Nigh

by Zachary Leeman

  I stand by myself to the side until the EMT walks in my direction with two weapons. He hands one to me, which I hesitantly take. The thing is heavy and strange to my touch. Something about holding it for the first time in that crowd feels wrong. I try to get comfortable, but I am a stranger to its every inch.

  “Don’t worry. Brand new,” the EMT says. “Alright, let’s go get some ammo and then we are ready to go, bud.” He walks off and, for one odd reason or another, I feel like I have no choice but to follow.

  The EMT and everyone else loads their weapons inside. I watch the EMT load his and I mimic what I see. Loading the thing ends up being harder than it looks and it takes me a few tries.

  When people are finished, they begin filtering out to various vehicles parked behind the building. I’m parked in front. Before exiting the room, I hear every person cock their weapons. Out first, it’s a non-bothersome, almost pleasant sound. Then it’s like thunder. After the third or fourth, I jump every time I hear it and hope no one notices.

  We are on the road. Sitting in the passenger seat in my partner’s Jeep, I feel like I’m going to pass out. I feel like I’m losing time. I’m simply waking up in different moments, looking around wondering what exactly is happening to me.

  Before long, we are consumed by the night. One of the headlights is out and all I see in front of us is a fraction of the tore up road and the vague outline of a truck’s brake lights in front of us. I look over to what must be my friend by now and he’s smiling, showing off the dimples high on his scratchy face.

  I loosen my grip on the cold shotgun sitting between my legs because my hands are wet and slippery.

  The EMT pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one, nearly losing control of the wheel as he does and putting us into a ditch. He catches the steering wheel at the last minute and pushes the pack my way. My inability to answer tells him to put them away, so he does.

  “Dogs were never supposed to exist,” he says, taking a long and slow drag off his cigarette. He rolls the window down a bit to get rid of the ash and the air is cold and grimy. “They were man’s mistake. Did you know that?”

  He looks to me with saucer eyes for a moment and then turns his attention back to the road. He shows no sign of needing or wanting me to take part in his conversation.

  “There never used to be dogs. Just wolves. They had high levels of stress hormones in their blood. That kept them away from humans. It was a survival thing.”

  He finishes his cigarette and throws it out the window. I’m not sure if he smoked it at an alarming or a normal pace because time’s grip is no longer with me.

  “They were like us in the beginning. They hunted. They gathered. They fucked. They survived.”

  He lights a second cigarette from the pack, not offering one to me this time. He does a much better job keeping us on the road this time as he goes through the ritual of lighting the cigarette.

  “Eventually, we see an advantage to these things. We start giving them food and these wolves, they start trading their freedom for what they think is an easy life. They help us hunt and guard a village here and there and they get our scraps. They make good helpers and make people feel not so alone, I guess.”

  He takes a long and deep drag off the cigarette and exhales slowly.

  “That’s where it all changed, man. Once people have a little control, they suddenly want it all. We started killing off the wolves who couldn’t be trained or didn’t listen. We turned these animals against their own. We started breeding them, choosing who they fuck. Over time, this artificial selection starts turning these wolves into soft, domesticated dogs, completely dependent on people.”

  The EMT is halfway through his second cigarette when he gives it a look of disgust and throws it out the window. He rolls his window back up and the car suddenly feels half the size it was before.

  “We took evolution into our own hands and created Frankenstein monsters all because we wanted to feel loved, validated, needed. Our weakness bred theirs and now, now they don’t know what the fuck they are.”

  We sit in silence for what I think is the next minute or so. The EMT is lost in his own world and I am trying to understand what he’s saying and what we are doing.

  “There were some big spottings where we’re going now. Supposed to be one of the biggest groups yet,” my partner says.

  His eyes are only scarcely paying attention to the road now. He is more fidgety and fiery and it only gets worse as he keeps talking.

  “See, they don’t want to talk about it, man. The News, people, what’s left of our so-called leaders, nobody wants to talk about it because it’s just one more thing, one more fucking thing that might make people just snap and we’ve already seen plenty of that, am I right?” He turns to me quickly and then laughs to himself. I can feel my forehead and my back getting wet and tight.

  My breaths are getting more and more shallow as the car picks up speed. We start hitting bad bumps as we move onto a dirt road and the shotgun starts rattling around between my legs. I’m forced to grab it with both hands to keep it from moving.

  “See, man, the dogs, all the animals really, but especially the fucking dogs, they started acting weird a few weeks after The News. I started seeing attacks all over. Then they started going wild, domestic pets running into the woods, getting into groups and attacking people, hunting. Crazy shit.” I look to my chauffeur and think I finally understand what we are here to do. It starts sinking its way into my skin like the sharp metal tip of a knife.

  “I’ve never heard of any of this,” I manage to say, though I don’t recall thinking it before the words leave my mouth.

  “That’s because they don’t want to talk about it, man. There’s groups like this everywhere though. Clank came and found me one day, handed me some cards, told me to come out with him one night. I did...and you know what?” He turns to me, his foot pushing the gas pedal farther down, “for the first time since The News, I felt like I was doing something that fucking mattered,” he laughs hard after a beat and then turns his attention back to the road.

  “Been recruiting ever since,” he then says with a howl.

  I look down at the shotgun between my legs. It’s warmer now to the touch, still mechanical and foreign, but warmer.

  “You kill the dogs,” I say, not sure if I’m asking it or just saying it so I can help my brain and body and heart understand.

  “We kill the dogs,” he says with a smile that makes my bones rattle and ache. “Here we go.”

  The car slows down and then the one headlight goes out. Soon, we are at a crawl. I lean forward and try to look out the windows, but it’s so damn dark. I think I see the outline of trees and hear the crunching of leaves and sticks beneath the car tires but I can’t be sure.

  After a few more moments, we stop. I can hardly make out the truck in front of us and then I start hearing the closing of doors echoing through the night. Then I see the sudden flare of flashlights.

  The driver side door opens and the EMT looks at me and says, “just stay close.”

  He hands me a flashlight. I take it and wait for him to get out of the car before I exit.

  The gun is so damn heavy. I’m surprised by how heavy it is. It can’t be more than a few pounds, but my wrists and shoulders burn from the weight of it. I put the flashlight in my belt because there are enough other lights slicing through the night. I see two people take out electric tape and roughly attach their flashlights to their guns. I think about asking for some tape, but I then I tell myself it might be better to stay quiet.

  The doctor-looking guy from before, the one I think is at the head of this little group, starts talking and everyone gathers around him.

  “Alright, about a half mile into the woods that way is where a whole pack was spotted near some sort of cave. It’s big. A pack of at least twenty.”

  “Twenty,” I hear myself say, mistakenly assuming I would only think it. A few eyes turn to me and then back to the doctor. The EMT gives me
a light slap on the shoulder.

  “This is big, boys. Biggest one yet. We all know why we do this.” Everyone nods and then the doctor gives a nod himself and starts leading the way. The EMT and I stay to the back of the group.

  Everyone moves in a rough tactical fashion from what I can see. Their heads are on a swivel, their guns at the ready, their backs arched. Every ten feet or so The EMT turns around and scans the darkness behind us as if he’s checking to see if we are being followed.

  We walk slow, noises like the crunching of the ground at a minimum.

  I watch my own feet and where I’m stepping to try and remain as silent as the others.

  When I look up, the shadows of the forest grab hold of my eyesight and don’t let go. I don’t see the EMT. I don’t see the flashlights. My heart tickles the edges of my throat and I feel like a fool.

  I’m going to die alone in the dark in these woods, I think. I am a fool. After a moment of staring into the endless blackness and listening to the nothingness of the night, it all feels eerily appropriate. I should have known this was how I would go when I first heard The News. This is how we all eventually go, I think.

  I’m about to slump and fall to my knees and let the night cradle me to death when a thundering crack rings out and jumps the hairs on my neck. I duck down, my eyes frantically scanning the solid blackness of the night.

  I see nothing and then there’s a flash not too far ahead to my right. It looks like a beam from a flashlight. Then I remember, like an idiot, the flashlight in my belt. I pull it out and the light quickly and brutally cuts into the blackness in front of me.

  My feet are slapping against mud and cracking against debris when another thundering crack cuts its way through the air and it’s louder this time.

  I stop for a moment, my body hesitating, my heart thumping against my ribs and then I start moving again, following the light from my hand and moving to the group of lights I see ahead of me.

  I make it five feet or so and then something stops me. I feel a presence before I see anything. I move my light around and then see it. Its eyes hit me first. They are wide and scared. It stands frozen in fear waiting for my next move.

  For a moment, I feel my hand lifting the heavy gun, but I stop myself. The dog makes no move to attack me or to run; it’s more threatened and scared than anything else. The animal jumps and lurches forward when a bang cuts through the silence between us. I don’t jump this time.

  I look back to it and it seems ready to run, but its eyes are still glued to me.

  I start moving away from the dog, its eyes on me the whole time. I walk past it slowly trying to let it know I don’t want to hurt it. Another bang cuts through the night and then another. I don’t jump either time, but the dog does. It watches me until I’m maybe ten feet away from it. I turn my eyes and attention in front of me. Then I hear its small paws scurrying against the ground.

  Once I know it's gone, I move a little faster to the noises and the lights. There’s another bang and then another. I’ve never heard a shotgun go off and the closer I get, the more I realize it's a noise that envelops all your attention, grabs hold of your brain and heart and temporarily enslaves you to its power.

  I come to an opening in the trees. I turn my flashlight off when I see the spot illuminated from other lights. I hear another bang and another. I don’t jump. My eyes move to the center of the opening.

  Everyone is standing in a circle. In the middle of the group are four dogs. Each of them are different breeds. I recognize one as a golden retriever and the three others are breeds I don’t know. They are each covered by so much dirt that it’s hard to tell.

  The dogs don’t notice me, and neither do the men. They are all too distracted. Even the EMT, his face completely consumed by what is happening, doesn’t turn to acknowledge my presence.

  One person in the group, a heavier set man with a big mustache, holds up his shotgun, takes aim and then fires with precision. The discharge of the gun smokes the air and makes my ears ring.

  I look to the middle again at the dogs and I see one of them, the golden retriever, fall as his entrails begin separating from his body. He yelps a little and then tries to again, but nothing comes out the second time.

  When he finally falls and his eyes go blank is when I notice what he falls on. He and the three other dogs are standing on a pile of what Cassie and the neighbor dog looked like. The flies are there and the blood is black.

  I want to look to the EMT, to the men to make some sense of what is happening, but I can’t. My face, my body, my brain, my everything is plastered to the pile of fur and red and slimy insides in front of me.

  “Finish them off,” I hear someone say. I look up and see it’s the doctor leader talking. His eyes are set on the dogs.

  Then everyone slowly, and surprisingly in sync, lifts their shotguns and aims. I look at the three dogs pacing about yelping and whining in hushed tones. They know there’s no escape. They stand on the proof that they are going to die.

  Then I hear a bang and I watch as blood and fur briefly fill the air. The shot misses and hits a dead carcass. Then there’s another bang and another. Then all I hear is the screaming of the weapons.

  I watch the dogs die, explode and join the rest of their pack. They slump into the pile. When I know the three dogs are gone, I’m surprised to continue hearing guns firing and the metallic click of shotguns being reloaded.

  Blood and fur and insides I’m not able to identify open and liquefy. The pile turns to dirty soup in front of my eyes. I look to the EMT who fires and fires smiling that same smile I recognize from the ride over. Some of the others smile like him, while others just look on with precision and dedication.

  I look back to the pile and try to remember the rotting face of Cassie. The shots slow down and a final bang occurs and then metallic clicks from empty guns fill the air. My eyes fall to my own fully loaded shotgun.

  234 days left

  Where are we going, daddy?

  You’ll see. You’ll like it.

  Daddy, tell Tom to stop poking me!

  Tom, stop it.

  I’m bored.

  We’ll be there soon.

  It goes on like this for hours.

  I nearly turn on the radio a handful of times without thinking. Ann stops me, gently pulling my hand back each time. In my final reach for it, she grabs my wet palm and holds it tightly in her own. She forces a quick smile my way, and I force one back.

  When we stop for gas, Ann agrees to stay by the car with the kids while I go inside to pay and get food.

  At the counter, I watch a television hanging from the ceiling for a couple minutes with the station attendee who gives little attention to me.

  I stop before walking out the front door and look through the window and see the kids running in the dirt parking lot, kicking up a cloud of dust they nearly disappear into. I don’t know whether I should envy or pity them.

  I walk back to the car and give my wife a small kiss. I can taste her doubt.

  Back on the road, the kids return to annoying each other and periodically asking me where we are going. I go to reach for the radio dial again, but stop myself this time. I look over to Ann, whose face is glued to the passing world outside. I grab her hand and hold it. She keeps her eyes out the window.

  When we finally arrive, I stay in the car while everyone else gets their things and heads toward the house.

  Sounds of mom humming to herself while sitting with a book on the front steps creep their way into my mind, along with the various buzzing and sawing and crunching sounds my father would make as he constantly worked on the place. My brother’s feet beating against the soft ground on the way to the lake are the last thing that flickers through my head before I push myself out of the car.

  The kids run, amazed by the open space. I’ve never brought them here before.

  Ann walks out of the house and stands in the doorway looking at me. The last time we were here together was before the kids.
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  Ann and I unpack the Jeep while Tom and Lucy run around fighting with sticks and chasing squirrels they think they see. The most trees they’ve seen in one place before today would have been the city park.

  I unpack water, canned food, everything I managed to grab in my rush to escape. I slowly put everything away, ticking off the days in my head that we will be able to stay here and not have to go into town.

  When everything is away, Ann walks back outside. I stay behind and pull the gun out of my waistband. I hide it underneath the mattress in the bedroom with mine and Ann’s things in it.

  I walk to the front porch and watch Ann tossing a partly deflated football with Tom and Lucy.

  I remember falling in love with her, but I don’t remember the exact moment. Some people say they remember things like that, but I think that’s bullshit.

  Her eyes catch mine and what appears to be a genuine smile crawls across her face. She walks over to me and kisses me and puts her arms around me.

  Lucy runs in front of us and asks what’s for dinner.

  Hungry? Ann asks. Lucy nods her head.

  Well, your brother and you can help me. Lucy yells for Tom and they both follow their mother inside. When Ann’s hands drop from my shoulders and the three of them disappear, I feel more alone than I think I’ve felt my entire life.

  I pull my phone out to see there is no signal. I sit in the quiet of the woods while the sun begins to disappear and wonder what I’m going to do next.

  We eat dinner mostly in silence. Tom says he wants to watch TV, but I tell him it doesn’t work and I’ll fix it as soon as I can. When we are done eating, I tell the kids that if they help clean up, I’ll teach them to skip rocks.

  While they wash the dishes, I leave my wife and walk into our bedroom and sit alone. I look at the walls and try to empty my mind.