The Totem 1979 (22 page)

Except us, the second man thought. Sure, you saw the bunch of us, all right. You’re just eager to get back to town and celebrate Saturday night in a bar.

“Roger,” the sergeant responded.

Christ, the second man thought.

The sergeant continued, “Anything that looked suspicious? Over.”

“I checked all along the slope to the north of you. I checked the lakes up that way. Nothing. Some nice elk at Wind-shift Basin.”

“Well, we’ll keep moving with the dogs then. There’s a lake another mile above us, and we’ll camp there. Over.”

‘Just make sure you cuddle close, boys. It gets awful lonely on your own in the woods.”

“We’ve got the dogs to keep us company. Over.”

“Yeah, but you should see what I’ll have. Nighty-night, boys.”

“Roger. Ten-four. Out.” The sergeant brought the walkie-talkie down.

“Aw, go screw yourself,” the second man grumbled. He wasn’t certain if he meant the man up in the helicopter or the sergeant, but the sergeant grinned at him, and so the second man decided, raising up his hand to make an obscene gesture toward the far-off roaring of the helicopter. Soon the noise dimmed, becoming fainter, at last inaudible, and the men now looked at one another. Throughout the afternoon, they’d heard the chopper roaring near them in the mountains. They had gradually become accustomed to it, at last so familiar with it that they hadn’t been aware that they were hearing it. They heard it now, though, or rather heard its absence, and they missed it, somehow incomplete without its reassuring presence. “Let’s get moving,” the sergeant said. He reached for the leash he’d handed over, and they let the dogs go on, straining to keep up with them.

“What a way to spend a weekend,” someone said.

“Saturday, and hell, we won’t be back at least till Sunday evening.”

“Well, if you boys worked as good as you complained,” the sergeant told them, “we’d have found this Bodine long ago.”

The dogs began to slacken and then cower.

Chapter Five.

It was crouched behind the deer cage, watching as the black and white police car reached the end of the lane, stopped a moment, and then drove toward the swimming pool. The thought of water made it gag again, and when it crawled out from its cover to be certain that the car continued moving, it saw people diving from the high board, splashing into the water, and it had to turn away to keep from retching. There were people over by the swings and slides, children and a mother. They were laughing. A man and a woman strolled toward the deer cage. In the cage, the deer had long since shifted toward the side away from it. They stared at it, their withers rippling nervously, and it was bothered by them just as much as by the people coming near. It only wanted to be on its own, to hole up somewhere safe, to stop the spasms racking through it. Finally the man and woman reached the deer cage, and it scurried through the bushes up the slope. It dimly recollected that a walkway angled across the slope above there, and it reached the walkway, wooden steps that cut up high across the slope, and it was running up them. In the sunlight, it pawed at its eyes and squinted. Once it stumbled, falling, and it scrambled up on all fours, rasping, whining. Then it reached the top, and it could see the mansion over there. Once its mother had taken it here to visit the place, a big, tall, old-time house with many rooms and stairways, and it still retained the image of those dark corners, all those sheltered crannies it could hide in. Squinting far around, glancing toward the park down there, the people, it shivered and turned toward the mansion again. It saw the trees around the place, the bushes, and the gravel driveway that led up to the front steps, and it saw the car parked in the front, and it was ducking toward the bushes, moving closer. All those shadowy rooms. The front door suddenly came open, and it paused among the bushes. Now a man came out, and he was talking to a woman. They had boxes in their hands.

“The afternoon’s been slow. I don’t think anyone will come up now.”

“Well, I’ve got guests. I can’t stay any longer.”

They closed the door. The man reached to put a key inside the lock.

“No, I didn’t tell you,” the woman said. “Eva phoned to tell me she couldn’t find her key.”

“Well, she can get mine from me in the morning.”

“No, she wants to do her work before tonight. She has to go away tomorrow.”

“I can’t leave the place unlocked,” the man said.

“Only for ten minutes. I expected her before this.”

“If vandals get here sooner, you know how the owners will react.”

“From what I hear, they still have plans to sell the place. It doesn’t make a difference.”

‘Just remember. It was your idea.”

“Such a gentleman.”

They started down the stairs.

It crouched behind the bushes, watching as they put the boxes in the car.

“I’ll drive you home,” the woman said.

“No, that’s all right. I need the walk. So when’s your next shift?”

“Not for two weeks. Sunday afternoon.”

‘They’ve got me chairing meetings.”

“Well, I’ll see you later.”

Nodding, the man walked down the gravel driveway, and the woman got in her car, driving past the man. She blared her horn. The man waved, and soon both the man and car were out of sight.

It waited just a while. Then it crept out from the bushes, running toward the porch. It huddled by the steps and looked around, then scampered up the steps and turned the knob, and it was in there.

Very quiet. Everything smelled musty. It remembered the large big hallway, bigger than the living room at home, and there were tables, stacks of papers to one side, and a box where people put their money in.

Its mother had, at any rate, She had explained about historical societies and how an old house like this had to be preserved for people to appreciate the way things used to be. It hadn’t understood the words exactly, but it sort of had the sense that this old place was special, and it hadn’t liked the musty smell back then, but now it did.

The hall was shadowy, rooms on both sides, old-time furniture in there, guns up on the wall and maps and faded oval photographs. It listened, but there wasn’t any movement in the house, and it crept forward. Now it faced a big room with the longest table it had ever seen, big-backed chairs along it, plates and glasses set out, knives and forks and more spoons than it understood, as if a party soon would be here, people eating. There were ghosts here, it was sure, but oddly, that was comforting. The staircase wound up toward the second floor, a caged-in elevator to the side. Its mother had explained about the elevator, how the platform rose without an engine. You simply had to pull down on the rope that dangled in there, and a pulley then would turn to raise you. But the cage had boards across the front, and anyway it never would have stepped inside there. All those bars. The place was too much like a trap.

It walked a little farther, pausing as the floor creaked. No, it had made that noise itself. There wasn’t anybody in here, and it wondered where to go. Up the stairs or to the cellar. No, the cellar would be a trap as well, and boards creaking, it was inching up the stairs.

But it stopped as the front door opened. It turned, the daylight out there strong, painful, staring at the man who stood within the open doorway. This man had just left. He’d walked until he’d disappeared along the gravel driveway. That was why there hadn’t been a warning, why there hadn’t been a car sound to alarm it, and it hissed now as the man came forward.

“Yeah, that’s just what I expected. Leave the door unlocked, she says. God damn it, kid, get out of here.”

It hissed again.

“What’s your name? I’m mad enough to call the cops.”

It growled then, and the man hesitated, frowning.

“None of that damned stuff. You get your ass on down here.”

One more step. The man was at the bottom of the stairs. He reached, and it was leaping, body arcing down the stairs to jolt the man and send him sprawling.

“Hey, God damn it.” But the man apparently expected that it next would try to scramble past him toward the open door. The man lunged to the side to block it, his neck uncovered, and it dove in straight below the chin.

‘Jesus.”

They struggled. It could feel the blood spurt into its mouth. It gagged again. The taste was not unpleasant, even in a way compelling, although the choking was an agony. It chewed and swallowed, gagging.

Abruptly it couldn’t breathe.

The man was squeezing at its throat. It felt the pressure in its chest. It squirmed. It twisted.

“Goddamned kid.”

Then teeth free, it was snarling at the hands around its throat. It tried to bite the hands but only nipped the acrid, cigarette-vile, suit-coat sleeves, and suddenly one leg was underneath it, pushing, as it flew high to one side, its body slamming on the wooden floor and rolling hard against a table.

Even so, its instinct was automatic. Turning, it scrambled on all fours and braced to spring again. The man rolled, coming to his feet. They stared at one another.

Then the man looked at the blood across his clothes. He touched his neck. “My God!” He understood now, his hands up, stumbling backward.

It leaped, but not strongly enough to drop the man, just knock him farther backward. “Oh, my God!” the man kept saying. And the open door was suddenly behind the man. The man was out there, kicking as it leapt again. Its shoulder took the kick. The jolt spread through its body. Falling, it landed on that shoulder. It crawled back and snarled.

Snarled not just toward the man but toward the carsound coming up the lane now. It could see beyond the man toward where the car was coming into view. A different car. A different woman driving. It was staring, crawling farther toward the stairs. Its shoulder wasn’t working. It snarled and stumbled up the stairs. Then as it heard the car door out there squeak open, as the man glanced quickly out there, it mustered the little strength it retained and scuttled farther up the stairs. The stairs kept winding. It reached the second floor, and out of sight from down there, it huddled, tensing.

“Mr. Cody!” It heard the woman’s voice outside, the rushing footsteps on the porch. “Good Lord! Your throat! The … Mr. Cody!”

It heard the heavy body slump to the floor.

“Never mind me. Get in there and use the phone,” the man rasped. “Call the cops, an ambulance. Watch for some kid, something, on the stairs.”

Panicked, much less certain now of what it should be doing, it swung to face the hallway up here, looking for a place to hide. It scurried. But at least the place was dark up here. At least its eyes no longer hurt.

Chapter Six.

“You’ve got to help me.”

The medical examiner blinked at the shirtless man. The television news was droning.

“I don’t-“

“Hey, you didn’t give me any choice. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

The afternoon came back to him. His head hurt when he moved it, and his lips and nose felt like they belonged to someone else. When he touched them, they were senseless, swollen, but he felt the blood, and he was groaning.

“Look. My dog. You’ve got to help me,” the man said.

“What’s the matter?”

“She’s not moving. She just lies there, staring at me.”

‘Jesus, stay away from her.”

“I am. My Christ, if only I had listened. Can I get it if she licked me?”

The medical examiner struggled to sit up. “When?”

“This morning. She was acting fine then.”

“Wash your hands! I hope you didn’t touch your mouth. You don’t have any cuts she might have licked?”

“I can’t remember.”

“What?”

“I don’t have any cuts. I can’t remember if I touched my mouth.”

“I told you, wash your hands.” The effort of the conversation made him dizzy. He slumped back. “Use disinfectant. Mouthwash. Gargle. Change your clothes.” He gripped the sofa to brace himself and stand. He fell back. Then he took a breath and made it to his feet. The blood was all across his tie and shirt. He started feeling angry, and that helped him. “Hurry up. Wash your hands.” Then suddenly he thought about the hand that had split his lip and smashed his nose. He bolted down the hallway, shoving past the man who was going into the bathroom. “Get away. I’ve got to wash my face.”

The medical examiner soaped his hands and scrubbed his face, scrubbed it until it hurt, and still he continued scrubbing. He peered at the blood that mingled with the soap upon his hands and dripped down toward the swirling water in the sink. He continued scrubbing. Then he grabbed a towel and scoured his face until the porous cloth was bloody.

“Rubbing alcohol!” he ordered, fumbling in the cabinet behind the mirror, but he couldn’t find it. “Alcohol!” he shouted, and the man jerked open the door below the sink. They saw the bottle at the same time, and the medical examiner grabbed it, twisting off the cap, and splashing his nose, his lips. But he needed more. He leaned his face down sideways toward the sink. He poured. The hot sweet alcohol was flooding, burning. He snorted. Then the effort took its toll, and he sank onto his knees.

“My God, you’re just as crazy as that dog out there,” the man said.

“You don’t know the half of it. Just wash your hands and face and gargle like I told you.”

He slowly came to his feet. The man was at the sink, swabbing soap around his hands. The medical examiner cringed. Lord, I might need shots. Then he stumbled from the bathroom, down the hallway toward the kitchen. Out there, through the window, he saw the dog stretched out, the blood and foam around her mouth, slack-jawed, staring off at nothing.

That was all he needed. He groped from the kitchen toward the phone.

He had to concentrate to dial. The phone kept ringing on the other end. At last, an answering machine told him to leave a message. What’s the matter with them? Saturday. He peered down at his watch. Of course. They’re only open in the morning. They won’t be there this late. He was flipping through the phone book. Vets. Vets. And then he had it, dialing.

This time someone answered. A woman.

“Dr. Owens,” he blurted.

“Who’s calling, please?”