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Authors: Mark Wheaton

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BOOK: Bones Omnibus
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The handler grabbed a corner of the wooden box and yanked it upward. As the top split, Ferris Aaron’s tiny Yorkshire Terrier, Bitch, scrambled out and made a break for it. Just as she was about to reach the door, the ATF agent kicked it closed. The tiny dog skidded to a stop, turned, and ran back toward the wooden box. However, a German shepherd easily twenty times her size now stood in the way.

“What is that?” the agent asked.

“A Yorkie,” Billy shot back, eyeing the terrified dog. “She’s been hurt.”

It took a lot of coaxing to calm the Yorkie down. What finally did it was one of Bones’s carob treats. Billy placed it about a foot in front of the small animal, and her hunger overwhelmed her fear. Even as she accepted the snack, the little dog’s eyes never left Bones. When the shepherd finally padded over to the Yorkie, she looked like she might bolt away again. But as she was cornered, she finally allowed the bigger animal to give her shredded ear a quick lick. The terrier remained tense but didn’t swat the shepherd away when he continued to clean her wound.

“Wait a sec,” said the station commander. “Is he licking up dog’s blood or people blood? Your canine could be destroying evidence.”

“It’d be tainted anyway,” Billy guessed. “Better just to calm her down.”

The dog handler heard the others in the room scoff. He didn’t expect them to understand what the little dog had gone through, much less care.

Billy tried to locate a leash among Ferris’s things, but finally gave up and simply took the Yorkie outside on Bones’s lead. He figured the shepherd could be trusted not to run off and was proven right. Whether it was out of concern for the Yorkshire terrier or loyalty to his handler, Billy didn’t know. The sergeant had initially thought Bitch might be able to help with the blood trail, but after peeing against a tree, she promptly fell asleep at Billy’s feet.

As the unlikely two-dog, one-handler trio sat on the porch, forensic techs came and went. Some were after fingerprints, others, DNA evidence. An entire squad of ballistics experts showed up, with property and evidence techs soon to follow. The last items to be tagged and hauled away were the two vehicles that had brought the doomed men to Ferris Aaron’s doorstep the night before. As the two tow trucks departed for the Pittsburgh impound, the ATF agent stepped out of the shack and eyed Sergeant Youman.

“You’re still here?”

“Figured we’d check for scents once the Yorkie woke up.”

“Why? I think we’re good here.”

“My report’s going to look pretty barren otherwise. Might as well pad it out to justify the trip up.”

The agent chuckled and headed away. Billy looked down and saw that Bitch was awake.

“Let’s take a walk. Don’t make me look like an asshole.”

The group set out for the woods. Billy could tell right away that the Yorkie was in no shape to play police dog. So he took it easy. He relaxed the circuit he and Bones made around the shack, and more or less took the pair for a walk.

“You get anything, I’m sure you’ll let me know,” Billy said quietly.

As if on cue, the Yorkie tensed. Its nose dove to the ground. There was a familiar scent in the grass after all. Bones moved next to the smaller dog, sniffing around as well.

“Don’t tell me she found something you didn’t,” Billy scoffed.

But now the Yorkie was on the move. As she headed north toward the railroad tracks, her gait switched from a trot to a run. Though she was small, Billy still had a hard time keeping up once she was at a full gallop with legs extended. It was then that Billy heard the second electronic train horn of the day, this one coming from a train rolling westward toward Pittsburgh.

“Shit!” he hissed, double-timing it as he cursed himself for letting the dogs off the leash.

If he somehow lost an animal in his charge to an oncoming train, he prayed it was the Yorkie.

The horn sounded again, the time closer and with what Billy imagined to be with greater urgency. Bones was still close at his side, but as the Yorkie rabbited ahead, Bones accelerated as well, following the unseen trail. When the train finally came into view, it was less than fifty yards away. The sergeant had never been great at math, but even he could tell that the Yorkie and the locomotive were on a collision course. There was no question who would emerge victorious.

“Stop!” he yelled at the Yorkie, knowing it would do no good.

Sensing the danger, Bones broke from Billy. As he hurried protectively after Bitch, it looked as if the shepherd was soon to be struck as well. But then the Yorkie took a sharp right. Rather than cross the tracks or hit the train, she moved alongside it. As the freight train roared past, the Yorkie continued on her quest, sniffing at the air.

Billy wasn’t sure what to make of the dog’s movements. He was glad she hadn’t been struck by the engine, but now he fretted the Yorkie might dart under its wheels. He didn’t blame the dog for being messed up in the head, but if it led to his animal getting killed, he was sure to be suspended.

What came next happened so quickly that the handler wasn’t able to process it until minutes later. The trail Bitch was following on the ground ended suddenly, and she turned and jumped at the train. Billy thought she would bounce right off, but instead she vanished. When the car passed the officer half a second later, he saw the reason: the freight car’s door was open and Bitch just visible inside. The sergeant caught a brown flash in his peripheral vision. As he turned, he glimpsed Bones’s tail disappearing into the open freight car, too.

“Bones! What the hell?!” he yelled.

But by the time the words were out of his mouth, the train’s last car rumbled past his position, disappearing into the deep thicket.

The freight car Bones and Bitch leaped into was empty save for a few yellow straps, the kind used to rope cargo onto pallets. The steel walls, having baked in the sun all day, radiated heat, though a cold wind blew in through the open door. This combined to make just about any spot in the car unbearable.

Regardless, Bones chose a spot near the door and curled his body into a circle, his thick coat keeping himself warm. Bitch settled first into one corner, then a different one. After failing to locate a comfortable spot in the third, she moved next to Bones. When the shepherd didn’t appear to mind, the Yorkie gradually scooted in close until she was cuddled up next to the larger dog.

Then they slept.

It was hours before they reached the Bessemer Yards on Pittsburgh’s north side. The train eased alongside a warehouse where workers would offload the freight, much of it having crossed into Buffalo from Canada to then be sent off to destinations around the country. By the time any workers reached Bones and Bitch’s car, the dogs were long gone.

The German shepherd let the Yorkie lead. At first, the little dog seemed as confused by her new surroundings as she was outside the shack. Then a new scent reached her nose, and she hurried across several tracks and under a two stationary trains. When they emerged on the far side of the rail yard, they found a break in the fence. Bones had picked up a human scent as well now, but stayed behind Bitch as she slipped past the fence and into a stand of trees.

“What do we have here?” thundered an old man’s voice.

Bitch and Bones found themselves at the campfire of a squat man in a heavy coat. He had thick stubble on his cheeks and chin, but a recent haircut suggested he hadn’t been fully away from civilization for that long.

“Henry,” the man said by way of introduction, tossing slices of lunch meat to the two animals. “A couple of them call me ‘Crazy Henry,’ but that’s just because they ain’t got nothing nicer to say. You look like you got into some kind of trouble.”

He was eyeing Bitch’s torn ear. When Bitch wouldn’t come any closer, Henry poured some water from an old plastic jug into an empty pie plate. This time, both dogs moved in, lapping it up quickly.

“I’ll give you a little more in a minute,” Henry said. “There’s a tap down the yard a bit. Only, the yard bulls don’t like us around, so we’ll have to wait until dark.”

He eyed the police harness on Bones.

“Is that real? Or did your owner have some kind of odd sense of humor?”

When Bones didn’t answer, Henry shrugged and tossed the shepherd a few more pieces of meat. He then retrieved a tube of antiseptic cream from his backpack and rubbed a little on Bitch’s torn ear. At first, she didn’t like this at all. A couple of seconds later, however, she let him minister to the wound in silence.

“When I got divorced, I thought I’d had it,” Henry explained as he worked. “I was unemployed, half the reason I found myself short a wife, and had no future to speak of. I was an addict then, but being on the streets has a way of making you clean up or spiral straight down. The day I finally woke up without the craving, I realized that was where God wanted me to be. It’s no easy life, but occasionally I’ll take the odd job, recharge for a couple of days in a motel, then head back out. Maybe I’ll be ready to go back to the old ways one of these days. Right now, though, this is how I see my life.”

Bones and Bitch kept eating, so Henry kept talking. He told them that he didn’t plan to hop his next train until the sun went down but was concerned for anything heading east. There was meant to be some big summer storm gathering in that direction. He considered Fort Wayne, as people there treated guys on the road “less like hobos and more like a neighbors,” but he was also thinking about going south toward Louisiana. He was born in Lafayette but had most recently lived in Tyler, Texas, This was where his wife, well, ex-wife, continued to reside.

“There are no stops in Tyler, but I’ve been on a line that runs from Memphis to Dallas that passes near Tyler. If the door’s open and facing the right direction, I always look for my house or her car at a crossing, but I’ve seen neither. I don’t know what I’d do if I saw her. Probably just smile.”

When night fell, Henry led the dogs back into the train yard.

“Here’s the faucet if you’re looking for water,” he said, turning it on.

The appreciative dogs drank long and hard, Bitch needing to pee immediately afterward. But then they followed Henry toward the trains powering up for overnight travel.

“This one’s on to Syracuse, this one’s off to Philly, this one’s on to New York,” Henry said, indicating the different lines. “Can’t tell you where this one’s going, but maybe Wilmington? Hard to know.”

Bones caught the scent of several other riders emerging from the surrounding hobo jungles on their way to the trains. Some eyed the trio curiously, but most kept to themselves. At first, Bitch didn’t seem to notice the smells. But then the little Yorkie stopped short alongside an open freight car. Bones poked his nose up at the car, but Henry quickly pulled him back.

“Not your best idea, police dog,” he cautioned. “See this chalk?” He pointed at a symbol marked alongside the door. “This car belongs to the BCRA, one of those gangland crews that uses trains to get around the country. They’ll rob a place in Miami and be in Chicago by the next night, move drugs into Baltimore, then be in Kansas City before it even hits the streets. Hell, they’ve done hits that way. They catch anyone riding in their cars, they get stomped, beheaded, and thrown out. A couple of dogs? They’ll probably eat you.”

But both animals had alerted to a greasy smudge on the edge of the door. Henry eyed this before shying away.

“What did I tell you?
Blood
. Last thing you want to do is get in that car.”

But even as Henry said this, the Yorkshire terrier was leaping inside. Bitch raced from one end of the car to the other, sniffing every inch. Having clearly rediscovered the trail she had picked up outside the Bait-N-Booze, Bones jumped in as well.

“Well, you guys seem bound and determined,” Henry declared. “I will thank you for your company in passing the afternoon with me and wish you good luck out there.”

Bones glanced back at Henry before looking away. The man smiled, taking this acknowledgement as more than it was. He went back to searching for the right train.

Inside the freight car, Bitch whined as she moved around the car. Every new scent bothered and repulsed her. Bones joined in, discovering even more blood. He soon identified the individual odors of six different people, the spilled blood belonging to two of them. The smell of death – feces and rot – was also in abundance.

The train didn’t leave the yard for another half hour. When it finally did, it took about fifteen minutes to get up to speed and soon shot down the tracks like a rocket. Inside the car, without the sun heating the exterior, the floor, walls, and ceiling were soon as cold as a winter’s night. Bitch and Bones again huddled together for warmth, but this time in the corner farthest from the door.

As the train pushed north and east, the exhaust fumes of the city melted into the distinct scent of pine. All at once, the odor of humans was commingled with that of deer, raccoon, possum, badger, and skunk.

The dogs inhaled all of this, seeking out the familiar. For a long while, there was nothing. But when the train slowed as it neared the Bait-N-Booze, Bitch got to her feet and moved to the door. The train sounded its electronic horn the mandated four times, the sound echoing through the woods as if memorializing Ferris Aaron.

The lights were still on in the shack, as two local deputies had been tasked with keeping looky-loos away. The press had gotten word of what went down just past noon. Bitch sniffed the air as the train rolled through the crossing as if trying to pick up any vestigial remnants of her old life. But as soon as any traces appeared, they were gone again. Another moment, and she returned to Bones’s side.

It was forty-five minutes later when Bones smelled smoke. He clambered to his feet and moved unsteadily toward the door, the motion of the train wreaking havoc on his legs. Bitch was already at the open door, her nose bouncing up and down at the same scents. As the train neared the source, four large bonfires came into view just away from the tracks. In addition to the smoke, the dogs also smelled about three dozen people, the gasoline of several vehicles, a lake of booze, and a cornucopia of narcotics.

BOOK: Bones Omnibus
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