Lies of the Prophet

by Ike Hamill

  MARTA WAS DONE WITH MICE, and done with humans for the moment, but she wasn’t done training. The corners of mind still had taboos, things she would never dream of doing, and she knew that those could bring her plan crashing down. All it would take was a moment of hesitation, of moral ambiguity, and her plan would fail. She had to be perfect, precise, and cold.

  The dog park in the city was a big half-block of fenced in dirt. All the grass had been stomped and trampled away. It was a big happy dust bowl where the city dogs ran without leashes. The people policed themselves. They pressured each other into good behavior, keeping the place clean and safe for their companions.

  The first day, Marta watched from her parked car, but couldn’t bring herself to act. These creatures were pure. They wanted nothing more than to please their people and receive back some small fraction of the love they constantly gave. Some miracle of evolution had produced dogs—the perfect companions. Marta knew she couldn’t possibly execute one of those furry saints.

  She came back the next day. Rain kept the park empty. Marta returned home cold and depressed. She couldn’t do anything.

  On Thursday, Marta almost didn’t go at all. She teetered on the brink of giving up. Her plan began to die. She didn’t have the mettle to continue forward with her own training regime. A few minutes before lunch, after she’d decided to fail, she picked up her keys and headed for the car.

  The park was lively. Lots of people showed up at noon to take advantage of the sunshine and get their pets some exercise. Marta watched a group of people standing near the water fountain, talking while their dogs ran. Aside from the leashes in their hands, they could have been at a cocktail party. A giant quantity of flirting passed around the group. Marta sat in her car and gripped the steering wheel. She occasionally glanced around to make sure she hadn’t aroused anyone’s suspicion.

  She sighed when she saw him approach the gate. This dog would be her target. It was one of the biggest, most lovable looking dogs Marta had ever laid eyes on. She wasn’t an expert on breeds and hadn’t had her own dog since she was a kid, but she recognized this big canine as a Mastiff. Marta’s eyes were already welling, but she took a deep breath and pushed back her emotions. The man lifted the latch on the gate and led his enormous companion through.

  He was like a returning hero to the group inside. Everyone turned as he approached. The men of the group waved to the handler, and two of the women dropped to a crouch to greet the giant dog he walked. The man talked with his hands and made everyone laugh. He unclipped the leash and his big friend bounded off to join the big dog-frolic happening near the far corner.

  Marta watched him run. The dog was in peak condition—huge, but not fat. His silky coat rippled as he bounded. His comically large ears flopped up and down in time with his lolling tongue. Marta swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. She turned her attention back to the group of owners, standing near the water fountain.

  “It would be easy to take one of them,” she said to herself. “What am I trying to prove? I should stick to people.”

  Back on the far side, enjoying their time away from their people, several mid-sized dogs now shone—their heads and necks wet with slobber from the big Mastiff.

  “Sammy!” one of the women yelled. She fumbled with her leash and walked towards a knot of dogs near the fence. She made eye contact with Marta as she approached the fence. Marta tried to smile, but it felt wrong on her face.

  Marta lowered her shoulders and glanced back towards the other dogs. She felt fear swirled with relief when she couldn’t see him. The big one had disappeared. Eventually, she found him. He circled around from the far side of a tree. A couple of little dogs went to inspect his work.

  Marta took a deep breath, looked up at the sky out her window, and reached out to him with her empathy. She pictured the big sloppy dog and thought about how many people must really love him. In her mind, the big dog sat in a lush patch of grass, keeping watch over toddlers and teens at a family picnic. She pictured him rolling onto his back, the perfect gentleman, asking for a belly rub. Curled up at the foot of the couch, he’d be loyal and trusting every day of his life.

  Her sense was confused. She could picture him, but couldn’t find him with her heart. Marta blinked away tears and looked for the big dog. He stood near the water fountain, drinking from the metal bowl chained to the base.

  His heart jumped out at her then. He looked back over his shoulder and locked eyes with Marta when her heart found his. Their heartbeats synchronized in an instant and she felt her empathy swell with his spirit. He was so happy. It was sunny, and he was tired and satisfied. She knew that this dog was as happy as he had ever been, and he expected no less. Her heart ached with what she had to do.

  Suddenly, she loved that dog. She’d never loved anything more. She wanted him to be happy and content for years to come—to enjoy his short life and bring joy to everyone around him.

  Marta pushed him away. She let the river sweep him out of her heart.

  The dog’s tail went up, and his right-front leg came up as if he would take a step. His eyes were still locked with hers. Before that foot came back down, Marta knew that the deed was done. The dog slumped, his shoulder dropping towards the ground. He rolled to the ground. His head hit, his shoulder, and then the wave crashed through his back. His tail hit the ground last.

  He lay still.

  A small dog paused and sniffed at him on its way to the water bowl. Nobody else noticed.

  Marta’s tears swelled and fell. She watched and imagined a little boy who would return home from school today and find his wonderful, huggable companion gone. She imagined a high-school girl who would pretend to not care and then cry herself to sleep. She imagined a wife boxing up toys and throwing away the huge store of dog food from the pantry.

  The man finally noticed. He turned and walked over to his big dog, slowing when he got to within a couple of paces. He knelt next to his friend and put out his hand to touch the soft neck. He shook the dog, but the limp form didn’t respond.

  Marta squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget the pain on the man’s face. She felt all the beating hearts around her and noticed how many pulses which were starting to beat faster as word spread. A group of concerned acquaintances gathered around the man and dog, blocking Marta’s view. She felt their shock and sadness. Perhaps the dogs could feel the same thing. Some of the dogs slowed down and sniffed around, as if distracted. Other’s got aggressive, and their playtime turned rough.

  All the dog hearts beat together in her head. She joined their rhythm to her own without considering the consequences. Her heart ached with the sorrow of the humans and the confusion of the dogs.

  She led the collective life-force to a huge crescendo. The dogs jumped and bounded and barked.

  Marta swept them all out—she let the flash-flood sweep them all away. Eighteen dogs fell dead. Her mind filled with the rising shock and fear of the humans. People ran and pushed each other out of the way. A woman and her little girl lifted a Basset Hound. A teenage boy stroked the ear of his fallen German Shepherd. That dog’s chin rested on its paws, and its ears still pointed upright. Marta doubled over her steering wheel, wracked with shame and guilt.

  The scene was tragic. Cries and wails echoed in Marta’s head as the owners, debilitated by their grief, tried to reverse the last five minutes. Marta didn’t want to live anymore. She didn’t want to be a part of a world where she caused such misery. Instead of stretching her ability to cope, she had crossed a line. She could feel her own heartbeat thudding in her head and grasped at it. Maybe she could turn off her own life as easily as she’d just snuffed this pack of innocent dogs. Her heartbeat doubled and quadrupled as she folded it in on itself. She joined her own heart like it was outside her body. With resignation and a mighty effort, she let the flood take her own heartbeat away.

  The world went dark.

  Marta felt her heart go cold.

  The tears stopped instantly; her sadness
washed away.

  Light twinkled back in as she opened her eyes. In front of her, her hands gripped the steering wheel. Outside her passenger window, beyond the sidewalk, on the other side of the chain-link fence, the horrible scene continued. Marta didn’t look. She dropped the car into gear, signaled, and pulled out of her spot. Their voices faded, but Marta could feel each mourner who clutched or carried a dog.

  Marta joined them all. She collected their hearts like seashells and pulled them into her heart as she coasted down the street. She didn’t stop with the people—she joined the birds, the squirrels in the trees, and everything else she could discern. Her foot dropped on the accelerator as she cast all her shells into the torrent flowing through her. The lives fell away from her—each person or animal dropping to the ground.

  By the time Marta reached the stop sign at the end of the block there wasn’t a single living creature within fifty yards.

  She took her icy heart and headed towards home.

  Twenty One Found Dead in Portland Dog Park

  By Ian Campbell

  Portland Press Herald

  Thursday, August 13; 4:00PM

  PORTLAND, MAINE—Early this afternoon, twenty-one people were discovered dead in Portland’s Bluefield dog park. Police have cordoned several blocks and evacuated several houses and businesses until the cause of the tragedy can be established. Multiple passersby reported the scene to police shortly after noon. Eye witnesses report that many dogs died as well. Authorities have yet to release any details or theories on the cause of the deaths.

  The area of the park includes the Blue Hill neighborhood, and several businesses. The police have restricted access from Danforth to Clifford Street, west of Fletcher. No word yet on how long the area will be blocked. Crews of emergency workers secured the site with full biohazard gear. No survivors were rescued from the scene. Police Chief Oliver has promised a press conference for later this evening.

  Death Toll Rises in Bluefield Tragedy

  By Ian Campbell

  Portland Press Herald

  Friday, August 13; 7:30AM

  PORTLAND, MAINE—Authorities upped the death toll after discovering several bodies in homes adjacent to the Bluefield dog park. Several blocks around the park have been evacuated and closed to traffic since yesterday’s horrific lunchtime events. Police initially discovered twenty-one dead people amongst the bodies of dogs and other park wildlife. Equipped with bio-warfare suits, first-responders took air and water samples to seek the nature of the deaths. No word yet on the cause, but Police Chief Brendan Oliver has stressed that he has no reason to believe that people are in jeopardy outside of the restricted zone.

  This afternoon, while conducting a house-to-house search for residents refusing evacuation, fire and rescue personnel discovered three additional victims. All were residents of Clifford Street, adjacent to the park. Those houses are uphill and upwind of the incident. A nearby warehouse, empty since 2003, was offered by a local business. Authorities are using the space as temporary investigation headquarters until they can determine the safety issues involved with moving the deceased.

  Chief Oliver had early promised a press conference for 12:00PM, but has delayed his announcement until next of kin can be reached for all twenty-four deceased. At 5pm a candlelight vigil will take place across town at Portland’s Monument Square. The Red Cross will attend to collect donations for the families of the victims.

  MARTA LOCKED HER DOORS and drew her blinds—all except the kitchen window. She stood at the sink and looked out at the flat afternoon sun. She didn’t need to turn on the news or consult the web to track the progress of the city’s mourning. The entire city, miles away from her rural home, reverberated in her gut. She could join their hearts and snuff them all—that’s how clearly she felt their grief.

  She felt nothing. The lives of the people meant nothing. Marta crossed to the pantry and pulled down a box of garbage bags. She fluffed open the first black bag. She started in the living room with the pictures. There weren’t many, but here and there she had a picture of her dead husband, or her dead parents. She gathered them all in the plastic bag and moved on to the books. It didn’t take much to fill the bag until it nearly split with the weight. Marta doubled the bag and tied it off. It took six bags to strip just the living room. She got rid of everything personal or sentimental—everything non-functional. Everything got bagged and then dragged out to the garage. She would figure out how to dispose of them later.

  No emotions crossed her face as she worked. This wasn’t a rash or angry action, she was simply evolving. None of these things would be important in her new life. The change made her feel fresh, and new, and efficient.

  Chapter 16

  Fair Exchange

  “THAT’S BULLSHIT,” CAROL SHOUTED. “I went along with your bit. I risked my life so you could rescue your partner, and now I’m on my own?”

  “Wait a second,” said Jenko. “That whole island thing was your idea. Or an offshoot of your dead husband’s idea. We’ve been following your leads all along.”

  “You talked to a dead guy?” asked Lynne.

  “Kinda,” said Jenko. “Well, she did.”

  “From the start, I went to Billy’s on the premise that if I helped you find her, then you would help me find a way to get that Changeling off my back. Now you’re trying to change the deal,” said Carol.

  “That’s not exactly how I remember it,” said Jenko. “You came along because it was the only safe thing for you to do. I never promised anything. Lynne and I have to figure out this Gregory thing now or else we don’t have a career to return to. That comes first. Your little Changeling problem is not top priority right now. This guy has his own private army and he’s gunning for Lynne. I don’t see how a two-year-old compares.”

  “I don’t know, Bud,” said Lynne. “Seems like these two problems are wrapped together some how. I mean, something brought you guys together.”

  “Even so,” said Jenko. “We have to attack the greatest problem first. We’re not going to fart around with a couple of rogue sub-humans when we’re contending with arguably the most powerful man in the world. A man who happened to put out the word to capture you on sight. I’m not going to abandon logic so we can seem fair about this.”

  “Bullshit,” said Carol. “Never mind. I’ll go deal with Donna myself.”

  “Carol, wait,” said Lynne. “Do you even have any money for a cab? What are you going to do, hitchhike?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Carol said. She turned and walked up the sandy hill to the walkway that straddled the dunes. They’d ditched Jenko’s boat on the river bank, near where they’d had sandwiches the day before. Traffic was light on the beach that day, but the ragged trio had garnered a few curious looks. Carol felt betrayed. Jenko had seemed like a friend, a partner, until she needed something from him. She knew she couldn’t call her sister again. She would confront Donna directly and she would do it alone if she had to. She would be her own strength.

  “Carol,” Lynne’s voice came to her on the wind. “Carol?”

  She waited for Lynne to jog up.

  “I’m going to come along and help you,” said Lynne.

  “What about logic?” asked Carol. She started to walk away, leaving Lynne to follow her as she talked.

  “I don’t care what Jenko says,” said Lynne. “Besides, he can’t even see Donna’s trail, I can. I’m more use to you than he is.”

  “This is my problem,” said Carol. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Lynne. She grabbed Carol’s shoulder and the two women stopped. Carol turned to face Lynne, pulling away from her grip—her shoulder was already beginning to feel warm, where Lynne had touched her. “You’ve got to learn to control that,” said Carol.

  “Let me help you,” said Lynne.

  “I’m not sure how you can help. You say you can see things, but I don’t see how that will help,” said Carol.

  “Well, for one, I grabbed Je
nko’s key,” said Lynne. She held up a ring with one key. “So you tell me where his car is parked and I think we can help each other. But we better go fast. I’m sure a guy like that has another key hidden somewhere.”

  “This way,” said Carol. They ran together down the path.

  “JESUS, HOW DID THEY DO THAT?” asked Lynne.

  The two women sat in the visitor parking lot of the TV station’s business offices.

  “What?” asked Carol.

  “That’s you going in there,” said Lynne. She pointed out the car window. “Did they make a copy of you? Is it some kind of shapeshifter or something? Some kind of evil spirit that looks just like you? It’s uncanny.”

  “Yeah,” said Carol. She smiled. “Almost an evil spirit. That’s my twin sister.”

  “Oh!” said Lynne. “She’s impersonating you?”

  “Looks like it. Wouldn’t take much to corrupt her, believe me. I’m just surprised she didn’t turn me in before. She actually helped me out yesterday.”

  “Maybe she felt guilty?” asked Lynne.

  “More likely she just thought there was a better way for her to use the situation.”

  As they watched, Melanie removed her sunglasses and walked through the big glass doors. Carol shrunk lower in her seat when a car pulled up a few spots away and a man wearing a sweater and slacks got out.

  “Hey, isn’t that what’s his name?” asked Lynne. The man stopped and took his time locking his car before he headed off towards the building.

  “Who? Oh, you mean ‘Maine’s most trusted news anchor?’ Don’t look. He’s so narcissistic that he can sense when people are thinking about him,” said Carol.