To Eat Mud

Chapter 15

His legs were burning by the time the sirens began. The cops always took a while getting to the slums, and his weary calves considered his decision to run until they showed up to be an unforgivable error. He didn't know why the cops bothered showing up at all. They were always twenty minutes late to the party, so anyone committing a crime in the slums could spend a few moments browsing their phone before calmly walking away from the crime scene without a worry in the world. Of course, Trent wasn't normally involved in crime, and never thought that he didn't need to panic when he heard the alarm in Bailey's.

He ducked down an alley and flung the gummy bears over a privacy fence before following them in one jerky movement. It was his only loot from the store after throwing the two liter of soda in an open car window when it got too heavy.

His luck ran as it always did, though. The fence cracked beneath him just as all his weight came to bear, and the top three inches or so of rotten wood crumbled under his fingers.

There wasn't enough time to yell before he splashed head first into a pool of stagnant, unbelievably odorous water. His hands found the bottom, sinking so easily into the ooze that his gag reflex enacted at the sensation. He jerked his head out of the sludge, sending droplets of muddy brown liquid into the air.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!” He roared. All thought of hiding from the cops was gone. The water he landed in was more mud than liquid; even the tiny drops on his skin were opaque. It stank beyond belief, and he couldn't begin to imagine what his face looked like after being buried at the bottom. He just prayed it only smelled like it had been used for a cesspit, and hadn't been used for one in fact.

The water stretched the length of the little yard behind an old abandoned two story house. He assumed no one lived in the building, but if someone did, he would definitely like to talk to them about the state of their pond.

Trent stood and trudged through the muck. It sucked at his feet with every step, so he flexed his toes with every step. Losing a shoe would fit the day perfectly, but he would like to avoid losing his second pair of shoes this week. He felt soggy sticks break wetly under his feet, and pieces of piping that tried to roll when he stepped on them.

The pool had been utilized as a big trash heap. After running and heaving for breath from his unusual display of athleticism, or lack thereof, it was a treacherous walk. He slipped twice before getting halfway across, and fell in the knee deep water when the mud decided it didn't like him stepping on it.

Trent was about to stand back up from his latest fall when he saw what was only slightly better than an alligator. If his day got any worse he would get robbed by a schoolgirl wielding a lead dodgeball.

A dog stood between Trent and the gate out of the yard. After living on the streets for so long, the animal was nothing but skin and bones, and looked hungry enough to wish for the days it scavenged in the trash. It had probably been living in the crawlspace under the house, and had come out to find, and eat, whoever had disturbed its sanctuary.

It had the long claws of a wild animal, and stood tall enough to reach Trent's waist without jumping. He didn't want to think where it would choose to bite first.

What was worse than its presence was its attitude. Trent groaned as it bared its teeth. Its ears laid back, and every inch of its body was quivering in animal rage. Definitely not a nice puppy.

“Fantastic.” He began to stand, thinking he could easily scare it off, but the dog lunged into the pool and leaped the last few feet to its victim.

Trent yelled and struggled to get out of the way, but the mud held him like quicksand and he took the dog's charge full in the chest. The impact bowled him back, but he didn't give a thought to the mud. His hands shot up to stop the dog's head as its snapping teeth clicked inches away from his face.

The dog struggled to gain some purchase in the water as it panted fetid breath in his face. The only objects of any consistency were Trent's legs, though, and they didn't work as an attack platform. The dog quickly lost its balance as Trent shoved it sideways.

He yelled again, this time in victory as the dog's legs went out from under it and its body splashed hard into the muck. His shout echoed in the quiet when the dog's snarls were drowned in mud. The only to be heard was the churning of the brown water by its kicking legs.

The squirming animal couldn't fight against the hand splayed against its head. While he had it pinned with one hand, Trent fumbled along the bottom of the pool with his other. He felt the strength of an object beyond mud and water and grabbed it.

With the rebar in one hand, he released the rabid dog. Its head rose lazily to the surface, but there were no quick, vicious movements as it panted and stared blankly at the man about to end its life.

There wasn't any fight left in its eyes. He had won. The dog put everything it had into its initial attack, and the gambit hadn't paid off. It had nothing left to defend itself.

As the victor, Trent should have been ecstatic. But the look in the dog's eyes stole his sense of victory. He tossed away the rebar and stood. The fight was over, there was no reason to kill the dog. In fact, the mere thought of it made him sick to his stomach.

He shook his head and walked across the remainder of the pool with his head bowed. The fight left a sour taste in his mouth beyond what had been put there by the stagnant water. With a weary fall, Trent leaned against the gate and let the muddy water sluice off his body.

What was left in his pockets was surely destroyed. His hands sank into the little mud coated enclosures, making Trent cringe at the feeling of the disgusting ooze. His pack of cigarettes had been doomed from the start. His bag of weed held nothing but sludge, and his rolling papers fell apart in his hands.

He had gone to Bailey's to get some alcohol, and instead lost everything he took with him. Such a good morning to wake up, and everything had consistently gone wrong since he made the mistake of getting out of bed.

He slung the handful of sludge into the pool, thinking to slime the dog he blamed for his loss. But the dog had crawled its way to the edge of the pool, only five feet away without him noticing. A lucky thing that it hadn't tried attacking again. Now it sat staring at him with eyes that plead for mercy. Or something to eat.

“What? I ain't got no food.”

The dog looked down and lapped up some water, then resumed the staring contest.

“You just attacked me, dude. Now you want me to help? Well, here's a tip: Don't drink that water, s**t'll probly kill ya. There's some advice. I helped.” Trent shook his head incredulously. He couldn't imagine a human being anywhere near as presumptuous. He wanted to leave. Wanted to ignore this problem. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't his responsibility. He picked up a rock, hoping it would scare the dog off, but let it fall again without throwing it.

He had ignored Erin's cries for help in the parking lot. And he would have left her crying to herself nine times out of ten. But for some reason, the dog was a different thing altogether. He couldn't find it in his heart to leave a dog to die.

“D****t,” Trent growled. Something in the tone must have alerted the animal, because its ears perked up and its tail began to lazily splash the surface of the water.

He stood and looked down at the matted black fur covering the animal. “Well, you're gonna have to keep up. Otherwise I'll leave you behind.” He wouldn't leave the dog to die even if he had to carry it home. “Ya gotta pull your weight around the house.” He didn't care if it never did anything but eat and sleep. “Let's go. I don't wanna sit her all day.” He didn't want to return to his life.