Big Three-Thriller Bundle Box Collection (99 page)

“You’d better. Ah, I won’t keep you any longer. I just wanted to check and make sure my ex-boss was okay. Ain’t it a bitch, I’ve finally got time off, and now, I can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, well, try anyway. Thanks for having the guys bring my truck back. And, Sarah—thanks for calling, uh, really. Thanks.” This was it. He might never talk to her or see her again.

“Sure, Tony. Well, good-bye. Take care of yourself.”

“Okay—good-bye, Sarah—oh, and, Sarah….”

“Yes, Tony,” she answered anxiously.

“—Uh, well—take care.”

“Bye, Tony.”

Parker sat, watching the television without knowing what was on. He’d lost another friend; another very cherished friend. She wasn’t dead, but still, he’d lost her. He knew he wouldn’t see Sarah Hill again. He’d never look into her beautiful, blue eyes. Never see her teasing smile. Never feel the tingle in his body that she caused when she was near. Of course, with rabies, there would be a lot he’d never again do.

C
HAPTER 43

I
t was eight o’clock. The television was tuned to channel two. The last program had gone to commercial before the next one came on.

Tony Parker sat back on the couch and started playing his
what if
mystery game. The common denominators: Parker’s job, Dr. White Cloud’s practice, and the
Bible
pages and letter to the editor left at the attacks.

“Okay, someone is out to get me and make me suffer, then probably kill me,” Parker said to a bewildered Yankee.

It was someone having to do with Doc. Doc was dead. Patsy couldn’t hurt a fly. Truong had no reason to. Besides, he just didn’t seem the type.

Parker thought back to his recent visits to Doc’s. He relived them in his mind. He remembered driving up on Saturday. Seeing the Bumfields. The outside phone bell rang.

The bell
. When he was there on Tuesday, Truong came out and said the state called. Tests were positive—and the look Patsy gave Truong.
Why?
The outside bell
hadn’t
rung. The university hadn’t called because the outside bell hadn’t rung.

Truong was supposed to take the heads up to Manhattan for the tests, but maybe he didn’t. When they were in Truong’s room, they decided they were going to call the university about the tests after they took care of the greyhounds. Parker tripped over Truong at the doorway. He’d been eavesdropping at the door. They all went outside, except Truong, and got the dogs out of the truck. That’s when he said they called but there was no bell.

He had lied. Why? So they would think he’d taken the heads in? So they would think the dogs had rabies when they really didn’t? Truong had probably been the one who called the health department, posing as a doctor from Kansas State to make sure no one would find out right away. But why was he playing such a crazy game? What would he have to gain?

He put all that aside for a moment and thought about the victims of the other attacks. Roary Rapids, nothing gained on that one. It did tear Parker’s life apart. The speakerphone. It was on. Mrs. Nightingale was on the phone when she was attacked, but Mrs. Taylor was in the shower. It didn’t make sense.

There were missing items: a diamond studded letter opener with sharp serrated edges, five hundred thousand in cash—and Parker’s mind.

Parker sighed as the TV station went to commercial again.
Serrated-edged letter opener; that would make some deep puncture wounds and slash someone up pretty good
.

Haskins came on the TV and interrupted Parker’s thoughts.

“Tonight on
First at the Scene
news, we’ll look at a city under siege by rabid dogs. We’ll also interview the assistant to the late Dr. White Cloud, who was killed last night by the giant killer dog, Jezebel. Now, here’s a brief look at that interview.”

“Dr. White Cloud, good man,” Truong said, “good to animals.”

The picture came back to Haskins, and by his stupid smirk, it was evident he was about to attempt some type of humorous journalism, once again at an inappropriate time.

“Mr. Truong will also have this message for your dog.”

Silence. The TV showed Truong with a dog whistle. He blew into it, but nothing seemed to come out.

But
Yankee’s ears perked up. Parker felt the dog’s head jerk as he petted him. He looked down to see Yankee’s lip start to quiver, then his snout wrinkle into a snarl. Yankee looked up at Parker out of the sides of his eyes. He had a strange look, wild and faraway. He growled a low horrible drone unlike Parker had ever heard from him before.

“Yankee?”

Another growl.

“No, Yankee, no! Bad dog!”

Yankee licked his chops. He appeared puzzled. He growled again. He attacked.

Parker tried to get up from the couch, but Yankee leaped at his throat and pushed him back. His jaws locked around Parker’s wrist, as he tried to protect his throat. The dog’s huge canine incisors had raked across Parker’s neck, and it began to bleed. He pushed Yankee off and over the back of the couch. He was unprepared for the next attack. Yankee came over the back of the sofa, leaping again for his throat. Parker grabbed the back of the couch to steady himself, but the weight of the two of them made it topple over forward and Parker was pinned underneath. His head hit the floor hard. It sent the world spinning again. Yankee tugged at his wrist, but he couldn’t feel the pain that should have been there.

Darkness. He passed out.

C
HAPTER 44

T
he dog saw Parker wasn’t moving. He heard someone coming down the stairs and dropped Parker’s arm, then moved to a dark corner in the downstairs hall by the stairway.

*-*-*

Julie peeked out from the top of the steps, wearing a Kansas City Royals nightshirt that came down to about mid-thigh. “Honey?” she called. “Tony, what’s going on down there, are you all right?” Julie came down the steps slowly, cautiously looking to see what was going on. “Tony, is everything all right?” She walked down to the bottom step and saw the over-turned

couch with Tony’s bloody arm sticking out. “Tony!” she shrieked. Julie turned quickly to see Yankee step out of the darkness. He

announced his presence with a growl, moon eyed, pupils dilated and

dark. Saliva drooled in strings from both sides of his mouth. Julie ran up the stairs. Yankee followed at full speed. Julie screamed.

Nick stood at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong, Mommy?”

Without answering, she grabbed him up and ran for the master bedroom door and the phone inside. Audrey’s door was closed. She would be safe. Julie made it through the master bedroom door, slamming it behind, just as the big brute hit it with his front paws with a bang.

She ran to the phone and dialed 911 but misdialed.

“Oh, damn!” she exclaimed.

Nick looked confused and began crying.

The dog jumped at the door repeatedly, striking it hard.

Julie could hear the baby also begin to cry from her room. The jumping against the door stopped. She paused to hear what was going on. The only sound was Audrey’s crying. It sounded miles away to her anxious heart.

The dog started up again, jumping against the door. This time it sounded different. It wasn’t the master bedroom door. It was Audrey’s door.

She punched 911 correctly this time and waited for a response. A strange sort of cracking came when Yankee hit the baby’s door the last time. It puzzled her. Still no response. The Wichita 911 dispatchers had been overwhelmed with prank calls and false alarms concerning mad dogs, lately. This was apparently the case tonight.

The banging stopped. The house, quiet. Eyes shifting, ears straining. A crash came from Audrey’s room.

“My God, the baby bed!” Julie screamed and threw the phone down. She ran Nick to the master bathroom. “Don’t move. Do you hear me? Mommy will be right back,” she said in her calmest possible voice to the still crying child.

She slammed the door shut and ran back to the master bedroom door, grabbing a fireplace poker from its stand on the way. After a deep breath, she swung the door open.

Julie screamed like an attacking Apache as she rounded the doorway and charged into Audrey’s open bedroom. The baby bed was overturned and the baby was gone.

“Oh, you dirty-son-of-a-bitch,” she yelled. She held the fireplace poker above her head and turned to go look for them.

“Where’s my baby?” she cried.

Julie stopped by the steps and listened. The baby didn’t cry anymore. Only silence. Even Nick had quieted.

Had the dog killed Audrey? No, she couldn’t bear to even consider it. Audrey was still alive. She was going to find her.

Julie glanced in the other upstairs bath. Nothing. She popped her head into Nick’s room. Still nothing.

“Downstairs. They must be downstairs,” she muttered. She descended the staircase slowly.

Still, no sound. Every few steps, she paused, listening, hoping to hear something, anything.

At the bottom of the steps she stopped. Tony’s arm still stuck out from under the couch.

“Tony!” she whispered, insistently, “Tony!”

She heard the creaking of a door upstairs. She recognized it as the master bath door. Nick must have come out.

“Damn, doesn’t he ever mind?”

At least he was upstairs. Yankee was down—she thought. She started back up to tell Nick to get back to the bathroom, then saw the top of the door to Audrey’s room move. Yankee had been behind it. He’d been hiding. Julie heard the big dog’s heavy feet tromp across the floor.

“Oh, no, Nick!” She ran up the stairs in time to see Yankee dart into the master bedroom. He no longer had Audrey. He’d hidden her, like a wolf might hide a rabbit it had caught until things were safe to devour it.

The high-pitched scream of the six-year-old boy shot through the house. “No, Yankee, we’re not playing monsters.”

Yankee gave a snarling bark. He pounced at the boy as Julie ran into the room.

Nick jumped on the waterbed and scampered across on hands and knees to the other side. The dog jumped onto the bed but turned, distracted by Julie.

“Hey, get back, you.” She held the poker out in front of her in a threatening pose.

Julie saw Nick run into the closet and climb up the clothes to the shelf above the clothes rod.
Good boy
. He’d be safe there, for now.

Yankee stood in the middle of the bed, off balance from the motion of the water, snarling at Julie. He would lunge at any second. She lunged first, hoping to catch him off guard.

Julie pushed the poker out like a bayonet on the end of a rifle.

Yankee moved. The sharp end hit the waterbed mattress, rupturing it. He came back around and clamped onto Julie’s forearm. She jerked it away. The flesh tore, horribly, and blood dripped.

“You son-of-a-bitch, where’s my baby?” she yelled, hitting the dog on the back of the head with the poker. It didn’t seem to faze him. With the last whack, it slipped from her hands. The dog left the bed. He squared up on her, eight feet away. Without a weapon, she didn’t stand a chance.

He barked and charged.

She turned and bolted into the master bath doorway but was unable to get the door closed before he came through. It caught him at the neck.

More frantic, hoarse barking.

Julie held the door as tight as she could against his thick neck, hoping she could strangle him. He struggled. He pushed in jerks, trying to advance into the room. Frothing slobber flew from his mouth. He lunged hard and caught Julie’s thigh, raking his teeth across it. She pushed and hit at his big, soft nose with the heel of her hand and finally repelled him, but his head still stuck through the door.

Julie twisted her face in agony. Blood ran down to her slipper. His hot, slobbering breath puffed on her leg. She held the door, terrified. More blood ran down her arm to her elbow, then dripped onto the side of Yankee’s distorted, angry face. It made her feel nauseous, and she wanted to vomit. She couldn’t hold the door for long, she knew that. But as long as she did, everyone else was safe. She would be killed as soon as she let go, no doubt. Maybe the police would come. Maybe the 911 operator had picked up and traced the call.

“Yankee! Bad dog, Yankee! Get back!” Tony’s angry voice boomed from the stairs.

Julie was relieved but no less frightened.

Yankee stopped struggling. He stood motionless for a moment, his head still protruding into the bathroom. For an instant, she thought he might be back to his old self again. She eased up on the door only slightly. As soon as she did, the dog yanked his head back. Her body weight slammed the door.

Yankee barked out, even fiercer than before.

She could hear him bounding like a grizzly bear across the floor.

“Oh, no, Tony, Tony, I’m sorry,” she cried.

She heard a muffled thump.