by Wayne Smith
Thor ignored him. Uncle Ted might be a part of the Pack, but he hadn’t established any clear rank, let alone dominance over Thor. Thor felt no obligation to obey him.
Uncle Ted was beginning to look as nervous as a cornered animal. He stepped toward Thor and slowly, tentatively, reached for his collar. Before his hand came within two feet of Thor’s face, Thor’s upper lip curled, showing his fangs, and a low growl rumbled from deep in his throat.
Uncle Ted wisely withdrew his hand, as slowly as he’d extended it. He was running out of time.
He had to do something, and fast; the sky was completely dark, and he thought he saw the edge of the moon peeking over the horizon. Where was Tom? Why did he leave the dog out? He took a nervous step toward the house, but Thor quietly snarled an ultimatum: The only way he was entering the house was over Thor’s dead body.
Uncle Ted bit his lip and rubbed his chin nervously, then slowly turned and walked back to the garage, trying not to run. If he ran, Thor would chase him. If Thor chased him, he would catch him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen next.
But things were going to start happening soon, whether he moved or not. The top of the moon was just visible on the horizon.
Thor followed him to the garage stairs and let him walk up the stairs by himself.
Something odd was happening. Uncle Ted’s scent was changing, and he was glancing at his hands and touching his face every few seconds. He reached the apartment door and was about to go inside when the kitchen door opened and Dad stepped onto the back stoop.
“Thor!” Dad called. “C’mon in! Bedtime!”
Thor looked at Dad, then at Uncle Ted. He stood frozen, torn between obedience and instinct.
“THOR!” Dad repeated sternly. His tone of voice broke the deadlock.
Thor’s sense of Duty told him to disobey, but in a rare flash of insight, he realized disobedience would land him in the cellar again, totally unable to protect the Pack. He mewled loudly, pitifully, and walked to the house, glancing over his shoulder at the Bad Dog the whole way.
He came within a few feet of the back steps and stopped. Looking straight at Dad, he barked three of four times in an attempt to convey the seriousness of his mission, but Dad showed no sign of understanding.
“Come on!” Dad snapped. More strange behavior from the dog. More cause for concern. He took a deep breath and said, as patiently as possible, “Get in here.” He wanted to give the mutt every chance to redeem himself.
Thor knew he was dangerously close to the edge. Whining his dissent, he climbed the stairs into the kitchen and sat down with a disgusted grunt. He looked directly at Dad with accusing eyes. He couldn’t see the garage from his position, but he knew what was happening outside.
Dad looked at him oddly and slowly shook his head.
“What’s with you?” he said, wishing the dog could answer. He closed the kitchen door with his back to the yard, facing Thor. If he had looked over his shoulder at that moment, he would have seen Uncle Ted running for the woods as if the devil himself were on his tail.
Dad squatted down and scratched the thick fur on the back of Thor’s neck. Thor’s eyes involuntarily closed from the pleasure of Dad’s touch, but he forced them open to look pleadingly at Dad.
“You be a Good Dog, all right?” Dad said as he petted Thor gently. Thor whined at him for a second, then gave up. It was hopeless and he knew it.
Satisfied, Dad got up and went to bed. It was way past his bedtime, and Mom was waiting for him.
Thor sat in the kitchen until Dad was out of sight, then ran to the back door, stood up against it with his paws on the windowsill, and scanned the yard outside.
Uncle Ted was gone and the Bad Thing had arrived. He could feel it. It was out there somewhere, and the Pack was in danger.
His instincts told him he should be with the Pack, but he was at a distinct disadvantage as long as he was inside the house. The Bad Thing was bigger and possibly stronger than himself, and he would need complete freedom of movement to fight it. The house made him vulnerable, and worse yet, it doors separated him from the Pack members. The best way to protect the Pack was to keep the Bad Thing from getting in, and the best way to keep it from getting in was to kill it outside.
But he could only get outside if someone opened the door, and he dared not bark to be let out. He knew what would happen if he barked, and he couldn’t afford it. It was an impossible situation, and now it was completely out of his control.
The sense of the Bad Thing’s presence was growing stronger. The Bad Thing was coming. It was already closer to the Pack than it had ever been before. Thor darted from window to window, whining and mewling involuntarily, unable to contain his apprehension. He kept his mouth shut, but the sound came through his nose, high-pitched and fluctuating. It sounded like someone torturing a violin.
And the Bad Thing kept coming closer.
A stair creaked in the living room. A short, involuntary woof escaped Thor’s mouth as he dashed to the stairs, then relief washed over him; it was Brett.
But the Bad Thing was coming. It was dangerous here, and getting more dangerous by the second. Brett should be upstairs, preferably in Dad’s room. The whole Pack should be in Dad’s room. Thor tried to block Brett’s path with his body and push him back up the stairs with his nose, but Brett refused to be herded; he grabbed the bannister with both hands and pulled himself down.
“What’s wrong, boy?” he asked as he fought his way to the living room. “What’s the matter?” Brett had watched too many Lassie reruns on cable, and thought dogs could answer general questions with their actions.
Brett made it to the floor and started toward the kitchen, toward the approaching Bad Thing. Thor couldn’t block him on the open floor, and short of barking or threatening him, there was nothing he could do.
Desperate, he ran ahead to the kitchen door, stood on his hind feet with his forepaws on the window, and mewled frantically to warn Brett of the approaching danger, but Brett misunderstood.
“You wanna go OUT?” he said, approaching the door.
The word OUT hit Thor like ice water. He forgot about herding Brett to safety and jumped off the kitchen door, whining and fidgeting uncontrollably while he waited for Brett to open it. Brett’s hand seemed to move in slow motion as he reached for the doorknob. His fingers closed around it and twisted the knob. He began to pull the door open, and as soon as an inch of space appeared, Thor jammed his snout into it, wedged it open, and shot out, pushing the door into Brett so hard that it almost knocked him over. Before Brett regained his balance, Thor had crossed the yard and disappeared into the woods.
Brett had never seen Thor move so fast in his life.
* * * *
The Bad Thing wasn’t far. Thor sensed its presence, but only his nose could lead him to it. Uncle Ted’s scent trail was fading fast, replaced by the ever-growing scent of the Bad Thing, just like last night — except that last night, Uncle Ted’s scent didn’t fade out until he was deep in the forest. Tonight, the Bad Thing’s scent appeared almost as soon as Uncle Ted’s trail left the backyard. The urgency of the situation goaded Thor into running faster than his nose could follow the trail, and he had to stop and double back after overshooting points where the Bad Thing had changed direction. Fortunately the trail was leading deeper into the woods, away from the house.
A few hundred feet inside the forest, a glint of moonlight on the ground caught Thor’s eye. He stopped to check it out, and found Uncle Ted’s handcuffs lying on the ground. A few feet down the path lay his sweatpants and shirt. The shirt was ripped to shreds, and the pants were torn apart at the waistband. They smelled of Uncle Ted, but mostly they bore the powerful scent of the Bad Thing. Another yard, and Thor found first one running shoe, then the other. From that point on, no trace of Uncle Ted’s scent remained. Only the full-bodied, canine smell of the Bad Thing. It seemed to radiate malice.
The Bad Thing’s trail tended to follow the main jogging paths, bu
t occasionally took side trips through the bushes, as if the Bad Thing had spotted an animal and given chase. The bushes were fairly tall; the Bad Thing had forced its way through by breaking the branches in it path. Thor dropped his head between his shoulders and flattened his ears against his head, and ran through the underbrush much faster than the Bad Thing. He knew he could catch up with the Bad Thing in the underbrush, but when the trail returned to the open paths, the Bad Thing’s lead widened.
The moon was above the horizon but still low in the sky, and its slanted beams didn’t do much to light the forest. If the Bad Thing were waiting in ambush, Thor might not see it until too late. But he pushed on nonetheless. His Duty was more important than his own safety.
Without realizing it, he kept ongoing mental notes on the moon’s position in the sky, which told him where he was and where he was heading. The Bad Thing’s trail led him deep into the woods, where the scents of small animals were abundant. The Bad Thing was hunting.
He plunged deeper into the forest, running when he could, slowing only momentarily when he lost the trail. About half a mile in he found the remains of a raccoon, torn to pieces, but not eaten. Its body had been ripped apart and scattered all over the area.
The Bad Thing was hunting, but it wasn’t hungry. It was mad.
Suddenly Thor realized with a shock that the Bad Thing’s trail had been gradually changing direction, until it was now heading back toward the house.
That meant the Bad Thing was closer to the Pack than Thor.
The Pack was unguarded.
Still another mistake.
His first thought was to abandon the Bad Thing’s trail and run for the house, but he wasn’t sure where the house was. He knew it was in the general direction of the moon, but if he just ran toward the moon, he could come out of the forest a block or more away from the house. He had to catch up with the Bad Thing.
Luck smiled on him; the Bad Thing’s trail left the paths again. As long as the Bad Thing stayed off the main trails, Thor stood a good chance of catching up with it before it reached the house. He hurtled through the underbrush with the force of panic.
He knew the Bad Thing was going after the Pack — he didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. Could the Bad Thing have picked up the Pack’s scent from out here? Was that why it left the paths? It didn’t seem possible. Thor couldn’t find the Pack’s scent out here, and it was the most familiar scent in his world. When he’d seen the Bad Thing last night, the first thing he’d noticed was its puny, un-dog-like nose, no bigger than a human’s. And humans never seemed to smell anything. How did the Bad Thing know where to find the Pack?
Worse yet, the Bad Thing seemed to have deliberately waited until Thor was deep in the woods before doubling back — a very humanlike thing to do. How intelligent was the Bad Thing? Had it outsmarted him, deliberately luring him away from his Duty?
The troubling thought quickly faded from his mind, replaced by the urgent need to get home.
The Bad Thing’s trail suddenly rejoined a jogging path. Thor’s eyes had finally adjusted to the deep shadows of the undergrowth, and when he emerged onto the open path, the moonlight seemed as bright as day. He recognized the path immediately; he was about a quarter mile from the house. Knowing where all the tree roots and other obstacles lay, he charged down the path at full speed. Just as he hit his stride, a high-pitched screech pierced the night.
Fear cut through him like an icicle and a new surge of adrenalin pushed his legs still faster. He’d instantly recognized that awful shriek of pain and terror; it was Kitty. And Kitty never crossed the creek behind the house. If the Bad Thing got her, it was already in the Pack’s territory.
Thor felt like he was in a bad dream. He’d made nothing but mistakes, day after day, and now he’d been outmaneuvered away from the Pack, away from his Duty. The only way to correct his errors was through sheer muscle. If he didn’t reach the house before the Bad Thing got in, all was lost. He was only seconds away, but the Bad Thing was already there.
The forest flew past him in a dark blur.
Kitty shrieked again, a horrible cry that sent a stab of guilt and shame through him — he should have been there to protect her. But he also felt a shameful sense of relief — if the Bad Thing was still attacking Kitty, then it wasn’t in the house.
The trees thinned out as he ran, exposing more and more of the bright moon between their branches. Voices up ahead called out his name. He was almost out of the woods, almost there.
He could see the end of the path, and beyond it, the house. His breathing was hoarse and ragged and his legs ached, but he willed them to push still harder and run still faster.
He cleared the woods and leaped the brook between forest and yard in one bound. The yard shone bright under the full moon, and the upstairs windows of the house were ablaze with lights.
He didn’t waste time scanning the landscape for the Bad Thing; he went straight for the house, frantically examining it for signs of entry as he ran. A smeared white blotch flashed by in his peripheral vision as he passed the garage.
A dark furry figure was approaching the back door. Thor barked at full volume to alert the Pack and hopefully frighten the Bad Thing. But instead of running, the Bad Thing turned to face Thor. Thor locked eyes on the Bad Thing’s throat and leaped, but the Bad Thing’s foot swept up with lightning speed and struck Thor in the ribs, slamming him sideways into Mom’s car. Before he could regain his balance the Bad Thing kicked again, catching him with an uppercut to the jaw that made Thor’s vision blur and his legs wobble underneath him. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
A part of Thor’s mind told him the next blow would be fatal if he didn’t regain control, but the next blow didn’t come. Instead, bright lights burst from the Pack’s house, and the Bad Thing looked over its shoulder at them. A window opened noisily. Voices were calling Thor’s name. Thor shook himself, trying to clear his head. Another light went on in the house next door, suddenly bathing the Bad Thing’s face in its glare. Thor saw the glisten of Kitty’s blood on its mouth.
The sudden flood of light seemed to startle the Bad Thing. It turned, dashed to the fence and began to climb through the rails to the sheltering shadows of the neighbors’ yard, just as Thor’s mind came into focus.
Thor charged, targeting the Bad Thing’s trailing ankle. He calculated that the Bad Thing would be through the fence by the time he got there, and aimed himself at the space between the rails.
His calculation was dead on. As the Bad Thing pulled through, Thor’s head shot through the rails, jaws open and snapping viciously at the retreating ankle. His fangs sliced through the Bad Thing’s flesh and the smell of blood filled Thor’s nostrils, but his teeth caught only skin — not muscle and tendon, as he’d hoped.
Even so, it was the first thing he’d done right all day.
An open wound is a beacon. As long as the Bad Thing was bleeding, Thor could follow it over any distance and for any amount of time — as long as it took. There was no place the Bad Thing could hide from him. It was classic wolf hunting technique, honed and perfected over hundreds of thousands of years.
The Bad Thing let out a subdued yelp that only Thor heard. It twisted around and swung a clawed hand at Thor’s nose and glanced hatefully at Thor for the briefest instant before dashing across the neighbors’ yard and into the deep shadows of the hedges.
Another light came on in the neighbors’ house as the Bad Thing vanished into the hedges.
All the bedroom windows in the Pack’s house faced the backyard, with no view of the driveway. Thor’s encounter with the Bad Thing had almost gone unseen. He ran to the back of the house to check the faces in the windows, trying to tell if everyone was there and all right.
As far as he could see, they looked unhurt. But one was missing.
* * * *
In the lone bathroom window on the side of the house, Brett quietly retreated into the shadows, afraid the monster might see him. Then he ran to his bedroom
to see what Thor was doing in the backyard.
* * * *
With an overwhelming sense of relief, Thor saw Brett’s face appear next to Teddy’s in their bedroom window, just as Dad’s face disappeared from his. The Pack was whole — except for Kitty.
Thor turned to look for the Bad Thing in the neighbors’ yard, just as the kitchen lights went on and the back door opened, sending a near-blinding beam of light across the yard.
Dad stood in the doorway in Mom’s bathrobe and slippers, with a flashlight in one hand. Thor was glad to see him, but worried for his safety. He didn’t see or hear anything in the neighbors’ yard, which could mean the Bad Thing had left, or that it was sneaking back from another direction. Thor had no idea what to do next, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be lured away again. He should never have left the Pack alone in the first place — he should have stayed put and waited for the Bad Thing. He turned to Dad and barked a warning, but as always, Dad didn’t understand.
“What the hell is going on here?” Dad grumbled, obviously still half asleep.
Upstairs, Debbie and Mom looked out from Mom and Dad’s bedroom window. Debbie was crying, and Thor caught Kitty’s name between her sobs.
Dad stepped off the back stoop and walked straight toward the garage.
The Bad Thing could be back there!
Thor barked at him and dashed ahead to see if anything was hiding behind the garage, glancing over his shoulder in a wide circle to avoid an ambush.
The Bad Thing wasn’t there. But Dad was halfway across the yard and the kitchen door was wide open.
Thor barked frantically at Dad — what else could he do? He couldn’t let the Bad Thing get into the house, especially with Dad outside. He tried to block Dad’s path and barked furiously. Surely Dad must understand.
But Dad didn’t even slow down. He just acted annoyed.
Thor did what he could. He barked at Dad from the back door to call him back, then ran in front of Dad and barked to warn him off, his shepherding instincts in full command. But his barking only seemed to annoy Dad further.
