Matt Hlinak - DoG

Culann fished out of his pocket an already-rolled joint he’d found in Worner’s cabin. He lit it, inhaled and immediately coughed. It had been ten years since he’d last done this. Worner’s place had proved a treasure trove because it also contained two shelves of books. True to his word, Worner had been the most well-read man in Pyrite.

Amidst volumes on horticulture, government conspiracies of various stripes, and the occult origins of the Third Reich, Culann had found a pocket-edition of Robinson Crusoe , which he now read on the dock, leaning against a couple of dogs who served as a backrest. Alphonse curled up next to him.

He took four or five hits and found himself very stoned. Maybe it was because he was out of practice or perhaps Worner had managed to engineer a particularly potent strain of cannabis. Culann laid the book down on his lap and took in his surroundings.

The drizzling rain was cool against his skin, and the fog seemed to thicken by the minute.

Between the fog and the dogs enveloping him, Culann imagined himself in the bosom of a great fluffy cloud. He pushed thoughts of death from his mind and concentrated on the utter tranquility of the now-deserted island.

He thought he saw an orange light off in the distance. Then it disappeared. He squinted his eyes and saw it again, a little larger this time. It seemed to be moving towards him. It flickered ever so slightly as it approached. Culann remembered fairy tales his Irish grandmother had told him about the will-o’-the-wisp that led disobedient little boys off into the darkness. As the light loomed larger, he heard the sound of oars in the water. Someone was coming.

I’ve never been very religious. As a good Irish boy, I went through all of the standard Catholic rituals, first out of fear of damnation and then just to keep my mom happy. Then I stopped trying to keep my mom happy. To avoid a conflict, I made a point to never be at my parents’ house in the morning of a day when church attendance was expected. That way my mom could plausibly assume I’d already gone. I’m sure she suspected the truth, but was kind enough not to force me to choose between lying to her and disappointing her.

Recent events, I suppose, should have tried my faith, if I’d had any. Or maybe they should have driven me back to God. No atheists in foxholes and all that. But I’m not really an atheist. That would require making a decision and taking a stand. I’m just a guy that would rather sleep in on Sundays.

Worner’s crazy books on Nazi witchcraft and four-legged saints have nudged me to consider the spiritual side of life anew. After what I’ve seen in the last few weeks, it’s hard to be skeptical of anything. Virtually everything I once believed about the world has been proven false. Maybe I can uncover a deeper truth, even if there’s no one for me to share it with.

Culann stood as the boat pulled into view. The dogs surrounding him whined nervously. He still considered the possibility that this was all a drug-induced hallucination, but it certainly seemed real enough. An eighteen-foot canoe cut through the fog. A lantern dangled from a pole at the bow. Just behind the lantern, a figure paddled off the port side. Another figure stood astride the middle of the canoe, pointing towards the shore. At the stern sat a third figure who paddled off the starboard side. As the canoe approached, the two paddlers pulled in their oars and allowed the boat to glide over to Culann.

“You?” said the standing figure in a hauntingly-familiar voice.

“Oh, shit.”

The Captain hopped up onto the dock in one step. The canoe barely rocked. His companions stumbled after him with considerably less grace. As the Captain approached, the dogs slunk away, leaving Culann to face him alone. The Captain wore his usual bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses. He was accompanied by a skinny Inuit teenager wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and a round little white kid in cargo shorts and a t-shirt.

The skinny one rubbed the back of his neck while the fat one surveyed as much of the fog-blanketed island as he could see.

“How are you still alive?” the Captain demanded.

“I don’t know,” Culann replied. “It doesn’t affect me for some reason.”

“The others?”

“They’re all dead.”

The Captain shook his head and said, “You shouldn’t have taken it from me.”

“I know that now. What is it?”

“It is something you have no hope of understanding, much less controlling.”

“Doesn’t it affect you?” Culann asked.

“No. I thought I was the only one. Apparently I was wrong.”

“What about them?”

The Captain shook his head. The two boys looked at one another.

“What’s going on?” the skinny one asked. “Are we in danger?”

Without turning to face him, the Captain replied, “You are both going to die.”

“Fuck this,” the fat one said. “Let’s get out here.”

He turned and headed back to the canoe. The Captain spun around and shot him in the back. The kid toppled forward into the water. The skinny one held up his hands and backed away. The Captain shot him in the chest, and he collapsed onto the deck.

The dogs howled behind Culann. He still wore Williams’ belt and had a gun of his own within inches of his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to draw it. He’d never fired a gun in his life, so he was unlikely to win a shootout with the Captain. The Captain turned back around to face him, and the dogs instantly got quiet.

“They were going to die anyway,” he said.

“Maybe not,” Culann replied. “After all, you and I are still alive.”

“For now.”

The fog was now so thick Culann could see only a few feet in front of him to where the Captain stood. The Captain left his sunglasses on anyway. He still held the gun in his right hand, but he dangled it at his side. The Captain evidently hadn’t seen Williams’ pistol, which was covered by the hem of Culann’s t-shirt.

“Where is it?” the Captain asked in his booming, mechanical voice.

“I threw it back in the water.”

“Don’t lie to me. I know it’s close.”

“I’m not lying. It’s in the water. I can probably fish it back out again, but not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

“You are not in a position to make demands, greenhorn. I found it in the middle of the goddamned ocean. You can’t hide it from me here.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to hide it from you. I just want to know what it is and what you are going to do with it.”

The Captain stood silent for a moment. Culann could read nothing in his impassive expression, but he could feel the Captain staring at him from behind those dark lenses. After careful consideration, the Captain raised his arm and shot Culann in the right thigh.

The bullet ran through Culann’s flesh like a sharp jolt of electricity. Aftershocks of hot pain coursed up and down his leg. Culann dropped to the deck and pressed his hands over the two clean holes on either side of his thigh. The dogs let out another chorus of whimpers, but they stayed back.

“Now that we understand each other,” the Captain said, “I’m going to tell you what you want to know. When I’m done, I’m going to ask you again where it is. Each second that goes by without you telling me what I want to know is going to mean another bullet. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Culann hissed through clenched teeth.

“Good. Now pay attention, because when the story ends, we’re getting back to business.”

“I first found it forty years ago. We were on a bombing run over Cambodia when all of a sudden my instruments stopped, and my engines went dead. We crashed deep in the jungle. I came out okay, but my DSO was killed, and my observer had two broken legs. I went to see if I could find some friendlies to help us.