Chapter 16
"Pete? Rusty?"
Mike O’Brien peered over the tips of the flaxen grass at the two faraway figures standing side-by-side in Russell’s truck bed. Pete was looking straight at him, and Russell was kissing Pete’s right ear.
No. He’s whispering, He’s telling secrets about me.
Something long and yellow bisected Pete’s features, disfiguring him, making him appear insect-like. But Russell—Mike would’ve recognized Russell’s long, copper-colored hair anywhere.
I hate Rusty!
[No, you don’t. He’s your friend.]
No, I hate Rusty. He’s mean to me!
[He’s your friend. He cares about you.]
He’s a meanie! He called me names.
[That was a long time ago. You’re different now. He can’t call you those names anymore.]
Then what is he saying about me? Why is he whispering?
Huey nipped his ankle, and Mike dipped below the grass.
"What?" he said testily to the bulldog. Huey stared up at him, a peculiar, droll expression on his flat, slobbering face. Mike shooed him away with a flick of his hand. "I fed you earlier. Go play with your friends. Go on. Git!"
Huey turned and scampered through the dense straw in search of his buddies. They were all around—invisible, but close—rollicking in the field, barking every so often as if to announce, "Hey, I’m still here," and "Look what I found!"
And there were lots of things to find in that field: grasshoppers, caterpillars, birds, skunks. Earlier, Mike had found a dead and rotting raccoon. Actually, Huey had found it and dragged it to him, because Huey was an excellent dog. Then again, all of Mike’s new friends were excellent in their own special ways.
Not long after Huey’s discovery, Mike literally tripped and fell over a white Corona T-shirt, landing cheek-to-metal against a rusted-out sparkplug on the ground. When he scrambled to his feet, he reached down, picked up both items, dropped the sparkplug in his pocket, and pulled the shirt over his shoulders. It was way too big for him and reeked of vomit, but his sunburned back, neck, and shoulders screamed out for its protection.
"Sorry, Hector," he said, popping his head through the shirt’s neck hole. "I know it’s Bareback Friday and all, but I’m hurtin’." He then double checked the days of the week with his fingers. "Nope, today’s Thursday. Tomorrow’s Friday. Hmmm—I guess I can wear it after all."
Then, kneeling to speak to Huey and a couple of his friends, he mumbled through a drooling smile, "Now let’s see what else we can find!"
And they were off, every dog and human romping excitedly through the overgrown field in search of more hidden treasures. O’Brien envisioned there to be trillions of valuable, lost items scattered between the willowy stalks. For all he knew, this could be where Hansel Keller gathered the assorted trinkets for his discount bin. Running, Mike reminisced about the time Russell found a bag of baby teeth at Keller’s. He was hoping to find something like that today—something even wilder, perhaps. He had already found a sparkplug. That was pretty cool. He had also found a shirt with a picture of a beer bottle on it. It wasn’t as cool as the sparkplug, but it was still interesting. The only down side was the smell. Blllegghh!!
Today was a play day. Mike didn’t know why he’d settled on the field as their place of recreation. He and his buddies had been wandering through the woods when they’d discovered it, and it had just seemed right. The tall grass had looked promising, and there was that dead raccoon smell in the air driving all the dogs wild. He knew they needed to be careful when crossing the road, though. He wasn’t ready for people to see him or his friends yet. Since finding each other, they had made great strides, but they were still, for the most part, incomplete. Two weeks and they should be ready.
Then they’ll see.
But today wasn’t Bareback Friday, nor was it a workday. Today was a day of finding hidden treasures and letting off steam. Mike had traveled great distances and endured many hardships since Russell had so irrationally kicked him out of his house and life. Many hardships.
He didn’t want to think about those first few days out on his own. They had been so horrible. He had done what he’d had to to survive, of course, but rationalizing his actions—and those of his new friends—didn’t absolve him of the guilt that he felt. What did was his faith that others would be blamed.
Frolicking through the great field, Mike laughed out loud. For he was the slyest dog of them all. Only no one knew it yet.
But they will. They will see and they will know.
As his reverie waxed, so did his compunction. What about the innocent people he had set up, or was about to set up? Did they deserve what was about to befall them?
"Yes," he said, "They all deserve it!" He then bellowed a loud ululating call that served no purpose other than self-amusement.
(Every single one of them deserve what’s coming to them. Especially Rusty. Rusty kicked me and Huey out of his house and sent us off into the wilderness to fend for ourselves. He knew we couldn’t go home, but he did it anyway. He’s the meanest meanie…
[Don’t say "meanie." Say "asshole."]
…the meanest asshole I’ve ever known. Where did he think we’d go? Hector’s? As if he’d ever let us spend the night.
It was a good thing I found Tommy. He was just standing at the corner of Rusty’s street, watching us run toward him. He didn’t even flinch when I buzzed past him. He’s what they call a Doberman Pinscher. He had tags, but I took them off and threw them down the sewer. Whoever he belonged to didn’t deserve such a pretty dog. Only me. Only I deserved to be his friend.
And Huey, too, I guess. Tommy and Huey hit it off pretty quick. They sniffed each other in their no-no areas and knew right away they were gonna be friends. If only people could do that, things would be a lot easier. You would know the good guys from the people like Rusty, who is pretty much the worst traitor on the planet. He knew we didn’t have anywhere to go…
Tommy knew, too. Me and Huey followed him to that girl’s house, where he sniffed the grass in the front yard for a long time before going tinkle on a flower pot by the walkway. It was getting dark by then, and inside the window I saw the girl Rusty likes sitting in bed with a pad of paper in her lap. She looked worried. She scratched her head a lot. She has purple hair, but I don’t know why.
I said to Tommy, "No. Come back here," because by that time he was walking over to the girl’s window. "She’ll see us."
Tommy must have really liked the girl or something, because he whined a little when I said that. But he did like he was told and returned to me. Tommy’s a good dog. They’re all good dogs, and they all love me.
It was almost dark outside, and I was starting to worry about finding a place to sleep. I didn’t want to sleep outside, and Tommy must have read my mind, because he took me to a house at the end of a long street. By the time we got there, it was completely dark. There was a light on in the front room; I saw it through a crack in the curtains. The fence to the backyard was short. Me and Tommy hopped it easily, but I had to help Huey over. Huey has really short legs.
For a second I thought this might be where Tommy used to live, because he bumped the back door open with his nose like he’d done it a hundred times before. Then he went inside and walked to the pantry. He opened that door with his nose, too. I just stood there watching him. I was holding Huey in my arms like I do sometimes, and I still wasn’t sure if I was allowed in or not.
There was such a loud noise going on—I mean the TV was LOUD—and I could see the top of some old person’s head over the back of a recliner. It was a lady, and Tommy began walking toward her.
At that point, I whispered, "Tommy? Tommy? Do you know her?"
But I guess Tommy couldn’t hear me on account of the TV being turned up full blast. He just kept walking closer to her chair. By then, I was pretty sure, but not one hundred percent sure, that this was the lady Tommy used to belong to. Why else would he go up to her like that? Well, he had done the sa
me thing with the girl Rusty likes, but this was different. This was inside somebody’s house.
I stayed outside and watched. I didn’t want her turning around and seeing me. She might scream, and that would be bad. Tommy walked through the living room and around the chair. The lady jumped when she saw Tommy. I remember that clearly because the back of her head had pink curlers on it and one of them came loose when she jumped.
Then what happened after that, I don’t remember too well. Tommy growled and hopped on top of the lady—I guess he didn’t know her after all—and she screamed very loudly. Louder than the TV even. Then she stopped screaming and just waved her arms and legs around all crazy-like. Then she stopped moving altogether. It all seems blurry now, but the one thing I remember for sure is the ground moving underneath me and Huey. It moved only a couple of inches, but I felt it. I’m sure of it. We were now closer to the open door, and I took it as a sign that I should step inside. So that’s exactly what I did. But before going in all the way, I stomped my shoes really hard on the stoop. I could see that Tommy had left some footprints on the kitchen floor and I didn’t want to do the same.
Tommy was still working on the lady. It was a good thing the recliner blocked my view of her, because I think things got pretty nasty. Tommy might have been doing other things to her…
[Say "fuck." Say "Tommy fucked her."]
I can’t say for sure what he was doing. I didn’t want to know, and I certainly didn’t want to see. After exploring the house some, I learned that nobody else was in there besides us three. And the woman. That meant I could spend the night indoors, which is always a good thing. But it was so hot in there, and the air conditioner was in the room with the lady. I didn’t want to go in there and turn it on, because that would mean seeing what Tommy was doing to her. And I knew that what he was doing was bad. Very bad. After a while, I did sneak in real quick to turn the TV off—it was so LOUD—but I ran away right after because the room was so dark.
All three of us slept in her bed. It was an old bed, and the sheets were yellowy and smelled like the chemistry lab at school. I guess we slept too good because the next day we all woke up at the same time when somebody began pounding on the front door. We sneaked out through the back door and headed for the woods that way. Then we kind of circled around until we reached where the street dead ended. Luckily a rotting red and white striped road block was already there. That’s what we hid behind while we watched Rusty knock on the door. There was a cicada buzzing close to us. It was a good thing, too, because Rusty might’ve heard us otherwise. He has very good hearing, but he hates cicadas.
Rusty went inside the house, then came back out a couple of minutes later. Then he had a tool in his hand and was fixing the air conditioner on the window with it. That’s why he came—to fix the AC. Then he threw the tool at the tool box on the porch. He said a bad word, too.
[He said, "shit." Can you say "shit," Mike?]
He said "shit," then went back inside. Next thing you know, he’s running out the front door, screaming and yelling and running for his truck that he had parked all the way at the other end of the street for some reason. That’s when Huey and Tommy started barking. Real quick I covered their mouths with my hands, you bet I did, but then a whole bunch of other dogs from God-knows-where started barking, too. But there was nothing I could do about them. And then something weird happened. Rusty started laughing. Laughing. He was halfway to his truck, still running and all, but he was laughing. Not screaming: laughing.
[He said something, too. Do you remember?]
Rusty said, "This summer sucks." Actually, he said that first, then he laughed. I don’t see how that’s funny. Then again, I’m not Rusty. Rusty’s really smart.
[He’s also an asshole. The world’s biggest.]
He’s an asshole, and he might be going crazy. I think that happens to all smart people eventually. It’s a good thing me, Tommy, Huey, and the others aren’t smart. We’ll never end up locked in some white room like Rusty will someday. I wonder who’ll go crazy first: Pete or Rusty?
We roamed the woods that day. It was just safer, considering what Tommy’d done to that lady. I bet all the cops are looking for him now. He did a bad thing, and if he was human, he’d have to go to jail. But since he’s a dog, they’d probably just kill him. Youthandeyes is the word I’m thinking of.
The woods are a terrible place in the summer. There are chiggers and other biting and stinging bugs. Pete knows all the names for the bugs. He told me once that he collects them and has thousands of bugs in his room. I wonder if his parents know. I don’t see how they couldn’t. I mean, so many of them make noise. He must keep the bitey ones in a jar. I don’t know what he does about the loud ones, though. How does he sleep?
We stayed in the woods. It was darker and cooler. I let Huey lead the way. He’s good at leading, and so is Tommy—but I didn’t know that yet. When it started getting dark and the sun was almost gone, Tommy stopped walking all of a sudden. Then he turned and ran off. Me and Huey chased after him. We chased him out of the woods and onto a street. Then we chased him back to that house where the girl lives—the girl with the purple hair. When we got there, Tommy had his paws on her window sill. I almost had a heart attack! I whispered, "No, Tommy. She’ll see you. She’ll see me." I was so afraid of him barking and ruining everything that I snuck up behind him and clamped his mouth shut with my hand. Then I picked him up— he’s heavy, but I did it anyway—but before I carried him back to the woods, I looked inside at the girl. She was drawing on the same pad of paper she’d been holding the night before. She looked so pretty drawing like that, I stayed there for a while and watched her. I was still holding Tommy, but I guess I kinda forgot how heavy he was, because she was so beautiful and all. It was like I couldn’t look away. Eventually I had to, because she looked out the window at us. That was when we ran back to the woods. I don’t think she actually saw us, though. It was so close to dark by then.
After that, we wandered through the woods until we came to the fence separating the woods from my backyard! I was so happy because I knew there was some food inside that we could eat. We were all so hungry. The last time we had eaten was the night before at the old lady’s house. She’d had hotdogs in her fridge, and they were yummy!! But that was a long time ago, and all of our bellies were achin’. I walked through the underbrush, toward the fence, already seeing that yellow Honeycombs box in my mind. The vines kept on trying to trip me, but I didn’t fall. Neither did Tommy. I had to carry Huey, though: his legs are so short.
When we got to the fence, I found the part near the bottom where the wire curls up and I pushed Huey under. When I turned around to push Tommy through, he had a black, round thing in his mouth. "Gimme that, boy," I said to him. I grabbed it and he let go. I looked at the circle. It was almost nighttime, but there was still enough light to read by. Lola’s collar—that’s what it was. After Rusty chopped off her head, he had flung her collar over the fence, and now Tommy had found it!!
I fell to my knees and hugged him and said, "Good Dog! This is going back to Hector…but not yet. There’s still a lot we gotta do first. We gotta get ready."
I wasn’t sure what I was talking about. My plans weren’t written in stone yet, but I kinda knew what I was doing, where I was going with all of it. Even then, I knew I had to punish Rusty.
What I did was I dug a hole next to one of the metal fence poles and buried the collar. That way, no one would find it, and I wouldn’t have to worry about losing it. Those astronauts—I know that’s not what they really are, but that’s what they look like to me—might still be hanging around my house, or in my house. Turns out they weren’t even there that night, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come back the next day.
After I buried the collar, I pushed Tommy through the gap. Then I crawled through it myself. We walked through the thick grass together, all the way to the back door. There was still some blood on the stoop—dried blood, but still blood—and my first in
stinct was to turn around and run back to the woods. But I didn’t. I stepped up those three steps and looked at the door. On it was an orange sticker with a scary symbol that said BIOHAZARD. Below that sticker was another one saying "Mr. Donald O’Brien. Please contact the Centers for Disease Control."
There was some more writing below that, but there wasn’t enough light for me to read what it said. I think there was a phone number, too. That was when I felt my worst, when I felt like crying the most. I was so lonely then. The phone number was what did it. I couldn’t see it, but I wanted to so bad. I wanted to call somebody. I wanted to call those scientists and ask them what had happened in my backyard. I wanted to ask them why the place I lived was now a BIOHAZARD when it hadn’t been one three nights ago. If I could’ve called and asked them where all those dead bunnies and varmints had come from and who had killed them, I would’ve felt a lot better. I wanted my dad and I wanted my mom, but they were both away and not about to come home any time soon.
Dad’s not out on a haul. He’s out trying to find Mom. I guess he gets lonely, too.
[Don’t worry about them. You don’t need them anymore. You’re out on your own, being a—]
I don’t think Dad came home Wednesday like he told me he would, but I think he’ll come home eventually. What’s that saying of his? A dog always returns to his vomit. That’s it. Me and Huey are his vomit. He has to come back to us.
But I’m not going to worry if he don’t. That’s the attitude I had as I unlocked the door and went inside. It took me a while before I had the guts to do it. It was kinda funny—it was my house and I was too chicken to go in it. But I did. I ran through the kitchen and nearly fell on my face. There was something slippery on the floor. I think it was one of Huey’s turds that I had forgotten to clean up. Huey doesn’t have much in the way of manners. He’s silly that way.
I grabbed the cereal from the pantry and the half-full bag of Alpo next to the door and ran back outside. It was creepy in there with all the lights out. I didn’t want to turn them on because I didn’t want to draw attention to the house. I’m not as dumb as everybody thinks I am. I knew people were spying on the house, waiting for me or Dad to come back. I also knew they’d tell the cops and the cops would take me away from Dad and Huey. This whole town is full of doo-doo heads.
We drank water from the hose. It tasted great. I ate the cereal, and the boys ate the Alpo, but I did try some of it. I have to be honest and admit it: I like the taste of dog food. There’s nothing wrong with that, even if Dad says there is. I’ve eaten it on and off for about ten years and nothing’s wrong with me.
As the night wore on, I began to realize that I’d have to sleep outside after all. I couldn’t risk going back inside. There were too many things to bump into, and break, and trip me. Plus, the house was kind of creepy. I think the floors might have gotten worse, if that’s possible, since I had to leave. All the house really needed was a few cinder blocks shoved under it to keep it from caving in, but me and Dad are really bad when it comes to maintenance. As hard as it is to admit, I think the house will collapse one day. Luckily, I’ll be long gone when it happens. I can’t see myself living there anymore.
What we did was—when it was bedtime—we all squeezed into Huey’s old igloo doghouse. It was a tight fit, but it kept most of the bugs off us. That’s if you don’t count all the bugs that were already on us! It was kind of strange sleeping with two dogs in such a cramped space, but it was kind of nice, too—that is, until it got too hot and I had to leave. I didn’t leave all the way, though. What I did was I positioned myself so my head was outside the doghouse and my body was in it. It was the best of both worlds. I got my air and, at the same time, I got my legs and feet licked by Huey. Or was it Tommy?
I had my hands tucked behind my head, and I was staring at the stars. There was still that rotting smell on the grass, but it wasn’t too bad. Summer air has a way of erasing things. I think the air’s erasing powers have doubled on account of how special this summer has turned out. Earlier in the day, Russell had said that this summer sucked, and he was right. It did suck. But looking at those stars kinda made me forget how much it sucked.
I even saw a few of the shooting stars Pete told me about. My view of the sky was pretty small because of the forest to my left and that big oak tree in the front yard to my right. But I saw enough shooting stars to remember them by. Pete thought I wasn’t listening to him at Ursula’s, but I was. I listen to everybody, though most people think I don’t. I pretend to be dumber than I really am. I don’t know why I do it.
I fell asleep that night with my stomach mostly full, but when I woke up the next morning I was starving again. I don’t want to remember what we did for food, but I do. There are some things you don’t want to remember but you have to because they’re too hard to forget. The bag of Alpo was empty, so I had to hop the fence and dig through Mrs. Adams’s’s’s’s trash can. It was bad. Really bad. But I had to do it, because I knew how I looked, and I knew there wasn’t enough cash inside the house to buy an egg and cheese sandwich at McDonalds—which was what I really wanted. I was stuck, pushed into a corner by forces I couldn’t ignore, and I had to do something. I had to provide for my boys.
The things we ate were horrible. I threw up twice before keeping down half a jelly-filled doughnut. It had ants all over it and was soggy from milk that had seeped into it. There were coffee grounds on everything! I had to pick them off Huey’s and Tommy’s chicken bones because I think it’s bad for them if they eat that sort of thing.
Little did I know that that was going to be our last real meal for a while. At that moment I knew I had to learn how to provide for them. I couldn’t dig through trash cans the rest of my life. I had to do better than that if I wanted to keep them healthy. I had to grow up.
We disappeared into the woods through the same gap in the fence we’d used the night before to get in. I had to hide because I had to change. I felt very vulnerable and very exposed. And I still do. No one is supposed to see me this way.
So we stayed in the woods. We were hungry most of the time, and we’re still hungry, but we’re used to it now. It’s not so bad, being hungry. The dogs showed me things: how to find food, what to eat, what not to eat. And I like to think I showed them things, too. I sing to them a lot. They appreciate that. I can tell because they all do this cute, little bowing thing every time I finish a song. It’s their way of clapping, of saying, "Good job!! Bravo!!"
They love me, all my new friends. They don’t say it, but I can feel it. Sometimes I let them take turns licking my face. It tickles at first, then, after a while, I start feeling like I’m going to throw up.
Then I get sad.
Then I get happy.
Because I am changing. I am not me anymore. I’m turning into what I’m supposed to become. There are tides flowing in me, pulling my juices this way and that, making me grow. Sometimes I feel like I’m fifteen feet tall. Even if I’m not that tall now, I know I will be some day. I’m not going to be average—in height or anything else. I’m going to be like Pete and Rusty. No—I’m going to be better.
They are both assholes—Pete and Rusty. Especially Rusty. I’ll never forgive him for hitting me. All I did was try to ride Apollo. I don’t understand why that made him so mad. Apollo’s a big dog. He can handle my weight. Rusty doesn’t know about my dreams. He doesn’t know how fast Apollo can run with me on his back.
[He can’t support your weight, No dog can. They’re not horses.]
Apollo was just nervous. I guess I scared him, running at him like that. It was just nerves. If he had been calmer, I’d be riding him through this grass right now, instead of running on my own feet. Apollo would’ve taken me away from that asshole. He would’ve taken me away from this town, this country, this planet. I’d have wrapped my arms around his neck and off we’d have went, fast as lightning, flying away to places I didn’t even know existed, and the air rushing through my hair, and the flowers smelling sweet, and
the bees and the music and…
And Rusty hit me. He hit my leg and back. Hard. I wasn’t hurting Apollo none. I’d never hurt a dog, but I’d hurt Rusty. Rusty and everybody else who’s making me change. I should be in a house, like a person. Instead I’m out here, prancing around some stupid wheat field. Is it even wheat? I don’t know. Wheat, grass, whatever. I’m as scared as I am excited about what I am becoming. I know that I’ll be fifteen feet tall soon, and I know that it is possible to ride a dog like a horse.
They look down on me now, but in a couple of weeks, when I’m three times the size of this grass, they won’t. Then they’ll pay for all the times they looked at me strange, like I didn’t belong on the same planet as them. They think they’re so much better than me, but they’re not. And I’ll prove it. Rusty’s gonna get it the worst, because he hurt me the most. He was supposed to be my friend, but he let me down when I really needed him.
The others have it coming as well. I bet they don’t even realize how much—)
Mike stopped running. Sweat streamed down his brow, into his eyes. He wasn’t out of breath but he panted heavily. "…they’ve hurt me."
Then he was off again, running like he had never stopped. He cavorted and skipped for hours. Time ceased to exist; he was in bliss. Wearing his trademark goofy grin, Mike O’Brien carved a never-ending path through the expansive field, unaware that a trained archer aimed an arrow at his roving head. Had he not stopped to rest, Mike would have never seen his former friends plotting so insidiously against him from their perches in the bed of Russell’s truck.
"Pete? Rusty?"
It took a while for it all to click, but Mike eventually came to understand that Russell wasn’t kissing Pete, wasn’t telling secrets about him, but instead was giving orders that Pete was all-too willing to follow. No big surprise there, he thought. The surprise, he’d discover a few seconds later, was what the big yellow thing in Pete’s hand was.
After bending over to attend to Huey, Mike stood to see whether they had moved. They had both been so still before—like statues. To his surprise, they had moved and were still moving. They were in some sort of conversation now, but he was too far away to make out the words. He did, however, glimpse the crude, yellow arc Pete’s lowered bow made against the black of Russell’s shirt.
At once, Mike ducked low and crouched among the stalks. Squatting there, lingering, he swatted mosquitos away from his face and thighs until Tommy pushed his sleek, dark body through the grass and sat down next to him.
Then in a volume that only dogs can hear, O’Brien leaned over and whispered into the triangle of his friend’s ear.