Garret tried to move. He managed to crawl a few feet and felt the wolfstrap land on him. The transformation started, then lulled to a halt when his mind became fuzzy with the effort required to crawl. The Danes hobbled faster now, having scented their prey, bent on doing one more horrible thing before leaving this world.
Suddenly, the dog in the middle toppled, the left side of its head blown away in a puff of brains and skull. Garret heard the rifle report a split second later. The other two Danes kept coming as if they had heard nothing.
They were close enough now for Garret to see their eyes as he struggled to retreat before them. Molly’s Danes had been happy, their eyes always full of life, smiling with doggy warmth, never more than huge puppies. The eyes set in the skulls of the approaching animals had no warmth, no life. They had been taken by the same insatiable needs that filled the creature. They were being destroyed by the same thing that could induce a rabbit to eat a snake, that could make the creature rip out a person’s intestines, and that could make a human being join with such a creature in the first place.
As that thought passed through Garret’s mind, all the hundreds of bits and pieces came together, and Garret understood what the creature truly was. The knowledge did not comfort him.
The rifle boomed, and grass flew between Garret and the left-hand animal. It increased its pace. The rifle boomed again, blasting a chunk of meat from the right-hand animal’s hindquarters. Its legs were already useless, but the impact of the bullet rolled it, buying Garret another second or so while it righted itself with two good legs.
The heat of the mansion flames grew on Garret’s backside, but he kept crawling, which nauseated him. Another dog was baying somewhere nearby, and he recognized her timbre.
Babe.
The sound of his hound dog’s call was music to him. No matter how stupid or horrible or just plain unbelievable things became, his dog was always there. Always the same. Always faithful. Garret’s feet touched the edge of the porch steps. He turned, and with great effort managed to mount one.
The gun boomed again, skimmed the lefthand Dane, and smacked the step beside Garret, stinging his partially-furred flank with chips of marble. Despite the insanity of the situation, Garret found himself annoyed with his would-be rescuer. He only knew one person who was such a bad shot.
“For God’s sake, Joseph, get close enough so you don’t shoot me, too!”
Out of the darkness, Babe flew into view, baying and coming to her master’s aid with all the speed she could muster. Joseph appeared at the distant edge of the fire’s light, finished shakily reloading, raised the gun with skinny arms, and wobbled under its weight. He squeezed off a shot and missed again.
Babe didn’t. The right-hand hound was close enough to make a leap at Garret, but Babe hit it first. She bowled it over, bit down and broke its neck. Garret wanted to cheer, but he had made it to the third step where he was lying with the posture of a potato sack, and if he opened his mouth he was sure he’d puke, even though he hadn’t eaten in so long there was nothing to puke up. So he sent good thoughts her way instead. She hit the second animal and rolled away with it.
The gun boomed again and Garret heard the bullet carom off of a nearby chimney stone.
“Joseph!” Garret yelled. “Put the…” His stomach rolled over at the effort of yelling. “Put the gun down before you shoot Babe!”
Then the dog with the broken neck got back up and kept coming, its head lolling and swinging at an odd angle.
“What the f—” Garret scrabbled for a higher stair. Joseph had finally managed to lug the gun and his skinny self within range, which for him meant about eight feet. He shot the Dane again, this time blasting its neck to pieces. Its body hit the ground, and its head landed a few feet away.
Joseph lurched up beside Garret, but Garret motioned towards the sound of growling dogs off to his left. “Kill it quick.” He tried to raise his voice and call, “Babe.” She didn’t hear.
He tried again, putting all his energy into it. “Babe!” He slapped the stair as hard as he could and she appeared, coming quickly to his side. Joseph stood at the ready, looking smaller than the gun in his hands. The ravaged Dane limped into view.
Babe had torn it to shreds, but it was still moving. It looked pathetic, a macabre wreck of a once beautiful animal. Perhaps that was why Joseph didn’t blow its head open. He simply flipped the gun around to hit it across the head with the butt. A quiet, soggy smack to end its life. The Dane rolled into the grass.
Then, with a gurgling growl that made Garret’s skin crawl, it tried to get up. Joseph hit it again, twice. Smack, smack!
It was still trying to get up.
He hit it, then shot it. Smack… Boom!
It was still trying to get up.
Smack, smack, smack! Boom, boom! Smack, smack! Boom. Smack, smack, smack! Boom, boom, boom, click. He was out of ammo. Joseph kept trying to pull the trigger for several seconds. Garret fought to a sitting position and watched him mutely. It would have been darkly funny were it not for the impotent rage in the boy’s motions.
After a time, Joseph’s arms sagged to his sides under the weight of the gun. He stepped back and fell onto the step beneath Garret. The mansion was a landscape of burning rubble behind them, and the Danes were a mess of diseased guts smeared through the grass.
Wordlessly, they sat and stared at the mess while Joseph’s breathing calmed down. Molly and Sarn were still in grave danger, but what else could Garret do other than sit? He was too weak to stand. He couldn’t even complete the change. His body was spent.
Once Joseph’s breathing had returned to normal he pushed himself up off the steps. Garret watched as Joseph disappeared into the dark, then returned lugging, of all things, a picnic basket.
Joseph’s shirt was stained and his pants were spattered with blood and other fluids from the Danes, and his face was haggard in the way only a child’s can be when a parent dies, but he heaved the basket up next to Garret and plopped down on the step again.
Garret blinked at him. Joseph took his glasses off and tried in vain to clean them with his shirt.
“Go ahead,” he said. “It’s for you.”
A knot rose in Garret’s throat. His partially-wolf-nose had told him all about the savory contents while Joseph was carrying it across the yard. It wasn’t the sudden realization of how hungry he was, or even the smell of his favorite dish that tightened his throat. Somebody had thought about Garret and anticipated what he needed. Garret blinked hard a few times. Joseph’s own father, his only living relative, had been savagely murdered less than a day ago, but Joseph had thought of Garret. The simple gesture, and the warmth of friendship and love within it, mended things inside Garret which he did not know were torn.
“Thanks Joseph,” he croaked.
Joseph smiled a little. “No problem.” He lifted a finger, his bookishness returning. “However, it’s also an experiment.”
Hearing the remark made Garret grin. This was the way things used to be, before the world went dark and crazy.
“What kind of experiment,” Garret asked as he fumbled the basket lid with hands that were a bit too close to paws.
The dorky aloofness left Joseph’s features, and his eyes turned to Garret’s body.
“Garret, haven’t you seen yourself?”
Garret suddenly realized what he must look like. Face and body half-furred and misshapen between man and wolf. Garret let his head hang in exhaustion and laughed. “How did you even find me?”
Joseph shrugged at the wrecked mansion. “Mayhem and destruction? Garret Vilner had to be in the middle of that.” He smiled. “Actually, I didn’t find you.” He gestured to Babe, lying patiently on the step below Garret. “She did.”
Garret reached down as best he could and gripped Babe by the scruff. She stood and leaned up against him. If she was bothered by his appearance or the strange scent that undoubtedly came with it, she didn’t show it.
Garret hugged her. “Thanks gi
rl.” She whimpered and licked his face, which stung.
“But I wasn’t talking about that,” Joseph rejoined. “Garret, look at yourself, you should be dead. A long time ago.”
Garret didn’t need to look to know how torn up he was. He felt it every time he moved or breathed. Garret tore into a pile of rolls he’d found in the basket, tossing one to Babe. She pinned it down and devoured it almost as fast as Garret ate his. He washed it down with the jar of milk which Joseph was kind enough to both open and then hold for Garret to drink out of.
The bread and milk hit his stomach in a glorious ball of sustenance. It felt good. So good to have food. It felt like sleeping for days on end and waking up next to Molly. It felt like hope. It felt purely, wonderfully human in the most basic way. He swallowed bite after bite, tossing more to Babe whenever she was done with the last piece. Eventually, he realized he was holding the milk jar himself, and his hands were again his own—human, roughened, and spotted with the burn scars and callouses of his trade.
Joseph was standing up, scrutinizing Garret as if he were a bug under one of those enormous magnifying glasses Joseph used to carry everywhere when they were little.
Suddenly aware that he was again naked, Garret stared back. “What?”
“I think it’s working,” Joseph said slowly. “Shift back into the wolf again.”
His tone was so curious that Garret did as he asked without thinking. Only when he was sitting on all four paws did Garret remember Babe was standing right beside him. He turned, braced for her to bark and run away, or perhaps even attack him.
Instead, she stared at him, tilted her head to one side in curiosity. She rolled her head to the other side, sat for a second, then dropped to her chest, her butt up in the air, her front feet splayed, her tongue lolling in a doggy grin.
Her master had just become a dog, so maybe he would play with her.
Garret shook his head, and a human laugh came from his wolf’s throat. Dog, you are hopeless.
Garret let go of the wolf form and pulled his batty hound dog into a hug.
Joseph clapped his hands with glee. “It is working! Look! Look at your side now!”
Garret let go of his slobbering dog and looked down at his side. It was still black and blue and shredded. At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.
Garret was suddenly aware of his hunger again. He found the dish towel of cold fried chicken and tore into it with a vengeance, tossing pieces to Babe as he went. “What are you talking about?” he asked around the rim of the milk jug.
“Do it again!” Joseph laughed.
“Do what?”
“The furry thing! Let me see it happen again.”
Bemused, Garret set down the milk and chicken and shifted. The food was making incredible improvements in his mood, so the shift went quickly and smoothly.
Joseph did a little dance. “Incredible! No wonder you haven’t keeled over yet.”
Garret came back to human so he could continue stuffing his face. “You gonna let me in on it?”
“Look at your side now.”
Garret did. He stopped chewing. He could have sworn the bruises were smaller than they were a moment ago, and the cuts and tears had definitely mended.
Garret felt Joseph’s hand on his bare side, and almost jumped away. “Hey!”
Joseph gave him a flat look. “Oh calm down.”
Garret moved on to the corn on the cob and let Joseph inspect his side and back.
“It’s the shifting that does it. Sub-cellular reorganization. Your body’s taking advantage of the opportunity when you shift. I’ll bet your metabolism’s quadrupled.”
Garret rolled his eyes. “What?”
Joseph stood back and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger like a schoolmaster trying to think of a way to explain something to the class dunce.
“For your body to transform from human to canine, every organ and tissue is going to have to be reorganized and reshaped. A lot of the tissues themselves aren’t of the same type, so there’s got to be a lot of reorganization going on even inside your cells. If you think about it, that’s basically how healing works. Reorganization and rebuilding of the materials that are already there, and what it pulls from your digestive system. So each time you shift from one form to the other, while everything’s in flux, your body’s taking the opportunity to fix what’s broken, at least as much as it can. Isn’t that incredible?”
“Uh huh,” Garret mumbled around an entire roll which he had stuffed in his mouth.
“Garret, don’t you see what this means!”
“Absolutely,” he gargled around the last of the milk.
Joseph crossed his arms. “It’s saved your life, it could revolutionize medicine, and you couldn’t care less.”
“No really,” Garret said while rooting in the basket, “it’s amazing.”
Joseph pinched his nose again and drew a long breath. He released it, and pressed his palms together with a saintly, long-suffering smile. “I will not throw my pearls before swine.”
“Speaking of swine, did you bring me any bacon?”
Joseph ignored the question. Garret dug to the bottom of the basket, and instead of bacon, he came up with a leather-bound volume. He opened it with one hand and munched corn with the other. Fluid handwriting covered the pages.
“What’s this?”
“You don’t know?” Joseph asked, taking a seat again.
“Why would I?” Garret flipped pages.
“Garret, you’re getting greasy fingerprints on it.”
Garret rolled his eyes and set it aside.
“I thought you’d sent it to me to read it for you,” Joseph finished.
“I can read,” Garret responded testily.
“Right, but when you have to sound-out all the words…”
Garret eyed him, and Joseph continued with a patronizing expression. “It’s a journal. Written by one ‘J.S.G.’” Joseph stopped and waited again.
Garret put on a thick hillbilly draw and slurred his words. “Youuu are soo sma-rt. Iye wish I were as smart ass youuuu.” He emphasized the “ass.”
Joseph puffed up to priestly dimensions and drew a sanctimonious breath to respond, but a shriek cut him off. It was high and ululating, trailing longer than even a wolf could howl. It was the creature, somewhere out in the forest, and Garret felt the hunger in its voice.
The chicken turned to ash in his mouth. His stomach soured with guilt. His little brother and Molly were out there somewhere, and he was eating and cracking jokes. Merriment and joy evaporated, and Garret’s veins were again filled with cold, water-thin blood. He tried to stand. This time it worked. Going on Joseph’s word, Garret shifted back and forth a few times. Sure enough his body became more useable with each change. He could feel it burning up the food he’d eaten.
Garret flexed his hands and turned in the direction from which the sound had come.
“Where are you going to go?” Joseph asked.
Food and friendship had temporarily relieved Garret of the darkness that had filled his mind for weeks, but now it returned, bringing with it the hopelessness of his task. Garret motioned to the black trees, ringing the Malvern’s lawn. “That way.”
“Then what?”
“I’m going to find Sarn and Molly.”
“Then what,” Joseph repeated.
Garret didn’t move. In a span of moments he went from hopeless-but-determined, to hopeless-and-desperate, to just plain hopeless.
“Maybe you should listen to what I know,” Joseph said.
“I have to go,” Garret said.
“Running won’t help if you can’t do anything when you get there.”
“I have to go!”
Joseph grabbed Garret by the shoulders. “Garret, stop!”
“I can’t let them die,” Garret said.
“Then help me figure out how to keep that from happening.” Joseph opened a hand to the pulpy messes that remained of the Malverns’ Great Da
nes. “Do you know what happened to them? Because I do.”
Garret was listening.
“The creature bit them,” Joseph said squatting down over one of the smeared carcasses. “Its cells can invade the body of another animal, sort of like a disease. I’ve taken samples and watched it happen under a microscope. The monster’s cells colonize the new animal, not like they’re trying to kill it, but like they’re trying to take over. If I could put a microscope on you, I bet I’d see something similar when you shift.”
“But then why do they die?” Garret asked. “I’ve seen more than just the Danes. There was this rabbit…”
Joseph was nodding. “I’ve seen it a dozen times. Wild animals, farm animals. It’s happening all around town. I couldn’t figure it out until I read the journal.”
Garret turned a worried look at Babe, who had tussled with the Danes.
Joseph shook his head. “It’s not contagious. Only the monster’s bite can deliver it.”
Joseph stood and crossed his arms tightly, looking down on the dead dog. “J.S.G. is… I mean, was Dr. Johann Goldblume. He was a renowned psychologist. He disappeared about twenty years ago. He signed the last entry, but I’d figured out who he was before that. His support of phrenology gave him away.”
“Phren-what?”
Joseph waved a dismissive hand. “Measuring different parts of the skull with calipers to determine aptitude, that sort of thing. It’s all bunk, but he supported it after mainstream science left it behind. He’d done so much to advance his field that he was respected anyway, up until his wife died.”
“How did she die?”
Joseph’s face changed, his eyes becoming glittering and sharp, his skin seeming to shrink around his skull until he looked gremlin-like. “The same way my father died.”
Joseph’s face became human again, and he went on. “Of course no one believed Goldblume. Some suspected he’d killed his own wife, but nobody could prove anything. All anyone knew was that she’d been impaled in a way that no one person could accomplish. They said,” Joseph swallowed, undoubtedly trying not to think about the mess his own father’s body had been. “They said it would have taken tools to do what was done to her. A man wouldn’t have the strength.”
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