Starbuck said.
Then Atticus declared we could move at a slower pace to get to a ghost town called Yerranderie many miles away, where there was shelter, at least, if little else. It was deep night or early morning when we got there, and we crashed underneath an old tree until dawn, when Atticus could struggle to his feet and call for help to other humans who might have food or water but mostly food.
There were only a few buildings around, but an oldish woman eventually appeared and asked what in God’s name had happened.
“Fire,” Atticus said, though he didn’t say it in God’s name, and that was enough. Nobody was unaware of the fire. She invited us back to her place, where she gave me and Starbuck sausage and gave Atticus this stuff called Vegemite. Sausage is vastly superior to Vegemite, in my opinion, so I felt a bit sorry for Atticus, but he didn’t appear unhappy.
He spoke with the lady for a long time while I lounged outside with Starbuck.
Starbuck said. His tongue licked out and lapped once against my snout. Then he turned and curled up next to me, sorting himself along my side between my front leg and my back leg.
I said.
Starbuck said, and he sighed once before settling into a comforting series of snores.
I laid my head down between my front paws for a nap, knowing that Atticus would wake us when he wanted to leave. As I drifted off, I thought: I have courage and sausage and friends. If I ever get an ass candle, I will have itall.
GRAVE GAMBLES
by R.R. Virdi
There are a lot of garbage ways to wake up in someone else’s dead body, but a full dumpster is at the top of the list. Especially if you’re buried halfway down. If luck existed, it came in the form of every bit of refuse being neatly packed away in bags. Small blessings. I didn’t need filth soaking me. The dumpster smelled like it’d housed a dead body for days, though, that could have just been me.
I wriggled around the bags, pulling them with care to not rip any. My effort paid off in gently padding more of the garbage below and bringing me closer to the lid. Among all the ways I’ve woken up in a victim’s body, this had to be the easiest. Most involved escaping whatever horrible situation the stiff had been left in. The only saving grace to that was that every body I ended up inhabiting was restored to its healthy living condition prior to the murder. Which didn’t do much for me since I still had to track the killer down and bring them to justice.
And in my cases, the murderers are always monsters. I don’t do normal.
A quick kick lifted the plastic roofing by an inch before it fell, letting me know it wasn’t bolted shut.
I placed both hands against the lid and pushed. Somethingclangedhard against both sides of the dumpster like it had been struck by a pair of metal rods. The bin shook once before moving in a steady motion. My eyes widened as I realized what had happened. I smacked the lid open, whipping my head around as I tried to situate myself.
“Well, shit.” I hate being right.
A garbage truck had clamped onto the dumpster, lifting it two-thirds of the way to the top. The angle of the bin reached the point where bags pressed against me, threatening to tumble past into the truck’s bed.
I scrambled forward and let momentum do its thing. My fingers fought for purchase as I tipped out from the dumpster. The inner lining, a bit slick, kept me from getting a decent hold. I slipped down, thumping the lid as I twisted to avoid tumbling into the sea of trash below.
Panicked decisions don’t always pan out. I managed to divert my fall toward the outermost edge of the truck’s bed frame instead. Metal met the side of my jaw and cheek like a sledgehammer. Bands of white and red streaked my vision as I pancaked onto the hard asphalt.
The landing didn’t help my head as I tried to shake myself clear. Salt and copper filled the inside of my mouth. I spat and saw flecks of carmine tinge my spittle as it pooled with what water had beaded along the road. That, coupled with the humidity in the alley, let me know it had rained not too long ago.
The truck groaned as it finished emptying the dumpster.
“Damn, man! Are you all right?” Footsteps sounded behind me.
I got to my feet and turned to regard the source of the voice.
The guy couldn’t have been out of his early twenties; he was Latin American and well-bronzed, likely from his job. He had a solid build, filling out most of the canvas uniform you see worn by sanitation workers. A good sign the man made time to hit the gym after a day of work. His hair was shaved close to his scalp and he showed a few days’ worth of dark stubble over his face. A name tag was stitched onto his outfit just over his left breast, readingJake. His eyes were the color of dark bourbon and held a clear note of concern for my well-being.
“Yeah.” I shook my head, running the back of a hand across my mouth to wipe away some of the blood and drool. “Rough night... rougher morning.”
Jake looked me over again. “Looks like. You sure you don’t need anything, man?”
I thought about it. I didn’t have my bearings yet, making my job harder than necessary. “There a church nearby?”
Jake glanced over his shoulder to the dumpster, then gave me another look-over, pursing his lips. “Yeah, I guess you could use one, huh?”
Ouch.
