by Lee Gregg
Wesley tried not to look at his hand as his doctor worked on it. Acid crept up his throat after he inadvertently caught sight of exposed bone and he turned his head away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut. Fingers were not supposed to look like that, especially if they were attached to his hand, his body.
A throbbing ache in his foot took his mind back to what had just happened on the mountain. That stupid kick. That stupid thing. It was bonier than he thought it would be, harder than what zombies were supposed to be like since they always made a squishy splat sound when wounded. The pain in his toes had been immediate, but the shock of everything after that kick had been worse. With a deep growl that was barely audible, the thing had uncurled and a giant head had turned towards him. Wesley then saw its entire body. It looked like an enormous rotting wolf or bear that had come back from the dead. Its oversized, sharp, white teeth glistened prominently through an angry snarl, like a bright movie billboard on a dark street, except this one wasn’t advertising Dumbo. This one said, “I’m Going To Eat You.”
The image of those huge, menacing teeth haunted him. They grew larger and more threatening every time he replayed his memory. He pictured those teeth — now six inches long — hovering right in front of him, in a mouth that could easily bite off his entire head. Snapping and growling, its hot breath blew his dark hair back while he stared directly into the monster’s mouth filled with multiple rows of serrated teeth. A long, razor-sharp claw emerged from nowhere and took a swipe at him, but after finding a magical sword nearby, he swung back and kept the beast at bay.
Wesley had always had a wild imagination. Once, he had even convinced himself that he was the sole heir to his family’s enormous fortune because his older brother, Ben, was actually illegitimate, conceived from an affair his mother had had when she was vacationing alone in Sweden. The idea had come to him in a dream in which he had overheard his parents having a heated argument: “Where did he get light hair and blue eyes from when everyone on my side of the family all have dark hair and dark eyes?” Why did you insist on going on that trip to Scandinavia alone?” “What exactly did you do there for three weeks?” The scene was still vivid in his mind and he thought of it often, especially when he was angry with his brother. He had confronted his family with “the truth” years ago, but his father had dismissed him immediately with only one ominous response. “Never speak out against your family.” Wesley wasn’t sure if he had been right or wrong about the memory, but he never spoke of it again with his parents.
As he walked outside his home, he let the door slam behind him, which jolted him back to reality. With pain meds coursing through his body, his left hand in a cast and one of his father’s high-powered hunting rifles in his right, he knew what he would do to that thing that had caused him so much distress. But maybe a round to the head would be too quick and painless, he thought. No, he had to come up with something more appropriate. After all, he was just minding his own business and now he was injured. He had suffered. And now that thing had to pay. Fair’s fair.
* * *
A quiet growl warned Sam to stay away. Her nerves fired and her pulse took off in a sprint. She stumbled backwards over one of her trekking poles, snapping it in two. What had she just gotten herself into? A lightweight pole wouldn’t defend her from an angry squirrel. And this was no squirrel.
She examined the creature’s face. Wesley was right about one thing, she thought, he did look a bit like a zombie. He was huge, but his muzzle was too short for a wolf or coyote. A dog? That was it. But what kind of dog was he? What was he doing here and how did he end up in this condition? What was his story? Sam knew the answer only to the last question. It was sad.
“It’s okay, puppy. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The rumble continued.
Maintaining her distance, she crouched down, took off a glove and held out the back of her hand to let him take a good sniff. “Shhh. Don’t be scared, nobody’s going to hurt you.”
The dog’s ear twitched and he grew quiet. He seemed to be paralyzed, except for his large, soft eyes, which followed Sam wherever she went. They expressed a sort of pleading wariness that reminded her of some of the rougher-looking hitchhikers she’d seen on the highway, desperate for a ride, but not from just anyone.
“It’s alright, buddy.”
He let out a little mewl and she soaked up a good, long look. As gruesome as he appeared, as fierce as he had sounded and as foul as he smelled, there was a terrified, vulnerable soul deep down inside.
Long, soft whimpers that sounded like high-pitched whistles were now coming from the dog. Sam couldn’t understand how something so weak, something that looked more like a carcass than a wild predator, could attack anyone. Especially Wesley Black. The Wesley Black who was known at school as the boy who was bullied once, and only that one time. The boy who got sent home and was laughed at after the attack because his pants were soiled, who swore revenge upon his return, who did come back almost immediately with a little “help.” The Wesley Black, who got his revenge and showed everyone he was not to be messed with.
But all that didn’t matter. The dog was sick, desperate and probably dying. He was the one who needed help now. And Wesley Black, the boy who had threatened to kill this dog, the boy who was not to be messed with, was coming back.
* * *
“This is gonna be siiiick!” Wesley exclaimed, his face unnaturally close to the camera Drew McConnell was holding. “Yo! Get another look at this too.” Wesley held up the rifle and swivelled it around to show off its different angles.
“Alright, alright, alright! We are here on YouTube live coming to you from Black Mountain, named after Mr. Wesley Black right here! Wesley owns this whole place. Check out these slopes. Owned by Mr. Wesley Black. Check out those lifts. Owned by Mr. Wesley Black. Check out that monster of a mansion down there. That’s right, owned by Mr. Wesley Black. And by the way, people, that place is sick. Pool, arcade, gym, theatre, hockey rink, basketball court, driving range, bars, bowling alleys, a three-level underground garage with an elevator for the super cars. You name it, it’s there.”
“We’ve got a shooting range too,” Wesley said, pulling the camera to his face.
“Wow, I didn’t know about that! There is nothing that place doesn’t have. And again, owned by Mr. Wesley Black,” Drew said, pointing the camera first at himself and then panning it around to capture the views. “My man Wesley here is gonna show you all what a total badass he is, aren’t you, Wes?”
“That’s right, son!”
“Alright, alright. So let me just catch you up on what’s happening here. My buddy Ben and I were just chillin’ in Ben’s gym. You know, it’s abs day today.” Drew lifted his shirt and flashed the camera on his flat stomach. “Yo, yo, but check out my brother’s six pack, ladies! Benji give ’em a taste, bro!”
“Naw, man.” Ben Black pushed the camera away with a sheepish smile.
“Alright, alright, Benji’s always been a little shy, but trust me, ladies, this boy is the whole package. Tall, a head full of — what do you call this — blonde? Sandy blonde? Sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a six pack that just won’t quit. And he is single, ladies. What more could you want? Haha. Don’t say I never tried to hook you up, brother. Hahaha.”
“Anyway, we’re in the gym, we look out the window, and what do we see? Mr. Wesley Black leaving the Black mansion with this rather impressive weapon! So apparently, what happened was, Wes found a giant, rabid animal right here in our backyards, people! And like a man, he took one for the team and was severely injured. I mean, severely, folks. And now, he has to wear this cast while his body is in recovery mode.”
Wesley threw up his injured arm and scowled directly at the camera.
“But! And I say, but, Wes is not letting this devastating injury stop him from doing what is right for the citizens of Glacier Village, is he? No! He is not. This is what a real man looks like, people. He coulda curled up in a corner and cried, but he did not! He coulda frozen in fear and
gotten eaten alive when he got attacked, but he did not. No! What he did do was fight back and survive! And now, he’s come to finish the job he started. He’s gonna protect innocent women and children from being killed by this crazy, wild animal. Yo, Ben, man, you wanna say something?”
“No, I’m just here to make sure my little brother doesn’t end up killing himself. And to officially say, I tried to talk your son out of this, Dad.” Ben smiled at the camera.
“Shut up, Ben. No one cares about what you have say,” Wesley said.
Drew swung the camera from Wesley back to Ben, who now had his head down and was focused on the uphill climb. “Alright, alright. Back to the task at hand. Yo Wes, we almost there yet, man?”
“Shhh!” Wesley hissed as he brought the rifle’s scope to his eye. “Total silence from here on in, guys. We don’t want to give it any warning. It’s kill time.”
3
Sam checked her watch. Would Wesley really come back up here right away? No, not likely. Not with his hand like that. But that’s what everyone thought that day at school too. His almost immediate return had shocked everybody. So, maybe he would hike back up here. She scanned the slopes for movement but only found dead calm.
Sam grabbed her lunch from her pack and picked out chunks of chicken breast from her sandwich. She heard a loud growl that startled her. It was her stomach, reminding her that she had skipped breakfast that morning. Her mouth watered from the smell and she took a gulp of water, swallowing hard. He needed it more, she thought.
She threw a small bit of chicken in front of the dog’s face and watched as his nose twitched with intense, fragmented sniffs. He let out a suspicious huff and stopped his inspection to fix his eyes on Sam. He was now scrutinizing the human who was giving him something he probably wasn’t used to. Kindness.
“It’s okay, puppy. Take it.” Sam picked up another small piece of chicken, held it out to the dog so he could see what it was, then popped it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “See? It’s good, buddy. Eat.”
The dog looked back at the food in front of him. After another lengthy pause, a long, pink tongue slowly emerged, cautiously licked at it, then scooped it up.
“Good boy!”
Sam threw more pieces of chicken onto the ground. He took each piece slowly, carefully sniffing out the chunks, testing them with licks before committing and then chewing for ages as though he was savoring his last meal. Each morsel seemed to take longer to eat than the last.
Sam squinted into the distance, trying to determine whether the tiny dots down the hill were moving, growing larger, more dangerous. Was that speck on the left walking uphill? She chewed on her lower lip. She would have to keep an eye on that one.
She crept towards the dog, pushing the faraway cubes closer. With a sudden upwards jerk, the dog lifted his head and licked her hand. He could move! And he could have bitten her, but he had kissed her instead. Sam felt cold air rush into her mouth and realized that she was beaming. She hadn’t smiled like this in a long, long time.
She slowly reached out and gently stroked his neck. The dog let out a deep moan, like an old man full of stiffness and pain. He tried to give her another kiss, but his head collapsed to the ground with a thud instead. It must have taken all of his energy just to move that one little bit, she thought.
“You need more food, buddy. More fuel. Eat, so we can get out of here.” The dog ate a banana and slices of apple just as slowly as he had eaten the chicken, although he had started to gently take the food straight from her hand. Minutes ticked by. She poured water into her sandwich container and placed it in front of the dog. He lapped it up quickly. She then emptied her water bottle and the dog drank it all, licking the container dry.
She checked the time and rubbed her thumb back and forth on the watch face, as though she could scrub back the numbers, regain lost minutes. This was taking much longer than she had expected.
“You must feel at least a little better now, don’t you buddy? I need you to be strong, okay? Now let’s get up and get going.”
The dog stared at her.
“You’re such a good dog. Do you know that? But we have to go now. That boy could be back here any minute.”
The dog blinked twice.
Sam glanced around her. The shadows from the trees had moved quite a bit in the time that she was there. Patches of snow that had glistened and sparkled under the sunlight during her hike uphill were now dark, shaded and cold. Pine needles that had stood frozen on tree branches now swayed back and forth, restless from the cool breeze. Just like that, like a flick of a switch, the mood had shifted.
Sam thought again of Wesley’s threat and felt a burst of anxiety. “See this? Last slice of apple, buddy! Want it? Come on, you can have it if you just follow me. Mmmm. So tasty.” She pretended to take a bite.
The dog stared at her with desperate, longing eyes, but he didn’t budge. No matter what she tried, the dog wouldn’t move. She threw bits of bread down the trail, pushed on his body to try to roll him onto his feet, took out a rope, tied it around his neck and shoulders and pulled on it like a leash. It was useless. Even though Sam could see each of the dog’s ribs on his balding, emaciated body, he was still too big and heavy for her to lift and carry down the mountain by herself.
Sam took a deep breath as she peered downhill. Where did that left dot go? Glancing around her, she imagined someone jumping out at her from behind a tree. Too much time was being wasted.
She took out her cell phone and snapped a few photos of the dog and the area.
“911. Pls bring skidoo just NW of Fool’s Bluff on Garage Sale Trail. URGENT EMERGENCY!!!” She attached a picture to her text message and clicked ‘Send.’ Please Dad, she prayed.
“Not Delivered,” the phone responded. “No network connection,” it displayed in small text at the top. The image of her satellite phone sliding down the hill flashed through her mind.
Sam cursed as she threw her phone back into her backpack. Things were not going as planned at all today.
“Please come, buddy! We have to go! That boy wants to kill you. But we’re not going to let that happen, right?” Sam paused, recognizing that all of her ideas on how to save the dog had failed, just like how her efforts to protect her mom and the baby had backfired. I can’t let that happen again. Her stomach clenched. Before she realized it, her eyes had welled up with tears. Suddenly she was back there, on the floor, holding her mom’s hand at the market that morning months ago. “I tried to protect them too,” she whispered.
Sam looked out towards the ski runs on Mount Blue and beyond. In the distance, White Fang stuck out atop Mount Deeman and her gaze rested on the white peak for a moment, her thoughts drifting to the memory of her first trip there when she was eleven.
She had dreamed about it for years — it was a big challenge at the time. She was determined to climb the icy peak, but she had to save money from her paper route, pet-sitting and other odd jobs to pay for crampons and ice tools. When the day came that she could finally afford the gear to make the climb, she couldn’t sleep for a week.
It was a special trip in so many ways. With her dad at work, she and her mom had set out early together. Sam was bursting during the car ride, unable to sit still, to stop chattering, to contain her giggles, and when they stopped mid-mountain for a small break, she couldn’t help but take her ice gear out to try on again, just as she had done every day in her room since she had bought the items. She had been careless in putting her crampons away though, tying them to the outside of her bag in her eagerness to get to White Fang. It wasn’t until they were ready to start ice climbing that she had realized her crampons had come loose. They had most likely fallen down a cliff while they were walking along a ridge to White Fang. Sam had burst into tears immediately, devastated at the loss of the crampons, but more so for failing to conquer the challenge she had set out for herself. Her mom didn’t even try to console her. Instead, she removed the crampon from her left boot and handed it to Sam.
>
“It’s not new and fancy like yours were, but these never let my dad down and they’ve never let me down. And today, they’re not going to let us down,” her mom told her. She raised her eyebrows at Sam. “Well? Don’t just sit there looking at me like that. Put it on and let’s get going, sweetie. That peak is calling your name, can’t you hear it?”
It wasn’t easy climbing, but they scaled the short distance to the top and back using a crampon on just one foot and an ice tool in each hand. Getting to the top of White Fang was great, but smashing this goal was all the sweeter because of the extra problem that they had faced together and overcome. Sam hadn’t even been mad about losing her crampons that day. In fact, it was one of her favorite memories of the trip. We totally crushed it, she thought, smiling.
With sudden resolve, Sam looked down at the dog and wiped her eyes. She had made up her mind. “You are not dying today, buddy.”
* * *
Wesley readied the rifle. Remembering what he had learned from one of his favorite video games, he hunched his shoulders forward, bent over and inched ahead, tiptoeing carefully to minimize the noise from his footsteps. Slowly, he crept uphill. With one eye closed and the other staring through the scope, he stopped abruptly and let out his breath. Other than the blood stains in the snow, there was nothing around to indicate that anything was ever there. The monster had disappeared.
“That…that thing…it was barely alive! It could hardly move! What the….” Wesley felt the camera stay on him for a few beats longer before Drew resumed his broadcast.
“Alright, alright, so look here people. This is where Wes must have gotten injured, judging by all this blood. Buuuuuuuut, where is the rabid animal that caused all the destruction?” Drew turned the camera full circle, capturing Wesley looking disoriented. “Yo Wesley! This looks like the spot, but…Oh, hey! What’s this? Is this…bread? Yo, why’s there bread here, guys? Wait a minute! Wesley, I got it. Was it a giant rabid Pillsbury Doughboy that attacked you, man?”