Hellhound (15 page)

“Who’s there?”

It took Becca a couple of seconds, but she finally stepped out of the shadows.

“You have to stop all this, Ken,” she said as evenly as she could, trying to maintain what she imagined to be a commanding tone. “You have to stop it now.”

“Oh, yeah, well…
that
,” Ken began. “See, I’m not doing any of that. That’s from people cooking their food, sparking up a joint, heck, lighting candles on a birthday cake. You want me to have a word with
all
of them?”

Becca eyed the mastiff. It stared at her, unblinking. Lit only by the nearby buildings, its size was masked by the darkness, making it appear even larger in Becca’s mind’s eye.

“It’s the dog,” Becca said. “The dog’s making you do it.”

Ken glanced over at the mastiff as if taking its measure. He turned a look of incredulity back on Becca. “Is that what you think?”

“You don’t sound a bit like my brother, so yeah.”

Ken scoffed. Then the building shook.

Becca reached out to steady herself, but nothing was there. She found herself flying backward into the stairwell, a weightless feeling coming over her body born from not having any idea how close the ground was. For all she knew, she might fall forever.

Instead, she fell six feet, landed on her head, bounced up again, rolled down seven more steps, and smacked her face against the wall on the first landing. For a second, she thought she was only dazed. A second later, and she had slipped into unconsciousness.

Back on the roof, Ken turned his attention back to Building 10. The fire had sped up its downward trajectory and was now visible in at least a couple of rooms on the seventh floor. But when it reached the sealed apartment on that floor, there was no explosion. Ken quickly recounted the floors, wondering if he’d somehow focused on the wrong room.

That’s when he saw the broken windows all around the floor. As he watched, someone hastily bashed out another window as the fire neared. His eyes narrowed. He could see the mastiff getting to its feet in his peripheral vision. It looked over the edge of the roof towards Building 10 and gave a little woof.

“Let’s go,” Ken agreed.

•  •  •

Leonhardt knew no trainer worth his salt would use Bones the way he was using him now. The odor of the gas drove the dog crazy, so the closer they got to an open valve like the one they found on the sixth floor of Building 7, an apartment Leonhardt was amazed to be entering yet again, Bones would just go
off
.

The good news was, he had found a pair of heavy woolen shirts in an open apartment and managed to soak both before wrapping them around his and the dog’s mouths. Bones tried and tried to tear his off, but the detective finally tied it in such a way that the shepherd couldn’t do a thing about it. They could still smell the gas just fine, worryingly so, but Leonhardt hoped it would be enough to keep them from passing out.

Mrs. Fowler’s apartment had been picked over, the “family members” the police had been made aware of apparently coming in at some point to take a couple of photos and pieces of furniture while leaving much behind. The second Leonhardt had seen the tape around the doorframe, he figured what Ken’s plan was. He kicked the door open with one strike.

The gas was just about overwhelming, but the detective felt lucky already knowing the apartment’s layout. Closing the front door and dropping Bones’s leash, he made a beeline for the kitchen and turned off the gas valve. He then tore a drawer out of the kitchen cabinet and smashed it through the living room window. He did the same in the bedroom before circling back to grab Bones.

“We’ve got to find all the rooms like this. Sorry, boy.”

After they’d cleared two more sealed apartments in Building 7, Leonhardt hurried off to Building 10. With the fires already raging there, the detective feared the flames reaching one of the sealed rooms and causing an explosion so big it might take down the building. Pulling the German shepherd behind him, the cop had to navigate through an intense crush of terrified human traffic to reach the burning building.

The smoke had an even worse effect on Bones than the gas. His prancing and head shaking became whining and straining at the leash.

“We’ve got to do this, Bones,” Leonhardt chided. “Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry for your pain.”

When they reached the seventh floor, they found smoke billowing out of one open apartment already. Seeing one of the sealed rooms up ahead, the detective realized they might be too late, the fire likely now reaching apartments filled up with gas. Kicking in doors, Leonhardt ran from room to room smashing windows. When he reached the sealed one, he double-timed it to the valve, shut it off, and then broke out the windows in this room as well.

He then re-wet and retied the shirts around his and Bones’s mouths and noses before heading back out into the building.

Even as flames raged around them, Bones and Leonhardt continued to go from room to room. The detective kept fearing they’d find a body or two that had succumbed to smoke or gas inhalation, but they continued to get lucky. Floor after floor, they smashed out windows and tried to dissipate the gas even as explosions rocked the nearby buildings.

When they finally got to the fourteenth floor, however, a change came over Bones.

“What is it, dog?” Leonhardt asked.

The shepherd was more focused now, shaking off the smell of smoke and gas, and alerting to a door midway down the hall. Like the other sealed apartments, Leonhardt could see the electrical tape winding around the doorframe. But unlike the others, this door appeared to have been recently opened.

Without thinking twice, the detective pulled his gun. Pushing through the door, the first thing he saw was Ken standing near the closed living room window.

“Kid, what’re you doing in there? Don’t you know how dangerous…?”

Before the next words could leave his mouth, he felt something strike his neck with great force, followed by a sharp pain in his throat. It felt like a great hand had come and closed around his windpipe. He simply couldn’t breathe.

He looked down and saw a length of clothesline extending from Ken’s hand all the way to just below his own chin. He pitched forward onto his knees as his hands felt the trowel that had speared into his neck causing blood to geyser from his body like a shopping mall fountain.

He tried dully to pull the thing out, but he already didn’t have the strength. That’s when Ken yanked the line backward, causing Leonhardt to tumble forward with such force that his nose and jaw splintered as they struck the floor.

Bones, who had been at the detective’s side, lunged for Ken, only to have his own leash snap back, having been wrapped around Leonhardt’s wrist.

“You want him?”

The mastiff, who had been standing in the corner, moved to just outside Bones’s reach and stared down the furious shepherd. Rather than be intimidated, Bones doubled his efforts to get at the larger dog. But the body of the swiftly dying cop was just too heavy.

“Come on,” Ken said to the mastiff. “The fire will be here in a minute. It’ll take care of him.”

The mastiff held Bones’s ferocious gaze for a second longer, but then slowly padded in a wide circle around the shepherd until it was by Ken’s side. As Bones was functionally blocking the front door, Ken moved to the window, opened it enough to let the mastiff and himself out, and then closed it back. He nodded to Bones, giving him a quick wink, before descending the fire escape.

•  •  •

When Detective Garza arrived at Triborough Houses, it was like nothing he’d ever seen. Fire engines were parked for blocks. He counted at least four dozen squad cars. He slipped his badge onto a chain, left his vehicle in the middle of crowded intersection, and started running towards the buildings.

Smoke poured out of five of the towers, and flames were visible for blocks. What complicated matters for the first responders was the sheer number of people evacuating from the buildings. Thousands of residents choked off the streets and alleys, preventing firemen and police officers from getting anywhere near the blazes.

Realizing he’d have to try something different, Garza pulled out his cell phone and dialed Leonhardt’s number. It rang and rang, but there was no response.

“Dammit, Phil, where the hell are you?”

When it finally went to voicemail, Garza hung up. He was just pushing his way to Building 1 when an explosion rocked one of the buildings in back. He looked over as flames plumed away from one of the highest floors of Building 10. As fire momentarily illuminated the tower’s façade, he caught sight of a man and a large dog moving down a fire escape away from the blaze. They paused at the next floor and disappeared through a window into an apartment, having only been visible for a couple of seconds.

But this was all Garza needed. He knew the moment he laid eyes on the animal that it was the one from the police video.

“Jesus Christ, if you were right, you crazy motherfucker,” he said under his breath, knowing Leonhardt would never let him live this down.

Checking his gun, Garza pushed past several paramedics and climbed on top of a fire engine in order to bypass a handful more as he fought his way forward.

B
ecca came to in tremendous pain. Her nose and lungs burned like fire. Her eyes were watering and when she tried to open them, they were met with such stinging pain that she had to close them again.

She remembered where she was and understood that the only way to safety was straight up and back to the roof. Climbing as best she could, she pulled herself up the steps, a new pain coming in the form of a throbbing headache where she had landed on her skull moments before.

It was only about a dozen steps, but it felt like an uphill mile. When she finally emerged onto the roof, she crawled to the edge and breathed in as deeply as she could.

A nearby explosion caused her to open her eyes and, like Detective Garza, she spied her older brother and the mastiff walking down the fire escape of Building 10.

She looked back at the stairwell and saw nothing but black smoke pouring out, as if she’d been passed out in a chimney. Turning back to the edge of the roof, she saw the fire escape a good floor below her. If she wanted to get onto it, she’d have to lower herself down the side of the building and then drop.

She couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying.

•  •  •

Bones could smell the smoke and knew it was getting close. He chomped down on the leash that ran from his harness to Detective Leonhardt’s wrist, but it held fast. He bolted towards the hallway, trying to drag the dead man with him, but the weight was just too much.

The German shepherd bit into the leash a second time, but then moved over to Leonhardt’s wrist. At first, he tried bite through the loop around his hand, but this proved impossible. He played at it with his forepaws but then licked at the detective’s hand a little.

Gingerly, Bones lifted the dead man’s wrist into his jaws. He pulled at it for a second before digging his teeth into the soft flesh. Once he had a really good grip, he jerked at the man’s limb with such force that the entire arm dislocated out of its shoulder joint at the same time that the elbow snapped.

Bones rolled over on the ground next, twisting the corpse’s wrist until the flesh had been almost entirely flayed away. He then dug his teeth into the bones and cracked them just as easily.

A second later, Detective Leonhardt’s severed left hand trailing behind him at the end of the leash, Bones skittered out the door towards the stairs. Before he’d gotten even one step down, the entire fourteenth-floor hallway exploded. As the stairwell collapsed around him, the shepherd raced to the darkness below as quickly as he could go.

•  •  •

As soon as Ken entered the maintenance subbasement, he could tell something had changed. Though he could still hear the sounds of chaos coming from outside, there was a new stillness in the locker room that he couldn’t immediately identify.

That’s when he walked over to the thick gas main that ran up the wall next to one of the water pipes and put his hand on it.

Nothing
.

The show was over. The fire department had finally gotten to a master relay for the block and, with or without help from Con Ed, shut off the gas leading to Neville Houses. This was an inevitability, but Ken was surprised by how quickly they had managed to do it.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” Ken said simply.

If he was talking to the mastiff who had descended into the subbasement with him, the dog did nothing to acknowledge it. Instead, it moved to the back of the locker room. Once there, it worked its right forepaw around the edge of a service hatch that led below the building.

“Hey, where are you going?” Ken asked.

He hurried after the animal, but it was now actively fighting against the hatch’s latch, trying to break it off its hinges in order to enter. Ken got over to it and put a hand on its back. The animal didn’t turn, but a low rumble thundered up from its belly. Ken hesitated for a moment but then grabbed it by the mound of flesh at the back of its neck.

This time, the dog whipped around and snapped at his hand. Ken barely managed to get out of its way.

“Yeah, I don’t think it likes that.”

Ken whirled around and found Trey standing behind him with a gun. “What’re you doing here?”

“Came to kill the dog. Are you going to move and let me?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not going to let you shoot some dog.”

“Not some dog,” Trey said, darkening. “
That
dog. The one that’s turned you into some kind of murderous lunatic. The one that, when I’ve put a bullet in its brain, will hopefully release you from whatever fucking spell it’s got you under. You understand, don’t you?”

The mastiff finally stopped doing what it was doing and turned around to face Trey. As it did, Ken stepped between it and his brother.

“You want to shoot this dog, you’re going to have to shoot me, too.”