Dogs

by Nancy Kress

  “Only three,” said Rosita Perez, “and they were the last three arrivals in the first wave. We’ve contacted them.”

  The first wave. Post-bite syndrome. A part of Olatic’s tired mind noted how quickly new terminology attached itself to crisis situations. Lexicographic leeches.

  Jennifer Peters said, “I called Joe Latkin again just before the meeting. He said he requested reports from the African village where Doctors Without Borders treated what sounds like the same dog-borne hot agent, but there’s a delay because the reports have to be translated.”

  “From what?” Olatic asked.

  “The village was Congolese. The reports are in Lingala.”

  “Christ,” somebody said. “And how did the virus get HERE?”

  Dr. Peters continued, “Joe also said they’ve confirmed the physical effects on the dogs’ brains, specifically and especially on the amygdala, and found nothing to contradict the preliminary findings we all saw. But, of course, that’s only for sacrificed subjects at given points in the disease progression. The CDC’s watching more subjects to determine later cerebral changes or physical damage.”

  Young Dr. Klein said, “And the physical damage to human brains?”

  No one answered. PET scans and MRIs could reveal just so much. The only real way to assess the effect of canine disease on the human brain was for an infected human to die.

  THURSDAY

  » 56

  Allen had finally—about time!—been allowed to go home from the hospital, mostly because a lot of other sick people came in. While his mother watched her afternoon show and Allen himself was supposed to be asleep, he called Jimmy on the upstairs phone.

  “Yeah?” said Jimmy’s father, a big man who wore his undershirt around the house and only went to work sometimes. Allen was a little afraid of him.

  “May I speak to Jimmy, please? This is Allen Levy.”

  “Jiiimmmmeeee!”

  Jimmy took his time coming to the phone. Allen could hear the little kids shouting and a TV on loud. Finally Jimmy said, sounding just like his father, “Yeah?”

  “It’s Allen. I’m home. Did you feed Susie?”

  “Yeah. I took her out, too, but she also pooped in that stupid file drawer so I didn’t put her back there.”

  “You didn’t? You mean Susie’s loose in the basement? ” His mother would hear her for sure unless Allen gave Susie more pills, and he couldn’t walk much with his foot like this. His mother might even go down to do laundry, now that she thought all the dogs in Tyler had been captured, or she might hire somebody to fix the broken window. His father might even come home from the city!

  “Naw,” Jimmy said. “I could hear her from way outside with your cellar window busted. So I brought her to my house.”

  “To your house? Jimmy! Your parents—”

  “It’s okay, Allen. Chill. My dad helped me. He says Susie don’t have anything wrong with her except she’s going blind and the govmint don’t have any business poking their fucking noses in our private lives.”

  That sounded like something Jimmy’s dad would say, all right. Allen struggled to sort everything out. Susie at the Doakes… “Where is she?”

  “In my bedroom. She sleeps with me and everything.”

  “She’s my dog!”

  “Hey, I’m helpin’ you out here!”

  “I know,” Allen said, suddenly afraid of making Jimmy mad. Jimmy had Susie. “I know. Thanks. I just…take good care of her, okay, Jimmy?”

  “’Course I will.”

  “Don’t let Tammy and LaVerne try to ride on her again? Susie’s so old!”

  “I know. I’m keeping the little brats away. Don’t worry, Allen.”

  “Do you have dog food? And her dishes? And—”

  “Gotta go, my mom wants the phone. I got everything. See you later, dude.”

  Somewhere in Jimmy’s house something crashed, and then the phone clicked.

  Now how would Allen get to see Susie? He had to see her! But his mother wouldn’t let him go to Jimmy’s house. What could he do?

  He still hadn’t figured out anything when, just as his mother’s show was ending, the doorbell rang.

  “Yes?” his mother said. A big man stood in the doorway, letting in cold air and looking really unhappy.

  “Hi, how ya doing? I’m Billy Davis, Cami Johnson’s friend. We met at the hospital.”

  “Oh, yes,” Billy’s mother said uncertainly. “Can I help you, Mr. Davis?”

  “I don’t know. But Cami’s sick and she said I should visit Allen instead of her.” Mr. Davis sounded as if he’d really, really rather be someplace else. But all at once Allen saw his chance.

  “Yes, mom! Cami was going to take me out for ice cream! She promised!”

  “She did?” Mr. Davis said.

  “Yes! Let’s go!”

  “Allen,” his mother said, “could I see you in the other room? Please excuse us, Mr. Davis. Won’t you just step inside and wait in the foyer?” In the dining room she whispered, “Allen, what is this all about?”

  “Just like I said! Cami was going to take me for ice cream only she’s sick so I want to go with Mr. Davis!”

  “Sweetie, we hardly know him. And there are still dangerous dogs out there.”

  “But…but it’s really fun to go out for ice cream. And Mr. Davis is a real animal control policeman! He does cool things with animals and everything!”

  All at once his mother’s face got a funny look. “It’s really Mr. Davis you wanted to see, wasn’t it? Because he talks about animals and other things that boys like?”

  She didn’t understand anything. But maybe that was good. He said, with just a touch of whining, “I like Mr. Davis. And it’s…it’s good to talk to, you know, grown-up men.”

  Again she stared at him, and Allen held his breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it was too much. But he’d listened to her talking on the phone to her friend Linda: “Allen needs male role models, God knows Peter isn’t here enough to provide one, the two-timing bastard..."

  “Yes, sweetie,” his mother said slowly, “it’s good to talk to grown-up men. Okay, Mr. Davis can take you out for ice cream.”

  In the car, Mr. Davis said quietly, “You don’t really want to go for ice cream, do you, kid? I mean, it’s the middle of winter.”

  “I want to go to Jimmy Doakes’ house.”

  “And your mama don’t want you there.”

  “I just want to see Jimmy for a few minutes! He’s my best friend!”

  “And best friends are important.” Mr. Davis sighed. “You know something, you remind me of me at your age. Hell bent for high water on what you want.”

  That was so stupid that Allen snorted before he could catch himself. He was nothing like Mr. Davis!

  “Just don’t let it carry you too far, kid. You can do stupid things when you’re that way. Things you regret later in life.”

  Allen stared straight ahead out the window, and maybe Mr. Davis knew what a nerd he sounded like, because he didn’t say anything else. He didn’t even get out of the car when they got to Jimmy’s.

  Jimmy’s parents weren’t home and neither was his big brother, Wayne. The house smelled of cat pee. Jimmy, Tammy, and LaVerne sat on the saggy old sofa, watching TV and eating Fruit Loops out of the box. Jimmy jumped up.

  “Hey, Allen! Come watch this really cool movie! This guy just stabbed all these girls and—”

  “I want to see Susie.”

  “Oh, yeah, come on!”

  Jimmy ran down a hallway. Allen hobbled after him, trying to keep his weight off his foot, trying not to fall. Jimmy’s room had stuff all over the floor, torn curtains, two unmade beds. But Susie wasn’t there. They found her on Jimmy’s parents’ bed, chewing on a red plastic ray gun. As soon as Susie saw Allen, she jumped up and her tail wagged so hard it looked like it might wag right off. Allen fell onto the bed and hugged her. “Susie!”

  “She chewed up my gun! Awww! Bad dog!” Jimmy grabbed the gun
and started hitting Susie’s rear end with it. Allen shoved the plastic away and turned on Jimmy.

  “Don’t you dare hit her! She didn’t know and anyway she’s old and don’t you dare hit her!”

  “I didn’t hurt her none,” Jimmy said. “But she better leave my stuff alone or she’s outta here!”

  Allen went cold all over. What if Jimmy meant it? Allen had no place else to put Susie, no place that his mother wouldn’t find her, or even Mr. Davis. And Susie didn’t look good, neither. Her coat was all matted like nobody brushed her, and when she wiggled around licking Allen’s face, she wobbled on only three legs.

  “I’m sorry,” Allen choked out. “Jimmy, look at her eyes…that white stuff is worse.”

  “She sees okay,” Jimmy said. “Don’t worry about it. But she better not chew my gun again.”

  “Is that a bruise on her leg? Did somebody else hit her?”

  “She tried to eat my dad’s shoe. But he just tapped her, Allen, honest.”

  “He hit Susie?”

  “She really fucked up his shoe.”

  “And you hit her, too!”

  “Aw, don’t be such a wimp!”

  Something broke in Allen. He hadn’t been able to sleep or eat from worrying over Susie and here the Doakes were hitting her and his head all at once felt funny, like it had come loose and was floating above his shoulders. He’d been trying to protect Susie for so long! And they were hitting her—his Susie—

  Allen launched himself at Jimmy, not even caring about the sudden pain in his foot, and beat on him with his fists. “Don’t you people touch my dog!”

  Jimmy, after an astonished moment, pounded back. Susie started to bark frantically, her old body circling the boys. Allen knew he was crying and didn’t care. He just wanted to hit Jimmy, hit everything, everybody wanted to take Susie away from him, and now the news said they were going to kill all the dogs Allen had heard it this morning before his mother snapped the TV off and not Susie not Susie NOT SUSIE—

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  Both boys froze. Mr. Davis. Allen twisted around on the floor and there he was, staring at Susie like she was a crocodile or an elephant. He said, “Did that dog bite anybody since it got that weird white stuff in its eyes?”

  Not Susie!

  “Damn it, boys, this is important. Did that dog bite anybody since it got white in its eyes?”

  Not Susie.

  “Leave her alone, you!” Allen cried, reached under the bed, and pulled out Jimmy’s dad’s gun. “You just leave Susie alone!”

  Mr. Davis stood very still. “Now, son, let’s just calm down here, okay? I’m not gonna bother your dog.”

  “Yes, you will!” Mr. Davis was lying! He thought Allen was too stupid to know that a dog policeman had to take Susie away, had to get her killed—he thought Allen was stupid and he was lying, you couldn’t trust anything any grown-up said to you not Allen’s mother or his father or this terrible man who wanted to kill Susie—Susie, the only real friend Allen had…No. No.

  He snapped the safety off the gun the way Jimmy had showed him, aimed at Mr. Davis, and fired.

  » 57

  Jess drove down a snowy Tyler street. The snow clouds had finally blown over and the sunset was bloody red over the West Virginia mountains. Somewhere a dog howled, announcing its presence, and from the distance came an answering howl.

  Always from a distance. Jess hadn’t captured a single dog all day, although he’d shot one. Maryland Guards had shot two more. The loose dogs, infected and not, had become wary of humans. They’d learned.

  A third howl, to the east, prolonged and confident. I’m heeeeerrre. Despite himself, Jess shivered.

  Lights came on along the street. Soon every house was ablaze. Floodlights, porch lights, room lights. The people inside, Jess knew, kept whatever weapons they owned loaded and handy. Many of them slept fully clothed. It wasn’t rational, dogs couldn’t open locked doors, but this went deeper than the rational. The beast beyond the door, the wolf just outside the circle of light.

  A dog flashed across the road in front of Jess. Instinctively he slammed on the brakes, but it made no difference. The dog was gone. Large, light-colored—infected or not? No way to tell. He might as well go home; he wasn’t going to catch any dogs in the dark. Not that he’d been doing so great in the light.

  He made a U-turn and headed north, passing a Guards truck and a patrol car. Both hunting the hunters, both probably fruitlessly. Don DiBella had reported back to Jess on the phone call Jess had received after the sniper shot the beagle, Hearsay, practically in Jess’s arms. The call had come from a pay phone across town, which meant the sniper had not been working alone. More bad news.

  Three blocks over, he again caught the dog in his headlights, this time more clearly. Fawn-colored and huge, with some Great Dane in him somewhere. The dog ignored him and ran straight to the porch of a fifties-style ranch house. Jess stopped the car. People appeared in the big picture window, silhouetted by the lights behind them: a man gesturing wildly, waving his arms, and a woman who ran from the room, maybe to a phone. Kids.

  Jess powered down his window and took aim. Now he could hear the dog growl low in its throat. Infected. The dog evidently heard the car window go down because he wheeled and ran off in the darkness.

  Damn. Another chance gone. He powered the window back up.

  Then the dog was back. It appeared from between two houses across the street, running at full speed. The thing was fast. Jess again reached for gun and window, but there was no time. The dog leapt with those powerful hind legs and threw himself full-force against the low picture window. Ninety pounds of dog hit the glass. The window shattered.

  Glass and blood flew through the air, the glass twinkling in the bright lamplight within. The family screamed. The dog was inside.

  Jess tore out of his truck, thinking crazily that he was nowhere near as fast as the dog, those powerful muscular hind legs meant to rush prey run run—

  He reached the window. The dog—God, it was huge!—had fastened itself on one of the kids. The father beat on it, shouting. Jess screamed, “Get away! I need a clear shot!” The man looked up and had the presence of mind—how?—to spring away. Jess fired.

  He got the dog in mid-body, as close as he dared come to the child. The dog howled, dropped its prey, and rushed toward Jess. He got it between the eyes.

  There, Billy!

  The dog crashed to the floor. The parents rushed to their son, who screamed and wailed but at least that meant he was alive. The living room seemed full of blood, although that was an illusion, there wasn’t that much blood, how much blood was too much…

  He was light-headed.

  Jess grabbed the window sill, trying to steady himself. A shard of glass pierced his left hand, sinking deep. More blood. The dog lay still on the blue wall-to-wall carpet. Definitely mostly Great Dane, often praised as the “gentle giant” of the dog world.

  Sure. Right.

  » 58

  Mr. Davis screamed, “What kind of idiot leaves a gun under a bed in a house full of kids!" Then he crashed to the floor.

  Allen could barely hear him; the sound of the gun rang over and over in his ears. Then he saw blood on Mr. Davis’s face. Oh God God God… he’d killed him! But Mr. Davis lurched to his knees, blood gushing from his head, and grabbed the gun away from Allen. “You okay, kid?”

  “I…I….” Oh God God God….

  “Stop blubbering, it just grazed me and anyway I been shot before. In fact, this is the second time in a week.”

  “Wow,” Jimmy breathed, and despite his panic, Allen was impressed, too. But Mr. Davis’s face was screwed up with pain and the blood still ran down his head. On the bed, Susie barked once, feebly, and leaned over to lick Allen’s face.

  Susie. They would take Susie and—

  “Don’t cry, all right?” Mr. Davis said. He swiped at the blood, smearing it on his hand but not stopping it at all. “Them girls are making enough n
oise already. Hey, stop it, you two!”

  Tammy and LaVerne stood screaming in the doorway. Jimmy, suddenly taking charge, yelled at them, “Call 911! Get some towels!”

  “No, don’t call 911,” Mr. Davis said irritably. “Just get the damn towels.”

  The twins didn’t move. They didn’t stop screaming, either. Jimmy pushed them aside, galloped off, and returned with two crumpled towels. Mr. Davis mopped at his head with one. The towel came away red, and he dropped it and wrapped the other one around his head.

  Jimmy said, “You look dumb like that. Like a girl that just washed her hair or something. Are you going to give my dad his gun back?”

  “Shut up,” Mr. Davis said. “Allen, how long has your dog had that milky white stuff in her eyes?”

  “He don’t know, he hasn’t been here,” Jimmy said importantly. “I been taking care of Susie!”

  Mr. Davis looked at Allen, who was too petrified to reply. What would they do to him? It was probably a crime to shoot someone—they might send him to jail! And then what would they do with Susie?

  “Fine,” Mr. Davis said, turning to Jimmy, “I’ll talk to you. How long has the dog had that white milky stuff in its eyes?”

  “Since the disease started—right, Allen?”

  Allen found his voice. “Susie’s not an ‘it’!”

  Mr. Davis briefly closed his eyes. “Fine. ‘She.’ Has Susie bitten anybody since the milky stuff appeared?”

  “No,” Jimmy said. “She don’t even growl or snap.”

  “Not at all? Ever?”

  “Not even once.” Jimmy looked proud, as if this were his accomplishment.

  Mr. Davis spoke to Allen. “How’d you keep her from being picked up when she was supposed to be? Did your parents help you?”

  “No,” Allen said. “I…I hid her in a file drawer and gave her sleeping pills to stay quiet, until I got hurt and had to go to the hospital. Then—”

  “Then I brought her over here!” Jimmy said. “It was me!”