Bad Glass (13 page)

I waited for her to continue. The look on her face was the look of someone staring out over the edge of a building, gathering up the courage to jump.

She took a deep breath. “They were out there again last night,” she said. “The dogs. The wolves. They’re looking for something. They’re doing … 
something
. I know it. I just
know
.”

“What are they doing?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have the specifics, but it’s got to do with the city. It’s got to do with what’s happening here.”

I nodded. There was a certainty to her voice—a desperate,
beleaguered
certainty. Confronted with that, there was absolutely nothing I could say.

“I have to find them,” she said. “You … you have to help me find them.” She fixed me with sad, pleading eyes; where before I had found innocent, bubbly curiosity, there was now nothing but desperation. She was exhausted. Dispirited. Emotionally drained.

“Okay,” I said. “Just tell me what to do.”

We left the house just as the sun touched the horizon. The day was cold, and our breath hung frozen in the air. I regretted not grabbing my gloves and an extra sweatshirt.

“Why me?” I asked as we headed west on the residential street. “Why didn’t you want to take Mac?”

“He doesn’t see them,” she said, watching her feet. “I’ve dragged him to the window, pointed them out—clear as day—but he just doesn’t see.” She glanced up, fixing me with bright blue eyes. “Christ, I thought I was crazy! I thought I was suffering a psychotic breakdown, seeing things that just weren’t there. But that’s not true, is it? You saw them, too. They’re real … Right?”

“I saw something. A pack of canines. Only different. Their paws …”

At my words, Amanda’s face brightened noticeably, relief breaking through that mask of exhaustion. “Right! Exactly.”

“How many times have you seen them?”

“I don’t know. A couple dozen?” She shrugged. “The first time was at the park, right before the evacuation. I was looking for my
own dog, Sasha. She escaped from the backyard—I was living in a house close to the university back then. The city was crazy—everyone confused and terrified, no idea what was going on. But the park was empty. We used to walk there a couple of times a week, Sasha and me, and I figured that that’s where she’d end up.”

We rounded a corner and headed south. As Amanda talked, the Riverfront Park clock tower rose into view, peeking up over the line of buildings at the river’s edge. “There were three of them, and they started following me … just these huge canines. I was on one of the paths, moving through the center of the park, and they were about a hundred feet away. At first, I didn’t notice anything wrong with them. They were just dogs, German shepherds, maybe—too fluffy to be Great Danes, although that’s about the right size. They kept pace with me, following along in a stand of trees.” She shrugged, dismissing her initial impressions as no big deal. “I was a bit scared, but they didn’t act threatening. No barking and growling. No posturing. They seemed content to just follow … but they moved so
smoothly
, almost like they were floating over the ground. Not like dogs at all.

“I stopped, and they stopped. They didn’t circle around and sniff, doing all of the little things that dogs do. Instead, they just froze in their tracks—three dogs, lined up single file. Staring at me. Just … staring—like I was the most important thing in the universe.”

Amanda stopped and turned toward me, a confused look on her face. “They were so still. And even though they were pretty far away, I swear I could see the look in their eyes. So focused!” She shifted her feet, swaying awkwardly, then lowered her eyes. “I stood still for a while, watching and waiting, and finally, after about a minute, the dog at the front of the pack raised his paw and leaned up against a tree.” She shook her head. “And it wasn’t a canine movement at all. It was like something a human would do—resting his palm against a wall, taking the weight off of his feet.

“And that’s when I noticed the odd legs.” She raised her hand
and pushed her palm all the way forward, trying to illustrate. “Not normal canine joints; these dogs had an extra bend, like a knuckle. And this dog was using it like a human hand! It was eerie. Eerie and far too human. I got out of there as fast as I could.

“It’s not that I was scared,” she added, shaking her head. “Not really. Surprised and confused, maybe, but not scared. I was just … just … 
profoundly unsettled
.” She glanced back up into my eyes, and I could tell she was happy with that word—
unsettled
—happy she’d been able to provide such an accurate description of her state of mind.

“And you’ve seen them a couple of dozen times since?” I asked.

She nodded, then turned and resumed walking. I hurried to keep up. “I saw them a lot at my old place, a house I shared with a couple of other students, out east. And as soon as I moved in with Taylor, I started seeing them there, too, in the backyard or on the street out front. A couple of times a week, at least. I asked Taylor and some of the others if they’d seen anything doglike and strange—trying to be coy about it, trying to hide my insanity, if indeed that’s what it was—but they hadn’t. I was the only one.” She glanced over at me and smiled, moving close to grasp my hand—the uninjured one. “And now you! Thank God! Now I’ve got you.”

Her grip on my hand was unnerving. I could feel the intensity of her relief—all that bottled up desperation channeled into a strong clench. She was hanging on to me for dear life.

“Why didn’t you leave?” I asked. “Why didn’t you evacuate with everyone else?”

“Sasha,” she said. “At least …” She trailed off, a confused look appearing on her face. “I know she’s out there somewhere—I’ve been looking. But that can’t be it, can it?
Waiting around for a missing dog?
I was studying psychology before all of this started, so I know that there’s probably something more—some deep-seated reason buried in my unconscious mind. Maybe it’s just that I don’t have anywhere else I want to go?” She looked at me questioningly, like I might actually be able to give her an answer.
Then she released my hand and shook her head. “Everyone else in my life—my friends, my housemates—they all just went home, back to their parents, their hometowns. But I didn’t want that. I
really
didn’t want that. I think, given the choice, I’d prefer Sasha.”

“Even if this place is driving you mad?”

“But it’s not,” she said, flashing me a broad smile. “I know that now. They’re there, right? You’ve seen them, too.”

I nodded, even though I wasn’t quite sure. Were we seeing the same thing? I’d seen a swarm of animals in the middle of the night. What she’d seen … it seemed like something different, something
more
. I could tell.

In those animals, she’d found meaning. She’d found some type of promise, something that drove her, that dragged her out of bed in the middle of the night and carried her here. With me.

We rounded a corner, and Amanda raised her hand, pointing to a slash of green on the other side of the river. I recognized the empty pathways and rolling, leaf-scattered hills from my first day in the city, when Weasel had pointed them out to me.

Riverfront Park.

Riverfront Park was a small park, just a couple of blocks of greenery trapped in the middle of downtown. It would have been a crowded place back before the quarantine, or so I imagined. There would have been families here—when the weather was nice—and come noon, there would have been office workers with bagged lunches and buskers performing for change. But now there was nothing. Just Amanda and me and the sound of the wind playing through the trees.

An offshoot of the Spokane River stretched around the south end of the park, a wide, slow-moving trough that transformed the land into a thumb-shaped peninsula. The clock tower was on the tip of the thumb, looming up over the east end of the park.

It was peaceful here. Now that the city was dead, there was nothing to drown out the muted roar of the river and the desolate whisper of the wind.

As soon as we crossed the river and entered the park, Amanda pulled to a stop and looked around in amazement. “It used to be so tame,” she said, a quiet awe in her voice, “so manicured.” I could see what she meant. The once neatly trimmed grass now stood knee-high and half dead, with drifts of winter-brown leaves cluttering up every open space.

I grabbed my camera, reslung my backpack, and started up the nearest hill. Amanda followed, craning her neck and looking around for any sign of her mysterious dogs.

At the top of the hill, I took a series of panoramic shots, trying to capture the park in the foreground and the city on the horizon. The early-morning light made the remaining grass glow a bright, vibrant green, providing a great contrast to the gray streets and buildings. Unfortunately, the hill was too small and the surrounding buildings too high, so instead of catching city blocks stretching out into the distance, all I got were walls hemming us in. Like we were standing on the floor of an immense gray-walled box.

“Over there!” Amanda hissed. “In the trees!” I lowered the camera and found her pointing toward a patch of woods to the south. Her eyes were wide, and her voice quavered with excitement.

“Where?” I asked, but she was already running, kicking up dead leaves as she slid down the hill. “Amanda, wait! It might not be safe.” I looped the camera strap around my neck and followed her down.

She entered the trees twenty yards ahead of me, immediately disappearing from sight. I plowed in behind her, then stopped, listening for movement.

“Amanda!”

There was sound everywhere: the subdued hiss of something sliding through the bushes to my left; then to my right, the brittle
snap
of a dead branch directly ahead. I couldn’t see much of anything. Low bushes had grown out of control between the trees, and I watched as a sea of leaves rippled around me.
The wind
, I told myself.
Just the wind
.

And then the growling began. All around. Low and guttural.

“Amanda?” I hissed. I’m not sure why I felt the need to whisper. Anything she could hear, they could most definitely hear.

There was no response.

I started moving forward through the bushes, holding a hand out in front of me to push aside the encroaching branches. I hadn’t taken more than three steps when I felt a weight against my leg—a push, nudging me forward. I stumbled over my own feet, my heart breaking rhythm inside my chest. I barely managed to catch myself. There was movement all around—the dry rustle of leaves—and the thick, dark smell of animal musk. I glanced back, but something darted in from up ahead, catching my hand in a quick, hard grip. It was an intense pressure, engulfing my palm, and a wet growl vibrated up through my flesh and bone.

I tried to pull my hand back, and a gray muzzle came into view; black lips and pink gums were wrapped around my fist. I could see yellow plaque-stained teeth. I could see blood welling up between those teeth and my hand.

I panicked and surged forward, trying to get away. My shins hit canine flesh with a dull thud, and I collapsed forward onto my knees. Onto the dog. I felt a sudden expulsion of breath puff out around my hand, and I somersaulted forward. My hand finally came free.

A loud growl swelled up from the trees behind me, radiating out of the ground cover. Then a half dozen dogs exploded from the brush, teeth bared and saliva flying. I scrambled up to my feet and started to run, bouncing off trees and stumbling over branches and roots.

They were fast, and I could feel them gaining on me. The back of my neck tingled in anticipation, bracing me for that final, brutal snap, preparing me for the razor-sharp jaws that would sink into my fragile flesh at any moment now.

There was no way I could outrun them. No way in hell.

Then, suddenly, I was free, bursting out of the trees and falling
forward into a scrim of leaves and decaying mulch. I spun around on the ground and started pushing myself backward, keeping my eyes on the trees, unable to get up off my ass.

“Dean!” Amanda cried out in surprise just before I collided with her legs and knocked her to the ground.

“Move!” I panted. “Move, move,
move
!” I continued to push myself backward, using my legs to propel myself away from the trees. Then my feet began to slip, and, finally, I stopped.

The trees were still. There was no sign of the dogs.

Amanda remained where she’d landed, watching me with huge perplexed eyes. “Your hand. You’re bleeding!” She crawled forward and grabbed my hand, rotating it front to back, inspecting the damage.

For a while, I couldn’t take my eyes off of the trees; then a sharp pain blossomed in my palm. I sucked a breath through my teeth and turned toward her probing fingers. “The dogs, the fucking dogs,” I said. “They’re crazed. How’d you get past them?”

She glanced up from my palm and shook her head. “I didn’t see them. I didn’t see a thing.”

With the tail of her shirt, she wiped the blood away from my palm, revealing a pair of deep holes. It was my left hand, and the holes were spaced on either side of my previous wound—the line of raw flesh that had been ripped away in the apartment building. Amanda turned my hand over, exposing a single puncture wound in the web between my thumb and forefinger. This was the nastiest of the holes. My stomach began to turn, and I looked away.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not yet,” I hissed. The fear had begun to subside, replaced by frustration and anger. “I’m sure it will. Give it a couple minutes and I’m sure it’ll be hurting like a motherfucker.”

Amanda shook her head. “You must have startled them,” she said. “You must have done something wrong.”

I gave her an incredulous look, and she stared right back, stubborn, unwilling to hear anything bad about her precious dogs.

“You see my hand?” I asked, raising it up so the blood spilled down my wrist and dripped onto my jeans. “You see what they did?”

Amanda didn’t reply. She ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of her shirt and wrapped it around my palm. “Give it some pressure,” she said. “We’ll clean it up when we get home.” Then she grabbed my uninjured hand and pulled me to my feet.