He leaned over and retched. His vision grew dim, nearly black. After several minutes, he stood and staggered for the exit. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
It was dark outside. A team of FBI agents wearing military gear and wielding tactical lights stormed the admin building. Another team was preparing to breach the tunnel. A circling helicopter beamed a spotlight to the ground like a white leash.
Montoya was running toward him in slow motion. She stopped when she saw the look on his face.
“Jake, I heard a gunshot. Is Koa…”
Jake walked past her. She caught up to him and touched his arm.
“Jake, are you okay?”
She stopped and let him go.
Jake kept going, walking aimlessly, telling himself not to look back. Never look back. Maybe he could leave the horrors behind.
Maybe.
THIRTY-THREE
Jake attended the memorial ceremony two weeks later on a bright Sunday afternoon. The 519th Military Police Battalion at Fort Polk, Louisiana, had graciously agreed to let Koa’s and Odin’s ashes be interned at their cemetery for military working dogs. Once blood and tissue samples had been taken by the CDC for analysis, their remains had been urgently cremated. However, events after the FBI raid on Diamond Head had made moving the ceremony to the mainland a necessity.
Honolulu was under siege. A strange virus was causing those infected to attack and eat people. Feds and local officials refused to use the word zombie. It was too ridiculous and impossible to imagine. But Jake knew what he experienced and he would never forget it for the rest of his days. He still struggled to make sense of it all. Perhaps he always would.
After their capture, he’d heard that Geddon and Dr. Sato refused to cooperate. Montoya was supposedly given full immunity for her cooperation, but Jake insisted on more for his: a ceremony with full military honors for both Koa and Odin. And that wasn’t all.
It was now covered by a white tarp next to two pedestals flanked by American flags. Each pedestal held a framed picture beside the urn. Koa’s picture was the one Jake kept by his bedside—the two of them on patrol in Afghanistan. The one of Odin captured the Belgian Malinois flying toward his target as an HSFM—Heat-Seeking Fur Missile—his teeth about to sink into the bite sleeve of a concerned-looking decoy.
At least a hundred current or former service members and their families attended the memorial. Many guests had four legs and some of those canine heroes only had three. Jake wore his old Army Service Dress Uniform for the occasion. It felt strange yet familiar, like an old part of him he thought was dead had been reborn. Old memories were dredged up, some good, some bad, and he found himself struggling to focus.
The battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel McCluskey, a warhorse of a man with an angular jaw, was in the middle of his dedication speech.
“… the unwavering loyalty and bravery of our military working dogs. Force multipliers with skills and abilities that cannot be matched by man or machine. The courage they share with their handlers, the morale they bring to our troops, and, certainly, the lives they have saved are immeasurable. We’re gathered here today to celebrate their service and honor their sacrifice so that it will never be forgotten and always cherished.”
The general turned to his right and pointed to the tall, bulky object covered by the white tarp. The general gave the signal and a man in uniform tugged on a rope, pulling the tarp to the ground. The crowd gasped and broke into applause.
It was a life-size statue of a German shepherd MWD and his handler on patrol. The dog—who had an uncanny resemblance to Koa—was alerting on something up ahead. His handler pointed forward in a silent command while his other hand held a leash clipped to the dog’s tactical vest. The inscription carved into the statue’s base served as a reminder: Emotions run up and down the leash.
The best statue artist Jake could find on short notice had flown to Fort Polk. Jake showed him some helpful suggestions before the artist got to work. Several in attendance wiped their eyes. Grizzled-looking veterans, some holding leashes of former working dogs in their hands, lowered their heads.
McCluskey introduced Jake for the closing part of the ceremony. Jake passed Koa’s picture on his way to the podium as the audience applauded. McCluskey shook Jake’s hand, damn near breaking it with his vice-like grip.
Jake nodded thanks to the crowd and fished out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He cleared his throat and stepped closer to the podium.
“Thank you all for coming out. I’d especially like to thank Lieutenant Colonel McCluskey and the 519th for letting us have this memorial. In closing, I’d like to share a poem with you. Many of you handlers and former handlers already know it. It’s called ‘The Guardians of the Night.’”
Jake’s unfolded the paper in trembling hands. He drew a breath and recited the poem, an ode to fallen MWD and K9 comrades everywhere. And after his voice cracked while reciting the last few verses, he turned the page to the poem he had written himself: “You Wore Black and Tan.”
When we went to war in God’s harsh land,
We climbed mountains, marched and slept in sand;
When there was worry and loneliness of night,
I gained comfort from you in my sight;
When there was darkness and fear of death,
I regained strength by the sound of your breath;
While on journeys vast, our adventures wide,
You were always there by my side;
While saying goodbye was fate’s cruel plan,
I’ll always remember you wore black and tan;
And though our time has come to an end,
You will be forever cherished as my friend.
After composing himself, Jake swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up at the crowd. There wasn’t a dry eye in sight. Nearly everyone was wiping away tears or staring at the ground. Some held their faces in their hands and openly wept.
And then he saw her. It had been nearly two weeks. Wearing a navy-blue dress, Beth Montoya sat in the back row. She wore her long dark hair down around her shoulders, and despite the somberness of the occasion, she looked beautiful. Dabbing a tissue to her eyes, she tried to smile and looked away.
Just then, a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Lieutenant Colonel McCluskey stood there, tears streaming down his chiseled face. He swatted Jake on the back and pulled him into a crushing bear hug. Jake hugged him back.
After the ceremony and emotionally spent, Jake walked among the attendees. He shook hands and paws and traded stories with other handlers. He met dedicated men and women who loved their jobs and wouldn’t trade them for the world. Montoya caught up to him.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey...” He forced a smile. “They actually let you out?”
She punched him in the arm.
“I’m fully cooperating in the investigation. I want Geddon and Sato to spend the rest of their lives behind bars and I don’t care to join them.”
Jake nodded, but a life sentence was still too easy on them. Hopefully it was only a matter of time before a violent felon shanked or bludgeoned them to death.
“Any word on who Geddon was working for?”
Montoya shook her head.
“Neither are talking. Sato’s apparently on suicide watch, so I heard. I’m sure Geddon thinks he’ll find a way out of this somehow, but if he talks he knows he’s a dead man. He might be safer in Leavenworth.”
Jake didn’t want to hear or think about Geddon anymore. He changed the subject.
“That’s messed up about Honolulu. I’ve been trying not to follow the news, but it sounds related to Diamond Head. Has to be.”
Montoya crossed her arms and the hardened look in her eyes returned.
“It’s fucked up. State and local agencies have always been idiots, but now there’s pushback with the feds trying to take over. Whatever it is, it’ll blow up if they don’t stop it soon.”
“Well, even if they do, Hawaii will never be o
n my list of vacations spots. That’s for sure.”
“Only Oahu has been quarantined—so far—but yeah, I hear you.” Montoya curled a loose strand of hair over her ear. “It’s good to see you, Jake.”
Jake heard the hint of desire in her voice. He felt something for her, too, but these past few weeks had been too much of a mind fuck. If there was a chance of something between them, the timing really sucked. It would take him a while to sort his shit out—if he ever did.
“It was great seeing you again, Beth.” He emphasized was. “Where you off to next?”
She looked away, seeming to catch his meaning. And like a sudden breeze, the chance they had was gone.
“San Antonio,” she said. “Lackland AFB has a veterinarian hospital there. Their own MWD breeding program, too.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. Bringing dogs into the world sounded a lot more appealing than putting them down.
“Good for you. Sounds like a lot more fun.”
She smiled. “What about you, Jake Decker? Where you headed?”
“Back to Seattle for now. Then… I’m not sure. City life doesn’t appeal to me anymore. Think I need a cabin in the woods where I can chill the fuck out for a while, you know?”
Jake could tell by the haunted look in her eyes that she did.
He walked her back to her car, where they hugged and said goodbye. He waved, and when she drove off, he realized he’d almost forgotten something. He grabbed the small box from the front seat of his car and returned to the ceremony area.
People were still mingling about and taking pictures in front of the MWD statue. Jake went to Koa’s pedestal, reached into the box where he kept Koa’s collar, leash, and his chewed up red Kong. He placed the Kong next to their picture. He studied the two of them for a long time.
“I remember that day like it was yesterday,” he finally said. “It was so damn hot. Hundred twenty in the shade. Felt like my brain was cooking in my skull like a poached egg. Me and the guys were bitching and moaning about the heat. Then I look down at you in all that fur under your Kevlar, relaxing with your Kong at my feet, just happy to be next to me…”
Jake pinched the skin between his eyes, trying to hold back the tears. They came anyway, and he let them fall. Koa’s image wavered and blurred.
“Goddamn, bud, I’m so sorry for everything. You deserved so much better. I want you to know I’ll always be grateful for our time together, and as long as I live, I’ll never forget you. Someday, I’ll see you again, and when I do, I hope you’ll remember me.”
Jake touched Koa’s picture for the final time and turned away. He went to his car, got in, and then he sat there for a while. Jake started the car and put it in gear.
He drove.
EPILOGUE - TWO YEARS LATER
The rising sun over the Cascade Range had yet to dry the morning dew in Snohomish, Washington. Bordering Jake’s property, a bright golden stream wandered over rocks and under fallen, moss-draped logs. Sometimes he followed the stream all the way to the Skykomish, where the salmon would soon return to spawn.
Jake loved mornings like this. The air was crisp and he could see forever. The peaks at higher elevations still had snow, and it reminded him of the Hindu Kush. His gaze had distance to it, seeing and remembering too much at times, but in this moment, he was at peace with himself and the past.
It was short-lived.
The ground beneath his feet rumbled from a stampeding horde. A brown heat seeking fur missile flew past him, followed by a whoosh of air.
“Hey, watch it!”
The crazy bastard almost clipped him and knocked him down again. Jake grinned, watching them play. The Belgian Malinois, Jet, had the slobbery tennis ball this time and was being chased by Dutch, the aptly named Dutch shepherd. Bringing up the rear was Raven, a three-legged black lab.
Raven had lost her leg and her handler to an IED in Afghanistan. For her front left leg she wore a prosthetic secured to a vest around her chest. Raven would never catch Jet or Dutch, but what she lacked in speed she made up for with stubborn determination. Sooner or later, Jake knew, Raven would end up with that ball.
“Jet, give somebody else a turn. Hier!”
All three dogs snapped their heads around like Cerberus, the three-headed hound of Hades. Dutch ran to him first, followed by a reluctant Jet—he didn’t want to give up his ball. Raven came last as usual. It was impossible for the dogs to focus as a pack, so morning runs were just for play. He made eye contact with Jet and pointed to the ground.
“Los. Drop it.”
After an overly dramatic pause, Jet dropped the dirty, slob-covered thing at Jake’s feet.
“Good bo—”
Dutch saw his chance and lunged for the ball.
“Ack! Not so fast, bud.”
Dutch sat back down, licking his chops. Jake reached down and picked the ball up in a gloved hand. He pivoted on his good leg and let the ball fly. It arced high and bounced along the dirt trail before vanishing in a clump of ferns. He waited, counting two Mississippis before turning around.
The dogs remained sitting, and Jake praised them, knowing how bad their brains were freaking out right now. Three sets of big brown eyes pleaded with him. Please. Oh, please! The ball is getting away! Jake counted two more Mississippis and cut them loose.
“Bring!”
The dogs took off like a gunshot, kicking up dirt and debris. Jet quickly gained the lead—his speed was incredible, reminding Jake of Odin. Dutch was hot on his heels and Raven did her best, hobbling after the boys.
While the dogs went after the ball, movement to the left and through the Maple and Poplar trees caught Jake’s eye. A white sedan was driving up the long gravel road to his house. Jake didn’t get many visitors and he wasn’t expecting any. When he was, he made sure to put the dogs in their kennels. All his dogs were former MWDs traumatized by combat. If they decided they didn’t like this new visitor, things could get ugly fast.
Hearing the car, the dogs alerted and ran for it in high gear. Jet and Dutch already had their tails and hackles raised as they barked. If the driver was smart, they’d remain inside the car until Jake got there. The car stopped in front of his house and the driver got out. Jake gaped, stopping in his tracks.
It was Beth.
How long had it been? Two years? Seeing her toggled memories of Koa’s memorial, digging up the feelings he’d buried in a hole inside himself. He was also reminded of the ongoing situation in Hawaii and it brought on a sense of dread. What the hell was she doing here?
After closing the car door, Beth bent down and slapped both hands on her knees. She had a big, easy smile. Her hair was shorter, but there was something else different about her. She was radiant.
“Well, hi, guys!”
Her voice dripped with honey and his dogs licked it up. Barks and growls to ward off strangers became curious whines and a furious wagging of tails. Jake caught up to them, shaking his head.
“Some guard dogs,” he said. “Go ahead and take what you want. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
Jet rubbed his back against Beth’s legs as she looked up. She smiled and the dark melancholy eyes he remembered were now warm and inviting.
“Oh, I’m sure they’d change their minds if you told them to.”
By the way Jet and Dutch were smiling from her attention, Jake wasn’t so sure. He walked up to Beth and gave her a hug. She smelled sweet, like summer lilac.
“Been a while,” he said. “You just happened to be in the neighborhood, right?”
“Not quite. I know your website says appointment only. Sorry, I wasn’t sure if…”
Her voice faded as she gazed past him. Jake turned to view the rolling green fields and pastures and the mountains beyond. His cedar-shaked A-frame cabin had a large window above the deck that took it all in.
“It’s beautiful here,” Beth said. “I can’t imagine a better place to foster dogs.”
“Thanks. I put everything I had into this place.”
Some of it was Geddon’s money from project Landshark. Jake still felt dirty taking it, but at least the money was being put to good use. Jet and Dutch began fighting for Beth’s attention.
“Ack! Knock it off or you’re going in your kennel! Anyway, I take in retired MWDs when I can. I’m just a one-man show, so I’m trying to keep it manageable. Donations help with food. They eat like monsters.”
“That’s wonderful. I always thought—”
“What brings you here, Beth?” He had enough small talk.
Beth turned to her car. Standing up against a wire divider separating the back seat was the dark silhouette of a floppy-eared pup.
“Someone for you to meet,” she said.
Jet and Dutch followed Beth to her car. Despite the windows of the car being rolled halfway down, the pup hadn’t made a sound. He or she seemed content with studying these new strangers stealthily from the shadows. Sneaky little bastard. Jake realized she was going to open the door to let the pup out.
“Wait, I should put the dogs away. They might—”
Beth opened the door and four fat paws landed on the ground. Jet and Dutch jumped back in surprise from the little invader. It was a German shepherd. The pup was about three months old and obviously a boy. He had a shiny coat of black and tan fur. His ears would be standing soon.
And the second he saw Jake, the pup ran straight for him, bumbling and stumbling through the grass. The pup reached Jake and jumped up on his leg.
“Ack,” Jake corrected.
The pup sat on the ground, sweeping his tail and barking. He looked up at Jake with bright, eager eyes and a panting smile. His small pink tongue hung from the side of his mouth. On the right side of the pup’s face was a dark round spot of hair, like a beauty mark. A lot like…
Jake was stunned as if sucker-punched in the face. He looked up at Beth, who was busy gauging his reaction.
“His name’s Kai,” she said.
“He’s not—”
“He is.”
Jake grew dizzier by the second. How could this be?
“All the dogs in the Landshark program had DNA analysis and archiving,” Beth said. “Sperm samples, but not for breeding. We had to note DNA changes after Dr. Levski’s procedures, especially blood transfusions, so we pulled before and after samples.
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