Mulengro, page 32
I am coming, prala, he told the night behind his windshield, the darkness beyond the light thrown by his headbeams. I am coming.
Janfri started up the hill a second time, plainly worried now. Zach had been gone too long. But when he reached its crest and looked down the track, there was still no one coming. He had half-decided to go looking for their host, when he realized that he should at least leave word with the others as to where he was going. He could tell the cat. He shook his head at the mystery, no, the sheer absurdity, of a talking cat, and was turning away, when he paused. He’d caught movement out of the corner of his eye again. A low shape, fox or dog, moving further down the track, out of sight now. He thought of mule. Back in the cottage there was a talking cat and a bowl of water that could show images of things happening miles away. And he had seen for himself, grappled with, the ghost of a dead man. Draba. The night was alive with magic.
He thought he heard something moving in the brush to his left, but when he turned his head, the sound stopped and he could see nothing. He backed slowly down the hill. There was more movement, on either side. Something stalked him. He caught a quick glimpse of a low canine shape, heard a growl. Dogs? Did Mulengro have dogs to hunt them with as well? His hands opened and closed at his sides. He had nothing. No weapon. Only the baXt spices in his pockets, but he doubted that they would be effective against anything living. There was also his mulengi dori, but even if it could help him he didn’t think there was much wisdom in calling up another mulo.
The furtive sounds drew nearer. From the corners of his eyes he could see lean shapes sidling closer, but when he turned, all motion stopped in the direction he looked and the dogs melted into the darkness. Then the sounds would begin again, from behind him. He spun in a circle, glaring at the shadowed forest that surrounded Zach’s lot. For a long moment silence hung heavy in the air. He turned again and bolted for the cottage. The silence was swallowed by a chorus of snarls.
It was a dog, Zach realized as he backed away. And it was pissed off. Thing to do was show it he wasn’t afraid. Send out the good vibes. Right. Sure. And meanwhile he was shaking in his boots. He let the beam of his flashlight move towards the animal again, then gagged when he saw what the dog was standing over. Gord Webster lay on the ground with his throat torn open. “Oh, Jesus,” Zach mumbled.
It was rabid. It had to be rabid. The dog began to move forward on stiff legs, still growling. Zach’s gaze darted left and right, but there was nowhere to run to. The flashlight trembled in his hand as he continued to slowly back away.
They were all over her, a pack of wild dogs with the smell of the marsh in their fur, rank and stinking. They held her motionless with their weight, claws digging into her skin, feral eyes grinning at her helplessness. Whenever she tried to fight their weight, jaws would snap inches from her face. They were playing with her. Her throat was too constricted to scream, her body trapped. Saliva dripped hot on her skin. The pack leader lunged at her, at her neck. She tried to twist her head, but couldn’t, and the jaws—
Ola awoke, drenched in sweat. She lay silent, testing the air with adrenaline-charged senses. Just a dream, she told herself. That was all it had been. But then she heard the growling outside.
She slipped out of bed, the long flannel shirt that she wore as a nightgown sticking unpleasantly to her skin. That sound. ...She glanced at the other bed, but Jackie was sleeping. Out into the hall. There was still a light on by the kitchen table. But when she got there she saw only Boboko sitting up, ears cocked. Her gaze swept the living room to find Jeff sprawled on the couch, asleep. Where were Zach and Janfri?
“That sound . . . .?”
This time she spoke the words aloud. She hurried barefoot across the kitchen to the door. Boboko followed, fur bristling. As the growls broke into a chorus of snarling, she jerked the door open.
Zach flung the flashlight at the dog as it lunged for him and ran for the nearest tree. The makeshift weapon struck the animal a glancing blow, breaking the impetus of its attack. It stumbled and fell, recovered quickly. Zach ran, but he knew he wasn’t going to make the tree. He turned to face the dog, aimed a kick at it. It dodged the blow, came in from another side.
“Leave me alone!” Zach cried.
He was utterly panic-stricken. Instinct alone lifted his arm as the dog went for his throat. The jaws closed on his arm. The weight of the animal knocked him down with the dog on top. It loosed its grip on his arm and snapped at his face. He grabbed its throat with both hands and held it at bay. The forepaws scrabbled for purchase, tearing at his buckskin jacket. He thought he heard a car on the road leading in to the cottages. That’d be Janfri’s friend, some part of his mind below the panic reasoned. But Yojo was going to come too late because his arms were already getting weaker and the dog renewed its attack with a frenzy. The wet fur began to slip in his grip.
The time for pretense was past. Lean feral shapes exploded from the forest to cut Janfri off from the cottage. One on his left, two on the right, with at least one more closing in from behind. He wasn’t going to make it. He shot a glance at Jackie’s Honda, but he was too far from it to reach the weapons that they’d hidden in it. His only hope was to try to barrel through the ones that were between him and the cottage. Twenty paces. God in heaven, surely he could cover that distance before they had him?
A dog hit him in the center of the back and he went sprawling. He rolled, half rose, smashed a fist against the jaw of the first dog as it attacked him, teeth snapping inches from his own face, then threw himself toward Zach’s rock garden. His scrabbling hands closed around a stone, but before he could use it, two more of the dogs were on him and the stone was knocked from his hand. He flailed at the animals, trying to protect his face and throat. Jaws closed on one arm, the weight of the animal pulling the protection away from him. As another shot forward, he lowered his head abruptly, skull meeting skull with a jar that stunned him. Then the door to the cottage burst open.
The Lincoln’s headlights caught the struggling pair in the driveway and Yojo slammed on the brakes. Without even thinking of what he was doing, the big Gypsy leapt from the car and ran for them. Before either Zach or the dog were aware of his presence, Yojo grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and flung it bodily across the lawn. The dog landed in a tumble, bewildered and yelped with confusion. It scrambled to its feet, shaking its head. The feral eyes sought its new attacker, locked its gaze on the big man.
For a long moment they stared each other down, the rain misting about them, then the dog began to circle the man. Zach sat up, shaking like a leaf. His gaze went from the dog to his rescuer. The big Gypsy flicked open a pocket knife with a six-inch blade and grinned mirthlessly as he waited for the dog’s attack.
Ola’s nightsight allowed her to grasp the situation in an instant. She focused her will and stepped aside as her backpack came whirring from out of the cottage. It struck the two dogs on top of Janfri and sent them sprawling, strewing her belongings across the wet lawn with the impact. A pair of jeans arose and wrapped themselves about another dog’s head, blinding it as it pulled the dog away from the Gypsy. Janfri began to crawl towards Ola as a barrage of shirts, underwear and a long pleated skirt clouded the air, confusing the animals.
“We need a gun!” she cried to Janfri as he stumbled to his feet.
He nodded, eyes wide as he stared at the animated clothing. Draba. Madness. He hobbled to the Honda. As he made his way, the dogs tore at the clothing, shredding it. One broke free and lunged after Janfri, but the canvas backpack slapped it away. Another struggled out of the constricting folds of Ola’s skirt. Boboko hissed, throwing himself upon its back, claws digging in. The dog howled and rolled, dislodging the cat. Before its jaws could close on him, the backpack came whistling through the air, striking the dog with enough force to knock it off its feet.
“Janfri!” Ola cried, willing him to hurry.
The dogs were breaking free and she couldn’t hold them. He was taking too long.
Zach watched numbly as the dog charged them. He couldn’t believe that his companion was going to try to stop it with only a knife. The dog was a mangy breed—half Collie, half German shepherd. Lean and wasted looking, but strong. Zach had already discovered how strong and fast it was. He threw himself to one side as the animal attacked, but Yojo stepped forward to meet it.
The big man moved deceptively swiftly for his size. One hand shot out and caught the dog by the scruff of its neck, the other drew the blade of his knife across its jugular. Blood sprayed from the severed arteries and the body flopped in the Gypsy’s grip, the knife gash widening into a huge bloody grin. Yojo dropped the animal to the wet ground where it twitched as the last of its life bled from it. When he turned to Zach, the luthier backed away, shaking his head, stunned at the night’s events. His glasses hung from his ear and fell as he moved. He plucked them up with trembling fingers, wiped the rain from his face. At that moment, the big man with his bloody knife looked like he was ready to finish him off next.
“Who are you?” the Gypsy demanded.
Janfri cursed his leg as he half hobbled, half dragged the limb across the lawn to the car. It had twisted under him when he fell. Nothing was broken so far as he could tell—he wouldn’t be using it at all if it was broken, now would he?—but it wouldn’t bear his weight. When he reached the car he almost fell against it, using it for support as he fumbled at the open door, trying to get the seat up so that he could climb into the back and get to the weapons.
He bumped his leg as he squeezed into the back. Closing his mind to the pain, his fingers found the rifle behind the seat and dragged it out. It seemed to take forever before he was leaning weakly against the outside of the car once more. He lifted the rifle and aimed, finger tightening on the trigger. The backlash just about took off his shoulder and the boom of the big rifle deafened him for a moment. The shot was a clean miss, but it froze the dogs. He worked the bolt on the rifle and another cartridge clicked into place.
Zach held a hand up defensively. “I ...my name’s Dr. Rainbow— Zach. I called you, remember?”
Yojo regarded him steadily, then toed the corpse of the dog. Zach watched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to swallow. His throat was dry and raw. When the Gypsy spoke again, he started.
“How did you know my name?” Yojo demanded. “How did you know where I was?”
“Don’t...don’t get crazy or nothing,” Zach began. “Janfri—”
The sound of a gunshot boomed in the night air.
“Oh, shit,” Zach said. “That came from my place.”
Yojo stepped close. “Where is Janfri?”
Zach lifted a hand that was still shaking and pointed in the direction that the gunshot had come from.
As Janfri lifted the rifle to his shoulder once more, the dogs withdrew. One minute they were in full attack, now the lawn was empty except for the contents of Ola’s backpack that were strewn wetly across it. Gaze raking the forest, Janfri hobbled back to the door of the cottage. He saw Boboko rising from where he’d fallen, fur still bristling, tail puffed out to twice its normal size. Ola leaned weakly against the door frame. The woods were silent. Still favoring his leg, Janfri made his way to the door. Jeff and Jackie appeared in the doorway, Jeff carrying a wrought-iron poker.
“What...what’s going on?” he asked in a low voice.
“Jeff,” Janfri said. “Would you get a box of salt and that string of garlic that’s hanging up in the kitchen?”
Jeff stood staring at Ola’s belongings scattered across the yard. He’d arrived too late to actually see the dogs, but he’d heard them snarling and growling.
“Jeff?”
He turned to Janfri. “What? Oh, yeah. Sure.” He passed the poker to Jackie who accepted it gingerly.
“What happened?” Jackie asked. She didn’t think the night was ever going to end. It was just getting weirder and weirder
“It was dogs,” Ola said. She looked around, counting heads as Jeff returned. “Where’s Zach?” she asked.
“He hasn’t come back yet,” Janfri replied. He took the garlic and salt from Jeff and added it to the small amount he still had in his pockets. “That’s why I was outside—I was looking to see if I could find him.”
Ola rubbed her forehead with a weary hand. She was beginning to feel a chill, standing out here in her damp nightshirt. The day would probably be warm again, unless the drizzle kept up, but right now she was cold, and not just from the temperature.
“We have to go look for him,” she said. She couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to Zach. When Janfri nodded in agreement, she seemed to register what he was putting into his pockets for the first time. “Those won’t do anything against the dogs,” she said.
“I know. I just thought...he must have sent them. And if he’s near . . .”
Ola understood what he meant. She didn’t want to voice Mulengro’s name either, in case the mere speaking of it would call him to them. Jeff had gone to the car and was returning with the rest of the guns, his mouth set in an expression of distaste.
“Look,” Jackie said suddenly, pointing to the top of the hill where the driveway vanished. Fog was wreathing there, low to the ground. The lean shapes of the feral dogs moved in amongst it.
“Come, then,” Yojo said. He caught Zach by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Leaving Zach to totter uncertainly, the Gypsy knelt, cleaned his knife on the wet grass and put it away. When he rose; he steered Zach towards the car. “Show me the way,” he said.
“There’s a man... a dead man back there….”
Yojo glanced over his shoulder in the direction that Zach had indicated. “We must see to the living first, before we bury the dead.”
“But... “
Zach stopped protesting as they reached the car. He got numbly into the passenger’s side. He felt the car shift on its springs under the weight of the Gypsy. Then they were in motion and he closed his eyes, fighting down the nausea that roiled inside him. All he could see was that one brief glimpse he’d had of Gord’s body, the torn flesh and the wild-eyed dog standing over it.
The fog thickened and moved unnaturally, tendrils moving to either side of the road like the weaving arms of an octopus. The dogs stalked back and forth, filling the air with deep-chested growls. Below by the cottage, Ola and the others watched with growing horror. The fog took manlike shapes and Ola recognized the mule for what they were. When Mulengro finally appeared, standing at the top of the hill and looking down at them, Ola’s fear tightened like a hand squeezing her heart.
They had no defense against this creature. Salt or other baXt spices would not repel him as they did his mule. Even in the dark and with the distance between them, she could see the mocking look in his pale eyes, the smile that touched his lips. The potency of his power brushed against her mind, chilling her.
“Oh, Jesus,” Jeff murmured. He drew close to Jackie, the weaponry in his arms just so much useless metal. Janfri came over to him, moving slowly to favor his leg. He took the pistols and thrust them into his belt, the rifle in his hands once more as he turned. He left the shotgun for Jeff.
“You can’t kill him with that,” Ola said. She knew.Her dook let her feel the strength of Mulengro’s draba. It rose from him like a wind and staggered her.
“He’s a man,” Janfri said, bringing the rifle to his shoulder. “And a man can die.”
“He’s a drabarno,” she said. “Only draba, or fire, or the mule he controls can kill him.”
Janfri didn’t reply. He aimed carefully, braced himself for the recoil, and squeezed the trigger. The backlash of the shot stung his shoulder and almost turned him around. But his gaze remained on the man in black. He saw a mulo move between Mulengro and the bullet. The crack of the rifle was deafening, but Mulengro didn’t fall.
“I had him in my sights!” Janfri cried. “I shot him!”
“The mulo swallowed your bullet,” Ola said dully.
And now they were moving down the hill. Not Mulengro, nor the dogs, but the mule, creeping down the slope, a slow and deadly flow of fog that took, here the shape of an arm, there a head, were lost again in the roil of the smokelike cloud as it flowed down, were visible again. Janfri fired once more, but on the crest of the hill, a mulo swallowed his second bullet. He threw down the rifle, dug the salt and garlic from his pocket, and went hobbling forward to meet the mule.
He heard the sound of a car, but did not turn his attention from the mule. He held the box ready, prepared to strew them with the salt. The garlic was upraised in his other hand. Only Ola’s gaze didn’t follow him, nor the approach of the mule. So she was the only one to see Mulengro turn when he was suddenly outlined in the headbeams of the approaching car.
“Who’s that?” Zach cried.
The Lincoln’s headlights caught a figure as they turned the last corner before the straight stretch that led to his cottage. Zach had filled Yojo in as much as he could on the short drive from Webster’s cottage. Beside him the big Gypsy stiffened. “Mulengro,” he said softly.
He stomped on the gas pedal and the rear wheels of the Lincoln tore at the rough road and sod, seeking purchase on the wet ground. Zach shivered as they went barreling down the drive. It was almost dawn. He’d been praying that it was over for the night. That the gunshot had been a false alarm. That he could just collapse on his bed when he got home and let everyone else handle this weird stuff, because he was too tired and too scared for any of it. Instead he was going to die. Because the Gypsy didn’t know what lay on the other side of the man in black, the man whose eyes caught the headbeams’ lights and reflected them back like a cat’s might when he turned.
