They stepped onto the gravel road and seized up like their hearts had stopped.
On the other side of the road there was a ditch, another deep culvert separating them from the train yards and freedom. And out of it loped three or four bulky, panting bodies. Dogs. Mangy things covered with greasy pelts, tongues lolling from their mouths, teeth bared.
They saw Ben and Nancy, froze.
And then in unison, they started to growl, baleful yellow eyes fixed on the intruders.
“Oh no…” Nancy managed.
The dogs watched them.
They came no closer but stood their ground, growling, teeth exposed like white spikes.
Two or three others came out of the ditch, joined their comrades.
The fact that he and Nancy had even made it this far, Ben knew, was a blessing. Her hand in his own was hot, greasy, and crushing. They were close enough to one of the abandoned factories to make a run for it, to climb over the fence. He doubted that dogs, even these dogs, could climb an eight-foot storm fence.
As they slipped away, the dogs started growling simultaneously.
It was a low evil sound that rose up to a cacophonous whine.
The dogs launched themselves forward at the same time.
Nancy let out a scream and Ben thought he might have, too.
They turned and ran, both instinctively going for the fence. They would make it, maybe, mere seconds before those teeth ripped into their ankles like knives into soft, fat bellies.
They heard a rumbling, saw lights wash over them.
A Jeep Cherokee came whipping down the street, bearing down on the dogs, scattering them to the four winds like hornets in a cyclone. The Jeep cruised right up to the curb, the passenger side window slid down.
“What’s happening, people?” a woman said to them. “You walking the dogs or are they walking you?”
Ben and Nancy stood there, staring at this woman, this vehicle. Too good to be true. A taste of civilization.
“Yeah,” Ben told her, wanting to start crying with relief. “Jesus Christ, are we glad to see you.”
“Climb in,” she said.
The driver’s side door opened and a mountain of a man got out. The Jeep seemed to actually rise up a few inches when it was free of his weight. He had wispy, shoulder-length hair and a full ZZ Top beard. He was built like a linebacker, carried a gut on him like a feed sack, but given his size, it seemed to belong.
He nodded to all present. “What the hell’s going on around here?” He went to the back door, opened it with a key. “Lock’s fucked,” he said. “Gotta have a key to open it. Hop in.”
Ben and Nancy did, melting into the soft leather seat, the warmth, the safety.
The big guy slammed their door, walked around the Jeep, scanning the darkness, looking and looking.
“He better get in,” Ben said, “those dogs…”
“Don’t you worry about Joe, hon. Dogs mess with him they gonna be sorry.”
Ben almost believed it.
He was like a recruiting poster for the Hell’s Angels.
He moved quickly for a large man, carrying a certain deadly intensity about him. He stood out in front of the Jeep, daring the dogs to come on. Slowly, they did. They came from all directions, making that awful growling sound again as they joined forces. Joe came around the side and hopped in, slamming his door. The Jeep rocked from his girth.
He hooked an arm the size of a carpet roll over the seat, turned to face his guests. “What in Christ’s name is going on here?” he asked. “Goddamn town’s like a graveyard. What gives?”
Ben broke up into laughter, despite himself. Wasn’t that the $10,000 question? He kept laughing until he started coughing and gagging. Nancy laughed, too, patting him on the back.
“I say something funny?” Joe asked.
“We’ve been through a lot,” she told him and, having found her voice, couldn’t stop talking.
She told them about the hit-and-run on the road outside Cut River. About the dead guy who wasn’t dead at all. About Sam getting killed (that wasn’t easy), about them running. All the craziness they’d seen. All she left out was the bit about the hanging boy because it was just too… insane. Now, in the warmth of the Jeep, she was certain she’d hallucinated that.
“Jesus Christ on a stick,” Joe said. “Nice place. All that and mad dogs, too.”
Nancy nodded. “Not just them, but the people. Rabid. They’re all rabid or something.”
“You don’t say?”
Nancy’s hackles rose. “I’m telling you the truth.”
He held his hand up, palm out. “Easy, lady. I believe you. Something’s majorly fucked here. Even I can see that.”
He told them that when they’d pulled into town about fifteen minutes before, the road coming in was nearly blocked with cars. Smashed cars.
Ben felt the skin at the back of his neck crawling. “Blocked off?”
“Almost,” the woman said. “We just squeezed through, man. It was unreal. Remember, babe? Remember what I said? Heavy weather ahead for sure.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we should have just turned around. Place didn’t feel right, if that makes any sense. After we got past those smashed cars, shit, there were others in the streets—windows broken, bumpers torn off. And bodies. A mess. Looked like a goddamn riot passed through.”
“Maybe one did,” Nancy suggested grimly.
He shrugged. “By the way, I’m Joe,” he told them. “This is Ruby Sue.”
“Nancy Eklind.”
“Ben Eklind.”
“Married, eh? That takes some serious balls,” Ruby Sue said.
She was thirtysomething, Ben figured. Short, thin, her face dominated by huge sleepy eyes. She was friendly, very warm, though maybe a little dizzy like she was hitting the pipe a little too often.
“That guy you hit… he just went crazy, eh?” Joe asked them.
Ben sighed. “Never seen anything like it. I hit him hard. He popped out of nowhere. I turned my eyes from the road for a second or two… and, well, there he was. Bam. We found him in the ditch. We were sure he was dead… head split right open, ribs crushed in on the side, and then he jumped up and started throwing us around. Christ.”
“Like he was possessed,” Nancy added.
“Hit and run. Wow.” Ruby Sue stared at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the concept. “Know what? There was this guy… what was his name, Joe? Oh, Crazy. Remember Crazy? We had this bash, you know? Everybody drunk and naked, booze, chemicals… oh, man. Crazy, though, he snorts half of Peru, been drinking thirty-six hours straight. Tripping, speeding, totally fried, man, wanders off, starts dancing out in the highway. BAM! Big Peterbuilt. Hamburger Helper, you know?”
Joe looked at Nancy. “Your brother,” he said, saying it very gently, compassionately, “Sam was it? You sure—”
Nancy chewed her lower lip like a strip of jerky. “Yes. That psycho ripped his throat open… blood everywhere…” She fell silent.
“I’m only asking because if he’s not, well, shit, we wouldn’t want to leave him out there.”
“Yeah, Joe would help him if he could,” Ruby Sue admitted to Nancy. “He was a medic in the army once. Like that one time, eh, Joe? Those two Banditos at Sturgis? Going at each other with knives? Bad news. Bleeding all over the place. Joe stitched ’em up, took care of ’em. Hey, babe?”
The bearded giant ignored her, folded his massive forearms over his chest. “Barefoot, no shirt, you say? This time of year? Again I ask, what the hell is that all about?”
“That’s what we were wondering,” Sam said.
“Dude must’ve been baked,” Ruby Sue decided. “Some of that shit, man, look out. You just never know. Sometimes you get stuff that’s been treated or sprayed with shit. Been there, done that. You get some herb treated with dust or something, cancel future appointments.” She laughed. “Happened to me. I thought everyone was after me. Major paranoia, for sure. I thought my roommate had a spider for a head and snakes for hands. God, I was dusted for twenty-four hours.”