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“Do it,” he growled. “Do it now, Twila.”
“Not yet,” I said, noting with some fear that my voice was papery thin. “We can’t let it dodge the stream.”
Everything in me screamed to do what Bud had said and damn the consequences, but this had to be done right. If we took the shot and missed, we were all going to die a spectacularly horrible death—the fire and brimstone sort. So, I waited and waited even longer, holding my breath as the thing came closer, until finally it was in range.
With a grunt of effort, I dug my fingers into the fire hydrant and pulled with all the strength I could muster. The cover came free a moment later, water shooting out like a geyser, spraying a high-powered jet straight at the hellhound. The pressure from the hydrant flipped the thing onto its side, exposing its dark underbelly. The air around it sizzled, and it let out a pained shriek as the water kept coming, dousing its flames. It was definitely a wolf or a hound, just like I’d guessed. It looked thinner without the coat of flames clinging to its body though.
Moments later, it got its legs under itself and began running in the opposite direction and it was gone before any of us could draw a weapon.
Even though Bud and I were to one side of the hydrant, we’d still managed to get soaked to the skin. I stood, swayed on my feet, and tried to blink black spots out of my eyes.
Bud’s voice sounded distant when he asked, “Are you alright?”
“No,” I said after a moment, watching in alarm as the black spots began to spread across my vision. “I think I’m going to pass out.”
I tipped sideways and Bud’s hairy arms caught me before I could hit the ground.
***
“Dadgummit!” Ol’ Ned railed, spitting a few more unintelligible words before downing at least five TUMS and continuing with a sulfurous, “Watch where you’re putting that stuff, Slim Jim! I don’t wanna be shittin’ it out for the next month!”
I had a feeling that Ol’ Ned had been shouting for a while—I’d just been too out of it to notice. Trying to sit up, I had to bite back a groan. My body felt like a collection of dried-up twigs: brittle and liable to snap at any moment. My ears were ringing, and my throat was as dry as a week-old biscuit. I contented myself with turning onto my side to catch a glimpse of whatever was going on that had Ol’ Ned in such a tailspin. The cushions under me were worn and familiar, which meant someone had hauled me home and settled me on my own couch. If I craned my neck, I could make out the kitchen from here.
And what I saw in there was bizarre.
Slim Jim was leaning over a shape on my table, a tin of something in his hand. It smelled like my grandmother’s medicine cabinet, which meant it was a salve of some kind. Granny had always preferred the old standbys, side-eying any new medicines or shots. It was probably why she’d passed away from an infection a few years before the Fog rolled in. The woman just refused to go to a hospital. Which was a sad reminder that most of uscouldn’tgo to the hospital now. I mean—who in blazes knew what they’d find if they put us under the microscope?
“Quit yer feckin’ bitchin’, Ned,” Slim Jim snapped, dipping his fingers into the salve with a businesslike air. “Yer lucky it wasn’t worse.”
Ol’ Ned grumbled another unintelligible word and adjusted his posture, leaning more heavily on his elbows when Slim Jim prompted him to. Only then did I realize what I was seeing. Ol’ Ned’s scaly backside was covered in blisters, scorch marks, and his skin was flaking off in places. His pants, or what was left of them, were bunched around his ankles, almost as badly off as his ass. If his house had burned down, he’d be sending me into town to buy him a new pair. A man couldn’t just stroll around with his ass on full display around these parts. It wasn’t proper, even for our motley crew.
I should have felt bad for him, but given my recent ass-related incident, my pity had dried up. Instead, a half-hysterical giggle escaped me, and Slim Jim turned in my direction, salve still coating his fingers. He smiled knowingly at me, good humor dancing in his eyes. Good to see I wasn’t the only one who wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness before me. Slim Jim just had enough sense not to do it to Ol’ Ned’s face. I was a lady, which meant no man worth his salt was gonna raise a proverbial hand to me. Fights between men were fair enough game, though, and knowing how Ol’ Ned took things to heart, if Slim Jim wasn’t careful, this could devolve into a brawl. An unfair, lopsided brawl. I doubted Ol’ Ned could get in a good lick or two given the state he was in.
“Thank molasses you’re awake,” Ol’ Ned said, grumbling at me. “You gave us a helluva scare. I thought I’d have to force-feed you blood to get you up an’ movin’ agin.”
“Not a bad idea,” I said, voice hoarse. “I’mstarved.That fight took a lot out of me.” I paused as the events of the last few hours caught up to me. “Sicily—”
“Is just fine,” Slim Jim answered.
“And Sheriff Dean?”
“He’s just feckin’ fine too,” Slim Jim responded.
“They’s all fine except for me an’ my god-darned ass!” Ol’ Ned piped up.
I looked at Slim Jim. “Did we—?”
“Win?” Ol’ Ned grunted out. “Depends on what you mean by ‘win’.”
“Is my trailer the only one standing?” I asked.
“Nope,” Slim Jim answered, happily popping the ‘p’ in an effort to annoy Ol’ Ned.
It worked. Ol’ Ned leaned up a little bit and swung an elbow half-heartedly at his friend. Slim Jim just danced out of the way, still grinning. I bit my lip to contain another laugh. I didn’t want to mock Ol’ Ned, even if he deserved it for being a part of the buckshot debacle.
“Then I count it as a win,” I said, grimacing as my muscles protested. I needed to get blood into me pronto. “What happened after I passed out? Where’s Bud? Is he okay?”
“Bud’s fine,” Ol’ Ned answered. “He’s puttin’ out small fires here and there, but Jim’s right. It coulda been a lot worse. That fire hydrant stunt saved a lot o’ them houses an’ sent that rat bastard scurryin’ back into the woods. I don’t think he’ll be doin’ much arson while he’s soaked to the skin.”
