by Ike Hamill
“That’s crazy,” Merle said. “You can’t carry anything.”
“Stay here, Amy Lynne. They’re not used to women,” Jackson said. He got out, leaving the door open. In truth, he wasn’t certain how he would transport the family of dogs. They had been pretty hostile to the idea of traveling last time. Merle ran ahead, going inside before Jackson could get there.
“Are they friendly?” Merle asked in the kitchen.
The lights were on in there, but the monitor was dark. The system must have lost power and reset itself while they were away.
“Skittish,” Jackson said. “They loved Liam. We should have brought him.” He crossed to the door to the other room—his indoor kennel.
“How many puppies?”
“Seven,” Jackson said.
His son was already falling in love with the dogs that he hadn’t yet met. When Jackson opened the door, his first thought was that they had gone. The yard was fenced, but a determined dog could have burrowed underneath. They were there though. The dogs were just crouched so low in the whelping box that they weren’t immediately apparent. The mom’s head came up, assessed them quickly and then she came over, tail low.
“Hi, darling,” Jackson said, getting down to her level. He let her sniff him briefly and then she moved on to check out Merle. He was much more interesting—probably because of the smell of…
“She smells Denver,” Merle said.
“You would think I would smell like him too. These are your sweatpants.”
Merle shrugged. Once she let him touch her head, her posture changed. She straightened up and her tail uncurled. She was a quick and decisive judge of character. Merle, according to her posture, was one of the good ones. Trotting back to her brood, she almost seemed to be inviting him to come look.
“Are you ready for another trip?” Jackson asked her.
Her deep eyes suggested that she was willing to go along with anything.
“If she’ll let you, grab some of the pups and take them out to the truck. She’ll follow, I’m sure.”
Merle was able to hold three at a time. Jackson left him to that while he went to his bedroom to put together a small bag. It was slow work, operating with one hand, so he only grabbed the basics. Back out at the truck, Merle had folded one of the rear seats and he had used a bunch of towels and blankets to make a nest for the puppies. They wouldn’t stay put without their mother. Amy Lynne was trying to corral them while Merle attempted to get the mother to cross the yard. She was standing in the doorway barking as Jackson passed her.
“Well, come on,” Jackson said. “They’re coming with us. It’s your decision, but I think you’ll be a lot more comfortable if you come too.”
The dog looked at him with uncertainty. A white rim was showing at edges of her eyes. The mother was close to panic for her pups. In the truck, they were beginning to mewl and whimper over the separation.
“Come on,” Merle said. He reached out to grab her. She jumped back and Merle stood up straight before he took a few paces back. “Dad?”
“Yeah?” Jackson asked. He tossed his bag in the back of the truck and cringed when it landed. He had forgotten about the bottle in the bottom. He hoped his underwear wouldn’t all be soaked with tequila when they got to the bunker.
“Listen,” Jackson said, “we’ll get in the truck and start to roll away. She’ll get onboard, I’m sure.”
For once, he was right. Merle sat in the passenger’s seat and Jackson got in back with the puppies. He kept the window down so she could hear her babies as the truck started to back up to the street. Jackson even clenched his teeth and squeezed the paw of one of the pups. The little cry of distress was too much for the mother dog. She ran to the truck. When Jackson opened the door, she jumped in and squeezed by his legs to get to her puppies. Jackson shut the door behind her.
“Go!” he said, rolling up the window.
“No need to shout,” Amy Lynne said. “I know how to drive.”
It took the whole trip to Merle’s before the mother dog trusted Jackson again. She didn’t seem to know precisely how she had been tricked, but she held the grudge anyway. Scratching her head is what won his forgiveness. While her babies nursed in the jostling truck, Jackson twisted and leaned down to scratch all the itchiest spots on her head and behind her ears. By the time the truck rolled to a stop, she was licking Jackson’s hand.
“Mom, can you come help?” Merle asked.
“Sure.”
“We’ll be right back,” his son said. The dog’s ears perked up when the doors opened and then slammed again. She gave a big sigh and settled back down.
“You get to meet Denver,” Jackson said. “You’ll like him. Everyone does. He’s very old though. Don’t go teasing him or anything.”
They didn’t take long at all. On his first trip, Merle emerged with a big cooler to set in back. Amy Lynne was carrying two bags. On the next trip, Merle was carrying his old dog. Denver’s head was resting on Merle’s shoulders. His tail was flopping lazily as Merle took his time carrying Denver to the truck.
Amy Lynne got in first.
“He can’t even walk?” Jackson asked.
“He can,” she said. “Merle says he chooses not to.”
Jackson thought his heart would break when he saw the gentle care his son took, setting down his old friend on the grass so the old man could pee. Merle let him walk the rest of the way to the truck and then lifted Denver up to get into the cab.
The mother dog lifted her head and then sprang up with her nose twitching at light speed. She had to settle for a glimpse of Denver over the seat. The old dog didn’t seem aware of her presence.
“Okay, onto the dungeon,” Amy Lynne said.
The truck shut off.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Same thing,” Jackson said. “Bad air. I’m sure it will pass—it always does eventually.”
“My house never lost power,” Merle said. “So this might be the first time that…”
He forgot to finish his thought as he watched the lights extinguish in his house.
“There you go,” Jackson said.
“Is it following us?” Amy Lynne asked. “Did it just catch up to us?”
Now that the truck was completely silent, the mother dog seemed intent on discovering the identity of the new dog in the car. Jackson tried to gently hold her back as she squirmed and tried to squeeze herself between the seats to get a look. It was dark in the truck. Denver had the advantage of a good nose. He must have sniffed her out from his position at Merle’s feet. After Jackson heard him sniffing, they all heard his big old tail thumping.
The mother dog recoiled, surprised by the sound. Straining forward again, she began to growl. Denver heard that. Jackson heard Merle struggling to restrain his dog now, as well.
“Keep calm,” Amy Lynne said angrily.
The mother dog responded to the anger in kind. She barked and then growled with an open mouth as she pulled against Jackson’s grip. When he pulled her back, she punctuated her growl with a nip at his arm.
“Hey!” Jackson said.
That made her growl again.
“We have to get them outside,” Merle said. “They haven’t been properly introduced and they’re not going to trust each other until they do.”
“No,” Jackson said. “When the power comes back, I want to hit the road immediately. We can keep them separated until then.”
A moment later, the mother dog proved him wrong. She lunged forward and up, slipping past his hand. Her mad snarl sounded ferocious in the dark. It was all Jackson could do to keep himself from recoiling from the sound. Instead, he tried to throw his good arm around her, hoping that she would bite him instead of his son or the old dog.
In the front seat, Denver finally woke to the threat. His own bark was deep and rumbling. Merle was chanting calming commands at him. Jackson could barely hear his son over the sound of the arguing dogs. The puppies began to whine and cry. Some of them were probab
ly being stepped on by their mother as she strove to defend them.
With one of her jumps, the mother dog got free from Jackson’s hand and she was between the seats in a flash.
Jackson opened his mouth to call a warning to his son. He didn’t get the word out in time.
For a moment, he thought that Amy Lynne must be choking the mother dog. The dog’s snarls turned into a gagging sound and her leap turned into thrashing. Then, Jackson felt it too. A weight on his chest pushed out all the air from his lungs and he couldn’t muster enough force to get any fresh air in. The sensation caught him off guard. The night was lit up with sparkly fireflies, streaking across his vision as he gagged for air. The worse part was that he could hear Amy Lynne and Merle. They were dying too.
His hand shot to the door handle. Before he could pull it, he lost consciousness.
He woke to a low rumble that he mistook for more growling. As his consciousness returned, he realized that he rumble was a snore from the mother dog. The interior lights of the truck were on. Amy Lynne had opened the driver’s door and spilled to the ground.
“What?” Merle asked. His voice was thick with confusion.
“Are you okay?” Jackson asked.
The mother dog coughed, shook, and immediately turned to attend to her puppies.
“What?” Merle asked again.
“Are you okay? Amy Lynne?”
She didn’t reply, but her hand shot up from below the open door and grabbed onto the steering wheel. She began to pull herself up. Her hair was flopped over her face and in tangles. When she flipped it back, she looked angry and determined, but fine.
“Denver?”
“Yeah. Um, yeah,” Merle said. “Hey boy. Hey boy, you okay?”
After a pause, he said, “Yeah, he’s fine.”
“Good. Get us moving, Amy Lynne, before it comes back.”
She didn’t reply except to fire up the truck and spin the tires. Jackson took in another deep breath, promising himself that he would never take that luxury for granted again. Twice in a couple hours, he had lost the ability to breathe. Fresh air was a treasure that should be appreciated.
The mother dog whimpered.
Jackson looked down and saw that she was pushing a puppy with her nose. The tiny dog was on its side, not responding.
“Oh, shit!” Jackson whispered.
He reached for a puppy and the mother glanced at him but didn’t panic. The little creature was still.
“No!” he said to the puppy. He cradled the puppy in his immobilized arm as he reached up and turned on the interior light, cringing at the sight of the lifeless pup. Reflexively, his thumb went to its chest. He massaged the puppy, pressing his thumb down, trying to make it move like a real puppy’s chest would. With no real logic behind his action, he pulled the pup’s nose to his mouth, putting his lips around the snout and blowing. He felt the little puppy inflate and then release when he pulled it away from his mouth again.
“What’s happening?” Merle asked, spinning in his seat. He was in time to see his father blow more air into the puppy as he frantically massaged it. A whining yip escaped from the puppy and it squirmed in his hand.
“Oh, thank God,” Jackson said. The mother dog was pressing up. Her paw was on his bad arm, but he didn’t mind the pain. He set down the puppy for her and grabbed another lifeless one.
He shoved it toward Merle.
“Do what I do,” he said as he reached for another puppy. His second attempt took more time and he was beginning to panic, fearing that he would be too late. Merle had more luck. He was squeezing between the seats to set his revived puppy down so he could grab another.
“What’s happening?” Amy Lynne asked as she drove. “Are they okay?”
“They will be,” Merle said to his mother. Jackson wished that he shared his son’s enthusiasm.
Merle had the magic touch. Every puppy that he picked up was back on the floor, whining for its mother in no time. Jackson was slower, but he managed to get a few moving. He found himself with the last puppy in his hand, pressed against his chest as he blew his fifth breath into the little pup’s nose. His heart was aching with each quick beat as he looked at the beautiful little puppy. The tiny guy was a wonderful mix of different features, inherited from who knows how many chance couplings of stray dogs. His little eyes were squeezed shut and the tan marks on his eyebrows were tilted toward each other, like the puppy was concentrating hard on some adorable problem.
It still wasn’t breathing.
“Give it to me,” Merle said.
“No, I got this.”
“Dad, give it here.”
Jackson didn’t want his son to experience the trauma and guilt that was rolling toward them in the form of a tiny puppy. The animal was never going to breathe again and that little face would haunt Jackson’s dreams for weeks or months. He couldn’t subject his son to those feelings.
Merle wouldn’t be dissuaded. He leaned over his seat and snatched the puppy from Jackson’s hand.
“No, Merle,” Jackson said, but Merle was already settling back in his seat, whispering encouragement to the puppy as he tried to bring it back to life. Jackson tried to think how long it had been. He had lost track of time. He glanced back through the rear window of the truck and could still see the lights of Merle’s house receding through the woods. That was a good sign. It couldn’t have been that long. The mother dog was focused on the front seat and Merle. Her other babies were at her feet, waiting with patient fear for their mother.
“Amy Lynne, please keep your eyes on the road,” Jackson said.
“Myob, Jax,” she replied. Back when they were civil to each other, it was something that she would say with playful mischief in her voice. She meant, “Mind your own business.” This time, it sounded like a command rather than an expression of love.
Jackson heard a thumping from the front seat again. This time, the mother dog didn’t growl at Denver. Her own tail started thumping an instant before Jackson heard a yawn and a tiny cry from the puppy in Merle’s hands.
“There you are,” Merle said to the puppy. “Hi there. You’re a fighter.”
The mother dog began to make a beseeching whimper.
“Okay, okay,” Merle said. He turned and gently lowered the puppy down with his brothers and sisters. The mother licked him and then started to lick all of her puppies. As they climbed up on her, she obliged them, curing up with them and rolling over so they could nurse.
Jackson let out a deep sigh and counted. Seven wriggling puppies competed for the milk. There were enough nipples, but apparently some of them didn’t produce enough to keep the little mouths satisfied. Frustrated, there was always at least one puppy trying to move up in the world. Jackson wore a cautious smile. They had come close to losing something precious.
“Somebody going to tell me where I’m headed?” Amy Lynne asked.
Denver thumped his tail in response.
Chapter 68: Brad
Brad couldn’t bend over to inspect the body. Down there, near the person’s head, there was another overwhelming pocket of fear. Every time he tried to approach, he recoiled and stumbled away. He had to settle for standing upright and using a foot to roll the person’s shoulders. Facedown, it looked like Kevin, but he had to be sure.
The body flopped over and Brad saw violent dark streaks down both cheeks of the person. Kevin had been mauled.
Brad shook his head and stumbled away. Kevin, Mandy, and George were dead. Somewhere, Pam was still out there. She might need his help. A terrible realization spread through Brad—he wasn’t going to be able to muster the courage to look for her. Even as he fought the feeling, Brad realized that he was already creeping back toward the shed that held the stairs down into the school. His body had already given up and was trying to get him away from the horrible scene on the roof.
Brad turned and gave into the feeling. Moving as fast as he could, he staggered to the stairs and then rushed down, supporting himself with the railing. H
alfway down, he dropped his cane and could barely see it bouncing merrily down into the dark.
His feelings ranged through anger, shame, and fear, and then came back to the desperate dread that he remembered from before. Telling himself that the feelings were real didn’t help at all. The only thing that propelled him forward was the need to be with the others. He wanted to warn them and then be safe in their circle. It was all waiting for him in the basement of the building.
At the bottom of the stairs, he found a pocket of rationality. He paused, breathing hard, and let sanity creep back into the center of his mind. Whatever was happening, it was environmental. The only thing that he could figure was that the same way the power went on and off, people’s thoughts and feelings were being twisted and shaped by some weird environmental force.
It might have been strong enough to propel one of the others to hallucinations or even murder. Brad had certainly seen things that he couldn’t justify. There was a chance that he and Romie had shared some weird optical delusion. And, climbing the stairs, he had been filled with rage and the compulsion to hurt someone or something. If someone else had been there with him, there was no telling what he would have done.
“No,” he whispered. “It’s too terrible.”
It was terrible. It was also likely true.
He had to voice the thought to truly consider it.
“Pam killed Kevin, Mandy, and George,” he whispered to himself. As soon as the sound of his whisper echoed back to him in the hall, he heard a sound from the end of the corridor.
He tried to speak out loud and couldn’t find his voice.
Brad cleared his throat.
“Is someone down there?” he called.
The sound that came back to him was a low laugh.
Brad was panting by the time he reached the darkness of the stairwell. She had haunted him the whole way back. Every time he turned a corner, or paused in a patch of darkness to get his bearings, he could hear her giggling or singing a quiet song to herself. Brad had never heard the words before, but the tune sounded familiar.
