DoG (16 page)

of his only companions on Earth if any were to survive.

The return of night made him instantly tired. He would deal with the dog situation tomorrow. He finished the last of the whiskey and hobbled back to Alistair’s. When he was halfway there, a dog barked from behind him, then another, and then they all howled in unison. Culann turned back to investigate, stifling a yawn as he tottered through the forest.

When he reached the shore, he spied a light a hundred yards out. It danced up and down and then disappeared. The barking of the dogs echoed off the water. Culann ordered them to be quiet, and they complied. Culann heard the lapping of the waves, but no other sounds. He strained his eyes, focusing on where he’d last seen the light. The moon cast pale rays across the sea, revealing nothing.

“Hello?” a faint voice called out from the blackness.

Culann cleared his throat to reply. He hadn’t spoken to another human being in nearly a month. The dogs obeyed him whether he shouted or whispered, so he’d grown accustomed to speaking softly on the rare occasions he spoke at all.

“Stay away,” he shouted. “It is not safe for you here.”

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“Please,” the unmistakably female voice replied, “help me.”

“I am trying to help you. Turn back now.”

“Please, everything went dead. My GPS won’t work, and I can’t see anything. If you don’t help me, I’m going to crash into a rock.”

All along Culann had feared visitors from the mainland arriving at the dock on the east side of the island. He hadn’t expected anyone to come from the open ocean to the west. He could just make out a small sailboat about hundred feet off shore. A slender figure leaned forward at the prow.

“This is your last chance,” Culann shouted. “Turn back before it’s too late.

There’s a virus on this island.”

“A what?”

“A virus. Everyone is dead.”

“Please, sir,” the voice replied on the verge of tears, “don’t joke around. I’m going to die if you don’t help me.”

“You’ll die if I do.”

The waves inexorably drove the small craft to ruin. As it neared, the sailor came into view. She was petite, with curly hair that reached midway down her back. She wore a tight, long-sleeved t-shirt and high-cut shorts. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Culann muttered.

“Do you have any lights?” she called out from about twenty feet away. “I can barely see the coastline.”

“I don’t have anything,” Culann replied. “The rocks are pretty bad on this side.

Turn right.”

“Starboard,” she corrected, making Pyrite’s sole survivor feel like a know-nothing greenhorn all over again.

He guided her along as best he could, which wasn’t very well. Her boat ground against some rocks neither of them could see. She let out a dainty curse.

“I’m going to have to swim to shore,” she said. “Do you have something to pull me up with?”

“I’ve got a cane. It’s only about three feet long.”

“I’ll bring a line with me and toss it up to you.”

She pulled her t-shirt over her head and stepped out of her shorts, revealing an athletic-cut bikini. Culann forced himself to look at the water. She dropped a white ring buoy into the water and slid into it. She kicked her way to the island until she reached the sloping slippery rocks that made up its western shore. A sheer cliff of about six feet separated the two of them. She threw a length of rope up to Culann. He reached out with his good left hand, but missed it. She gathered the line up and threw it again. He again missed the catch, but the rope landed on the ground at his feet. He scooped it up.

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“Ah, hold on a second,” he replied. “I’m a bit injured. I better anchor this end first.”

He wrapped the end of the line around a tree trunk. He leaned back against the tree and set his good right leg. He gripped the rope with his left hand and clamped his clawed right hand behind the left.

“Okay, I am going to start pulling now.”

She couldn’t have weighed much more than a hundred pounds, but he was

effectively pulling with just one arm and one leg. He pulled with his left arm, held the rope in place by gripping it overhand with his damaged right mitt, and then pulled again with the left. She pressed her bare feet against the slippery rockface and scaled the cliff.

When she reached the top, he grasped her hand and pulled her towards him. She tumbled forward, and the two fell to the ground, her soft skin pressed against his body. Her wet hair fell across his face. She smelled like cinnamon.

“Thanks,” she said with an appealing upturn of her lip.

He swallowed hard and then shoved her aside. He rolled to his belly and started pushing himself to his feet.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, sliding her thin arms around his waist.

“No,” Culann snapped, and she pulled away. He grabbed the trunk of the tree with his good hand and pulled himself up.

“Whoa, what’s with all the dogs?”

The pack churned forward to greet the newcomer. The dogs sniffed and licked and nudged so persistently that the girl nearly toppled back into the sea.

“Stay back,” Culann ordered, and the dogs halted.

“How many do you have?”

“There are forty-eight, although they really aren’t mine.”

“Whose are they?”

“They don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

She gave him a puzzled look but didn’t say anything more. He snatched up his cane and led her through the woods back to the once-inhabited part of the island.

“Thanks again for saving me,” she said as they walked. “It was so weird. All the electronics went dead at the same time. Must’ve been a short circuit or something. Do you know anything about electronics?”

Culann shook his head. He didn’t want to talk to this girl, this girl who tempted him with her nearly-naked body, this girl who would not be alive in twenty-four hours.

“Are you some kind of hermit?”

Culann smiled despite himself. He realized how he must look to her eyes: six weeks’ growth of beard, shaggy hair that reached his collar, limping along with the help of a jury-rigged cane which he gripped in a gnarled hand, and a policeman’s utility belt 106

wrapped around his waist. He was thankful that his injuries had healed sufficiently that he could resume wearing normal clothes instead of simply cloaking himself in a grass-stained bedsheet.

“I guess so,” he said.

“Is that why you won’t look at me?”

“Come on,” Culann said. “Let’s get you some clothes.”

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2

Culann was still alive, and he was confident in way that he hadn’t been with Constance and Schuler that he would continue to be alive, at least until winter hit. He was some sort of chosen one, although he had little faith in this Dog-God who’d done the choosing. He decided that this status had to have been earned, that it couldn’t have been just dumb luck that allowed him to survive when so many people, stronger people, were dead. He just didn’t know how he had earned it. He concluded that there must be some sort of cosmic Calvinism going on here, that he’d been born one of the elect and was only now discovering it. If that was the case, he needed to live a life, however short, of irresistible grace.

The girl emerged from Alistair’s bedroom wearing Julia’s bathrobe, which was far too large for her. Culann looked away from the exposed tanned skin of her neck and collarbones, and the brown curls that cascaded down her shoulders. He took a drink of club soda, having foresworn alcohol until the girl was gone.

“My name is Nereida, by the way.”

He nodded.

“Do you have a name?” she asked with a smile as she slid onto the barstool next to him.

“Culann.”

“That’s an interesting name. Does it mean anything?”

“It’s from Celtic mythology.”

“That’s cool,” she said, “My name comes from mythology, too.”

“I know.”

“I get it. You don’t like to talk. That’s why you live all by yourself out here.”

Culann nodded. It was simpler to have her think that he was some antisocial recluse than a man whose craving for a drink was surmounted only by his craving for her flawless young body. The less they spoke, the easier it would be for him to pretend she wasn’t there. Unfortunately, Nereida didn’t seem to care much for silence.

“Where did you get this bathrobe? Did you have a wife who died, and that’s why you’re a hermit?”

Culann couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, that’s it.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yeah. To be such a romantic that you can’t live a normal life without her.

She must have been very beautiful.”

“How old are you?” Culann asked.

“Thirteen.”

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“Jesus Christ,” he said with a cough. “What were you doing out there all by yourself?”

“I’m trying to set the record for the youngest girl to sail solo around the world.

I’m doing a practice run from California to Alaska and back, and then next year I’m going for the record.”

“Are you serious?” Culann turned to face her. “What do your parents have to say about this?”

Nereida rolled her eyes as if she’d been asked this question a thousand times.

“My parents think kids are too overprotected nowadays. Everybody’s so afraid of child molesters and stuff that they hide their kids away and never give them the chance to grow up. If I can do this, I will accomplish more at fourteen than most people do in their entire lives.”

Her acorn-brown eyes sparkled when she spoke. She oozed ambition. Culann

could see she was the type of person who was destined for greatness, if only she had more than one day to live. He shook his head.

“If you were my daughter, I’d never let you do anything so crazy. Think how awful your parents would feel if something happened to you.”

Culann’s words surprised him. For the first time in a long time, he’d forced himself to imagine how another person felt, to see the world through strangers’ eyes.

He’d stopped thinking about himself. Nereida stopped being some sea nymph sent to tempt him. She was a child, and he was again a teacher, a man entrusted with children and who was committed to shepherding them safely into adulthood. He needed to figure out a way to send her home to her family. Alive.

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3

Culann and Nereida stood on the dock near Culann’s floating keg. The brief night had ended, and the sun again shone down upon them. Culann had ordered the dogs to stay ashore, so they stared impatiently at their master from land. Culann eased himself to a sitting position and removed his shoes and socks. He still wasn’t quite sure he could trust himself around Nereida, so he left his jeans and t-shirt on.

“What are you doing?” she asked for the third time.

“Just taking care of something,” he again replied.

Culann slid into the water, feeling the sharp cold devour him. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could just barely keep his mouth above the waterline. The water was too dark and salty for him to open his eyes underwater. He had a general idea where he’d thrown it, but feeling around the silty bottom with his toes was a hard way to find it.

“Can I at least help you with whatever you’re doing?” Nereida called down. “Not to be conceited or anything, but I think I’m a lot better swimmer than you.”

“No, stay there. This might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What are you doing?”

“Please be quiet. I need to concentrate.”

Nereida sighed and folded her arms across her chest. Culann shut his eyes and focused on the sand sliding over his toes. He narrowed his focus and felt the individual grains as he pressed his feet into the bottom. Then he concentrated on just one grain of sand at the end of his big toe.

“Where is it?” he whispered.

The grain of sand told him.

Culann hopped forward until his left foot struck the unmistakable surface of the orb. He took a breath and pushed himself beneath the surface, using his damaged limbs to propel to the bottom. He slid his good left hand under the orb and clamped down on it from above with his right. He strained against the water pressure above to wrest it from the seabed.

When his head broke the surface, Nereida had cast off Julia’s bathrobe and was preparing to dive into the water.

“Stay there,” Culann said with a gasp of exertion.

She scowled at him, but complied. He hopped back to the pier, just barely keeping his mouth above the surface, while cradling the orb to his belly. The extra weight slowed him down, and his eyes focused on Nereida’s undisguised expression of impatience as he made his way to her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just something I dropped. Now please stay back.”

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He reached the pier, which stood a good two feet above the waterline. With one great surge, Culann kicked his legs and hefted the orb up and onto the pier before sliding back into the water.

“What is that thing?” Nereida asked, inching closer.

“Don’t touch it. I’ll be right up.”

With another surge, Culann shot up, grabbed the edge of the pier with his left hand, and pulled himself up so that his elbows rested on the planks while the rest of him dangled over the edge. He caught his breath for a few moments and then kicked with his legs and straightened his arms, but his right hand couldn’t bear the weight. He dropped back to his elbows and resumed dangling off the side.

“You need some help?” Nereida asked with a smirk.

“Yes,” Culann replied. “But please don’t touch the orb. I am not joking – it’s very dangerous.”

She cast a wary glance at the orb before crouching down and grabbing Culann under the right arm. He pushed with his left arm and kicked his legs while she pulled.

After a brief struggle, the two knelt on the deck, panting side by side over the orb.

“Now what?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but stay back.”

Culann sat before the orb as it rested on the dock. The symbols had once again changed. They’d formed into six stick-figures of dogs, like those seen in cave paintings, with triangular features emphasizing the teeth. He held his hands on each side like a fortune-teller with a crystal ball, massaging the ethereal etchings on its surface. Thick, gray clouds blew in from the sea, enveloping the sun. Nereida knelt a few feet away, craning to see what he was doing. Thunder rumbled all around them, and rain poured down. Culann focused all of his attention on his fingertips as they worked their way across the strange symbols covering the orb. After a few moments, he felt ten tiny jolts of electricity, one in each finger. The orb was listening. Culann just needed to figure out what to say.