Dogs (34 page)

She stood on Ebenfield's bed, craning her neck out the window to watch the two dogs. The third one had never returned. Tessa's hope had been that the dogs' eerie behavior was the first sign of impending death, but so far this had not happened. The huge animals continued to bite and leap at the demons visible only to their diseased brains, but they did not die. Ebenfield's disease didn't kill them; the cold at night didn't kill them; they didn't kill each other.

So she would have to do it.

There was nothing in the cabin to help her. Saw, hammer, propane canister—but what could she do with them? Anything she threw, the dogs could dodge. Blowing up the place, with propane as the combustible, would probably kill her, too. She had no faith in the ability of any fiery, hand-carried torch to keep the dogs away from her long enough to reach Ebenfield's car. The car itself had antifreeze in it, which was poisonous to dogs; in fact, lapping antifreeze spilled on garage floors was a leading cause of death among pet dogs. But Tessa couldn't reach Ebenfield's car. Maybe she…

Poisonous to dogs.

Tessa bounded back to the window and stuck her head out the hole. Carefully she studied the ground, the trees, the bushes.

There.

It was easier getting back onto the roof than it had been getting off it before. She was rested now, fed, and not quite so cold. As soon as Tessa emerged from the cabin, balancing herself on the window ledge in her filthy socks, the dogs emerged from their trance and started lunging and growling at her. She forced herself to not look down. Even so, she could see the forty-two deadly teeth in each set of powerful jaws.

She got herself onto the roof and began the slow, agonizing transfer from pine tree to pine tree. Immediately she realized her mistake. This wasn't easier than her first trip, but harder. The melting snow made the pine branches slippery. As her socks became increasingly sodden, Tessa's toes lost their ability to judge the thickness and sturdiness of the branches beneath her feet.

Twenty feet from the cabin roof, she slipped off a wet branch.

Her left food slid sideways and she cried out. Below, the dogs jumped high. Had her right foot slipped, she would have fallen off the branch and onto the dogs. Instead, her legs parted to either side of the branch and her groin hit the wood. Hard. Despite the jolting pain, Tessa had just enough presence of mind to immediately jerk both feet upwards even as her arms clutched for the tree trunk. The jaws of the bigger dog missed her foot by inches.

Shaking, Tessa waited a long time to rise again. The sun filtered wanly through the dripping pines. Water dropped on her head. The part of her mind not occupied with either pain or fear realized what word she had cried out as she fell: “
Jess!" 

What the hell was that all about?

No time to wonder. Carefully, and twice as slowly, Tessa resumed her tree-to-tree transfer. When she finally reached her goal, the branch was too slight to support her weight. She was forced to go as far out on the thin limb of a neighboring maple as she dared, then grab for twigs and branches she could break off. The dogs, snarling, followed her every inch of the way.

The dogs shall eat Jezebel by the wall of—

Then came the journey back, slower and even more treacherous because of the load she carried. Her groin felt on fire; she must have bruised everything down there. As the roof of the cabin drew closer, Tessa knew that no matter what, she would not be able to make herself do this Tarzan act again. Twice, yes. But not a third time.

Back inside, she gave herself a moment to stop shaking, then stripped the bark from the yew and tore it into tiny pieces. The light outside was already fading, it would be a cloudy night, and she needed to get this done while she could still see outdoors. In Ebenfield's one saucepan she dumped the remaining cans of stew, heated them, and mixed in the yew bark. She dumped the whole mess out the window onto the melting snow.

“Come on, doggie, din-din, you hell-hound bastards!”

Both dogs raced over and gobbled the stew as if they were starving, which they probably were.

As Tessa watched, she silently thanked Minette. It was because of Minette that she'd researched canine toxins, because of Minette that she'd vowed to dig up all her lilies of the valley, come spring. Yew was much more toxic to animals than lily of the valley, than rhododendron, than begonia or daffodil bulbs or spinach plants. To die of yew poisoning, a dog needed to consume only one-tenth of one percent of its body weight.

That worked out to about one and half ounces per hell-hound outside the cabin.

Tessa peered out the window. But a part of her mind had snagged on something else. Ebenfield had said of these monstrous beasts that they were “not the first ones.” That implied that he'd infected other dogs, earlier. If so, what had become of them?

She watched the dogs, and she waited.

Dennis Riley said, “Anybody want me to go over everything one more time?”

Ed Dormund fingered his old nine-millimeter in his coat pocket and eyed Dennis resentfully. Sure, Dennis had organized this “cell,” as he called it, for tonight's action, but the meeting was being held at
Ed's
house. Dennis was acting like he was Big Boss here, and that wasn't right. Also, everybody practically bowed down to Brad Karsky.

Well, okay, there was reason for that. Ed wanted to be fair. Karsky had been the brains behind the Stop 'n' Shop bomb. But there were no explosives involved tonight, and this was
Ed's
house, so Dennis should just—

“Let's go,” Leo said, standing up.

“It's too early,” Ed said, and felt a little better when Leo sat down again.

The six men, all dressed in dark nondescript clothing, sat in Ed's living room, illuminated by a single lamp with a forty-watt bulb. Ed had drawn the thick drapes over the window and locked the doors. Nobody knew when the evacuation flunkeys would come around to start throwing citizens out of their homes, but if any FEMA fuckers came tonight, it would look like nobody was home. That had been Ed's idea.

He'd slept all afternoon after the morning's raid on the Army Vet Corps van, and now he was energetic and ready. He had a sudden thought. "You know what? We're like Minutemen."

“Who?” Sam said.

“The guys who defended Boston and won the American Revolution for freedom,” Ed explained, and when Brad and Dennis both nodded, Ed felt good again.

Dennis said, “It'll sure be good to have my Ninja back. I'll bet you miss Jake and them, too, Ed.”

“You know it,” Ed said. He did miss the Samoyeds. He hadn't told any of the men that his dogs had been infected, or about Cora's death, just saying for now that she was “away.” Nobody questioned this. And anyway, maybe the Samoyeds hadn't really been infected after all. They'd never liked Cora.

“Be a lot of traffic,” Tom said.

“That's true,” Sam said. “All the lily-livered evacuees. But that's good. Our people will blend right in.”

Brad nodded again. He said, “Ed, you work with me, okay?”

“Sure,” Ed said, with a quick grin. “Maybe we should go. Traffic.”

The men picked up their ski masks and headed for the garage.

Del and Brenda Lassiter sat in the kitchen of their daughter's house, finishing dinner. Brenda had eaten hardly anything. Chrissy, sweet girl that she was, fussed at her mother.

“Have a little meat, Mom.”

Brenda smiled tremulously. “It's all so good, honey, but I just don't seem to have much appetite.”

Chrissy glanced at Del, who shook his head slightly:
Don't force her
. Even before she was diagnosed, before the chemo, Brenda had never been able to eat when she was distressed.

“How about turning on the news to—” Chrissy began, caught herself, and flushed guiltily. Del, who'd told his daughter privately not to have the news playing near Brenda, said quickly, “Three-handed pinochle until Jack gets home from work? Honey?”

Brenda apparently hadn't been listening. She suddenly burst out, totally unlike herself, “I just don't understand! I just don't understand what the government...I just don't understand how anybody could hurt a dog!"

Kill every last dog before they all kill us.

Steve Harper had kept it small. Just him, Keith Rubelski, Ted Joyner, and Ted's girlfriend Cassie. Keith carried the explosives in a canvas bag that surprised Steve with its smallness and lightness. Thank God for Keith.

And for all the people who, Steve knew, would understand when this was over. He had faith that they were out there, those decent people who knew that children's lives mattered more than dogs. Not to mention those smart people who understood that unless you stopped a plague right away, you would get what the world got with Spanish flu in 1918.

“They'll try again,” Steve had told Keith and Ted and Cassie, “and it'll be tonight. The jackal-lovers'll know that FEMA will bring in more euthanizing drugs tomorrow, and they won't wait. And the Guard won't do any more than they did when the van was robbed.”

The others nodded. They understood. Cassie, whose sister had been killed by an infected Rottweiler, went further. “We owe it to the dead,” she said.

We owe it to the dead.
She was right. The mastiff standing over Davey's poor little body…

Steve checked his weapon yet again.

Billy sat by Cami's hospital bed. She still slept deeply, almost a coma, and her forehead felt clammy and cold. Her pretty hair lay all limp on the pillow and the nurse wouldn't even let him comb it.

“You shouldn't even be in here, Billy,” she said. “You aren't family.”

“Not yet,” Billy said. Turned out the nurse was Donna Somebody, who used to hang out at the Moonlight Lounge when she was home from nursing school. Billy was pretty sure he'd never done her, which was good because now Donna let him put on a paper gown and mask and sit with Cami.

Donna said, “You two are a pair, all right. You with your arm in a sling and your head in a bandage, and Cami with her leg in a cast. I tell you, when she wakes up you'll be the most accident-prone couple in town.”

When she wakes up.
Billy knew Donna said that to cheer him up, and her kindness moved him. She was a great girl. Maybe her and Jess… Lately, Billy wanted the whole world to be in love.

“Look,” Donna said, “I have to take Cami for another test and you should go down to the cafeteria and eat something. Cami and I'll be gone for over an hour. And I promise you the hospital won't start evacuating until tomorrow.”

“Well…”

“Go eat, Billy.”

He touched Cami's hair again and went, but the thought of more cafeteria food was puke-making. Billy called Jess on his cell. “Jess, want to grab a bite? Where are you?”

“At the CDC mess hall.”

Billy heard something in Jess's voice. “Why? Is something happening?”

“Yes. No. It's nothing, Billy.”

Billy didn't believe him. He'd known Jess all their lives. When Jess's voice went flat like that, when it got that particular tone in it, something was going down.

Donna said to go away for an hour, and everything in the hospital always took longer than they said it would. There was food in the CDC mess. Billy could eat there, check it out, and come back to the hospital. If something was happening at the CDC, maybe even something about the dog Billy had brought in, he wanted to know about it. After all, it might help Cami.

With his good hand, he punched the elevator button for the parking garage.

Ellie Caine inched her car into the intersection of Rutherford and Exchange. There were so many evacuees! Although not all of them were what they appeared.

Her chest tightened with fear. Never had she imagined herself doing anything like this. But she knew she could. Nervously she checked the time on the dashboard clock. Timing was important. Jenna, her contact,  had emphasized that over and over. The timing was very carefully coordinated. 

As she waited out the red light, Ellie felt in her pocket for the gun Jenna had showed her how to use. Her lips moved, rehearsing her small part in the events to come. No matter how afraid she felt, she had to do this. She would do this.

Dogs' lives were at stake.

Forty-five minutes after they'd eaten the stew mixed with yew bark, Ebenfield's Dobermans staggered. They took a few lurching steps before their hind legs buckled and they collapsed onto the melting snow. A few minutes later both dogs went into convulsions. In the growing twilight they looked as if being jerked by unseen ropes. Neither dog made a sound, which somehow made the brutal scene worse.

When she was sure they were both dead, Tessa picked up Ebenfield's hammer and unbarred the cabin door. With the hammer she could shatter Ebenfield's car window and then—she hoped—hot-wire the car. Or maybe the keys would be in the car. It's not as if he would have feared thieves. Or—