Night Howl

by Andrew Neiderman

“It’s going well. They inserted a chest tube to depressurize the area around the lung. The lung will self-inflate and she’ll heal.”

  “Christ, where are my children?”

  “Your in-laws took them home with them. They’re okay, but they had another terrible scare. A policeman was killed in your house.”

  “What? The dog did all this? What kind of a dog was it, for Christ’s sake?”

  “A military dog,” Harry said. “The government fucked up.”

  “Military dog? What’s a military dog doing around my house?”

  “Apparently it escaped from a training center, a secret one. They’ve been doing new things with the training and this dog went berserk.”

  “That’s the story?”

  “That’s what they told me. They were out looking for it and had tracked the animal to Ken Strasser’s house not long after all this happened. I’ll tell you more in the morning. They promised to have someone at the station when you’re ready.”

  Sid nodded and started for the door to ICU. Then he turned back.

  “Your arm? You got that in my house?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess I owe you my family.”

  “No, sir. I’m just doing what they pay me to do.”

  “No one gets paid to do this,” Sid said and went inside.

  Harry stood there a moment and then nodded. “You might have something there, Mr. Kaufman,” he muttered. “You might have something there.”

  When Michaels got to his car, the fatigue hit him, but he couldn’t keep his mind from working all the way home. The government people, especially that woman, struck him as odd. Everything had become so specialized these days, even the training of a dog. With all the new technological weaponry this country had, why be so interested in developing better attack dogs? he wondered. It was probably just another way to waste the taxpayers’ money, he thought, only this time there were going to be a good many red-faced officials, even with the subdued way they were presenting the facts to the press.

  At least these military people were in charge, now; they had the responsibility of finding the animal and protecting the population. By now a contingent of soldiers from Fort Drum was on the way. At first light they would comb those woods so thoroughly they would find Indian arrowheads. It was all right with him. They should clean up their own mess, Harry thought.

  Hopefully, they would do it quickly and this would all be over. It was already over for poor Ken Strasser and Tom Carlson. He shook his head and tried to remember how it all had started. And then he recalled Sid Kaufman’s dog and that bizarre event.

  It was beyond him what that had to do with all this, and he was tired of thinking. He couldn’t wait to get home and crawl into bed beside Jenny. He knew she’d be wide awake when he arrived, but she wouldn’t let on that she had waited up. Just before he turned over and closed his own eyes, he’d say, “Good night, Jenny,” and she would poke him. He smiled, thinking about it.

  Phantom lifted his head from his paws and listened intensely to all the sounds that entered the garage. It was as though he had been kicked, but it was his sixth sense, his undiminished animal instinct that stirred him from his sleep. He recognized the feeling. It was the same one he had experienced back in that house, sleeping on the little boy’s bed. It told him that he was still being pursued and that the pursuers were drawing closer.

  Only moments ago, at the crack of dawn, the woods around the Kaufman residence had been deliberately filled with bedlam. The search had been designed in the fashion of a battle. The forest had been divided into sectors, and in each sector men were driving toward each other in pincer movement. In less than an hour, two helicopters would be brought in, and army personnel in jeeps were being sent to patrol the surrounding highways.

  Phantom looked at the bitch. Since she was not the object of any hunt or the potential victim of a predator, she slept peacefully. Nothing alarmed her. She continued to enjoy a sleep of contentment and fulfillment. But he stood up and sniffed the air to sift the breezes caught in the garage doorway. The scents discouraged him and filled him with fear. They warned him of packs of men, but packs of a larger number than he could imagine.

  He whined; he couldn’t help it. The vaguely lit world was fraught with danger. The bitch opened her eyes and, seeing him up and about, rose quickly in anticipation. But he was concentrating on avenues of escape. He walked right past her as though she weren’t even there; he stepped out onto the driveway. The sun itself was not visible because of the heavy forest to the east, but the dawn light filtering through the trees made the leaves look phosphorescent. The darkness, which had been a friend to him, was in retreat everywhere.

  He turned and started to the right, but after traveling only a dozen feet or so, he stopped. They were coming from that direction, as well. They were as clear to him as if they were standing right before him. Spinning quickly, he went into a run and headed toward the rear of the house. He drove himself through the heavy brush and splashed through some swampy ground. There was forest this way, too, but no sooner had he reached the rim of the trees than he heard the not too distant bark of hound dogs. He was going directly toward them.

  Frustrated, he stopped and remained in the same spot for nearly a minute. Not since leaving the institute had he felt so restricted. It was as though they had thrown invisible chains over him. How could he flee? In what direction should he go?

  He looked back at the garage. The bitch had started her own barking, calling to her masters, demanding food. He trotted to the right and then moved back slowly until he reached the rear of the garage. The side door of the house opened and the boy emerged with a dish of food. While the boy walked to the garage, Phantom slunk against the opposite side of the building. There he waited, listening to the boy talk to the bitch.

  “Okay, Candy,” the boy said, “you can run loose a while, but I gotta tie you up again before we leave. Grandma says so.”

  The bitch didn’t run off. She stayed there, eating her food. A few moments later, the boy was called back to the house. After he went inside, Phantom appeared in the garage entrance. The bitch had cleaned her dish, but she growled possessively, anyway. He ignored her and went toward the rear of the garage instead, hiding himself behind sacks of fertilizer and a small tractor.

  The bitch looked at him curiously, but she didn’t follow him to the rear of the garage. Instead, she took advantage of her freedom and headed off down the road to the right. Almost immediately afterward, a car pulled into the driveway. The man who got out was big, over six feet four and easily two hundred and fifty pounds. Before he reached the side entrance, the door opened.

  “On time for a change,” Stanley said. “That’s good.”

  “Well, I promised Dora I’d be back ‘for seven. She’s got somethin’ goin’ for her sister. Hiya, Tony.”

  “I’m goin’ too,” Tony said.

  “No shit.”

  “Don’t make a big thing of it. His grandmother’s pissed off. Okay, boy, get your jacket. Mac and I are goin’t’ finish loadin, the truck.”

  “Right, Grandpa.”

  The two men came down to the garage. Phantom lowered himself as close to the floor as he could, but it didn’t matter. The two men were intent on the loading of the used appliances and didn’t look into the garage once.

  Just after they finished, a helicopter was heard coming from the east. They looked to the tops of the trees and saw it sweeping over the forest. Its low altitude made it curious, but their curiosity was whetted even more when a military jeep went by.

  “What the hell is it, an invasion?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Mac said. They watched the helicopter go over the house and head south. Tony came charging out of the house to see it.

  “What’s that, Grandpa?”

  “I don’t know, son. You say good-bye to your grandmother?”

  “Yep. Oh, I gotta tie up Candy. Where’s Candy?”

  “We don’t have time to go looking
for that mutt. Your grandmother’ll do it. Get in.”

  “How many stops do we have, Stanley?” Mac asked.

  “Four this trip.”

  “All in the Bronx?”

  “Yep. Just finish tying down that canvas and I’ll be right out,” Stanley said, and he went to the house. Mac tightened the rope of the canvas so the rear of the truck was somewhat closed in. All the used appliances were secure as well. Satisfied, he got into the truck cab and he and the boy waited. A few moments later, Stanley emerged. He took a quick look at the rear of the truck and then got into the driver’s seat.

  Almost as soon as he did so, Phantom emerged from the rear of the garage. Crouching down and keeping to the side, he moved with the muscular sleekness of a bobcat. The truck engine started, and the vehicle began to move forward slowly. Phantom paused at the garage entrance. Despite the sound of the truck’s engine, he could hear the voices of men approaching from the forest to the left. They had successfully followed his path. In a few moments they would be on him. He saw and he understood.

  Just as the truck reached the bottom of the driveway and began its turn onto the highway, Phantom shot out of the garage and ran after the vehicle. He leaped onto the rear and landed between an old refrigerator and a porcelain stove. The two men and the boy inside the truck cab did not hear him or see him. They were talking loudly and laughing.

  He crouched down and worked his way in between the used appliances, keeping himself well under the canvas as he did so. A moment later, he was out of sight. The truck picked up speed and continued on down the country highway that would take it to Route 17 and east to New York City. They passed a military jeep coming from the opposite direction, but the two soldiers in it did not look at the truck. They thought their mission was somewhat stupid, anyway, and they were involved in their own conversation.

  As the truck disappeared down the highway, a group of ten soldiers emerged from the woods. Soldiers also emerged from the forest behind the house. The groups joined up on the road and the soldiers traded jokes and cigarettes. Someone shouted as Candy came trotting back up the road and there was a lot of laughter. Mrs. Wilson came out her front door and stood on the porch.

  “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” she demanded. All of the soldiers quieted down quickly and one of the sergeants stepped forward.

  “Sorry, ma’am. We’re on a search.”

  “What?” She looked at them as though they had stepped out of the evening news.

  “We’re looking for a dog, a big German shepherd. Have you seen any?”

  “You’re all out looking for a dog?”

  “It’s not just any dog, ma’am. This one is kinda dangerous. If you’ve seen one around here . . .”

  “Do you know what time of the morning it is? I haven’t even finished breakfast.”

  “Sorry. That your dog?” he asked as Candy stopped on the front lawn and gaped inquisitively at the soldiers.

  “It is, and it ain’t a German shepherd.”

  “Oh, we know that, ma’am.”

  “Come here, Candy,” she called and clapped her hands. The dog ran up to the porch. She looked out at the soldiers again, shook her head, and then went inside with Candy.

  A moment later, orders were given and the soldiers broke out into new directions. The second helicopter appeared from the northwest and crossed over the field. And then, all was quiet again.

  A few miles down the road, the truck bearing used appliances turned onto the entrance to the quickway route to New York. This far from the city limits, there was barely any traffic; but even when the truck rode into some traffic, it was difficult for any of the drivers behind it to make out the large German shepherd neatly settled in the rear. He knew what it was to travel in a vehicle, but what pleased him most was that as the miles ticked off, the sense of danger he had experienced back at the Wilson house lessened and lessened until it became nothing but a memory.

  13

  QWEN SLEPT LONGER than he had expected to, but what eventually woke him was the sound of music. He opened his eyes, thought for a moment, and then reached for his rifle and sat up quickly, so quickly that he frightened Sam Cohen; the seventy-four year old man lost his grip on the small frying pan, letting it fall into the sink. Qwen had sacked out on the naked mattress placed on the floor of the kitchen in the two-room shack.

  He knew there wasn’t any point in explaining any of the situation to Sam, so he merely told him he needed a place to stay for a while and the old man brought out the mattress. Despite his forgetfulness, he was still quite capable of taking care of himself. He had two sons living less than fifty miles away. They took turns visiting him once a week, but they had given up on all attempts to get their father to leave his primitive living conditions.

  The music surprised Qwen because he knew there wasn’t any electricity. He spun around and saw the battery-operated music box on the front windowsill.

  “When the hell did you get that?”

  “Donald brought it up yesterday. Says it’ll keep me from talking to myself so much,” Sam said and ran the fingers of his right hand through some of the loose, thin gray hair that still grew in patches over his freckled skull. Qwen remembered when he’d had rust blond hair. He used to keep it long and brushed back over his neck. Whenever he went into town, strangers thought he was a hippie or an older rock musician. “It’s got a clock on it and it just comes on by itself and goes off by itself. I forgot all about it. Sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I slept too long as it is.”

  “Figured I’d make some eggs. Ain’t often I get an overnight guest.”

  “Can’t imagine why not,” Qwen said, and they both laughed. There was an affinity between them, making Qwen seem more like Sam’s son than Sam’s sons did. Qwen understood this; he understood why there could be a warmer relationship between Sam and him than between Sam and his sons. His sons, although they didn’t vocalize it often, were embarrassed by a father who rejected most of what was called modern society. He wasn’t illiterate, but he had little formal education. He’d spent most of his life as a farmer and a hunter, working with his hands. After his chicken and dairy farm had become too much for him, he sold his property but kept the shack used for hunting and fishing trips. It was where he had spent many happy days, so it was most logical to him to hold onto it.

  “You’re just an older version of Huckleberry Finn,” Qwen told him.

  Qwen got up and went to the hand pump. The cold water shocked him into complete alertness.

  “That’s the best cure for a hangover I ever felt,” he said.

  “ ’Cept you didn’t have one, so it’s a waste of a cure.” They laughed again and Sam put up the eggs.

  Qwen opened the door and stepped outside. Sam had let Maggie out earlier to do her business, and she was sprawled comfortably at the entranceway, soaking up the early morning sun. There wasn’t any fog this morning; the air was sharp and crisp. Qwen took a deep breath. Memories of the night before seeped into his consciousness with the impact of polluted thoughts. They poisoned his joy. If he hadn’t been alert enough and Gerson Fishman had gotten off that shot. . . .

  It made him angry to think about it and also to think that he had become something of a fugitive. If anybody should be a fugitive . . .

  His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the radio newscaster. News headlines were being announced, and the dog story was number one. Qwen rushed back inside and turned it up.

  “A military dog has gone berserk in the Sullivan County area,” the newscaster said. “Two men are dead, a woman was badly injured, and she and her children were terrorized for hours by the animal. Fallsburg town police chief, Harry Michaels, reports that the dog was part of a new training exercise carried out by the army in a nearby secret compound. The dog escaped and made its way to the South Fallsburg area where it committed the violent acts. Chief Michaels went on:

  “ ’The dog is still loose, but a contingent of soldiers from Fort Drum are searching th
e area thoroughly. They have two helicopters and a number of vehicles. They expect to either capture or destroy the dog in a matter of hours. They have asked to handle the problem themselves and frankly, I’m happy about that.’

  “Government officials are embarrassed by the event, and talks which will result in significant compensation for the families of the dead and injured are already underway. Military officials have declined to make any comments until the situation is under control. In the meantime, any residents of the area who see a large German shepherd in their vicinity are asked to call the Fallsburg town police, whose dispatcher will forward the information to the army command post.

  “On another front, the proposed hearing for the Loch Sheldrake sewer treatment plant renovation has...”

  Qwen turned off the radio. Why weren’t they reporting the death of Gerson Fishman? Why wasn’t there a story about him? And what was this fairy tale about a military dog gone berserk?

  “I’m scramblin’ ‘em,” Sam said.

  “Huh?”

  “The eggs.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve got to get to a telephone,” Qwen thought aloud. Sam looked at him.

  “You’ll hafta get back to town,” he said.

  “I don’t wanna go back to town. Not just yet.”

  “Well . . . I’ll tell ya what you could do. Go down to the river and take my rowboat to Keebler’s Landing. They got a phone.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea, Sam. Thanks.”

  The old man smiled. “Still some smoke in the old chimney, eh?”

  Qwen laughed. The coffee began to perk and the aroma of it and the eggs awakened his appetite. The food filled him with encouragement. He had seen and spoken with that police chief for only a few minutes, but it had been long enough for him to make an initial impression, an impression, admittedly, heavily dependent on instinct. The man’s too small-town, too honest to be part of all this, he thought. He was being used, just as Qwen was being used. He was the man to whom Qwen wanted to talk as soon as possible.

  “So tell me,” Sam began as he poured the coffee and put down the platter of eggs, “what have you been doin’ with yourself lately?”