Dog Days of Summer (Damned of the 2/19th Book Four) - Finished

Old Photos

Galaxy Arcade, Centralia Mall

Centralia, Washington

United States of America

8 August, 1986

1730 Hours

        I'd left Matron Aine's car in the parkinglot of the big Blackbird store about a half mile south of where I was standing. I'd grabbed my duffle and my ruck and humped them across the field, went into the mall, and steered straight for the pay-phones. There I'd called an old friend from high school, one I knew I could depend on as far as I could depend on anyone right now. A few minutes on the phone, the agreement was made, and now I was standing in the arcade playing a video game, my luggage stored in the back room by a willing attendant who'd been impressed by a $20 bill.

        One of my cousins had ducked his head into the arcade, scanned it, and left, thinking I wasn't there. That was the problem they'd be having. I'd left home at five foot four and weighing about one fifty, with no glasses, a baby face, and a self-effacing attitude that I'd used to try to keep people from noticing me.

        They weren't looking for me, they were looking for the child I had been. That told me that despite the fact I'd defied the Matrons right in the seat of their power, they still saw me as the child who had hidden beneath his bed for almost an entire month, who stood there and took any beating handed out silently without fighting back.

        The child was gone. Destroyed by Special Weapons training, Alfenwehr, Atlas and 2/19th.

        There had been a first aid kit in the car, and I'd spread neosporin on the bite wound, then bandaged it with a gauze pad before wrapping it up. The first aid kit vanished into my rucksack, because experience had taught me that it's better to have it and not need it then not have it when you need it. My long sleeved flannel shirt hid the bandage, just like it would have hidden the wound, but training made me take care of it. I wasn't worried about infection, even thought a human bite is one of the dirtiest bite injuries you can get, pretty much because it was an Aine that had bit me.

        And what I had seen in the rearview mirror wasn't exactly human.

        The video game mocked me with sound effects and flashing lights as I lost again, and I dug another token out of my pocket. I'd cashed three of my traveler's checks, put most of the money in my boot, and then exchanged a tenner for tokens. The game obediently started up again, but I was only paying half attention to it.

        The entrance to the arcade is what I wanted to watch.

        Billy Joe came into the arcade and I almost burst out laughing. The last few years and he had not changed a bit. Heavyset, most of it farm-boy muscle, with haystack blond hair, blue eyes, honest jaw, a baby-fat pudged face, and 100% Grade-A Washington Farmboy. If he'd showed up at a casting call for a farm boy the casting director would have sent out a nasty note about stereotypes.

        He looked around, passing right by me twice. The second time I could feel the frustration rolling off of him at not being able to find me.

        Maybe it the glasses. The worked for Superman, so they ought to hide my less than super ass.

        Leaving the machine I grabbed my ruck and duffle and followed him out. I didn't think he was being followed, I hadn't seen anyone with him so I doubted he'd sold me out, but I hadn't gotten as far as I had without being careful in ways that mattered. Chemical and nuclear weapons had taught me the benefit of being careful. He headed out of the mall and into the parkinglot, and I lengthened my stride to catch up to him right before he reached the truck. When he grabbed the chrome push-button handle I tossed my stuff in the back and touched his shoulder. Billy-Joe swore and spun around, one fist raised.