by Ted Hill
Mark shook his head. “Why couldn’t I have had a twin brother?”
Scout inspected one of the dead heaps of fur lying in the flowerbed. “This is a big animal. Are they dogs or wolves?”
Mark came up beside him. “Whatever they were, they killed all of the chickens and hogs. Alex and John woke me up after they found all their animals dead, and I got everybody else to start searching. I don’t know what Molly and Sam were doing out here this early, but I barely arrived in time. Molly said that one bit Samuel on the leg. It was a mess.”
“He died,” Luis said from the other side of Scout. “He bled to death right in front of me. And then Catherine was here.”
“Praise the Lord,” Scout said. He bowed his head and prayed, thanking God for watching over them and bringing Catherine into their lives.
Mark prodded the dog with his bat. The dead animal smelled like rotten eggs. “We need to bury these carcasses before the kids start waking up. They’re scared of enough things without seeing the Big Bad Wolf.”
“This is the Big Bad,” Scout said, referring to the world in which they lived. He and Mark shared a glance. “I’ll start digging a hole to bury them. Are these all of them?”
“Yes.”
Scout whistled, rubbing his hand over his tight afro. “And you got every one?”
Mark shook his head and pointed. “I got that one there.”
“Samuel must have put up a heck of a fight.”
“No, Molly said he tripped and got knocked out. She killed four of them with the shovel. I got here right before that one ate her. She finished off the last one while I was inside the house looking for stuff.”
Scout whistled again. “I didn’t know Molly was such a badass.”
“She’s not when it comes to dogs. A Doberman bit her arm when we were five. It was pretty bloody. She had twenty stitches afterward. She’s been terrified of dogs ever since.”
“Not anymore from the looks of things,” Scout said.
Mark shrugged.
Billy returned and the screen door slammed again. “Sorry.” He looked over the bundle to where Molly lay sprawled with her breasts exposed to the moonlight. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Just stay there, Billy,” Mark said. “I don’t want you stumbling off the porch.” Mark hopped over the unconscious group and retrieved the blankets. He covered his sister first. “All clear everybody.”
“Can I make a comment?” Scout said.
Mark scowled, as if daring Scout to try.
Scout waved him off. “Forget it. I’ll go dig that hole.”
“Great idea,” Mark said, and finished covering Catherine and Samuel from the early morning chill. “Billy, go tell those guys to take turns getting dressed before they catch cold. Tell them to go in teams. I don’t want anyone wandering out here alone.”
Scout picked up the shovel and noticed that the spade was stained by greater quantities of blood than Mark’s bat. He walked to the side of the house to find a good burial plot that wouldn’t tear up Samuel’s front yard, but still close enough so he didn’t have to drag around a bunch of heavy dog carcasses. Scout scanned the darkness for a good digging spot. He considered torching the dogs with gasoline because burying them might draw other scavengers, but gasoline needed conserving. Deep holes were easy to create with time and effort.
One of the boys from the rescue party walked through the yard toward Scout, twirling his bat round and round. Scout frowned when he recognized Dylan.
“Hey, Preach. You’re up kind of early. Too bad you missed the fight, as usual.”
Scout stabbed the shovel into the ground. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dylan leaned on his bat like a walking stick. He wore a pair of red gym shorts. His ropey limbs were knotted with muscles from hanging around the weight room that Hunter had set up in one of the buildings on Main Street. Dylan smiled. “It’s nothing. Why are you digging a hole?”
“I volunteered for burial duty. Want to help?”
“Nah, I got to keep my eyes open in case anymore doggies come around. Too bad they’re so skinny. We could have made some wicked stew.”
“Is that what Brittany served the other day for lunch? I thought it was chicken.”
“You’d know all about chicken, wouldn’t you, Preach?”
Scout stepped forward. “What’s your problem, Dylan? You’ve been on my back for three months.”
Dylan straightened and readjusted his grip on the bat. “I don’t have just one problem with you. My biggest, though, is that you went out and got Jimmy killed then you came rolling back here like you’re some kind of holier-than-thou fucker. I think you’re full of shit.”
Scout’s pulse raced and his jaw clenched. “I went out there and risked my neck for Jimmy so he could rescue Catherine. He’s the one that chose to die. I had nothing to do with that. I tried to stop him.”
“That’s not the way I heard it. I heard you jacked up the whole operation by going after your girl, what’s-her-name.”
“What’s going on over there?” Mark called out from the corner of the house. Billy stood beside him.
Dylan spoke so only Scout could hear. “Oh, look. It’s big brother to the rescue. See you later, Preach, when we can talk in private.” Dylan turned and waved. “Oh, hey Mark, we were just talking about where Scout should dig his hole. I’ll keep looking for dogs.”
Scout watched Dylan spinning his bat as he walked away.
“Are you all right?” Mark asked, coming over. “What’s got you all worked up?”
Scout looked past Mark to where Billy still stood at the corner of the house. The deep pocket of night’s shadows hid the little boy’s face. Billy turned and ran after Dylan, who patted him on the back like they were old pals.
“Scout, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Where should I dig this hole?”
Six
Scout
By the time the second splinter tore into his hand, Scout hated digging. He gave serious consideration again to burning the dogs with gasoline. Forget saving gas—not at the expense of his palms. Luckily, this splinter stuck out far enough for him to pull it out with his teeth.
Every so often, raucous laughter carried in the early morning darkness, setting Scout further on edge. Dylan and the couple boys hanging around him were busy doing nothing except talking. Scout couldn’t shake the feeling that the general topic of their conversation involved him. How were rumors spreading that he’d got Jimmy killed? Jimmy got Jimmy killed. Scout had just been along for the ride.
The conversation with Dylan depressed him more than he wanted to admit. Only the constant attention to the hole he was digging allowed him to focus on something else, but once he found a good rhythm with the shovel, he only thought about one thing: Did he get Jimmy killed?
Scout stood at the bottom of a two foot hole that was eight feet wide, and a lot of shoveling still needing to be done. He wanted somebody to come over and help him, but after Dylan’s accusation he didn’t know who to ask or who to trust.
He struck the blade into the ground and hit something hard. His palms skidded down the worn handle and splinter number three slid into his thumb.
“Damn it!”
Laughter followed from Dylan’s little huddle. “Hear that, boys? I think Preach is working on his next sermon. It sounds a little dismal. I might have to skip that one.”
Dylan’s pals hooted and slapped him on the back, like he couldn’t get any funnier.
Scout sucked on the splinter in silent embarrassment, mad at himself for letting the curse word slip. He wanted to set an example of a godly life since he preached about it every Sunday, but the change from the way he used to live took time and obviously more attention.
“You should put these on.” Samuel held out a pair of leatherwork gloves for Scout. He wore a pair himself and another shovel rested in the crook of his arm. “You should always wear gloves when you dig, especially if you’re going to us
e Jimmy’s shovel. It’s tossed a lot of dirt.”
Scout took the gloves and continued gnawing the splinter out of his thumb. Samuel dropped into the hole and got to work, shoveling with a precision and speed that Scout found amazing and could never possibly match. Smooth steady strokes came one after another, and full scoops of dirt tumbled into piles around the rim. Scout tore out the splinter and spat into the hole. He pulled on the work gloves and took a side, negotiating out of Samuel’s way.
Scout began again, working to match Samuel’s productivity. It wasn’t happening, so he tried to make a good showing.
Samuel tapped Scout on the shoulder. “How ’bout you sit the rest out? You got a good start. I’ll take us home from here.”
“Are you sure, man? I mean you were a little…” Scout wanted to be sensitive, but there really wasn’t any way around the subject, “…dead about thirty minutes ago. Shouldn’t you get some more rest?”
“Dude, I got to work or I’m going to go crazy thinking about what happened. Plus, I feel awesome. I’ve never felt this good.”
“All right. I’ll hang around for moral support.” Scout stepped onto a pile and the dirt tumbled back into the hole.
Samuel scooped it right out again. “Just don’t knock over any more piles.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. But seriously, back up two feet.” Samuel smiled and dug in.
It took about a minute for Dylan to notice the change. “Nice going, Preach. You found a way to get out of work again.”
Samuel stopped shoveling and looked at Scout. Scout leaned on Jimmy’s useless shovel and inspected his shoes.
“See guys, I told you Preach was soft.”
“Hey, Dylan,” Samuel said. “Is it true what they say about lifting weights?”
“What’s that?”
“Does it just make your dick smaller or does it also affect your brains? See, cause if it was the other way around, I might be into it.”
Dylan took a couple steps toward them, slapping the barrel of his bat into his hand. “That’s not cool, man.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Samuel drove his shovel in the ground and climbed out of the hole.
“Dylan,” Mark called from the front of the house. “I think we’re okay here. You guys can go on home and get some sleep before breakfast.”
Dylan and Samuel glared at each other, separated by twenty feet of grass. Samuel puckered and blew him a kiss. Dylan squinted hard, trying to deduce what Samuel just did in the darkness. Then he turned and stalked off, followed closely by his posse. Samuel dropped into the hole, retrieved his shovel, and got back to work.
Scout sighed. “You didn’t have to do that, man.”
“Excuse my language, Scout, but that’s bullshit. You don’t let a jackass like Dylan give you a bunch of crap. If that starts then you might as well get ready for a heap of trouble. Guys like Dylan don’t quit until you put your fist into them.”
Scout stayed silent as a strange sense of weariness seeped into him. It might have been a lot better if he had stayed in bed instead of running into this mess. At least he wouldn’t know what they were whispering behind his back. He leaned harder on the shovel and closed his eyes.
“Dylan’s full of crap. Nobody believes you had any part in Jimmy’s death.”
Scout’s knees shook, but he caught himself before falling to the ground. Did everybody know the alternate version of how Jimmy died? And how many did believe it?
“I knew Jimmy better than anyone,” Samuel said. “If he had his mind made up about something, then nobody could get him to change it.”
“I didn’t get him killed,” Scout said, just to hear the words. Just to convince himself that he did everything he could to keep Jimmy alive.
“I wouldn’t let you wear his gloves if I thought you did.”
Scout looked at the leatherwork gloves covering his hands. They were well used with permanent dirt stains in every crease and stitch. He flexed his fingers. The gloves were big for him but would have fit Jimmy perfectly.
Scout thought about the last words Jimmy had spoken to him. “You’re in charge, Scout.” You don’t leave the person who killed you in charge.
Tears filled his eyes, clouding his vision. He wiped them away with the backs of Jimmy’s gloves, leaving dark splotches on the tanned hide.
Samuel cranked out the rest of the hole, taking it down another four feet in a quarter of the time it had taken Scout to complete his part. When he finished, he laid his shovel over the top and leapt up, pushing himself out. He removed his gloves and beat the dirt off them on his cut-up jeans.
“Luis ruined my favorite pair of button fly Levi’s. I hope you or Hunter can find me another pair in my size.”
Scout just nodded.
“Let’s get these dogs in the ground. The sun will be up soon and the last thing we want is smelly dead dogs lying around when the kiddos come out to play.”
Scout followed Samuel to one of the beasts Molly had killed. Samuel put his gloves back on and they each grabbed legs. The big dog’s head fell back and its snout dragged the ground between them.
Samuel one-armed the creature and covered his nose with the other. “This smells worse than Hunter’s underwear after he’s been out riding for a week.”
Scout smiled because it was true.
“See, I knew I’d get you to smile if I bagged on Hunter.”
“I’m picturing you sniffing Hunter’s underwear.”
Samuel grinned. “You shouldn’t knock it.”
They heaved the carcass into the pit and left to find the next one. Around the front of the house, they discovered Molly was now awake, sitting up on the porch with a shirt on, thankfully. Of course the thankful part depended on whether or not her brother was still around—which he was.
“Hey there, Molly,” Samuel stopped cold and Scout bumped into him, but he barely noticed. “Is that my Nirvana concert T-shirt?”
Molly pulled down the front where a naked baby boy swam after a dollar bill. “Mark gave it to me.”
“But it’s never been worn. That shirt is a classic.”
“What’s a classic?” Molly asked.
Samuel looked around for support but his friends were all blank faced. His head dropped in defeat. “First my parents, then Greg, and now this…”
“Don’t be so dramatic. I can wash it.”
“Don’t wash it!” Samuel’s voice cranked up an octave.
Everyone looked at him like he was bonkers. Scout sort of understood. He was slightly bonkers about his own special stuff, but that was baseball gloves, not some stupid shirt.
“Just bring it back the way it is after you take it off.” Samuel took a deep breath and released it slowly. “I guess I should be thanking you for saving my life.”
“It wouldn’t have needed saving if I had gone inside the house when you told me too. I’m sorry. I have this thing about dogs.”
“Well, those dogs had a thing about you that didn’t end well for them. But what I’m really upset about is missing all the good parts.”
“What good parts?” Molly asked.
Samuel waggled his eyebrows at her and Molly’s face turned as bright as a tomato.
“Knock it off, Sam,” Mark said. “I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Yeah, right, because now I’m all disappointed and stuff.”
“Not to mention deprived,” Scout said.
“Good one,” Samuel said, offering Scout a fist bump.
“Are you guys done digging the hole?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, we’re rounding up the doggies now,” Samuel said.
“They’re hellhounds.”
Everyone looked at Catherine, who had propped herself up and was stretching her little hands above her head. Her mussed blonde hair required a good brushing. Bags under her eyes showed her need for more recovery time from her latest healing.
“Hellhounds will turn to ash when the sun comes up.”
“Why don’t we fill it with water for a swimming pool?” Scout said.
Samuel nudged him in the shoulder. “You’re two for two, bro.”
Mark stared them down into silence. “Catherine, when you say hellhounds, you mean…”
“Exactly the way it sounds. Those hounds were sent here from Hell to hunt. Judging by who they attacked, I’d suggest Molly keep her night wanderings to a minimum.”
Catherine shifted her attention away from the group. “Well, hello there! When did you get here?”
Scout searched the direction Catherine spoke toward and found no one else in the hazy dawn.
“Yes, yes, I won’t say a word. I think you’re right. Secrecy would be best right now.”
“Who are you talking to?” Scout asked.
Catherine combed fingers through her hair, pulling out the tangles without answering the question. Her eyes grew big and she pointed behind the small assembly. “Lookie, lookie!”
Everyone followed her excitement and turned. The first rays of sunlight found the hellhounds. Their bodies smoked, a dark purple swirl drifting in the sun’s rays. The skin under their fur bubbled and boiled and the reek from their bodies smelled like Brittany’s the morning after chili night. Daylight cut a bright path through the end of nighttime. The dogs popped with a concussive blast, and a blinding flash made everyone cover their eyes. When it was safe to look again, they found four piles of purple ash sitting on the ground, topped by wisps of smoke.
“What about the dog we threw in the hole?” Scout asked.
“Hellhound,” Catherine corrected him. “Will the sun hit it?”
“I kind of doubt it,” Samuel said. “I guess we could just bury that one.”
Catherine shook her head. “No good. Once the sun goes down it will just claw its way out and go hunting again. You better drag it out into the sunshine.”
Scout turned to finish the gruesome task. “I should have stayed in bed.”
Seven
Hunter