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Authors: Craig Sargent
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strained to find it, the animal rose
slowly from a muddy ditch across the one-lane road, covered with muck and dirt. Excaliber gave Stone a dirty look that he
could feel even through the fiery shadows.
“I told you from the start dog,” Stone said, looking the pitbull squarely in the eye. “When you travel with me, it’s flak
time all the time.” The fighting dog looked somewhat chagrined by the turn of recent events. He had figured it was going to
be bad—but this bad? A nice nuclear explosion before breakfast, a raiding party of mountain bandits after lunch, a chopper
attack for a late-night snack. Excaliber shook himself violently for about five seconds, apparently trying to dislodge the
blanket of debris that pretty much coated him at this point. Branches, dirt, little pieces of powdered helicopter flew off
the vibrating animal like molecules being hurled free from a centrifuge.
Once the bullterrior had cleaned itself sufficiently so at least it didn’t feel like a junkyard dog, it barked, gave Stone
its usual look of amused resignation, and stood up on its back legs so its front paws were leaning against his chest. The
narrow almost Oriental-looking face with its hooded, almond-shaped eyes loomed closer and closer, as if it were trying to
make contact with his very soul. That was the thing he liked about animals, Stone thought with a chuckle as the canine’s long
sandpaper-like tongue flapped across its master’s cheek—they forgot right away. Unlike human beings who could and usually
did carry a grudge their whole life, the dog would let the anger, the feeling of betrayal, whatever it was, sweep through
it, and then be gone. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel it but that it felt it
completely
. And then, like a cloud passing over the face of the sky, the darkness was gone and the animal’s face brightened again, ready
for life, ready for whatever would come.
“We could all learn a lot from you, you stinking ball of fur!” Stone laughed as the thick animal smell of the dog’s coat and
tongue seemed to fill his senses. Stone suddenly had the absurd image of animals teaching men—giving them lessons in how to
act properly. How to feel things fully, then let them pass without holding on either to the hate or the desire. The road to
enlightenment taught by dogs, cats, hogs…
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Stone said, suddenly pushing the pitbull back off him, “before I completely lose my mind.”
He walked back over to the bike and saw that other than lying on its side and being covered with another coating of soot and
small pieces of metal, it was all right. He lifted the 1200-cc with a burst of grunting and expletives. The thing weighed
a ton. But after a few seconds it was up, and he mounted it, testing the wheels by bouncing up and down. Excaliber leapt up
on the seat, Stone instant-started the engine, and they were off again, leaving the funeral fires behind to heat the cold
night in waves of shimmering heat that rose up from the old country road.
Stone tore through the night as the aurora far above seemed to at last tire out a little and drop back to a dim, pulsing pattern.
The sky farther above was black. Not a star, the moon, nothing piercing the veil. It was as dark on the plains as he had ever
seen it, as if a blanket had been dropped over the world. But the tunnel of light from his “fog buster” filled the mountain
roads that he shot up and down with a flood of light. The nocturnal predators and prey of the forests scampered wildly off
from the commotion of the passage of the Harley. Stone could see the yellow pairs of eyes of other wolf packs here and there
staring out from among the forest. But the smell of blood was thick on the wind. They had made their kill—and were satiated—for
the moment. One of them let out a low howl from behind a grove of trees. But Excaliber returned the growl in the same spine-chilling
tone
slowly from a muddy ditch across the one-lane road, covered with muck and dirt. Excaliber gave Stone a dirty look that he
could feel even through the fiery shadows.
“I told you from the start dog,” Stone said, looking the pitbull squarely in the eye. “When you travel with me, it’s flak
time all the time.” The fighting dog looked somewhat chagrined by the turn of recent events. He had figured it was going to
be bad—but this bad? A nice nuclear explosion before breakfast, a raiding party of mountain bandits after lunch, a chopper
attack for a late-night snack. Excaliber shook himself violently for about five seconds, apparently trying to dislodge the
blanket of debris that pretty much coated him at this point. Branches, dirt, little pieces of powdered helicopter flew off
the vibrating animal like molecules being hurled free from a centrifuge.
Once the bullterrior had cleaned itself sufficiently so at least it didn’t feel like a junkyard dog, it barked, gave Stone
its usual look of amused resignation, and stood up on its back legs so its front paws were leaning against his chest. The
narrow almost Oriental-looking face with its hooded, almond-shaped eyes loomed closer and closer, as if it were trying to
make contact with his very soul. That was the thing he liked about animals, Stone thought with a chuckle as the canine’s long
sandpaper-like tongue flapped across its master’s cheek—they forgot right away. Unlike human beings who could and usually
did carry a grudge their whole life, the dog would let the anger, the feeling of betrayal, whatever it was, sweep through
it, and then be gone. It wasn’t that it didn’t feel it but that it felt it
completely
. And then, like a cloud passing over the face of the sky, the darkness was gone and the animal’s face brightened again, ready
for life, ready for whatever would come.
“We could all learn a lot from you, you stinking ball of fur!” Stone laughed as the thick animal smell of the dog’s coat and
tongue seemed to fill his senses. Stone suddenly had the absurd image of animals teaching men—giving them lessons in how to
act properly. How to feel things fully, then let them pass without holding on either to the hate or the desire. The road to
enlightenment taught by dogs, cats, hogs…
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Stone said, suddenly pushing the pitbull back off him, “before I completely lose my mind.”
He walked back over to the bike and saw that other than lying on its side and being covered with another coating of soot and
small pieces of metal, it was all right. He lifted the 1200-cc with a burst of grunting and expletives. The thing weighed
a ton. But after a few seconds it was up, and he mounted it, testing the wheels by bouncing up and down. Excaliber leapt up
on the seat, Stone instant-started the engine, and they were off again, leaving the funeral fires behind to heat the cold
night in waves of shimmering heat that rose up from the old country road.
Stone tore through the night as the aurora far above seemed to at last tire out a little and drop back to a dim, pulsing pattern.
The sky farther above was black. Not a star, the moon, nothing piercing the veil. It was as dark on the plains as he had ever
seen it, as if a blanket had been dropped over the world. But the tunnel of light from his “fog buster” filled the mountain
roads that he shot up and down with a flood of light. The nocturnal predators and prey of the forests scampered wildly off
from the commotion of the passage of the Harley. Stone could see the yellow pairs of eyes of other wolf packs here and there
staring out from among the forest. But the smell of blood was thick on the wind. They had made their kill—and were satiated—for
the moment. One of them let out a low howl from behind a grove of trees. But Excaliber returned the growl in the same spine-chilling
tone
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