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“They’re not,” he said, “but at breakfast you really want a good biscuit And anyhow, you’d think-”

“Yeah, you’d think,” I said “This world is a vale of tears, Art-rife with injustice and disappointment”

“And sorry biscuits,” he said

The peach pancakes were delicious, and the slob of cholesterol But I couldn’t help wishing for a decent biscuit, soaked in butter and honey, for dessert I reached for the customer-comment card and wrote Art did the same

AFTER CLIMBING East Ridge and dropping down into the broad valley that cradled Chattanooga, we took the Rossville Boulevard exit and headed south on US 27, through the town of Fort Oglethorpe and then the well-tended lawns and woods of Chickaa Battlefield, where the Ar victory, only to lose the bigger prizes of Chattanooga and then Atlanta not long afterward South of Chickah stretches of pinewoods and pastures, punctuated by service stations, hair salons, and Baptist churches We passed the crossroads of East Turnipseed and West Turnipseed roads, and a few hway onto the blacktop road Miranda had marked o

n the map The road was a lane and a half wide, with no centerline Art and I both watched for a creot to the end of the road, I knee’d missed it I turned and retraced the blacktop route, partly because I was determined to find the place and partly because there was no other way back to civilization

About a quarter ravel driveway on the left The drive was blocked with a ate, the kind that reseh and ten feet wide, the rungs alvanized steel A stout chain and padlock fastened the gate to a fat wooden fence post A battered mailbox was nailed to the top of the post, and when I looked closely, I made out the name LITTLEJOHN in small, hand-painted letters

Fastened to the posts at both ends of the gate were large No Trespassing signs Underneath each of those was another sign, adding Private Property Under each of those was one that ordered Keep Out

“Not a very welco establishment,” I said to Art

I pulled the truck onto the shoulder of the road, not that there was much risk of traffic, as best I could tell Art and I cla down a tunnel of trees and underbrush lining the gravel drive We could see about fifty yards down the narrow drive before it entered a gradual curve and the vieas blocked by a wall of trees I listened for sounds of hu of cicadas in the summer heat

“Hello,” I called, tentatively at first When I got no answer, I called again, louder “Hello there Can you hear me? Anybody there?” Still no response I tried onceI went to the truck, leaned in the open , and honked the horn three times I waited a minute, then laid on it awhile

“I could be wrong,” said Art finally, “but I’ either they’re not home or they don’t want to be disturbed”

“Could be they’re deaf,” I said I studied the six signs posted on either side of the gate All six encouraged et here and I was seeking answers to what I considered disturbing questions I looked at Art “Shall we?”

“Age before beauty,” he said, waving ate as a ladder, I climbed over, turned around, and descended the other side

My foot had scarcely touched the ground when I heard a low snarling sound I spun Rocketing down the driveway toward est,pit bull I’d ever seen Heani swiftness, too, back up the bars of the gate, over the top, and down the other side I’d just removed my hands from the top bar when a pair of jaws snapped shut like a bear trap, an inch away froet h the bars, but that didn’t stop hi I remembered a documentary I’d seen once on Animal Planet, in which a shark attacked the bars of a protective cage so ferociously that it gradually began bending the bars aside, nearly consuate was ainst the chain, but it held

Eventually the dog’s fury subsided a bit, but not the sense of menace it conveyed, and I decided we’d reached an impasse I suspected that so, since he’d probably have arrived considerably sooner if he’d already been outdoors on guard duty “Well, I guess that’s that,” I said “Sorry we ” I fished out my handkerchief and mopped my face and neck So had provoked, but thewas already reet a cold drink”

Just as I said it, I felt the air stir a bit, whispering from the south-froht a whiff of soht I’d had some lapse in consciousness-a blackout that had lasted until I was back in Knoxville, back behind the UT Medical Center When I realized my mistake, the hairs on my arms and my neck stood up, and I felt a jolt like electricity shoot throughthe stench of death-wholesale human death, Body Faria, as it drifted lazily across the gate of the Trinity Crematorium

CHAPTER 15

“I THINK HIS BARK IS WORSE THAN HIS BITE,” ART said He took a step toward the gate, and the dog lunged at hi

“I think we can’t afford to test your theory,” I said

“You’re right,” he said He bent down and fiddled with the left leg of his pants, and when he straightened up, I saw a gun in his right hand He squatted down and aiate “Jesus, Art, you can’t just shoot-” I began, but then I saw his finger twitch Instead of a bang, I heard a loud click; for an instant I thought the gun hadheap in the gravel A pair of thin wires ran fro’s body back to the barrel of the weapon

“What the hell…?!”

“Taser,” said Art “Think of me as Captain Kirk from Star Trek, with my phaser set to stun”

I stared at the dog sprawled out in the road “You sure you had that on stun?”