by Nancy Isaak
But the dog—tucking its tail between its legs—took off running. Moments later, it had disappeared between the bars of the gate.
“What were you thinking?!” I yelled at Brandon. “Why would you do that?”
“I don’t understand,” he shrugged. “What’s the problem? I was just trying to bag us some meat.”
“That was a dog!” I snapped, horrified by his nonchalance. “The first dog we’ve even seen since ‘it’ happened.”
“It was meat,” insisted Brandon.
Rhys came up beside me. There were tears in his eyes and he looked almost tormented. “Please don’t make me eat a dog,” he begged. “Please, Jacob.”
“But it’s protein,” said Brandon—still not understanding what the big fuss was about.
“Please, Jacob!” Rhys continued to plead.
I pointed my finger at Brandon. “No dogs,” I ordered. “No cats…no dogs…no pets. Not ever!”
WORK IT OUT
While Porter had taken over the house on our right for his school, Brandon had taken over the one on our left. He had discovered a massive home gym in the mansion’s basement and—along with Kieran—was spending hours a day, lifting weights and building up even more muscle.
It became like a clubhouse—a place for the guys to get together and do whatever the hell they wanted. A handwritten sign was soon taped to the front door. It read:
Welcome to “Work It Out”
Leave your rules outside
Anything goes here
Brandon and Kieran had invited all of us to ‘work it out’ at their gym. They stocked the shelves with sodas and beer and all sorts of snacks that they’d found scavenging. That gym became their pride and joy.
Rhys immediately took them up on their invitation. While I wanted to forbid him from going, I knew that I couldn’t. Instead, I just had to believe that—ultimately—Kieran wouldn’t let anything happen to his little brother.
I wasn’t so certain about the safety of the other guys, though.
* * * *
Ethan wasn’t happy when I forbade him from entering Brandon’s gym. Wester, however, supported my decision. I didn’t know if it was because he was concerned about Brandon or because he just didn’t want to work out. Either way, it still helped, because I knew Wester would make sure Ethan stayed away.
Andrei and Ian were a different matter, though.
They wanted to work out.
Because of their age—and because they already had their own concerns about Brandon—I didn’t protest when they spent time at the gym. In truth, I was also hoping that they would be watching Kieran—be my second and third set of eyes and ears in case my intervention was needed.
Meanwhile, Porter and Connor had absolutely no interest in working out. Their ‘lifting’ involved books in the library—the muscles they exercised, their brains. That said, Connor did walk regularly around the estate—trying to strengthen his leg, work on his limp.
Sadly, it wasn’t improving.
* * * *
I, myself, spent very little time at the gym.
Although I enjoyed working out, I preferred doing it on a surfboard or even running around the neighborhood. Sweaty hours in a stinky room, surrounded by grunting guys lifting weights, never really appealed to me.
The only reason I showed up in Brandon’s gym at all was to check on the guys.
To make sure that they were safe.
* * * *
About a week after Brandon opened his gym, Rhys came and joined me on the roof. I had almost finished with my watch rotation and was looking forward to a long nap before supper.
“What’s up, bro?” I asked.
There was a lot of movement over at the Locals that I had been finding curious. My eyes were glued to the binoculars as I checked it out. Frankly, it looked like the Locals were building something—was that a cage?
“Jacob, I need to ask you a question,” said Rhys.
“Sure, bud,” I said, not taking my eyes away from the binoculars. “Ask away.”
“Are you okay with me getting an earring?”
Here we go…
I slowly put down the binoculars and turned to my youngest brother.
“You want an earring?” I asked—trying to sound completely unaffected, even though I wanted to yell at him—Are you fricking kidding?!
“I was thinking of getting a hoop like Kieran,” said Brandon. “He said that he’s got an extra set that he can give me.”
“That’s generous. Why do you want to wear an earring?”
“I don’t know,” shrugged Rhys. “It just kind of looks cool, you know. Maybe kind of like a pirate, don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t think so, but I’m not the one who has to wear it.”
“I just like them,” said Rhys.
I took my time—trying to figure out how to proceed. “So,” I said, finally, “it’s a shame that we don’t have any ice.”
“Why?” Rhys looked confused.
“For when the needle is pushed through your ear,” I said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “To make a good hole, you need to push slowly. It cuts down on the pain if you can put an ice cube on your lobe first.”
“Do you think there’d be a lot of pain?” asked Rhys, looking concerned.
I shrugged. “From what I hear, yeah. It’s pretty painful.”
“Oh.” Rhys looked disconcerted. He stared at his feet, thinking.
Time to set the hook.
“Mom got her ears pierced when she was your age,” I said.
Rhys’ hopes went up. “She did?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Don’t you remember her telling us? They got all infected and there was pus and blood coming out of the holes. Grandma was so mad because the doctor almost had to cut part of Mom’s left ear off.”
“What happened?”
“They got better. It took a long time, though, and Mom was in a lot of pain.” I picked up the binoculars and looked through them again. “But I’m sure you’d be fine. I mean, it’ll hurt when the needle goes through, but you’ll probably be lucky and not get infected. You’ll just have to remember to bathe every day.”
“Bathe every day?”
“And put antiseptic on the holes,” I nodded. “Which might sting a little…but only a little.”
“Um, okay.” He rose and walked slowly toward the door. “Thanks, Jacob.”
“No worries, bud.”
As he walked out, I couldn’t help myself. I began to chuckle.
Rhys never did get his earring.
* * * *
Two days later, Porter and I were down at the creek, collecting water in pails. Suddenly, we both stood up straight—sniffing the air.
“Is that what I think it is?” Porter asked, eyes-wide.
“I think so,” I said, my mouth beginning to salivate. “It smells like meat barbequing!”
Quickly, we filled up the last of the buckets. Then, we placed them on the wagon and towed them up to the garage. We didn’t unload them, however—just left them there while we followed our noses over to the house next door.
* * * *
Brandon had set up his barbeque just outside of the gym. All the guys were there, some already eating, others standing with their paper plates outstretched.
The smell was absolutely overwhelming.
I kept having to swallow, I was salivating so much.
“Plates are over there, Jacob,” said Brandon, pointing. “Plastic knives and forks right beside them.”
“What is it?” I asked, coming over to look over his shoulder. “Smells delicious.”
“Kieran and I went scavenging down near Paradise Cove. Came across one of those little deer in the tall grass near the entrance,” he said. “Brought it down with the shotgun.”
“Did you get all the buckshot out?” I asked, concerned.
He nodded. “Skinned and gutted it on-site. To make it easier to carry back.”
“Good job,” I said.
&n
bsp; “Well,” he grinned, “you did tell me to go shoot my own protein.”
* * * *
I sat down at a long table that had been set up underneath a large eucalyptus tree. Andrei and Ian were already seated on one side, tearing into their meat. Wester and Ethan were on the other, chomping away at corn on the cob—one tiny, yellow row at a time. Rhys was sitting between them, happily shoving forks of deer meat into his mouth.
Porter, meanwhile, came up with a full plate and maneuvered his way onto the empty seat beside me. “Where’s Connor?”
Kieran and Brandon sat down with their own plates of meat and corn, one at each end of the table—like a presiding mother and father. “Went back on watch,” grunted Brandon, biting into a large chunk of venison.
“Connor wasn’t interested,” said Kieran. “Said he’d already eaten.”
“That’s bizarre,” I said—cutting off a big piece of deer steak and shoving it in my mouth. I chewed slowly—groaning in delight. “It’s been so long since we’ve had fresh meat.”
“You like it?” asked Brandon.
“Delicious,” I nodded, cutting up a second piece. It quickly followed the first one—making its way toward my belly.
Across the table from me, Wester picked up a piece of meat and sniffed at it. Then, he moved the piece around with his fork, examining it carefully. Finally, he pushed his plate away.
“What’s wrong, bro?” I asked. “You don’t like venison?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t like dog.”
* * * *
The response was immediate.
Rhys cried out in horror and immediately began gagging. Andrei and Ian got up from the table and stepped back, mouths open in shock—staring horrified at their plates. Ethan—who had been in the midst of chewing a big piece of meat—put two fingers in his mouth and pulled out the chunk, throwing it onto his plate in disgust.
Porter, meanwhile, hadn’t yet started on his meat. Using his fork, he now poked at it carefully, examining it.
“Dudes,” laughed Brandon, from his place at the head of the table. “It’s deer meat. Come on.”
I looked down the table at Kieran. He wasn’t saying anything, just watching us.
“Wester,” I said, turning back to him, “why do you think this is dog meat?”
“I had it before,” he shrugged, biting into a corncob. “In Haiti.”
“It’s not dog meat,” insisted Brandon.
Wester looked over, pointing his cob at him. “Yes, it is,” he chided. “You shouldn’t lie, Brandon. It’s wrong.”
Rhys suddenly reached out and smacked Kieran across the back of his head.
Kieran jumped up, yelling, “Rhys, what the hell?!”
“You let me eat dog meat!” Rhys hit him again, this time in the shoulder. “You’re such an asshole!”
He turned and raced back toward the mansion.
“It’s not dog meat, dumbass!” Kieran yelled after him.
“You guys are getting all worked up over nothing,” insisted Brandon. “It’s deer meat, I promise…venison.” He looked completely sincere—and even a little hurt that we didn’t believe him.
That’s when I knew that he was lying.
Because Brandon doesn’t get hurt.
Brandon lashes out in anger.
I stood up, furious—pushing my plate toward him. “You dumb git! You shot that poor dog.”
“I did not,” he replied—if anything, looking even more hurt. “It was a deer.”
“I was there,” Kieran nodded, backing Brandon up. “A little deer, right in the tall grass.”
“Swear,” said Brandon, putting his hand over his chest. “On my honor.”
Giving up on his examination, Porter suddenly pushed his plate away and rose from the table.
“Seriously, you too?!” groaned Brandon.
“I don’t know if it’s deer or dog,” said Porter, honestly. “But I just don’t want to take the chance…sorry.” He turned and walked away.
“Fine,” barked Brandon, grabbing Porter’s plate. “More meat for me and Kieran. Serves us right for trying to be generous with you fools anyway!”
I hadn’t moved.
Now, Brandon looked over at me, frowning. “What?”
“I can’t prove anything,” I snarled. “But know this—in my opinion—anyone who would kill a dog is a coward.”
Brandon gave a big sigh, holding his hands up in the air in frustration. “It was a fricking deer!”
* * * *
I found Connor up on the roof. He was sitting near the eaves, watching the Locals through the binoculars.
“Anything going on?” I asked, coming to sit down beside him.
He shook his head, putting away the eyeglasses. “What was all the yelling about?”
“Almost certain that Brandon killed the dog.”
“That’s what he was cooking?” asked Connor, not really looking surprised. “The German Shepherd?”
I nodded. “Think so.”
“That’s so wrong.” Connor shook his head.
“So wrong,” I agreed.
The door opened and Rhys suddenly came out onto the roof. His face was drawn and I could tell that he had been crying.
“I’m sorry, bud,” I said.
He shrugged, sitting cross-legged before me. There were small stones on the roof and he began to play with them—letting them fall between his fingers.
“You know, bro,” I said. “We don’t know for sure that it was the dog. It really could have been venison.”
“You don’t believe that,” he murmured.
“But I still could be wrong,” I persisted. “For once in his life, Brandon might actually be telling the truth.”
My youngest brother shook his head sadly. “I don’t want to have eaten dog,” Rhys sniffled, his eyes becoming moist with tears.
“Then, you didn’t, bro,” I asserted. “You ate venison. It’s as simple as that.”
“But Wester said it was dog.”
“And Wester is still only 7-years old. Just because he ate it in Haiti, doesn’t mean he could tell the difference between dog and deer meat here. So, buddy—we’re all going to say that we ate venison and leave it at that. Okay?”
After a moment, Rhys gave a tiny nod.
* * * *
When his watch ended, I helped Connor down the stairs to his room on the second level. His leg was bothering him and he kept leaning into the wall to steady himself.
“A lot of pain, huh?”
“It’s fine,” said Connor. “I’m used to it.”
“I wish we could do more to help you,” I said, honestly. “Take you to see a real doctor…something.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Connor. “I’m tough.”
We reached the door of his room. I unlocked and held it open while he limped through. Inside, there were piles of books everywhere.
“Sheesh, Connor. Read much?”
“I like books,” he shrugged.
Pulling the door around, I checked the lock on the back, making sure it was secure. “Okay, dude. You need anything from downstairs? I can make a kitchen run if you’re hungry.”
“Go away, Jacob,” Connor teased me. “You’re being annoying.”
“I just didn’t want you to have to climb up and down all those stairs.”
“I told you that I’m tough.”
Nodding, I moved out into the hallway. “That you are,” I said, reaching around to lock the door behind me. “Night, Connor.”
“Wait…Jacob?”
“Yes.”
Connor sighed, frustrated. “Look…it’s possible that Brandon didn’t kill that dog—that he was telling the truth.”
I shook my head, not agreeing. “Wester seemed pretty positive that it was dog meat.”
“I didn’t say that it wasn’t dog meat,” Connor explained. “Just that it might not have been Brandon who shot it.”
Chills ran down my back as I realized what Connor was trying t
o tell me.
“You think that it was Kieran who shot the dog.”
FEBRUARY
WE ONLY HAVE NOW
We continued to hear the clanking of the weight machines throughout February—although not one of the younger boys returned to the gym. Instead, it was just Brandon and Kieran—grunting and groaning by themselves—continuously pumping up their bodies and their egos.
On occasion the two of them would deign to join the rest of us for dinner. When they showed up, it inevitably became a loud and raucous affair. Brandon insisted on telling the filthiest of jokes and Kieran would cackle loudly at Andrei, Rhys, and Ian’s offended faces—and Wester and Ethan’s uncomprehending ones.
I found that there was a certain viciousness to Brandon and Kieran’s attitudes now—as if they wanted us upset. At one meal, they drank beer and proceeded to out-burp each other—Kieran spraying his beer over his plate and Wester’s beside him. Another time, they decided that Porter and Rhys were too effeminate—that they needed butching up—and then went on to instruct them on how to become ‘real men’.
Mostly, they were just rude—taking what was handed them and never saying please or thank-you. Giving everyone dirty looks and snorting derisively when someone said something that they didn’t agree with. Getting up from the table and walking away, leaving their dishes behind for someone else to collect.
Honestly, we were glad when Brandon and Kieran didn’t join us for meals.
I think all of us were beginning to hate them a little.
And because of Kieran—