Part 9 (1/2)

Lucky moved in for the kill.

”Lucky,” Jake called.

The dog stopped and looked his way, then turned his attention back to Dirk, who was looking back and forth between Jake and the dog.

With some effort, Jake pushed himself to his knees.

”Wasn't that the name of youra””

”Yep, that's my dog, you dips.h.i.+t,” Jake cut in.

”It can't be. I threw his stupid ball out in the highway and watched him get smashed by a car.”

Jake limped over to Dirk and stood over him, shaking, barely able to contain his anger. ”You threw his ball into the highway?”

”Stupid mutt chased it right into the traffic,” Dirk said, chuckling.

He seemed to have forgotten he was on the ground with three of his friends dead around him, a s...o...b..ring zombie dog ready to rip his throat out, and the kid he picked on in control of his destiny.

”You're no good, Dirk,” Jake said. ”You like to hurt people. A guy like you only goes on to do bad things his whole life. You hurt me, you hurt Lucky, and you'll hurt people as long as you can get away with it.”

”You're losing your marbles,” Dirk said.

”I can stop it all right now,” Jake continued.

Lucky began to snarl.

”This was the last time you'll ever hurt anyone,” Jake said.

Jake turned his back on Dirk, who suddenly realized the predicament he was in. He started pleading with Jake, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

”Get him, Lucky,” Jake said, then walked away without looking back.

Dirk screamed as Lucky's growls tore through the cemetery.

Jake left Lucky to clean up the remains of the four boys he'd feared every day of his life for the past year, knowing he wouldn't fear them anymore.

As for Lucky, Jake never saw him again. He visited the cemetery the next day and saw the empty hole where his dog had been buried. As he suspected, there were no traces of the boys, who were eventually reported missing by their parents.

Jake went back to the cemetery often during the year that followed the incident. He waited patiently for Lucky to come around, just so he could see his faithful companion one more time.

When Jake finally stopped going to the cemetery, he felt as if a part of his life had ended. He felt like he was giving up on Lucky. That made him feel awful. Lucky had never given up on him.

Lucky was out there somewhere, alive. Not alive in the sense that he was the way he used to be. He was something else now. Jake resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to see Lucky again.

Lucky was a zombie.

The thought gave Jake the creeps, but in the end, Lucky was still his dog.

A St.i.tch in Time.

It was five a.m. and Mabel was just about to partake in the only cup of coffee she allowed herself these days. Her old bones protested when she lifted the tiny coffee pot to pour. Her hand shook. This simple act was cause for a deep breath and a heavy sigh.

She carried her coffee to the front porch of the old white farmhouse she'd lived in for right near sixty years of her life. It was the spot she liked to take her morning coffee when weather permitted.

The birds were singing this fine spring morning. The country air was fresh, spring flowers added vibrant colors to the landscape, and her garden had begun to flourish. She would need to tend to it today, maybe tomorrow if she didn't get around to it until then.

Right now she simply wanted to sit.

Floyd was out there in the barn. She couldn't see him, but she knew he was doing what he did first thing every morning, seeing to the cows and the pigs and the chickens. When he finished there, he would work the cornfield. He didn't put in the hours these days like he had before his heart gave out, but he still managed a good day's work all the same.

Mabel sat in her rocker, hand-made by Floyd while he was alive. How she loved that rocker, crafted from the finest oak.

She raised her coffee cup, holding it in both hands, steadying it as best she could, and took her first sip. It was smooth and rich, the way she liked it. A touch of sa.s.safras made it just so.

Mabel rocked in her chair. She could do it only for so long before the joints in her knees gave out, then she would stop for a while.

A commotion in the barn caught Mabel's attention. It was obvious Floyd had gone and got himself into another mess. Something tumbled and crashed. Now the pigs were squealing and the chickens were squawking.

Mabel was about to go check on Floyd when he came lurching from the barn. He was a touch disorientated at first, but he finally righted his course and began to make his way toward her.

Mabel watched him come and thought how he was in desperate need of a little patchwork. She sure hoped those hoodlums from town came through for her. She needed materials. Without materials, Floyd would keep right on rotting. She'd already sewn his nose back on this morning, and last night, just before she finally got him to turn in, she'd had to wire his jaw. His s.h.i.+n bones were exposed and tatters of wasted flesh were all that remained on his fingers. There was barely enough meat to keep him together these days.

Despite his poor shape, Floyd was a hard-working man. A tad clumsy now, but a hard worker just the same, leastways as best as he could manage.

Mabel stood as Floyd reached the porch. She took him by the hand and lifted his limp arm, doing her best to steady him as he tried to raise a foot to the first step. He was too heavy for Mabel, that much was certain. Too dang heavy for her to lift, so the best she could do was help him balance.

”Come on, old man,” Mabel said.

He set his foot down too early, right on the edge of the step, which caused him to slip and tumble forward. Try as she might, Mabel couldn't keep him from falling face down and cracking his head on the third step. It made a sickening wet thud, sort of like a watermelon being dropped, and Mabel knew she was going to have a tough time fixing that mess.

”Blame it, now, Floyd, how many times have we been over this?” she said, frustrated with him. ”You've got to be real careful in your condition.”

She stuck her hands under his armpits and hauled him to his feet, gasping and panting as she did. He was so dang heavy. Nothing but dead weight. She examined his head and saw that there was a deep dent running along the parchment-like skin of his forehead. It wasn't nearly as bad as she'd suspected, though, and once she filled it in, he'd look as good as a dead man could look.

She slung one of his arms around her neck and hauled him up, grunting and breathing hard the whole way. When she got him into the house, she plopped him in a chair in the living room.

”I'll fix you a bite to eat, then you need to finish those ch.o.r.es,” she said. ”What's it gonna be, pig brains or beef heart?”

Floyd stared straight ahead, a thick blackish-green strand of saliva dribbling down his chin. Mabel dabbed at it with her ap.r.o.n. ”Pig brains it is,” she said, tottering off to the kitchen to fetch his breakfast.

The sun had set half an hour ago. Floyd was sitting in his favorite chair. Mabel had propped his legs on a footstool. She went to the window and peeked out. No sign of any headlights.