A Matter of Days (8 page)

“What is that?” Rab sat farther forward.

“I don’t know.” Whatever it was, it didn’t look friendly and happy.

“Birds?’

“No, not birds.” They weren’t big enough, and I couldn’t see a single wing outline.

“Are those bugs?”

Oh no
.

“Those
are
bugs.” Rabbit grinned. I could tell he was torn between being a gross boy and being horrified. There were predictions in the early days about the increase in numbers of bugs that ate carrion or used it for breeding. We’d seen it in our neighborhood.

Maggots no longer gave me the total creeps. For weeks, they were common any time we left the house. “Flies,” I said, turning on the headlights and the windshield wipers to help see into the wall of iridescent black.

“Are they coming this way?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re going to drive through them?”

“I don’t think we can go around them.” The fly cloud seemed to stretch from one side of the landscape to the other.

“This is going to be disgusting, isn’t it?” Rabbit almost clapped his hands.
Boys
.

With the ping of large raindrops, and the splat of flyover bird bombs, thousands of flies smashed against the Jeep windows. It was impossible to stop from flinching and ducking in reaction to all the hits.

Rabbit’s giggles and groans had me loosening my grip on the steering wheel.

“New this year at Disneyland, the Bug Splat, the ride that will have you laughing your guts out.” Rab’s sense of humor was fully intact and so like Dad’s that it sometimes surprised me.

I smiled as Rab dialed to a song on the MP3 player.

“Sound track,” he said as the first beats of Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” came pouring over the sound system. We rocked out three times before the edge of the flies brightened.

“I guess we know what all the maggots became. You know they think this is the best thing to ever happen to them.” He grew silent.

“Perspective?” I immediately thought of one of Mom’s last lectures.

Rabbit nodded. “Depends on how you look at it. Let’s turn here and go south.”

“Take 195 south?”

“I don’t want to go into Spokane. What if it’s like Cheney?”

“It might not be bad.”

“But don’t you think those flies mean something?”

“They mean it’s a good time to be a fly. But sure, we can take 195.” I slowed and took the twisty ramp to get onto the smaller highway. There were even fewer vehicles on the sides of the road. We rolled down the windows again and paid attention to the scenery.

“What was that?”

It took me a moment to recognize the brown rolling hills and sand traps. “A dead golf course.”

“Why’s it so brown?”

“No one to water and feed it, I guess.”

“That’s sad.”

Of all the things Rab had seen and been through, this is what he found sad?

“You’re a weird kid.”

He grinned. “Tell me something new.”

For lunch Rab ate cold SpaghettiOs out of the can, while I munched on a granola bar. I missed salad. Fresh fruit.
Thank goodness I’m not vegan
.

“Welcome to Idaho.”

“Wow, we’ve done a state.”

“Yep.” I tried not to imagine how many more we’d need to cross.

“We can spend the night at the St. Joe River tributary.” Rab showed me on the map. “I could use a bath.”

We had a couple hours of sunlight left, enough to make camp, stretch our legs, and wash off in the river. With clean hair and clean clothes, I could almost forget why we were here. Exhaustion clawed at me, and even brushing my teeth twice didn’t get rid of the strange metallic taste in my mouth. The Jeep was too hot to sleep in, so we rolled out sleeping bags on a tarp. I slept with my sneakers on and the car keys tied around my wrist.

“What’s that noise?”

“What noise?” I asked, without opening my eyes.

“That, over there.”

I heard it, but it sounded distinctly like something Rab might joke about. “Rabbit, stop that.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re making whining noises.” I didn’t even have the energy to roll my eyes.

“I am not.”

“Go to sleep.” I was exhausted. I couldn’t handle any more antics from Rabbit. I couldn’t do it. “Don’t make me lock you in the car.”

“Seriously? You’d do that?” He almost sounded hurt.

Like hell. Of course not
. “Sure.”
Why am I the person elected to get Rab and myself to West Virginia?
I wanted to go back in time. Demand a redo. Give Mom the shot sooner no matter the consequences.

“Fine.” Rabbit burrowed down into his sleeping bag and I drifted off.

I woke sometime later—it might have been hours or seconds—to growling and hissing. “Rab?” I whispered.

His voice was as quiet as a sigh. “It’s a big cat. Standing over there.” He tried to point.

“Don’t move.” Why hadn’t I slept with the handgun?
Because I thought I might shoot myself?
I reached for a large stick, trying to figure out if I could throw it hard enough to do any damage before the animal ate us.

Growling grew louder, more insistent.
From a second animal? Ah, crap, they’re a pack
. “What’s that?” There were two voices, not just the hissing. Like a fight. They sounded like adversaries before they battled to the death. The thought nauseated me. “Don’t move, Rab.”

I tried to remember to breathe—oxygen makes the brain work better.
Shallow breathing kills common sense
. There was a tinny smell in the air. A sort of bloody tincture that seemed familiar. Blood? Pus? I worked the zipper down until I could throw off the sleeping bag and get to my feet quickly.

I didn’t know what to do.
Think, Nadia. Think
.

Play dead? Cover your head? Protect your stomach? Protect your brother
. I had to sacrifice myself, a pound of my flesh. Hopefully, Rab could get the gun or throw rocks, or something, from the car. There was no choice. Lying here silent wasn’t improving our chances.

The growling intensified; the hissing quieted. Then a chilling scream rent the night.

Something nudged my foot, snapped tension into my body like a taut bowline, and I tossed the bag. A surprised yelp told me that the animal was covered for a minute.

I grabbed Rab and tried to lift him, running toward the car. He’d gotten bigger and I’d gotten weaker—not a good combo. “Get in the car!” I hauled him, then turned to face the animals.

He giggled. I knew stress affected different people differently, but laughing? Really? Did he have to?

Rab didn’t even try to close the driver’s door before his giggles turned into full-blown guffaws, so hard he sounded near tears.

I picked up a rock, squinted into the night. “Get the gun! Quick!” Did he not know how dangerous this was? I was putting myself in front of him, the least he could do was refrain from finding my impending death humorous.

“You—you—” Rab clicked on his flashlight.

I saw a shaggy black tail sticking out from the unzipped sleeping bag.
Aren’t cougars a tan color?

I shoved Rab over and climbed in, slamming the door behind me.
Where’s the gun?
I wanted metal and glass and locks between me and the damn creature out there.

“Uh, Nadia?” Rabbit barely got the words out between strangling bellows.

“Thanks for saving your life? You owe me one?” I bit off the words.

“Um.” Rab pointed. “Look.”

I turned in a huff, expecting to see slobbering fangs and slanted yellow eyes and maybe even signs of frothy-mouthed rabies.

Poking out the edge of the sleeping bag were a shiny black nose, white muzzle, tan markings, and a giant pink lolling tongue. From the other end of the bag a bushy tail wagged insistently, as if we’d stopped playing a game midway through.
A dog?

“It’s a dog.” Rab scrambled out of the Jeep and around it, toward the animal.

“Careful. We don’t know what it wants. It growled a minute ago.” I tried to grab Rab, but he outmaneuvered me and all I clutched was a handful of empty jacket.

“He wasn’t growling at us.” Rab skidded to his knees a couple of feet from the dog and slowly raised a fist like he’d been taught. Mom had a thing about dogs after all the bites that she’d seen coming through the ER:
Always curl your fingers under when meeting a new dog; they damage less if offered a fist
.

I clicked on a lantern. Still tangled in the sleeping bag, the dog stumbled forward. It licked Rabbit’s hand, quickly moved up his forearm, then mopped his face with a tongue the size of a hand towel.

My brother’s giggles were delighted like opening presents on Christmas morning. He started to scratch under the dog’s chin, and with a satisfied groan the dog relaxed against Rab and lay down. I inched closer.

“See, it’s a pet.” Rabbit undid the blanket, freeing all four of the dog’s legs. “He’s hungry.” His coat was matted and covered in burs, with sticks and mud crusted in places. He smelled like he’d rolled in putrefied flesh and rinsed with dead fish.

“My sleeping bag is going to smell like disgusting dog now.” I sniffed at it as I rolled it up.
Maybe I’ll switch mine with Rab’s tomorrow
.

“We owe him.” Rabbit waved off my complaint.

Oh really?
“How do you figure that?”

As if explaining to a wall, Rabbit talked slowly and deliberately, “He chased off the puma.”

“He did, huh?”

“That was the growling. That scream—a puma. Dog made it go away. He’s a hero.”

“Okay, get him a can of something with protein.” I relented. It wasn’t like Rabbit was really asking permission from me—he’d do it anyway.

“Chili?” Rabbit scrambled to find a can.

Good God, a boy and a dog in a car with chili in the mix?
“Sure. If that’s easiest to grab.” I knew our caravan had now become three—Rabbit had a good memory, and no way was he going to forget I said he could keep a dog.… Of course, I’d had no idea the dog would be the size of a large pony. I took over petting the dog, who watched Rab’s every movement with utter devotion.
Even before he knows there’s food on offer
.

The dog whined and crawled forward a little. Rabbit dumped the contents of the can on a paper plate and slid it over. Dog scarfed the chili without breathing.

Rabbit glanced at the pieces of paper plate left and said, “We should give him more.”

“Not yet, we don’t want him to get sick,” I answered. “You can give him more, but let’s make sure that stays down. I don’t think he’s eaten for a while.”

Rab nodded, and Dog tried to stand. With a yelp, he lay back down.

“What’s wrong with him? Was it the food?” Rabbit seemed ready to cry. “He’s really hot, Nadia.”

“I don’t know. There was nothing wrong with the chili.” I squinted at the dog. “I can’t see anything in this light and under his fur.” Again I caught that whiff of blood and infection.
That sweetish vinegary stink that shouts bacteria is present, accounted for, and winning. Where is he hurt?

“He’s okay being petted, right?” I started trying to triage, like Mom used to drone on about.

Rab nodded, the dog’s head resting in his lap. “Just not walking.”

“Is it his feet?”

“Here’s a flashlight.” Rab shone the bright LED first on the dog’s back feet, which seemed fine. But when he pointed the beam at the dog’s front feet, they were both swollen to almost melon size. And I could see angry oozing wounds.
Uh-oh
.

Rabbit gasped.

“Okay, let’s see if he’ll drink water first. He’s got to be dehydrated.”
Fever? Do dogs get BluStar? The apes and monkeys in zoos all died of it. Do other animals?

Rab grabbed a bowl and poured some of our precious bottled water into it. “Come on, doggy, drink it.”

The dog lifted his head and lapped at the water. He laid his head back down without finishing it.

“I think he’s given up.” Rabbit sounded near tears.

God, damn it, you do not give a kid a dog and then kill it. Not fair
. “No, he hasn’t.”
Maybe he has
. “He knows you’ll take care of him and he can rest now. I’m sure it’s been really hard for him and now that he has a friend he can relax.”

“We.”

“What?”

“We will take care of him. Not just me. You promised.” Rabbit stared at me.

“I know I did.” I sighed.
No sleep tonight
. “We need to clean his paws if he’ll let us, but Rab, if he doesn’t let us he might get sicker.”
And die
.

“He’ll let us. I know he will.”

I nodded, not convinced. But I wasn’t going to watch him die without trying. Rabbit couldn’t take much more. I folded the sleeping bag into a mat for the dog. I needed Rab to help. “We need a big bowl, a pot to boil water in, the salt, and find a clean T-shirt we can make bandages with. And tweezers in
case there’s something in there we have to dig out. Put your headlamp on, we need our hands.”

I started building a fire. “And Rab?” I waited until I saw his eyes. “We need a pair of Dad’s socks from your stash to keep his feet clean, okay? None of ours are big enough to fit.”

I saw the headlamp nod. I knew Rab had packed a few pieces of Dad’s clothing as mementos.
Who am I to judge? I packed perfume and cologne and a dead MP3 player
.

I got the fire going strong with a fire starter we’d taken from the resort. I wasn’t going to go all flint-and-sticks medieval unless I absolutely had to.

Dog continued to breathe shallowly and watched all our movements with curious eyebrows and halfhearted tail wags.

Rab laid a piece of tarp on the ground, collected everything I asked for, and offered Dog another drink.

I went to the Jeep to find one of Uncle Bean’s survival books. I thought I knew what to do, but I needed all the backup I could get. The early rays of dawn speared the sky.

When I returned from reading about cleaning and binding infected wounds, Rab spoke quietly while petting the dog. I missed a step, tweaking my ankle. I hadn’t realized quite how lonely Rab was. We weren’t close before. Too many years, too much technology, and too much responsibility got in the way of a close relationship. That was changing.
Needs to change
.