Bait Dog An Atlanta Burns Novel - By Chuck Wendig Page 0,69
to kill anybody. Kids say that all the time, right? “I’ll kill you if you touch my beer! I’m going to kill her for stealing my man. Teacher gave me a bad grade and now I want to kill her ass.” But they don’t mean it. Right?
But she really honestly wants to kill someone.
It’s not the first time she’s felt that way, and that’s worrying her most of all.
Someone shoulders into her—a dirtball kid with ash-blonde hair that segues into a mullet that then segues into an even-longer rat-tail braided and hanging down to the middle of his back. He smiles with pebble teeth and blinks his tiny eyes at her. “Oh, shit, I’m so frickin’ sorry.”
He clutches a choke chain leash to his chest.
“It’s awright,” she says. Looking around, he looks to be the least threatening person in here—seems like a good tour guide. “Hey, I’m lookin’ for someone.”
“Sure. Whozat?”
“Bird and Bodie Haycock.”
The kid’s eyes bug out and his jaw drops like he’s seeing a pair of braless breasts for the first time in his life. “That’s me! Well. I’m one of those two, I’m not both of them. Man, how frickin’ crazy would that be? To be two people?” He offers his hand. “I’m Bird.”
“Bird.” She says his name, doesn’t take his hand, feels a hot gush of bile geyser up from her belly and into her throat. Images of Sailor the little white terrier flip through her mind. But at the same time she’s having a hella hard time reconciling the person that could do such a thing to a helpless dog with the gawky marble-eyed and thimble-dicked hick in front of her. “You’re Bird.”
“Yup!” So proud of it, too.
“And your brother is Bodie.”
“Yup!”
“Where’s he at?”
“Oh, he’s out back. Trainin’ one of the dogs at the catpole.”
Hit him now. Break his stupid dumb face.
But she doesn’t. “Can you… take me to him?”
“Sure, c’mon!”
Bird heads to the back of the barn, waving her on, rat-tail bouncing between his shoulders. Atlanta’s hands ball into fists, her jagged chew-bitten nails digging into the flesh of her palm.
* * *
As they walk, they pick up a small trail behind the barn that leads into the woods. Rough pavers mark the way.
Bird won’t shut up. He’s a squawky one.
He’s all, So where you from? and You go to the high school? and Yeah me and my bro we’re totally frickin’ home schooled, it’s awesome. He’s like a broken spigot—much as you want him to turn off, he won’t. I like the woods. It’s frickin’ peaceful and whatever. I got allergies though and they frickin’ SUCK and my uncle is what got us the job here and man it’s sweet and I like to work outdoors even though I got allergies oh I already said that and you seem really nice I like nice girls man some girls are frickin’ not frickin’ nice and y’know, you got, like, the coolest red hair and—
She’s about to whip out the baton and give him a good whack in the kidneys just to shut him up. But then a sound cuts through the woods—a half-growl, half-scream, all-panic animal cry. In the tree cover above, a pair of startled turtledoves take flight over their heads.
“Yo, those frickin’ things are loud,” Bird says, waving her on.
“…Those things.”
“Yeah, like, one time my frickin’ aunt decided to take one in as a pet and stuff? I was five or something and I was just y’know doin’ my thing and playing with my Tonka truck and stuff and then here comes the coon and he’s all frickin’ fired up about something and scratches the hell out of my arms and legs. Stupid coon.”
They come into a clearing. Paved with concrete.
It’s a training ground for fighting dogs.
Tractor tires. Heavy chains. Two big cages dangling from a pair of chestnut trees, both cages empty. Atlanta spies a rusty washtub. A small shelf with soaps and sponges. A car battery and battery cables.
The concrete is spattered brown in places. Maybe blood. Maybe animal waste. Probably both and definitely like that spot in the Shakespeare play: never to wash out.
Out, out, damned dogsblood.
Bodie stands there. He’s the only one here and he looks like an older, better-put-together version of Bird. He’s taller than his brother by a good six inches. Handsomer, too, though given how Bird looks a little like the son of two close cousins, that’s maybe not saying much. Bodie’s hair is cropped short, though just as blonde.