The cabdriver instinctively raised his hands and went into a little half crouch. “Do not shoot!” He tried to back away. Steve leaned backward with all his weight, yanking the two of them into the foyer. His ankle gave out and he fell over backward. The cabdriver almost fell with him, but recovered.
The dogs were charging the door. Thane’s ice-blue eye bore down on him. When his feet touched the sidewalk, Thane leaped and—
Steve kicked the door shut with his good foot, as hard as he was able. It slammed shut. A tiny fraction of a second later there was a meaty thud as Thane impacted the door.
Still on his back, Steve spun around on the linoleum to deal with the driver. “Don’t move!”
But the man wasn’t moving. Dresden, all four hundred pounds of him, stood inches away. The cabdriver was a short, slight Indian man with caramel-colored skin. His eyes stretched wide in terror. His hands hovered near his face in a gesture of surrender, or perhaps self-defense. He was trembling.
“Don’t worry,” Steve said, striving for a comforting tone. “He doesn’t bite.”
The cabdriver looked at Steve. “That is a lion.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“You have a gun.”
“That’s true too.”
“Well,” the cabdriver said, speaking as if to a very dull child, “why don’t you shoot the lion?”
Steve laughed. “Are you kidding? Dresden’s my buddy.” Then it came to him. YouTube. Christian the lion. “Don’t you watch the Internet?”
“What?”
“Never mind. I need your keys.”
“What?”
“The keys. To your cab. Give them to me.” Steve waggled the gun.
The driver’s face fell. “What about my five hundred dollars?”
“Yeah, it turns out I was lying about that. Sorry.” He thought for a moment. “Look, I actually am kind of sorry.” He gestured at Naga with the gun. “If I don’t get her out of here soon, then—never mind. Long story. But supposedly there’s a duffel bag full of cash waiting for me back at the other place. How about I mail it to you? I’ll make it a thousand.”
“I think that you are lying again.”
“No, I will. Soon as I can, promise.” He would, too. “But right now, I’m going to need your keys. Sorry.”
“You will not shoot me?”
“Absolutely not.”
The driver glanced down at Dresden. “What about him?”
“He’s coming with me. Both of them are.”
“Oh. Then, by all fucking means…” The cabdriver fished around in his pocket for his keys and handed them over. They jingled like the bells of heaven in Steve’s hand.
“Thanks, man,” Steve said. “Really sorry about all this.” Something else occurred to him. “You got a cell phone?” He didn’t want the guy to call 911.
“In the cab.”
The key was the old-fashioned kind, just a metal key, no Lock or Unlock buttons. “Is the cab locked?”
“No.”
Steve gestured with the gun. “You better not be lying to me.”
“Why would I lock it? I was just going to the front door.”
“Yeah, OK.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, thought for a moment. “OK, there’s a bathroom right around that corner there. Go inside and shut the door.” He saw that the guy’s knees were literally trembling. “Look, man…for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry about all this. I’m in sort of a situation, and—”
“Yes, I am quite sure. Please go fuck yourself.” The guy backed up a single cautious step. Dresden rumbled a warning.
“No, it’s OK, big guy,” Steve said. The lion looked at him, confused. Steve put his arm around the smaller man’s shoulders, gave him a little man-hug. “It’s OK. He’s a friend, see?” Then, to the cabdriver. “Go on. Shoo.”
The cabbie took one cautious step away, then another, his eyes never leaving Dresden. When he was close enough, he jumped inside the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Steve heard it lock.
Naga was conscious, but she didn’t look like she could stand. Steve checked her capillary response again—it was just OK. She had lost some ground. He checked the magazine on the gun—eight rounds, plus one in the chamber. There were seven dogs left. He went back into the living room and sat on the floor next to Naga. He slipped his hands under her, testing her weight. She was very heavy, two hundred pounds or so, but Steve thought he could probably lift her.
“OK,” he said to Dresden, “you ready?”
Dresden looked at him quizzically.
Steve jingled the keys, the way he had done when he was going to take Petey for a ride in the car. For a moment his heart ached. He wondered if he would ever see his dog again.
Dresden looked at the keys, still confused.
Steve holstered the gun. He turned to look Dresden in the face. He took a handful of the big lion’s mane in his right hand and patted Naga’s side with his left. “I. Am. Going. To. Get. Her”—here he patted Naga again—“Out. Of. Here.” He pointed at the front door.
Dresden’s brow unfurrowed. He roared a little bit, scaring the shit out of Steve. Then he stretched out and licked Steve’s cheek.
Good enough, Steve thought. He got his arms under Naga. She seemed confused, only semiconscious. I hope she doesn’t forget that we’re buddies, he thought, and lifted her. She squirmed a bit, then half stood, lifting her forequarters off the living-room floor. Steve ducked under her, lifting at the same time, and managed to get her over his left shoulder in a half-assed, crouched version of a fireman’s carry. Lift with your legs, not your back, he thought, and tittered hysterically. He strained against her weight, pushing with his good leg and his bad. The pain was exquisite, blinding. He flashed on Carolyn’s face and thought, I fucking hate that bitch! The adrenaline burst from this was just enough to get the lion up.
Once he was standing, it was easier. He took a single cautious step. He held his balance, but only just. He took a second, smaller step, almost hopping with his good leg, dragging the bad one behind him. That was better, if not exactly graceful. Naga, dangling over his back, made some cranky-sounding lion noises. Steve told her to shut the fuck up.
He inched his way to the door, Dresden following at his flank. The lion’s eyes were fixed on the door, and what lay beyond. Yeah, he knows, Steve thought. He understands what we’re going to do.
Still weighted down by Naga, he turned and squinted out the peephole. They were now down to six dogs on the lawn, including Thane. Even so. Six is a lot of dogs. This is so going to suck, Steve thought. He looked down at Dresden. “You ready?”
The big lion swished his tail. He did not look at Steve. His face was like something cast in stone. Balancing Naga on his shoulder with his left hand, Steve slipped the pistol out of the holster and held it with his teeth. He tasted gun oil, metallic and alien. He put his hand on the doorknob, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them. “Showtime,” he grunted, throwing the door open.
Thane stood first, barked. Steve took the gun out of his mouth, aimed carefully, and shot him right between the blue and brown eye.
Dresden charged out, roaring. Seeing him, one of the dogs turned and ran the other way. Steve limped across the porch. Dresden launched himself at a big Doberman and landed on it. A second later Steve heard the dog scream. The other three dogs, all big, tore into Dresden wherever they could find a spot—his shoulder, his front leg, his back.
Steve, clutching the iron railing, limped down first one step, then two. Now he was on the sidewalk. On his shoulder, Naga stirred. “Easy girl,” he said. The cab was perhaps thirty feet away.
When the Doberman was dead, Dresden turned his attention to the dog biting his right foreleg, a big German shepherd. He lifted his paw, exposing the dog’s flank, and tried biting her. He missed the first time, but with his second bite he clamped down on the dog’s hind leg. Steve heard a crack. The shepherd screamed.
Three down! Steve thought. We’re doing this! He inched his way down
the front walk, past one rose bush, then a second. He was twenty feet away from the cab.
Dresden was having trouble reaching the dog on his back. Steve considered shooting it, then decided that, based on his record, he was just as likely to hit the lion as the dog. After a moment, Dresden retargeted. He bent to his right and snapped at the dog on his hindquarters. The dog let go and backed off, circling. It noticed Steve and gave its “Alert!” bark.
The sound of it—rowrowrowrowrowrowrow—echoed down the street. A second later Steve heard toenails clicking on asphalt, first one set, then two, then a stampede. Oh, shit. He was fifteen feet away from the cab.
Dresden pounced on the dog who had given the alert. Steve was past them now, so he couldn’t see what was happening, but two steps later he heard another scream. Dresden’s answering roar burbled through something wet.
Ten feet left.
Steve risked a glance over his shoulder. There was one dog still on Dresden, hanging from his back…but behind him, on the hill, dozens—hundreds—more of them streamed in to take his place. Where could they all be coming from? Steve wondered. There were far too many. Even Dresden could not stand long against such a horde.
“Come on, big guy! Time to get out of here!” Only two feet remained between him and the cab. The cab’s door was blessedly, wonderfully unlocked. Steve turned.
Dresden only looked at him. He was surrounded by corpses. The final dog, a Doberman, hung from his mane, scrabbling and growling. The lion made no move.
“Come on!” Steve screamed again. He took another step and bumped into the cab, almost losing his balance. Muscles trembling against Naga’s weight, he slid the minivan’s door back. “Come on!”
Steve looked over his shoulder to see what was keeping the lion. “What the hell are you doing? Come on!”
Dresden shrugged off the Doberman. Victorious now, he watched as Steve lay his daughter down in the backseat with a whoosh of deflating vinyl upholstery, watched as Steve slid the door shut. She is safe now. His yellow eyes met Steve’s. Dresden, who was a king as of the old age, swished his tail—just once. Then, deliberately, he turned to face the coming dogs. Every muscle stood out in stark relief. He roared. The sound echoed down the street, bouncing off the neat suburban houses and well-manicured hedges with the force of dynamite. The dogs flowed at him like a tide, bottomless and unstoppable.
Dresden charged them.
Steve froze for a moment, feeling small, unable to look away from the forces at work before him. Carolyn’s words came to him. They will protect you as if you were their own cub. Dresden smashed into the wave of dogs, a cannon shot of fury and blood. He’s stalling them. He’s delaying them for Naga…and for me. Then, channeling Celia’s voice: Don’t waste it, asshole.
Steve shook his head, forced himself to look away, opened the door, took his place in the driver’s seat.
The dogs were on Dresden now. First one, then three, then a dozen, then two dozen with a hundred more on the way. Together they formed a living wall of muscle and fur. The cab couldn’t push through that, Steve thought. A tank couldn’t push through that. He slammed the cab door. Now Dresden was buried under them, invisible under a roiling mountain of fur and teeth—Labs, poodles, Dobermans, Rottweilers, black, yellow, brown. The cabdriver’s pale face watched all this from the bathroom window. Steve rolled down the van’s window, frantic, then drew the pistol and steadied himself. He took careful aim, fired. A dog fell, screaming, and was replaced by three more. He fired again, fired until the pin clicked down on an empty chamber. “Fuck you!” he screamed. “Fuck you, fuck you, FUCK YOU!”
One or two of the dogs looked up at this. A chocolate Lab barked, then ran for the van. Steve rolled the window back up, but he wasn’t quick enough. The dog hung on to the window by furry brown paws, barking and snapping, hind legs scrabbling at the door. There were only about three inches of room between the top of the glass and the door frame, not enough to get at Steve, but the dog’s weight was such that he couldn’t roll the window up. He flipped the dog the bird, put the key in the ignition.
The cab started immediately. He backed out of the driveway. The brown dog still clung to the window, blocking his view. Steve leaned back in the seat to check if, by some miracle, Dresden had emerged from the pile.
He had not.
Steve pointed the cab at the exit and floored it. A few seconds later he squealed to a stop at the gate, tires smoking. He put on his blinker, turned right onto Highway 78, floored it again.
The Garrison Oaks sign dwindled in his rearview mirror.
IV
The cabdriver’s name was Harshen Patel. Two hours later, cowering behind a shower curtain in a dusty green bathtub, he heard a woman’s voice.
“Steve?”
“Be careful!” Patel said. “I think that they are crazy!” He cradled his left hand, bandaged in a roll of bloody toilet paper and what was left of his shirt.
“Steve?” Her tone was doubtful now.
“I do not know who that is. If you’re looking for the lying asshole with the two lions, he left.”
“He left?” She sounded incredulous.
“Yes. A couple hours ago.”
“How?”
“He stole my taxi.”
She chuckled. “He’s resourceful. I’ll give him that.”
“You should be very careful,” Harshen said. “There are two of them, an old man and a woman. She came to me and said, ‘Supper is ready!’ and then they both started…started…biting me.” He heard the edge of a scream in his voice and clamped down on it. “They have eaten my left pinkie finger. And part of my thumb. They might still be out there. You should—”
“It’s OK,” the woman said. She rattled the doorknob. “Can you open this, please?”
Harshen considered this for several seconds, then reached out with a shaking hand and opened the door.
The woman in the hall was on the small side, frizzy-haired, barefoot. She carried a blue duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She looked him up and down, surveying the wounds in his shoulder, his neck, his crotch. Her brown eyes were dark and intense, difficult to meet. “You’ll live.”
“Do you think so?”
“Yeah. You were lucky. Not a lot of people get to visit in this neighborhood.”
Harshen nodded, miserable. “I believe you. I wonder…may we please leave now?”
She thought about it. “Sure.” She shrugged. “I’ll walk you out. What’s your name?”
He told her. They stepped out into the light together.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Carolyn.”
“Do you…do you live here?”
“Not in this one.” She jerked her thumb down the street. “I’m a couple blocks deeper.”
“Oh.” He looked at her, horrified.
“Relax. I won’t hurt you. You helped Steve.” She shook her head, smiling. “He really is ever so good at slipping out of these petonsha, don’t you think?”
“These what?”
“Sorry. That isn’t English. They all start to blur after a while. I said ‘petonsha.’ It means ‘little traps.’ ”
“Oh.”
They walked in silence for a block or so.
She spoke next. “Still…you did help Steve. I should repay the favor.” She considered. “Do you have a family? Do you live in the city?”
“My wife. Esperanza. We have two boys. But no, we’re out in—”
She waved her hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care at all. When we get to the end of the street, I’m going to disappear. When that happens, put your family in your car and—”
“I can’t.”
“What?”
“I can’t put my family in my car. He stole it. I don’t know where it is.”
“Who stole it? Steve?”
“Is he the lion man?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Him. He is the motherfucker who stole my cab.”
“Oh. Hmm.” Carolyn thought about it for a second, then
handed him the blue duffel bag. “Here. Take this. Buy another one.”
He unzipped the bag, looked inside. Money. “Oh!”
“Yeah. Spend it fast. It won’t be worth much in a week or two—Barry O’Shea is out of hiding. Once he’s established, there will be a sort of, umm, plague.”
“What? What plague? Who is—”
“It doesn’t matter. Pack up your wife and kids. Buy food, water, weapons. A generator, maybe. Go into the city—someplace with a lot of electric lights, and a good power supply. Get indoors, on the top floor of a tall building, if you can. Stay away from windows. And if you see people with tentacles, stay away. Don’t let them touch you.”
Harshen gaped at her. She spoke of insanities, but her voice was calm and certain. Her expression reminded him of a painting that frightened him as a child—Kali the annihilator, smiling as small things died.
“It’s about to get very dark, you see.”
Chapter 10
Asuras
I
Two miles west, Highway 78 merged into a four-lane that led into town, such as it was—basically a couple of strip malls between Steve and more empty road. The speed-limit sign said 45. He glanced down and saw he was doing 80, the rattletrap taxi shaking like the magic fingers at a cheap motel. He rolled to a stop at the first red light, a little jerkily.
There’s blood on the windshield, he thought. How did that get there? He squirted wiper fluid on it, hoping it would clean off some of the dog blood. It didn’t, just smeared it around a little. He felt dazed.
In the back, Naga lifted her head and looked around, blinking.
“Feeling better?” He thought the second suppository might be doing its thing. “Don’t try to move. We’re out. No more dogs!”
She twitched her tail a little, then bent around to her hindquarters and sniffed the bandages.
“Well, yeah,” Steve sighed. “There is that.” Where the hell do you take a wounded lion? The zoo?
A black Toyota truck inched to a stop beside him. Steve glanced over at it and found himself at eye level with the mud flaps. It was jacked up so high you’d almost need a ladder to get in and out. Do you call that a monster truck? What’s the dividing line? Steve wondered. How big does it have to get before it becomes a monster? Is it just x number of inches higher than factory, or do the tires have to—
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