CHAPTER 5:
WELCOME TO MAD CREEK. NOW GO HOME.
Rav sat on a bench in the town park, semi-hidden in the shade of a tree. His arms were spread out along the back of the bench, displaying their ink sleeves. On his right arm was the archangel Michael in a scaled breastplate, with red-tinged clouds behind him, looking down and thrusting a long pike. On the left arm was a whirling mix of seafoam and the scaled coils of some massive serpent in the waves.
But the struggle within Rav that the ink signified was quiet for the moment as he watched the park through his shades.
He had no place to go, and zero plans to go anywhere at all. He'd come to a seismic shift in the fabric of his life, a deep crevasse between then and now. At the moment, he had no earthly idea what his next move was or even if he was, in fact, in full control of his faculties.
And he was okay with that. Because he who acts in haste makes mistakes. It was one of his father's sayings, and in this case, the massive prick was right. Rav had no intention of acting hastily now, when there was so little solid ground beneath his black boots.
So he just sat in the park.
There were a lot of people in the park for 6:00 p.m. on a Wednesday. A group of guys played touch football—which was like saying a flock of flamingos did Jazzercise. A few of the guys seemed to know what they were doing and attempted to maintain the bones of a real game. But most of the participants did whatever they liked—ran in circles, jumped up and down, grabbed the ball and took off, wrestled each other to the ground, and generally ran amok in happy abandon.
Elsewhere around the park, people lay on benches or on the bare grass, snoozing. Two dark-haired boys of about twelve threw a baseball back and forth with intense concentration. One's tongue stuck out and the other had his mouth slightly open, as if he had a stuffed-up nose. One older woman on a stroll stopped walking, looked around sneakily, as if to be sure she wasn't being observed, then flopped down and rolled in the grass. Her printed sundress flashed colorful fruits like a slot machine.
Rav rubbed his eyes and wished like hell for a beer. Or maybe a shot. They had to have a bar in Mad Creek, right? He didn't move to go find one, though. Nope, he stayed right where he was. He was drawn to this place like a moth to the last lamppost in Bizarro World.
In a way, sitting in the park of Mad Creek was eerily similar to sitting in his outdoor play yard at Hold My Paw and watching the dogs romp. Even though all the people in the park looked like, well, people, Rav could see their dog natures clearly. It was as if he had one of those old View-Master toys installed in his brain, the kind where you looked through the eye holes and saw an image of a running horse, but when you toggled the button, a rider appeared on the same horse's back. Watching the citizens of Mad Creek was like that. Toggle: human. Toggle: dog.
Yes, he could practically see the dogs in these people. In fact, in some cases, he recognized the breed. One of the guys playing touch football had fluffy, shoulder-length black hair, intense blue eyes, and a hot muscular body. Someone shouted at him, calling him Lonnie. Lonnie ran interference around small groups getting too far off, edging them back to the game. He reminded Rav of an Australian shepherd or some other herding dog.
There was a short man with white hair that stuck straight up. He was all bouncy enthusiasm, and he stayed fixated on the football with maniacal focus as though it were a small furry creature. Terrier. There was a petite woman with a head of wild, white curly hair despite not looking all that old. Her hair was adorned with pink bows—yes, bows. He could not make this shit up. She delicately ate lunch from a pink lunchbox. Poodle. It was like the lady in the diner, Daisy, who'd been as clear a personification of a golden retriever as he could imagine.
Rav played this game for a little while, but it hurt his brain to think along such new pathways. It was maybe the mental equivalent of boring a tunnel through rock. So after a bit, he allowed his body to just relax back on the bench and absorb.
When he let go of the shock of it, the sheer impossibility, it was…
It was?
It was…. So. Fucking. Righteous. Astonishing. Incredible. Rav had been a fan of superhero comics as a kid, especially Spiderman. And he'd watched X-Men and The One Hundred and all those "mutant power" shows. This was sort of like that, but not. This was dogs. That was like saying your superpower was being sweet and loving and exuberant.
That wasn't a superpower. That was… heaven.
Was it? Or was it creepy and weird?
One of the two. Maybe both at the same time.
From his bench, Rav could see most of the park. It was a nicely kept green oasis that took up an entire town block. It had mowed grass, bountiful trees, a quaint gazebo, sturdy benches, mazelike black asphalt pathways, and beds of bright flowers. Across the street, the row of Main Street buildings were neat and tidy, plain as fuck but homey in a way. Beyond them, majestic mountains rose up in rounded peaks.
It was so much greener here than in Arizona. The air was cooler too, though it was still around eighty degrees in the sun. There was a breeze and the shade was pleasant. There was an aura about the town that went beyond the physical beauty of the mountains, though. Something soothing, like the susurration of a giant benevolent being. Hush. Hush. Hush.
Rav had not felt easy in the world for the past five years, not since he'd left his old life in the family empire behind. Sick of corporate backstabbers, fed up with the layers of deceit, and emotionally dead inside, he'd walked away. He'd been hollowed out like a man-shaped gourd. Once he'd scooped out the rotten things in his life, there was very little left.
It wasn't so much that he'd reinvented himself, as that he'd deliberately chosen to take a big step to the left of his own life and literally become someone else. Rav Miller. He'd gotten a buzz cut and the ink, grew a beard, and bought a new wardrobe of jeans, white T-shirts, and black leather. He'd traded in the Jag for a Harley.
He'd also gotten very, very drunk for about six months.
Then a hipster he'd been sleeping with invited him to ride along on a dog run, picking up dogs from high-kill shelters in the South and driving them to a rescue shelter in the North. Rav was hooked. He'd always loved dogs even though, in his old life, he worked too many hours to keep one of his own. Dogs became his obsession. After starting out as a rescue driver, his internal anger and need to act led him to go undercover at dog-fighting rings and abusive shelters, a warrior for animals rights. Then he'd founded Hold My Paw so he could directly care for as many dogs as possible.
Why was he so driven to do it? A shrink might say he was trying to make up for all the shitty things he'd done as a VP at Everson Enterprises, for all the things his family had done. Probably. Whatever. The point was, it was the most rewarding thing he'd ever experienced, the one good thing he'd accomplished in his entire sorry life, and it made him able to live in his own skin.
He had no intention of stopping, ever.
Dogs were the antidote for the poison he'd been infected with. They were incapable of machinations or deceit. As far as Rav was concerned, he could spend the rest of his life only with dogs and be perfectly happy, thank you very much. That, and a Grindr hookup now and then, and he'd call it good.
Watching the people in the park, he thought that maybe, just maybe, life was a hell of a lot more complicated than he'd thought. Clearly, he'd figured out jack shit.
A black lab barreled up to him, barking a joyous yip! He jumped up on the park bench, landing right in Rav's lap. The force of it practically sent the bench tipping over backward. Rav instinctively put up his hands and turned his head away from the boisterously licking tongue.
"Jack? Is that you?"
Jack barked as if confirming it, his tail wagging madly.
"Jack, no!" A young man came running toward the bench. Rav knew him instantly, and was surprised at the pang of happiness he felt at seeing him again.
Milo stopped in his tracks a few feet from the bench and covered his mouth with his hands, looking stunned. "Oh my gosh! Rav! It is you! I smelled you, but I thought I must be wrong. But it is! You're really, really, really here!"
"Yup. I'm—" Rav grunted as his lap was assaulted by Jack and Milo, paws and elbows pushing his breath out with a whoosh!
"It's so great to see you!" Milo kissed Rav's cheek in little pecks as Jack licked Rav's ear. "How long are you here for? Where are you staying?" Milo’s gaze dropped to Rav's throat, where a rose peeked out from under his T-shirt. "Oh! I remember your pictures. Tattoos. That's what they're called. How many tattoos do you have? Ooh, look at your arms! Wow!" Milo began running eager fingers down the image of St. Michael.
Rav laughed, and it sounded only a little hysterical. "Okay. Okay. Guys! Come on."
Rav stood, sending Milo hopping easily to his feet and Jack jumping to the ground to sniff at Rav's boots, probably picking out the smells of dogs back at Hold My Paw.
Rav took a shaky breath. "You sure know how to say hello to a guy. It's nice to see you too, Milo."
Milo's face was shining, a big grin lighting up his features. He appeared to be doing well. When Rav had met Milo, Jason, Tim, and Matt in Arizona, they'd been tracking a virus, and they'd all been serious and worried. But this Milo was happy and vibrant. His curly dark-blond hair, lithe physique, and narrow face shone with health, and pure light emanated from his green eyes. He wore khaki shorts, exposing tan legs with fuzzy blond hair, and a loose green T-shirt that brought out the gold in his skin.
Rav had been attracted to Milo’s simple goodness as soon as they met, and he had a similar reaction now, though it was a twinge compared to the sock in the gut he’d felt upon seeing Sammy in the diner.
Then he reminded himself that Milo, like Sammy, was probably one of them. A dog shifter. And while Rav was fascinated by that, it would be weird to want to hook up with one. It was damned confusing.
"Oh my gosh! You have to come to our house!" Milo exclaimed. "Jason will be so, so glad to see you. And Tim and Matt too. And, wow, you have to meet Roman and Lance and Molly and Simon and just everyone!"
"I'd like to meet them," Rav said gruffly. He definitely wanted to find out more about Mad Creek.
Milo chattered on about people Rav didn't know. He acted like Rav was a long-lost brother who had reappeared after being presumed dead, maybe eaten by a bear, like maybe Milo had a shrine set up in his bedroom. Poor Rav, we knew ye well. Rav couldn't believe he'd made that big an impression.
The first time Rav met Milo had been the morning when the small entourage from Mad Creek showed up at Hold My Paw to ask about Wilbur, a sick dog Rav had housed for a time. That had been a bad period for Rav, days of emptiness and fury because some assholes had let all of his dogs out overnight and chased them into the desert. Rav had an empty shelter and was at his wits’ end with worry. So he hadn't exactly been welcoming.
The second time Rav met Milo, the guy had somehow found all of Rav's dogs out in the middle of deep desert, and walked them back toward the shelter, naked as the day he was born. By the time Rav had seen him, Tim had given Milo his own shirt and shorts to wear but, yup, he'd been out there starkers. Why the hell had he been out in the desert like that?
Now Rav had an answer: dogs didn't wear clothes.
In any case, Milo had found Rav's dogs, and he'd even carried a wounded one, Jack, back to the shelter over his shoulders. Milo had been dehydrated and exhausted, and spent a day at the shelter recovering. No one had ever given Rav satisfactory answers about why Milo had gone out, alone, after his dogs or how Milo had found them.
Was Milo really the labradoodle Rav had glimpsed from a distance? Had he used his nose to track Rav's dogs?
Whatever the story was, it was super strange, the kind of story you dredge up for the “what's the weirdest thing that ever happened to you” conversation around a campfire. At least, it was the weirdest thing to happen to Rav until today. Still, he barely knew Milo.
Except that as Rav stood there listening to Milo's happy voice, he felt a hot knot inside his chest relax a bit, his will softening. Milo was good. Whatever else he was, he was pure sweetness right down to his toes.
And that right there, watching Milo's open, happy face, reassured Rav, more than anything else could have, that the residents of Mad Creek weren't eerie or sinister. Nothing involving Milo could ever be bad.
Milo shook Rav's arm. "Hey! Your eyes went all funny. Are you tired? Wanna come home with me right now? Jason's at home working, but he won't mind. Or would you like to go to the diner? Or for a walk? Jack and I already walked around, but we can always walk again!"
Rav squeezed Milo's shoulder. His voice was gruff. "I'd love to see where you live, Milo."
"Oh goody!" Milo addressed Jack, who sat there panting happily. "Rav is coming home with us, Jack. Isn't that exciting!"
"No, he's not," came a low masculine growl.
* * *
The deep, hard-edged voice put Rav on the defensive immediately. The impression didn't get any better when he turned around. The man wore a neatly pressed green uniform with a large gold Sheriff badge, and he was standing too close, like he was trying to be intimidating. He was a compact man, well short of Rav's six two, but all muscle and attitude. The man was good-looking with thick black hair in a short, sleek cut and a strong jaw. He took off his sunglasses and stared at Rav with eyes the color and temperature of an arctic lake.
The man was as hostile as Milo had been friendly. Rav took an instant dislike to the guy. He'd been subjected to plenty of browbeating and alpha-male-ing in his old corporate life. He wasn't going to tolerate it now. He insolently returned the man's stare.
"Lance?" Milo said awkwardly. "You don't know Rav, do you? Rav, this is Lance Beaufort. He's the sheriff! Lance, this is Rav."
"You know this person?" Lance’s voice was steely, and his gaze never left Rav's face.
Milo tittered nervously. "Sure, I do! You remember when we went to Arizona to that shelter where Wilbur stayed? Well, Rav owned that place! All the dogs there really liked him. And that's where I got Jack. You know Jack. My dog, Jack?"
Excited at hearing his name, Jack barked once and wove around Rav's legs. Rav lowered a hand to skim the dog's head but continue to meet Lance's stare. Yeah, that's right, asshole. The dog likes me. So fuck you.
"That's this guy?" Lance sounded dubious. His face did not relax one iota.
"It is! So, you know, Rav helped us beat the virus and save everyone in town. Even you! Isn't that great?" Milo squeezed Rav's arm reassuringly.
Milo was clearly shilling for him, and Rav appreciated it. But he couldn't imagine why it was necessary. He'd just been sitting in the park, for fuck's sake. Yeah, he had ink and dressed like a biker, but it wasn't like he'd robbed the bank or was wielding a machete.
Then he remembered Daisy had mentioned this guy. Sheriff Lance Beaufort—he doesn't like strangers hanging around.
"Yeah, that's swell," Beaufort said curtly. "But that was Arizona. What brings you to Mad Creek, Rav? Today. Right here, right now. We're not really on the way to anywhere. Why are you here? Huh? Why?"
The badgering was almost comical, except Beaufort was so intense. And then Rav saw it—at the collar of that neatly-pressed shirt, backlit by the sun, were strands of dark hair sticking straight up on Beaufort's neck. Bristling. Rav's gaze shifted to Lance's eyes. They were such an unusual bright light blue, like the eyes of an border collie Rav had once rescued. And Beaufort's puffed-up stance, the sharp bark of his words….
Rav had another of those mental View-Master clicks, and suddenly the man in front of him wasn't just a man. Rav could see the dog in every angry line.
Guard dog. He's warning me off his turf.
It was so simple and so clear. Rav smiled. The anger inside him relaxed its fist. A guard dog was only doing its job, after all. So was Beaufort. Of course, guard dogs could still be dangerous. But it was too fucking cool for Rav to remain pissed.
He shrugged casually. "Last I checked, it was a free country."
"Didn't say it wasn't. I asked what brought you to Mad Creek."
"My van."
Milo had been chewing on a thumbnail, eyes going back and forth between them like he was watching a ping-pong match. He broke in with a titter. "Rav runs a shelter! For dogs. He rescues dogs. He's a good human."
Lance's eyes widened, and he gave Milo an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Milo grimaced. "I mean person! He's a really good person. Guy? He's a good guy." Milo looked from Lance to Rav brightly. "Gosh, if it weren't for Rav, we wouldn't have the antidote. And we might all be stuck forever as—"
Quick as a wink, Lance stepped closer to Milo and slung his elbow around Milo's neck. That put Lance's eyes a few inches from Milo's. Lance stared. Milo, mouth still hanging open, stared back.
"Remember, Milo," Lance said in a low, casual voice, "Rav is new here, and he's not one of us. You recall the talk I give at our meetings? You know the one I mean."
Milo's eyes went wide. He clamped his mouth shut, pulling his lips inside as if they might talk without his permission. He brought his hand to his mouth, twisted an invisible key, and threw it away. It was such a childish gesture, Rav wanted to laugh. Only Lance's intensity kept it from being funny.
Milo's breath exploded out in a gasp. "Sorry. I forgot. Only I was so happy to see him!"
"It's okay, Milo." Lance's voice was soft and sincere for the first time. He moved his arm to rub the back of Milo's neck like a soccer coach might. "But don't forget again. All right? Can you do that?"
Milo nodded energetically. "I won't forget." He frowned. "Does this mean I shouldn't take Rav to my house? Jason will want to see him for sure."
This whole exchange made Rav realize something. Beaufort's hostility wasn't just because Rav was a random stranger. No, it was fear that he knew. It was like in the superhero comics when someone learned the hero's secret identity. That was bad. That was a threat that had to be eliminated.
Hell, Rav would be a hard-ass too, if he were in Beaufort's position. He'd just been slammed in the face with a truckload of awe and wonder and fuckery and possibly alien technology. Whatever it was, it was something he wasn't supposed to know. Only now he did. Most people would jump at the chance to exploit a secret like this—for fame or fortune. His own father would already be passing out full-color proposals on how best to profit off the town and everyone in it.
Yeah, Rav could appreciate the risk. But he was nowhere near ready to be kicked down the road by Sheriff Lance Beaufort. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about this yet, but leaving wasn't an option.
So Rav Miller decided to lie.
He put on his most innocent expression. "I have no idea what you guys are talking about. But it would be great to say hello to Jason, Tim, and Matt while I'm in town."
"You came a long way to say hello to people you met once," Beaufort pointed out, still rubbing Milo's neck.
"Actually, Milo, I forgot you guys lived here. I was camping in Yosemite when my assistant called me and told me one of our missing dogs was here. I thought I'd see if I could find him while I was in the area."
Beaufort raised one eyebrow. "How did you know this missing dog was in Mad Creek?"
"GPS microchip. I'll show you." Rav pulled out his phone. He was taking a chance. If Sammy was nearby, Rav could hardly point him out. But when he started the app, there was, in fact, no GPS signal at all. He zoomed out, but there was nothing anywhere in Mad Creek. Had Sammy taken off?
Rav looked up and shrugged. "Weird. The signal's gone now."
Lance took the phone out of Rav's hand without so much as a by-your-leave, and looked at the app. "You were following a microchipped dog using GPS?"
"That's what I said," Rav replied coolly.
"Why?" Damn. Lance's blue eyes were merciless, like they could suck the truth right out of you. But Rav had faced some real sharks in the business world, not to mention his entire family. He kept his cool.
Rav shrugged. "Well, I normally wouldn't have, but since I was in Yosemite anyway, why not? I wanted to make sure he was okay, take him home if he was still a stray."
"He?"
"Sammy. He's a chocolate lab. Sweet dog."
"That's so like you!" Milo gushed. "Oh, Lance, that's just like Rav! He has a whole shelter full of dogs he saved from being put to sleep. How many do you have now, Rav? Like, one hundred?"
"Uh… I have fifty-three at the shelter right now."
"Fifty-three dogs! And Rav is very caring about each and every one of them, aren't you, Rav?"
"I do my best." Rav kept his face solemn.
"So of course he would check on a lost dog if he was in the area! He's honestly a good guy, Lance. All the dogs that lived at his shelter told me how much they liked him. And you can trust their opinion. Right? Dogs don't lie."
Lance elbowed Milo.
Milo coughed. "I mean. Of course they don't lie, because dogs can't talk! What I mean is, dogs don't like a person if they're mean. You have to trust instincts. Right?"
"That's very true," Rav agreed, thoughtfully nodding his head. "I always trust a dog's judgment over a person's." He raised an eyebrow at Lance while stroking Jack's head.
"Exactly!" Milo grinned at Lance happily.
Lance visibly relaxed. He pulled his mirrored sunglasses out of his breast pocket and made a show of unfolding them and sticking them on his nose. He looked like a film cop in them, like he should be in Baywatch or CHIPS.
"Very well, Mr. Miller. Sorry you went out of your way. But since you didn't find the dog you were looking for, guess you'll be heading out soon. Back to Yosemite and your vacation. Enjoy it."
Rav scratched his beard. "Yeah, I will in a bit. But I'm here now, and it's getting late. It's a cute little town. Thought I might spend the night."
"Oh, do!" Milo clapped his hands together. "I'd let you stay at our house, but our guest bedroom is already taken. And our couch."
"You have those friends visiting from out of town," Beaufort said leadingly.
"Yes, friends! From out of town."
"Well, I appreciate the almost-offer," said Rav. "I'm sure I can find something."
"Actually, the motel's full. Best to drive down the road to Bass Lake or Oakhurst. There's a Motel 6 there," Beaufort suggested helpfully.
Rav folded his arms over his chest. "I can sleep in my van. I'm not picky."
"That's illegal on Main Street," Lance growled. "No loitering."
"Ah. No problem. I'll figure something out." Rav gave an easy smile.
"But you will come for supper, won't you?" Milo insisted. "Lance, will you come? And bring Tim? Tim would love to see Rav."
Rav wondered what Beaufort and Tim—a cute young twink from the group who'd visited from Mad Creek—had to do with one another. But he didn't ask.
Lance gave a heavy sigh, as if resigning himself to something awful, like a dinner of blood sausage and brussels sprouts. "Fine. We'll be there."
Dinner worked for Rav too—as long as it wasn't his balls on the menu.