There are rules I had to break [open]

[Seven]

Dusk had fully enveloped the mountain, giving the light colored canine a ghostly appearance as he trotted resolutely down the center of that winding, solitary path. The sky was darkening rapidly and only a streak of dusty violet remained on the horizon line. Wesley had taken to being active at night, for the most part. The thick, hot air was taking its toll on the heavy coated dog, leaving him more irritable than he cared to be. To combat the effects of the approaching warmer months, Wesley would sleep in some shaded, cool recess of a building throughout the day, rising after the sun went down. Last night Wes had traveled up the road out of town to hunt some furry woodland creatures. The sense of self-satisfaction he felt now came from killing a possum and a raccoon and being able to return to town with a full stomach.

Without breaking stride, Wesley glanced to the side of the road. A silver Escalade rested on it's side, frame bent, windows shattered, and overgrown with weeds. A slim ridge of rocks held it in place. Next earthquake and it would probably continue its decent down the mountain side. How this car had been left behind was a mystery. Wes, unfamiliar with the history of the island, assumed that it had been crashed and forgotten by whatever wealthy citizen was responsible for it. The classy car brought back memories to the Ovcharka mix. His last owner had driven an Escalade. He'd bring people to see the warehouse where his goods were temporarily stored, where Wesley spent most of his life. Sometimes, though, the car would simply drive in, a door would open, and some poor sap would be shoved out. The car would leave and the doors would close, leaving the guy alone in the dark. Then he'd hear the quiet footfalls, nails clicking on concrete. Wesley learned to attack silently, giving his victim as little time as possible to orient themselves and draw a weapon. You do what you know.

Wesley turned his light brown eyes up to the indigo sky, expecting the weather to run parallel to his grim thoughts. No raindrops greeted his upturned face; only a handful of bright stars blinked back at him. At this point the road was covered in rocks varying in size from your average pebble to boulders that rivaled the sports cars that once raced here. Wes rolled his shoulders and shook his head to bring himself back to the present. It wasn't guilt that stopped him from reflecting upon his old life. He cared as much about human life as he did about the rusted out Escalade. Wesley was driven by pure practicality. That chapter had ended, now he needed to focus on weaving through rocks.

Wesley veered off to the shoulder of the road, seeking water. The rocky terrain provided many places for water to pool from the recent showers, but the molloser had to take care not to slide down the side of the mountain. His cautious steps sent wave after wave of scree down the sleep incline, causing the dog to flatten his ears at the racket. He drank quickly, then bounded back up to the semi-level road again. Once standing securely on the cracked pavement, Wesley froze, listening. He was acutely aware of the fact that the sudden, unexpected noise would alert everything with a pulse that there was something big moving down the mountain.