Everwild (28 page)

“It's not the size of your nose that matters,” the Sniffer often said, “it's how deep your nasal cavity goes,” and this kid was nasal cavity all the way down to his toes. In fact, when he sneezed, he could splatter an entire room in ectomucus—which was like living mucus, except that it never dried.

They brought him to the factory and, just like Kudzu, he wouldn't even go through the door—but at least he was able to tell them why.

“I smell misery,” he said. “The place reeks of it.” Then he pointed southwest, roughly in the direction of Memphis. “That's the direction the misery went.”

“Just our luck,” said Zin, still trying to calm down Kudzu, who had gone from howling to whimpering.

“Whatever it was,” Nick said, “let's hope we don't run into it on the way.”

And whatever it was, it was apparently strong enough to scare the Sniffer off. He deserted Nick's army, having no desire to follow the misery to Memphis.

Zin just wanted to leave Nashville. Kudzu's reaction spooked her, and the sooner they were on their way, the better. The Ogre, however, had his own agenda. They lingered in the city. He said it was because they were still looking for stray Afterlights, but that was a lie. They stayed because the Ogre
had another secret task for Zin. This was the big one, and looking back, Zin realized this was the task he had been leading up to all along.

They were back at the train, and Zin couldn't find Kudzu. It wasn't unusual for him to explore on his own, but maybe she was smelling a bit of something now too. Something a little skunky. Something that reeked of bad intentions.

She finally found Kudzu in the parlor car—the Chocolate Ogre's private retreat. The dog was licking chocolate from the Ogre's hand.

“Kudzu! Come!” Zin said. The dog reluctantly turned and strolled over to its master.

“Kudzu's been a good companion to you, hasn't he?” the Ogre said.

“The best,” answered Zin.

“I know you really care about him … and I guess I can understand why you did what you did. Ripping him from an abusive owner, and all.”

Zin knelt down and scratched Kudzu's neck. “Had to do it. I saved him from a fate worse than death.”

“Maybe you did … but that doesn't change the fact that you ripped a living thing out of the living world.”

She looked up at the Ogre, who sat in his stained chair. Was it her imagination, or was there more of the brown stuff on him than yesterday?

“Let me ask you something, Zin, because it's important.” He leaned forward. “When you ripped Kudzu, did you just rip his spirit, or did you rip the whole dog into Everlost?”

“I guess I ripped everything, sir,” Zin said. “I mean it weren't like I ripped his little doggy spirit out of his body or
nothin'; I grabbed him, pulled him into Everlost, and there he was. It's not like there was a dead dog left behind when I ripped him here—I ripped him body and soul.” Kudzu lay down and rolled over, wanting a tummy rub. Zin obliged, and the dog purred like a kitten. “He didn't sleep for nine months, neither, on accounta he never officially died.”

“So …” said the Ogre, “somehow, he was flesh until you pulled him here … and now he's not.”

“That's right—he's an Afterlight just like any of us. He don't grow old, he don't get sick, he don't change, and he got the glow.”

“Still, by taking him you did something very wrong.”

Zin didn't like the direction this conversation was going. “No more wrong than anything else I done,” she said defensively. “No worse than any of the things
you
made me to do,” and then she added “sir,” a little snidely.

“It
is
worse, and I think you know that.”

“Well, that there's water under the bridge. Nuthin' I can do about that now.”

And the Ogre quietly said, “Yes, there is.”

Zin didn't want to hear this. “C'mon, Kudzu, let's go.”

She practically lifted the dog to his feet and headed for the door.

“Come back here,” said the Ogre. And when she didn't, he said, “That's an order!”

She stopped just short of the door, and spun back to him. “You can order me around all you want, but you can't do nuthin' to Kudzu—he's my dog, not yours!”

“If you want to set things straight in the hereafter,” the Ogre said calmly, “then you need to put Kudzu back in the
living world—just like you did to those flowers the other day.”

“No!” She didn't even bother saying “sir,” this time.

“It's the right thing to do, and you know it.”

“If I put him back, he'll have no place to go!” she pleaded.

“He will if you find him a good family.”

“If I put him back, he'll die!”

“But not until he lives the full length of a dog's life.”

Zin found herself screaming into the Ogre's face, but he stayed calm, which just made her even madder. “
Why're you asking me to do this?”

He didn't answer her. Instead he said, sternly, “I am your commanding officer, and your orders are to find a good home for Kudzu … and then you are to use your powers to put him in it.”

“You can ask me from here till doomsday, I won't do it!”

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, “If you do it, I'll put you in charge of an entire regiment of soldiers.”

The Ogre had just put his nasty, sticky little finger on her button, and Zin was disgusted with herself to know how easily her buttons could be pushed.

“How many's in a regiment?” she asked.

Zin hated this more than anything, but she couldn't deny that the Ogre, curse his Hershey's hide, was absolutely right. She had no business ripping a living dog into Everlost. And the story she gave—the one about saving him from an owner who beat him? It was a flat-out lie. Kudzu had a good life with a family that was so sweet and caring, it had made
Zin sick. This was before she went off to be a hermit, when she still believed she could linger with the living, and pretend she could be one of them, even though they never knew she was there. She stayed with that family for more than a month, sitting with them at the dinner table, ripping bits of food off their plates. She sat in their playroom, ripping toys and watching the brother and sister fight, blaming each other for the missing playthings.

The dog sensed her presence. Not entirely, but just enough for it to act edgy whenever Zin was in the room. Then the dog warmed to her. It would come near to where she was standing, and roll over, waiting to be scratched on the belly. So Zin would use her ripping hand to reach in and do it. When her hand came back with dog hair on it, she got the idea. If dog hair could come through, then why not the whole dog?

That family never knew what happened to their beloved pet. Probably figured coyotes got him or something. And now Zin had herself a much needed friend. She even changed his name. Since she was named after a flower, she named him after another plant. She chose the fast-growing kudzu, because of the way the dog had grown on her. She didn't even remember his real name anymore.

But that was a story she couldn't tell, because she knew in her heart how shameful it was. Well, what goes around comes around to bite you in the butt, and now it was time to make things right. But she didn't have to like it.

She did what the Ogre told her to do: She found a family. Not just any family, but one that was like the one Kudzu had come from. She found a wealthy family with two little
kids, and Zin watched them long enough to know they were good people. She sat with them at dinner, ripping herself some corn on the cob when no one was looking. Then, when she was absolutely sure this was the right home, she went to get Kudzu and the Ogre.

Distant thunder rolled, low and ominous as they approached the house. Dark clouds filled the Eastern horizon. Zin felt much the same on the inside.

“Looks like they already have a dog,” the Ogre said, as they stepped into the family's backyard. There was a doghouse in the yard, and two big bags of dried dog food leaned up against it.

“
I
put that there,” Zin told him. She had ripped the doghouse and the food from a nearby pet store, and had crammed it all into the backyard earlier in the day. The family had seen it and was understandably confused. The children were convinced that this was all some sort of surprise—that somebody was about to give them a dog, and the parents tried to figure which friend or relative might do something like this.

“I hadda prepare them,” Zin told the Ogre. “Because, if a dog just showed up in their yard, they'd probably just take him to the pound. But if he shows up along with all this other stuff, they'll know he's not just a stray. They'll know that someone meant to put him here, even if they don't know who.”

“Good thinking,” said the Ogre.

The family was inside now, maybe making calls to see who was playing pooch games with them. Zin held Kudzu
for the longest time. He might have been a smart dog, but he had no idea what was coming.

“Maybe it won't work,” Zin said. “A dog's not like a bunch of stupid flowers. Maybe something this big—this
alive
—can't get through.”

“Maybe not, but there's only one way to know for sure.”

She knew the Ogre would say that.

Zin spoke to Kudzu in hushed tones, saying all the things you say to someone when you know you're never going to see him again. Then finally the Ogre said, “It's time.”

Zin grabbed Kudzu by the scruff of his neck with her ripping hand. “Sorry, boy,” and she began to push him forward.

Cramming, which had been so hard at first, had become easier, just as the Ogre had said it would—but nothing could make
this
easy. It wasn't like picking a lock, it was like breaking into Fort Knox.

And to make it even worse, Kudzu began to whine and resist the second the portal began to open. “Help me!” Zin said, straining to force Kudzu forward. Now the Ogre pushed along with her, both of them straining with all their might. His snout was through, then his head, then his front legs. Kudzu let loose a mournful howl, the portal stretched around his haunches, and with a final push he was through, the portal healed closed, and Zin and the Ogre fell back, knocked down by the shock wave of the sealing portal.

Kudzu darted back and forth on the grass in front of them, confused and confounded by the change.

“Look!” the Ogre said. “He has no afterglow! Do you see?
Do you see?
”

Kudzu was back in the living world! The browns of his fur were paler and out of focus, and his body was true flesh and bone. He leaped this way and that, searching for Zin, barking frantically. Some faint sense must have told him she was still there, but he couldn't find her and never would.

“He's alive!” the Ogre said, like some mad scientist. “
He's alive!
”

“I'm sorry, boy,” Zin whimpered, “I'm so, so sorry… .” But she knew Kudzu couldn't hear her.

The family, hearing the barking dog, came out to the yard, and although it took a few minutes, it was the kids who won Kudzu over. They put their arms around his frightened neck.

“What's your name, boy?” the girl asked.

“It's Kudzu!” shouted Zin, but no one heard.

Thunder rolled, a little closer than before. The parents looked up at the threatening sky, and the boy said, “Let's call him Storm!”

And that finally closed the circle—because Zin suddenly remembered that Storm was his real name.

In a few moments, the dog's barks became whimpers, which soon gave way to nervous panting. It wasn't long until Kudzu/Storm lay down and rolled over, angling for a belly rub, which his new family was more than happy to provide.

Zin turned to the Ogre. “I hate you,” she said, and she meant it with every bit of her being.

“You can hate me all you want,” he told her. “But you've just shown your loyalty by putting your orders ahead of your personal feelings. That kind of loyalty is rewarded … lieutenant.”

Then he reached forward with his chocolate-covered hand, and painted a fresh brown chevron on the sleeve of her uniform. Then he said something that put it all into focus for Zin, making her admire him almost as much as she hated him.

“I want you to remember what it took to push Kudzu into the living world,” the Chocolate Ogre told her, “because very soon, that's exactly what you'll be doing to Mary Hightower.”

When it came to memory, Mary's observations didn't hold true for skinjackers. Unlike Nick, Allie never forgot her last name. It was Johnson.

With such a common last name, however, locating her parents in Memphis was not an easy matter. Her parents names were Adam and Andrea, so naturally they chose
A
names for their daughters. There were ten Adams, two Andreas, and more than a hundred A. Johnsons in the Memphis phone book. She had already determined that both their cell phone numbers had been disconnected, so Allie would have to skinjack someone, and start making cold calls.

It had to be done by skinjacking—she already knew that. She didn't know whether or not the “gravity” of home would apply here, but she didn't want to take the chance. Showing up at her family's new house and witnessing their lives moving forward without her might turn the ground to quicksand just as standing on her old doorstep had.