Free R.S. Guthrie - Detective Bobby Mac 02 - L O S T by R.S. Guthrie Page B

the rear. No sounds, no movement. Nothing. There was a dog crate and a leash lying on the deck, but no barking.
    I motioned to the canine paraphernalia and pointed to my ears. People could stay quiet. Dogs, not so much. We both drew our weapons. Jax motioned to me to circle the deck and come from the other side. He waited until I was in place and then we both climbed the stairs closest to the house, keeping our profiles small against the wood siding.
    Before we could reach the sliding door, the back wall exploded. Glass, wood, wire, and insulation blew outward in a cloud and a handful of gnarled, blackish shapes, each twice our size, flew past us, running for the far end of the yard. We both leveled our pistols but were too late. The beasts were far too fast and had scaled the back fence and disappeared in less than a second or two.
    “Jesus Christ,” Jax breathed. Debris lay all about the grass and there was a jagged hole encompassing more than a third of the back of the house. “What the hell?”
    I motioned to the house. There was a small whine coming from within. Deep within. We put our weapons back to the ready and slowly moved to the gaping tear in the Porter’s home. After clearing the entrance, and the first two rooms we entered, Jax pointed to the basement stairs. The whimpering was clearly coming from down below.
    I pointed to the rest of the house. We needed to make sure the first level was clear. Jax nodded and we made a quick sweep of the upstairs.
    As we descended the stairs to the underground, I could now tell the sounds were coming from the dog. The unfinished basement was a mess. The things we’d seen had obviously been living down here. A Golden Retriever was lying in the corner, bleeding. It looked like the beasts had been playing with it, as the cat might play with the outmatched rodent rather than delivering a quick death.
    “Sorry, girl,” I said, scratching her ears. It didn’t do any good. She was nonresponsive. The poor dog was well beyond anything being done to save her and was clearly in a massive amount of anguish. I knew what had to be done, but I could not bring myself to do it. Images of Tina and Sketch occupied my head. I knew I owed it to them, and to the animal at my feet, to relieve her suffering; it was my limitation, not hers. They do not ask much of us for their unequaled love and loyalty, but this one thing. And I was failing this poor dog.
    Jax could see the indecision playing out on my face. He pointed to the mess strewn across the basement and told me to check the room for any signs of the victims having been here. When I turned to begin the search, he fired.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    There were no signs of the girls, the Porters, or any other humans. I say humans; Jax was still not convinced we’d seen anything but several large brutes running for freedom.
    “Squatters?” he said.
    “Not a chance. Did you see the dog?”
    “Sadistic squatters, then.”
    “And the Porters?”
    “No answer for that one, I’m afraid,” Jax said.
    “I have one.”
    “See, I was afraid you were going to say that.”
    “You never really told me how much you heard about what went down in Denver.”
    “That’s because I lied about how I heard about it.”
    “Do tell,” I said.
    “I dreamed it.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m not sure exactly whether it was before, after, or during what happened to you down there. But I dreamed it. Like the way twins talk about living events of the other, from a thousand miles away? That was me. Ask me anything.”
    “You sound pretty sure of yourself,” I said.
    “Can’t explain that, either. But I know. Ask me.”
    “Calypso?”
    “I saw him warn you away on that rooftop. Threatening to throw Cole off the building.”
    “Jesus.”
    “And Greer…”
    “Shit.”
    “I know you had no choice. I know how much it killed you.”
    “Then what is all this crap about squatters?”
    “Wishful thinking?”
    The second smile in the same day.
    “Those