A New Breed (Part One)

A New Breed

From a restless sleep Doug heard the cell phone buzz on the glass coffee table. At first relief swept over him. Molly was all right. He wondered briefly why he was on the couch, but dismissed it. It didn't matter because he had just fallen asleep on the couch while watching television and had a nightmare. Molly wasn't really dead. She was just sleeping upstairs. Probably patiently waiting for him to come upstairs, give her a kiss and crawl into bed with her.

But then he felt the weight on his chest and remembered falling asleep with his daughter held tight to him, both of them too exhausted and shell-shocked to cry any more.

It all came back in a flood. Molly was dead. His mind threatened to conjure images up, to probe the wound, but he shut it down.

He felt for the bandaged hand in the dark of the room. Touching it gently, tears began to blur his already foggy vision.

If only he had been the one to turn off the sprinklers she would still be alive.

He felt his chest tighten. The urge to scream was terrible. Inviting. His hands balled into fists and silently he fought back the urge to throw his sleeping child off him and rage around the room.

If only he had been the one to go outside. Oh, God, he would trade places with her. Gladly. It might mean death, but it would be less painful than this.

Doug swept up the phone and flipped it open with one free hand, glad that sleep had been merciful to his daughter. She snored softly into his chest while he lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Doug?” The voice asked. Doug didn't recognize who it was at first, then it became clear. It was his neighbor across the street, Roger.

“Roger? What's happening now?” He asked, his voice high and taut. Roger had been the first to call him after Molly had been torn to pieces and then drug away into the street.

“I don't know, man. I can't see anymore of them around your place, but those two are still outside my door. I'm pretty sure there are at least four around my house, but I don't know where the other two are, exactly. I was thinking about going for the truck, but I don't know anymore. It seems like more keep showing up but they stay in the shadows mostly.”

“Unless you have a gun I don't think it would be a wise decision. Listen, just stay inside and away from the windows. People will be coming soon. I know it.” Doug reasoned.

A muffled crash from somewhere outside stirred Dabney. She shifted position, finally easing off his ribs, but now favoring his pelvic bone. As uncomfortable as it was, he was glad to have her close to him.

“I know that. I know people will be coming at some point but that doesn't help my situation out right now, does it? That damn porch light is still on and the switch is outside. I'm all lit up over here, man. I can't even leave the kitchen and if I have to eat one more damn pretzel sitting over here on my ass waiting for these mongrels to smash in I'll start going crazy.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. I already feel like I've done a round trip.”

“Hey, I just got a call from--”

Roger's sentence was punctuated with the sound of glass shattering.

“Shit!” Roger yelped.

Doug felt his heart flutter. “What's going on? Rodge!”

Dabney woke, recoiling as if struck. Her fingers twisted around his shirt, pulling his collar tight around his neck.

“Dad? What's wrong? Daddy, are there more of them?” She mewled.

Doug's heart slammed into his throat, blocking speech. He clutched the phone like it was a venomous cobra baring its fangs.

Fully expecting next to hear low growls over the phone followed by the gut-wrenching screams of poor Roger, he prepared to flip the phone shut. Dabs had already dealt with enough. She didn't need to hear a man she knew as Mr. Rogers get ripped to shreds over the phone. What would make it worse is that Doug was no less than 400 yards away, yet he was powerless to do anything.

“No, no. It's fine—I'm fine. I just knocked a glass off the table.” Roger said. His voice sounded farther away than it had before. He was probably gathering up the pieces from the floor.

Doug relaxed his grip on the cell phone.

“You scared the hair off my chest, Rodge.”

“Is he okay, dad?” Dabney squeaked.

“Yes, babe. He's fine.” Doug's heart began to slow from a frantic gallop to a vigorous trot.

“Sorry, pal. How is Dabs holding together?”

Doug stroked the side of his daughter's face. “Like scotch tape on a fault-line. Go back to sleep, hon.” He said softly.

Her head nuzzled deeper into his chest. She mumbled something. Doug thought it might be 'miss mom'. He immediately thought of Molly's face just as it was before she went out the door. She'd had a small dab of Alfredo sauce on her lower lip. They had just gotten done with dinner when Molly remembered they had left the sprinklers running.

His eyes stung with fresh tears. The phone felt too heavy to hold. As if it were a cement block Doug held up to his ear rather than a few ounces of plastic, pins, and circuits. The darkness of the room seemed to be pressing down on him. He felt right then that he would give just about anything to have his wife back. Just about anything.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. “She's asleep again.” He said noncommittally.

There was a short beat of silence then Roger spoke first, his voice very small. “I'm very sorry about Molly, Doug. I can't even begin. It's just all so terrible. I keep thinking its just some elaborate nightmare I'm going to shake myself out of soon.”

His throat ached for something to drink and talking was becoming more a chore than anything, but it was good to have someone up the same creek with no paddle to talk to.

Before he could attempt again at words of consolation, Doug asked Roger if he had heard from his wife, Lydia yet.

“Yeah. I got off the phone with her a few minutes ago. Honestly I've been on the phone for the better part of the last two hours. Ryan from up the street said its the same on his end and he's hearing this shit is happening all up and down Puget Sound.”

Was it really that bad? What the hell was going on? Authorities couldn't be that overwhelmed, could they? For God sakes its the modern age. We can guide missiles through caves to hit a target the size of a nickel but we can't handle this? It was insane to think about. Doug found himself getting madder by the minute.

“Are you telling me we're stuck like this until morning?” He growled.

“No, I'm saying we may be stuck like this for longer. What I'm hearing...it's not good. It seems almost like they outnumber us.”

Doug stared into the dark, dumbfounded. “That's just not possible.”

“Not as impossible as you think. Guy on the radio earlier rattled off some statistics and they seem pretty solid. Or at least he made it sound real good.”

Doug tried to imagine it. “It doesn't make any sense. How could--”

The phone vibrated in his ear, making him jump. It was an incoming call from his boss, Reggie Coldwell.

“Hey, let me call you back in a minute. I'm getting another call.”

“Sure thing.”

Doug hit send.

“Reggie? Are you okay?” He asked.

“Doug, thank God. I'm going down the roster. Out of fifteen you're the only one besides Tracie Elks who I've been able to reach. I couldn't even get a hold of Cooly.”

Amber Cooly was the regional manager. She should have been on call and thus reachable. Just that fact alone made Doug think the situation was indeed as bad as Roger had said it was.

“God.” Doug said, thinking to himself briefly about the 140 plus roster. How many would pick up their phone?

“Have you been able to get through to 911?” Reggie asked, his voice rising slightly.

“Yeah, but they might as well have skipped the call.”

He had called immediately after Molly had been attacked. In a hoarse voice stripped raw from his earlier screams, with Dabney beating on his arms and chest, he barraged the operator with a torrent of obscenities and half-formed pleas. Dabney had kept screaming at him to go after her the whole time. To go after mommy. But there had been too many of them and she had already been injured. The operator had sounded beyond the point of dazed. She'd sounded downright numb. When he told her what had happened all she did was take down the address and said someone would be out as soon as they were able to.

No one had come.

“I figured as much.” Reggie replied sourly. “Listen, Doug, is there any way you can make it down here? We're locked up good. Got food and drink for at least a week. The loading dock door is a slider and if you drove up nice and tight...”

“There's no way.” Doug interrupted. “Dabs got hurt. Bad. I stopped the bleeding and rinsed it out real good, but I don't want to move her just yet. If things get worse before they get better I will consider it, but right now I don't want to bring her out there. There are a few of them around my house.”

Reggie sighed heavily.

“I understand. Well if you change your mind make sure you call and we will make our way down to the loading dock and have everything set for you two.”

Doug expected he wouldn't be making that phone call but regardless he was deeply touched by the offer. Embarrassed by his callousness, he quickly asked how everyone there was doing. He was sure they were safe inside. The warehouse could easily be a fortress if properly outfitted. The building was concrete with few windows and got surprisingly decent cell phone reception.

Reggie said there had been a few losses. He named a few of them slowly, paying each a few seconds of respect.

“And your girls? Tabitha? How are they?” Doug inclined, hoping against hope that Reggie had been lucky. It was terrible and Doug felt ashamed but, though he would feel legitimate sorrow at any losses incurred by Reggie, or for that matter anyone else, he would sooner not know just to save himself the minutes it would take to be the gentle ear against the mournful lips. He had his own mourning and his own torment. Just keeping sane for Dabney's sake was whittling him away.

To his, and of course Reggie's relief his two girls and his wife were with him. His wife had sustained a nasty bite to the thigh but other than that they were safe and sound.

He bid his boss a respective goodbye and hung up, the glow of the cell phone's LCD display screen the only light in the darkened house.

After a brief battle with Dabney about not leaving her alone, he managed to calm her back to sleep as he made his way in the dark to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door a crack to retrieve a soda from within, glancing over his shoulder at the kitchen window. He eyed it warily for a moment, even though the view outside offered only a moonlit view of their backyard. He popped the top as quietly as he could as he tip-toed back into the living room. He wondered briefly if he would feel safer in the morning with the sun warming the porch and the birds chirping in the nearby Alder trees. They would be able to see the threats better at least.

Then a dark thought clamored up from the cellar in his brain with a message; If you can see them, boss—they can see you.Shortly before they had both collapsed on the couch earlier, he had drawn the shades around the all the windows. Now he slipped two fingers into the blinds on the window facing the street.

Outside, all was still. Normally at midnight there would be lights on still in a number of homes—porch lights, hall lights left on for kids, kitchen fixture lights forgotten in the post-dinner rush—but tonight just about all of them were dark within, the most staggering exception being Ms. Barnes place. The living room light was on and he saw the front door was wide open. He tried to remember if she had an attic or crawlspace. The odds were favorable but she was pushing seventy and had back problems. He doubted she could have made it up in time to avoid a confrontation.

Directly across the street, Roger's porch light threw a dirty yellow patch on the lawn. Doug's eyes immediately focused on Roger's front stoop.

Two dogs; a golden retriever and what looked like a black lab, stood silent sentry there. The retriever looked like it had been rolling around in a garbage dump for hours. It's coat was tangled and twisted with filthy knots.

He didn't recognize the retriever but he knew the black lab. It was Marcus Petrie's.

He didn't talk much with Marcus but he had seen him walking that dog from time to time.

Doug spread his fingers wider and the crack accommodated another house; Dennis Craw's, but he wouldn't chance a further crack in the blinds so he could not be sure if Marcus's door was open as well. Dennis's door was shut tight though and the lights were out, except in the second floor's third window. A soft blue light emanated from within. A TV, maybe. That was good.

He could safely assume Marcus, however, had a doggie door and further could assume the dog slept in doors with him.

Doug's mind threw up a picture of a scoreboard. Three down, at least—if Marcus's wife was home with him, which she almost certainly was. Or had been.

It was a terrible image and Doug threw it away immediately.

He wished then that he could throw all his thoughts away entirely. That these last few hours they had endured could be forgotten.

How could things have gotten so out of control? Were we in any sort of control? These were frustrating questions with no known answers.

Doug was about to let the blinds drop when a shape came into the glow of the streetlamp on the opposite side of the street.

“Oh shit.”

The girl was Adam Combry's daughter, he knew. He recognized her at once. She walked slowly, looking around as if searching for something. He couldn't hear her voice but her lips were moving.

She looked like she was crying.

“Dammit, Ava. What the fuck are you doing​” He had to call Roger. He was closer.

Doug fumbled his way towards the table. The dark was disorienting and he ended up on the opposite side of the couch at first. He reached over the couch, nearly laying on top of Dabney as he felt around, finally seizing it. He flipped it open and used the ambient light of the screen to guide him back to the window.

Once there he dialed Roger's number. Roger picked up on the first ring.

“Roger? Ava is outside. The stupid kid is outside!” He pleaded.

“I know. I see her. Couldn't sleep.”

“What is she doing? Is she crazy?” Doug asked rhetorically as he peered through the blinds. He scanned the area quickly. The only dogs around were the two statues guarding Roger's front door.

Ava was five houses down from there. How could those damn things not hear her? Now that she was closer he could make out sounds. She was calling out to someone. He thought he heard the word, boomer, but couldn't be sure.

She was holding something in her hand, but Doug couldn't make it out.

“Roger, wait, how can you see her? She's five houses away on your side of the street.”

There was a short pause. “Well, that's the thing. I'm not in the house right now.”

“What? Where the fuck are you?” He nearly shouted.

“I snuck out through the back door. No issues. I'm in the Suburban right now.”

Doug smiled. Ballsy old bastard, that's for damn sure.

“Okay, daredevil. So what the hell do we do about Ava? I don't see any more dogs around here other than the ones on your porch. How about you?”

“Yeah. I can see three right now across the street on your neighbors lawn.”

Doug felt a chill go through him. So close. There were three of those animals so close to his home. At first tip-toeing through the house in pitch blackness had felt a bit too extreme, but now he realized those measures had probably saved both he and his daughter's lives.

“What? How long have they been there?” He asked.

“Since she came out of her house. I only noticed her by accident. If I hadn't looked up I wouldn't have. The dogs came from around the back of the house.”

“Shit.”

“Doug, I think they're watching her. They haven't made any move to attack, yet.”

“Yet, yeah. But they will.”

“I don't know. Maybe it's over. Oh, shit, please let it be over.” Doug heard the unmistakeable jingle of keys. “I'm gonna start the engine and see if I can grab her.”

Doug was just about to protest when the attack came.

Three shadows raced into his sight from the right. At first they were so silent, so fluid; they almost seemed to float across the lawn.

“Shit. Fuck!” Roger hissed into the phone.

The shadows met the soft circle of light in the middle of the street.

One dog was slightly ahead of the other two. A sleek, muscle-driven Rottweiler. The other two were inches behind. A squat, cream-white pit bull who’s name Doug knew was Keeper and a smaller dog. It looked to him like a rat terrier. The smaller one kept remarkable pace with the Pit bull as the trio charged silently towards Ava.

As they raced into the light, Ava noticed the dogs. Her jaw dropped almost comically. She either didn't have time to scream or the sight of the three rabid dogs bearing down on her had stopped it.

The last portrait Doug got of Ava was of her hands doing frantic circles in front of her. He heard one shrill squeak as she backed one or two steps onto the Hershmann's front lawn. As the leading Rottweiler flexed its powerful rear leg muscles to pounce, she threw up her arms, shielding her face but exposing her torso.

The wily bastard ignored a killing strike. Instead it raised up on its hind legs and lunged at her ribs. Ava howled but Doug only heard the pg-13 version of the terrible sound through the window panes.

As Ava beat her small fists on the Rot's neck the pit bull found the poor girl's exposed calf and began to tug and twist.

Again Doug heard her scream but it was cut short as the Rot, with forepaws firmly dug into her shoulders, launched its muzzle at her face and latch onto her cheek.

She stopped screaming.

Even from his distance he saw her pleading, bulging eyes as the sharp incisors hooked into her teeth and gums like a hook through the mouth of a fish.

Her hands fluttered on the dog's ribcage as she was brought down to the soft, wet grass. Her shirt had lifted up to her upper torso in the attack and the terrier began furiously scratching at it with its forepaws while the pit bull gnawed relentlessly of what was left of her thigh.

As the two dogs worked lower, the Rottweiler took a dominate spot next to her head and launched its long snout at her neck. Doug looked on as the girls struggles got weaker and weaker.

After what seemed like hours she had somehow managed to get to a sitting position for a few seconds, her face ragged and ripped. Doug could see clumps of hair missing from her head, along with part of her right ear and what looked like a good portion of her upper lip, making her almost appear to be smiling.

Then the pit bull raised up on hind legs, placed his forepaws on either side of her head and brought her back down to the pavement.

Doug looked away as the dog's muzzle worked furiously.

For some time the silence of the house buzzed in Doug's ear. His thoughts were frenzied, useless.

Then a small voice spoke to him from floor level.

He had dropped the cell phone at some point during his viewing of the mauling.

“---she felt anything after the first few punctures. Shock can be a miraculous thing.” He heard Roger finish as he lifted the cell to his ear.

Doug said nothing at first. Then through a thick throat he worked out, “We've got to get out of here. Now.”

He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Beads of sweat massed on his forehead, yet he felt chilled to the bone.

He looked at the Suburban directly across the street. He tried to see if he could make out any portion of Roger's frame or head.

He could not.

“Can you see if there are any more around my car?” Doug asked.

A pause.

“Hell, kid, it's hard to tell. Front lawn looks clear, but can't see anything around the side yard.”

If they didn't move now, the dogs would find them. If what Roger thought was true and common sense told him it had to be, those dogs could sniff them out. And when a pane of glass went up against a motivated animal, the laws of physics looked down darkly.

He started to see a way out. It would not be the most graceful escape ever attempted but if they pulled it off...

“Okay. Here's what I'm thinking.”