Page 61 of Road Refugees

“Of course,” she whispered breathlessly. “Of course.”

The grinding continued, and only then did I realize that every dog in the place was barking madly. Gunshots and grinders were not sounds that promised enjoyment. When I released Heaven, I went to the cages of a few who looked the most spry and unlatched them. The Leonbergers wandered out tentatively, the bulldogs a bit more certain. One bulldog went directly for Stomach’s throat, licking and chomping on raw flesh.

Heaven kicked the body in the groin. “I always wanted to kick him in the dick,” she reminded me.

Slappy had finished his job, and let the body drop, face completely unrecognizable, just a mass of muscle and even ground bone. “Good job, Heaven,” he commended her. “Looks like Crybaby’s exercising that moron’s face.”

Heaven said, “It must be some kind of treadmill, like to get the puppies up to speed.”

I said, “Well, since this place is shut down permanently, I’m releasing these poor pups. Heaven, close the barn door. Let’s keep them inside the barn for now, until the humane society can come, the rescue society.”

One Leonberger puppy was so soft, I couldn’t put him down. Of course he smelled to high hell, but his little face told me he had not been put through the entire trial of trauma just yet. Just as Heaven started rolling shut the door, a few familiar faces appeared as friendly silhouettes.

Lytton Driving Hawk said, “What you need us for? Need us to put down a few puppy millers?”

“Heaven!” cried Sock Monkey. “What are you doing with all that blood on your hands?”

Heaven raised her gloves proudly. “Just taking to ground an unfriendly.”

I hitched my jaw at her. “She used barbed wire, just like she did in Utah.”

Slappy ambled over. His hands were bloody too from shoving Riddlesberger’s face into the grinder. He should’ve used an apron. “I say we get these pups into a safer place pronto.”

“I agree,” said Tanner, sticking his gun barrel down his jeans now that it wasn’t needed. “I brought the SUV cage with a few kennels in the back. Unity’s prepping to receive them.”

We went around taking puppies out of cages—I kept the squirmer in my arms, soft as goose down—and filled Tanner’s kennels. Tim Woodstock and Baron Funkhauser helped. Funkhauser kicked Riddlesberger’s mangled body in the groin too. Sock Monkey went to the treadmill where Stomach’s face was pulp and turned off the machine. He made a gesture at Crybaby like “enough.” The guy was dead.

Lytton asked, “What about these dogs eating the bodies?”

“Shee-it,” said Funkhauser crassly. “They need to eat too.”

I took Heaven aside. In the midst of the gore, the emotion, the heightened sense of danger, I had to reassure her. “I meant what I said. I want to marry you.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes brimming with tears. “I can’t have children, you know.”

I smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “That doesn’t matter. We can adopt.”

She seemed about to burst into a crying fit as she pet the puppy with the back of her hand. “Like this guy?”

“Yeah. His name is Fubar.”

She laughed and cried at the same time. “Fucked Up Beyond all Repair?”

“That’s about it,” I said. “But we’re not anymore.”

And I knew we’d make it through.

Epilogue

Town

Mickey Finn wagged her tail.

Yeah, it had taken six months. She’d been sleeping upstairs in our room, waking us each morning by snuffling at our heads. She just needed time to grow accustomed to the routine of our ranch, a place for her to heal.

And yes, it was Darcy Bard who convinced her to wag.

“Are you a good girl?” he asked. “Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”