldn't feel anything except blind terror crushing my chest.
I don't want to die.