The Passage - By Justin Cronin Page 0,382

leather wallet. Tucked in the folds was a card with the words UTAH TAX COMMISSION, DIVISION OF MOTOR VEHICLES and, beneath that, a name, David Conroy. David Conroy, 1634 Mansard Place, Provo, UT. That’s who they were, he told Mausami, showing her. The Conroys.

But the barn door, Theo thought; something about the barn door. Why was it ajar like that? Could he have actually forgotten to close it? But he had closed it; he remembered this distinctly. And no sooner had he thought this than a new sound reached his ears: a quiet rustling from within.

He froze, willing himself into an absolute stillness. For a long moment he heard nothing. Maybe he’d just imagined it.

Then it came again.

At least whatever was inside hadn’t noticed him yet. If it was a viral, one shot was all he’d have. He could return to the house and warn Mausami, but where would they go? His best chance was to use whatever element of surprise he still possessed. Carefully, holding his breath, he pulled the pump on the shotgun, listening for the click as the first round slid into the chamber. From deep inside the barn he heard a soft thump, followed by an almost human-sounding sigh. He eased the barrel forward until it met the wood of the door and gently nudged it open as, behind him, a whispering voice lit up the gloom.

“Theo? What are you doing?”

Mausami in her long nightshirt, her hair spilling over her shoulders; she seemed to hover like an apparition in the predawn darkness. Theo opened his mouth to speak, to tell her to get back, when the door flew open, knocking the barrel of the shotgun with a force that sent him spinning. Before he knew what had happened the gun had fired, blasting him backward. A vaulting shadow leapt past him into the yard.

“Don’t shoot!” Mausami yelled.

It was a dog.

The animal skidded to a halt a few meters in front of Mausami, tail tucked between his legs. His fur was thick, a silvering gray with spots of black. He was facing Maus in a kind of bow, standing on his skinny legs, his neck bent submissively, ears folded back against the woolly ruff of his shoulders. He seemed uncertain about which way to look, whether to run away or launch an attack. A low growl rose from the back of his throat.

“Maus, be careful,” Theo warned.

“I don’t think he’s going to hurt me. Are you, boy?” Dropping to a crouch, she held out a hand for the dog to sniff. “You’re just hungry, aren’t you? Looking in the barn for something to eat.”

The dog was directly between Theo and Mausami; if the animal made an aggressive move, the shotgun would be useless. Theo flipped it around in his hands to use as a club, and took a cautious step forward.

“Put the gun down,” Mausami said.

“Maus—”

“I mean it, Theo.” She gave the dog a smile, her hand still extended. “Let’s show this nice man what a good dog you are. Come here, boy. You want to give Mama’s hand a sniff?”

The animal inched toward her, backed away, then moved forward again, following the black button of his nose toward Mausami’s outstretched hand. As Theo watched, dumbfounded, the dog placed his face against her hand and began to lick it. Soon Maus was on the ground, sitting in the dirt, cooing to the animal, rubbing his face and ruff.

“See?” she laughed, as the dog, shaking his head with pleasure, gave a big wet sneeze into her ear. “He’s just a big old sweetie is what he is. What’s your name, fella? Hmm? Do you have a name?”

Theo realized he was still holding the shotgun over his head, ready to swing. He relaxed his posture, feeling embarrassed.

Mausami gave him a forgiving frown. “I’m sure he won’t hold it against you. Are you my good boy?” she said to the animal, vigorously rubbing his mane. “What do you say? You skinny thing. How about some breakfast? How does that sound?”

The sun had lifted over the hill; the night was over, Theo realized, bringing with it a dog.

“Conroy,” he said.

Mausami looked at him. The dog was licking her ear, rubbing his muzzle against her in a way that seemed almost indecent.

“That’s what we’ll call him,” Theo explained. “Conroy.”

Mausami took the dog’s face in her hands, smushing his cheeks. “Is that you? Are you Conroy?” She made him nod, and gave a happy laugh. “Conroy it is.”

Theo didn’t want to let him