Music of the Spheres: Part 2 – Dogtown
Randy padded up to the entryway, shotgun at the ready. Donny and Bob approached from the back. With any luck, this was all a misunderstanding, the drunken ravings of a woman who maybe beat her dog too many times.
Then Randy saw the blood and congratulated himself on being careful.
There was a lot of it. It was smeared, with unidentifiable chunks of something. The door had been slammed shut, forcibly, and bloody handprints – Carrie's, he guessed – were splattered along the doorframe. It was too much blood for just Carrie's wound, bad though it was.
Taking Carrie's mandate of silence seriously, Randy gingerly tried the door.
It was unlocked. He gently put pressure on the handle and pushed it inward.
It moved a few inches before stopping. Something was in the way.
Randy pushed again, and whatever was in the way rolled aside.
Randy looked down and the moisture fled his throat. It was a man's arm.
Peering around the door, Randy could see what a bloody trail that ranged up and down the hallway. It was most assuredly Bill's arm. The whereabouts as to the rest of Bill were unclear.
The gruesome scene was accompanied by the hiss of static from a radio. Randy counted his blessings; if there were dogs riled up by noise, the radio would cover his footsteps.
But what the hell kind of dogs were these? He tried to use the time waiting for Donny to ask Carrie what the dogs did, but he only got the sense they were big. On a property as large as the Osbourne's a family could have big dogs. There were two of them, Marla and Maple.
Big enough to tear a man's arm off? It was possible, if he were dead. From the far end of the hallway, Donny and Bob met Randy's gaze. He pointed at the dismembered arm.
Donny covered his mouth in horror. Bob's lips became a thin line.
They ducked into the other rooms, hypersensitive to the danger now. If Julie wasn't inside he'd have just locked the doors and set the house on fire rather than deal with this.
But Hayden was his town and he was the sheriff. Like it or not, it was his job to deal with things like this.
Bob was already up the steps by the time Randy decided to follow. He swore, silently. Bob never did listen to directions.
Randy covered the entryway behind Bob with his shotgun. He pointed Donny to the baby's room, evident by the pink bow on the handle. Bob approached the master bedroom.
There was a faintly unpleasant sound coming from the master bedroom. It was a moist sound. The sound of licking and chewing. The sound of eating.
The door was partially open. Bob teased it wider with the business end of his shotgun.
He could make out the tails of two dogs from behind the bed. It was a high bed, but he could still see their tails wagging like they were feeding on a treat. A bloody, lumpy trail swept along the entryway and out of sight to where the dogs were eating.
Behind Bob, Donny crept out of the room with Julie still asleep in his arms. He made his way to the steps.
"Sheriff? This is Annie, come back," shrieked the radio on Donny's shoulder.
Julie, startled by the crackle of the radio and Donny's movement, began to wail.
In the master bedroom the two mastiffs, Great Danes, looked up from the other side of the bed. Their muzzles were bright red.
"Son of a—" swore Bob. He fired his shotgun but the shot went wide.
The dogs cleared the bed in one leap. Nearly two hundred pounds of Great Dane slammed into Bob, who was not a small man, knocking him against the railing. The other one bounded over his prone form and into the hallway.
Randy fired his shotgun at the first dog, a glancing shot. The dog foamed at the mouth.
"Go Donny!" shouted Randy.
But the Great Dane was between Donny and the steps. Hoisting the squalling child in one arm like a football he leaped over the railing onto the steps.
Bob, prone, struggled to keep the other dog from biting his face off. It took a chunk out of his arm. Bob pulled his pistol and, shoving it up to the dog's gut, pulled the trigger.
The first dog, heedless of the conflict and its wounds, jumped over the rail into space…
And landed in front of Donny at the bottom of the steps. Randy couldn't believe it. Bullets weren't affecting them.
With reckless abandon, Randy leaped the stairway rail.
Just as the dog was about to leap again, Randy landed on the dog's back. There was a snapping sound from the Great Dane. The dog's back cushioned Randy's fall. It still hurt like hell.
Donny jumped over them both and ran out the front door.
"Dave!" shouted Donny at a full sprint. "Get over here!"
Randy rolled off the Great Dane. It was unconscious or dead, he couldn't be sure. All he could think of was Bob.
He ran back up the steps, pistol out. Bob was losing the fight, his struggles weaker. The Great Dane was shaking his arm like a rag doll.
Randy shoved his arm through the railing up to the dog's pointed ear and pulled the trigger. Its head kicked as the bullet penetrated the brain. It fell over instantly, dead.
Blood and dog brains were everywhere. Bob was unconscious from blood loss. Randy hoisted him in a fireman's carry down the steps.
The first dog's body was missing from the steps.
He made it as far as the door when the Great Dane caught up with them. Teeth gnashed at his leg, tearing his pants.
Randy shoved Bob's unconscious form through the front doorway. He flopped onto his back.
"Donny!" shouted Randy.
"I'm comin'!" Donny shouted out of the window of his cruiser. He drove it backwards up to the house, nearly smashing the trunk into the porch steps.
Randy spun around the front door to the outside and, kicking the dog viciously in the face, grabbed hold of the door and slammed it shut.
"Keerist," swore Randy, panting.
Donny dragged Bob near the cruiser, but wasn't able to easily lift him into the back seat. Bob was a big man.
Donny reached into the trunk instead and came back out with a canister of tear gas.
"This should help," he said, handing the canister to Randy.
"I dunno, Donny. That one dog should be dead. Bob must've emptied his entire pistol into one of 'em. What the hell is wrong with these dogs?"
"I dunno, but it ain't right," said Donny. " Ready?"
Randy nodded. Taking a deep breath, Donny opened the door.
The dog, which had gone silent when the door closed, was instantly at the opening, blood-flecked muzzle snarling and barking with rage. Donny slammed it in the snout with the butt of his shotgun. Randy pulled the pin and threw the tear gas inside.
The dog's barking turned to a piteous whine.
"Finally," said Donny. "That should do it—"
Shattering glass at the bay window signaled that the dog wasn't finished with them yet. Covered in broken glass, half-blind from the tear gas, the Great Dane struggled to its feet.
The dog made its way towards the unconscious Bob.
"Son of a…" Randy fired his pistol at it. "Stay down!"
It kept coming.
The engine of the cruiser revved. Donny was back behind the wheel. He slammed the gas pedal.
The dog looked up, ears pricked at the sound but unsure as to the source. The cruiser smashed into the dog, tossing it up into the air and over the hood. With a high-pitched squeak it finally lay still.
Randy leaned down on his knees, panting. Donny pulled the car back around.
"What the hell were they feedin' them dogs?"
"I dunno Donny," said Randy. "But it ain't normal."
