Mulengro, page 36
“Jesus, no!” Rod roared.
He moved like he’d never moved before, angling across the lawn in a desperate attempt to make it to the dog before it reached his daughter. He heard his wife’s mindless wail of terror, the rasping snarl of the dog, the wheeze in his own chest. Please, God, he prayed. But there wasn’t going to be time. He wasn’t going to make it. The dog launched itself at Lucy, but the wet ground slid under its paws and it went sprawling. Before it could rise, Rod was on it, hammering at it with his fists. He could hear himself shouting over and over, “Kill you, fucker kill you. . . .” as he pounded away, but it was like he was listening to someone else.
The dog turned with a stomach-wrenching snarl, its jaws snapping in his face. He tried to get a grip on the wet fur to keep the teeth from his neck, but he couldn’t get a hold. He saw Beth snatch Lucy up and back slowly towards the cottage, then the jaws were at his throat and he knew only a hot fire of pain that dissolved into black.
Zach stood in the misting rain, watching the lake, trying not to think about the gunshot he’d heard from the direction that Janfri had taken. His body was tight with tension. There were bad vibes everywhere, lying thick and uncomfortable in the wet air. He’d thought maybe the drizzle would clear his head. Instead he was just getting wet.
He could hear Yojo inside the cottage, explaining the gunshot to Jeff and Jackie, thought of going back inside, but he wasn’t interested in being around strangers just now. Ola was okay, but the others...he didn’t have anything against them. But it seemed like the trouble hadn’t started until they’d shown up.
He was still trying to make up his mind as to what he was going to do when he heard a woman’s scream. He glanced quickly to the woods where Janfri had disappeared. That cry had come from the Taylors’ place. He thought of Beth Taylor and little Lucy, of the dog that had killed Gord, then took off towards their cottage, looking for something he could use as a weapon as he ran.
He heard Yojo call to him from his own place. Ignoring the Gypsy, he plunged into the forest.
The dog snapped at Bob’s ankles. He tried to dodge its jaws, slipped on the wet ground and went sprawling. The dog lunged at him as he lifted his arm to protect his throat, teeth closing on his forearm. Sucker wasn’t all that big, he thought just before the pain went through him. He hit the dog between the eyes with a meaty fist, half stunning it. The grip loosened on his arm and he hit the dog again. Before it could rise, he was on his feet. He jumped on the animal, landing on its chest. His weight was enough to do the job. The dog’s ribcage collapsed with a satisfying crunch under his boots. Breathing heavily through his mouth, Bob stared at the animal.
“Teach you, you fucker,” he muttered and kicked the dog in the head. “I’ll teach you. Mess with a Gourlay and this is what you get.”
He continued to kick the animal until the life died in its eyes. Then nursing his arm against his chest, he stumbled off through the forest. The whole fucking world’d gone apeshit ...ever since Stan died. Jeff Owen’s little black whore had one fuck of a lot to answer for, yessir.
“Baby, baby, baby,” Beth crooned, holding Lucy tightly.
She backed up slowly, stunned gaze riveted on the monster that had killed her husband. Her mind was locked in a circle of shock, playing and replaying the last moment of his life in an endless loop. Not until the dog lifted its bloody jaws from her husband’s corpse, did she stumble the last few steps onto the porch and into the house, dragging Lucy in with her. A second dog swaggered out of the woods and the two animals regarded the house. Moaning, Beth fumbled with the door, shut it. Her fingers were like stiff fat dowels and wouldn’t seem to work as she tried to work the bolt on the door.
“Da-daddy. . . .“ Lucy mumbled in a tiny voice, trying to push
her mother from the door. “We have . . . to get. . . daddy. . . .”
Tears streamed down Beth’s cheeks as she finally shot the bolt home. When the first thump resounded against the door, she slid slowly to the floor and held Lucy in a suffocating grip.
“The Gajo Zach ran off,” Yojo told Janfri as he was helping Ola into the cottage. Yojo stared at Ola’s blood-covered clothing. Behind him, Jeff and Jackie hovered uncertainly, not sure what to do.
“It’s the dog’s blood,” Janfri said. “Not hers.”
Ola freed herself from his arm. “Where did Zach go?” she asked.
Yojo shrugged and pointed east.
“I have to go after him.”
“No, drabarni,” Yojo said. “I will go for you.”
Jeff looked at his watch. “Ah ...look,” he began. “It’s going on eleven-thirty. Didn’t you say something about these ...ah... ghosts . . .”
Yojo nodded grimly. “Yet the man gave us hospitality when we needed it. Would you leave him to the mule and Mulengro’s dogs?” He picked up the rifle that they’d taken from the OPP cruiser as he spoke.
Jeff shook his head. “No. I just thought ...we had to make plans or something.”
“Then this is the plan,” Yojo said. “I will go after Zach while you remain here and prepare for Mulengro’s attack, uva?”
There was a long moment of silence, then Jackie moved to Ola’s side. “C’mon,” she said. “I’ll bet you could use a change of clothes.”
Ola nodded. The shock was wearing off. She set Boboko down on the table and followed the dark-haired girl to the guest room they were sharing.
“Take one of the pistols with you,” Janfri told Yojo.
The big Gypsy shook his head. “This will be enough,” he said, patting the rifle. “For the dogs at least.” His glance moved between Janfri and the Gajo. He hoped Jeff would hold up. He didn’t know Gaje the way his brother did. He could never understand them. His gaze moved to the cat who was watching him through slitted eyes.
“Arakav tut,” Boboko said softly. Watch out for yourself.
Yojo started, still not used to an animal that could speak like a man—like a Romany man yet. Then he nodded. “I will,” he said. His bulk was in the doorway, briefly outlined as he searched the lawn for more of the pack, then he was gone.
The only thing Briggs could think of as he heard something come crashing through the brush towards them was bears. Great big bears hungry for man-meat. He stopped, glanced at Will who’d already drawn his revolver, then looked around for a tree big enough to climb. Not that he was even sure he could climb a tree fast enough, considering the shape he was in. He brought his own gun out from under his slicker.
Without needing to speak, the two men moved apart so as not to provide a single target for whatever was coming their way. Briggs raised his gun, finger taking up the slack on the trigger. When the man came stumbling into sight, he almost fired. Then his training took over. He put his piece away and approached the man while Will kept him covered.
Christ, he thought as he moved closer. This guy’s been through the mill. Blood all over his arm and the front of his shirt, hair matted and slicked against his head, face streaked with mud. Looking at the man’s arm, he had a sudden flash of standing in an Ottawa alleyway, looking down at a man whose forearm was torn up from trying to keep something from ripping out his throat. ...Briggs’ ghosts moved restlessly inside him.
The man stopped suddenly as he caught sight of them. His eyes filled with wariness and he looked like he was going to bolt.
“Okay,” Briggs said soothingly. “Take it easy. No one’s going to hurt you. We’re police officers. . . .”
“Dogs,” Bob Gourlay said, holding out his bleeding arm. “A dog got me. Fuck, it hurts.” The wariness never left his eyes. He was playing for time. He didn’t know what these cops were doin’ here— couldn’t even recognize ‘em, for Christ’s sake, and he thought he knew all those boys—but he wasn’t about to mess around with them. Not when one of them was holdin’ a gun, and there was a madman back in the woods siccing dogs on him. If these guys were lookin’ for him...well, right now a jail cell looked like a slice of heaven, yessir.
“It’s okay,” Briggs repeated. “Let’s have a look at that arm.”
Mulengro stood amongst the pines looking down at Zach’s cottage. He watched the big Gypsy move slowly into the forest towards the other cottages where his dogs were hunting. By his side two more of the lean rangy animals whined, watching Yojo disappear amongst the trees. Mulengro smiled. Noon was fast approaching. In a short while his mule would be with him and he would finish them all, Rom and Gaje alike. Until then, he could be patient.
His original pack had been joined by other dogs—easily summoned now. The first pack leader was dead—slain by the big Gypsy—and Mulengro had taken the place of that leader in the animals’ dim minds. Once he learned the resonance that bound the dogs to him, it was child’s play to summon more. His pack numbered a dozen now. They were mostly other feral beasts, but one or two were domesticated animals that had gone wild when he called them. They were better fed and stronger than his original pack, better suited to his purposes for all that burrs and the mud and rain in the forest had lent their coats the same bedraggled appearance as the feral ones.
The pair at his side were still uneasy, eager to hunt with their brothers, confused as to why they were forced to remain with this strange pack leader that walked on two legs, smelled like a two-legs, but bound them to him all the same. Mulengro kept his control firm. He meant to cleanse this entire area of Rom and Gaje, but the need to do God’s work had not clouded his own sensibilities. Without his mule, he was not as protected. There were limits to his draba—as any Romany magic-worker knew. These two must protect his person . . . until noon. After the half hour following the noon, there would be nothing in the immediate vicinity for him to be protected from. He would rest then, in the deep woods, rest and wait for night to come. And then . . .
Mulengro smiled. He was not unaware of Pivli Gozzle and the gathering of the Rom. For interfering with him, with God’s work, they were all marhime. He would cleanse them all. And one day the Rom that survived would bless him for what he had done.
Zach leaned weakly against the tree, staring down at Gord’s corpse. His stomach roiled with sour acid. The axe he’d picked up at Gord’s cottage trembled in his hand. He didn’t think he could go on. It wasn’t that he was scared—though he was so scared that he wasn’t sure his legs would hold him for even one more step. It was just that everything seemed finished now. The purity of the lake was gone and it wasn’t going to come back. The bad vibes were just too strong. Wild dogs. Ghosts. And the dead. . . .
He heard the snarls that came from the direction of the Taylors’ cottage then and knew there was one other thing left. There was still the living.
He held the axe handle so tightly that his knuckles went white. Pushing away from the tree, he headed for the Taylors’ cottage, his wet pony tail slapping his back as he ran, face slick with tears and rain. The first thing he saw as he came out onto their lawn was Rod’s corpse. There were two or three dogs worrying at it, muzzles red when they lifted them from their grisly feast. Beyond them were more, scrabbling at the door to the cottage. For one long moment Zach froze, then anger went through him like a flare of white searing heat.
He charged the dogs around Rod’s corpse, axe swinging. They came at him from two sides, snarling. The axe connected with the foremost of the two coming in at him from the right, almost taking the animal’s head off. Blood sprayed and he lost his balance from the force of the blow. Then the lone dog that came in from the left struck his back and he went sprawling on the wet grass.
Yojo stepped out of the woods at the same time as Zach killed the first dog with his axe. The Gypsy brought the rifle to his shoulder and fired, killing the animal that had knocked the luthier to the ground. The third dog veered from Zach and charged Yojo, but Yojo already had another round ready for it. His second shot stopped the dog in its tracks, bowling it over. He worked the action once more and stepped in close. The dog twitched, then lay still. Yojo brought the muzzle of his gun up to fire at the two animals by the cottage door but they were already bolting for the woods and offered a poor target. Lowering the rifle, he hurried to Zach’s side.
“Th-that’s...two I...owe you,” Zach mumbled. Yojo shrugged and helped him to his feet.
“We must get back to the others,” the Gypsy said. “The noon draws too close.”
“There’s... “ Zach’s gaze found Rod’s corpse. He looked quickly away. “There are people in the cottage. We’ve got to take ‘em back with us, man.”
Yojo nodded. “Fetch them. But hurry. We will take their mobile—their car. And, Zach,” he added. “Look for salt and other baXt spices. We will need them before the day is done.”
Zach swallowed. “Yeah. Gotcha.” He wiped the rain from his face, checked his breast pocket to make sure that his glasses were still there and in one piece, and started for the cottage. Yojo made a quick study of the yard, then went to the Taylors’ car.
“Did you see anyone back in there?” Briggs asked as he took a look at Bob’s arm. “Anybody at all?”
Bob thought about the man in black but before he could speak, all three of them heard the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the woods.
“What the hell was that?” Briggs asked.
“Rifle,” Will replied.
Bob nodded. It sure wasn’t the shotgun he’d heard earlier. He saw the look that passed between the two detectives.
“Look,” he said. “If you guys want to check that out, I don’t mind taggin’ along.”
“But your arm...?”
“If you’ve got something to wrap around it, I’ll be okay.”
Briggs glanced at Will, who nodded. “Okay,” Briggs said. He opened his slicker and tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt. “But you stay out of our way, you hear?”
“The last thing I want is trouble,” Bob said as he held out his arm. “Yessir.” He grimaced as Briggs wrapped the make-shift bandage around his wound. The pain from it was nothing like the pounding in his temples.
“That’s it,” Briggs said as he tied it off. “Let’s go.”
“I can see them,” Boboko said from the windowsill where he was perched. “Three, maybe four of them, just at the edge of the trees.”
Janfri and Jeff stepped over to the window, the Gypsy holding one of the .38’s they’d taken from the OPP patrolmen.
“They’re probably all around the cottage,” Jeff said.
“They’re waiting,” Janfri added in a soft voice. “Waiting for Mulengro’s mule and noon.”
Jeff shivered and turned from the window, but the Gypsy and Boboko remained where they were, watching.
The dogs heard the three men coming through the woods before the man in black did and whined eagerly.
“Not yet, not yet,” Mulengro said. He drifted back amongst the trees when he spotted them, moving as silently as one of his mule, until he was out of the man’s view. The dogs followed him, bound to his will. “But soon,” the scarred Gypsy told them.
The dirt track took Briggs and Will by surprise.
“I thought it was all bush around here,” Briggs said.
Bob had been expecting it. “There’s a little lake just down here a ways,” he told them. “Got a handful of cottages on it.”
“Maybe we can find someone with a first aid kit,” Briggs said as he led the way down the track. “Then we can get that arm of yours properly looked after.”
Bob shrugged. “Don’t know if I want to go callin’ on someone who’s shootin’ off a gun as big as the one we just heard.” It took all his self-control to keep his voice casual around the cops. His head hurt like it was on fire and he could feel something building up in the air like an electric charge. His vision was blurring, more from the pain in his temples than from the light rain, and he had the weirdest sensation that Stan was going to step out of the woods at just any minute, a wet “say-hey” coming from his mangled lips. Jesus, he thought. It’s startin’ again. The crazy shit. . . .
They’d reached the top of the hill where the track led down to Zach’s cottage.
“Nice looking place,” Will said.
Briggs grinned. “Hippie heaven,” he said, then froze. His ghosts were moving through his mind again, setting the hairs at the nape of his neck on end.
“What’s the matt—” Will began, then he saw them too. A couple of lean dog shapes had been at the end of the forest to the right of the cottage and melted quickly back into the undergrowth. Both detectives drew their revolvers.
“Let’s get down there,” Briggs said stiffly. He started down the incline and called out as they neared the cottage. “Halooo, the house! Don’t shoot! We’re police and we’re here to help you!”
It was no wonder, he thought, that they’d heard some gunfire. Archambault and his men were in the wrong neck of the woods looking for those dogs.
Zach sat in the front seat beside Yojo, dividing his attention between the muddy road and their two passengers in the back. Beth Taylor hadn’t said a word since he’d kicked in the door and led her and Lucy to the car. Her eyes had a glazed look to them. Zach knew they were both suffering from shock, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d covered them with a blanket because he’d heard that you were supposed to keep shock victims warm, but it didn’t seem to have done much good. They were just huddled together on the back seat, white-faced and spooky-looking. If he could just do something.
“The drabarni will help them,” Yojo said, not taking his gaze from the road. The track was narrow and the driving was treacherous on its mud-slicked surface.
Zach nodded. He hoped Ola could help him as well. He was feeling pretty numb, too.
The drive today was a far cry from the wild trip last night, but somehow, Zach felt more nervous now than he had then. He glanced at the clock set in the dashboard. Eleven fifty-nine. Oh, Jesus. As if the dogs hadn’t been bad enough.
