Canis Familiar: Chapter 2
The faster he ran, the happier he became. Cold night air flowed over his face, washing away the frightening thoughts of the LOUD room, the room with the bright lights and the thing that grabbed and the floor that wouldn't cooperate with his feet. He passed houses, cars, chainlink fences. Occasionally a very brave or aggressive dog would rush its fence, snarling threats of Blue Murder. Pools of light waxed and waned as he passed beneath the streetlamps. Garbage cans and dumpsters gave off fascinating aromas.
Now the spaces between the houses were becoming more frequent; he moved through patches of tall grass and underbrush. He slowed his pace a bit, stopping now and then to examine objects on the shoulder of the road: a tennis shoe; a strip of shredded tire; a disposable diaper. He picked up the diaper with his front paws, bearlike, and gave it a cursory chew. He dropped it when a more interesting smell caught his attention: a rabbit, dead in the ditch for several days, another victim of Headlight Thrall. He sniffed this new prize thoroughly, then fell to the ground and rolled around on the pungent carcass in a delighted frenzy, finally standing upright on his hind legs and giving himself a good shake.
It occurred to him that he was hungry. The rabbit tasted too rotten; he wanted something fresh, something along the lines of what he had smelled in the house after the man had fallen. Some of it still clung to the tops of his paws; he licked the coppery-tasting remains off, and whined for more.
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In the early morning hours of the second day after Thanksgiving, Spike slipped quietly into the tourist cabin and quietly out of his clothes. The night's patrol had yielded one, count 'em, one, vampire, and a would-be house burglar whom he had scared so badly that he doubted the bloke would want to go near any kind of building ever again.
He wrapped himself around Fred as she lay sleeping, kissing and fondling her into arousal, then eased her onto her back and settled himself there. She woke gradually and unalarmed, intoxicated by the erotic feel and weight of the male body moving on top of her in the dark, taking her in her sleep like an incubus. When she found her voice she began to coo and then cry with pleasure.
"Scream any louder, Love, and someone's liable to call the constable," Spike teased her later, after bone-melting climaxes had left them limp and exhausted. Fred only smiled, fully awake now. She sat up, her pretty legs tucked underneath her, and tousled his hair affectionately.
I've got our things packed," she told him. "Interstate 10 will take us through Tucson and Las Cruces to El Paso, about seven hours, not counting any stops. If we leave around 4:00 we should get there by midnight. You don't mind being stuck in the back of the van for about an hour, do you?"
"Better than ridin' up front and getting fried." He smiled up at her lazily and draped an arm around her hips. She became almost giddy whenever she talked about this trip to visit her parents; it had been nearly a year since she'd seen them last, and they meant the world to her, by the sound of it. Be odd to do Christmas again after more than a century of ignoring it -- an uncomfortable bit of him wished that he could pass on it this year, too, as Singh and Paloma would do. But Fred wanted him in the thick of it, and he couldn't tell her No.
Now her eyes were wandering down his body and she was catching her bottom lip with her teeth. "Want another go already?" he grinned.
She blushed a little and nodded her head. He recognized the hesitation; sat up and purred into her ear, "Tell me what you want."
"...Tie me down."
The strips of soft cotton cloth were still in the bureau's top drawer. He found them in the darkness and then turned on a lamp to avoid tripping over the suitcases Fred had laid out.
"You've got to be a good girl now," he whispered a few minutes later. "Say 'Please' and mind me." She nodded, wide-eyed. "No crying out," he added. "Mustn't wiggle. Be quiet as a mouse. Don't want to disturb the neighbors while I'm tasting you." He lowered his lips to a spot and then gave her a wicked, seductive smile. "Behave, and I'll make it nice."
She tried very hard to be good.
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He traveled slowly now, wanting food but having not the slightest idea where to find it. Another rabbit, this one warm and delicious-smelling, hopped across his path, but he was not an experienced chaser and the little creature easily evaded him. He lapped some water from a stockpond and then looked around helplessly, completely lost. He knew that he wanted his den, although he couldn't remember the den itself. Miserable and lonely, he began to howl.
Half an hour passed. Then a new smell arrested his cries. Two Dog-Things, like his own reflection in the water (he knew it was his own reflection but didn't know how he knew), were approaching the pond at the opposite bank. They lowered their heads to drink, but kept their eyes up and on him, watching.
When they turned to leave he ran after them eagerly. The largest, a male, stood up and bared its teeth, but the female remained on all fours and wagged her tail. He dropped on his belly in deference to the male and crawled forward, rolling onto his back when he reached the male's feet. The male made what sounded almost like a human sigh. It relaxed its guard and walked away toward a line of trees. The female gave a chirping bark and trotted by its side.
He followed them into the wooded area and discovered three more of his kind, another female and two males. A banquet lay on the ground before him: a freshly-killed deer and the freshly-killed human who had shot it. He stood meekly in submission as the pack gave him a good sniff-over. Then, at some invisible signal, he dived into the pile of fresh meat and ate until he could eat no more.
When he had rested, he joined the others back out in the open. The air was sharp and clear and crisp. The pack yelped and gamboled, snapping at one another playfully. The full moon called out to them like an aphrodisiac, and they danced under the stars.
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The car stunk, like beer and cigarettes and mildew and B.O. and the time the mouse died in the wall. Jordy had been scared out of his mind for three days now, finally reaching the point where the fear had worn him out and he'd found it easier not to think, and just do what MamaRita wanted. What Jordy wanted was to find a phone and call 911, but no one in the car would let him. The first day they'd stopped at a Goodwill while the people in the other car went in to buy him some clothes and he'd tried to jump out then, but Rita (She's NOT my mama) had started crying and her husband or whoever he was had given Jordy such a mean look and yelled so many cuss words at him that Jordy had let go of the doorhandle immediately.
He hadn't tried to leave anymore after that.
Rita nibbled daintily on potato chips and hummed to herself as their little caravan made its way eastward. When they crossed an I-10 overpass she nudged Jordy and broke into a sunny smile.
"You ever been to Austin, Bobby? There's a bridge there, 'n ever' night bats come pouring out from under it, hunnerds of 'em, 'n ever'body comes 'n watches."
Jordy shook his head dully and continued to stare out at the unfamiliar landscapes moving past him through the car window.
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Oz drove slowly, with the window opened. For two days he'd followed the trail as far as he could on foot, until the combination of moonrise and sunset had forced him home. Now at last the moon released her hold for another month, and he was free to track his cousin.
South of the city he stalked the scent along a highway, then across some pastureland toward a tree line. As he neared the trees his ears caught the sounds of human voices, and then the clipped, businesslike dispatches of a police radio. He made his way back to his car quickly, drove a few hundred yards, and turned up an asphalt road toward the thicket as a sickening wad of dread coagulated in his gut, for along with Jordy's scent he'd also smelled human blood.
An ambulance passed him, headed away from the thicket toward town, its siren silent. He bore down on the gas pedal and thudded over the ruts to the area where two patrol cars were parked and a sheriff's deputy was tinkering with a digital camera.
"What happened?" Oz asked him tersely, climbing out of his own automobile. At the officer's curious and suspicious look he added, "My little cousin's missing...did you find him here?"
"Oh. No, this was an adult. Didn't see any sign of a kid. Who is he again?"
"Jordan Osbourne. He disappeared from his house in Phoenix Thanksgiving Night. Little guy, nine."
The deputy shook his head. "No sign of a kid anywhere here."
Oz's eyes traveled along the length of yellow tape festooning the tree trunks. He was beginning to hate that color. "Was there an accident? I saw an ambulance down the road."
The officer hesitated, then finally replied, "Yeah, the property owner found a body. Grown man, though. Not sure what happened; animals been at it." He leaned against the squad car and rubbed his hand over his face as though trying to rid his eyes of the image. "Listen, let me get your name and address -- in case we hear anything."
Or in case you decide to question me later about what I'm doing out here, Oz thought grimly. He gave the officer the information, returned to his car, and drove back the way he'd come.
When he reached the main road again he pulled over once more. He laid his arms across the top of the steering wheel, rested his face against them, and stared silently through the windshield at the highway that stretched to the horizon.
He got out of the car; knelt on the ground.
Closed his eyes and took a breath.
Bloodhounds, it is said, can track a human in a moving car by smelling the sloughed skin cells blown out through the vehicle's ventilation system and onto the road. The Council of Watchers would have been intrigued to learn that werewolves possessed that skill as well.
That, and in some cases a low-frequency psychic bond that served as a primitive type of beacon. Oz got back in his car and pulled out onto the highway.
I-10; south.
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