Matt Hlinak - DoG

“What do you think, Williams?”

“I think you should have let me shoot him.”

“Come on,” Schuler said, “there’s obviously something going on here. If he’s right, I don’t want anyone else’s life on my conscience. Let’s row to the island and wait this thing out.”

“Did you ever consider the possibility that this might be a trap?” he countered.

“We have a fugitive here, and you want to take his advice and go to some secluded island where his accomplices are lying in wait for us?”

“Yes, if the alternative means infecting innocent people with this virus.”

“I’m still going to shoot this pervert.”

Rowing back to Pyrite took most of the afternoon. They didn’t want to leave Culann’s rowboat floating out in the middle of the channel to attract attention, so they tied it to the back of their vessel where they could tow it with minimal drag. They then needed to get Alistair’s boat. The police boat contained two long emergency oars they could use, but Culann presented a bit of a problem. If Williams and Schuler both rowed, they would have to turn their backs on Culann. Neither officer was willing to take this risk with a fugitive, even one whose hands were cuffed behind his back.

The only other option, then, was to have Culann take one of the oars while one of the officers watched him. But giving Culann an oar, which could potentially be used as a weapon, was not something either officer felt very good about. Williams reluctantly released the handcuffs and then immediately reattached them with Culann’s hands bound in front of his body. The cuffs hadn’t been loose before, but Williams cinched them as tightly as possible, cutting the flow of blood to Culann’s hands.

“If he so much as farts, shoot him,” Williams said.

Culann and Williams clumsily rowed the large boat over to Alistair’s rowboat while Schuler kept her eyes on Culann and her hand on her weapon. As they pulled up alongside, Williams eased himself down onto the rowboat. He nearly capsized trying to pull LaTonya’s body aboard. He rested her in a bent-over seated position across from Alistair and Julia, and then tied a line to the bow of the rowboat and climbed back onto the police boat.

They resumed rowing, and the boat lurched towards the shore with the two rowboats in its wake. Culann’s arms were tired from rowing out to sea the first time, and he struggled to keep up with Williams. In order to keep the boat from turning, Williams would periodically stop rowing to let Culann catch up. During these pauses, Williams would glare at Culann, who felt like a greenhorn all over again. It was slow going, but Culann was encouraged by the barking of the dogs of Pyrite, which grew in volume and intensity as the boat drew nearer to shore.

When they reached the pier, Williams grabbed Culann by the arm and yanked him over the side. Culann stumbled onto the planks, catching himself with his cuffed hands.

The gash in his hand throbbed. Williams jerked him to his feet and marched him to shore with Schuler trailing behind.

Schuler and Williams hunched over to inspect Margaret’s body. The dogs churned around them. Williams tried to push them away at first, but quickly gave up. The dogs seemed to Culann to have hopelessly contaminated the crime scene. The officers seemed to reach the same conclusion as they arose shaking their heads.

“How many more bodies are here?” Schuler asked.

“Thirty-two were dead this morning,” Culann replied, “and nine more died later in the day, including the three in the rowboat and Constance.”

Just saying her name caused an odd stirring in Culann’s stomach. It wasn’t grief and it wasn’t lust. It was more a simple appreciation for the grace and beauty that had briefly been in his presence. He didn’t understand the feeling and figured he wouldn’t be in Alaska right now if he did.

“I don’t know,” Schuler said. “I’m starting to think he’s telling the truth.”

Williams chewed on his lip for a moment and then said, “You may be right, but he’s still a disgusting piece of human garbage.”

“I think we need to trust him, at least as far as this virus is concerned.”

Williams turned his back and started walking towards Alistair’s bar. Culann stayed as close as possible to Schuler in case Williams decided to pull his gun out again.

Schuler stood still and watched her partner stalk off. The pack of dogs swirled around the two of them; none followed after Williams.

The three sat around the table in the bar. Alphonse rested his chin on Culann’s lap, but Culann didn’t pet him since he’d been warned about keeping his still-shackled hands in plain sight. Williams and Schuler each drank a beer from the rapidly warming cooler, which no longer received power from the conked-out generator. Culann eyed the beer bottles hungrily. He didn’t dare risk Williams’ ire by asking for one.

The officers had completed their sweep of the island and confirmed Culann’s casualty figures. As the number of dead bodies found increased, the level of conversation decreased. Williams hadn’t said a word in over thirty minutes.

Then he said, “We really are going to die.”

Schuler nodded. Culann doubted the two had much time left. He started thinking about what was going to happen after they were gone. He would be alone with thirty-nine dead bodies and innumerable dogs. His first order of business would be to do something with the bodies before the dogs started eating them.

“The bodies,” he said. “What should we do with them?”

“We’ll have to burn them,” Schuler said. “We can’t dig that many graves.”

“We can’t burn them,” Williams replied. “They’re evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” she asked. “Besides, anyone who comes around to dust for fingerprints is as dead as we are.”

“Well, if we’re dead anyway, the last thing I want to do is spend my final minutes dragging corpses around.”

“We can’t just leave them to rot in the sun.”

“Why not? You think anyone is going to give us a decent Christian burial when we’re gone?”

“I may not be able to bury you,” Culann said, “but I’m not just going to leave you.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Williams said. “After I’m dead, a child molester is going to defile my body. I’d rather you just let me rot.”

“Fine,” Schuler said, “he’ll let you rot. I’m going to help him deal with the rest of these people.”

Williams stayed in the bar while Culann and Schuler went to work. They figured the simplest way to deal with so many bodies was to put them all in one of the shacks and set it on fire. They would need to choose one away from the view of the mainland to keep from luring anyone over. The problem was that the cabins furthest from mainland were surrounded by trees which could easily catch fire and set the whole island ablaze.

“What about your boat?” Culann asked. “We could probably stack everyone

onboard and light it on fire, like a Viking funeral.”

Schuler laughed and covered her mouth. Then she pulled her hand away and laughed again.

“I guess there’s nothing wrong with a little laughing,” she said, “since it’s going to be my ass on top of the pile.”

By the time the sun dipped near the horizon, which is as low as it would get for another few weeks, Schuler and Culann had loaded fifteen dead bodies, including Frank’s, into the police boat. Culann looked one last time at his cousin’s serene face before covering it with another body. They’d found an old wheelbarrow that made the task a little easier, although Culann couldn’t push it because he still had his hands cuffed.