Pavlov's Dogs (13 page)

“Go ahead,” Samson said.

Hayte turned back and worked his thick paw into the handle of the door. He set himself, and then gave a tremendous yank. The doorjamb splintered and gave way with a loud crack, and Hayte had to take a hasty step back to keep from falling on his ass.

“Excellent,” Samson said. “Back to your post.”

As the Dog padded away, Samson squared his shoulders and checked the safety inside the trigger guard of his gun. Clearing a building this size, room by room, floor by floor, and without his enhanced senses, would take some time.

Just another day in the Army.

He stepped into the stairwell and went up the first flight to the landing, then stopped dead. He started to laugh. On the wall he saw a message.

3RD FLOOR

INVITATION-ONLY

PIZZAS WELCOME

With a light step, Samson jogged up the two flights of stairs to the third landing. He tried the door, but it was better than locked. He didn’t even find a handle on the stairwell side. Samson briefly considered working on the hinges of the door, but discarded that idea.

Instead, he knocked.

’

The young man in the hallway picked his head up off his forearms and blinked sleep out of his eyes. He shook his head once for good measure, and a lock of red hair fell down over his face. Had he been dreaming?

The knock came again.

“Holy shit.”

He fumbled with a piece of twine on the tiled floor, failing to pick it up three times before finally getting a good hold on it. He gave it a strong yank, twice. He couldn’t hear the bell ring on the other end.

From the front pocket of his hoodie, he pulled out a short revolver, a snub-nose .38 Police Special: the Door Guard Gun. The whole time he had been holed up in this place and on door duty, he never once thought he’d be so glad to have the gun in his hands.

Straining his ears, the kid anticipated footsteps from down the corridor. He was vaguely aware of a trickle of sweat that had started somewhere on his head and was now soaking the collar of his T-shirt.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

As if summoned by his panicky utterances, a pair of soft footfalls rounded the corner, and following them was the large leader of this pocket of survivors.

“What’s up, Jimmy?”

Jimmy pointed a pale hand at the door. “There was a knock.” He dropped his hand. “Twice.”

The large man brushed his beard. “All right then. Stand back and cover me. We should see—”

“Cover you?”

The beard-scratching hand fell to the man’s waist, bringing up a big revolver. “You’re my backup, Jimmy.”

“Jesus Christ,” the kid muttered, settling his grip on the gun.

“Good man. Just don’t shoot me.”

The leader turned to the door and put his left hand on the push bar, then paused for a moment to take a steadying breath.

He blew it out.

“Here goes.”

The door opened silently on a submachine gun.

“Hi,” said the man who was holding the gun. “My name is Samson. I brought pizza—”

A gunshot boomed in the hallway, right next to Ken’s head. The man named Samson tumbled back down the stairs.

“Christ, Jimmy!” Ken shouted, covering his ringing ear. “He was about to crack a joke!”

Jimmy wasn’t listening. He was staring down the stairwell, eyes growing wider.

“What’re you...?” Ken began, but then he saw it too.

The man named Samson was
changing
.

Changing into some kind of... human dog.

Unsteadily, the shapeshifter pushed himself up onto one knee. He shook his head and flung blood from the hole in his cheek.

Both Ken and Jimmy’s eyes bulged as they watched the hole patch itself up, as the hair grew back into place, softer, more lustrous.

Then Samson morphed back into a man and stood up, regaining his strength and his consciousness.

His voice sounded a bit congested but he managed to say, “Found your friends.”

Ken thought about that for a second. He had a more pressing question.

“What the hell are you?”

Samson said, “Pizza man.”

Ken actually found himself laughing. And he had to admit, he had never met a man in his life who could take a shot to the face and still be honest-to-God good-humored about it.

Ken would have admired the Dog even more if he’d known this was the second time that day Samson had been shot in the face.

“Nice to meet you,” Ken said. Then he wiped the smile off his mouth because the next part wasn’t a joke. “Don’t go expecting a tip. This pizza is
so
fucking late.”

’

“We keep some semblance of privacy here,” Ken said as he and Samson toured the third-floor hallway. “The eight families with us have the large offices to themselves, and the rest of us have our pick of the other offices.”

Taking in the layout, Samson let out a low whistle. “What have you been doing for food?”

Ken dipped his head. “For the first week or two, we rationed out the contents of the snack machines and whatever else was left in the mini-fridges. After that ran out, we started going on scavenging runs.” Ken then raised his eyebrows at Samson, “What do
you
guys do for food?”

“The island has a farm. We grow stuff, and the engineer has built up some kind of algae machine, to help feed the new arrivals.”

“Yeah, so, like you said, you found our friends. Are you sure you haven’t run across a guy named Jorge? Stands about yea high, black hair, bad sense of humor?”

Samson put his hands up. “Easy. There was a big group. I don’t know any of their names. Just that some of them came from your Blazer.”

“Right.”

Samson looked around. “Speaking of big group, how many people do you have here?”

“Sixty,” Ken said, lying by just a few.

“Six...
sixty
?” The Dog strode to a window and looked out. “I’d better get on the horn.”

“Horn?”

“Yeah, there’s too many.”

Ken’s face clouded over. “Too many for what?”

Samson looked at him as if he just realized they were having two separate conversations. “Too many to fit into the boat back to the island. Let me talk to my Alpha.” He unclipped his radio, and took a step back to give himself some space.

“Now wait just a minute,” Ken said.

A voice came over the radio. “
Go ahead, Beta leader.
”

Samson waited to answer them until he heard what Ken had to say.

It had been one thing letting this stranger into the building, one thing to show him around. For one, Ken had feared they would’ve had a fight on their hands if they hadn’t cooperated. And Ken didn’t want to have a fight on his hands. At least not with something that could survive a fatal gunshot wound to the face.

He had to admit it, he was scared. Because if he didn’t admit it, he wouldn’t be able to hide it.

He stared right into Samson’s face as he replied, “No one ever said we were leaving.”

“
This is base to Beta Samson,”
the radio crackled,
“go ahead.”

“So what should I tell them?” Samson asked Ken.

Ken couldn’t figure out whether that was a threat. He kept getting mixed signals from this guy. On one hand, he kind of liked him. But on the other, how could he trust a shapeshifting killing machine?

Guess it’s no different than owning a wolf for a dog
, Ken thought.
Could kill you at any time
. The more disturbing thought, however, was that he’d never been bitten by any dog, but had certainly been bitten by a man.

This guy was both.

“Uh, Ken...” Jimmy said.

The kid had just been hanging out in the background. Ken had almost forgotten he was there. The redhead had been profusely apologetic and then very quiet after shooting Beta Samson in the face.

“What if they found my mom, Ken? What if she’s on their island, eating... whatever kind of algae? Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Don’t they all?” Samson asked.

Ken wanted so badly to say
And what if it’s a trap?
Just to see how Samson would react. And to get Jimmy to use some common sense. But at the same time, he couldn’t forfeit any element of surprise he might hope to gain, just in case things went presently south.

“Base,” Samson finally said into the radio, before Ken could decide what to do. “We have survivors.” And what was Ken going to do about it? Shoot him? Hah!

“First contact made, numbers are sixty, six-zero.”

“Actually,” Ken said, “it’s more like fifty-two.”

Samson cocked his head as if asking him to explain.

“I was factoring in the force multiplier when I quoted you that first number.”

Samson nodded as if Ken’s excuse made perfect sense. “Please advise the Alpha,” he said into the radio. “Awaiting instructions, over.”

“
Holy shit,”
said Base.
“Sixty, copy. Base out.”

Samson put the radio down and turned to Ken. What he said next was enough to trump any of Ken’s fallback plans. Because Ken didn’t have
that
kind of force multiplier.

“Before we go any further,” Samson said, “perhaps I should introduce you to the rest of the Dogs.”

THE SURVIVORS FILED onto the bus with a mixture of relief, awe, and fear etched into their faces. Fear and awe of the Dogs themselves, relief they were being rescued, and an extra dose of fear for the families who were splitting up.

Alpha McLoughlin shook Ken’s hand. “You sure you want to stay?”

Ken nodded. “Absolutely. But do you think you could leave a radio for us or something? So the families can keep in touch.”

“Better than that,” Mac said. “Two of my finest will be staying with you for the couple of days it’ll take to get everybody settled on the island.” He turned away. “Dunne! Landis! Front and center!”

A pair of men ran up, both clad in matching black coveralls, their names stitched on the right breasts. Dunne had a shotgun, Landis a submachine gun just like the one Samson carried. He also wore a backpack with a protruding antenna.

Mac said, “Samson told me you guys have gone on successful food runs.” He waved a hand at the bus. “The sound of this will bring them around, I’m afraid. I’d be remiss if I didn’t leave you with a little extra protection.”

Ken nodded, watching the people board the bus. The process of choosing who would go and who would stay had been difficult, especially for the families. For the most part, the men had insisted their wives and daughters go first, in most cases their sons, too. Ken had heard a variation of the same speech being given several times, words designed to bolster young men’s sense of familial duty, underscoring the importance of keeping their mothers and sisters protected in this new place among strangers.

Mac saw the object of Ken’s attention and smiled.

He cares about his people.

“Don’t worry about them,” Mac said. “A couple days in quarantine, then we’ll be back out to pick up the rest of you. All right?”

They shook hands again, and Ken headed back inside with Dunne and Landis. Samson approached Mac.

“We’d better hit the road, Alpha. The engine noise...”

“I know,” Mac said. “Get us moving.”

Ken watched all this from the entrance. He looked to the bus and caught Jimmy’s eye through one of the portholes. They exchanged a nod, which was all that was required. As happy as Ken was to have his people “rescued,” he wanted to go into this eyes wide open.

Jimmy would be those eyes.

’

Two hours later, the yacht was tying up to the island dock and people were unloading into the newly-renovated quarantine area. People from the previous batch of survivors had gathered to see the newcomers, some out of plain curiosity, others looking for friends and family.

Donovan counted heads with something close to alarm; the reports had said these were only
half
of the survivors. “Huddled masses,” he said, spitting afterward. “I am the one yearning to breathe free here. Bah!”

He turned on his heel and walked away, hands clasped behind his back, brow furrowed in thought. He almost collided with Alpha McLoughlin. “Excuse me,” he said. “You must be very happy.”

The Alpha exhaled noisily through his nose. “I am, Dr. Donovan, but I’m also very... I don’t know the right word. Kaiser has crossed a line, and Dr. Crispin was in no state to hear it. Is he...?”

“Sober?” Donovan finished for him. “Yes. Sober and jovial.”

“Well,” McLoughlin said, “I’m fixing to ruin his mood.”

He stomped off toward Crispin’s office, and Donovan found himself tagging along. He was interested by this bit of intrigue with the Dogs, and if nothing else, it might get his mind off the boatload of survivors that had just showed up to eat Donovan out of house and home.