Dogs by Nancy Kress Page B

treated and will be returned to you when this is over. My partner and I have cages in the back, safe and clean. The dogs will be treated with every respect."
    â€œYes, I know this,” Balonov said in his heavy accent.
    â€œYou agree to let us take the dogs?”
    â€œYes. These dogs, a demon has entered into them.”
    This was a new wrinkle. Billy whistled low between his teeth. Jess, feeling helpless, said, “A demon?”
    â€œSometimes it happens, da? The demons of hell, they entered into pigs in the Bible.”
    Jess vaguely remembered something about possessed pigs in one of the Gospels—hadn’t Jesus driven them off a cliff or something? This whole scene was starting to feel unreal. He said, “Mr. Balonov, please toss the shotgun off the porch into the bushes.”
    Balonov rose and Jess tensed. Billy had his gun already drawn. But Balonov tossed his weapon over the rotting porch rail into a mass of thorny, spindly, leafless rose bushes that might be either dormant or dead.
    â€œThank you,” Jess said, and climbed reluctantly out of the van, Billy following. Keeping his eyes on Balonov every second, Jess opened the back of the van. Immediately the infected dogs within redoubled their snarling and barking, which caused the dogs inside the house to increase theirs. Over the noise Jess called, “How many dogs do you have, Mr. Balonov?”
    â€œI have two. Two dogs with demons!”
    Billy pulled out two cages. Balonov let them get halfway to the front steps before he pulled out a semi-automatic and fired.
    Jess and Billy hit the ground rolling. Jess made it behind the truck, but Billy screamed, hit somewhere. Jess pulled out his own gun and took aim. He missed; he’d never been the shot that Billy was. Victor Balonov fired twice more at Billy, who kept rolling, and missed both times. How many rounds did the gun hold? Maybe eight, maybe ten. Jess fired again, missed. Now Balonov leapt down the steps, running toward Billy; he wouldn’t miss again. “And demons in people!” Balonov shouted, and aimed. Jess, desperate, dodged around the truck to squeeze off another shot. No time, he didn’t have enough time—
    Balonov froze in midair, looking almost comical in his surprise, and toppled over onto Billy.
    Jess looked at his gun. He hadn’t fired.
    Then he was running toward them just as Billy, cursing and shouting, was struggling out from under Balonov’s motionless bulk, and Tessa was saying calmly from where she stood at the side of the house, “It’s all right, Jess, he’s dead.” She stood in perfect regulation shooting stance, legs apart and two hands steady on her gun, the winter breeze gently ruffling her shiny black hair.

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    The bastards were coming for all the dogs and taking them away!
    Ed Dormund scowled at the TV. That tit-heavy reporter, Annie Farnham, had just made the announcement on KJV-TV. Every dog in Tyler was supposed to be hauled off to God-knew-where, so the government could do whatever it wanted with them. And no people who left town could return. It was a goddamn fascist state, that’s what it was. What was next, concentration camps for everybody who owned a pet?
    Not if Ed Dormund had anything to say about it.
    â€œI paid three hundred bucks for each of my dogs!” he said aloud, before he knew he was going to say anything at all.
    â€œWhat?” Cora said blearily. “Can’t you turn that damn TV down?”
    â€œNag, nag, nag. Go back in the bedroom if you don’t like it.”
    â€œI got as much right to be here as you do.” She plopped onto the sofa.
    Ed ignored her. Outside, Jake and Petey and Rex had started to bark and snarl again. Ed didn’t like to admit even to himself that he was afraid to open the door.
    But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that these dogs were his , and no pansy government was going to take them away. Ed knew his rights. This was