The Dark by Jeremy Robinson

Author:Jeremy Robinson [Robinson, Jeremy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Breakneck Media
Published: 2021-07-13T04:00:00+00:00

30

“Bree! Wait!” I shout, but I’m too late. The basket is already lifted, and the pint-sized predator contained within set loose. Sanchez’s little claws click over the floor, scrambling to grip like some old cartoon character, running in place before springing forward.

My mind fills with images of Sanchez biting Bree’s face. It’s not overly gory or deadly in any fashion, but the little man’s transformation into pint-sized serial killer has me worried about his future. Biting a little girl might help seal his fate. Then again, given the circumstances and the state of the world, I doubt animal control will be a thing.

Sanchez leaps, headed straight for Bree’s face, as she leans forward, arms open, squealing with joy.

Then he’s wrapped in her arms, squirming, and licking, little tail twitching madly.

Bree stands, beaming and giggling. “I think he likes me.”

“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised. I approach the pooch, hand outstretched, as I have a thousand times before. This time, I’m a little nervous. But it turns out to be for nothing. Sanchez welcomes me back into his wolf pack with a few apologetic licks. I pet his head and feel something odd.

“What’s that, buddy?” I lean in close with a candle. There’s a patch of hair missing on his forehead, between the eyes.

“No way,” Emma says, seeing it at the same time I do. “He’s one of us.”

I rub my thumb over his little forehead, brushing away loose fur, confirming it for myself. Tiny little Sanchez has a teeny little death rune on his head, same as me. “One of us…” I say the words to myself, but they feel accurate. And wrong.

“All set,” Allie says, entering the dining room with Jen. “What are you guys do—” She sees Sanchez, happy and held. “Aww, Chezy is feeling better?”

Allie approaches, reaching for the pooch.

His lips peel up, revealing needle teeth. A high-pitched, guttural growl rises from his tiny chest, like a motor scooter on its last legs. Allie stops. Yanks her hand back, aware that Sanchez was about to give her a half dozen itsy bitsy puncture wounds.

“Hey!” I snap my fingers at Sanchez, and he reacts as he should, ears folding down, body pressing against Bree. “Knock it off.” But he doesn’t take his predatory gaze off Allie until she backs up a few steps.

My sister looks wounded. Sanchez’s unexplainable angst toward Allie pushes her toward complete overwhelm. Her resolve and fortitude have been admirable, but everyone has a breaking point. I wrap my arm around her back and give her a vigorous rub. “He’s just out of sorts still. Give him time.”

“Whatever,” she says. “He’s just a dog. Are we going?”

“Can I bring him?” Bree asks, holding Sanchez up.

It’s probably a bad idea, but I suspect we won’t be back any time soon. Maybe ever. And the idea of abandoning Sanchez doesn’t sit well. I get his leash and crouch down in front of Bree. “He’s your responsibility now, okay. Don’t let go of him, no matter what.”

She gives an earnest nod and takes the leash handle while I clip the other end to Sanchez’s collar.

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