Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (89 page)

C
HAPTER 21

D
arkness had fallen over the Bumfields’ back yard. The small burg of Sand Creek had been wiped out by the dogs. None of the residents understood the gravity of their situation until too late to call for help—too late to run to their cars and flee.

Not a single car had driven down the street of the little town since the pirate in the white van left. Tricia knew there probably wouldn’t be any until Mr. Burke, the mailman, came sometime before lunch, tomorrow.

She was exhausted, worn out from holding her body taut and from crying quietly over her grandparents. She knew they were dead. She understood what death was. After all, she was a big girl. She was five years old, now, or at least would be in October. She caught herself nodding off as she huddled in the back of Dawg’s doghouse.

She had been lucky earlier this afternoon. Just as Dawg and the other two dogs seemed to be picking up her scent and homing in on her, Mr. Lawrence from next door came out of his house, screaming. All three dogs had been distracted and forgot all about her. They had run off, chasing Mr. Lawrence, with the Lawrences’ own dog, Butch, trailing the pack.

Tricia didn’t know what to do. It had been so frightening, so traumatic. She remembered how Grammy had shown her how to dial 911 for help if there was ever an emergency. She had shown her how to call her mother in Denver and had let her punch the numbers. She remembered Tony Parker and how he came and helped out in the last emergency. He was the dogcatcher. He’d know what to do. Tony Parker’s card lay with all the others next to the phone in the living room.

Tricia was tired and hungry. She didn’t want to leave her safe haven but felt she must. It was unbearable to wait for help any longer. Besides, what if Dawg came back looking for her? Or what if Dawg just came back to his doghouse? He surely would, sooner or later. Probably sooner than help would come. Sooner than Mr. Burke would come to deliver
those damned bills
as Grandy would say.

She paused from her thoughts to wipe her streaming eyes and running nose on Raggedy Ann and then rubbed her soiled doll on the side of her dress. She had to get into the house. She had to get in soon and call Tony Parker.

Tricia crouched low in the opening of the doghouse, taking care to examine everything within sight. No movement. There hadn’t been any barks for hours, yells and screams for even longer. Once in a while, she would hear some growls, probably from the dogs fighting over their kills.

No growls, now. The night was still. Time to move—
shit or get off the pot
as Grandy had said when driving himself and Tricia into Wichita to the grocery store one day. He’d said it to an elderly man stopped at a green light. Then, he’d caught himself and told Tricia to
excuse me, Ma’am,
and he’d tipped his hat to her. She remembered giggling at his clowning. The tears came back to her eyes but she wouldn’t allow them to flow.

“Shit or get off the pot!” she said in her low Shirley Temple,
Good Ship Lollipop
voice and popped out of the doghouse. She darted for the back door of the house.

With her hand on the screen door handle, she looked in the open doorway. What if Dawg and the others were inside?
All
of them. But then again, maybe they were all gone. Maybe they all ran off.
Maybe
they saw a rabbit and all ran away, chasing it, and would never come back. She frowned thinking of it. After today, these dogs probably wouldn’t much care for rabbits.

Tricia moved slowly, tiptoeing her way into the house and through the kitchen toward the living room. It was hard to see in the dark, and she wanted to turn on a light but knew she shouldn’t. She tried to be quiet, as quiet as a mouse, and so far she had been.

She bumped into something. A kitchen chair. It banged into the table, and a half-f glass of milk, left over from lunch, fell over and spilled on the table. Tricia pulled Raggedy Ann up close to her face and stopped still. She stood silently in the darkness, waiting to hear anything move that might have heard her. More than a minute passed before she was sure she hadn’t alerted the dogs and moved again, creeping to the living room.

She eased through the doorway and stepped toward the phone table in front of the large, wide-open living room window. The window screen was torn into strips. Light shone through from the streetlight. It gave the room an eerie, spooky feel.

She hadn’t thought about this being the last place she’d seen Grandy, but she was reminded of it by the time she made the middle of the room. She had stepped on something, and she looked down. In the dark shadows on the floor, she could make out Grandy’s body. She couldn’t really recognize it and wouldn’t have been able to even in the light, but it was in the same place as it had been earlier in the day, so it must be him. She wanted to scream. She wanted to so badly but held herself back, even though she realized her foot rested
inside
Grandy’s body.

Tricia drew a deep breath. She stepped quickly over her grandfather and briskly toward the phone. When she reached out for it, her excited hand knocked the handset off, and it clattered onto the table. She pursed her lips and slowly scanned the room.

She saw eyes. A pair of eyes, glowing in the dark. They rose slightly.

Oh no! A dog, and he’s seen me, and he’s in the hallway!

Every joint in Tricia’s little body locked. She could do nothing but stare back at the eyes.

A small, meek mew came from the thing. The same
meow
she’d distinguished from all the other commotion when she ran out of the house earlier in the day. It was Little Pussy. He lay on a ravaged body. Tricia knew it must be Grammy’s, but she couldn’t see for sure.

She began crying uncontrollably, and her limbs convulsed. The kitten sprung up from its place on the chest of Grammy’s half-devoured body and ran to her. It stopped at her feet and arched its back and rubbed up against the little girl’s calf. Tricia saw it through blurred eyes. She whimpered.

Tony Parker’s card lay on top of the phone table. She recognized it because she had picked it up and looked at it after Tony Parker and everyone else had gone outside. She could barely make it out through the sheet of tears covering her eyes. She laid Raggedy Ann down next to the phone and picked up the handset.

Tricia wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked at the card. Below the number printed on the card, there was another number hand printed. Tricia couldn’t read words yet, but she remembered Tony Parker saying his home number was on it. At this time of night, that’s where he would be, and the hand-printed number must be his home phone number.

Tricia took care in pushing the correct numbers, just as Grammy had taught her. She was excited she had done so without a hitch— knew that Grammy would be proud…
if she were alive—
and she turned away from the window and bent down and grabbed up the kitten. She waited for the phone to make the connection and start ringing as the kitten nuzzled her cheek.

She glanced over to the opposite wall at Grammy’s favorite picture. She’d told Tricia she liked it so much because it reminded her of Tricia and Dawg. It depicted a young girl, who had most likely just been scolded, standing in a corner. A dog was behind her, looking as if it wished to console her. On the glass cover of the picture, Tricia could see her own reflection, standing in front of the window in the dim light. It was ghost-like and covered the little girl in the picture.

The phone rang. One, two, three rings.

Oh, please be home!

Someone picked up the phone. Tricia was surprised by what sounded like crying from the other end.
Are they there, too? Have all the dogs in the world gone crazy and they’re at Tony Parker’s house too?

“Hello,” Tony Parker’s voice answered the phone.

Tricia raked in an excited breath, preparing to
spill her guts
, as Grandy would have said—oh, poor Grandy, who had
spilled his guts
all over the living room—about what had happened. But then she noticed Little Pussy stiffen up and spit while looking, over Tricia’s shoulder. Tricia glanced to the picture on the wall again. Her own reflection was still there, but now there was a new image, imposed phantom-like over the dog in the picture. It was large and hulking, and its eyes glowed an evil amber. She turned her head slowly and looked over her shoulder. Dawg’s body filled the open window. He stood with his front paws on the torn out screen frame only three feet away, glaring at Tricia with lip curled and huge teeth bared.

She gasped.

“Who is this?” Tony Parker asked.

Tricia couldn’t speak. She stared into Dawg’s evil, vicious eyes. He hadn’t budged, still glaring as if he wanted her to make the first move.

Finally, Tricia found enough breath to whisper, “Dawg!”

C
HAPTER 22

T
he workout helped Julie get the troubles between her and Tony off her mind, and she began to worry about Tony. He’d never acted like this. She knew Sarah was a threat, but she really never believed Tony would ever give in to the little flirt. She hated him for backing her into a corner, forcing her to make a decision. She hated him for lusting for Sarah, young desirable Sarah, instead of her. She hated him for screwing her, if he had. She hated him, yet she loved him dearly. At times she felt she was too much like her mother, who had remained married to her father for more than forty years now, all the time knowing he continuously had affairs.

It’s a man’s world
. She shook her head.

Maybe there
was
a logical explanation for what she’d seen. She didn’t know how, but maybe. But why wouldn’t he tell her if there was? Make her listen to his explanation, no matter how many times she turned away. It just wasn’t like him.

She hadn’t seen him drink like tonight since his wild days, before they were married. This Jezebel thing seemed to be eating him up inside. It was making him do and say things he normally wouldn’t. And now it was eating on Nick and even her.

It was ten o’clock and the class was finally over. It had seemed like she’d been there all day, instead of just an hour. Julie’s class was the last of the evening, and she rushed the few remaining stragglers out the door, anxious to get home to her family.

“Julie, are you going to be teaching the late class again this fall?” one of the ladies asked as she dried the sweat from her face with a towel.

“No, not this time,” Julie said, holding the door open for the last three women to leave. “I have to get ready to teach third grade again. I’ll be teaching at Lincoln, starting the second semester. My husband’s going back to vet school.”

“We’ll sure miss you,” another of the ladies said, walking out the door.

“And I’ll miss all of you, too,” she said smiling as she patted the last girl on the back.

“Bye,” they all three said in unison while walking to their cars.

“Bye-bye,” she said back and pulled the door shut behind her as she stepped out.

The door locked as intended. She had left her key inside in the manager’s desk, since it was the last night she’d need it. She began walking to her minivan, which sat alone in the parking lot. The misty night had just a bit of a chill in the air, but it was calm, no wind. No noise except the distant sound of traffic and car horns on Douglas Avenue a couple of blocks away.

As Julie walked up to her white Ford minivan, a strange feeling came over her, and she shivered. A feeling that someone was watching her. She felt uneasy as she dug in her purse for the key to unlock the minivan door. When she brought the keys out, she noticed the window was down an inch and the lock button on the inside was up. She tried the handle, and the door came open.

“Hmmm,” she said out loud, “must have forgotten to lock it.”

After checking inside to insure she had no unwanted passengers, she slipped in quickly, slammed the door and shoved the lock down. She peered out as she found the ignition and turned the key. The engine turned over nicely, but it wouldn’t start. She tried again and pumped the accelerator. Still, no positive response.

“Oh, damn it!” she cursed aloud. “I keep telling him to get this damned thing fixed.”

Julie tried the ignition again and began pumping the accelerator frantically until she could smell gas. The engine turned ever slower. She paused for a moment and scanned the parking lot.

What would she do if it wouldn’t start? She couldn’t get back into the building to call Tony. He’d have to get the kids up to come get her, and he probably wasn’t in any shape to drive, anyway. She could call a cab, or Jack and Sadie, if there were a phone. But there wasn’t a phone for blocks. She couldn’t remember one any closer than a Quick Trip several blocks away. She might as well jog home. It wasn’t much more than a mile.

Something about this night, though, bothered her: the talk of this giant killer dog, the harsh words spoken, the night itself. Lonely, eerie, spooky.

She tried the switch again. This time, nothing but clicks. The battery was dead.

“Damn, damn, damn!” she said and hit the steering wheel.

She’d have to look under the hood. She didn’t know why. Everyone does that when they have car trouble. She popped the hood release and reached for the door handle and began to pull it, watching diligently through the front windshield. The dismal setting made Julie feel more isolated than ever before.

Crack!
Something hit her driver’s side window. She turned quickly. A slobbering, dirty face pressed up against the window next to her.

She screamed.

The atrocious face looked back at her and smiled. Black and gray teeth. Scraggly beard. Long stringy hair. He clutched a wine bottle in one hand with the index finger of the same hand over the top of the narrowly opened window.

“Car trouble, lady?” the wino asked, slurring.

She could smell the wine, thick on his breath, through the opening.

“No, no, leave me alone!” Julie demanded.

“Come on Lady, I can help you. I’m good with my hands,” he said, still smiling, showing only a few sparse teeth, and wiggling his nasty, filthy fingers.

“I said
no
! Leave me alone!” she demanded once more and rolled the window up on his finger.

“Ow! Damn!” the wino said and snatched his finger out, dropping the wine to the pavement with a crash. He looked down at the broken bottle with anger, holding his injured digit. “Bitch!” he yelled out and slugged the driver’s side window with the side of his fist. “Stupid Bitch!” he yelled again and kicked the door.

“Get away from me! Leave me alone!” Julie yelled back nearly in tears.

The wino stood six feet away and wiped his nose. With a disgusting snort, he spat and began staggering away. Julie watched him until he had gone around a dark building almost a block down. Her hands shook and teeth chattered. She felt like a scared rabbit, drawing short breaths. She scanned the parking lot once again. Nothing else out there. The coast was clear this time. She made sure. She pushed out of the minivan cautiously, leaving the door open, and found the hood latch.

After lifting the hood, she looked down at the big greasy mass of metal and wires. It was an engine, she knew that.
The round thing in the middle. That’s what they always mess with first, when they work on cars. They take it off and fool around with the—carburetor!
She proudly remembered this much. She stepped back from the minivan and gave a slow and cautious 360-degree scan. Satisfied she was alone, she looked back under the hood. She reached for the wing nut in the center of the air cleaner and tried turning it. It was tight, and when she broke it loose, her fingers slipped off, and she broke a fingernail.

“Ow!” she said, “Ewww, are you gonna’ get it, Tony Parker!”

Julie stood back for a moment and looked at her vehicle.

“What’s the use!” she said and slammed the hood. She went back over to the open door, reached in and got the keys and her purse. She threw the door shut and looked out determinedly in the direction of home.

It wasn’t a bad jog to the house. A bike path went most of the way. A couple of blocks down to the river and onto the jogging path, then along the river and under a couple of bridges, then back up onto the sidewalk, and in a couple of more blocks, she’d be home. She’d jogged it in daylight many times before, a number of times with Tony. She wished Tony jogged it with her now, even if something had happened between him and Sarah. Even if he had been
unfaithful
, she wished he were with her
now
.

Julie drew a deep breath, tucked her purse under one arm and started running fast. Finding it impossible to maintain the sprinting pace and feeling a bit more relaxed, she slowed down within a block and began singing, “Julie, Julie, Julie, Do You Love Me?” It came to her lips almost involuntarily, and it seemed to help take her mind off her predicament. Tony would sing this song when he was in a playful mood and make her laugh. Sometimes, he’d use it to help mend an argument. Maybe he would sing it when she got home, and she’d laugh, and everything would be all right.

Julie made it to the jogging path without incident. She felt a bit more confident until she looked down at the river. The same feeling of being watched came over her. Another chill scampered like a mouse up her spine and made her shrug her shoulders. She paused, jogging in place. The river lay before her, black and still. Like death. Fog was slowly building on it.

A hoarse howl broke the stillness, echoing eerily, reverberating long and low.

Julie shook all over. The howl came from a ways off. She couldn’t tell how far, but it was—a ways. It could have come from any dog. This dog, Jezebel, was surely dead by now. Tony had said it.
It was probably dead
. She would be all right. She just had to get this done and over with. She’d be home soon.

Julie shook once more, this time purposely, trying to shake off the apprehension, and started down the path.

“Julie, Julie, Julie, do you care?” she sang a little louder this time. She kept her eyes straight ahead, afraid to look around. She would just jog as fast as she could and not think about anything but getting home.

The fog became thicker. Her shoes made hollow, ricocheting echoes down the path. The thick damp fog labored her breathing, and she felt as if it closed in to suffocate her. The path was only visible thirty feet in front of her. The few lights along the path only made things worse, causing bright patches of nothingness fog. Up ahead, she could see the top of a bridge. As she neared, she strained her eyes to insure nothing lurked underneath.

Movement. Her fears came true. Something moved under the bridge. She came to a fork in the path. She could either go under the bridge on the level she was on now, or go up hill and around the bridge and cross the street.

She paused once more and jogged in place, squinting down the path. It could be a goose or a duck. Or another wino, probably harmless. Or a rapist. Or a dog.

It moved again. No shape. Dark. Black—like Jezebel.

Julie’s entire body shuddered, and she shot up the path to the street above. She didn’t look down the other path. She just ran. She made it to the empty street and looked back, gasping for air. Nothing had followed her.

It
was
nothing. Just the fog. Imagination.
Paranoia
, like Tony had said. The quickest way home was still down the jogging path. She crossed the street and went down the other side onto the path again. Once again she ran without looking back. Her jog had turned into a flat out run. She perked her ears to hear what her eyes were afraid to see, but could discern only the echoes of her own footsteps.

Suddenly, she came to the next bridge. It caught her off guard. She had been running much faster than usual and had never reached it this soon before. By the time she realized it, it was too late to take the high path to the street. She didn’t want to run back. Julie feared what might be following her, but also what might be waiting for her under the bridge.

With all the energy she had, she flew under the bridge and sprinted out the other side. Nothing lurked under the dark gloomy overpass, and she chuckled to herself.

Her toe kicked something and fear came over her again. She heard a telltale,
tink, tonk, tonk
of an empty bottle, probably a wine bottle, followed by a splash as it fell into the river.

“Damn winos!” she cursed, relieved.

Julie smiled as she approached the last street before the turn off to home. She could see the top of Blackbear Bosin’s
Keeper Of The Plains
statue across the river. The huge statue of an Indian chief looking up to the heavens somehow comforted her. She thought of their good friends, Doc and Patsy White Cloud. She felt safe now. She had her second wind, and it didn’t seem as hard to breathe. She jogged on, almost enjoying the night.

“Julie, Julie,” she began singing again, then louder, with a laugh,
“Are you thinkin’ of me?
”

The hoarse howl, this time not far off, ended her gaiety.

“Oh she-it!”

Something ominous about it this time. In the dense fog, Julie felt trapped. The prey waiting for the predator, without chance of survival. She sprinted once again. The haloed streetlights became glistening blurs in her tear-filled eyes, making it difficult for her to see. She strained her ears and turned back to look down the path.

Nothing but fog. But now, a noise. Something getting louder. Something coming closer. The pounding of her own heart made it difficult, but she could hear it. Getting closer. Closer. A rapid tapping sound, like sticks on a rock.

Julie turned and ran frantically, nearly out of control. Her arms flung around her without coordination, and she gasped for air between nervous, whimpering sobs.

She made it to the last bridge and ran up to the street without looking back. Only two more blocks and she’d be home, but her feet were lead weights, and her lungs were ripping apart in her chest. The tapping still approached from behind her as she cut across a yard and onto her street.