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The masked man’s happy grin faded when he saw September’s gun. He stumbled backwards away from the car, holding his hands and the shovel aloft. “Don’t mean no harm. Thought you was here to help.” He head-jerked toward the ratty truck parked on the other side of the park.
September steadied the gun, aiming at the man’s belly. Chris’s lessons came back to her: Don’t point unless you mean to shoot, and always go for the biggest target. She hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, but she was ready. “Drop the shovel. Back away. Farther.” She yelled the words to be sure he heard through the closed window. When he’d retreated a safe distance she opened the car door and stepped out. “Take off the mask. Where’s my cat?”
“Mask?” He ducked his head, hands still in the air. “Oh.” He tugged the ski mask over his head. “I ain’t hiding nothing. It’s colder than a witch’s tits.” He frowned. “You lost a cat? I love cats, got me a sweet litter over at the barn.” He smiled again, showing teeth in dire need of dental care. “Got me some great hunting dogs, too. Nice one you got there.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned about her pulling a gun on him. “He won’t bite me if you let him out. Dogs know good’uns from bad’uns. They always like me.”
Her hand wavered, and slowly she lowered the gun, only then realizing she’d not released the safety. She dared a glance over her shoulder, and saw Shadow with his nose poked as far as possible through the opening in the window, wagging tail underscoring the stranger’s words. This man wasn’t a threat. And he hadn’t taken Macy. She remembered the toothpaste-bright shine of the attacker’s grin, nothing like this man’s broken fencepost smile.
“Sorry, mister. Where’d you get the ski mask?” The attacker had worn an identical one.
“Okay for me to pet him?” She nodded but kept distance between them when he approached Shadow. “He wants out. Okay?” The man asked permission—she liked that—and when she agreed, he opened Shadow’s door for the dog to hop out.
“Who are you?” She relaxed when Shadow raced to her side, nudging one hand to get a pet. She watched Shadow’s reaction closely, hand still tight on the gun hanging at her side, and stepped on the dog’s trailing leash to keep him close. The stranger seemed harmless, if a bit odd.
“Call me ‘Felch,’ everybody does. They gave all of us official gear with the TV colors.” He indicated the ski mask, which now bulged from one tattered pocket. “Not supposed to wear ‘em out and about till the launch party tomorrow night, but I didn’t have nothing else. Mr. Dietz don’t want nothing to get in the way of our big-whammy party, so I try to do what’s right but on the hush-hush.” He held a finger to his lips. “My own fault I got sick. But nobody else ought to pay for my mistake. Couldn’t live with myself knowing what I know and not making the effort.” He squatted to meet Shadow on his own level, turning his face away when the pup aimed a slurp at his eyes. “Can’t sleep no more. My body clock’s all bass-ackwards. So got to hurry while I can still think straight. It comes and goes.” He stood again, ambled over to the shovel and stopped. “I know what I need to do. But sometimes the why of it gets all foggy.” He walked back toward his truck, his figure flickering from into the lamplight to shadow and back again like a stop-action film.
September’s eyes took time to adjust when she slowly followed the man. Stepping from bright into dark shuttered her vision as effectively as blinders. “Somebody took my cat. He stole Macy from the vet clinic.” Her voice caught. She squinted from the dazzle upon reentering the next spotlight.
Felch hunched his shoulders, but kept walking. “Your cat’s sick, too? Sorry. Hurts to lose ‘em, and I’ve lost several. See, it gets the critters sick lots faster than us people. It can take a critter down in a couple months. With people it’s maybe a year.” He sounded sad. “I got a few more months, I figure. Had other plans, but now they don’t matter none. Got to work fast.”
“Wait. Mr. Felch, wait. You’re saying there’s a contagious animal disease making people—making you—sick?” She hurried to keep up with his long stride. “Infected pets make people sick?”
“Naw, the same thing makes people sick gets the critters, too. All get exposed to it, one way or the other, but the animals die quicker. I think that’s because they age so much faster, and kitten brains still developing. And the wild ones, they eat direct from the source.”
“Eating? Dying?” She stopped at the thought. This was confirmation of Sly and Fish’s wild story. September again hurried to catch up. “It’s local, though, right?” Please let it be local, and not the beginning of another debacle like the horrific pet food recall of 2007, when nearly 200 brands from a dozen manufactures were intentionally contaminated. This would be worse if it also affected the pet owners.
He hefted the shovel. “The more they eat, the quicker they get sick. I can’t clean up that biggest mess by myself. Can’t put ‘em all out of their misery. But I can collect the bits that I shared, get ‘em back, and get rid of ‘em. I been working through my list.”
They reached his vehicle and he tossed the shovel in the truck bed. His ski mask fell from his pocket and got kicked underneath when he climbed in after the shovel. Felch stood to tug and aimlessly rearrange the contents.
She stood next to the old truck. “If you didn’t take my cat, who did? The man wore the same kind of ski mask as you.”
He shrugged. “I warned the reporter when he asked, but Mr. Dietz didn’t like that, said it could cause a panic. I can’t warn ‘em all. Mr. Dietz says the show reaches more folks at once, that he’ll make it right, lots faster than me with my lonely old shovel. He promised.” He motioned to the dusty pile of dirt in the truck bed, sifting over top of bags of fertilizer and stacks of unidentified boxes, some with garden supplies spilling out. There was barely room for him to stand.
“What does any of this have to do with me?” Shadow pressed against her legs, and she followed his gaze. His attention was focused on something in the blackness beyond the pool of light, and she felt more than heard him begin to growl.
Without hesitation or thought, September ran. In the same motion she lifted the gun. But before she’d taken two steps someone grabbed her gun hand and wrenched her arm behind her back.
September screamed, dropped the gun, and was yanked against a muscular form. She twisted to see, but he wore the familiar ski mask. He forced her to bend with him when he scooped up her gun.
“Hey, what y’all doing? Don’t hurt her.” Felch stepped forward to tower over them from his perch in the truck bed.
Shadow danced around September and her captor, barks mixed with frightened yelps. He feinted bites at the man’s legs.
The man took careful aim at the pup, and September screamed again. She couldn’t move, kicking accomplished nothing. She turned her head and bit him hard on the jaw through the mask and tasted blood.
He yelled. The shot went awry. His grip never faltered, and instead of releasing her, he head-butted her temple.
The world spun. She would have fallen if not for his support.
Felch whined, confused. “You promised to help.”
September screamed at Felch. “Help me! Make him stop!” Her head whipped from side to side, dark hair flagging an SOS as she searched vainly for help. The nearby schoolyard remained deserted. She, Felch and her attacker were alone.
She watched with incredulity when Felch sank to his knees, head cradled in his hands. “I can’t remember what I gotta do. You promised!” He reached a hand toward them, and acted surprised at the gunshot. Red blossomed at his neck. He remained motionless an endless moment before he dropped. A cloud of white dust billowed and quickly settled.
September froze for a heartbeat and then redoubled her efforts. Get away, fight, flee. He’d kill her, kill Shadow, she had to get away, stop him, save herself. She kicked, but her rubber soled boots made no dent against his heavy work boots. “Let me go, you son-of-a-bitch, get off, get off!”
Shadow’s hysterical barks grew more frantic. His tail flagged in high jerky movements, and snarls shouted fear and indecision. He grabbed and bit the man’s pant leg and tugged, nearly pulling him to the ground. September cheered silently, but saved her breath to fight.
He aimed the gun again. More carefully. At Shadow.
“No!” She knocked his arm, and the shot went wild.
“I’ll kill your dog. Like before.”
His voice. The old familiar terror iced her veins. Victor, his voice, she’d never forget it. The gun followed the dog’s movements. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Beg.” He shook her a little, couldn’t do more with only one arm snugged her vise-tight, but it was enough. “Just like old times. Let me hear you beg.”
“Please don’t hurt my dog.” She couldn’t stop the sobs that choked her and could barely speak past the grief. “Whatever you want, but don’t hurt him.”
“You’re so predictable.” He laughed, delighted. “Call him off or I’ll shoot him.”
She swallowed hard. “Wait. Shadow, it’s okay. Settle, baby-dog. Wait.” Her voice cracked, but turned to steel to issue the commands to save her boy’s life. He had to obey. Had to, or he’d die.
“Put this on. Backwards.” Victor grabbed her by the hair, and she bit her lip not to scream. He held the gun trained on her, and turned loose her hair long enough to pull another ski mask from his pocket and toss it to her. “Do it.” He aimed the gun again at Shadow.
She could run, and he’d kill Shadow and still come after her. “Shadow, hush. Sit. Wait, good-dog.” Her voice trembled when he planted his tail. He yawned and whined his distress, licked his lips to signal “no threat” in the hope the scary situation would go away. When it didn’t, he watched her with a furrowed brow, clearly conflicted whether to obey or not. “Please be a good-dog, wait. That’s it. Wait.”
Victor turned the gun toward her face. September took a breath and pulled on the ski mask, eyehole and mouth openings turned to the back. She could see the floodlights filter through, but no details. “Wait, Shadow, good-dog!” She kept calling, the command more a plea and a prayer as she let herself be dragged to the truck. Victor shoved her into the cab and started to climb in after.
With a furious roar, Shadow broke the stay. She heard him thunder close, could imagine him savaging Victor’s legs.
God, no! He only wanted to help but he’d be killed. She saw Victor’s silhouette, arm raised, pointing. She didn’t hesitate.
“Shadow, show-me GUN!”
Victor cursed. The gun popped. Shadow screamed.
