Unbidden Page 17

A couple of the mutts were still pushing their food bowls around with their noses, trying to pry out every scrap with their lapping tongues. Six of the ten dogs roamed freely about the yard. The more troublesome ones were chained to the two leafy trees sheltering the kennels. There were no slackers in their lot. They were all workers – ridgeback crosses and pig dogs. Scott ran into their loose grouping, darting here and there in sharp turns, so they’d skid going after him. He jumped as if skipping rope, while the less diligent dogs were sent sprawling, tripped up by the chains that wove back and forth from the tied-up animals.

  When the dogs did manage to corner him, Scott bunted aside their sloppy kisses. He wrestled with them, stood them on their hind legs for a waltz, shook off the occasional one that tried to hump his thigh, laughing: “Get off, you filthy mongrel!” He found a ruined flap of a tennis ball and pegged it for them to chase. His method of patting them was rough. He pulled the dogs’ muzzles into clown faces, scrubbed the skin along their backs until it bunched up in fat rolls, and slapped their flanks hard enough to make a casual observer wince. They lapped it up.

  Sometimes the dogs snapped at each other in their excitement, but no serious fighting ever broke out. They were firmly established in their pecking order, and Scott Clarkson was king.

  Flecked to his hairline with slobber, Scott took a break from play. He looked back toward the barn, wondering if his mum had finally found something devastating enough to pique his interest.

  A low growl sprung up at his back. Scott was so startled by the alien sound that he automatically stepped closer toward the protection of his dogs. Except, as he twisted about to meet the noise, he saw that it was one of his own dogs doing it.

  His dogs would never growl at him. It must be at something else.

  As if to prove him right, the dog cut off its growling and wildly shook its head, an ear angled down as if trying to dislodge something from it. A short whine escaped its throat, cut short by a fearful yip. Then the dog fell back on its haunches, trying to vigorously dig out the annoyance with its hind paw.

  Scott ran over to the dog. “Hey, boy! What’s wr–”

  The dog turned and snapped, just missing Scott’s outstretched hand by millimetres. It was no playful bite, either. It meant business, the teeth coming together with a distinct click. Then the dog acted as if Scott wasn’t there any more, going back to the business of scratching at its ear, one eye squinted shut.

  Scott drew back, pressing his hand to the side of his leg as if bitten.

  The dog froze in mid-scratch, its leg still extended, quivering in midair. Its eyes squeezed shut and its lips drew back, crinkling, showing teeth in a doggy rictus grin. Its head jerked in place, as if a slight electrical charge was passing though it.

  Scott thought the dog’s expression dreadful. He was about to shout for his mum, but then he was struck speechless by a new horror.

  All around him the other dogs began whining, shaking their heads, fussing at their ears. One dog pressed the side of its head to the dirt and pushed it along like a plough blade, whimpering all the while. Another dog rolled over again and again to be rid of what beset it. Every one of them growled and fidgeted at phantoms.

  Scott turned to the first dog again. With rising hope he saw that the affliction had passed. The dog was up again, shrugging off its fug with a few untroubled shakes of the head. Acting for all the world as if it had just woken up, it looked at Scott with clear, unaffected eyes. Scott went to grab the dog, to make sure it was okay.

  He didn’t make it.

  The dog’s back bowed under, as if taking on an invisible weight. It stumbled drunkenly then righted itself again, though not easily, legs straining under some unseen burden.

  “Boy?” Scott quavered.

  The dog saw him again, showed its teeth and growled. Other growls joined, surrounding Scott. With mounting horror he saw each of the dogs develop bowed backs. Their heads jerked back from the new weight before lowering, slung between bristling shoulders. The last dog fell down with a straight back, stood again with a crooked one, and the conversion was complete.

  “Boys?” Scott pleaded.

  They replied by snarling. The ones tied up pulled their chains taut. The free-roaming dogs began to circle him. He tried to edge away and they came with him. He did not call out for help. In his panic, he had forgotten anyone else was nearby.

  Then, miraculously, there was a break in the circle and he was leaving the dogs behind. He kept retreating steadily, fearful of turning his back. But they did not seem bothered by him leaving them. They appeared to be cutting him loose.

  The boy sensed sudden movement at his back. He reeled away as frustrated jaws cracked together barely missing his groin, the attacker held fast by its chain. The other tied-up dogs pressed forward, upper halves swaying as they stood on hind legs, snapping at each other when they lined up too closely. Scott had not broken their circle at all. He had been led to the tethered dogs under the trees. The unrestrained dogs moved in to cut him off.

  He still had the tennis ball. Not expecting anything, just reacting, he pegged the ball at the dogs that had scared him, the ones tied up. From habit, one of them leapt and caught the ball in its teeth. It came down close to another that reacted savagely, and the two fell into a snapping, snarling knot. Scott ran through the gap they left. The other dogs gave chase. He shouldn’t have got six steps, but in their haste to bring him down, his closest pursuers were tripped up by the whipsawing chains of the two that were fighting. Falling in senseless heaps, they began attacking each other.

  Scott was caught in a mindless panic, his only desire to escape the vicious snarls behind him. He ran for the house, screaming for his mother.

  ***

  The sounds carried into the house. It gave Warlock a jolt and he turned to Lauren to see her reaction. Perhaps it was normal on their farm to hear the noise of gunfire.

  They were in the study. Lauren was busy at the computer, sorting through notes for an extra credit assignment to be done over the holidays. Warlock was lounging nearby, ostensibly to keep an eye on her, bored. He was flicking through a magazine about farm machinery, his thumb marking one of the more interesting articles: “Fertilizers: Vegetable vs Blood and Bone”. He wondered if the information had potential application to drug growing.

  In one way, he didn’t mind being stuck where he was. From time to time he could sneak admiring glances at Lauren’s profile over the top of his magazine. Her cut-off jeans showed a lot of brown thigh. Most of the chicks he knew kept themselves out of the sun, carefully tending complexions as pallid as the underside of an eel. He wasn’t used to someone like Lauren.

  His startled reaction to the sound of gunshots and his open stare caught her attention. She smiled at him shyly before taking refuge again in the text on the computer screen and the music pouring tinnily out of her headphones. She liked it loud. He could appreciate that. It was nice to be able to shut yourself away from the crap in the world.

  He swallowed, trying to assess the situation outside by listening. He didn’t care to get up and look. He wasn’t enthusiastic about what he might find.

  More gunshots cracked across the yard outside. Warlock wished he could pop himself something from his bumbag without Lauren seeing.

  ***

  Scott glanced back to see how close the pursuing dogs were, slowing a fraction, causing the dog in the lead to run into him. They tumbled together onto the dirt.

  Janet and Doug rushed from the other side of the barn, led by his screams. Doug started up a run when he saw Scott, but faltered when the boy fell over, trying to figure out what it was that was chasing him and his dogs.

  Scott got to his feet again on the run. The dog was quickly up and running too, lunging forward, its jaw gripping onto his pants. Scott did a bellyflop. The dog was on his back, lunging for the back of his neck. It caught hold of the collar instead, yanking it up. Whipping its head about, the dog tore away the strip of cloth.

  Scott rolled over onto his
back, spilling the dog off. Open jaws lunged for his face. The boy threw out his arm to block them, but Doug was there first. He caught the dog squarely under the mid-section in a smooth, powerful kick. He meant to send the dog flying, but his kick flipped the dog into a forward somersault. The boy’s outthrust arm was snagged by the dog as it flew over him, but the startled animal let go as soon as it bit, its teeth not even breaking the skin.

  The rest of the pack caught up, surrounding Doug and the boy. One dog ignored Doug completely, trying to get past Scott’s madly kicking legs to rip out his stomach. The rest were not quite so raring to go, holding off at seeing the man join the fray, although they kept spearing back and forth, looking for an opening.

  Doug swung another kick and one of them lunged forward, snatching hold of the pants leg above his boot. Another joined in, taking a mouthful of the boot’s toe, fangs hooked fast in the tread. The animal was so incensed, Doug could feel its vibrating growl through the leather. The two dogs held Doug’s leg off the ground and he had to hop forward to stay upright, forced into a tug-of-war for his own limb.

  The other dogs moved in.

  Doug pulled the pistol from under his shirt and shot the dog farthest up his leg. He aimed for the dog’s hindquarters, so he didn’t plug himself by mistake. At first he was not sure he’d hit, but then the dog let out a belated yelp and twisted about to bite where he’d shot it. Champing at the wound, the dog spun away in a tight circle before straightening out and taking off.

  The other dog continued to hold his boot off the ground, still determined. Doug pivoted, pitching it sideways against the one that was snapping at Scott. The two dogs began brawling with each other directly above the boy. Doug jammed the pistol inside their knotted tussle and pulled the trigger. He had no idea if he hit either. The result was still satisfactory. They both turned tail and ran.

  Doug wheeled around and faced the closest attacker, the one he’d kicked. The animal was slow in regaining its feet. It went some way to explaining why Doug and the boy hadn’t been overwhelmed. All the dogs were badly balanced, weaving like drunks, their backs bowed, their stomachs belled. Their eyes were distraught with rage and confusion, as if they had been surprised from a deep sleep.

  Doug, who hadn’t seen their transformation, thought they’d been poisoned.

  The shaken dog finally stood up, back legs braced apart, forelegs trembling fiercely. As if against its will, the dog’s head was roughly brought to bear on the boy. Doug thought it was like a horse’s head pulled back into place by a pair of reins.

  For the second time, the dog went for Scott. Doug shot it twice. The animal twisted up into the air and fell down again.

  Fawning and grovelling, the sorry creature dragged itself over to where Scott lay. Once there, it lightly nipped the boy’s hand, drawing blood, before it died.

  There were three dogs left. They hung back, barking hysterically. One of them was a sneaky cur, scurrying in and trying to bite before scooting away again. Doug fired a shot over their heads. They gave ground, but did not run, still barking and snarling, goading each other. Each sported that same, bowed back.

  Sitting up dully, Scott placed his hand on the brow of the dead dog beside him. He appeared shellshocked, totally ignoring those still baying for his blood. The skirmish had taken scant moments. Janet caught up suddenly, slowed by the same shock and incomprehension displayed by her son.

  Doug could not believe what she did next. She was moving forward, stamping her foot, clapping her hands together, trying to shoo the dogs away. She raised a hand to strike and Doug pulled it back before it was bitten off. He saw what she could not: these dogs meant to kill them.

  A new addition sprinted toward them, coming up fast behind the other dogs. One of the larger, meaner animals had managed to break free from the kennels and was now flying toward them as if from a slingshot, a long chain snaking through the dust behind. It cut through the pack, its tongue flapping, jaws slavering, impatient to have its turn.

  Doug dropped to one knee so he wouldn’t have to follow a moving target. Like a homing missile, the dog came straight for him. He fired at point-blank range. The dog crashed into him, dead.

  The three remaining dogs lost heart when their leader was cut down. One turned tail so quickly its backside skidded in the dirt. All three fled away into the paddocks, disappearing into the grass.

  Doug inhaled the blue smoke of his discharged gun, breathing it in through his mouth and out through his nose. He badly needed a cigarette.

  Scott gaped at the retreating dogs, then at the man rising to his feet before him. Janet drew in her son and gripped him by the shoulders. Doug saw with no real surprise she was attempting to move Scott away from him.

  She froze when Doug stepped forward to help them. The boy kicked at him, eyes brimming with hot, furious tears.

  “What’d you shoot them for, you fuckhead?! They weren’t going to hurt me!”

  Janet wrapped her arms more protectively around her son. Scott tried to shrug her off as well, but she wasn’t having any of it. She held him until he became still, keeping watch on Doug with a dismayed, yet even expression.

  “I don’t think we’ve met,” she said stiffly.

  But Doug didn’t really hear. He was concentrating on a distant nattering sound, approaching from the air.

  Perfect bloody timing. It wouldn’t help any of them if Rob caught sight of something wrong before he touched down.

  Doug walked to the two dead dogs lying in plain sight. As he passed, Scott thumped his leg hard with a fist, Janet grabbing for his arm too late. Doug ignored it. He dragged the dead dogs together by their collars and then adjusted them with his foot into more natural poses, more like they were sleeping, less like cuts of meat laid out in a butcher’s window. He did not see the whirlybird just yet, but it was coming, its noise steadily gaining in volume, approaching the house from behind.

  He turned his gun on Janet. She flinched, but recovered her composure quickly enough. Doug lowered the gun to rest against his thigh, but Janet saw that the business end of it could be brought up very quickly if need be. “Janet, get up.”

  She did not move. Her eyes stared at him, but her ears were honed to the approaching whirlybird.

  “C’mon, Janet. Over here beside me. We’re going to give them a big welcome back. Smiles and waves and everything.” She still did not move, not until he began to lift the gun again, then she rose without undue hurry and came over.

  “Now stand beside me. No, the other side, away from the gun.”

  Any moment the whirlybird was going to materialise over the shearing shed, pinning them down in the open. “Scott. Go over and pat your dogs.”

  The boy considered him with frank horror.

  “Pat your dogs, Scott.”

  Scott began to shuffle away from the dogs.

  The whirlybird was close. The nattering became a thumping. Doug had to shout to be heard. “Scott! If you don’t pat those dogs you’re going to get your mother shot!”

  Scott scrambled over to the dogs and began to fiercely pat the air above their heads. He was crying. Perhaps Doug hadn’t done such a bad job positioning the dogs after all. Their heads lay together in sweet repose.

  “You’re an animal,” Janet said at his side.

  The solid thumping built into a thudding roar – too loud for a small whirlybird. Doug hid the gun from view as the helicopter cleared the roof.

  It was not the stripped-back whirlybird that had left the homestead an hour before. What hung over them was a large, gleaming Bell jet. The blue flashing light on the front of its undercarriage and the word POLICE printed in large letters on the side clamoured for Doug’s attention.

  He pulled Janet into a savage clinch, joining them at the hip. He crammed a huge, manic grin on his face. “Smile!”

  Janet pulled her lips up in the right places and Scott grimaced through his tears. His heart racing to outdo the Bell jet’s thudding rotors, Doug hung onto his smile like a life preserve
r, his eyelids fluttering uncontrollably from the wind thrown against him.

  He could barely make out the two men in the cockpit from his position, but he tried to picture what they would be seeing – hopefully a farmer arm-in-arm with his wife, while their son patted a couple of very obedient or heat-exhausted dogs. Perhaps they wouldn’t notice the absence of thumping tails or the boy’s shirt torn down the back. If one of them brought a pair of binoculars to bear, though, Doug was done for. Let them be diverted by the antics of the few dogs still tied to the kennels, leaping up and down at the end of their chains and barking riotously.

  Doug was very appreciative now of Janet loaning him one of Rob’s old hats. He kept his head lowered so little of his face showed under the brim. He knew his madcap grin might be the most conspicuous thing in sight, but he couldn’t help himself. “Smile!” he shouted. “Wave!”

  Scott’s hand swished air as his other feinted at the dead dogs. One of his pretend pats struck home, and his hand jerked back as if touching a hot plate. Janet waved as ordered, but mechanically, distractedly, perhaps busy thinking of a way to tell those above that something was amiss without giving it away to Doug.

  The helicopter hung above them for what seemed ages, Doug more certain with each passing moment that they were deciding on the best place to land. Then the passenger looking them over gave a brisk wave, almost a salute, and the machine elevated swiftly, bounding up and away from the homestead in a stately sweep.

  “Y’all come back now, you bloodthirsty pricks,” Doug called after them.

  He waved more vigorously as the police copter dwindled to a speck, not caring that Janet broke away from him to stand on her own.

  Scott was still patting his dogs, but doing it for real now, stroking them with tenderness. He glared up at Doug.

  “My dad’s going to kill you.”

  Doug slumped, suddenly bone-weary.

  “No-one’s killing anybody.”

  He hoped it was true.

  ***

  Lauren glanced up from the monitor to see Warlock standing at the window. He was looking outside for something before he turned to stare at her with his intense eyes. She went to take the headphones from her ears, but he darted to her side and pressed them back into place again with a shy smile. She thought it sweet. She felt, rather than heard, the vibrations of the whirlybird coming back to the homestead and wondered why it sounded so close.