Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (85 page)

Jack asked, “What’s going on here?”

Parker saw Simpson looking behind them. Two more dogs, a golden retriever and another German shepherd, this one with mixed blood, advanced from behind. Another two dogs, an Irish setter and a large Heinz fifty-seven cur ran up, one on each side, and stopped within fifteen feet of the group.

Parker scanned 360 degrees, looking at each of the dogs. Yankee danced around, eyeing each of them also.

“We’re being herded,” Parker said. “We’re being herded together, like a bunch of sheep.”

“What for?” Simpson asked. “Why would they?”

Parker and Simpson were now up to the rest of the group. They stood around the tables with the dogs encircling them. Two more dogs, a Siberian husky and another large mixed breed, appeared and joined in. Some of the younger children cried in scared, nervous sobs.

“Tony, do something!” Julie begged.

“All right, everyone, just stay calm. Don’t show fear. No sudden moves, and for God’s sake, no one run.”

The dogs closed in.

“Now what?” Simpson asked.

“Don’t look directly into their eyes. Men, get to the outside of the circle and stand with one side out. No sudden moves, but everyone get a weapon, a knife or a fork or something. And don’t show it; keep it hidden.”

The dogs advanced several steps closer, their snarls increasing in intensity.

“It’s not working, Tony!” Julie cried.

“God, Tony, what’s going on?” Sarah exclaimed.

“If I can get back to the car, I can get my gun,” Simpson said.

“A gun might make things worse,” Parker said. “You couldn’t get all of them. They might attack after the first shot.”

“Or they might all run,” Simpson said back.

“Getting to the cars is the thing we’ve got to do, but when you get your gun, don’t shoot unless they attack,” Parker insisted. He raised his voice so all could hear. “We’re going to ease our way to the cars. Jack and I will lead. Everyone stay together and take it very slow.”

They started, inching down the gradual slope to the parking lot. The dogs followed, closing in at the same time. They still snarled savagely, now within an arm’s length of the group.

Ted Baker’s fifteen-year-old son, Paul, lost his senses and broke from the bunch, running desperately toward the cars. The mixed shepherd and the collie pursued him. Within twenty feet the shepherd nailed him by the heel, and the collie followed with a leaping tackle. The other dogs held fast to their positions as if mystically linked together. They were like well-trained soldiers from an elite army.

“Damn it, Jack, this is it!” Parker yelled and let go of Yankee’s collar. He ran to the boy’s aid with Simpson running after him.

Parker grabbed the collie by the neck and jerked him off the boy, who was on his back with arms up, trying to defend himself. The boy’s arms and face already showed several bleeding gashes.

Simpson grabbed the shepherd around the middle and hurled it into a nearby cedar tree. Yankee quickly overpowered the collie and was on top of it.

Parker looked up at the other dogs. He was surprised that an incredible melee hadn’t begun. Instead, all of them stood motionless with perked ears. Yankee and the collie both stopped battling, and Yankee stood with head raised and ears cocked. The marauding dogs, as suddenly as they’d appeared, retreated, sprinting back into the trees as if a shot, inaudible to human ears, had been fired.

Everyone stood in silence, dumbfounded. A moment later, they all seemed to realize they were out of immediate danger and stampeded to their cars. Paul Baker’s father ran over and helped his son up and to their car. Sadie and the kids were already getting into their Olds. Julie had scrambled, with Audrey in her arms and with Nick in tow, to the minivan, jumped in and rolled up the windows. Sarah Hill raced to her car. Parker, Simpson and Yankee stood and watched as everyone made it to safety.

Jack trotted over to the passenger’s side of his Chevy and opened the door and leaned across the seat. He took out his .357 and held it in his lap as he called in on his radio. Parker stood next to the door, holding Yankee by the collar.

“Six Adam Three to Dispatch,” Simpson called, his words rushed.

“Dispatcher, go ahead, Six Adam Three,” the radio squawked back.

“Code 30,” Simpson barked into the microphone. “Officer needs assistance. We have multiple vicious dogs at Tabor Park. There are at least two injuries. Get an ambulance and all available officers Code 3.

“Ten Four, Six Adam Three.”

“I want all officers to shoot to kill, I repeat, shoot to kill any dogs appearing vicious and running loose in this area,” Simpson said.

“Jack, you can’t do that,” Parker said. “Think about it.”

Simpson paused. “10-23, dispatch, hold on.”

Parker said, “Have them call Animal Control for me. Let’s work together. If you go shooting every loose dog, you’re going to end up killing a lot of innocent animals, and someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Dispatch, cancel that shoot to kill,” Simpson said somewhat calmer. “Call in all available animal control officers. Have all officers proceed with caution and identify and restrain any dogs appearing to be a threat. Shoot to kill as last resort only.”

“Ten Four, Six
Adam Three.”

They heard sirens within two minutes. Soon, the entire park seemed overrun by police and animal control officers. Not a trace of the vicious animals was found.

CHAPTER 14

A
t a quarter till three, Donna and Bart Hartwell and their two-and-a-half-year-old son Joshua arrived on the riverbank of the Little Arkansas River within a stone’s throw of the Douglas street bridge. The Sunday afternoon traffic roared above as hundreds of other citizens rushed about, enjoying the beautiful day.

It didn’t matter that it was a lousy place to fish. They probably wouldn’t catch anything, but they were together. Donna would be going to work at five at the downtown McDonald’s, and Bart worked the graveyard shift at Boeing. They were together. They were young. This was a rare moment they could relax and share.

“Okay, Josh, now you stay back from the water while Daddy baits your hook,” Bart said.

Donna stood well up the bank, her tongue sticking out the corner of her mouth as she struggled with a fat, juicy earthworm. Joshua toddled back and forth impatiently behind his parents.

A grasshopper flipped down the path, and the boy waddled after it. He reached to capture his flighty little prey but fell forward when his toes hit a rock just off the path. He caught himself with his hands and looked down into a dry drainage ditch. A large drainage culvert was set in the gradual-sloping bank beside the bike path. He seemed distracted by the dark hole. The grasshopper made a getaway, and Josh descended toward the black gap on his hands and knees.

Inside the concrete tunnel, a shadow lay low, back a few feet from the opening, wary of her increasingly noisy surroundings. She had sought relief from the coming day’s heat as the sun rose this morning, and the cool cement seemed to be ideal in the quiet of the pre-dawn. Now, she felt trapped. The onrush of traffic and continuous parade of people captured her in the storm drain with no escape. The people were after her. She must stay hidden.

Jezebel lay with her head on her paws. With wide eyes and perked ears, she studied the animal stumbling toward her and recognized it as a human pup. She had seen only a couple before. The last time was when the old female human brought two over to her master’s den. They were harmless and innocent little creatures that liked to play and whine. Her nostrils flared, and her glistening black nose twitched. She remembered their smell, fresh and sweet, yet with a slight uriny scent. The same odor came from this one.

Jezebel had never had pups of her own. Her instincts told her she should, she needed to, but the pups never came. She had enjoyed playing with the human pups before and wished they could have stayed so she could have licked and cleaned them and lain down with them to protect and keep them warm. They weren’t her pups, but she needed to have them. She was supposed to have pups.

“Be careful, now, Joshua,” Donna cautioned. “Don’t you go too far.”

“Dog-gee?” Joshua said and stopped halfway to his goal.

Human pup. Lick, sniff, play!

Jezebel voiced a light whine. She darted her tongue, and her tail slapped the concrete twice.

The human woman looked back at the culvert apparently hearing the sound. Jezebel’s eyes shifted to her. Confusion once again stirred her brain.
Man—enemy, kill. Kill!

“No, I don’t think there’s a doggie in there, honey,” Donna said. She went back to struggling with the worm. “Why don’t you come up and help me catch a big old fish?” Donna looked back at Joshua. “Now, don’t get down there too far and get all dirty.

“Oh, Donna,” Bart said, “he’s a boy. He was born to get dirty. What’s a little dirt when there’s adventure to be had? Maybe there is a dog in there.” Bart looked over his shoulder and craned his neck as he pushed a large, meaty night crawler on a second fishhook. He squinted, but the bright sun would not allow him to see into the darkened crotch of the ditch.

“Mamma, doggie!” the boy yelled out in excitement, as he stumbled closer, within five feet of the dark gap under the path.

“All right, it’s time to fish, and I don’t think your silly doggie’s going to want to fish with us,” Donna said, starting toward the boy. “Come on, come on up.” She began stepping down with arms stretched.

Kill! Kill! Kill!

*-*-*

Parker drove his family home in an unusually quiet minivan. There hadn’t been a word said during the entire fifteen-minute drive.

Without speaking, Parker changed and left in his truck. As he drove, he tried to think of anyone who could be trying to get back at him for something he had done. Someone seeking revenge, maybe even someone trying to frame him. He could think of no one. Haskins had always tried to be a thorn in his side, but that was all he’d tried to do. This was much more serious than that. Haskins was stupid, but he wasn’t entirely insane. Whoever was involved in these horrible attacks was definitely one hundred percent wacko.

He wondered if he wouldn’t be one of the suspects in this confusing case if it weren’t for Jack Simpson being his best friend.

Parker picked Simpson up at his house, and they joined in the search.

*-*-*

“Joshua, I said come on,” Donna Hartwell said, reaching. All week long, Joshua had asked his mother, “Fishy? Go fishy, Mama?” Now, the little devil wasn’t interested and was looking for imaginary dogs in holes.

“Doggie, Mamma, doggie!” the boy said again, even more excited as he reached into the dark hole. “Doggie, Daddy!”

“There’s no doggie in here, sweetie,” Donna said with a quick glance, beginning to lift the boy.

Joshua began to cry, still reaching to the culvert opening. “Doggie! Doggie!”

Donna looked back to the darkness. Something glistened. Two objects, round and black. Liquid black. Eyes. Her own eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she saw a dark shape three feet in front of her, a foot from Joshua’s outstretched arms. A large shape, very large. The eyes blinked. Donna froze. She’d heard of this beast, this murdering monster, and, now, it stared at her eye to eye. It had killed without reason with its tremendous, vicious fangs.

Donna’s jaw locked and trembled as she tried to shape words. The huge beast blinked again. Speech seemed impossible; the words would not come. She raked in a deep breath.

Finally she screamed, “Jezebel!” With two hastened steps, she stumbled up the embankment with Joshua gripped tightly in her arms.

Bart looked over his shoulder, eyes wide.

Long, black legs began flinging out of the dark hole like a huge tarantula trying to get a foothold. In a split second she was up, out of the hole, and standing with legs cocked, showing her murderous fangs. She stood for scant seconds, then became a black blur streaking out from the ditch and into nearby bushes.

*-*-*

Parker and Simpson received the call as they pulled away from Simpson’s house. Jezebel had been spotted downtown near the river. They searched relentlessly for the rest of the afternoon without results. Due to the intensity of the search, Parker hadn’t had a chance to go to the blind man’s house. He’d do that tomorrow. Maybe he’d find a clue there to help make some sense of the mess.

They checked in on Pastor Santini. He was out of surgery and in the ICU, still unconscious and in serious condition.

When Parker returned home after eleven that evening, Julie was already in bed and either sleeping or pretending to be. He didn’t try to wake her. Instead, he said nothing and got into bed as quietly as possible.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Jezebel returned to Parker’s foggy dreams. The same dream as before. Once again, she moved through the mist. Quietly, resolutely. Once again, she stopped. Once again she looked up the sidewalk, to the door of the house—Parker’s house. But this time, she slowly approached the door. She walked with purpose, head in a guarded position, not showing her deadly weapons, the ivory stilettos. She walked to the door and stopped short of the first step to the porch. Her muscles tightened.

*-*-*

Several miles away in a dark room, a big Heinz fifty-seven stood motionless, watching in anticipation from a large cage. “DAWG” it said in prominent letters on his dog tags.

His tail wagged. He buffed softly and whined. His feet pranced in excitement.

A chrome-plated, wire gate opened with a
nitch
and
clank
. It slowly creaked as it swung wide.

A man’s hand with a doctor’s rubber glove patted Dawg on the head. It moved down his back to his rump. The other hand revealed a hypodermic needle. Pressure from the thumb made a small amount of clear liquid squirt out, and the hand quickly pushed the needle into the animal’s hip.

Dawg acknowledged the needle with a short yelp but continued wagging his tail, looking up at the dark man who had a patch over one eye.

The needle withdrew, and Truong gazed back and smiled. He raised the black eye patch covering his left eye.

Dawg whined and continued to stand, wagging his tail, as Truong patted him. For a moment, there was no reaction. But soon Dawg began bobbing his head. He staggered, stumbled, and losing his balance, he collapsed, eyes wide, trying to focus, rocking his head back and forth. His tail thumped against the floor. In the dog’s mind, the walls of the cage became a blur. They melted, and everything around him distorted. Truong’s face appeared directly in front of his nose. Dawg saw an eye, a very dark eye. Dark and deep like a well.

Dawg heard a blowing noise. Two long puffs, two short, a long. But it wasn’t just blowing. A whistle was masked in the noise, high pitched and inaudible to human ears but not to Dawg’s. He heard it with piercing clarity.

The eye Dawg stared into seemed to widen and grow even deeper as it came closer and closer. Dawg was caught up in it. He couldn’t fight it. He didn’t want to. There was something seductive about it. It drew him closer until, at last, he fell in, tumbling end over end. He passed fangs and claws and walls of blood as he fell and fell and fell.

Suddenly, he no longer tumbled. He heard the beating of hooves and paws on damp earth, and he was running. A pack of large, wolf
-like dogs raced down a dried up creek bed, and Dawg sprinted amongst them. He was excited as all the dogs seemed to be. They were in chase. A large bull elk ran in front, and they closed in. The stag jogged from side to side of the creek bed, avoiding tree limbs and roots and other brush-like debris, gracefully jumping over much of it. Still the dogs drew nearer.

Without warning, a large, dark dog leaped from one side of the creek bank, onto the stag’s back and tore into its throat. The huge stag stumbled and fell, and the entire pack stormed in and ripped at the ill-fated animal. Dawg joined the frenzy. He also attacked the big buck savagely, tugging and slashing. He saw the big, dark dog. He sensed he was the undisputed pack leader, far superior to all the others. He saw one of the dark leader’s eyes. It was dark and deep like a well.

Now, several human-like creatures appeared, wearing furs made from animal hides, some made from other dogs. Their spears and rocks flew. Clubs bashed the dogs. The pack fought back, but many of the dogs fell dead to the primitive weapons. The dark pack leader looked at Dawg with his dark, deep eye. A sort of whine came from the leader’s throat. It turned into a piercing whistle that seemed to envelope Dawg. Dawg sensed a command.

Attack, attack the man-animals! Kill! Tear open their throats!

Dawg obeyed, easily overcoming one of the adversaries and knocking him to the ground. He tore at his foe’s neck, and soon, the man-enemy quit fighting and lay motionless on the ground. Dawg smelled the blood. It smelled good, and he licked it from his snout. The taste made his excitement soar even higher. More dogs appeared, and within seconds, four of the man-enemies lay dead on the ground, being ripped apart by the vicious dogs. The remaining half dozen of their enemies fled with two of the dogs still in pursuit as the rest of the pack began feeding on its new kills.

Dawg saw the eye of the dark one once again. He seemed pleased with Dawg. Dawg was pleased also, and the meat of the man-enemy tasted sweet.

Dawg continued his hallucination. He lay on his side with all four paws twitching, fur raised on his neck and hackles, lip curled, revealing his deadly weapons.

Buff, Buff!
he sounded in a dream-muffled bark.