But perhaps, for getting a fix on The Outsider, sight was the sense on which he
least depended.
“Something out there, boy?” Travis asked quietly, not wanting to wake Nora
unnecessarily.
Einstein dropped from the window, padded to Travis’s side of the bed, and put
his head up on the mattress.
Petting the dog, Travis whispered, “Is it coming?”
Replying with only a cryptic mewl, Einstein settled down on the floor beside the
bed and went to sleep again.
In a few minutes, Travis slept, too.
He woke again near dawn to find Nora sitting on the edge of the bed, petting
Einstein. “Go back to sleep,” she told Travis.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she whispered drowsily. “I woke up and saw him at the window, but
it’s nothing. Go to sleep.”
He did manage to fall asleep a third time, but he dreamed that The Outsider had
been smart enough to learn how to use tools during its six-month-long pursuit of
Einstein and now, yellow eyes gleaming, it was smashing its way through the
bedroom shutters with an ax.
2
They gave Einstein his medicines on schedule, and he swallowed his pills
obediently. They explained to him that he needed to eat well in order to regain
his strength. He tried, but his appetite was returning only slowly. He would
need a few weeks to regain the pounds he had lost and to recover his old
vitality. But day by day his improvement was perceptible.
By Friday, December 10, Einstein seemed strong enough to risk a short walk
outside. He still wobbled a little now and then, but he no longer tottered with
every step. He’d had all of his shots at the veterinary clinic; there was no
chance of picking up rabies on top of the distemper he’d just beaten.
The weather was milder than it had been in recent weeks, with temperatures in
the low sixties and no wind. The scattered clouds were white, and the sun, when
not hidden, laid a warm life-giving caress on the skin.
Einstein accompanied Travis on an inspection tour of the infrared sensors around
the house and the nitrous-oxide tanks in the barn. They moved a bit more slowly
than the last time they had walked this line together, but Einstein seemed to
enjoy being back on duty.
Nora was in her studio, working diligently on a new painting: a portrait of
Einstein. He was not aware that he was the subject of her latest canvas. The
picture was to be one of his Christmas gifts and would, once opened on the
holiday, be hung above the fireplace in the living room.
When Travis and Einstein came out of the barn, into the yard, he said, “Is it
getting closer?”
Upon being asked that question, Einstein went through his usual routine, though
with less exertion, less sniffing of the air, and less study of the shadowy
forest around them. Returning to Travis, the dog whined anxiously.
“Is it out there?” Travis asked.
Einstein gave no answer. He merely surveyed the woods again—puzzled.
“Is it still coming?” Travis asked.
The dog did not reply.
“Is it nearer than it was?”
Einstein padded in a circle, sniffed the ground, sniffed the air, cocked his
head one way and then the other. Finally he returned to the house and stood at
the door, looking at Travis, waiting patiently.
Inside, Einstein went directly to the pantry.
MUZZY.
Travis stared at the word on the floor. “Muzzy?”
Einstein dispensed more letters and nosed them into place.
MUFFLED. FUZZY.
“Are you talking about your ability to sense The Outsider?” A quick tail wag:
Yes.
“You can’t sense it any more?”
One bark: No.
“Do you think … it’s dead?”
DON’T KNOW.
“Or maybe this sixth sense of yours doesn’t work when you’re sick—or debilitated
like you are now.”
MAYBE.
Gathering up the lettered tiles and sorting them into the tubes, Travis thought
for a minute. Bad thoughts. Unnerving thoughts. They had an alarm system around
the property, yes, but to some extent they were depending on Einstein for an
early warning. Travis should have felt comfortable with the precautions he had
taken and with his own abilities, as a former Delta Force man, to exterminate