The Totem

Slaughter stared. "Can I at least get on the radio and tell the town we've found a case of rabies?"

Parsons thought about it. "Yes, I see no problem. After all, we do have evidence of rabies, and the town should be informed for its protection. But don't dare mention cattle. That's a different issue. Now I have to get back home. I'm late for church, and I have relatives coming home afterward for brunch."

He stood, and clearly Slaughter was expected to go with him. "Oh, yes, what about that magazine reporter from New York? That man named Dunlap?"

"I cooperated as you told me," Slaughter said.

"Well, don't let him find out what you're dealing with. That's all we need is for the rumors to get printed. Have him leave this afternoon."

"But he's not finished with his story yet."

"He's finished, all right. He just doesn't know it. Make sure he leaves town, and while you're at it, get yourself cleaned up before too many people see you. Really, you don't look so good. The job is maybe too much for you."

Slaughter almost laughed. You bastard, he was thinking. You don't miss a chance to stay on top of people, do you? They walked toward the door, and Slaughter waited until Parsons went out before him, thinking this would be the way to handle things: he'd better keep his back protected.

TWO

Slaughter was in a phone booth, but the line was fuzzy, and the noises from the other end distracted him. "Look, Altick, I can't tell you why I need them, but I-"

"Just hold on." To someone in the background, "Put them over there. I'm going with you. I don't want that chopper taking off without me. Good. I'm sorry, Slaughter. Everything is frantic here. I'm listening."

"I need some men," he responded louder. "I can't give you reasons, but I'll maybe have to borrow help."

"There isn't any way." The voice was much too final.

"But- "

"No, listen to me. I need everybody I can muster," Altick said. "I sent five men with dogs to look for Bodine, and there isn't any word from them. They've disappeared."

"But Bodine-"

"It's my men. I mean my men have disappeared. The chopper flew up where they'd camped, but they were gone, and they're not answering the radio. I don't like what I'm feeling. If you'd called five minutes later, I'd have been up in the chopper."

"Maybe they're behind a ridge that's muting signals to the radio."

"The chopper flew up anywhere they could have gone to. No, they're missing, and I can't waste time. I've got to look for them." More noises in the background. "I said wait until I'm ready. Yeah, we'll need that medical kit as well. Just take them to the chopper. Slaughter, there's no way for me to help you. I'll call you back when I have a chance."

"But-"

There were other noises in the background. Then the line was disco

Slaughter put the phone down, staring at it. Sure, another escalation. By now, he'd grown accustomed to the burning in his stomach, but he hadn't yet adjusted to the way his mind was nagging at him. Everything was moving too fast. There was hardly any time to think. His talk with Parsons. Five policemen missing. Things weren't bad enough, he had to worry about Parsons.

He hurried from the phone booth, moving toward the hotel desk. He knew that he had pla

"Gordon Dunlap," he told the desk clerk.

"What about him?"

"Damn it, tell me where to find him."

The clerk was fumbling through cards to find the number.

Slaughter started up the stairs as he heard the number. He ran to the balcony and sca

"Dunlap. Wake up. This is Slaughter."

No answer.

"Dunlap." Slaughter knocked again. He tried the doorknob. It wouldn't move. But as he leaned against the door, the catch gave way. The door swung open.

Dunlap hadn't even shut the door completely. He was sprawled across the bed, his clothes wrinkled, soaked with something. On the floor there was an empty whisky bottle, papers, cigarette butts, a broken ashtray, a toppled chair.

What the hell had happened here? He smelled the sickness, stepping back, then going forward. Dunlap didn't seem to breathe. He wasn't moving. Slaughter grabbed him. "Dunlap, wake up. It's important."

Dunlap didn't move, though. Slaughter shook him. "Come on, you bastard. Wake up." Slaughter felt to find a heartbeat. Then he had it, and at least he didn't have to worry about that. "For Christ sake, Dunlap." He shook him again. Dunlap groaned and tried to turn, but Slaughter wouldn't let him. 'This is Slaughter! Wake up! We've got problems!"

Dunlap moaned. His breath was putrid. Too rushed to mind that, Slaughter hefted him across his shoulder and stumbled down the hallway toward the bathroom. When he set him on the toilet, he started to unbutton Dunlap's shirt, but that was taking too much time, so he just ripped the shirt off. Dunlap tilted, almost falling, and Slaughter eased him onto the floor, then got his pants off, his shoes and socks and underwear. The underwear was soiled. Nostrils flaring, Slaughter threw it into a corner. He slid Dunlap into the bathtub and turned the shower on to cold. Dunlap woke up, screaming.

"Take it easy."

Dunlap wouldn't stop screaming.

Slaughter slapped his cheeks. "Hey, it's me. It's Slaughter."

Dunlap blinked at him. His eyes were red. The vomit that had caked around his lips and chin was rinsing off, and he was frowning, his head to one side. He looked as if he might begin to cry, and then his body heaved.

"It's all right. I'm with you," Slaughter told him. "Get it out of you."

He studied Dunlap, water spraying onto the both of them, as spasm followed spasm, and then Dunlap sighed and leaned back, coughing in the bathtub. He was crying.

"What's the matter? Nightmares?"

Dunlap nodded.

"Well, I've got work for you. I need you sober. While you're stu

Dunlap closed his eyes and shivered as the cold water sprayed at him. "You know already what you want to hear. You don't need me to answer."

"Listen, buddy." Slaughter dug his fingers into Dunlap's shoulder. "You're not quite so drunk as you pretend. I want to hear the answer."

"Sure, all right, I'll say that you can trust me."

"If you screw up, you'll wish you'd never met me."

"You can trust me. Hey. My shoulder."

Slaughter noticed the way the skin was turning purple and eased his fingers off. He leaned back, sitting on the toilet seat. "I need a man to cover me," he said at last. "A man from outside who has no involvement in this. I want you to watch me every second, check out everything I do and keep a record. There'll soon be trouble, major trouble, and I want to know that I'm protected."

Dunlap had his eyes shut as he shivered in the cold spray of water.

"Do you hear me?" Slaughter asked.

"Is it that bad?"

"It's that bad."

"Hell, I'd be crazy not to go along with you."

"You'll be crazy if you do. There's just one stipulation. All I ask is that you wait until I say that you can publish the story."

"Now I-"

"I don't want to have to worry about you. I have lots to watch for without that."

The water kept spraying. Slaughter felt his wet shirt clinging to his skin.