need some antibiotics or something.
The problem is I can’t feel one of my legs. Crap. I couldn’t be nerve damage could it? Eyes closed again (I don’t want to risk the sight of anything that will just result in me going back into shock) I move my hand slowly downward. Oh god. I’ve suddenly grown a lot of hair. Then I come to, realize what had happened as my hand brushes through the shaggy mass that had come to rest on my right leg. I’m sitting there against the concrete planter like I’m simply in my living room sprawled against the front of the couch. Charley’s massive head is in my lap and as a result I’ve simply lost all feeling in my leg.
I move his head a bit and hear his sleepy complaints. I bring my other hand up, The flashlight beam is still on, but it’s substantially dimmed: how long had I been out. Maybe not long; I had no idea how much charge the flashlight beam had in the first place. I lever the beam towards Charley’s heaving body first to assess the damage. There’s so much dried blood already beginning to oxidize that it’s hard to tell. I see a dark spot on one of his back legs, just like me, same leg. There are little bite marks on the side of his face, I believe, but, again, it’s hard to tell. And another dark spot on his neck. As I’m checking he partially opens one of his eyes and seemingly glares at me (turn that shit off, Dan, trying to sleep).
I turn to assessing the damage on my own body. As I thought there are spots on my work slacks darker than the surrounding, and a fresh bite on my forearm, up near where I’d rolled up my sleeve. The blood has dried over it and it’s stopped bleeding. It’s tender to the touch, though, and looks like it’s beginning to swell. I worry about infection but remember the antibiotics I’d thought to take with me earlier in the day.
I lie back against the concrete barrier again and rest a bit. I’m about to fall asleep again when I hear it, a low wail. At first it sounds like a woman crying and I sit up, excited. Another human out there, and possibly in distress. But then the wail resolves into something more solid, more animal and a shiver runs down my body, my blood suddenly chill. It sounds primal, like it’s directed at the moon, but there’s little or no moon tonight. I think about the Dobermans and all the damage they’ve done. Just dogs, and by their collars domesticated dogs. Then I think about wild creatures, not just a tiny lone coyote, but whole wolf packs, all the creatures that had been pacing their cages in the Houston zoo, only a couple of miles from here, pacing for the last day and a half waiting to be fed. My mind enhances the shadows at the edge of the plaza again and I imagine all the things with teeth that could be out there waiting for us. We have to get to the truck. We have to get to some high ground. I look up to the nearest skyscraper, Heritage plaza, but it has a giant gaping hole in it and the tail end of a passenger liner sticking out. I wonder at its structural integrity. The library is no good, of course. If Charley can get in than a whole host of other things might be able to get in as well.
Let’s see. Whatever happened had happened at 7:35 or about. Everything downtown should have been opened up by then. A lot of the buildings have underground garages that will offer a solid fire door and stair well to ascend to the upper floors, however much I don’t want to go down into the dark. I pick out against the faint outlines of the downtown skyscrapers against the backdrop of stars the rounded outline of the Wells Fargo building. Good, it must be the second or third tallest downtown.
I shake the dog head resting in my lap and a half snore half moan full of doggie breath badness escapes. He doesn’t seem to want to wake up and I wonder if it’s from his wounds or just the usual big dog lethargy. I shake him again and at the same time try to lever my stiff body up against the concrete planter. Charley
The problem is I can’t feel one of my legs. Crap. I couldn’t be nerve damage could it? Eyes closed again (I don’t want to risk the sight of anything that will just result in me going back into shock) I move my hand slowly downward. Oh god. I’ve suddenly grown a lot of hair. Then I come to, realize what had happened as my hand brushes through the shaggy mass that had come to rest on my right leg. I’m sitting there against the concrete planter like I’m simply in my living room sprawled against the front of the couch. Charley’s massive head is in my lap and as a result I’ve simply lost all feeling in my leg.
I move his head a bit and hear his sleepy complaints. I bring my other hand up, The flashlight beam is still on, but it’s substantially dimmed: how long had I been out. Maybe not long; I had no idea how much charge the flashlight beam had in the first place. I lever the beam towards Charley’s heaving body first to assess the damage. There’s so much dried blood already beginning to oxidize that it’s hard to tell. I see a dark spot on one of his back legs, just like me, same leg. There are little bite marks on the side of his face, I believe, but, again, it’s hard to tell. And another dark spot on his neck. As I’m checking he partially opens one of his eyes and seemingly glares at me (turn that shit off, Dan, trying to sleep).
I turn to assessing the damage on my own body. As I thought there are spots on my work slacks darker than the surrounding, and a fresh bite on my forearm, up near where I’d rolled up my sleeve. The blood has dried over it and it’s stopped bleeding. It’s tender to the touch, though, and looks like it’s beginning to swell. I worry about infection but remember the antibiotics I’d thought to take with me earlier in the day.
I lie back against the concrete barrier again and rest a bit. I’m about to fall asleep again when I hear it, a low wail. At first it sounds like a woman crying and I sit up, excited. Another human out there, and possibly in distress. But then the wail resolves into something more solid, more animal and a shiver runs down my body, my blood suddenly chill. It sounds primal, like it’s directed at the moon, but there’s little or no moon tonight. I think about the Dobermans and all the damage they’ve done. Just dogs, and by their collars domesticated dogs. Then I think about wild creatures, not just a tiny lone coyote, but whole wolf packs, all the creatures that had been pacing their cages in the Houston zoo, only a couple of miles from here, pacing for the last day and a half waiting to be fed. My mind enhances the shadows at the edge of the plaza again and I imagine all the things with teeth that could be out there waiting for us. We have to get to the truck. We have to get to some high ground. I look up to the nearest skyscraper, Heritage plaza, but it has a giant gaping hole in it and the tail end of a passenger liner sticking out. I wonder at its structural integrity. The library is no good, of course. If Charley can get in than a whole host of other things might be able to get in as well.
Let’s see. Whatever happened had happened at 7:35 or about. Everything downtown should have been opened up by then. A lot of the buildings have underground garages that will offer a solid fire door and stair well to ascend to the upper floors, however much I don’t want to go down into the dark. I pick out against the faint outlines of the downtown skyscrapers against the backdrop of stars the rounded outline of the Wells Fargo building. Good, it must be the second or third tallest downtown.
I shake the dog head resting in my lap and a half snore half moan full of doggie breath badness escapes. He doesn’t seem to want to wake up and I wonder if it’s from his wounds or just the usual big dog lethargy. I shake him again and at the same time try to lever my stiff body up against the concrete planter. Charley
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