Matty only stared down at the scarcely moving dog, at the leaking mess of Dooley’s back.
“Is this what you wanted, ’Thena?”
She snatched the bottle from Pam, emptied the contents over the animal. “Damn it. I wish we had better light in here.”
Pam hovered uncertainly, still trembling a little and looking nauseated. She watched as Athena began to thread a needle. Matty sat on the cracked, worn floor beside his mother, closely observing everything she did, taking it all in.
“Do you want to help?”
“Oh God oh, ’Thena, I—”
“Not you. Matthew? You want to help?”
Gently, the boy reached out his hand and stroked the blood-matted tail.
“Put your finger here. Now push while I…no, not like…just enough to hold it so…That’s it.” Drawing the edges of the wound together, she pushed the needle through them.
Pam gasped, and Dooley whined a little. Fresh blood glistened in the folds of the boy’s knuckles.
Sunday, August 9
The air hummed with flies. Straw covered the floor, and the hot interior held an overpowering stench of old feces. Only a few unshaded bulbs above the corroded cages diluted the gloom, and Steve peered into the shadows. Many of the pens appeared empty, though small shapes might have huddled in the corners. The clearly occupied ones contained a pathetic lot: an ancient raccoon, a turkey vulture, a barnyard goat.
The proprietor followed him into the barn. “Like I said, no charge for seeing the animals, Officer. Not for one of you guys.” He smiled nervously at Steve’s back. “I bought this place from a guy. Could of made a fortune, they’d only built that damn highway they was all talking about. Used to have a two-headed snake, but it got away.”
“Any other animals ever escape from here?”
“Never.” The old man’s eyes slitted. “Why do you want to know? Somebody say something? You should of seen that snake with them two tongues, one in, other out. Wild.”
The man looked scared, and Steve figured he probably had a still hidden somewhere nearby. “This the lot?”
Muttering to himself, the old man beckoned toward an open back door, and Steve strode out of the barn. Once outside the fetid shed, he spat, and some of the thick saliva clung to his lips. Raising his shoulder, he rubbed his mouth against his shirt. The air seemed cooler. Post and wire enclosures tilted against the buildings, and as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he spotted some chickens, a few overfed rabbits. And a wolf.
“Officer? Could you tell me exactly what you’re looking for? Officer?”
Steve edged closer to the largest pen.
Full in the sunshine and scarcely breathing, the wolf sprawled in its own urine. The stench was primitive, intensely territorial. Steve pressed against the fence. The animal looked diseased. Insects crawled on it. Nose twitching, it unsteadily lifted its head, and the gummed slits of its eyes opened, barely focused on him. Those filmed eyes burned.
Matthew tilted the mug, pouring tepid broth into his cupped hand. Supporting the animal’s head with his other hand, he held the broth to Dooley’s mouth. The mongrel felt hot to him, even through the fur. With flickering movements no more powerful than the wings of a butterfly, the dog licked the broth. Even the tongue felt hot.
The steady lapping tickled his palm. Pam had made the broth, at his urging, and as he poured more of it into his hand, he could hear her outside, humming to herself as she scattered feed for the remaining hen. Unconsciously, he began to turn in the direction of her voice, and his eyes were drawn to the open back door.
Beyond the porch, beyond the yard, waited the ragged pines. He stared through the screen, and a rippling sensation traveled across his skin. Chabwok. The sick dog trembled. The boy tried to look away, but the call sounded in his mind again, forcefully, almost a command. Chabwok. Every day more powerful, each day wilder, more fearsome. Crouched on the kitchen floor, the boy resisted, shaking with the silent struggle. The broth trickled through his fingers.
The dog’s breath felt damp on his hand, and Dooley whimpered. Turning back, the boy murmured soothingly and poured the last of the liquid into his hand. “Come on now,” he coaxed. “Come on now finish it up like a good boy now finish it.”
As the shadows of the pines grew longer and darker, they left the car on the shaggy road and walked toward the fire tower. “And you’re the one’s supposed to be so goddamn conscientious, too. I waited over a hour for you.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” repeated Steve. “I told you. There was something I wanted to check out. Unofficially.”
“I’ll bet. So, how was it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come off it.” Barry turned away. “And I frigging covered for you with Frank too.”
“Barry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where do you think I went?”
Shooting him a suspicious glance, Barry kept griping. “Not bad enough we got to work on Sunday. We got to get started a hour late on top of it.” One of the local fire watchers had disappeared, apparently just gone off without notifying anyone. With the heat wave continuing, they’d been instructed to periodically check his tower.
“Quit bitching, Barry.”
“From now on, the only thing’s gonna be working overtime is this. Sunday’s the only time I get to spend with Cathy.”
“I never noticed you being anxious to see your wife.”
“Yeah? Well, I am now. Especially since that Jack’s been sniffing around.”
“You sure about that? It doesn’t seem likely somehow.”
“What, you gonna defend him now? Guess I ought to expect that from you.” He glared. “Did you think ’Thena wouldn’t tell me about you being over there the other day?”
“You’ve seen Athena?”
“I called her. Not that it’s your goddamn business.”
“Barry, I only went over there to—”
“I know what you went over there for. What, do you think I didn’t know you was spying on us all them times? You sick bastard. What do you think ’Thena’s going to say when I tell her about that?”
Steve turned his back to him, willing himself not to listen. He looked up. The ladder to the fire tower hung just above his head.
“Huh? What’s the matter, boy?” Barry stopped ranting, and a sly look came onto his face. “Too high for you? You’re the one supposed to be in such great shape. Are you too drunk? Big hero. Too drunk today? Let’s see you climb it, boy. Let’s see what kind of shape you’re really in. After how many years of hitting the bottle? Ever since Anna died, you ain’t been nothing but a drunk. So what you covered for me a couple times? You think that makes you a better cop than me? I been carrying this team. About time you remembered it. You don’t do shit, just sit in the car and get loaded, and now you’re hanging around ’Thena’s. Big cop from the big city. You ain’t nothing but dead weight. When I tell her about…”
Steve threw himself at the base of the ladder and climbed, pulling himself arm over arm, rung by rung away from the voice.
Halfway up, it became excruciating. A drop of sweat tickled his stomach. Barry was right. He was out of shape. Breathing hard, he pulled himself up another rung, his uniform suddenly drenched. The voice rose from below, taunting, ridiculing. The heat grew unbearable, and a nerve throbbed in his temple. Sweat got in his eyes, and it became hard to clutch the wet, slippery rungs. His arms trembled. Barry’s voice surrounded him, but he could no longer make out the words, though vaguely he realized the tone had changed to one of alarm. Almost to the top, he heaved himself, and lights flashed in his brain.