to keep it dry. He limped over to Nereida and pressed the picture into her hand. She squinted at it.
“Why does he look like a dog?”
“In the Middle Ages, people had a greater sense of the fantastic. Some people believed in a race of dog-men and that St. Christopher was one of them. But I think it works more like a metaphor. St. Christopher was as loyal and obedient to God as a dog is to its master. Also, as the patron saint of travelers, St. Christopher is like a guide dog who can lead people through danger. So people imagined him as a dog because he had these positive qualities that reminded people of dogs.”
“Whatever,” she said. “So you want me to take this picture and ask St. Christopher for help.”
“What can it hurt?”
“If I do it, will you leave me alone so I can figure out how to get my boat working?”
“You have my word,” he said, placing his hand over his heart.
“Fine.” She held the picture up in mock reverence. “Dear St. Christopher, please help me get off this island. Thanks.”
“Not like that,” Culann said. “You have to take this seriously, or it won’t work.”
“I think I’ve wasted enough time on you. Now leave me alone like you promised.”
Culann saw her acquiescence slipping away and with it her life. He needed to be more persuasive.
“Dogs,” he said, “line up.”
The dogs snapped to attention and trotted over. Twelve dogs stood abreast in front of Nereida in a perfect line. Twelve more lined up behind them, followed by two other ranks. All of their eyes trained on Nereida.
“Growl,” Culann commanded.
As one, the dogs growled. The collective rumbling drowned out the sounds of the rain and the waves. Lightning lit up the sky on all sides of the island. Nereida stepped back, tripped over a root and fell backwards. She sat on the ground, staring open-mouthed at the dogs.
“Look at the picture and ask St. Christopher for help,” Culann said before turning and heading back to Alistair’s. The dogs broke ranks and followed after him.
After Culann had walked about a hundred feet, the rain stopped and the sun shone down on him. He stopped and scratched Alphonse behind the ears.
“Thank you,” he said.
6
Nereida had asked for help from a particularly-canine St. Christopher, and she’d received it. The storm cleared, allowing her to swim back out to her boat. A gentle wind blew her to the mainland where she was able to replace her damaged electronic equipment. She sailed home to her parents, safe and sound.
Back on the island, the orb had disappeared. The dogs continued to regard Culann with affection, but they no longer obeyed his commands. The fog that had blanketed the island was gone. A trio of police boats soon motored across the water. They encountered no strange weather or mechanical difficulties.
The ensuing investigation made national news. Forty-six people were dead, and Culann was the only suspect. When questioned, Culann answered truthfully, which led many to suspect he’d be found not guilty by reason of insanity. In the end, prosecutors declined to charge him with the murders he was widely suspected of committing due to lack of evidence. Culann agreed to plead guilty to charges of drug possession and corpse desecration in Alaska as well as statutory rape in Illinois on the condition that all the dogs of Pyrite were given good homes.
The following summer, Nereida became the youngest girl to sail around the world. She was photographed holding the picture of the dog-faced St. Christopher, and she credited the patron saint of travelers for her achievement. She’d of course seen the media coverage of the lunatic captured on a remote island in the Bering Sea. Of all the bizarre stories she’d heard, she knew her experiences with him were the most outlandish of all. Though she pitied him for the unkind things the world was saying about him, she knew that telling her story wouldn’t do him any good, so she kept it to herself.
Culann smiled in his bright-orange prison jumpsuit as he watched the news coverage of Nereida’s impressive achievement. He would bear the privations and indignities of his incarceration and its aftermath with the sense of pride that he had finally done the right thing. With each of Nereida’s many remarkable public successes that would follow, Culann would again smile from a distance.
Credits
Edited by Jimmie Ford & Etienne DeForest
Cover art by ‘Pseudo Manitou’
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