The child felt a sudden wave of heat threaten to overwhelm her once more. With a child’s rage, she fought back ...
The child who would have been Tran Nguyen would never know — and would never have understood, anyway — that the cost of her immediate gratification would cause her mother to die of internal hypothermia in the middle of summer, and that said death would swiftly end her own life as well. And even if she
could
have known these things and understood them, based on her life experiences thus far, it is doubtful that she would have cared.
PATRICIA
Patricia Brown was walking her dogs on the Night of the White Flash.
Life-long lovers of animals, Patricia’s parents successfully urged her to follow her natural inclinations and pursue veterinary medicine as a career. Her parents loved every four-legged creature under the sun, but while Patricia enjoyed helping any animal in need, she had always been partial to
dogs
.
Big dogs, medium, small, toy dogs — Patricia loved them all. One of the reasons her parents’ guidance had proven so frictionless was due to an event before Patricia’s eighth birthday. One night, a young Collie had been struck crossing the main road near her home; the driver had not bothered to stop the car and see how the animal had fared. Patricia found the dog the next morning, its hind legs broken, its tail hanging loose and limp. The pain-stricken, terrified animal had bitten her twice as she transported it home. Her parents were still asleep, and rather than take the time to rouse them, she had called the closest animal hospital herself.
The Collie had lived, and
thrived
. The dog had no collar, and none of the neighbors recognized it. The vet suggested that someone might have brought the unwanted pet from the city to get rid of it. In the end, Patricia had been allowed to keep the Collie, and her bond to canines was forged for life.
While her internship could have been more pleasant — she had taken an offer in Louisiana, only to discover that the white owners there didn’t particularly like a black woman caring for their little darlings — this past year had found her as the third partner of a successful animal hospital ... and proud owner of
six
dogs, a personal record-breaker for Patricia.
On this particular evening, she was walking three of her beloved kiddies — her black Labrador, Winston; her Pug, Brutus; and her Boston Terrier, Cookie. Despite his greater size, Winston was, as always, the easiest to handle on these ventures. Brutus and Cookie managed to tangle themselves, Winston, and Patricia together in the leashes so frequently that it tested even
her
monumental patience from time to time. Amber, Chelsey, and Pop-Eye had already had their daily walks — she avoided walking all six at once for obvious reasons — and now she needed to get these three done. But the night was warm if a bit windy, and she was in a good mood, so she and Winston let the wild pair have their fun. Patricia loved her dogs, oftentimes understanding their wants and needs better than those of other people, and she felt that she was as close to them as a human being could be.
She only felt this way, of course, until the Night of the White Flash.
The park where Patricia walked her dogs had a longstanding reputation for being quite safe. Local parents could even allow their children to play after dark without excessive cause for concern. Patricia had developed a passing acquaintanceship with a few of the other dog lovers who walked their prides and joys at this park. Brutus and Cookie pulled her back and forth and sometimes in opposite directions, marking territory and "checking messages," as Patricia called it. Winston quietly did his necessary business, then joined Patricia in sighing at the smaller and younger ones, occasionally throwing her a sympathetic look that seemed to say
They’re so silly, aren’t they?
Patricia offered no arguments.
Patricia was chastising Cookie for another wrap-Mom-up-with-the-leash job when the Seven Stars burst into sight. The pulse of light from above confused her enough that by the time she looked straight up, the White Flash had almost reached the horizon. Brutus barked, while Cookie remained oblivious. Winston merely stared up with her.
"What in the world was
that
, Winston ...?"
Anthony Deutsche, the man lurking in the bushes and shadows a few yards ahead of Patricia, glanced up with little interest. He had seen the pulse of light wash over the land, but his skyward view was blocked almost entirely by the lush foliage of a tree, so his curiosity died quickly and his attention returned to his intended victim. He was perturbed that Patricia wasn’t carrying a purse, but she
was
wearing a fanny-pack, so he figured there might be hope yet.
Patricia stared after the wave of the White Flash, but there was no encore performance of this phenomenon. The Seven Stars shone brightly above, but Patricia had never been much of a stargazer and so did not notice. In the distance, she heard a siren wail, and Brutus felt the urge to join in.
"Come on, kids," she said, "let’s head home."
Winston stood ready to go, but Brutus continued to howl at the alarm, and Cookie searched for fresh territory to mark.
"Come
on
, fellas, okay? Mom wants to go home now. Brutus, knock that off!"
Suddenly, Cookie stopped sniffing at the ground and instead stared ahead, straight into the shadows where Anthony Deutsche stood in silence. An unimpressive growl rumbled through the Boston Terrier’s little throat.
bad man
Patricia looked around, startled. She could have sworn that she heard someone speak, but she appeared to be alone.
bad man
The voice, or the
echo
of a voice, floated to her again from some unknown source. "What?" she said aloud. "Who’s there?"
Anthony stiffened. Had he given himself away somehow?
bad man Winston over here bad man Brutus over here
Patricia was confused and frightened now. The words weren’t really
words
— except for the echoes of the Lab and Pug’s names, which came through clear as a bell. They were more like
impressions
. Less than words, more than feelings.
Brutus stopped howling and glanced in the same direction as Cookie. Winston stepped forward, his attention following the Boston’s as well.
where?
bushes
sure he’s bad?
bad man bad man
Cookie right Winston smell him too man bad man
Patricia’s educated mind struggled to reject what she thought she was hearing. She was so caught up in the wonder and impossibility of it all that she didn’t really pay attention to what her dogs appeared to be saying to one another.
"Winston?"
The Lab looked up at her.
Bad man Mom bad man ...
Then the words/thoughts paused, and Winston assumed the most human-looking expression of bafflement Patricia had ever seen. If her mind had not been such a whirlwind, she would have laughed.
Mom you hear Winston Mom?
"Yes," Patricia blurted through a strained chuckle, seriously entertaining the distinct possibility that only a crazy woman would answer a question she thought was directly posed by her pet. "Yes, I hear you, Winston, and I think that Mom needs a drink."
no time for fuzzy stuff,
Winston scolded her,
bad man in the bushes Mom bad man you need to go
Winston!
Winston!
When Patricia appeared to start talking to her big dog — actually carrying on a
conversation
with the damned mutt! — Anthony decided that enough was enough. What was she, the "Daughter of Sam?" It didn’t matter — a retard would be that much easier to handle, anyway. He stepped from the shadows, waving his knife back and forth so that the blade would glisten in the scattered park lights.
"Gimme your pack," he threatened curtly, stepping close.
Patricia stared at him numbly. The startling events were making it difficult for her to shift gears — at first, she even thought he was referring to her
dogs
. "Wha—?" was all she managed to say.
Brutus and Cookie barked at Anthony. Winston growled.
"Don’t push me, bitch," he snapped. "Hand over the pack or I’ll cut you. And your little dog Toto, too." When Patricia still failed to move, Anthony reached down with impressive speed and plucked Cookie up by her collar. She yelped, both in the real world and in Patricia’s mind. "I’m not fooling around, bitch. Hand it over." He held the blade deliberately against the Boston’s throat.
The man could have intimidated Patricia all night, and in her current state of mind, she probably would have just stood there like an idiot. But when he made the mistake of threatening one of her kids, her disposition turned icy cold.
"Fine," she said. Dropping the leashes and reaching back to unclasp the pack, she said, "Put her down first."
"You’re not in the position, lady," Anthony leered. He flicked the blade and Cookie yelped as he cut her. Not too deep, not yet, but enough to draw blood. Brutus and Winston growled in unison. "Better keep the Lab back, too. Now hand it over."
bad man hurt Cookie get him Winston get him
can’t he has shiny sharp metal might hurt Mom
"How do I know you won’t hurt her anyway?" Patricia demanded.
"Oh, for Christ’s sake, that’s
it
!"
Anthony threw the Boston down hard and kicked the Pug harder as he moved on her. The blade came at Patricia’s throat now ...
... but not before Winston’s jaws locked onto the man’s wrist.
Giving the devil his due credit, Anthony did not cry out or panic as others might have. He merely grunted and, without missing a beat, started pounding the Lab in the face with his free hand.
ow ow ow ow
Patricia could sense Winston’s discomfort, but the husky dog refused to let go. Patricia leaped at the man, too, clawing at his face.
"Shit!"
Anthony shoved her away, knocking her to the ground. He hit Winston again, and a squeak of pain made its way from behind the man’s trapped arm.
And
that
was enough of
that
!
Cookie, Brutus,
she called in the same fashion she had heard, and with the same instincts employed by Emmett, Sarah, and the Would-Be-Tran,
his feet! Get his
feet
!
The smaller dogs rushed to obey their mom. They each went for an ankle.
Cookie, your mouth’s too small. Get his shoe laces, his
shoe laces
!
Cookie was familiar enough with chewing on Patricia’s shoes to know exactly what she meant.
Bite him hard, Brutus.
Hard
!
Anthony had stopped beating Winston now, and was trying desperately not to lose his balance.
Winston, hold on!
yes Mom
Scrambling to her feet and charging forward, Patricia slammed into Anthony as hard as she could — and while she was nowhere near Sarah Baxter’s size, Patricia was far from a petite lady herself. Anthony went down on his back, the breath exploding from his lungs as a rock broke one of his hind ribs. Winston lost his grip on the man’s wrist in the tumble, but his teeth raked deep valleys in the bad man’s flesh, and the knife dropped away.
Cookie, Brutus, get his hands. Bite down on his fingers, bite hard. Winston, get his throat, but don’t bite down. Not yet.
yes Mom yes Mom yes