THE SHACK
They drove up the hill in the dark, moonlight showing them the rough outline of the pebble road as it curved up the hill. The shack stood against the sky a dark block. Above it, Venus blinked.
My home planet.
He was inside that shack. Polly knew it. She hopped out of the car before Charlotte had rolled to a stop. She clutched the bear against herself as she jumped from the car.
I’m from Venus.
“Jesus, Polly—”
She walked toward the gate. A thick chain snaked through it. She felt like she could snap it in two with Venusian hands.
She got close. A shadow broke itself from the dark and moved to meet her. She jumped back as the shape hit the fence. It made sounds like broken jagged things. It had yellow teeth and a death stench. The dog got its paws in the chain-link and stood face-to-face with her. It dropped ropes of drool. It had scars across its nose. It had death in its eyes.
“Oh shit,” Charlotte said behind Polly. Polly ignored her. She’d done her part. It was up to Polly now.
I’m from Venus.
Polly took three deep breaths. She looked past the monster. She saw the rope at the side of the shack. On the third out breath she looked to Charlotte.
“We’re going to get him,” Polly said.
“Polly, that dog—”
“There’s a rope to tie him up,” Polly said. “On the side of the shed, see?”
Charlotte looked at her like what?
“I’m going over the fence,” Polly said.
“That’s crazy.”
“When the dog’s tied up, you climb in after me,” Polly said.
“Polly, no—”
Polly climbed the fence, the bear in her hands. The dog growled, rocks smashing together in his chest. He snapped at her toes as they poked through the chain. He bit down. He tore the rubber toe of her sneaker. She felt hot wet breath through her sock. Saber teeth raked her foot. Red streaks of pain inside her. She yanked. Her foot popped out of her shoe. The dog yanked the shoe through the fence. He death-shook it.
“Polly, be careful,” Charlotte said. Polly thought maybe it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard anybody say.
She swung one leg over the top of the fence. The dog was done killing her shoe and stood below her. Ropes of wetness slopped down his face, staining his chest. He snapped at her. His face was full of scars. His eyes were full of death. She had time to feel bad for the dog. She wondered who’d hurt him so bad to make him this way. She wondered who had turned him into a monster.
She held the bear in her hands. He looked up at her face. He put his paws together and bowed to her like a warrior. She bowed back best she could.
“I love you,” she told him.
Polly tossed the bear into the yard, just over the dog’s head. The dog went for it. The dog latched onto the bear. It did the neck-snap shake. It pinned the bear against the ground and ripped. Stuffing flew.
I’m from Venus.
Polly jumped off the top of the fence. She hit the dirt hard. She bounced off the ground. She jumped on the dog’s back before it could turn to face her. It bucked underneath her, fur-covered muscle so much stronger than her own. She lost her grip. The dog spun to face her. Polly scrambled fast. She hopped back to the dog’s back. She wrapped her legs around its seething stomach and locked them together to hold herself there.
She pushed her left arm under the dog’s neck. The dog scrambled underneath her. She knew if she let go she would fall, and she knew that if she fell she’d never get back up. She shifted her weight to stay behind it. The dog snapped the air inches from her face. Teeth crunched together, promised to tear her skin. The smell of rot filled her nose. She got her arm all the way under the neck, just the way her dad had taught her. Her hand found her other bicep. She locked in the choke.
She squeezed.
The dog growled, deep throat sounds that vibrated her choking arm. The dog’s claws scraped dirt. The back claws tore into her legs. Bright pain flashes made Polly’s eyes tear up. The dog tried to twist under her. If it could turn to face her it would have her throat in its jaws. They would shred her easy as they shredded the air. She pressed her body down, her forearm up. She hugged the throat with her whole body, the way her dad had taught her.
She squeezed.
The dog’s neck was so thick. She pressed with everything she had. The dog’s legs buckled. The growls turned to wheezes. Her arm muscles burned. Threatened to rebel. She knew she didn’t have much left.
She squeezed.
The dog went out all at once. It went limp, dropping them both into the gravel. Polly let loose. She knew the second she let go blood would rush to the dog’s brain. She stood. The world did a quick pirouette. She got steady. She got out the rope from the side of the shed, looped it through the collar, tied it to the fence. The dog snorted. She didn’t have long. She tied the rope to the fence. She didn’t rush it. She did it right.
When she was done tying up the dog, she picked up the bear from off the ground. He was split open along the stomach. Blue-and-white stuffing leaked out of the hole. She fell butt-first on the ground and hugged the bear, rocking him, rocking herself.
“So brave,” she told the bear. “You were so brave.”