Matt Hlinak - DoG

On top of that, I’m always hearing thunder. It doesn’t sound too far off, but I never see the lightning, presumably because the fog is in the way. I’m worried that lightning is going to strike one of the trees on the island and squash the dogs who are ceaselessly pissing on them. It’s odd, in light of all the dead humans I’ve had to deal with in the past few days, but the thought of even one dead dog really bothers me. I guess it’s because the dogs can’t understand what’s happening to them. Although the people who died were in the same boat. Maybe I just like dogs, which is a recent development.

Well, back to the fog. They say that people with old injuries can feel it when it rains. My injuries are new, but they are constantly throbbing as if to tell me that the weather sucks out here. Maybe if the sky cleared up a bit, I could go 24 hours without smoking pot. Which reminds me…

That feels a little better.

Oh, I almost forgot. The weirdest thing happened today. A fish — I don’t know, a trout or something — jumped out of the water and landed on the dock when I was working on the shore. As I said, I don’t want to see anything else die. It took me awhile to get over there, but it was still alive when I got there. I scooped it up and tossed it back in the water. Not thirty seconds later, the same fish (I assume, but who the hell knows?) jumped back up on the dock and slid across the planks and into the water on the other side. I waited for a good half-an-hour, but it didn’t come back. Weird, right? In hindsight, I guess I should have fed it to the dogs before they starve to death, but then I would have missed the completed trick.

By the time the ferry docked, the handful of Pyrite residents who’d remained ashore were already well into the Independence Day celebration. Dozens of dogs barked excitedly before charging forward to greet their masters. The crew of the Orthrus paused briefly to accept this gracious welcome before descending upon the beer tent. The crew arrived unannounced, so Alistair had to send a few guys back to the bar to round up additional provisions. Culann quickly downed his first beer and poured himself a second.

His time at sea had done little to diminish his thirst, but he’d earned this. He inspected the fat pink scar on his palm for a moment and then dumped his second beer down his throat.

He thought of nothing but refilling his plastic cup with more lukewarm keg beer.

Worner came over and draped an arm around Culann’s neck.

“Let’s see it, kid.”

“Oh, right,” Culann replied. “I’d almost forgotten about it.”

He crouched down and unzipped his duffel bag. Drawing forth the orb, Culann ran his fingers across the impossibly-smooth surface. The symbols were not as he’d remembered them. Had they changed? He recalled each one being a separate, quasi-geometrical shape. But now, they seemed to have grown together. Each shape had expanded to touch the symbols around it. The orb now contained a spiderweb of interconnected symbols even more perplexing that what Culann had first seen.

A crowd gathered around as he examined the orb. Word quickly spread of the Riordan boys’ daring exploits, and their two accomplices eagerly described their own roles in the heist. The other members of the crew who’d all been intimidated and mystified by the Captain’s silent authority admired the pluck of the lucky greenhorn who’d managed to outsmart him.

They passed the orb around, reigniting the debates about its origin. Culann had gotten enough of these arguments on the ship, so he snatched up his duffel bag and slipped through the crowd. McGillicuddy followed.

“Hey, greenhorn, come meet my wife.”

McGillicuddy introduced Culann to Margaret, a lanky woman with curly red hair who looked more like his sister than his wife. She smiled with her whole face as she pumped Culann’s hand.

“Well, it’s a real honor to meet such a celebrity,” she teased. “Only in Pyrite can you become a hero by stealing from your boss.”

“You’re right about that,” Culann said with a smile. “I’m glad I finally found a place with a moral code that aligns with my own.”

“Oh, yeah,” McGillicuddy jumped in. “I forgot to tell you, Margie. He’s not just a thief; he’s a pervert, too.”

Culann averted his eyes, but Margaret let out a series of deep belly-laughs.

“Is that right?” she said. “You should run for mayor.”

“Don’t let Alistair hear you say that,” McGillicuddy said. “He’s already salty with the greenhorn for laughing at him.”

“You think he’s still mad at me?”

“Probably not,” McGillicuddy replied, “but he’s a weird dude. It’s hard to know what’ll set him off. Just mind your manners from now on, and you’ll be fine.”

Culann’s first day in Pyrite seemed like a lifetime ago. He could barely remember his initial encounter with Alistair. Alcohol was certainly part of the explanation for that, but Culann felt like a different person now. He’d survived his ordeal and been reborn.

The life he’d led before the voyage faded into the background. This is exactly what Culann had been hoping for, and he owed it all to the orb.

Culann drank hard. The exertion of the last few weeks plus the nerve-wracking encounters with the Captain left him exhausted. It felt good to relax. He reveled in the curious esteem in which the Orthrus men now held him. They repeatedly toasted his courage and ingenuity, so he made frequent returns to the keg, always careful to speak courteously to Alistair, who showed no signs of holding a grudge. The burly barman was all smiles beside his wife, Julia, a sturdy-looking woman with camel-blond hair that ran down to her shoulders, and his boy, Marty, a mop-headed six-year-old wearing an oversized t-shirt that hung from his bony shoulders. The only child on the island, Marty appeared content to chase the many dogs around the picnic grounds. Other than Alistair, there was no one Culann felt any need to impress, especially since the few women in attendance were married and at least ten years too old for him.

And then he saw her.

She wore cut-off jeans that revealed long legs tanned by the eternal Alaska summer sun. Small, firm breasts pushed against a tight tanktop. Her crow-black hair was pulled back in a ponytail that accentuated her delicate neck. A few freckles dusted her pert little nose, and red lips curled up into a beguiling smile. She was beautiful. He had to go talk to her. He ran his fingers through his hair and headed towards her.

“She’s fifteen, Culann,” Frank said. “And she’s Gus’s daughter.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Stay away from her, pervert!”

Gus charged over from across the tent. He jabbed his right index finger in the air for effect. Culann held his hands up and stepped back a few feet. As Frank turned to intercept the enraged first mate, Culann spun around and headed back to the keg.

“What the hell is that?” Gus said when he saw the orb circulating through the crowd. “You bastards stole that thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” McGillicuddy said with a slight slur. “That prick won’t know it’s missing.”

“Like hell,” Gus replied. “He’ll be on my ass about this, you better believe it. Give me that thing.”

Boos rained down on Gus as he yanked the orb from Margaret’s hands. The crew was still upset at being sent home early and wasn’t pleased to see Gus continue to take the Captain’s position. But no one tried to stop him either. The chain of command seemed to hold, even on dry land.

Worner elbowed Culann in the ribs and winked. Culann was sober enough to understand that they were just going to have to go steal the orb back from Gus. He took a drink and hoped they could wait until tomorrow.