Pavlov's Dogs (32 page)

Yes, he will be the one.

Kaiser threw a looping punch, one that Hayte sidestepped, slipping around the bigger Dog as smoothly as a shadow. His arm snaked under Kaiser’s, a foot in the back of his knee, and the Epsilon found himself suddenly kneeling in front of Hayte, trapped in a half nelson.

Hayte caught his other hand to lock in the hold, and then leaned down to look into Kaiser’s face.

“I’ve always known, Kaiser. You were never a man who
became
a wolf. The procedure... it only brought out the real you.”

Kaiser began to laugh, and a spark of alarm flashed across the native’s eyes. It was too late. Kaiser’s snout had already begun to grow, and he leaned his neck back, the pliant cartilage and bones ready for the Change, allowing greater flexibility. Teeth snapped on Hayte’s gut, and Kaiser dug in.

Hayte let go, beating down on the crown of Kaiser’s head, but, again, it was too late: the Change had started, and the Epsilon had a good hold on him.

Head thrown back, Hayte tried to change too, but Kaiser’s growing snout and elongated teeth took a firmer hold on his midsection, and all Hayte could think of was pain.

Kaiser stood, lifting Hayte into the air by his stomach. He reached up and gripped the sides of the native’s head, then let go with his teeth. Grunting and growling laughter, the fully-formed Dog twisted and pulled until Hayte’s neck popped free from his body.

The stands went quiet. Donovan threw his drink over the cage and started cheering. The rest of the island staff clapped, but more than one face was streaked with tears.

The beaten Theta Dogs all lowered their heads.

Kaiser had won. He’d beaten them.

All of them.

Donovan stood and yelled at the security guard. “Open it. Open it, already! I want to congratulate my new Alpha!”

The guard extended a shaking hand and unlocked the gate. Donovan ran over and yanked the door open. He approached Kaiser, arms open, singing praises.

“Beautiful! Magnificent! Oh my God, I have never seen such a display in my life!” Donovan turned to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! I give to you, your new Alpha!”

He began to clap, but a growl from behind him stopped him cold. Crazy, but it felt as if Crispin’s eye were ogling his back.

“Alpha?” Kaiser grunted, darkly amused. Then he roared. “I am the
Omega!”

He dashed forward, seizing Donovan by the neck and hip, lifting the neurotechnician over his head.

Kaiser brought Donovan down hard across his knee. A sharp crack rang out, and the seats began to empty as everyone went running. Pointing a clawed hand, Kaiser beckoned the watching Theta and Sigma Dogs.

“Change.”

Obliging their new Alpha and Master, their new Omega, the Dogs put themselves through it again, their bodies reconfiguring in painful, unnatural ways, bones and cartilage popping, muscles and connective tissues stretching, tearing, then healing. One of them vomited from the pressure on his stomach.

Then the seven Dogs entered the cage to stand with their new leader. His excitement spread to them, infectious, a thing that had only ever happened with McLoughlin; their shoulders began to heave up and down in time with his. They snapped at each other and paced.

Kaiser barked. He pointed again, this time at the prone and still very much alive form of Donovan.

“Feast,” he said.

And they did.

KEN SAT ON THE ROOFTOP, looking down at the mass of shuffling humanity below and popping plastic wrapping bubbles. As far as pastimes went, it would never beat baseball, but it was something to do. Though they hadn’t been there for that long, he already liked the shop better than North Regional. The tools and workbench made him feel more at home, and the accommodations above the shop were set up for people living, not people working, like back at the offices.

“I can’t believe you’re still up here,” Kelly said from behind him. “How much of that bubble wrap do you have left, mister?”

He half-turned to look over his shoulder. “What are you offering for it?”

She laughed. “Oh,
ho
. So that’s what it’s come to. The death of romance at the end of the world.”

Ken patted the ledge next to him, and she sat down.

“Sorry about before,” she said. “I just feel bad. Mac just got here, and he does so much. Nobody asked him for anything.”

He nodded. “I know. It’s all right. Shitty times all around, right? How’s it going downstairs?”

Kelly snorted. “Julius is still running around, setting things up and keeping everyone else out. I don’t get what he’s doing, but he seems to have a plan.”

Tearing his piece of bubble wrap in half, Ken gave her the good part.

“Thank you,” she said. “I hate these things. We’re not going anywhere for a little while. I don’t see why Julius doesn’t turn off the noisemaker.”

It was Ken’s turn to laugh. “The old man has his eccentricities. He told me he couldn’t sleep without the sound now. Did everybody get something to eat?”

“Everybody that wanted something. People are taking this hard. First the pastor, and now Mac looks so sick.”

Ken rolled up the bubble wrap and twisted it with both hands, setting off a string of rapid-fire pops. “I’ll be back. I think I’m going to give Julius a hand. Will you be here for a while?”

Kelly stood, handing the plastic back. “No. I have some stuff to do too. Mac asked me to put lampblack on all our metal stuff. And there’s quite a bit of metal stuff. He’s down there now, all pale, with your .44 in the vise.”

Raising his eyebrows, Ken stood with her. “Well then, I guess I’d better get down there.”

Julius was sitting on a stool, rolling an open jar over and over in his hands.

“Is that gasoline?” Ken asked.

“It is. And over there is a pile of nails soaking in it.” Julius eyed the jar. “Hand me some, will you? About two dozen. No, don’t count them out.”

He held the jar out, and Ken dropped the nails into its mouth. “What is this?”

Julius set the jar on the bench and picked up a white plastic bottle. “Hold on. Don’t want to try to do this while I’m talking.” He poured a dark-purple powder into a plastic cup and put a cap on it. He put the cup into the bottle with the nails and screwed the lid on tight.

“What is that?”

“Low-income nail bomb,” Mac said from the other side of the workshop. His head, freshly shaved at sunup, already looked like a crew cut instead. He looked bigger, too. More heavily muscled. “Man’s been making things that go boom all morning. Without mistakes. I’m starting to think he wasn’t going to just let this place default to the bank.” His words were pleasant enough, but he sounded brusque, almost rude.

Lips twisted in a stiff smile, Julius put the small jar with a dozen others just like it. On the shelf above them sat a pile of gleaming CO2 cartridges. “I’ve always wanted to go down swinging. Maybe I’ve seen
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
too many times.”

“They didn’t know they were going down,” Mac said. Then he clapped his hands. “Ken. Come look at this.” He pulled the .44 out of the vise. “Try that.”

Ken took hold of the gun. “It’s lighter.”

Mac shook his head. “It’s more balanced. I’ve seen how you hold it, so I adjusted the grips. The trigger pull is better, too.”

Looking up at Mac, Ken smiled. “Thanks. Let’s just hope I don’t need to pull the trigger that much, yeah?”

“This is it,” Julius said. “All the party favors are put together. Thermite’s ready, torches are tested.”

Ken whistled. “And the boat?”

“The boats are good to go,” Mac said. “Good thing you remembered where the military convoy went down. The .50 cal is mounted and ready to go. Plenty of ammo.”

“Thanks, Mac. Since you’re all done, I guess I’ll get out of your hair. Um, never mind.”

Ken walked away, feeling Mac’s eyes on his back and cursing himself for his stupid choice of words. He went upstairs and stopped in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled and he realized he hadn’t even eaten yet. There was some macaroni and cheese left on the stove, so he grabbed a bowl and spoon and dug in.

As he ate, he was vaguely aware of voices from other parts of the living quarters. They got closer, and he wished he’d taken his bowl to the roof to eat. Conversation hadn’t been his thing lately.

“Here he is now,” Kelly said. “Ken, this is Teddy. He’ll be driving the decoy boat.”

Ken looked up into a tired set of eyes sunken into a narrow face. “Sit down.”

Teddy sat, his thin wrists banging the table as he did. Ken winced, but the pale-faced man hadn’t seemed to register the pain. “What kind of—”

“Before we talk about the plan,” Ken said, “I have to ask, are you sure you want to do this? The boat is going to draw a lot of fire, and will probably get sunk. No one can guarantee you’ll make it out of the drink alive.”

Teddy laughed, and it was turning into a dry, rattling cough that shook his thin chest. “I might be all right with that. Unless you think there’s a plucky HMO that’s hiding out somewhere in the city, I don’t think I have much time left.”

“Drowning—”

“Save it,” Teddy said. “I’m not going to drown. I’ve decided, and I talked to Julius about some preparations already. I’m not coming here to ask you. I’m telling you.”

Ken picked his spoon back up. “Thank you. I think.”

“Now. What kind of timetable are we looking at here? I’ve got places to be and people to look forward to.”

’

Later, Ken was back on the roof and feeling deflated. On the one hand, having someone volunteer to drive the decoy boat was great. Really, really great. He hadn’t felt like handing out a death sentence. On the other hand, the reality of the situation came home again. He wished Jorge were there. Lightening the situation. Even if it was with a fart joke.

He smiled. Jorge. Even at his worst, he’d always been able to make Ken laugh.

He stared out over the sea of dead, thinking. It had been, what, three months before the outbreak? He wasn’t even sure about the date anymore, but that sounded right. He and Jorge had been late, incredibly late to work because of Jorge’s screwball antics...

“
Come on, it’ll only be a couple of minutes,” Jorge had said. “In and out, boom. On the way to work. What could go wrong?”

Ken sighed and pulled the truck into the minimart’s parking lot.

“
That’s the spirit,” Jorge said. “I’ll keep ’em in the cooler, and we’ll have brewskis two seconds after we knock off. Set the weekend off right. Isn’t that a plan?”

“
It’s a plan. Go get the beer already.”

Jorge unbuckled and hopped out of the truck.

“
And no cheap shit!” Ken yelled after him. Jorge answered with a middle finger over his head.

Not a minute after Jorge went into the store, he was followed by two other men; a young black man in a hooded sweatshirt and jeans, and an older Latino in a three-quarter-length denim jacket.

Feeling like a racist, Ken shut off the truck and went inside, too.

He went straight to the back and grabbed Jorge’s elbow. “Come on. Get your beer already.”

“
What the hell, man?”

Ken dragged him to the front.

“
Let’s go.”

Shaking his head, Jorge paid his bill and they left the store. “What was that about?”

Ken shrugged, walking them to the side. “I don’t know. I just got a bad feeling about those guys that went in after you.”

“
Bro,” Jorge said.

“
I’m sorry. They looked...”

“
Brown?”

“Shifty,
I was going to say.” Ken slapped Jorge’s shoulder. “You know me better than that.”

“
Yassuh, bwana,” Jorge said.

“
Hey! You take that shit back.”

Jorge put the six-pack down. “Make me, Grand Wizard.”

Ken put his hands up.

“
Ah, that’s how it is,
maricon.
Bad enough I got to put up with the racist attitudes of the fat cats we build shit for, now you too?”

“
I’m not—”

Jorge pushed him.

Ken stepped back.

Jorge pushed him again.

“
Well?” he said.

Ken tackled him.

They rolled on the hard asphalt of the parking lot, their jackets taking most of the damage, but it was still asphalt. Jorge punched Ken in the side, short jabs, until Ken kneed Jorge in the balls.

His air came out in a rush and he fell to the side. His jacket hiked up, and Ken saw something that was irresistible.