How to Find Peace at the End of the World (9 page)

Pep talk over I quietly push the front door open and begin walking quickly and quietly towards the dim outline of the Beast, the only patch of non-blackness in front of me. I’ve always had this ability of quiet footsteps and I hope it works on the level of being able to fool dogs. Many times I would startle Amy on suddenly appearing right next to her. She’d shriek and put her hand to her chest as if she were having a heart attack. I was never really doing it on purpose, or with too much concentration, it just went with the calm I felt whenever I was around her. Now I actually concentrate on it and I find myself doing a really crappy job. Walking with the fire extinguisher is pretty awkward in and of itself, but I finally find myself, in my almost near panic, the possessor or two left feet. At one point I almost even trip over my own feet and just barely catch myself against a concrete planter. The metal edge of the fire extinguisher barely hits the concrete and makes a sound. I sweep my vision all around me and try to detect movement. I hold my breath and try to make out the sound of padding doggie footsteps. All the while it’s as if there are little lines attached to my feet, drawing them towards the Beast and my salvation, as if I’m not consciously moving them anymore. As I draw closer my I feel that bubbling exhilaration in my chest pushing at the lid: almost there, almost there, quickly now, quickly, don’t fail at the last second, it would be such a waste. And that’s exactly when the Universe chooses to deny me, to turn my triumph into defeat, turn my heart cold. I grasp the nozzle of the fire extinguisher with a death grip as three sleek, dark forms emerge from behind the truck, and that’s when I remember the broken jar and spilled vinegar from the morning and all the food I have in the back of the truck, the driver’s side door that I was much too unworried to close and the open jar of jerky on the driver’s seat. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Dan. Dan. Danny boy. Don’t panic. Maybe they are friendly. Maybe their stomachs are now full of jerky and they’re not hungry anymore. Hungry enough to do that to another dog, one that’s even bigger than them. Hungry enough to no longer recognize me, an upright standing primate, as their master, a possible provider for them. Calm. Calm. Don’t act too quickly. Don’t make unnecessary enemies.
I hold my hand out. “Hey there doggies.”
That low rumble, like a thunderstorm forming in the distance. Like those six pit bulls before they recognized me, the six dogs I now so surely wished I’d brought along. This is not looking good. Synchronized it is terrifying, that pre-bark beginning deep in their chests. Despite this, I press closer with my hand out. I see one of the dark forms pull back a little, then forward to snap. I yank my hand just in time. I pull back. The other dogs circle closer, sensing weakness.
“Fuck you doggies,” I say and depress the trigger on the fire extinguisher. I hear their yelps as the cooling CO2 cloud washes over them. They pull back, covered in fine particles that glimmer a little in whatever soft light is bouncing around. At least they’re easier to see. I keep pumping, pushing them back, getting closer to the car and the pistol wedged in the side pocket. I adopt this strategy: they pull back and seem to shake it off and come at me again and again I depress the trigger and beat them back again. They try attacking from different vectors and I swing the nozzle all around me in a one eighty arc and beat them back some more. I’m two hundred feet to the car and seriously thinking about bolting for it: it’s so close. I keep at it, two hundred feet left, one eighty, when the damn thing, the thing that’s been keeping me alive or at least not fatally mauled decides to give up the final puff of ghost. The last few CO2 plumes sputter out of the tip and in their place are three dogs enraged to the point of frothy rabidness, growling and drooling, the sharp, bright pinpoints of the center of their eyes seeming to play, over and over again the scene of my bodily and bloody dismemberment.
My hand tenses on the handle. I try to remember the few scant swings I had practiced in the library.
The dog on the left moves first, seemingly the smallest of all three of them. He’s fast, faster than I would have thought but I swing almost instinctively. I catch the dog with the blunt end of the extinguisher in the side of the neck and the thump is more solid and crunching and sickening than I’d imagined. I see the dark body go flying, deflected by my blow, past me. That’s when a searing pain tears through me, starting in my forearm and making me see even in the darkness an almost blinding neon red. I scream and oddly enough hear the reverberations of my scream reflected back to me from the empty faces of the skyscrapers fronting the broad plaza. I wrench backwards instinctively and the pain multiplies tenfold. I scream again.

I drop the extinguisher and with my free hand grab for the flashlight that I’d put in my pocket. I bring it out and begin hitting the second dog on the head when I see red again and am overcome by another wave of pain, now emitting from my calf.

The grip on my forearm loosens. I fall backwards. This is not good. I’m on the ground. My mind is already preparing my body for death. I can feel it in my chest, a cold burning. I raise my arm up to protect my face and neck. I’ve lost the extinguisher and all I have is the flashlight and make another feeble swipe at the jaws locked to my calf but the swing seems feeble. Maybe it’s shock. I feel my body flip itself over, again instinct, to protect the more tender parts, access to the major organs. I begin crawling, the jaws still locked on my calf.

When suddenly the jaw loosens. I hear all of it. But it’s all muffled through the blood pounding in my ears. Barking, two high pitched barks, or at least high pitched against this deep booming one. I flip a glance back and see the shaggy white ghost intervening. Charley! Charley to the rescue. Oh I could kiss the dog if he were not right at this moment locked in a seemingly biblical battle of good and evil, the noble white shagginess and the two dark shapes. I don’t look this gift dog in the mouth. I know by his injuries that he is not invincible or a phantom like I had thought him to begin with. I scrabble at the pavement and will my legs to begin working again. My fingernails peel off against the rough surface but the pain centers me, and my legs again jolt forward underneath me. I’m bolting the last hundred feet to my car and then I’m there throwing the passenger door open and diving across the passenger’s and driver’s seats. Soon enough my hand is on the handle of the gun and my other one is on the large 4D flashlight. I turn it on and it’s like the sun coming over the horizon, god it’s bright but I don’t wait for my eyes to adjust. A split second later I’m back out of the cab of the truck and running towards where I’d left Charley and the two Dobermans and I’m swinging the flashlight beam wildly before me. I see blood, a surprising amount of blood. Where are the dogs? I sweep the light around and I see them further down, past where I’d dropped the fire extinguisher. Crap I think that’s my blood. Then I notice only one dog going at it with Charley and the shape of the other two dogs, one with a collapsed neck and the other limping away with its entrails dragging behind it. I change my grasp of the flashlight so that I’m holding it forward and palm down and use my non bloody forearm as a rest to aim. Shit, they are moving around too much. I have to get closer. I don’t want to hit Charley. They are tearing at each other, biting down and letting go in alternate, bloody feints. I close in, twenty, ten feet and when I think I can I take the shot.

The sound, wow, the sound is deafening as if it’s the first real sound I’ve ever heard in my life, as if a clap of thunder has exploded right beside me. Charley startled back, his eyes levered wide open, demon like, and God does he look like a demon right now, his muzzle and most of his head covered in blood, his eyes shining brightly in the cone of the Maglight. The other dog limps three steps and tips over and a dark pool spreads on the pavement around it. My body gives again, the adrenaline, the shock catching up to me. God it looks bad, I think to myself as I survey the damage by the beam of the dropped Maglight. I’ll probably die like this, bleed out or something. I slump against one of the concrete planters and the last thing I make out in the darkness before I pass out is Charley my would be Champion limping towards me.
? PM? AM? When I come to, it’s still dark. I have no idea what time it is. I’ve stopped bleeding, or I think I have on pressing my hands to my forearms and only feel the stickiness of clotting blood. I’ll probably need some antibiotics or something.

The problem is I can’t feel one of my legs. Crap. I couldn’t be nerve damage could it? Eyes closed again (I don’t want to risk the sight of anything that will just result in me going back into shock) I move my hand slowly downward. Oh god. I’ve suddenly grown a lot of hair. Then I come to, realize what had happened as my hand brushes through the shaggy mass that had come to rest on my right leg. I’m sitting there against the concrete planter like I’m simply in my living room sprawled against the front of the couch. Charley’s massive head is in my lap and as a result I’ve simply lost all feeling in my leg.

I move his head a bit and hear his sleepy complaints. I bring my other hand up, The flashlight beam is still on, but it’s substantially dimmed: how long had I been out. Maybe not long; I had no idea how much charge the flashlight beam had in the first place. I lever the beam towards Charley’s heaving body first to assess the damage. There’s so much dried blood already beginning to oxidize that it’s hard to tell. I see a dark spot on one of his back legs, just like me, same leg. There are little bite marks on the side of his face, I believe, but, again, it’s hard to tell. And another dark spot on his neck. As I’m checking he partially opens one of his eyes and seemingly glares at me (turn that shit off, Dan, trying to sleep).

I turn to assessing the damage on my own body. As I thought there are spots on my work slacks darker than the surrounding, and a fresh bite on my forearm, up near where I’d rolled up my sleeve. The blood has dried over it and it’s stopped bleeding. It’s tender to the touch, though, and looks like it’s beginning to swell. I worry about infection but remember the antibiotics I’d thought to take with me earlier in the day.
I lie back against the concrete barrier again and rest a bit. I’m about to fall asleep again when I hear it, a low wail. At first it sounds like a woman crying and I sit up, excited. Another human out there, and possibly in distress. But then the wail resolves into something more solid, more animal and a shiver runs down my body, my blood suddenly chill. It sounds primal, like it’s directed at the moon, but there’s little or no moon tonight. I think about the Dobermans and all the damage they’ve done. Just dogs, and by their collars domesticated dogs. Then I think about wild creatures, not just a tiny lone coyote, but whole wolf packs, all the creatures that had been pacing their cages in the Houston zoo, only a couple of miles from here, pacing for the last day and a half waiting to be fed. My mind enhances the shadows at the edge of the plaza again and I imagine all the things with teeth that could be out there waiting for us. We have to get to the truck. We have to get to some high ground. I look up to the nearest skyscraper, Heritage plaza, but it has a giant gaping hole in it and the tail end of a passenger liner sticking out. I wonder at its structural integrity. The library is no good, of course. If Charley can get in than a whole host of other things might be able to get in as well.
Let’s see. Whatever happened had happened at 7:35 or about. Everything downtown should have been opened up by then. A lot of the buildings have underground garages that will offer a solid fire door and stair well to ascend to the upper floors, however much I don’t want to go down into the dark. I pick out against the faint outlines of the downtown skyscrapers against the backdrop of stars the rounded outline of the Wells Fargo building. Good, it must be the second or third tallest downtown.

I shake the dog head resting in my lap and a half snore half moan full of doggie breath badness escapes. He doesn’t seem to want to wake up and I wonder if it’s from his wounds or just the usual big dog lethargy. I shake him again and at the same time try to lever my stiff body up against the concrete planter. Charley huffs and the weight of his head seems to increase, almost as if he is trying to keep me down on purpose. I pull at his collar and his head comes unstuck from my thigh and he gets up and paces in a circle and shakes his head as if trying to shake off all the blood crusting up his thick fur.

I prop myself up against the planter and rest, my leg turning from numb into a thousand burning needles. When I feel good to go I hobble around and stamp my feet like I usually do, though it never works me trying to stamp out the pain. Also, now I need to worry about opening any wounds that might have already clotted up. I double back for the planter and collect my implements, the gun (which I safety and slip in my waistband) and the flashlight (which I dangle from my belt by its hook).

I walk a few steps and look back and see Charley following me. Good boy. Each step is painful, but not painful in a way I haven’t felt before (thankfully I’ve never broken a leg) which is good. There are some alternately dull and sharp pains shooting up from specific spots and also a general throbbing probably from where the dogs’ canines had sunk into my flesh. When I get to the car a human form sitting in the car startles me and it takes me a while to realize that it’s just the mannequin. Heaving, I rest against the open door and aim the flashlight beam at my arms and legs again: good, the wounds do not seem to have reopened by my movement. I check Charley, too. He seems OK. None the worse for wear, actually. The scrapes and puncture wounds from the Dobermans don’t seem to be bleeding anymore. He’s also got that look about him, as if he’s happily dumb.
But I know you aren’t, are you boy. Not dumb at all. Got into the library all by yourself and even got out again to help me. Wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I’ll have to give you a doggie treat.
Then I remember the jar of jerky I’d kept in the cab of the car after snacking on them yesterday. I rummage around and find it among a heavy coat in the foot well of the pickup. I put the coat on because in the last few hours it’s gotten back to winter weather, fifty degrees or so, about right for Texas. I take the sealed jar of jerky and Charley sits up high on his haunches as if he already knows what he’s about to get. I open the jar and the smell of jerky hits me and reminds me of how hungry I am. Charley barks. I take a giant chunk, which is actually half the jar stuck together and offer it to him and he takes it in his mouth and moves it a little distance away as if I’m going to take it back. I take a piece of jerky for myself, a small one, to test the solidity of my stomach, at first, and my hunger flares up in response. I take another piece and I remember my thirst, too.