Apparently he layered on enough padding and armor to walk safely through a pride of hungry lions。 For a man who liked to take risks； who believed in living life on the edge； he seemed to take excessive precautions when putting his pack of Dobermans through their training sessions。
Vess's extraordinary safeguards told Chyna everything that she needed to know about the savagery of the dogs。
Less than twenty…two hours since the first cry in the Templeton house in Napa。 A lifetime。 And now toward another midnight and into whatever lay beyond。
Two lamps were aglow in the living room。 Chyna no longer cared about keeping the house dark。 As soon as she went out the front door and confronted the dogs； there would be no hope of lulling Vess into a false sense of security if he came home early。
According to the mantel clock； it was ten…thirty。 Ariel sat in one of the armchairs。 She was hugging herself and rocking slowly back and forth； as if suffering from a stomachache； although she made no sound and remained expressionless。
Protective gear designed for Vess was huge on Chyna； and she vacillated between feeling ridiculous and worrying that she would be dangerously impeded by the bulky garb。 She had rolled up the bottoms of the chaps and fixed them in place with large safety pins that she'd found in a sewing kit in the laundry room。 The belts of the chaps featured loops and long Velcro closures； so she was able to cinch them tight enough to keep them from sliding down over her hips。 The cuffs of the padded sleeves were folded back and pinned too； and the Kevlar vest helped to bulk her up； so she wasn't quite swimming in the jacket。 She wore a segmented plastic…armor collar that encircled her neck and prevented the dogs from tearing out her throat。 She couldn't have been more cumbersomely dressed if she'd been cleaning up nuclear waste in a post…meltdown reactor。
Nevertheless； she was vulnerable in places； especially at her feet and ankles。 Vess's training togs included a pair of leather bat boots with steel toes； but they were much too big for her。 As protection against attack dogs； her soft Rockports were hardly more effective than bedroom slippers。 In order to get to the motor home without being severely bitten； she would have to be quick and aggressive。
She had considered carrying a club of some kind。 But with her agility impaired by the layers of protective gear； she couldn't use it effectively enough to hurt any of the Dobermans or even dissuade them from attacking。
Instead； Chyna was equipped with two lever…action spray bottles that she'd found in a laundry…room cabinet。 One had been filled with a liquid glass cleaner and the other with a spot remover for use o'Ta carpets and upholstery。 She had emptied both bottles into the kitchen sink； rinsed them out； considered filling them with bleach； but chose pure ammonia； of which the fastidious Vess； the keeper of a spotless house； possessed two one…quart containers。 Now the plastic spray bottles stood beside the front door。 The nozzle on each could be adjusted to produce a spray or a stream； and both were set at STREAM。
In the armchair； Ariel continued to hug herself and to rock back and forth in silence； gazing down at the carpet。
Although it was unlikely that the catatonic girl would get up from the chair and go anywhere on her own； Chyna said； 〃Now； you stay right where you are； honey。 Don't move； okay？ I'll be back for you soon。〃
Ariel didn't reply。
〃Don't move。〃
Chyna's layers of protective clothing were beginning to weigh painfully on her bruised muscles and sore joints。 Minute by minute； the disfort was going to make her slower mentally and physically。 She had to act while she was still reasonably sharp。
She put on the visored helmet。 She had lined the interior with a folded towel so it wouldn't sit loosely on her head； and the chin strap helped to keep it secure。 The curved shield of Plexiglas came two inches below her chin； but the underside was open to allow air to flow in freely and there were six small holes across the center of the pane for additional ventilation。
She stepped to one front window and then to the other； looking onto the porch； which was visible in the light that spilled out from the living…room lamps。 There were no Dobermans in sight。
The yard beyond the porch was dark； and the meadow beyond the yard seemed as black as the far side of the moon。 The dogs might be standing out there； watching her silhouette in the lighted windows。
In fact； they might be waiting just beyond the porch balustrade； crouched and ready to spring。
She glanced at the clock。 Ten thirty…eight。
〃Oh； God； 1 don't want to do this；〃 she murmured。
Curiously； she remembered a cocoon that she'd found when she and her mother had been staying with some people in Pennsylvania fourteen or fifteen years before。 The chrysalis had been hanging from a twig on a birch tree； semitransparent and backlit by a beam of sunlight； so she had been able to see the insect within。 It was a butterfly that had passed all the way through the pupa stage； a fully mature imago。 Its metamorphosis plete； it had been quivering frantically within the cocoon； its wirelike legs twitching ceaselessly； as if it was eager to be free but frightened of the hostile world into which it would be bom。 Now； in her padding and hard…plastic armor； Chyna quivered like that butterfly； although she was not eager to burst free into the night world that awaited her but wanted to withdraw even deeper into her chrysalis。
She went to the front door。 She pulled on the stained leather gloves； which were heavy but surprisingly flexible。 They were too large but had adjustable Velcro bands at the wrists to hold them in place。
She had sewn a brass key to the thumb of the right…hand glove； running the thread through the hole in the key bow。 The entire blade； with all its tumbler…activating serrations； extended beyond the tip of the thumb； so it could be inserted easily into the keyway on the door of the motor home。 She didn't want to have to fumble the key from a pocket with the dogs attacking from all sides…and she sure as hell didn't want to risk dropping it。
Of course； the vehicle might not be locked。 But she wasn't taking any chances。
From the floor； she picked up the spray bottles。 One in each hand。 Again； she checked to be sure that they were set on STREAM。
She quietly disengaged the deadbolt lock； listened for the hollow thump of paws on the board floor； and finally cracked the door。
The porch looked clear。 Chyna crossed the threshold and quickly pulled the door shut behind her； fumbling at the knob because she was hampered by the plastic bottles in her hands。
She hooked her fingers around the levers on the bottles。 The effectiveness of these weapons would depend on how fast the dogs came at her and whether she could aim well in the brief window of opportunity that they would give her。
In a night as windless as it was deep； the seashell mobile hung motionless。 Not even a single leaf stirred on the tree at the north end of the porch。
The night seemed to be soundless。 With her ears under the padded helmet； however； she wasn't able to hear small noises。
She had the weird feeling that the entire world was but a highly detailed diorama sealed inside a glass paperweight。
Without even the faintest breeze to carry her scent to the dogs； maybe they would not be aware that she had e outside。
Yeah； and maybe pigs can fly butjust don't want us to know。 The fieldstone steps were at the south end of the porch。 The motor home stood in the driveway； twenty feet from the bottom of the steps。
Keeping her back to the wall of the house； she edged to her right。 As she moved； she glanced repeatedly to her left at the railed north side of the porch； and out past the balustrade into the front yard directly ahead of her。 No dogs。
The night was so chilly that her breath formed a faint fog on the inside of her visor。 Each flare of condensation faded quickly but each seemed to fan out across the Plexiglas farther than the one before it。 In spite of the ventilation from under her chin and through the six penny…size holes across the center of the pane； she began to worry that her own hot exhalations were gradually going to leave her effectively blind。 She was breathing hard and fast； and she was hardly more able to slow her rate of respiration than quiet the rapid pounding of her heart。
If she blew each breath out； angling it toward the open bottom of the face shield； she would be able to minimize the problem。 This resulted in a faint； hollow whistling characterized by a vibrato that revealed the depth of her fear。
Two small sliding steps； three； four： She eased sideways past the living…room window。 She was unfortably aware of the light at her back。 Silhouetted again。
She should have turned all the lights out； but she hadn't wanted Ariel to be alone in the dark。 In her current condition； perhaps the girl would not have known if the lights were on or off； but it had felt wrong to leave her in blackness。
Having crossed half the distance from the door to the south end of the porch without incident； Chyna grew bolder。 Instead of edging sideways； she turned directly toward the