by M. D. Massey
“What do you think has them running like that?”
I chewed my lip and stared as the last one darted across the road. “No idea, but it has to be bad.” I turned to Bobby. “Follow them and snag a straggler. Gabby and I will set up in that greenhouse we saw a few miles back and meet you there.”
Bobby arched an eyebrow, then shrugged and slipped away soundlessly. Gabby looked at me, and I tilted my head toward the direction we’d come from. I took off at a trot, and she followed in silence.
Half an hour later, we were questioning the punter Bobby had snatched. He was a youngish guy—early twenties, rangy and dangerous-looking in a rat-faced sort of way. He was wearing a long black trench coat and Doc Martens, along with a filthy pair of jeans and two sliced up concert t-shirts layered one over the other. A spiked dog collar topped off the whole “Sid Vicious in the apocalypse” look. Based on the condition of the boots and coat compared to his other clothes, I figured he’d salvaged or stolen them recently; they were almost serviceable.
We tied him to a rickety aluminum lawn chair with a length of garden hose, inside a greenhouse that had probably fed a lot of people before the War. Holes in the roof provided moisture for the plants inside, which were now overgrown and neglected. Wildlife had eaten most of the bounty, but Gabby had found a few overripe tomatoes that had escaped their notice. She was sitting atop a table off to the side, eating them with the juice running down her chin and fingers.
Our guest was staring at her, which I suppose he preferred over staring at me or Bobby. Bobby was slowly shredding the table he was sitting on with his nails, which at the moment were longer and sharper than they had a right to be. Skritch. Skritch. Skritch. In the short time since he’d arrived with the punter, Bobby had generated quite a pile of splinters and wood shavings.
I had to admit, for a goofy surfer kid, he sure knew how to put the fear in someone.
I walked around behind the guy and placed my hands on his shoulders. He stank of sweat, body odor, and cooked human flesh. I wasn’t going to let him live, but he didn’t know that. Although, if he had half a brain he’d assume the same. I leaned over his shoulder and whispered in his ear.
“What were you running from?”
He broke like a toppled gum ball machine, with words spilling all over the place. “Oh, is that all you want to know? Man, I thought you were going to eat me or something. Shit. You nearly had me pissing my pants over here.”
He craned his neck to look back at me, but I was gone, already stalking around his other side. Before he turned his head back to see where I’d disappeared to, I slammed my hands down over his wrists on the arms of the lawn chair. I leaned in close, close enough to smell his rank breath. He shied away from the look in my eyes, and despite the chill in the air, a bead of sweat drew a lazy line down his forehead.
“Talk,” I growled.
“Okay, no problem. I’ll tell you why we’re running, and this is no bullshit.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, then opened them and let it out. “It’s them demon dogs, man.”
Gabby chortled and nearly spit out a mouthful of tomato. Bobby stopped scratching the table and stared at the guy. Wild dogs and coywolves could be an issue to lone travelers, but they tended to shy away from large groups and settlements. I picked up my left foot and placed it ever so gently right on top of the punter’s nut sack, and leaned in a little. He groaned and tried to scoot back in the seat to relieve the pressure.
“I’m serious, man! No bullshit—these mean-ass demon dogs have been attacking us. They look kind of like regular dogs, like German Shepherds or Rottweilers or some crap like that. ’Cept they’re not dogs—at least, not like any I’ve seen.”
Gabby frowned and spoke up from where she sat. “What the hell are you going on about?”
The punter blinked and shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
He looked down at my boot on his crotch. I relieved the pressure and nodded. “Go on.”
He let out a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes as he grimaced before relaxing somewhat. “It started about a week ago. People were going missing at night. First one, then two, then more. We could never see what was doing it, and we started locking ourselves in at night. Then, they came for us during the day.
“I’m telling you, these freaking things are pure evil. They’re mean as hell, they never bark, and their eyes glow like you’re shining a light at them, even in the daytime.”
Bobby scratched his head and took a deep breath. “They don’t sound like werewolves, that’s for sure. Sounds more like Cujo to me.”
The guy shook his head vigorously. “No, these ain’t no ’thropes—but they’re smart. They worked together to separate a few of our people from the group. Then, they tore them to shreds. But they never eat anything they kill; they just leave it there to rot. So, after half of us got killed by ’em, we all grabbed our shit and split. They’ve been following us and picking the rest of us off ever since.”
Of course, a part of me remained skeptical about his story. But if this punter was telling the truth, there might be a new threat in the area. I racked my brain and tried to recall whether I’d ever heard of this happening before. Something niggled the back of my mind, but I just couldn’t make the connection. I pulled up a stool in front of him, and leaned forward on my elbows.
“Tell me more about these dogs. In fact, tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out.”
RATS
I interrogated the guy for the better part of an hour, trying to see if he’d change his story or alter the timeline in any way under pressure or fatigue. But he stuck to the same story, same facts, and same descriptions of the mysterious dog attacks that had been plaguing their punter group for days.
When I was through with him, I walked to the other side of the greenhouse and beckoned Bobby and Gabby to follow.
“So, what do you two think about his story?”
Bobby shrugged. “As far as I can tell, he’s not lying. I’d say he believes what he’s telling us, every single word.”
I nodded. “Gabby, what’s your opinion?”
Gabby rubbed her chin with her thumb and forefinger, staring off into space. “I don’t know, Scratch. I agree that he’s telling the truth. But as far as what these things are, it’s anybody’s guess.” She inhaled quickly and let her breath out through pursed lips. “But one thing’s for sure—those punters were running from something. I suppose anything is possible.”
I scratched my head. “Have either of you ever heard of anything like this before?”
Bobby nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. Well, I mean, not like this—but I’ve seen some strange stuff that’s at least as weird as what we just heard.”
Gabby frowned and looked at Bobby with suspicion. “Like what?”
He crossed his arms and tilted his head at her. “Would you be surprised to know that I’ve met a chupacabra?”
Gabby rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh boy, here we go with this story again.” She must have seen the confusion on my face, because she turned to me and grinned. “Oh, you haven’t heard about this yet? Bobby claims to have spent several days traveling with a chupacabra. He claims the thing latched on to him like a groupie and wouldn’t leave him alone.”
She circled a finger in the air next to her head and made a dopey expression. “I think maybe he ate some peyote by accident, and dreamed the whole thing.”
Bobby stuck his palm out in front of her face. “Fine, believe what you want. But when those little goat-suckers show up to drink your blood from between your toes, don’t come crying to me.”
I momentarily tried to make sense of what he’d just said, then realized making sense out of any of the crazy stuff Bobby said was an exercise in futility. I shook my head and sighed. “Toe-sucking chupacabras? I don’t even want to know.”
Gabby smirked again. “Anyway, getting back to what we were talking about a minute ago. I know someone who was a hunter before the War, kind of like R
abbi Manny but not as weird. He doesn’t live too far from here; maybe we could take a detour and ask him if he’s ever heard of something like these perros diablos?”
I rubbed my neck. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. How far?”
Gabby shrugged. “Fifteen miles, maybe. It’s north and just a little past Canyon Lake. Maybe we could stop in and see Bernie and Margaret while we’re at it?”
Truth be told, I really just wanted to get back to a warm bunk and sleep for a couple of days straight. Plus, I was eager to see how the Colin’s Wild Boys had fared in ferrying the settlers we rescued back to the Facility. But considering what an asshole I’d been lately, I couldn’t see any reason to say no to the side trip.
“Alright, we’ll head over to see your friend, and we can stop by Canyon Lake on the way.”
Bobby rubbed his hands together with glee. “Yes! Margie sure can cook a mean fish soup. I get dibs on fish heads!”
Gabby chose to ignore Bobby’s gonzo outburst and instead gestured at the punter sitting across the greenhouse from us. He was eyeing us warily, and looked to be fairly worried about his immediate future.
“What should we do with him?” she asked me with concern in her voice.
I thought about it for a moment, and realized I was too tired to want to kill the kid—cannibal or not. “Cut him loose. He’s not worth the trouble to kill, and I don’t want to draw any vamps on our trail by leaving blood behind.”
Her shoulders dropped slightly at my response, and Bobby let out a small sigh of relief. I hadn’t noticed how tense they were until they registered my response. It made me wonder just how much of a flake I’d been, to put these two on edge over the last few days.
Gabby was about to release our prisoner when I grabbed her shoulder to stop her. “You know what? I’ll do it, while you and Bobby plan a route to your friend’s place. Besides, the less I hear Mr. Motormouth jabber about eating fish heads, the better.”
Bobby grinned ear to ear. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on, Scratch. I’m telling you, sucking the eyeballs out is the best part.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass. I ate enough weird stuff when I was in the military. I’ll tell Margie to give you my share.”
Bobby slapped me on the back. “You’re a real pal, Scratch.”
I nodded slowly. “Don’t mention it.”
We hiked west and arrived at the Canyon Lake settlement around noon. Other than a few shamblers who tagged along, the trip itself was uneventful. Margie gave us all hugs as we walked up to the docks, and Bernie gave me a firm handshake and an appraising look after I escaped Margie’s grasp.
“You look like hell.”
I nodded. “I feel like hell, Bernie.”
“Well, the world’s not kind, but I have some scotch that’ll fix that right up.” He headed to the main building and motioned for me to tag along. I followed after him, leaving Bobby and Gabby to his wife’s kind ministrations.
Once inside, we headed up to the deck to sip whiskey while we made small talk. Eventually, Bernie broke the ice.
“So, you going to tell me what tore you up and spat you out since we seen you last?”
I looked out the window and cleared my throat. “You remember where we were headed, right? To save my girl Kara and the rest of the settlers?”
He sipped his whiskey. “I do. And, as I recall, I said you were headed into a shit storm. I take it things didn’t go so well?”
I shrugged. “We got most of the settlers back, at least the women and children. There’s some of your people in the group we rescued, Bernie. Sorry that I forgot to ask names before they left for the Facility.”
He smiled. “That is good news. Marge will be glad to hear it. Can you find out who made it when you get back, and let us know?”
“Be glad to.” I paused and downed my glass. Screw sipping. “Took out the Corridor Pack, too.”
He let out a slow, high whistle. “Impressive. However, I sense a large ‘but’ coming.”
“But Kara didn’t make it—at least, not entirely.”
He let out a sigh. “She turn?”
I nodded slowly. “Vampire.”
“Sheee-it.” He poured me two more fingers of scotch. “I hate it for you, son.”
“Thanks, Bernie. It means a lot.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the whiskey and the cool air, until Bernie broke the calm again. “You know you have to get your shit together for those two kids, right?”
He gave me a fatherly look and waited for a response. When I gave none, he continued.
“After Marge and I realized that chances were slim to none of seeing our kids and grandkids again, we could have fallen apart. I nearly did, but Marge wasn’t having it. People had already started showing up around here, and Marge said they needed looking after. So, that’s what we did.
“Life in the Marines taught me that you don’t have time for pity parties and other emotional bullshit when there’s a job to do. And right now, your job is looking after those kids. Sure, they’re both tough as nails, but they’re following you because of who you are.” He raised his glass to me and downed his scotch. “Don’t lose sight of that.”
I gave a short nod. “Point taken. I won’t.”
He stood up and clapped me on the shoulder. “Good. Now, let’s eat.”
After lunch, we politely declined their offer to spend the night, on the excuse that we had someone else to visit and a long walk back to the Facility. They declined my offer to come back to the Facility with us, so I promised to bring back any of their friends who wanted to return, just as soon as I was able. Marge wiped a tear from her eye and kissed my cheek.
“You’re a good man, Scratch Sullivan, for bringing them back. Don’t ever let anyone tell you any different.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, Marge. Hopefully I’ll have some company for you, next time I stop in.”
She grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t make it too long.”
“I won’t.” After an extended goodbye, we headed out in a northwesterly direction. I let Gabby take the lead, as she was the only one who knew where we were headed. A few hours later, we came up on a small, walled settlement. I’d seen it a few times on trips to the Badlands and Corridor, but had never stopped in since their sentries didn’t look too friendly. Folks living this close to the Corridor tended to be jumpy, and it just wasn’t worth the risk to try to make friends.
Technically, Bernie and Margie’s place was in the Badlands, that space between the former safe zones and the Corridor that few people cared to travel. But it was so isolated, I doubted they ever had much trouble before the Corridor Pack came through, except maybe from punters. On the other hand, the settlement Gabby had led us to was on the edge of the safe zone territory. It was still dangerous country, but not so bad that good walls and a few snipers couldn’t make it work.
We walked up to the gate in full sight, with the gate sentries’ rifles trained on us the whole time. Once we got close enough for them to recognize faces, the guard hollered a welcome to Gabby and let us in.
The person on guard duty was a short, powerfully-built woman with close-cropped hair and a weathered face. “Didn’t think we’d ever see you again, little one,” she said as we entered the gate. She leaned in and whispered to Gabby as she passed. “I don’t think you’re very welcome here, despite what you did. My advice is that you don’t stay too long.”
Gabby gave her a serious look. “I don’t intend to, Kate. Thanks for the warning, though. Is Paco around?”
She laughed. “Same place that old coot always is, when he’s not tending the pigs.” She pointed across the courtyard to a shaded area with rough-hewn benches, where an old Latino man was smoking a pipe. “Where he gets tobacco from is beyond me. We never see him leave the compound, yet he always has a full pipe. Damnedest thing, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say he was some sort of magician.”
Gabby chuckled. “That wouldn’t surprise me. We’ll be out
of your hair in no time—I just want to say hi to Paco for a minute.”
“Sure thing, kid,” she answered, before leaning in and whispering again. “Just remember what I said, alright? I don’t want any trouble.”
I noticed that Gabby had been pointedly ignoring a stocky girl staring at us from the back porch of the main house. “There won’t be. At least, not on my part.”
As we walked across the yard, a young red-haired boy of maybe ten years of age came running out of the house.
“Gabby!”
Gabby turned with a wry smile on her face as the kid jogged up to us, huffing and puffing with the exertion. For a kid living in the apocalypse, this one sure didn’t miss many meals.
“Hi, Raleigh,” Gabby said quietly.
He screwed his face up in consternation, but apparently he wasn’t good at being mad at people. It wasn’t long before he cracked a grin, then grabbed Gabby in a big bear hug… much to her discomfort, based on the look of surprise on her face.
“Hi nothing, Gabby,” he said as he let her go and stepped back. “You left without saying goodbye.”
One glance at Gabby’s body language, and the way the girl on the porch was giving us the evil eye, made it easy to see why Gabby had left in a rush. Her eyes dropped to the ground as she replied.
“I know, Raleigh, and I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stick around any longer. I had to find—well, I had things to do.”
Raleigh looked over his shoulder at the girl on the porch and stuck out his tongue. “I know Vi chased you off. She told me as much after you’d left. Still, you could have said goodbye.”
Gabby chewed her lip. “I hate goodbyes.”
The boy seemed to ignore her response, suddenly becoming animated and gesticulating wildly. He looked back and forth at Bobby and me and began chattering a mile a minute.
“Hey, you must be Gabby’s friends did she tell you she saved my life from the Boogey Man ’cept it wasn’t a Boogey Man it was this thing that ate kids and she tricked it and saved me and a bunch of other kids and it was awesome and she burned the place down and nearly got herself killed and this werewolf broke her arm and was going to eat her but Paco”—he stopped to take a small, quick breath as he pointed at the old man sitting in the shade—“Paco shot the werewolf and he even had a broken leg because he fell down a mountain.”
