Part 15 (1/2)

Inside the house, Tom dropped the curtain and dashed through the back door and onto the steps. Then, fearing that he might startle Thor into action, he stopped himself and tried to act calm.

”Hi, Ted!” he said nervously.

Thor heard the apprehension in Dad's voice and thought Dad finally understood that Uncle Ted was a threat. But he did his best to pretend nothing was up while he waited for the last piece of evidence: the one that would confirm or deny everything.

”Good morning,” Uncle Ted said. His voice and posture overwhelmingly proclaimed his guilt, but Thor still waited.

Uncle Ted continued down the stairs, trying not to be too obvious about watching Thor. Dad came up quietly behind Thor and reached down to pet him.

There was something artificial in Dad's touch, but Thor kept his attention focused on Uncle Ted. Uncle Ted stepped onto the cement walk and Dad slipped his index finger into the loop on Thor's choker. Thor noticed but pretended not to. He knew if he betrayed his intentions prematurely he would never get another chance.

He'd only succeeded in doing one thing right since the trouble started: He'd drawn blood from the Bad Thing's ankle. He couldn't afford to make another mistake. He sat perfectly still and tried to look normal.

Uncle Ted walked up to Dad and Thor, as guilty as any Bad Dog Thor had ever seen. Thor was certain Dad could see it - he'd always seen Thor's guilt.

Uncle Ted came into range, and Thor nonchalantly sniffed the bottom of his pants leg.

Underneath Uncle Ted's pants was a clean cotton bandage, the potent odor of disinfectant, and dried blood. Thor had no difficulty matching dried blood with fresh, but the unexpected disinfectant smell confused him for a second. He took a few deep breaths to numb his nose to the disinfectant. The blood scent came through, clear and strong.

It was the Bad Thing's blood. There was no doubt.

Smelling is knowing.

Thor glanced up at Uncle Ted for an instant to see exactly where his throat was. Then he leaped.

Tom felt his hand suddenly rise up into the air. It was halfway to Uncle Ted's neck before he realized what was happening and pulled back hard.

The chain closed painfully around Thor's neck and he felt his flight cut short as Uncle Ted brought an arm up to s.h.i.+eld himself.

Thor snapped at Uncle Ted's forearm and his fangs sank into flesh, but Dad yanked him backward before he could clamp down and do any real damage. Uncle Ted stumbled back, stunned, as Dad slipped on the gra.s.s and fell backward, pulling Thor with him.

Thor found his balance, dug his claws into the ground, and pulled violently to get at Uncle Ted, snapping his head from side to side and choking himself in the process. Blood spread onto Uncle Ted's torn sleeve as Thor lurched at him with jaws open and fangs bared. Dad lay flat on his back, his index finger nearly dislocated but still in the choker, which he held onto desperately with both hands. The collar closed around Thor's neck and he gagged horribly as his teeth snapped uselessly on air.

Uncle Ted stumbled backward onto the stairs as blood ran down his arm, soaking his s.h.i.+rt sleeve and coating his hands. He squeezed his forearm to slow the bleeding as he chanted, ”Oh s.h.i.+t! Oh s.h.i.+t!” over and over again. He ripped away the sleeve with his teeth and looked at the bite. It was only a flesh wound, just deep enough to bleed like h.e.l.l. He was okay. Still, he felt his blood pressure drop and he sat down on the stairs and started to put his head between his knees.

”Get upstairs!” Dad shouted, ”Quick! I don't know how long I can hold him!” Uncle Ted stumbled up the stairs in a daze, leaving bright splashes of blood in his wake, Thor growled and snarled and snapped at him from the end of Dad's arm, but the attack was over and he knew it.

And once again, he had failed.

Dad struggled to his feet and pulled the choker with both hands. His index finger hurt like a b.i.t.c.h, but he dragged Thor back to the house with his front legs off the ground, retching and gagging all the way. Dad hated choking him like that, but he didn't dare let Thor's feet touch the ground. Thor was much too heavy and powerful. It was a miracle that Dad had managed to hang onto him this long.

Mom stood in the kitchen door with her hands over her mouth, panic-stricken. She quickly stepped aside as Dad hustled Thor through the kitchen to the cellar door. Thor struggled as hard as he could without attacking Dad, but once his feet were on the slippery kitchen floor, he gave up. He offered no resistance as Dad opened the cellar door and pushed him through. He tumbled down a few steps before his feet found the stairs, then continued down on his own. He headed straight for the darkest corner and dropped to the dirty cement floor.

He felt only guilt.

There was no question of the Badness of what he'd done. The attack, as necessary as it might have been, not only violated Dad's Law, but Natural Law as well. Any violence within the Pack was anarchy, a threat to the very existence of packs.

And Thor hadn't just committed violence. He'd tried to kill within his Pack.

His guilt was total. He felt the tightness around his chest, and the feeling of shrinking inside himself returned. He would not feel better. He was permanently and irrevocably alone, and he knew in his gut that he wouldn't live long without his Pack.

He had no wish to go upstairs and seek forgiveness. He couldn't face the Pack. He didn't deserve their love, their companions.h.i.+p, their food or their home. He was a menace to Natural Order.

Sounds from upstairs reached his ears, but he heard nothing. Even his sense of smell seemed to fade away. He stared without seeing, and thought only about the terrible thing he'd done.

He remembered biting Teddy, he remembered Kitty, whom he'd shamefully failed to protect, he remembered his disobedience, culminating with the way he'd fought with Dad only moments ago.

But worst of all, he remembered how he'd enjoyed the taste of Uncle Ted's blood - the final proof of his Badness. Only a Bad Dog could enjoy the taste of a pack member's blood. Only a Bad Dog could know what it tasted like.

He expected to die in the cellar, and hoped death would come soon. In the meantime, there was nothing to do but wait.

All sense of time faded out, along with the details of the cellar around him. He felt nothing but emptiness and Badness. He felt ugly and misshapen and was glad no one could see him.

He didn't hear the frantic conversations and scurrying around upstairs; they were none of his business. The Pack was no longer his concern - he no longer had concerns. He was totally alone, totally separate from the Pack. He would never go home again. He had no home to go to.

Janet held Uncle Ted's arm over the kitchen sink as cold water washed over the gash.

”You'll need to see a doctor,” Tom said.

”No I won't,” Ted said. ”It's just a flesh wound. No veins or arteries or tendons cut, nothing I can't handle.”

”You're going to need a teta.n.u.s shot,” Tom said.

”I'll give myself a teta.n.u.s shot,” Uncle Ted insisted. ”You think I can go into the Amazon rain forest without a first aid kit? I have sutures, I have local anesthetic, I have disinfectant and I have penicillin. I have everything I need and I've had plenty of practice using it. This won't be the first teta.n.u.s shot I've given myself.” He paused for a moment and added quietly, almost ruefully, ”Besides, I don't like doctors. Believe me, it's no big deal.”

”Okay,” Tom said. There was something terribly disturbing about Uncle Ted's comments - or was it his att.i.tude? Tom couldn't put his finger on what it was.

There was nothing else for Tom to do but make the phone call, the one he dreaded making. The one to the pound. He wished someone else could do it, but there wasn't anyone else. He picked up the phone book and looked up the number.

He felt like s.h.i.+t.

Chapter 14.

Time stood still in the cellar. Hours went by unnoticed as Thor waited for nothing, his pain punctuated by darting, uncontrolled, random memories of times spent with the Pack. Already, he missed the Pack desperately.

His depression was so deep that he didn't react when the cellar door finally opened. Ordinarily, he would have been thrilled. Ordinarily, it would have meant a chance for redemption. But those days were gone forever.

He hoped no one would come down into the cellar. He didn't want to be seen in his current state. He was a Bad Dog. Why didn't they leave him alone?