Pavlov's Dogs (23 page)

As he turned onto the avenue where the big building squatted, his heart sank.

Even more dead had gathered out front. They were spilling out of the lobby.

Ken stopped the bus and stared. The top of his building was belching smoke.

He checked the rearview mirror, seeing the pair of clowns round the corner, followed by a different mass of zombies.

Clowns.

Kids.

Ken sneezed blood and wiped at his eyes.

Up on the second floor of the North Regional building, he could see Kelly behind the window, pointing down at the bus and yelling something. A desk came sailing through the glass, and its drawers opened, scattering papers and pens and a family photo. The desk landed on a bug-eyed zombie down below.

Ken leaned out the window. “Well, come
on
, then!” he shouted up at his people.

He reloaded the .32, picked up his .44, and opened the bus door.

ALPHA MCLOUGHLIN CAUGHT Samson’s wrists as the Beta’s hands shot for his throat. McLoughlin twisted, turning the Dog’s momentum away before jamming an elbow into Samson’s armpit to push him off.

“Stand down!” he shouted.

Samson staggered away but stopped himself from slamming into the cage. He craned his head around to stare at Mac. The Beta’s upper lip twitched, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned, keeping in contact with the fence. His stare emptied of emotion.

McLoughlin took a step back. “Look, whatever it is, we should just hold tight, ride it out. If you got bit... Sam, if you got bit, why didn’t you say anything?”

Samson didn’t respond. He just leaned forward, drooling, sneering, showing bloodstained teeth.

“
Did
you?” Mac said. “When you went to clear the pier, did one of them get you?”

“Stop stalling,” Donovan said. “I gave you an order, Alpha.”

McLoughlin turned to shut the director up, but then saw the rest of the Dogs arrayed behind Donovan, their faces blank. All of them were watching, totally invested in whatever happened next.

McLoughlin knew what they were thinking.

What if it were me in there?

“If you got bit, Sam, I don’t know what will happen. Maybe our systems can fight it off. But this? This won’t fix anything.”

Samson burst away from the fence, flinging himself headlong at McLoughlin, who caught the charge and threw him over his hip. The Beta landed hard on the concrete floor of the sparring cage, not even rolling to absorb the impact. Instead, he landed face-first, bouncing off his chest. Only then did he roll over. The wind had been knocked out of him, but he got up anyway.

Backing to the center of the cage, McLoughlin held his hands in front of him, keeping an eye on Samson. “Stay
back
.” Mac stopped in the middle of the sparring area. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sam, but you have to stay back.” He tried to laugh but couldn’t, finding his throat too dry. “Come on. We both know how this goes. You’re going to sleep.”

One side of Samson’s mouth twitched in a short-lived smile, and he crouched down, advancing and circling to the right. He rushed in, swiping a hand at McLoughlin’s legs, then backing out. The Alpha fell for the feint and dropped his hands—Samson lunged. Together, they fell to the ground.

McLoughlin kicked his legs up, holding Samson’s hips in a guard. He kept having to move his head as Samson’s jaws came down, biting.

Working his arms free, McLoughlin grabbed Samson’s left wrist and shifted his hips, moving his legs up until he was high enough to slip sideways and wrap his right leg over Samson’s face, pulling the Beta Dog down into an arm bar. He pulled; their jiu-jitsu sessions always ended this way, with Samson in a submission hold and tapping out.

Instead, the Beta bit down at McLoughlin’s calf.

The Alpha Dog moved, releasing the hold and rolling away. He made it to one knee before Samson came barreling into him again. This time McLoughlin landed on top, straddling Samson’s hips.

The Beta Dog reached up, and McLoughlin dove to the outside, wrapping an arm around Samson’s head and stuffing his shoulder into Samson’s armpit. The choke was complete when McLoughlin kicked off to the side, applying pressure from his forearm and shoulder to cut off the blood supply to Samson’s brain.

Squeezing with everything he had, McLoughlin felt his friend finally slowing down. Closing his eyes, the Alpha whispered a soft prayer that his brother-in-arms would let it go and pass out. Samson’s legs kicked more slowly, and his arm, held up in the Alpha’s hold, started to droop. McLoughlin gave his thanks into the dirty concrete and got ready to let go. He didn’t want to hold the blood-choke for too long.

A deep growl started in Samson’s chest.

Ah, no.

McLoughlin squeezed harder, crushing down with enough force to put a python to shame, but he felt it anyway; bones and cartilage under Samson’s skin started to shift and change. The heat from his body doubled as all his systems went into overdrive.

“Fuck!” he yelled, pushing off and rolling away. He dimly heard Samson’s howl over the rushing in his own ears as he, too, began the Change.

Donovan stepped closer to the fence, watching as both Dogs’ bodies began to shift and reconfigure. A smile crept onto his face. He knew he was going to get his death match. Once the Dogs were in their bestial forms, with no one in Command to override any of their animalistic impulses, the blood would fly.

He felt the other Dogs clustering behind him and listened to their breathing change. They began to hyperventilate, the action in the cage appealing to the beast inside each of them.

Idly, the director wondered if the security cameras were recording this. He would want to watch it again later. Over and over.

The Alpha and Beta Dogs faced each other inside the fence; Mac’s golden fur shone in the sun, and Samson looked every bit his antithesis, shaggy black fur absorbing the light. Where Mac’s scleras were slightly yellow, Samson’s were blood red, the veins in his eyeballs distended.

The Dogs snarled and snapped their jaws, circling each other, sniffing the air. Their taloned feet scraped and clicked on the concrete as they moved. Their shoulders heaved with each breath, their diaphragms pumping air in and out in great gulps.

Samson charged, leaping with his claws out. Mac dove under the attack, rolling and kicking, hitting Samson’s knees and lifting his legs too high. The Beta tilted and landed awkwardly, coming down on his hands and chest.

He was quick to his feet, running at the Alpha on all fours and lunging at his midsection, jaws wide. Mac’s fist rocketed up, catching Samson under the elongated jaw and sending him to the side. Samson’s claws raked across Mac’s hip as he passed, leaving four bloody furrows that soaked the Alpha’s golden fur.

The Beta Dog turned to look at Mac, licking the blood off his talons. His bestial chuckle turned into a growl, and he began to bite his own fingers.

The Alpha, wounds already healing, jumped at Samson, gathering himself in the air. Both feet shot out like pistons, smashing Samson in the face, and the Alpha and Beta fell backwards, away from each other.

Donovan clapped, genuinely pleased by this display of skill and power. He felt the other Dogs staring at his back, but he didn’t give a shit.
This
was what it was all about.

Science be damned.

Samson charged again, but Mac ducked under it. He swept his left arm around, clocking Samson behind the ear and sending the Dog sprawling. Then Mac leapt after him, still eerily silent.

Turning at the last second, Samson snapped at the Alpha’s neck. Mac locked one hand under Samson’s jaw, holding it away from his face but leaving his side exposed. The Beta Dog slashed and tore at Mac’s unprotected ribcage, stopped only by the bigger Dog’s stout bones. Samson’s foot came up on that side, ripping Mac from stomach to knee.

McLoughlin stuck his thumb into Samson’s eye. Using the orbital bone as a handle, he yanked to the side. Samson yipped and pulled away, and Mac’s thumb came out with a sucking, squelching sound.

And finally, the Alpha Dog began to growl.

Samson shook his head, trying to clear his vision, flinging blood everywhere. He blinked his empty socket several times as he and Mac circled each other. The growl building in McLoughlin’s chest got louder and louder until Donovan could feel it vibrating the steel of the cage.

The Dogs charged each other, hundreds of pounds of meat and bone smacking together in fury. They spun and slashed, clawing each other and roaring. Locked in combat, they fell to the side and rolled. One talon flew out of the melee, smacking against the steel fence.

The Dogs and Donovan watched, wondering what the hell was happening. The new project director got even closer to the fence, taking in the combat, eyes wide open.

An awful tearing sound made everyone flinch, and the fight came to an absolute standstill. Samson stood with his back to the spectators, towering over Mac, who was kneeling on the ground in front of the Beta Dog. Blood poured out onto the concrete, a red fount that seemingly had no end. The Dogs held their breath, leaning forward.

Then Samson keeled over.

The hole in his throat wasn’t healing.

Alpha McLoughlin stood, a red piece of meat in his teeth, blood dripping from his snout. He spat the meat out and raised his furry arms, clawing at the sky and howling in triumph and pain.

THE FLAT WALTHER PPK/E in Ken’s fist barked three times, knocking down the zombies directly under the window. “There’s too many!” he yelled up at Kelly on the second floor. “You’re not coming down through the lobby.”

A pair of zombies got too close, and his .32 spit fire twice.

That’s five, already. Only three more before this slide locks back.

The zombies in the lobby turned toward the gunfire, moaning louder. Ken waved at them and smiled. He looked at the foliage on either side of the walk up to the building, trying to decide whether the bus would make it all the way to the wall. Backwards, so he could use the emergency exit.

He shook his head. To make it to one of the side offices, the group would have to pass through the hallway downstairs, which was undoubtedly full of the dead.

He walked backwards to the bus. “Kelly!”

The slight girl poked her head out.

“Look around. See if you can find a rope ladder or something. Maybe some electrical wire?”

He turned and shot another zombie through the face; the dead man was close enough that Ken felt the mist of a disintegrating eyeball.

“Tell Julius we need to get you guys down.”

“Outside?
Here
?”

“You’ll see!”

He turned and hobbled for the bus, then hopped up the stairs on his good leg. He closed the door and wedged the baseball bat between it and the little stairwell.

Dropping heavily into the seat, Ken cranked the bus and put it in reverse. He used the mirrors to back up until he was close to the oncoming horde.

Ken slapped the lever into park and got up, limping to the back of the bus. He opened the emergency exit and pointed the .32 semi-automatic at the two clowns in the lead. Turning the gun sideways, he looked at it and shook his head. He swapped it out for the .44 in his holster and took aim.

“Fuck you, clowns.”

The big gun boomed once, and the male clown stopped moving forward, instead walking in a tight circle, his left leg acting as a pivot. The clown made a full revolution before falling over. The gun boomed again and the female clown bent over backwards in an almost perfect arch.

Smiling, Ken closed the emergency door and limped back to the driver’s seat.

“Much better.”

He looked out the windshield. He had the attention of every single dead thing still on its feet. For a second, he thought about what Jorge might say.

I bet you’re all wondering why I’ve called you here.

Setting his lips in a tight line, Ken put the bus into gear and pulled away slowly. As he passed North Regional, he glimpsed Julius moving back and forth inside, yanking wiring out of the wall.

Ken leaned his head out the window and yelled at the zombies. “Come on, you dead shitters! Rolling buffet of Bishop in here! All you have to do is keep up. What are you waiting for? You know you want some of this!”

He turned the wheel, slaloming the bus back and forth and knocking over the zombies that got too close. Even at his slow speed, he had to keep stepping on the brake to make sure he didn’t get too far ahead of the shambling mass.

Don’t want them losing interest and turning back.

Banging against the side of the bus with the flat of his hand, Ken started to sing at the top of his lungs.

Looking inside, not much to see

Reflecting no identity

Wearing the face that was given to me

Buy my anonymity