Strays

by Matthew Krause

  Kyle gave Sarah a final nod, his assurance that he was taking her side in the argument. With a slow and sweeping motion so as not to appear a threat, he turned back toward Big Buddy. “You heard her, sir,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” cried Big Buddy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that you can’t take her with you.”

  “Of course I can,” Big Buddy snorted. “I’m her father.”

  “Stepfather, sir.”

  “As good as a dad, boy,” Big Buddy grunted. “As good as a dad.”

  “I don’t know about that,” said Kyle. “You see, I have a dad, a really good one, and he never talked to people like you’re talking now. So when you say you’re her dad, you’re kind of raising a red flag, do you see?”

  “Listen,” Big Buddy bellowed. “I’m here to take my girl home, and I’m taking her all right, there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

  Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but the words trailed off before they were spoken. A part of him was already writing lies in his head, anecdotes like one about Reggie Adler that had scared away Bran the Man and company when he was twelve. But another part of him, that slow, demonstrative voice that sounded a lot like his father, told him that this time was different. He felt it as surely as he felt his own breath in his lungs. The spinning of a baffling yarn was not the way to defeat this monster. Besides, Molly had told him that wasn’t about winning.

  You’re fighting something else, she had said. And what’s more, you’re fighting for something else.

  This is your battle.

  His battle, yes, and if he was to finish it, it would be on his own terms. Already, he saw the hunger in Big Buddy’s eyes, curdled with the promise of carnage. Kyle knew what the man’s next move would be—to try and goad a fight out of him.

  “You going to stop me, boy?” Big Buddy snarled. “You think you can stop me?”

  Kyle shook his head. “What I think,” he said in his most even tone, “is that you’re going to get in your truck and drive back to wherever you came from. Sarah’s in good hands now. You can be assured of that.”

  Big Buddy took a step toward the yard and thrust his arms out even more. There was a ripple of disquiet throughout the hoard of cats to Kyle’s right. He shot a glance their way and saw Tom, still in his ginger cat form, prowling up and down in front of the host, grunting his disapproval.

  He’s telling them to stand down, Kyle thought.

  This is what Kyle had wanted, wasn’t it? For them to leave him on the island by himself, against Sarah’s most feared nightmare, the kind of hulking beast that Kyle had never faced before. Not even Bran the Man and his partners in crime were as awful as this Big Buddy fellow. Bran the Man was just a punk, perhaps secretly afraid of his own shadow, but Big Buddy was capable of a whole new level of atrocity. Kyle could smell it in the air about him, and for a moment, he could see it, could see the filthy man’s bumpy fingers touching his stepdaughter in ways a dad never touched his children. He could not let that happen again. He would not.

  It isn’t about beating anyone … it’s not about winning …

  That was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t expected to win. He was simply expected to stand his ground, stand firm, and …

  … and not lose himself.

  Big Buddy in all his quivering monstrousness, was the kind of chaotic thing that could not be predicted, let alone controlled. He was the greatest and worst reality of Sarah’s young life, perhaps her very first memory. If Kyle was to face the dragon, he could not become the dragon. He must be something else, something stronger, something contrary to all that Big Buddy represented.

  “There’s a right way to do this,” Kyle said. “I understand your concern, sir, surely I do.”

  The wired mass of brow above Big Buddy’s eyes curled down again. There was an absolute zero amount of concern in that face.

  “I think we probably need to call someone,” Kyle said.

  “Call who?” Big Buddy growled.

  “I’m not sure.” He turned away from Big Buddy again, again exposing his back for a rear assault. He offered Sarah another nod and winked without smiling. He hoped the message was clear. “Trudy,” he said. “Who do we call in situations like this? Social services? Police? Something like that?”

  If Sarah did not grasp Kyle’s scheme, at least Trudy did. “All of the above, I think,” she said. “I know someone at CPS I could call. Nice lady. I helped her adopt out a litter of cats last spring.”

  Kyle turned back to Big Buddy, arms outstretched in a large shrug. “There you go,” he said. “We’ll get the proper authorities out her to look things over, and I’m sure you and Sarah can be on your way in a couple of hours.”

  Big Buddy grunted and thrust his head forward, sloped shoulders hunching back. Kyle bit his lip to suppress a laugh. He imagined a turtle and a vulture mating in some twisted cartoon world, and Big Buddy would be the thing that popped out, bloated and hungry.

  “That work for you, sir?” Kyle said. “It’s no problem for us to make the call, is it Trudy?”

  “Not at all,” Trudy said. “I can go look up the number right now.”

  Big Buddy grunted again, his jaw dropping open, working, sucking at air. Kyle knew that he had won. If this monster was as awful to Sarah as Kyle thought, the last thing that would interest him would be a call to the “proper authorities.” The monster had secrets, ugly, terrible secrets, and calling in the authorities would now bring the secrets to light. Nevertheless the ogre held his ground. He was stumped for answers, pinned to the wall like a rare old cicada on display, but he was stubborn, and he was trapped and that made him more dangerous.

  Let him save face, Kyle. Give him a way out.

  Kyle glanced down at the black cat, who assessed him with haughty crimson eyes. He smiled to let her know he had heard.

  “Maybe you should make the call,” he said.

  Big Buddy’s jaw stopped moving, and his eyes rolled toward Kyle. “What?”

  “I’m just saying that if we have to get other people involved, maybe you should be the one contacting them. You being the stepfather and all.”

  The heavy burdensome jaw dropped another half inch and then snapped shut. His brow curled forward again, and the ends of his mouth pointed down in a scowl, hardening the puppet-lines that framed his chin.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kyle agreed. “I’m sure there’s someone in town that can direct you to the right people. I know how concerned you are, and I know you want the truth to come out as quickly as possible, right?”

  “That’s right,” Big Buddy said. “And that’s exactly what I’ll do. I’m driving into town right now, and I’m coming back with the police.”

  “I think that’s a good idea, sir, probably best for everyone involved.”

  “I’d say so, yeah. You just wait, mister. You just wait right here.”

  Big Buddy turned on the heel of his muddy boots and strode back to the Datsun. The gravel made a sound like a wood saw beneath his boots. He tugged on the handle of the driver’s side door and flung it open. He stepped behind the door, turned back to the house, and settled against the frame of the truck on his beefy forearm. He stood there for almost a full minute, eyes too small to read, breathing deep through his nose and turning his head back and forth as he memorized the lay of the land for future reference.

  At last, he dropped into the cab of the truck next to his mysterious passenger. His left leg swung out and kicked the door before he drew it inside. Before he was even settled, the door slammed shut behind him. Kyle at last allowed himself to breath. The Datsun began to make choking sounds like a weed-eater and then growled as it rolled over. A popping could be heard as the truck went into gear, and with great care the old gray vehicle rolled backward out the drive, easing its way toward the culvert at the farm’s entrance.

  Kyle held his position, watching it all, and something touched his elbow. He turned.
Sarah stood next to him, her face turned up to his, eyes softer, curious. She lifted a hand, placed it on his chest, right against the O of K-SOUTH. Her eyes fell shut, and she took in a deep breath. Kyle stood and let it happen, watching her small but wizened face, and at last the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile.

  “There,” Sarah said, pressing her palm more firmly. “There you are.”

  Ogre’s End

  “You’re a coward,” Rhino muttered, crossing his arms and burrowing into his seat. “I can’t believe what a coward you are.”

  Through the windshield, the farmhouse glided away from them as Big Buddy backed the truck towards the entrance of the drive.

  “You best watch your mouth if you expect a ride home,” Big Buddy muttered.

  Rhino saw the girl, receding from their sight with each second as she stepped down from the porch. He watched as she walked over to that scrawny kid, the one Rhino had talked to at the Shell station. He saw her lift her hand. He saw her touch the scrawny kid’s chest. He did not know what it meant, but it annoyed him for some reason. His palms itched to strike them both.

  “I don’t want a ride from you,” Rhino said. “In fact, I don’t want to be in this truck more.”

  “Suit yourself,” Big Buddy said. His voice cracked a bit, and Rhino detected the first sign of fear in the man. The rear tires made a hollow metallic thud as they rolled over the drain pipe that had filled the culvert, creating an entrance to the drive. Big Buddy tapped the brake and put the gearshift in neutral. “You want to walk back to Tacoma, you get out right here.”

  Rhino turned and stared at the older man. He imagined how silly he must look with his bulbous nose splint. He was sure that everything about him, from the ragged hair to the elaborate LET’S PLAY tattoo across his neck must have registered as some kind of joke to Big Buddy. That was fine with Rhino. What did it matter to him to be judged by this loser? What Big Buddy didn’t realize was that he was the joke, puttering away the hours drinking beer in a strange tavern when time had been of the essence, wasting half the night in the lot of a C-store when he could have simply let Rhino drive and they would have been there hours earlier. Had it not been for Big Buddy, they would have had the girl long ago, well before the punk-ass kid with the K-SOUTH shirt had arrived, and he would be $500 richer.

  “What are you so scared of?” Rhino asked.

  “There’s things you don’t understand,” muttered Big Buddy, his voice tired, bordering on broken.

  “I’ve wasted almost two days of my life for this.” Rhino’s hand shot out and thumped the dash. The old vinyl finish, hardened from the years, creaked under the blow. “I’m not about to leave empty-handed.”

  He reached down and snapped the handle back, flinging the truck door open and springing out of the Datsun. He was already marching up the gravel drive when Big Buddy killed the engine and rolled out of the truck himself.

  “Hey, boy!” he shouted. “Wait up!”

  Rhino could hear the old man’s scuffling feet dragging in the gravel, working to keep up. He dipped his head, eyes rolling up and forward, copping the best psycho stare he could muster under the circumstances. The scrawny kid was still standing in the yard, and the girl, Big Buddy’s Sarah, still pressed her palm against the boy’s chest. For some reason, the cats, all those damned cats, had migrated to gather at the feet of the two stupid children, and even that chapped Rhino’s hide.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. Rhino stopped and turned. Big Buddy was there, glaring at him, caterpillar eyebrows arched and trembling.

  “You sure you want to do this?” Big Buddy asked.

  “I’m doing it,” Rhino said. “Just watch me.”

  Big Buddy nodded. “If this is the way you want it, we do it together. She’s my girl.”

  Rhino slapped Big Buddy on the shoulder, the first contact he felt compelled to initiate. They locked eyes, nodded, then turned to the yard.

  The goofy kid with the jersey-cut shirt turned his head.

  Rhino hunched his shoulders and continued his charge. The goofy kid took the girl by the wrist, broke whatever connection they were working on, and stepped out in front of her.

  Fine, Rhino thought. Let it be you and me. I’ll break you in half, kid. I’ll break you like a goddamn pencil.

  * * * *

  Something in the air made Kyle turn.

  A tattooed troll with hair and busted nose was striding toward him. Kyle recognized him at once. So it wasn’t a woman in the passenger seat of the truck; it was a man, the same man Kyle had met at the Shell station, the one who had commented on his K-SOUTH shirt and then gone all weird. He had seemed to be okay back then, not much more than an hour ago, but something had changed in the time since. No longer wearing the face of a fellow traveler, he was now a rabid dog, hellbent and furious, bearing down and thirsting for blood.

  Kyle grasped Sarah’s arm and pulled her back toward the house. He stepped in front of her in the same motion, positioning himself for the attack. A half-dozen cats among the small multitude that were now gathered at his feet darted back to avoid being stepped on. The tattooed troll with the long hair had fists bunched at his sides, classic pose of a comic book villain, and for a moment Kyle could swear he saw jets of steam bursting from that pink-tinged nose splint that dominated the center of his face.

  Kyle cocked his own fists as well, unsure what he would do with them. The last thing he wanted was to come to blows, not because he feared the beating he would most surely suffer, but because he knew now what his role was. He was to protect Sarah, not as some quick-draw warrior with twin blazing pistols but as something else entirely. There was something exceptional about this girl who cowered behind him, a rare skill set that even she had trouble grasping. The only way to let her grow was to surround her with peace, the kind of peace that had been denied her for most of her life. She did not need a wild man to tame the west, but perhaps a taste of something more civilized.

  And there would be no way to provide that if he allowed himself to come to blows with the fuming thing that rushed toward him.

  Somewhere beyond the tattooed guy with the busted nose, Big Buddy appeared, giving a sprint its best effort. He was not crippled, and he was not decrepit, but he rocked and hobbled on muscles weak from years of neglect. Still, he seemed to keep up with the tattooed guy pretty well. Whatever ground Kyle had gained by trying to reason with the ogre, it was clear that the tattooed troll had negated almost all of it.

  The guy with the tattoos reached the edge the drive where gravel gave way to grass and was faced with a hoard of cats. At once the mass of felines had moved into position, lining the edges and taking a phalanx formation back to the edge of the porch. The man stopped short, looking down at his opposers, and for a moment something like fear flickered in his eyes. He shook it off in an instant with a snap of his head and looked at Kyle and Sarah.

  “You,” he said, his voice gurgling through the busted nose. “We’re here for the girl. How much pain you want before we get her?”

  “I don’t know,” Kyle said. “I could probably use quite a bit of pain. I’m running on short supply.”

  The tattooed guy grunted and shook a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He tried to snort, winced from the pain it brought to his nose, and spit. He looked down at the cats, seemed to single one out, and lifted his sneakered foot high.

  Somewhere, behind Kyle, Sarah shouted: “No!”

  The tattooed man drove the food down, clearly aiming for the head of one of the cats. The cats scattered at the last instant. The foot slammed down on the grass. A surge of ghostly growls rippled through the tribe of cats like howls of the damned. The feline horde moved back in, allowing only a few inches around the tattooed man’s foot.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Kyle said.

  “From the looks of you, you wouldn’t do a lot.” It was Big Buddy now, falling in beside the sweating tattooed guy. “Send my girl over and we won’t have to hurt you.”

  Kyle glanced ov
er his shoulder to see that Sarah was still there, and then allowed himself a step forward, closing the distance. If pain was on the agenda, he would take whatever was his due, but the last thing he would allow was to let these creatures get to Sarah. Big Buddy was probably the worst of it, a bloated insect so full of darkness that one could almost smell it, but the tattooed man … why, he was little more than an outsized version of Bran the Man, posturing for the masses and ruling with intimidation.

  The man with the tattoos took another step onto the grass, this one less deliberate. Big Buddy fell in behind him. A chunky paw of a hand fell on the tattooed man’s shoulder, like a proud father presenting his son. The younger man grinned.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Big Buddy said. “I’ll get my girl. Don’t think that bitch on the porch’ll be much trouble.”

  “What about the boy?” Rhino asked.

  “He gives me any trouble, you know what to do.”

  The tattooed man nodded, then turned and looked at Kyle. About his feet, the cats growled and gathered. Kyle could see Tom and Strawberry and Molly in the masses, weaving to the front of the pack.

  “You hear that, boy?” the guy with the tattoos said. “We’re coming for the girl. If you’re serious about wanting some of this pain, you just try and stop us. I’m begging you.”

  Big Buddy gave the tattooed man’s shoulder a push, urging him on. The cat horde began to weave in and out among their feet, their mass of fur boiling and scurrying.

  “Girl!” Big Buddy bellowed. “Hey girl! I’m about to give you the kind of beating I should’ve give you long ago.” He jerked his thumb up, back in the direction of the Datsun pickup. “You get in that truck right now before I come get you, and maybe I’ll go easy this time.”

  The cats became more agitated, closing in around their feet, their mewls and meows rising like a damned choir. Buddy looked about, at the multicolored mass of arched furry backs and bristling tails, and his lip wrinkled in disgust.