Karen dragged the leg she’d had hanging over the railing back as Sean pounced up, gripping the railing with both grimy hands and vaulting himself over onto the porch with the agility of a monkey.
He rolled on the plank floor of the porch, snarled up at Karen and scuttled over to Dusty. Karen reeled back a foot, intending to kick her brother square in the ribs before he was able to attack the dog. Her foot stopped mid-kick when she saw Dusty rush forward to meet him, yipping not with fear or fury, but happily, covering Sean’s face with long laps, tail wagging with excitement.
Sean, laughing, rolled around with the dog, though his eyes kept darting up to Karen, ensuring she had no intention of coming any closer.
She kept her distance, crying again now as she realized her brother was alive, but not her brother at all anymore, not really.
He was as wild as any animal now, scrawny to the point of emaciation, every bone joint in his body prominent, along with his ribs, collar and hip bones.
Crouching down, she kept her distance, but called to the dog, wanting Sean to see that if the dog trusted her, so could he.
It took saying her name nearly a dozen times, but Dusty finally turned from Sean and trotted over to Karen, giving her face a single tentative lap while Sean made a bleating sound of distress.
Another fat branch hit the roof of the porch and Dusty yelped, running back to Sean with her tail between her legs. He wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, looking up with terror.
“It’s safer inside,” Karen yelled over the wind, pointing to the open doorway. Sean looked into the kitchen beyond, then back at Karen. He didn’t know that behind him, still on the ground, Rory stood watching them, a smear of blood on his chin. Saul was just beginning to get up, his face screwed up in a grimace of pain.
Karen slowly made her way inside, stopping in the doorway to call to the dog again.
“Come here, girl. Come on, Dusty. It’s okay.”
Dusty looked from her to Sean, uncertain, and Sean grabbed her around her furry neck once more, pulling her to him, trying to keep her back. His eyes still darted to and fro and Karen realized he was more afraid of the house than he was the storm. She couldn’t much blame him in that regard. But she had a feeling that if she got the dog inside, the man would follow and what was the best way to get a hungry animal to come to you when it otherwise wouldn’t have?
She raised a hand to stop Saul and Rory from climbing back onto the porch. She could see they were whispering to each other and though she couldn’t hear their words she knew perfectly well they planned to jump Sean while he was focused on her. Jump and what? Subdue him somehow? Tie him up? Knock him out?
None of the things they could be thinking sounded as good to her as her own plan did and she gave them a pleading look, still holding up her hand. Then she showed them only her index finger: wait.
With deliberate slowness, she turned her back on Sean and went into the house. The instant she crossed into the kitchen, she hurried over to the fridge, pulled it open, and began rummaging for any kind of meat she could find. She knew there were steaks and frozen chicken in the freezer but she needed something that would smell better, not like ice. A deli package sat on the bottom shelf. She ripped it open as if it were she who was starving. Inside, slices of white turkey, untouched. Maybe as much as a pound.
Tossing aside the paper, she raced back to the door and was relieved to see Saul and Rory still on the ground, both of them covering their heads and gazing up worriedly. More branches tumbled down around them, occasionally clipping one or the other on the head, neck or shoulders. Karen tossed a slice of turkey at Dusty’s feet and the dog stretched out her neck to sniff before pulling herself free of Sean’s arms, gobbling down the meat in a single swallow. Smiling, Karen quickly threw down the next slice, closer to her own feet. The dog came forward, ate it even faster than she had the first slice.
Sean was making that horrible bleating sound again, arms outstretched, reaching for his only friend, begging her to come back.
Karen had to trust that he loved the dog enough to follow her inside, that his love for the animal would outweigh his fear of the house.
A third piece of meat thrown to the porch floor, then a fourth, each one a couple feet closer to the inside of the kitchen.
“Good girl, Dusty,” she cooed soothingly. “Good girl. Come on.”
And Dusty came.
Karen didn’t know why the dog had taken a liking to her. Perhaps she smelled similar to her brother? Was she automatically one of the pack due to her relation to Sean?
She didn’t suppose it mattered much. All that mattered was that her plan was working. The dog was coming…closer and closer…and Sean, perhaps thinking the kitchen door would slam shut and Dusty would be trapped alone in the house with strangers, came with her.
Another few slices of meat and the dog was in the kitchen, happy to be out of the wind, but still casting nervous glances over her shoulder at the open door, swallowing the meat whole.
Sean, crouched like a Neanderthal, hesitated in the doorway, but Karen continued to move backwards, moving out of the kitchen now and taking the dog with her. He hesitated, then scrambled forward into the kitchen, crab-like, hooting and crying, begging for his dog to return to his side.
Behind him, Saul and Rory appeared in the doorway, each sporting their separate battle wounds, effectively blocking Sean’s escape should he try to flee back into the storm.
Karen continued to feed the dog. They were backing into the living room now and the package of meat only had a few slices remaining.
But those few slices were all it took. Sean crept after them, keeping his body low, eyes focused on Karen as if she were about to do something awful to the dog and he would be ready for it, ready to lunge and take out her throat if need be.
Rory closed and locked the kitchen door, biting back the emotions warring on his face: relief and sorrow. Dusty swallowed the last bit of meat and when she realized there would be no more coming, spun around to return to Sean, happily, tongue lolling now. Sean smiled, started to turn and saw Saul standing there, hands upraised.
“Relax, Sean,” he said. “It’s me, Saul. You remember? Saul.”
But Sean clearly did not remember. He screamed and leapt, tackling Saul, driving him back against a wall with such force the nearby photographs hanging there weaved precariously on their nails.
Another fight ensued, Rory jumping forward, trying to restrain Sean, while Karen grabbed the dog and wrestled with her to keep her out of it.
Sean was screaming nonsense, but at one point Karen thought she heard the phrase “old man” come out of his mouth. But most likely, it was just jumbled sounds coupled with the wailing wind and the hammering branches continuing to batter the house.
A minute later and Saul and Rory had Sean down on the floor, pinning him there, saying reassuring things, but they needn’t have. He had stopped struggling and when Karen approached, leaning over to see his face, she saw that his eyes were open, but he was already gone. Not dead; his chest still rose and fell rapidly, but gone just the same. Gone somewhere deep inside his mind as effectively as if a curtain had fallen over his eyes.
She recognized the place because she herself had been there not long ago. Curled up inside herself so she knew nothing of her surroundings and that was just how she wanted it. And, she saw, how her brother wanted it too.
“Let him go,” she said.
Both men looked up at her, surprised.
“Not a good idea,” Saul said.
“Let him go!” she insisted and finally they obliged, standing up and stepping back, both of them ready to jump back down if they had to.