Liz screamed.
The dogs eyes reflected the fire that leaped from Liz's hands, mouth, and eyes. The hound launched itself from the deck, aimed at the open door of the helicopter, but it never made contact. The fire batted it aside, swarming across its foam-speckled face and burrowing into its fur. The stink of burning hair and flesh quickly permeated the inside of the Lynx, even as the second black dog barreled into the first, sending it rolling across the deck, claws screeching up curls of torn metal.
The burning dog's howl was like the whole day screaming in pain. It streaked back across the deck, leaving oily smoke in its wake. Flames slithered across its skin. It struck one of the open hold doors with a meaty thud, rolled onto its back, and fell out of sight into the bowels of the ship.
Hellboy had taken the opportunity to reload. He jumped from the chopper, stood with his legs braced, and fired at the other three dogs, one bullet each. He saw one take out a dog's eye, wasn't sure what happened to the other shots, and then the second hound pounced.
It stood as tall as him. Its mouth was the width of his head. Each tooth was the length of his pistol's barrel, and the eyes were featureless black pits, no soul there, no hope, only a pledge of pain and a promise of death. As it came at him, claws reaching, mouth wide open, bloody saliva streaking back from its teeth, Hellboy swung his right fist to connect with its snout.
The dog's howl turned into a whimper as it struck the deck and rolled onto its side.
"Play dead!" Hellboy shouted. He leaped after the black dog, fist crashing down onto one of its back legs. He felt the bone crumble. The dog howled, jerking its head back and gnashing its jaws at him. He pulled back, and the dogs teeth snapped shut an inch from his hand, its fleshy lips smacking around his arm. Hellboy stood and brushed the sticky mess of saliva and blood from his skin.
The dog tried to stand. Its leg crumpled, so it dragged itself forward instead, jaws working at the air as if it were chewing its way to Hellboy. He backed away slowly, teasing the dog, until the angle was right for Hicks to fill its head with lead.
Six rounds sent the monster back to the Memory.
"Two down," Hellboy said, and then Liz shouted, Hicks gasped, and the two remaining dogs landed on Hellboy's back.
He was forced to the deck, smashing his face into the salty metal. They knocked the breath from him, the impact dulled his senses, and if the dogs hadn't chosen that moment to snap at each other — fighting over their share of dinner, Hellboy guessed — things might have ended up much worse. As it was, their bickering gave him a precious few seconds to gather himself, tense his muscles, and push upward from the deck. One dog tumbled away toward the helicopter, the other stayed right there on his back, its claws curling through his coat and piercing his skin, scraping against bone, its slavering jaws closing on the back of his neck and grinding together. His own warm blood mixed with the disgusting flow of saliva and foam down his back.
"No you don't," Hellboy whispered. He rolled, pushing hard from the ship's deck and flipping his head around. The stumps of his horns struck the dogs bloody teeth and knocked one out, its shards pattering down onto Hellboy's face. The dog reared up on its hind legs, shaking its head at the sky, and for a second Hellboy could not help but be impressed at the brute strength of the thing.
But it was an old legend, a memory, not something that belonged here in the fading sunlight of what could be a very bad day.
"Hicks?" Hellboy said, inviting the pilot to put the thing down. There was no response. He glanced at the helicopter and discovered what had happened to the fourth dog.