Consuming Earth

I

When Drew arrived at the warehouse, the rain had just started falling. It was a cold late-September evening, with the first leaves beginning to turn the familiar bright warm hues; a hint of autumn was in the air. Drew told Benny to meet him at seven with the van; as usual, he was late. Drew decided against giving him a call because, as always, it would have been a litany of excuses and lies. Benny always shows up when he does. Besides, he wanted time to think and plan without Benny's constant chatter interrupting his thoughts.

Drew unbolted the lock, tossed the latch to the side, and heaved the heavy industrial door open. Inside was pitch black. By intuition, Drew reached over to his left, found the breaker panel, and flipped the breakers. It always took a minute for the fluorescent lights to warm and flicker on. Waiting, Drew noted the increasing number of burnt-out bulbs and determined he would have Benny replace them when they returned.

There was nothing particularly remarkable inside. The enormous main floor was mostly empty, except for two dusty, partially restored cars that, as best as Drew could surmise, were from the fifties, projects that started years ago and never completed. There was an ancient fishing boat too, which looked like it hadn't seen water in decades and reeked of mothballs.

The old brick warehouse was five stories tall and was built sometime in the 1920s. It was originally constructed by a cabinet company, and then it became a door manufacturer for many years. Surprisingly, a telemarketing business called the warehouse home for a period. The second floor consisted of old dusty offices that hadn't been in use since the nineties, with scattered desks, chairs, and random office supplies strewed about and stinking of a used book store. Nobody ever went above the second floor. The rotting floors would make one think twice about exploring, not to mention the myriad of critters that called the upper floors home.

Benny negotiated the use of the building and somehow arranged for payments of only five hundred a month. He knew the owner from other unsavory circles; consequently, nobody was coming around and sticking their nose in the operation. They have been renting the location for a year now, and it becoming the perfect set-up.

Drew strolled over to an old foreman's office on the main floor. They kept a small fridge on a desk and a couple of chairs. Opening the refrigerator, he saw there were still three bottles of beer left from the night before. He grabbed one, plopped down in one of the chairs, and kicked his feet up on the desk. Drew sipped his beer and went through his mental checklist again, making sure he made all the correct arrangements and hadn't overlooked anything. Satisfied, Drew began to contemplate tomorrow night and what he would do with all his winnings.

Halfway through his beer, Benny burst open the door, breaking the peace with all his usual pomp. Dressed in his ridiculous skinny jeans and puffy sweater, he looked like he played a part in some over-the-top gangster flick. Benny was a tiny, wiry character, so it seemed natural for him to dress to impress because nothing else did it with him. He also attempted to compensate for his small stature by other means, including initiating fights and mouthing off. He was always quick to anger. If someone spoke to Benny for even ten minutes, chances are, they disrespected or offended him half a dozen times, at least according to Benny. Drew lost count of how many times he had had to step in, apologize, and make nice.

Drew and Benny have known each other since childhood, and their relationship mixes friendship and business. They grew up together in the roughest part of town and shared the life that bred. Their parents were drug addicts, and school was not a place to learn about algebra or the Civil War. Instead, the school was a place to learn how to deal and hustle, and they were very good at it, Drew especially. He was always the brains of the partnership, with Benny riding his coattails. They dealt with all kinds of drugs for the longest time, checking every box on a standard five-panel drug test and then some.

Eventually, Drew became tired of the daily grind of being a dealer. Foremost, his operation was becoming too big for him and Benny to handle, and Drew was weary of getting nabbed. There was too much risk and not enough reward. They simply did not have the connections and protections that other, more established dealers enjoyed in the city.

As chance would have it, after an invitation through Benny's friend, the warehouse owner, Drew found himself at a dogfighting event in the basement of a hole-in-the-wall bar downtown. And after seeing the amount of money exchanging hands, the excitement of the crowd, and the brutality of the sport, he immediately became hooked. The next day, Drew purchased a dog with the bit of money he had saved up. It was a small black Pitt Bull, and from its looks, it could have been the runt of the litter.

Drew evolved into a ruthless dogman (a dogfighting trainer); he trained, molded, and savagely beat that small dog, Benny Junior or BJ for short, into a vicious fighting machine. Drew used training tactics to make even the most seasoned dogfighting professional wince. But, ultimately, the tactics worked, and BJ ran a good campaign, winning four fights before getting torn to shreds by a prized champion Pitt Bull owned by a local businessman. Drew was unwavering by the loss and was proud. BJ fought until the end, even when he was bleeding out and guts sprawled across the ring. Consequently, because of how small BJ was and all the bets made against him, Drew made more money on those four fights than most in a year. Also importantly, Drew was making a name for himself as a rising dogman in the dogfighting scene and someone who could instill a ferocious temperament into any animal.

With his reputation growing, Drew attended a few high-profile fights. After seeing what he could do with a small dog like BJ, he wanted to move from the minor leagues of dogfighting and jump to the majors. He learned that half of those guys at that level don't even train their dogs. It becomes a white-collar game: bankers, lawyers, business leaders, and even politicians take part. They want betting, excitement, and violence but don't want to get their hands dirty; everything gets hired out.

II

Drew greeted Benny, "you're late."

Benny walked over to the fridge to grab a beer. "I know - I set the alarm, but my phone died while sleeping. You're lucky I'm just thirty minutes late."

"Well, what are you doing sleeping at this time of day?" replied Drew.

Benny snapped back, "Stop hassling me, will ya - I'm here with the van, just as you wanted, and I was up all last night preparing and getting supplies for the trip. That's why I had to take a nap today."

Drew knew Benny was lying. He had already loaded the van with supplies when he dropped it off at Benny's yesterday; the kennels, dog food, leashes, all of it. The idiot never even looked in the back. Another day, another lie.

Sighing, Drew said, "come on, let's get started." Without hesitation, he finished the beer and threw it to the other side of the room. It crashed against the far wall. Shards of glass rained down on top of countless other broken bottles that everyone had pitched in that vicinity for years.

That's when he heard the barking, faint and muffled. The basement of this old building was like a tomb. He and Benny would often joke that they could survive a nuclear blast down there. So secure and hidden that not even cell service worked. Nobody would ever have a clue that a dogfighting operation was occurring from the outside. It was the perfect place not to attract attention, hide, and secretly transform man's best friend into a ruthless killing machine.

Benny tossed his bottle across the room in copycat fashion, and they headed downstairs. The staircase was wooden and narrow. Worn down by the years, it had what appeared to be six layers of paint, the different colors revealing the path of countless trips, and bare wood depicting the most treaded-upon path taken throughout the decades. The smell always hit first as they descended, a putrid mix of stale feces and urine. That was the price to pay to keep the operation secret; keeping the dogs outside would raise too much suspicion. Drew and Benny became accustomed to it after a while, and Drew always made sure Benny cleaned the cages regularly.

The basement was one large room, save for a small bathroom opposite the staircase and a closet in the back. Next to the closet were two large steel shelving units, sparse with only some boxes of nails, bolts, and a few pieces of scrap wood, along with other unknown long-forgotten items whose original purposes were a mystery. Initially, window wells ran along the wall next to the sidewalk outside. However, they cemented decades ago, so they only received light from the four fluorescent light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The fighting ring in the middle was a ten-foot by fourteen-foot rectangle of chicken wire. It was crude and wouldn't hold muster in actual dogfighting events, but it did the job for training fights. Finally, along the wall next to the bathroom were the cages, and in them were his dogs.

At one of the high-profile conventions, Drew was finally able to purchase a real fighter, one bred from generations of grand champions (dogs who have won at least five fights), and it cost him nine thousand dollars, a large sum to pay. However, dogs of this pedigree were good bets, almost investments. By Drews's estimation, this dog had the chance to, at minimum, net him triple what he paid. He also purchased two bait dogs (dogs used exclusively to train other fighting dogs). Many trainers will steal bait dogs from people's backyards or buy them on the street for next to nothing. Usually, that is the way to do things, for these dogs are expendable, just warm bodies meant to be thrown away when their usefulness ends. However, Drew didn't need just any sorry pup off the street; he required bait dogs that would last. He needed Dogs that would truly test the gameness of his costly prizefighter.

The two bait dogs, Pit Bulls named Gus and Trucker, were on the ends. The prizefighter, a Rottweiler named Boss, was between the two, which was no accident, but an intentional tactic Drew used to make him agitated. Stressed and agitated dogs fight more ferociously in the ring. Gus was the smaller of the two, all white and with massive paws. Although smaller, Gus had the smarts for the ring, constantly dodging an attack and striking when advantageous. Trucker was black with white spots and was, in all reality, almost as big as Boss. The similar sizes always made Drew weary when he put them together in the ring, but they had some lively matches that always tested Boss to the extreme.

Boss was a freak of nature. Unlike the Pit Bulls Gus and Trucker, Boss was a Rottweiler, a breed as ferocious in the ring, if not more. Boss' head was almost in line with Drew's chest, six feet tall himself. And poor Benny, Boss, nearly could lick his face without standing on his hind legs (a prospect that either one would ever entertain). The enormous sum Drew paid for him was comparable to his potential.

Drew couldn't help but wonder what kind of fighters Gus and Trucker would have been in their own right. They were excellent prospects that many dogmen would have loved to develop. However, months of training with Boss have made them skittish and subordinate; their gameness and will to fight sapped out. Drew decided those two would have been excellent fighters; they survived this long with Boss in the ring. He thought it almost a shame. Ultimately, Drew concluded he needed stronger than usual bait dogs to give his most valuable investment, Boss, some competitive practice. He was thankful that they turned out to be worthy opponents.

"Start loading the dogs into the van," ordered Drew. "And remember one by one. Don't want 'em getting the best of you. Keep control; I gotta take a piss."

"Yeah, yeah," Benny mumbled, already getting tired of his friends' ordering.

Drew walked to the bathroom and half shut the door. As he was zipping up, he heard some snarling and cages banging. Then he heard Benny scream.

Despite Drew's warning, Benny did not feel like loading the dogs one by one. He always looked for shortcuts and walking up and down those stairs three times was, decidedly to Benny, not a shortcut. On top of that, the sooner he got the dogs loaded up, the sooner he could hightail it to the big fight convention without giving Drew a chance to make him scrub the cages or change some stupid light bulbs, as was the usual way things went. Those conventions with all the monied handlers were always Benny's favorite; besides the food, music, drugs, and women, he loved schmoozing with the elite. It made him feel important; the dogfighting was just the sideshow to Benny.

He had handled the dogs enough by now and was flush with overconfidence. He also knew how broken Gus and Trucker were; Benny and Drew had abused and beat them so much that they would quiver with fear at a glance. But what Benny did not know is that Drew had not only failed to feed the Pit Bulls in days (he planned on selling them anyway for breeding), but he had not fed Boss for days either. Starving a dog made them ferocious, desperate, and ruthless. It creates a state of mind that is perfect for the ring, a tactic even the most amateur dogmen know.

So while Drew relieved himself of the beer he drank earlier, Benny got the three leashes on the wall and the club. He unlatched Truckers cage, next Gus', and finally Bosses. When he was just about to head up the stairs, Trucker snapped at Benny's hand. He was astonished by the broken animal's aggressiveness, giving Trucker a hard thump on his snout. It did not have the intended effect, for that put Trucker into a wild frenzy. He lept upon Benny with his teeth in full presentation; Trucker wanted blood. This sudden act of violence put the other two in the course of the same action. With Gus and Boss almost on cue, they were launching themselves at Benny.

III

"Drew! Drewww! Help, they're all over me!"

Cursing his friend, Drew slammed the bathroom door open, "Goddammit, Benny, what did I tell you!"

"Help, get the gun, hurry!"

"Hang in there. I got this." But Drew was worried. All he could hear now were the almost inhuman screams of his friend.

Benny was on the ground, dragged down by Gus, who held his leg securely in his mouth, tugging and twisting with random veracity. Trucker was still going for Benny's throat and taking a beating for it. Benny still had the club in hand, swinging wildly and landing as many blows as to keep him at bay. Boss, with his blood-stained red snout, was off to the side of the scene. Drew couldn't determine what chunk of Benny had been taken by Boss, but whatever it was, Boss at that moment looked contented for his taken morsel.

Knowing the gun was upstairs in the desk drawer, Drew started towards the stairway. However, Drew hesitated and thought. Everything Drew worked for would be wiped away because of Benny's carelessness. The dogs didn't know Benny as they knew him. Drew was the alpha, training with them almost every day, beating them mercilessly countless times. He could put them into submission without losing everything. With his decision and determination sealed, Drew grabbed the nearest chunk of scrap wood, a short piece about four inches thick, and started towards the chaos.

Drew swung at Trucker first and landed a hard blow on his head. With a whimper, Trucker was knocked aside and retreated toward his cage. "Easy enough," Drew thought to himself. Next, he went to work on Gus, who still had a firm grip on Benny's leg. After a couple of good blows, Drew could not get him to let go. He drew back once more, intending to give Gus one more good smack, when he noticed, in his horror, that Benny's right arm was completely missing. Between all the blood and bodies squirming and shifting, he hadn't seen, but he was sure of it now.

"Benny! Your arm!" Screamed Drew. "It's gone!"

"Ahhhh!" Benny had no reply except for the continual cry for help.

Drew looked over at Boss in shock, sitting over by the wall. In front, at his paws, was Benny's mangled arm. Drew stepped back, dropped the scrap piece of wood, and looked back towards the stairs. At this point, Trucker recovered and stood behind him, snarling, between him and the only exit out of this nightmare. Seeing this, Drew ran towards the bathroom, but Boss took off towards him. All Drew could do was jump onto the steel shelving next to him. While scuffling up the rack, Boss leaped and snatched at Drew's foot, barely missing by inches.

When drew scrambled up to the top shelf, he just laid there for a few moments, too in shock to even move, hearing the continual cries of Benny. Drew could not bring himself to turn his head and look. All he did was concentrate on trying to breathe and pretend not to hear the piercing death screams of his friend slowly being ripped apart. The screaming stopped after a time, and Drew's panic subsided. Taking deep breaths, he took stock of his situation. Being on the top shelf, he only had around four feet of headroom, and the only supplies were a few small boxes of nuts and bolts, some old cans of motor oil, and a few pieces of scrap wood. Reluctantly, he peered over the ledge. Boss and Trucker were underneath him, jumping up and barking incessantly. Drew was on the top of three shelves, close to nine feet from the ground, so he knew he would be safe, even from Boss' giant leaps.

Next, he looked over at his friend Benny and noticed that Gus was not inclined to chase him, for he was still next to Benny, but instead of being clamped onto his leg, Gus was now towards Benny's face. There was no movement except for the occasional tug of his neck caused by Gus' gnawing. At this moment, Drew realized Benny's cries for help had ceased. He knew his friend was dead.

Drew quickly pulled out his phone, knowing he could never get a signal down there; he had to try, at least. For the next half hour, Drew crawled around every inch of the shelf, even stretching his arm out as far as it would extend around the entire perimeter (much to the excitement of the dogs), hoping for just a single bar, that's all he needed, a single bar. Alas, Drew gave up, accepting that he wasn't going to get a hold of anyone. There would be no help. No one was coming to the rescue.

Eventually, much to his relief, Boss and Trucker finally decided to leave him alone after a couple of hours. The barking, jumping, and clawing were torture; he couldn't think. Even Gus, who finally left Benny alone, came around to join in their venture for a bit. However, Drew soon realized his mistake of wishing them gone because they went back to Benny with the attention gone from him.

By not feeding them for days, the dogs were ravenous and worked on Benny like a pride of lions. They lay next to him, calmly biting, ripping, chewing, and tearing on his flesh. Boss walked back and forth with his trophy, Benny's right arm, picking at it now and again like a leftover drumstick. Gus went back to the leg, and his ripping was so aggressive that Drew often thought Benny's leg was being ripped right off. Trucker zeroed in on the torso, and Drew was thankful he was feasting on the opposite side of his vantage point, for he did not want to see precisely what bits of Benny Trucker were consuming.

The dogs continued this for the rest of the night and into the morning, with short periods of eating following long stretches of silence and calm. Drew turned on some music on his phone during the feasting times to drown out the sounds of the dogs chewing, but eventually, the battery died. Drew then resorted to throwing everything he could get his hands on at the dogs whenever they decided to eat. Using ammunition of nuts, bolts, screws, and cans, Drew tried everything to interrupt their feeding, but they ignored whatever he threw; the dogs were too used to hard blows with a club. Nothing fazed them in their pursuit of food.

Drew made just one attempt to sneak away. The dogs have had their fill and appeared asleep. After finding some courage, quietly and slowly, Drew climbed down the shelf. Once on the ground, he turned and studied each dog, looking for any hint of alertness. Satisfied, he started towards the stairway. With extreme caution, he reached where Benny's body was lying. Up close, Drew could see the damage the dogs had inflicted in detail. Benny's left hip was torn to shreds, his throat wholly gone, and it appeared one dog had started to feast on his midsection towards his back. The worst was his face, for the jaw was torn away at one side, so it was just hanging on one end. Drew couldn't help but gasp audibly at the gruesome sight of his former friend. He put his hand over his mouth, but that is all it took. It was too late. Drew saw in the corner of his eye Gus lifting his head. Instinctively, with primordial fear, Drew turned and sprinted back towards the shelf and climbed. It was so quick that Gus didn't even have a chance to get up or alert the others.

Back safely atop his sanctuary and the dogs now patrolling the basement with greater detail, Drew decided that would be the last time he would attempt an escape as carelessly, he needed a plan, and he needed rest. The basement was a tomb; there were no hints from the outside. Everything from the sound of dogs eating to hunger and, above all, thirst were obstacles for him to sleep. Night and day became the same, and by his best guess, he surmised that he had been down there for close to two days and hadn't slept this entire time.

As nature goes, Drew realized the dogs were starting to defecate. The siege the dogs were implementing against him was beginning to be too much to handle, and he wondered if he would go insane. Drew couldn't help but wonder if that was his destiny, examining a new steaming pile that Trucker had left nearby. He said aloud, "Is that my fate too, Benny? To become a pile of dog shit like you?" Eventually, knowing he was safe and needing an escape, even if temporary, Drew shut his eyes and drifted off.

IV

It was not a peaceful sleep. Drew dreamed that he was lying on the ground, in the bare dirt and the dark. He began sinking, and the soil was swallowing him. Drew struggled and tried to fight, but he couldn't move. It was a fight of man against the earth. He was buried entirely and suffocating in what felt like tons upon tons of dirt on top. Until, surprisingly and without warning, he was falling into the air. He was tumbling into an open cavern with jagged icy rock surrounding a long winding river. As he fell and got closer, the river turned red, and even closer, Drew noticed bodies floating, grotesque, bloated, rotting corpses, too many to count; they were all floating in the river of red. Drew screamed, and with him screamed all the bodies in the river, the sound of thousands of shrieking, horrified voices echoed throughout the cavern. It was a symphony of pain and fright. Drew kept on hurtling towards the cursed, bloodied river with the screams of the dead booming into his head. His heart was pounding, thump thump, thump thump, and right before impact, he jolted.

Waking up, he found himself in a cold sweat and his heart still pounding, but something was off. He could still hear the thump thump, thump thump, but it wasn't coming from his chest. He heard it from the other side of the room, over by Benny. Drew quietly peered at the body, and he could not believe what he saw. Benny violently convulsed on the floor as if he was in a seizure. The thumping was his head, repeatedly hitting the concrete floor, thump, thump, with a bloodied spot revealing the force of impact. The dogs stood around him, surprisingly not attacking, not even barking. They were still. They were silent.

Benny stopped moving a few minutes later, his body still again. Then to his horror, Benny slowly sat up. He moved like someone just waking up from bed; it was almost graceful. Drew could not comprehend what his eyes were seeing. Boss walked over to him, and Drew was sure he would go into a wild frenzy. Instead, Boss simply licked Benny's face, or more specifically, the blood dripping off from it. The other dogs quietly came and sniffed around in the way dogs would sniff a newborn puppy, gentle and curious.

Eventually, Benny slowly stood up. He stood there, facing away from where Drew was peering. The silence was total, not even the dogs made a noise, and everything was in slow motion. He just stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It appeared he was surveying the room or maybe just trying to realize what was happening. All Drew could do was hope he didn't turn around. He was so frightened to be seen by Benny, for he did not want to be seen by the unbelievable incarnation of death before him.

Something suddenly caught Benny's attention. Eerily, he became hyper-focused on an object, and Drew realized his severed arm over in the corner was the source. Boss had long forgotten about it, for he had chewed off most of the good meat; now, it was primarily ligaments and bone. Benny put one step forward, then another cautiously as if he had never walked before. Bending down upon reaching his formally attached arm, Benny picked it up and looked at it with great interest. He studied his arm for what seemed an eternity.

Drew was frozen in fright. However, he eventually forced himself out of the paralysis and determined he had to do something while Benny was distracted by his arm and the dogs with Benny. He witnessed Trucker calmly take a bite out of Bennys leg while studying his arm, and Benny didn't even flinch. Drew wondered, "How did he not feel that? Does he not feel pain anymore?" In complete shock and moved by fear alone, Drew slowly climbed down the shelf. This time he was being more careful not to make any noise. He kept his eyes always towards the congregation of hellish creatures across the room, looking for any hint of their distractions waning.

As he made his way towards the stairs, he saw that Benny was starting to turn around. Immediately, Drew gave up on his silent getaway and started to run. He was no match for the dogs, though. By this time, they had heard Drew take his first sprint, and they were darting his way, blocking the exit. Drew turned right and ran for the only sanctuary he could reach, the small janitor's closet.

He slid into the closet and slammed the door shut just moments before the dogs reached him. Slamming their bodies against the door, Drew almost thought they would knock it off the hinges, convinced that they would have burst through if the door were wooden instead of steel. Suddenly, after a few minutes of frantic barking, biting, and snarling from the other side, the dogs fell silent, with the only noise coming from Drew's labored breathing. Still holding the door shut, he tried his best to listen, and he could hear faint footsteps outside. They were coming closer.

Drew could see the shadow of two feet from underneath the door. He gripped the round doorknob as hard as he could with both hands, cursing the lack of a lock and his fear-induced sweaty palms. Slowly the knob tried to turn. It was gentle at first, just a hint of pressure. Drew, convinced his hands were getting more sweaty by the second, felt the intensity rise from Benny's attempt to gain entry. With harder and more demanding force, Benny continued to turn the loose and ill-fitted doorknob, and it started to shake and rattle with more aggressiveness. Drew's hands were white with stress, and he grunted and strained, even pleading, "Benny, go away! Just leave me alone!" There was no return answer from the other side.

When Drew thought his strength would fail, the pressure suddenly ceased. The shadows from underneath the door went away; even the dogs stopped their assault and let him alone. Drew continued to hold the doorknob in preparation for another attack from the evil on the other side, only briefly letting go to wipe his hands of sweat. It went on like this for hours.

During this time, Drew examined the small five-by-four-foot closet. There was a bucket, mop, and a small shelf in the room. Sighing, Drew could find nothing to hold the door shut or no real weapon to defend himself. Instead, he could only stand guard, ready to grab ahold of the door and keep the abomination and the dogs from getting in.

No matter what evil was just on the other side of the door, Drew couldn't fight one of the most basic human needs; he needed to sleep. Drew had lost track of time ages ago and tried his best to stay awake, but he nodded off more frequently as the hours went by. First, it was only for a few seconds, then a few minutes. He went to the far side of the closet and grabbed the mop, holding it in his lap. No longer could he fight the constant need to rest. It was a battle that no human could win, even if the human who somehow won the ultimate losing battle of death was a reality just a few feet away. Finally, Drew closed his eyes, accepted his fate, and gave in. There were no dreams during this slumber, just quiet slumber.

When Drew awoke, the door was open, and Benny was there. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping nor how long Benny had been staring at him. Although Drew had come to terms with his fate of going to sleep, waking up to such a sight brought on entirely new fears, enough so that he couldn't breathe. He was gasping, trying to scream and suck in air at the same time; his entire body was shaking, and his heart was going to burst right out of his chest. The panic was all-encompassing.

Benny didn't move the entire time; he just stood there staring and Drew manically stared back. With his throat ripped out and jaw completely missing now, Benny didn't even appear to look human. Where his mouth was supposed to be was just a gaping hole full of blood, bone, and teeth, with his tongue left mockingly flapping around. The dogs had seemingly gotten to more of his midsection while Drew was in the closet. His left side was gone entirely, with different organs of all shapes and colors hanging off of him like some ornamental livery. Chunks of him were missing all over, a little bit here, a little bit there. Of course, Benny was still holding his ripped-off right arm.

Drew calmed down enough to take in some air. His eyes met Benny's, and instead of seeing what he thought would be evil or the glaze of the deceased, he just saw Benny's eyes just as they were when he was alive; wide, dark brown, and shiny with fresh tears. They were the eyes of someone scared and confused, quivering in place. Drew felt a few tears roll down his cheek and wondered if Benny saw the same pain in his eyes. At that moment, Drew had found an answer to his question posed earlier. Drew said softly to Benny, "You can feel the pain, can't you."

Soon the dogs ventured into the closet, one by one. They stood at the feet of Benny for a bit, examining their next meal that was lying on the floor a short distance away. They pounced and were on Drew in an instant. He pitifully tried to fight them off with the mop, but it was quickly broken and tossed aside. While Gus and Trucker were tearing him up, Boss came over to him and sunk his teeth into his neck; Drew could feel warm liquid pour onto his face and chest. Drew fought like a rabid animal, kicking and screaming, not accepting his fate willingly or silently. It was, in the end, not death that Drew feared the most, but being deprived of its luxury. Finally, darkness overcame the light, and he felt the floor envelop him. He was sinking.