The Viper coughed twice, spitting silver bullets at the hound and flipping smoking cartridges in the air. The first two shots missed, lancing sparks from the twisted wreckage of a Honda subcompact. I tracked right and pulled the trigger two more times. One bullet smashed square into the dog’s chest, slewing her around on the muddy ground. The second struck the beast right behind the shoulder, knocking her down, and opening a raw, wet hole in her pelt.