I saw no twins.
Lee wasn’t in the line, either. But why should she be? She already had her ticket. Maybe she was already in the bleachers.
Where is the hearse? I suddenly wondered.
The Traveling Vampire Show’s hearse, the black moving van and the bus were nowhere in sight. Maybe they’d been moved to the area on the far side of the bleachers.
Normally, I could look all the way through the stands and see whatever was over there. Normally, though, the stands were empty. Not tonight.
Tonight, the nearest bank of bleachers, about twenty-five or thirty feet high, was jammed with people. Through the spaces above and below the bench seats, I could see the backs of their legs. But I couldn’t see much of the arena or the stands on the other side.
Down on the ground, the ticket line looked no shorter but had a few different people in it. Several customers were entering the stands. Others were heading for the ticket line from the direction of the dirt road where they’d probably left their cars.
“Hey,” Rusty said.
I looked at him. He was still on his back, still clutching his arm, but now he had his knees up.
“What the hell’s goin’ on?” he asked.
“Stryker’s selling tickets....”
“The dog, man, the dog.”
“It’s a bad day for dogs,” I said.
“What happened to it?”
“How should I know? How’s your arm?”
“How the hell y’think it is?” He took his hand away. The sleeve of his shirt, dark with blood, was clinging to his upper arm.
“You’re gonna need rabies shots,” I said.
“Awww, man. Don’t say that.”
“And we’d better forget about trying to get into the Vampire Show.”
“Huh?”
“You can’t go in there. Not all bloody like that. The blood’ll bring vampires like chum brings sharks. You said so yourself.”
“Me?”
“This morning. To Slim.”
“Yeah, well.... Screw that. I’m not gonna miss the show.” He lowered his knees, sat up and took off his shirt. Then he looked at his arm. “Can’t believe it,” he muttered. “Fuckin’ dogs.”
I nodded, but he didn’t see me. He was too busy studying the holes in his arm.
“What is it,” he grumbled, “a fuckin’ conspiracy?”
I shrugged. “Just coincidences, I guess.”
“A fuckin’ dog made your
“Guess so.”
“Not to mention the fuckin’ one-eyed wonder.”
When he said that, I pictured that dog getting speared to death by Stryker and his gang.
Where is his gang? I wondered.
Looking around, I spotted a couple of them near the entrance to the grandstands, taking tickets. I didn’t see any others. Just those two, and Stryker in the shack.
Rusty used his wadded shirt to pat the bite wounds.
Just that morning, we’d tended to
Strange.
And if some other dog hadn’t caused Dad to crash his car, everything tonight would’ve happened differently. Much of it wouldn’t have happened at all.
Including what went on with Slim and me.
Very strange, I thought.
“Y’wanta give me a hand?” Rusty asked.
I softly clapped.
“Har har.”
