Disappearance (16 page)

The houses I saw at the top of the hill are starting to come more in focus. There are at least three on the right side of the road and two on the left. At this jogging pace, I should be there soon.

A few minutes pass and the rain starts to let up. Right when I think the storm is over I hear, without a doubt, the loudest noise I've ever heard in my life. No more than one hundred yards from me, lightning strikes a tree I happened to be looking at. Sparks fly everywhere making it momentarily look like a Christmas tree.

I'm glad I decided stay out in the open. The only thing I recall about lightning safety in school is that being in a car is one of the safer options. That never made sense to me, but I'll have to agree it sounds safer than being under a tree right now.

My jog turns into a run; lightning can be a huge motivator. My heart is beating out of my chest but adrenaline has kicked into full force and the pain in my side has disappeared. A tiny white house ahead is getting closer and closer. Despite the lightning, the rain does seem to be slowing down. That's of little concern now though; I'm already drenched. My run turns back into a jog so I can start to catch my breath. I continue to push forward as the house is only a couple more minutes away.

The feeling I get when I finally step into their yard is pure joy. I feel like I've won a battle even though I have nothing to celebrate. I'm still outside risking my life in the elements.

I take a moment to catch my breath then start walking toward the front door of the house. I'm only a few steps into the yard when something surprises me -- the sun finds its way through the clouds.

Only a few short minutes ago, lightning was taking out that tree. Now beams of sunlight are here. I've never seen lightning when the sun is out so I take it as a sign the storm is over.

Walking toward the house, something occurs to me that I should have thought of before. These past few days I've seen a car around the same time, in the morning around nine o'clock. A cat always shows up around four. Then I remember a dog has shown up around the same time too, hasn't it? Usually around six o'clock or so? I don't know what time it is, but that has to be around now.

Thinking through this more, on day one I met Cujo #1 on the walk back to my house after running out of gas. On day two, I never ran into a dog. On day three, I met Cujo #2 at the electronics store around six. So where was I on day 2?

I remember filling up on gas for the trip, then seeing the cat and forgetting my ax and gun so I rushed home. The rest of the day I stayed in the house.

Of all things to disprove my wild theory, it would have to be this. Sure, I was inside the entire time, but if the rules are that Cujo shows up at six o'clock, then why didn't he magically appear in my living room? Or why didn't I look out my window and see him waiting on me?

No matter how I spin it, this doesn't add up. I should have seen or heard him if my theory is true. I may have dozed off for a moment while I was reading; I've certainly been known to do that in the past. I'm pretty confident, though, that I didn't nap. My head was racing with so many things I couldn't have napped if I tried.

I can try to disprove my theory all I want. I can convince myself that because Cujo didn't show up on day two, the other appearances were just coincidental but none of that matters now.

Far in the distance, I see it –- a big, black dog running right toward me.

Chapter 15

I throw my cereal on the ground and pull out the dull-edged ax I've been carrying tucked in my pants. I run toward the little white house, which has a backdoor with no patio. It's very odd that the door sits a foot above the ground and leads to nothing but empty grass.

The back of the house has two tiny windows about six feet up that I can barely reach and wouldn't be able to fit in if I tried. My seconds are precious; Cujo isn't slowing down and looks angrier than ever.

I try the doorknob, which is locked. Then, I attempt to break down the door by putting my shoulder into it like they do in the movies. It doesn't budge and I'm reminded again of my cracked rib. Even with the adrenaline pumping, the pain is unbearable.

I make a couple futile attempts at kicking the door down, but I know it's no use. There's no time and I can tell I'm not going to make it into the house before Cujo gets to me.

By the time I would make it to the front of the house, Cujo would be on my back and tearing me to pieces. This acceptance, this knowing that I have to have a battle to the death terrifies me but also gives me courage I never knew I had.

I take my ax with both hands and actually start walking toward him as if I'm the one instigating the fight. Anger builds up inside of me. I feel the only way I'll be able to do what I'm about to do is in an angry frame of mind.

Cujo is seconds away so I take the ax in a baseball grip. I can see the anger in Cujo's eyes now as he prepares to attack. The speed at which he is running toward me, I'll admit, is very intimidating. When he gets a few feet away, he leaps at me.

I take my biggest homerun swing, trying to time it like a fastball making its way toward home plate.

I feel contact and the force of Cujo coming at me knocks the ax out of my hands. I fall to the ground as his momentum carries him past me. When I turn around I see Cujo whimpering. There are hints of blood and my ax on the ground next to him.

He's injured, but how seriously I'm not sure. It's not enough because he stands up and comes after me again. I wish I had thought quickly enough to kick him while he was down. Instead, I freeze up not knowing what to do next. I have no chance against him without the ax. Unfortunately, he's standing in a rage between the ax and me.

He jumps at me again. I have no self-defense this time other than to try to push him away. I'm successful at clearing our distance but the snap of his jaw clips my arm. I don't have time to look, my eyes staring unflinching at Cujo, but I feel the pain and blood running down my arm.

The separation between us gives me the brief second I need to step in and kick him as hard as I can. It connects but hardly seems to faze him. It only takes that one kick to realize I'm not going to cause any real damage doing this. My ax is the only thing that will save my life. His bleeding rib cage is an indication of that.

He makes another jump at me. This time, instead of kicking him, I try to push him away.
I have to get to the ax
. He keeps coming at me, and I try to keep my distance with a combination of pushing and kicking as I back-peddle toward the ax.

I feel it against my feet but by the time I know it's there I trip over it and fall to the ground. I grab the handle with my right hand but it's too late. Cujo jumps on top of me and the only thing I can do in that moment is stick out my left hand to protect myself.

Cujo opens his mouth as wide as he can and sinks his teeth into my arm. My mouth shoots open in shock. He's got me now.

The worst part comes when he jerks his head back and forth, tearing my arm to pieces. My own blood squirts down onto my face.

At this moment instinct takes over, and I know I better do something fast. With the ax still in my right hand, I use all the force I can muster and take a swing at his neck.

It connects perfectly. Cujo falls to the ground releasing his teeth from my arm.

Taking the ax with both hands, I get up to my feet and swing it down at him. Again and again, crushing blow after crushing blow, I swing at Cujo. I don't know this madman inside of me; I'm seeing him for the first time.

After ten swings of the ax – or it could have been a hundred, I'm not really sure – Cujo is dead. There's no denying it as he lays motionless in several pieces. The shock of what I've just done starts to hit me. I can't believe it was me that did all of this.

Both of my arms are bleeding. They're mangled and probably need a hundred stitches. The pain should hurt worse than it does I think, and probably will when the adrenaline wears off. No matter how much it hurts, though, it will be OK. I'll live to see another day.

The sun starts to set and I figure I only have an hour before it's dark. It's only now I realize I forgot my flashlight. I suppose I didn't have much room to carry it, but now I wish I'd somehow found a way.

What I want even more than a flashlight is a hospital with a team full of doctors. Out of all my injuries up to this point, my left arm, mangled from from Cujo's teeth, is by far the worst. Every time I move the fingers in my left hand I feel the pain.

I take off my sweatshirt and wrap up my arm. I do this to stop the bleeding, but also so I don't have to look at my arm and see the damage that's been done.

Looking down at Cujo again, I realize it could have been a lot worse. That could be me lying there in pieces, being his meal. The thought makes me turn away and the guilt is really starting to get to me. I know it was what I had to do to stay alive, but somehow it still doesn't seem right. I'm not a murderer and don't have a mean bone in my body. Even though I don't like dogs, I don't go out and ax them to death. I consider burying him but I don't have a shovel. Plus, I'm not sure I would want to pick up the pieces to bury him, so I leave him where he is so he can die in peace.

I make my way to the front part of the house. I'm not sure why I thought my luck would change, but the front door is locked too.

I take my ax - which I can now only hold in my right hand - and strike down hard on the doorknob. To my surprise, the knob breaks in half and falls to the ground. I try to push open the door but realize I've done more harm than good. Now I'm unable to open the door at all unless I smash my way through it.

I could take the time and energy to do this but is it really worth it to stay at this dump? It's the smallest house on the road and there are better options nearby. Also, I don't think I'd want to sleep here knowing Cujo's rotting corpse is only a few yards away, so I pack up and leave for somewhere better.

There are a few houses nearby but off in the distance I see a beautiful log cabin. The moment my eyes see it I'm drawn to it and know that's where I want to be tonight.

Before I go, I take one final look at Cujo to make sure there's no life left in him. I'm not sure why, but even though he's clearly dead, being anywhere near him scares me. I guess it's from seeing scary movies where the villain always comes back to life.

I know I want to get as far away from him as possible, so I start walking toward the cabin on the hill.

It's not far, maybe only a ten-minute walk before I get there. The house has several beautiful glass windows that complement its wooden frame.

At the bottom is the basement with a glass door, the perfect style for breaking and entering.

I take my ax and, without using full force, swing at it until I hit it hard enough to crack the glass. I try to be as careful as possible so the glass doesn't fly back and hit me. After a few minutes, I'm able to get through and step inside.

The basement is quite nice with a billiards table and a big screen with surrounding couches. If this was my house I'd set it up to look exactly like this, with the exception of the animal heads and other deer apparel hanging from the walls.

Over in the back corner, I see something I've longed for these past couple days. My eyes open wide when I see it - a gun rack!

All of my pain and injuries don't prevent me from rushing over to see what kind of artillery they have. The gun rack is locked but I don't hesitate for a second to take my ax and break into the glass center, giving me access to the goodies inside.

Glass flies back and I'm lucky nothing hits me. There are six shotguns, all black and of various sizes. I don't have the faintest idea of the differences between these guns, so I grab the big one in the middle.

The gun is heavier than I expect, and I feel a huge rush of disappointment. I know I can't pick it up with one arm, so I'll have no chance of shooting it unless my left arm starts to get better. Perhaps I'll try tomorrow morning.

At the bottom of the gun rack is a drawer, which is also locked. This must be where the ammo is stored. I think it's best I don't chop my way into it with the ax. I don't know what happens when a blade strikes bullets but I don't want to find out.

Instead, I look around for a key. If I were a parent, where would I hide it? It's not a question I can relate to, because if I had children I'd be too scared to have a gun in the house. Thinking of it from the owner's point of view, though, I look in a few drawers nearby. After finding nothing, I look behind the gun rack to see if there's a hidden pocket, but there isn't. Then, I reach up at the top.

Much to my surprise, my hand knocks a pair of keys to the floor. Feeling like a kid who just found the stash of Christmas presents, I squat down to pick up the keys, ignoring the pain in my side.

I unlock the bottom drawer and, just as I guessed, there are boxes of ammunition. What I didn't expect, though, are several dirty magazines and videos tucked underneath the ammo. Looks like I found dad's secret porno stash.

There are three boxes, each with different types of bullets. I don't have the first clue what bullets go with each gun. This is a puzzle I'll have to piece together tomorrow.

I make my way upstairs to check out the rest of the house. I'm not the outdoorsy type, but I could see myself living in a place like this. It has that warm, cozy feeling that makes you want to wrap yourself up in a fur blanket and sit next to the fireplace.

The main floor is basically just a family room, kitchen, and dining room. The stairs must lead to the bedrooms, so that's where I go next.

When I enter the master bedroom I see it's quite large and very beautiful. The bathroom has a Jacuzzi tub and a large shower. Everything I've seen so far is clean and tidy as if this was a luxury resort.

Being in the bathroom, a great idea occurs to me. I go through drawers until I find what I'm looking for - a nearly full bottle of painkillers.

I try the sink but no water comes out, so I pull a bottle of water out of my pocket. I pop open the bottle of pills and am surprised by how easy it is with only one hand. The directions say I can take up to six or eight in a day. I think it means they should be spaced out throughout the day, but that doesn't stop me from stuffing eight of them in my mouth at once. I close the lid and stick the bottle in my pocket. I'm going to become very familiar with these pills over the next few days.