Free Gorgon: An Alex Hunter Novel by Greig Beck

weathered eye and tried to shut the sound of the dog’s continued barking from her mind. It was hard enough trying to make sense of what was on the television when the reception made everything look like it was covered in radioactive snow. She looked across to Yarni, her husband, and then to the new antenna that was still a pile of metal poles, loops of wire and bags of screws stacked near the door.
    Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf – on and on the noise went, threatening to grind her brain to mush, and her fat husband just sat reading a paper, oblivious to the clamor. Zayda stared at him, hoping her volcanic gaze would set the newsprint on fire. But he continued to sit there, his head nodding slightly, blue cigarette smoke curling up beside his puffy, grizzled face.
    Her lips moved in a curse, and she groaned to her feet and crossed to the window. Instead of throwing it open, she shouted at the glass: ‘Shut up, cursed mongrel!’ The window seemed to rattle with the ferocity of her words, but Yarni hadn’t budged, and of course the barking didn’t stop.
    She turned back to the window. The sun was setting, and she could just make out the ancient clock tower in the city center. It was old, but just a speck in history compared to her home. She angled her vision so she could just glimpse the ruins of a Roman aqueduct touching one of the hills. Izmit, built on the fertile plain of the inland Sea of Marmara, had been one of the eastern-most capitals of the Roman Empire for more than half a century – but was old even back then. Now, the city was desperate to modernize, but in the hills, where Zayda and Yarni lived, life was still bucolic, insular, and resistant to anything more modern than television and the motor car.
    Zayda pulled back from the window. She would have enjoyed the view if not for that fucking noisy dog! She spun around at her husband. ‘That Boushkin – barking, barking … all the time with the barking.’
    Yarni’s cigarette went from one side of his mouth to the other and a slit opened in his lips. ‘Must have seen a fox.’
    Zayda stomped over to her husband and grabbed his arm. ‘Well, get out there and shut him up. He’s driving me crazy!’
    Yarni jerked his arm away. ‘Piss off, woman, it’s cold out there.’ He continued reading.
    Zayda swatted her hand up through his paper. ‘If you don’t, I will.’
    She waited a few seconds. The only movement was Yarni’s eyes slowly taking in the print.
    ‘Fine, then I will shut him up – permanently.’
    She clomped to the door, snatching up the coal shovel on the way. She paused, daring him to stop her, but he lifted the paper higher so that only his gray hair was visible above its pages. Zayda pulled open the door.
    Arf-arf-arf-arf-arf-arf . Out on the porch, the sound was even worse. There was just a faint glow on the horizon now, and the yellow luminescence from the windows only bathed the hard ground for little more than ten feet from the front steps. The dog was chained near the shed; she could see it was at the chain’s full length and, oddly, facing toward the house, as if the fox, or whatever was upsetting him, had made its way inside.
    ‘Boushkin, you stop!’ she commanded.
    The dog flattened its ears and whined, then continued barking.
    Zayda made a guttural sound of annoyance that caused her breath to steam in the dark, cold air. She stepped down, gripping the shovel tighter. Either the dog, or the fox was about to get a headache to match her own.
    *
    Yarni curled his toes inside his socks. He drew on his cigarette but got nothing but cold, stale air. He thought about relighting it, but after examining its length decided instead to flick the butt into the fire.
    He peered around their small cluttered room, and frowned. ‘Zayda?’
    How long had he been sitting there alone? Was his wife still outside? Stupid woman. The barking had stopped ages ago … or at least he thought it had. He shook his head. There was no way Zayda would really hit