Dismember

heartening.

Although Mike had always been a loner, a bit of a recluse, he’d never imagined he would spend his life alone. A wife, a couple of kids—that had always been his dream. Just a small group of immediate family with whom he could share himself and his life.

Now that Libby was gone and Trevor along with her more often than not, he sometimes got lonely in a way his younger self never would have imagined. Trevor’s laughter lifted his spirits, reminded him that he hadn’t lost his dream of a family altogether.

With the charcoal flaming in front of him, he wouldn’t have seen much beyond the porch railing, but the fire was hooded now, and Mike was backlit. The side yard came slowly into focus, and something out there in the periphery of his vision grabbed his attention.

He couldn’t identify it at first. He focused but still couldn’t quite make it out.

Inside, Trevor’s cartoon segued into a commercial, and the boy took the opportunity to re-familiarize himself with his new toy. Mike heard him drop off the couch and onto the floor, pictured him sitting there cross-legged and puffing out his cheeks to make the explosion sounds that always seemed to come, whether the action figures were fighting or not.

Mike looked out at the yard again, seeing the fractured line and thinking it might have been something on his eye, a scratch or a hair. He blinked twice, but whatever the thing was, it was still out there.

This side of the porch had no stairs, but he was still spry enough to hop the railing and land on the other side without doing more than jolting himself a little. He did so, and his shadow floated across the ground in front of him as he moved.

What the hell is that? He stepped over to the narrow trench and prodded it with the tip of his shoe. Looked like something had been dragged through here, though what it had been and who had done the dragging Mike didn’t know.

Weird. He kicked at the track again, then shrugged and turned away.

Inside, the cartoons had restarted. Mike followed the sound. He could check out the yard tomorrow in the light. For now, he was hungry, and the hot dogs smelled delicious.

SEVENTEEN

Dave Abbott hadn’t bothered to go back for the truck. As with the rest of his stops that day, he’d visited the neighboring property more than once during the last several months, and he knew the quickest way there was straight through the woods.

Although he hadn’t found himself a convenient path in this particular stretch of trees, he picked his way through the dense vegetation with only a few minor detours. Behind him, the sometimes-graceful Georgie bumbled along. He’d slipped and fallen twice, had cut his knee open on a moss-covered outcrop of rock just after they’d left the Pullman residence, and had avoided tripping face first into a patch of poison ivy by only a couple of inches.

Although there was still some sunlight in the sky, it might as well have been night within the woods. Dave had fantastic night vision, but Georgie had no such advantage. Despite the urge to hurry onward, Dave limited himself to a brisk walk. He didn’t want to lose Georgie in the woods, didn’t want to have to go back in and look for him later after he’d taken care of the Manny situation.

He touched rough bark and maneuvered easily around the tree, watching over his shoulder to see if Georgie did the same. The boy bumped his shoulder into the trunk but didn’t fall.

Dave hadn’t exactly planned it this way. By now, he’d expected to have both boys and the woman, had figured that adding Manny to his collection would be the mission’s last step, but he wasn’t frantic. Everything would turn out all right. He’d get Manny and then go back for the Pullman boy. The woman had proved to be a disappointment, and Dave had already mentally chastised himself for not having a backup, but he would find a way to fix that, too. He was in charge now. It was his responsibility. He wouldn’t fail.

Up ahead, he caught sight of the dog. The light shone brighter out there—though some trees still grew in the yard, as with the Pullman place, it was far more open than the woods they’d just been through—and Dave could clearly make out Manny trotting toward a little girl on the back patio. Although he had seen the girl before, he didn’t know her name. Manny carried a ball almost too big for his mouth, and Dave wondered why the girl hadn’t gotten him something more fitting.

He guessed the answer was simple enough: she was a stupid little abusive bitch.

The dog stopped moving and looked at the section of forest from which Dave now emerged. Dave slowed, waited until Georgie walked into him from behind, and then watched the girl walk over to Manny and follow the dog’s gaze.

From behind him, Georgie seemed to have seen what was happening.

“No,” he said, “leave her alone.” He grabbed the sleeve of Dave’s ruined blue shirt and gave it a tug. Though not a weak gesture, it wasn’t enough to bring Dave to a complete stop. He continued moving.

Her, he thought. What exactly did the boy think was going on here? He grabbed hold of Georgie’s wrist, saw the instant fear in the young eyes, and ignored it. He picked up his speed, then picked it up again, and before long he was sprinting. The land slopped down from the woods to where the girl and her dog crouched, a long, open, dandelion-covered hill. Dave’s legs pumped and flexed beneath him. He trampled flowers and grass, kicked up clouds of dust and small pebbles, dragged Georgie along behind him. He couldn’t have covered the distance any faster if the incline had been covered in snow and he’d been on a pair of skis.

And there was Manny. The Manny of his childhood had been smaller, a little tubbier. His replacement was a much sleeker, more distinguished-looking animal. Dave heard the dog bark before he heard the girl scream. Georgie hung onto his sleeve, doing his best to slow Dave, but Dave wouldn’t have stopped now if he’d had a grand piano chained to his wrist. He ran right up to the huddled figures, wrapped his hand in the girl’s hair, and jerked her away from the dog.

She toppled away, and Manny pounced. His front paws hit Dave in the chest and started scratching, as if the dog were trying to dig a hole through Dave’s chest. The claws didn’t get through Dave’s shirt, much less the skin, but they did rip off his front pocket. Dave’s toothpicks and the few small replacement twigs scattered, some of them sticking into the dog’s fur until Manny’s wild thrashing shook them free. Dave let go of Georgie’s arm and got a good hold on Manny’s collar before the dog could lash out and chew off a hunk of his flesh.

“Easy,” he said, straining to control the quaking animal. “Easy, Manny. Quit it.”

The girl had landed hard on the ground but had hopped back up with the kind of elastic resilience that seemed to be the exclusive domain of young, slim children. Her hair looked wild where he’d grabbed her, twisting away from her head like she’d just gotten up from a long night of restless sleep. She took a step away from the commotion, glanced over her shoulder like she was thinking about running for the house, then came at Dave instead and kicked him hard in the shin.

Dave saw it coming but was too entangled with the dog to pull away. He yelped and lost his hold on Manny’s collar. The dog backed away a few steps and shook himself. He bared his teeth again and crouched, looking less like the distinguished show dog he’d first appeared to be and more like a wolf or a hyena. Spittle flew from his lips, and the muscles beneath his hide flexed and twisted; he looked like a burlap bag full of snakes.

The girl bared her teeth too, though she looked more like a poorly groomed monkey. Dave sensed Georgie circling around behind him and marveled at how quickly things had gotten out of his control.

Easily solved, he thought. He reached into his pockets and drew out the twin blades. Both Georgie and the girl stopped, she wilting and looking close to tears, he simply ceasing his clandestine movements. The dog was not as impressed. He continued to growl, his big ears pulled back and flat against his head, his hindquarters low to the ground, preparing for another leap. Dave would have to keep an eye on Manny; the poor thing didn’t recognize his own master.

Behind him, Georgie said a single word, and Dave tensed.

He said it the same way his mother had in their kitchen back home, not out of control or hysterical, but in an almost frighteningly matter-of-fact tone: “Run.”

The girl looked away from the knives and past Dave.

“Run,” Georgie said again. “Get into the house and call—”