HYBRID: A Thriller

by James Marshall Smith

  A copy of Veterinary Quarterly lay opened in his lap and Rusty was sleeping on the throw rug by his side. He looked down at Rusty and called to him. Abruptly awakened, the dog plunked his paws on his master’s leg to get a head rub. Dieter stood and flipped on a Phil Collins CD. While mouthing the words to One More Night, he picked up the TV remote and clicked through the channels. He searched for anything—an old M*A*S*H re-run, a decent movie. Finally he hit the off button and walked into the kitchen. He stopped to stare into the sink at the pile of dirty glassware and dishes.

  How many days had those been there? He rinsed a plate and bent down to place it in the dishwasher when something through the window over the sink caught his eye— a fleeting shadow in the distance. He pressed his midriff against the edge of the sink and leaned closer to the window. A three-quarter moon lit up the night.

  Perhaps he was too jumpy lately. He opened the cabinet under the sink and grabbed a flashlight, then rushed to the closet and rummaged behind the coats until he found the baseball bat. When he slid open the glass door onto the deck, the only sound was a symphony of tree frogs. Rusty rushed into the backyard clearing while Dieter squeezed the handle of the bat and scanned the woods. Something darted among the trees. Rusty barked and ran toward it.

  “Come back, Rusty!” he called out as he followed the dog. Bat in hand, he came upon the path he’d taken many times when walking Rusty and taking the kids on a hike. The dog had disappeared; he had never taken off like that before.

  Rusty’s unmistakable barking arose again, fifty yards or so ahead. Dieter jogged deeper into the woods, moving off the path toward the bark. He pushed aside tree branches and ran through knee-high grass as tree limbs and thorn bushes scratched his face and arms. He paused to catch his breath.

  Rusty was gone. He knew the dog would likely make his way back home, but he couldn’t be sure. How would he ever explain this to the kids? It was stupid to let the dog out when something strange was around.

  A bark came from the distance, followed by a yelp. Then another bark . . . growling . . . a shriek. Bellowing Rusty’s name, he sprinted in the direction of the gut-wrenching sounds as briars tore at his shirt and neck.

  His flashlight caught two glowing eyes that grew brighter when he approached. Rusty lay half-buried in a deep thicket by a scrub oak—blood covered his shoulders and belly. Dieter rubbed his hands through the soft coat until he located puncture wounds and abrasions near the throat and upper back. He stripped off his shirt and wrapped it around Rusty’s neck and shoulder, tying it firmly to stop the bleeding.

  The dog’s eyes were open, but his breathing had stopped. Dieter placed his fingertips against the chest near the sternum and picked up a feint heartbeat. He quickly opened Rusty’s mouth and pulled his tongue and jaw forward. Closing the dog’s mouth again, he cupped his hands over the nose and gently blew into it, twisting his head to watch Rusty’s chest rise and fall.

  An eternity passed until Rusty began to breathe on his own. Dieter then cuddled all sixty pounds of fur and muscle in his arms and headed for what was his best guess as the direction of the cabin. Everything from that moment on was a blur. He acted only on instinct as he ran, occasionally stopping to lay Rusty down in the weeds and stretch his aching arms. When he finally found the familiar path, he jogged without stopping until he reached the cabin. He carefully placed Rusty upon the woven throw rug on the living room floor and grabbed a clean shirt from the bedroom closet.

  After he awakened Michael and Megan, they gathered around their pet. Tears filled Michael’s eyes while Megan bawled as Dieter explained that Rusty was attacked by some kind of wild animal, but he would make Rusty okay again. That was a promise. They’d have to come along with him in their pajamas to the clinic. No time to change.

  ***

  Thank God Amy was at her bungalow in town. After receiving the startling call, she was waiting for them when they arrived at Dieter’s clinic. Michael and Megan huddled with her in the reception area as Dieter prepared Rusty for surgery. He hung a bag of Ringer’s on a stand beside the table and adjusted the drip, then injected a morphine epidural followed by a brachial plexus nerve block. Palpable hematomas had formed beneath the skin, so he stuck a catheter into a vein then carefully shoved the intubation tube down the trachea and connected the dog to the anesthesia circuit.

  After Rusty went under, he cut away the blood-soaked shirt he’d wrapped around him. Puncture wounds on the scalp penetrated into the skull and throat—possibly only the tip of an iceberg of damage. He clipped the fur from around the neck and flushed the wound with sterile saline and surgical scrub. As he sewed up the deep lacerations, he kept palpitating the area. With a sigh of relief, he could find no severed muscles or tendons. Someone on High had to have been looking out for Rusty.

  The surgery lasted thirty-five minutes. Afterwards, all stood watching Rusty as he lay sleeping on the table. Packed red cells hung from a clear plastic bag above him and flowed into a vein. A clean bandage was around his neck; his breathing, rapid and shallow. Dieter had no idea how much blood the dog had lost, but it would take at least twenty-four hours to see if he had a fighting chance.

  Dieter placed both arms around Michael and Megan and reassured them again that their dog was going to be okay. If it turned out he was wrong, he’d deal with it then, but he couldn’t bring himself to leaving any doubts in their minds. Right or wrong, there was no way he was going there.

  After the kids reluctantly agreed to return home, Dieter gave them another extended hug while Amy gently squeezed his shoulder. When they were gone, he pulled up two chairs beside the table for a makeshift bed and lay down, trying to remember how long it had been since he’d prayed.

  FORTY

  The next morning Amy had to knock twice before Dieter made it to the back door of the clinic. She thrust in his face a large coffee and fast-food bag with the aroma of breakfast as she made her way to Rusty’s cage. An antibiotic dripped from an IV into a vein in the dog’s front leg. She leaned down and stuck two fingers through the wire and wiggled them as she whispered to the dog. Rusty didn’t move, but his eyes lit up as he quietly whined. She straightened up and wiped at her eyes.

  “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asked.

  He brushed back his hair and stifled a yawn. “I’m sure I dozed a few times.” He toasted her with his coffee cup. “You didn’t have to do this, Amy.”

  “Rusty is going to make it, isn’t he?”

  “I did a blood check this morning,” Dieter said. “His white count is going down. A lingering infection is my biggest concern. But I just can’t tell how much trauma there was to his vitals.” He opened the bag and unwrapped the fried egg sandwich. “I’m taking Rusty up to the Livingston vet hospital today. I’ve already talked with them. They’ll keep him this weekend and check him out. Could you take care of the kids after school today?”

  “Of course. You look terrible. How do you shower around here anyway?”

  “Where there’s running water and a sink, you can always make do. How are the kids?”

  “They stayed up too late and this morning. Megan couldn’t find her art bag again, but we got to school with a minute to spare.”

  “How late were they up?”

  “Maybe past midnight. They were both more upset than I’ve ever seen them, Dieter. They needed to talk. To talk about what they saw and how they felt.”

  He paused and took a bite of his breakfast as she sat watching Rusty.

  “Have you heard the news yet about the hiker’s death?” she suddenly asked.

  He spoke as he chewed. “I picked it up on the radio but really didn’t know what to make of it. They said it was a Grizzly attack?”

  “Pay no damn attention to the radio. They got it totally wrong.” She explained that the Judge had called her and given her a rundown on what he’d learned from Molly. She told him that a wolf had stalked the hiker. It charged and brought him down. Brutally killed him on the spot. It was no Grizzly attack.”<
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  “How did Molly find out about all of this?”

  “The Judge said she’d gone looking for a missing woman—turned out to be one of the Loudermilk women from Duck Creek. Evidently she was hiking with the victim. Molly found her clinging to a branch high up in a tree.”

  Dieter closed his eyes and rammed his head into the back of his chair.

  “Is Michael still going on the Scout Camporee tomorrow?” she asked.

  Exactly what he was thinking about. “Believe me, Amy, I’ve been tossing this around in my head since Michael signed up for it. But I keep thinking how torn up he is over Rusty. And if I called this off on him as well . . .”

  “Where’s the outing taking place?”

  “Center of the Park. Indian Creek campground, between Norris and Mammoth.”

  “I hope to God the Scouts have cancelled any plans for an overnight hike.”

  “I have no idea,” Dieter replied. “But anyway, I wasn’t about to give permission for Michael. He’ll find friends to hang around with at the campground. He’ll love it.”

  “How about if I come over early tomorrow to pick up Megan for a trip to the lake? She needs to get away for the weekend. Especially if her brother is going on a fun trip.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll get Rusty up to Livingston by noon.”

  She walked to Rusty’s cage and pressed the tip of her nose against the wire mesh while whispering a long goodbye. Then without fanfare, she walked over to where Dieter sat and tossed her arms around him and squeezed.

  After she had gone, he threw the fast food bag into the trash and walked to Rusty’s cage and opened it to check again the crimson and yellow stained bandage around his throat. While he massaged the golden head, Rusty whimpered and beat his tail on the floor of the cage.

  The veterinary hospital in Livingston was two hours away. Once he got Rusty into expert hands to care for him, he’d rush back to Colter. He needed Josh Pendleton more than ever now.

  FORTY-ONE

  Dieter watched from the cabin’s front window as the van pulled into the driveway promptly at seven a.m. Eager to get going, Michael wore tan corduroy trousers and a light brown shirt under his jacket, his best imitation of a Scout uniform.

  But the trousers were too new, they looked too neat. He’d told his dad that the older kids might notice and tease him. Dieter caught him in his underwear in the bedroom wrinkling the trousers and rubbing the legs with the bottom of a dirty shoe to give them a better look.

  Michael jogged down the graveled driveway carrying his backpack before Dieter had a chance to give him a hug. He shouted after his son, telling him to be careful and to follow the rules, then waved at Paul Struthers, one of the fathers who’d volunteered for the Camporee. The excited Scouts waved back a mock goodbye through open windows as the van took off.

  Amy arrived before Megan awoke to take her to the Little Bears in Lakeview for the Labor Day weekend. She and Dieter sat down with coffee at the kitchen table and he told her about the trip to Livingston and the over-the-top reception by the veterinary staff. He assured her that Rusty was in the best place possible for a quick recovery. For now, he had some important business. He’d see them in a couple of days at the lake house.

  “With all that’s been happening,” Dieter added, “I forgot to ask you about your plane?”

  “Dad got it hauled up to Billings for repairs.”

  “I need to apologize to him. The venture was my idea.”

  “Don’t be crazy. He’s just glad neither of us was injured. Or worse. He knew what we were up to . . . even in on the plans. Remember?”

  Dieter nodded with a smile. She looked down and fidgeted with her fingers in her lap before raising her head to speak. “It’s a heckuva time to bring this up, but I should’ve told you last night.”

  His smile dissolved. What was this all about?

  “I’ll be packing up soon,” she said. She stared back at him without blinking.

  “Packing up?” Maybe he heard her wrong. He pretended not to understand, but he’d already captured her meaning in the pit of his stomach.

  “Not exactly sure when, but I’m packing up that pathetic little Datsun and leaving for the West Coast. Santa Cruz. I’ve put off telling you for too long.”

  Planning this for a long time without even giving me a hint?

  “I have to confess, I’m surprised,” he said.

  “Not really, are you?”

  “I knew we wouldn’t have you around forever, but . . .”

  “Molly will have some good leads on where to find another nanny.”

  “Sure. Yes. I’ll talk to her.” He sat back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest, nodding to himself to project a fake moxie that he could handle it. Just a minor adjustment in life. No big deal, he lied to himself.

  “Your dad told me you were interested in a teaching job upstate.”

  “I applied for one a while back, but they never got back in touch with me,” she said. “The semester’s starting sometime in September. They’ve likely found somebody else.”

  “Did you call them?”

  “Twice in the past week alone. It’ll be different out in California by a long shot. After the summer, everybody heads back to work or whatever they do in Santa Cruz. I need to get out there and find a job before the competition heats up.”

  He’d exhausted ideas on how to react to news that had not only blindsided him but sent his head spinning. “I suppose you’re following your dreams.”

  She stood to leave. “You can say that. Following dreams just like you did in coming to Colter. But I still have one little obstacle remaining before I go.”

  He shot her a questioning look.

  “Convincing my dad it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I have a hunch that won’t be easy.”

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you, Dr. Harmon, that charm always wins out over reason?”

  She nodded toward the doorway. Megan stumbled into the room with a hand under her pajama top, scratching her tummy while the other hand wiped sleep from her eyes. Red pillow marks were embossed on one side of her face. She stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor and yawned. “Does anybody around here got any Cocoa Puffs?”

  ***

  Amy sat waiting for Megan to put on her clothes and wondering why Dieter had to rush away so fast. She helped Megan gather her things while chatting about a picnic they were planning and the horses they’d be riding. Without question she was going to miss both of the kids once in California. They had fun times together during the summer and she never considered her duties for the family a chore. But she had to admit that a feeling of guilt for leaving town was creeping up on her. She needed to sit down with Molly so the two of them could brainstorm how to help Dieter find a good nanny. That was the least she could do before leaving town and she owed it to the kids.

  As Megan struggled to hold close a stuffed dog, Amy picked up the miniature pink suitcase and opened the cabin door.

  She stopped.

  A tall man with a straw hat and a patch of long hair decorating his chin stood on the front porch as if he had been waiting for her. “I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.” He removed his hat, revealing a baldhead and eyes buried by age and scorn.

  She grabbed Megan’s hand. “What do you want?” She didn’t have a gun in her purse or car. Wrong time to remember the warnings her dad had given her over the years. She mentally measured the distance between the porch and her Datsun. How to make a quick getaway with Megan?

  “I was looking for Dr. Harmon, ma’am.”

  “He’s coming right behind us. What is it that—”

  “But, Amy—” Megan began.

  “Now, honey, let’s get these things in the car. You’re daddy’s coming.”

  “I’ll just wait right here for him,” the stranger said.

  “He’s still dressing. May I tell him what this is about?”

  “It’s about my wife. She’s missing.”

 
; “Take this, Megan, and go on to the car.” Megan looked up at her, scowling, then grappled with the bag of clothes and stuffed dog she held under her arms.

  “I didn’t catch your name, sir.”

  “Loudermilk. Joseph Vincent Loudermilk.”

  Amy swallowed and tried not to let the look on her face give away her shock. She held out her hand. “Amy Little Bear.”

  He shook it awkwardly. “I believe Dr. Harmon may know something about the whereabouts of my wife.”

  What is this guy talking about? “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, Mr. Loudermilk.”

  “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll just wait to ask him myself.”

  “He doesn’t know anything about your wife.”

  Megan was in the front seat of the car with the window down, straining to hear what was going on.

  “Miss, I don’t know who you are, but—”

  “I’m a friend of the family.”

  “If you really wanna know, Dr. Harmon took advantage of my wife when he delivered our colt last week. Someone has taken her away, I’m afraid that—”

  “Took advantage of your wife?”

  “That’s correct. I caught them. Now I could either take this to the police or talk with Dr. Harmon.”

  “Can we go now, Amy,” Megan shouted from the car window.

  “Just a moment, dear.” She turned back to the intruder. “You can take it up with the law, Mr. Loudermilk. But I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And why would you do that?”

  “For any reason that I damn well please.” She clutched her purse tighter to her chest. Then she relaxed her right leg and shifted her weight imperceptibly over to her left, targeting his testicles.