That evening, Ethan made his mom’s recipe for spaghetti and meatballs. He’d always asked to help her make it, and she’d always obliged, if only begrudgingly.
“Know what the secret is, Ethan?” she asked as she had stirred the simmering pot on the stove while he rolled ground beef into small balls.
“Uhh, I dunno. Looove?” he’d replied sarcastically.
“No, smartass. Pork bones,” she said. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kill ya.” She drew a line across her neck and stuck her tongue out.
Now, years later, as he went through the same steps he’d seen her do dozens, maybe hundreds of times, he smiled at the memory. Mom would have liked Henry, he thought. And who knows what the hell Henry likes, but I bet he’d have liked Mom.
Ethan set a steaming plate in front of Henry, crossed his arms, and grinned with pride.
Henry grunted in approval at the delicious aroma before digging in. Ethan grabbed a plate of his own and dug in, the familiar taste filling his senses and taking him back to better times. The full day of manual labor had been exhausting, and he was starving, but pleased at what he’d accomplished. The two men ate in companionable silence, both going back for seconds and sipping on fresh limeade Henry had made.
“What do you think?” Ethan asked smugly when Henry had finished his second plate. “Better than the spaghetti in a can back in ‘Nam?”
Henry slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned back in his chair before fixing Ethan with a piercing gaze. He made a show of deciding as he raised a hand and teeter-tottered it back and forth.
“Hah! That’s the best damn spaghetti you’ve ever had, and you know it,” Ethan said with a laugh as he gathered both plates. Henry only grunted appreciatively.
“When ya head into town tomorrow, make sure you’re careful,” Henry said while Ethan did the dishes. “Keep your head on a swivel, and if it don’t feel right, bug out.”
Ethan was tempted to make a snarky remark about Henry acting like his mother, but he held his tongue. Besides, it would have just been a cover for the very real fear bubbling within him.
I refuse to live like a recluse, he thought. For better or worse, I need to be able to go out into the world if needed.
In the short time he’d spent on the farm, it was the closest thing to a place that felt like home since Mom’s passing. The now familiar sights, sounds, and smells comforted him in a way nothing else had. Henry’s steadfast, immovable presence gave the place a permanence.
Even Ethan’s seemingly insignificant contributions in the garden gave him a sense of purpose he’d been lacking. The thought of leaving, even for a few hours to pick up gardening supplies, filled him with a gnawing anxiety.
He shook his head. No turning back — this needed to be done. For him and for Joel.
“I will, Henry, don’t worry,” he said. “I might not look like much, but I held my own when I was getting out of the city.”
Henry seemed to consider for a time before speaking again. “I shot one of those bugs out in the south field today,” he stated bluntly. Ethan’s heart seemed to leap into his throat, making it hard to breathe as he froze in place, a soapy dish clutched in his hand.
“Monsters here on the farm? I didn’t hear anything,” Ethan said, trying to control his response and push down the surge of fear. Henry raised his hands placatingly, seeing right through Ethan’s attempt to mask his feelings.
“No need to get flustered,” he said. “I was way down by the river.” He observed Ethan neutrally, seeming to gauge his reaction. Ethan steeled himself and took a steadying breath.
“Thanks for letting me know,” he said. “I can’t live in fear, though. I need to do this.”
Henry regarded him for a long moment before nodding slowly and giving an affirmative grunt.
“Bright and early then,” the old man finally said. “And no lollygaggin’ in town.” He waved goodnight and made his way to the stairs, leaving Ethan to review his plan for the following day.
He was forced to acknowledge the fact that he was feeling undiluted terror at that moment. His hands were shaking, and his head still didn’t feel right. Something just felt off that he couldn’t quite identify. Despite all that, he needed to do this. He needed a win, and Joel needed a place to grow.
Besides, he thought, trying to his bravado. Didn’t someone say the only time you can be brave is when you’re afraid?
He tapped his lips in contemplation as he sat at the kitchen table.
The guy who said that probably never got chased by three monster dogs, he surmised. On second thought, fuck that guy.
The wind rustled his hair, and Ethan took a deep breath as he sped down the empty road on his scratched-up e-bike, empty trailer in tow. It felt good to be out and about, despite his reservations. His pistol, rifle, and hoe provided reassurance that he desperately needed. Even though he had overcome so much to get out of the city, he had nearly lost it all in a moment.
Come on, E-man, he thought, referring to himself by the nickname his Mom had given him. Lets get the win and go home. Ahead, the little town grew larger in his vision.
Azalea was a little town several miles from the farm. It boasted not one, but two stoplights and a quaint little main street that Ethan cautiously traversed, on the lookout for any monsters. Blooming flowers and towering trees lined the streets, giving the small town a cozy, welcoming feel he didn’t dare trust. If anything, the charming town made him uneasy.
As he pulled into the hardware store parking lot, he cautiously surveyed the area and dismounted with his rifle at the ready. The wind rustling the blooming plants and trees was the only noise to be heard. It was eerily still as he slowly backed toward the hardware store, eyes scanning both ways.
He switched to his garden hoe, holding it out wardingly as he opened the old wooden door to the store. A bell above the door tinkled merrily as he pushed in, causing Ethan to flinch at the noise that pierced the silence. He propped the door open and turned to survey the dingy interior of the store.
This place must be a hundred years old, he thought as he observed the worn wooden floor and rustic decorations that lined the walls. The place had a smell Ethan associated with old things he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Kind of like Henry’s house, he thought as he ventured into the store — wary of any signs of monsters.
Something caught his eye, and he hesitated by a checkout stand and thought for a moment before grabbing all the Mountain Dew and Slim Jims that were there with other assorted treats. He grinned to himself at the absurdity of it, but it reminded him of late nights playing video games.
No one’s around to make more of this, so may as well enjoy it now while it’s still possible, he thought.
He dropped his junk food and hoe into a shopping cart, ready to snatch it up at a moment's notice as he warily journeyed deeper into the store. Making his way back to the gardening section, he piled gardening supplies into the cart. Ethan haphazardly threw in pruners, a weeding trowel, and a new shovel as he grabbed everything that caught his eye.
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Finally, he reached what he was looking for — a spinning rack as tall as he was, filled with dozens of types of seeds. Everything from tulips to fruit-bearing plants was there. He paused only for a moment before grabbing everything and stuffing it into a leather satchel that reminded him of the one Indiana Jones used in Raiders of the Lost Arc.
Maybe if Indy were a gardener instead of an archeologist, he thought with a grin. Maybe I can find a whip and fedora to match.
It took three trips to get all the supplies he needed. Ethan gave the big bag of fertilizer a slap as he stepped back from his loaded trailer and admired his loot with hands on hips. He still had plenty of time to get back before dark, but he checked his watch anxiously, eager to get back before nightfall.
He mounted his bike and snapped on his helmet, praying for this journey to go better than the last time he had a full load in his trailer. Ethan pushed off, heading back the way he came and alert for any potential monsters.
Just as he reached the end of Main Street, he heard a noise that chilled his blood. A hysterical yipping and barking sound was coming from behind the restaurant on the corner. Ethan abruptly pulled up short, looking for any signs of monsters, hand resting on his pistol.
The commotion sounded more like a wounded animal rather than the noises he’d heard from the monsters previously. Ethan looked down the road leading home. It was clear. The smart thing to do would be to hightail it out of there with his supplies.
“Dammit,” he huffed in exasperation as he dismounted. I just never learn to mind my own business, he thought as he cautiously made his way toward the back of the restaurant.
He brought up his rifle, double-checking a round was chambered and flicking on the laser sight. The squealing animal was increasing in hysteria, but he trod carefully and deliberately as he edged around the corner.
What he saw there rooted him to the spot in shock. Two scuttlers were faced away from him, snapping and swiping at something deeper in the alley behind the restaurant. It was a dog. It cowered before the creatures while also trying to ward them back with its barks and growls. Ethan’s blood instantly came to a boil as he saw the dog valiantly facing down the two larger beasts.
It snarled viciously and barked maniacally, but it was clear that it was hurting. One leg was raised defensively, blood staining its fur from a nasty bite. The dog was medium-sized, much smaller than the monsters, and he spied a ratty leash had gotten tangled under a dumpster, causing it to be tethered in place. It had white fur with splotches of brown and black across its face and body.
Australian Shepherd, I think, Ethan thought as he processed the scene in an instant.
He didn’t dare shoot in the direction of the dog for fear of hitting it and drawing the attention of more monsters, so he unslung his trusty hoe and charged forward with no hesitation.
“Hey, ya fuckers!” he bellowed as he ran, causing the monsters ahead to whip around and screech at their new target. Any apprehension Ethan had felt about facing more monsters melted away before his fury at seeing the injured dog. Ethan couldn’t stand bullies. Especially not ones that picked on defenseless targets.
The pair of scuttlers chaotically scrambled toward him, zig-zagging in their disconcerting way.
I probably should’ve planned this out better, Ethan thought belatedly as the monsters closed the distance between them.
Ethan leveraged the speed of his sprint to plant a foot on the arm of an old couch on the side of the alley and launch himself into the air with a mighty bellow. The monsters, uncoordinated and unable to adjust their momentum, scrabbled in a tangled mess as Ethan passed right over them.
In midair, Ethan brought his hoe down in a mighty chop, aiming in the general direction of the nearest monster. It connected with a satisfying thwack that elicited a screech of pain from the monster he’d struck. The monster fell to the ground in a writhing mess, gushing black ichor from a deep furrow in its body.
Ethan turned and growled with feral fury as he landed. Placing himself between the monsters and the dog, he was determined they wouldn’t get past him while he still lived. He closed the distance with the uninjured monster while it was still tangled up with its fellow. Unleashing a flurry of precise swipes, he swung his hoe like a reaper and cleaved legs and chunks of flesh from the beast.
He’d forgotten how right the hoe felt in his hands, and he wielded it effortlessly, inflicting relentless damage to his foe. With a final bellow, he smashed the beast's head in with a powerful vertical chop that crushed the monster's head, shoving its mandibles into the ground with a sickening wet crunch. The monster lay motionless, a single leg twitching in death.
Ethan sighed in satisfaction as a small red orb circled up from the monster before plunging into his chest. The instant it contacted his chest, he felt the familiar burst of energy accompanied by a loud click in his skull that brought on an explosion of pain that forced him to his knees. His vision swam with tears as he fought off the dizziness that followed.
Was my skull fractured? he wondered as he struggled to regain his senses. The red orb felt as if it had mended something inside his skull, but the experience was still excruciating.
Ethan was distracted from any further pondering when he felt an agonizing vice clamp down on his leg.
“Gahh!” he exclaimed as he looked down and saw the first monster chomping down on his leg with its powerful mandibles. Ethan whirled his hoe around to hover over the head of the monster before plunging it straight down with all his strength.
One satisfying squelch later, Ethan could pull his leg out of the monster's grip and scramble away from the spreading blood of the scuttlers. Lying down on his back, he looked at the sky, his breath coming in sharp gasps from the brief, but intense exchange.
The pain in his leg was sharp, and he looked down just as the second red orb entered his core. Even though he’d seen it happen a few times, he marveled as his would sealed up before his eyes and the pain gradually receded.
“Black magic,” he muttered as he got to his feet, testing his weight on his freshly healed leg. He suddenly remembered the dog and whirled around to see it cowering against the dumpster, teeth bared in a rictus of fear.
Ethan’s throat choked up at the sight. Seeing animals in pain was something he hated, and it was obvious that the poor dog was injured and terrified. He briefly considered what to do next to help the distressed dog calm down. An idea struck him, and he ran back to his bike to retrieve something before returning to the injured animal.
He cautiously approached the wounded pup, doing his best to make no sudden moves and to appear non-threatening as possible. The dog curled in on itself and snarled at him defensively. Ethan sat down on the ground, bringing himself down to the dog’s level and keeping his movements deliberate and calm.
“Hey there, buddy,” he cooed. “Sorry you’ve had a rough day.” His eyes wandered over the injured animal. The dog sustained a severe leg injury, and brambles had stuck in its matted fur. Ethan seethed when he saw tufts of fur missing and scratches, evidently the handiwork of the scuttlers.
“Maybe a rough couple of days,” Ethan amended.
“How long were you running from those guys?” he asked casually, jabbing a thumb at the bodies of the two dead monsters behind him. The dog continued to bare its teeth at him, its ears laid flat against its head.
Ethan leaned onto one elbow and pulled a Slim Jim from his back pocket, deliberately unwrapping it and taking a bite, chewing exaggeratedly. The dog's ears perked forward, and its tongue darted out to lick its chops.
“Poor guy, you must be starving,” he said, trying to keep up a calm stream of words to convince the dog he was a friend.
Ethan tore off a chunk of the meat stick and tossed it toward the dog. It tentatively crept forward, eyes never leaving Ethan as it sniffed at the chunk of meat before darting forward to snatch it up and devour it in a single gulp.
Ethan let out a soft chuckle. “No, no, no, you gotta savor it, doggy,” he said placatingly as he tossed another piece. “Slim Jims are an endangered species now, haven’t you heard?”
The dog looked at him warily with its pale blue eyes, but it no longer growled. Its gaze darted expectantly between him and the snack in his hand.
The next fifteen minutes were spent feeding the dog bits of Slim Jim, talking coaxingly, and getting closer to the injured animal. He had to back off a few times when he moved too quickly, eliciting a growl or bared teeth. Ethan felt a swell of exhilaration when, finally, he held a piece of meat in his hand extended toward the dog, and it tentatively ate it directly from his palm. That seemed to be the point the dog decided to trust him and it began to lick his palm, nuzzling into it.
“See, buddy,” Ethan said, giving the dog scritches on its neck and accepting kisses on his arm. “You were just a bit hangry, huh?”
He tentatively reached up to unclip the dog’s leash, releasing it from its tether to the putrid dumpster at long last. The dog jumped forward, licking his face enthusiastically and nuzzling him profusely.
“Easy boy,” Ethan sputtered through the barrage of kisses. “It was just some cheap jerky, my guy.”
Ethan gave the dog copious amounts of pats and murmured reassuringly to the dog, taking special care to avoid his injuries. He grabbed the metal tag on the dog’s collar and read the dog’s name — Scuppers.
“Scuppers, huh?” Ethan asked the dog. It tilted its head quizzically, recognizing its name before bombarding him with more licks and kisses. Ethan laughed and patted the dog fondly before rising to his knees and embracing the dog, enjoying the way Scuppers’ tail wagged enthusiastically.
“You need some help, Scuppers,” he said, holding the dog close. “Just like I did a few days ago.” The dog looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes — so quick to trust it made Ethan’s heart hurt.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic or anything,” Ethan said, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants. “But I would literally die for you already.” Scuppers barked in response.
Ethan sighed and scratched behind Scuppers’ ears. “I just hope Henry is a dog person.”
What animal makes the best pet?
