Machine Man (serial)

I took a step forward. Angelica’s eyes widened; Lola’s shone with pride. My lips pursed, beginning a nonchalant What? Then I stepped on a dog.

“Biggles!” I have never heard a more piercing sound, and I’ve worked in metals fabrication. Angelica rushed forward, her fingers hooked into claws. I looked down and saw a dog, Biggles, I guess, trapped under the rubber toe of the pole. Actually, mostly it was Biggles’s little blue vest trapped under my pole, but he was making a hell of a racket, so maybe some of Biggles was caught there too. I tried to raise my leg but snagged on his coat. Then I was off balance and could do nothing but pivot. Angelica’s shriek reached a whole new pitch of outrage. Possibly it looked to her like I was deliberately grinding on her dog.

She banged into me, shoulder first. I hit the floor in a tangle of poles. When I levered myself up on my elbows, Angelica was cradling Biggles in her arms and crying. Biggles licked her face, whimpering.

Then it occurred to me: they had planned this. Dog had finally figured out how to drive me away. It had sent Biggles to throw himself under my poles. He was a martyr. I looked around, because I knew furry little faces would be watching this from a doorway somewhere. “It’s a set-up.” In retrospect, of course, I should have kept these thoughts to myself. But at the time, it seemed important to expose the truth. “Those little dogs did this on purpose.”

Then Angelica was hitting me, for some reason. I tried to fend her off and was not very successful. Her nails raked my cheek. Biggles bit me on the finger. On all sides came yapping and shrieking. Dogs streamed out of the walls to pile on top of me. “Get out!” Angelica screamed. I curled into a ball beneath her assault. “Get out, get out, get out!”

Eventually, Lola convinced Angelica to stop hitting me. She did this by screaming at Angelica while Angelica screamed at her and every dog in the house barked and yowled. One time I attended a demonstration of Better Future sonics-based non-lethal weaponry, and what came out of that gun did not sound as bad as this. Angelica ran to the master bedroom, Biggles in arms, trailed by little dogs. One looked back at me before he disappeared, and I swear, he looked satisfied.

Lola helped me into a kitchen chair. “That was an accident,” I said.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t deliberately step on a dog.”

“I know, Charlie.” She grimaced at my face. “You’re all scratched up. Let me see that finger.”

“Ow,” I said. “Biggles can’t be too hurt, if he can bite like that.”

“Shh,” said Lola.

I shushed. In the silence, I could hear Angelica muttering to her dogs. “She’s going to make us leave now, isn’t she?”

“I think so, Charlie.”

I hesitated. Angelica’s voice was oddly strident. I had never heard her talk to the dogs like that.

“She doesn’t see you like I do,” said Lola. “Nobody does.”

“Wait,” I said. “Is Angelica on the phone?”

We listened. I could almost hear it already: the white van, Better Future logo on its side, coming for us.

128.