“What?”
“That’s an attack dog,” Domingo said. “It’s a modified dog and it’s meant to kill people and I can make it eat your face.”
“Dude, come on,” Quinto said, attempting a laugh and only managing a pathetic, frightened half chuckle. “That’s not right.”
“Cualli,” Domingo said, and the dog growled, eyes fixed on Quinto.
“You’re serious? You’d kill me over a vampire bitch?”
Quinto had been okay to Domingo and Domingo didn’t want to be an asshole, but he forced himself to nod. ’Cause she needed him. She was depending on him. “Take a look at her.”
“All right! Keep the dog away.”
Domingo stepped back and sat on the floor. He called to the dog and it went toward him, though it gave Quinto a wary look.
Quinto took Atl’s pulse and hovered over her, pulling away the T-shirt she was clutching. “What happened to her?”
“She was shot with these darts, silver nitrate. Said she was going into shock. Ana-something shock.”
“Anaphylactic shock?”
Domingo thought that was the word. “What’s that?”
“It’s an allergic reaction.”
“What do we do?”
“I’m not sure. Look, normally I’d say give her an epinephrine shot, but she’s not human and she should be dead by now by the way she’s looking. Her heart’s racing like crazy.”
“I took the darts out but it seems to have done no good.”
“I need more light.”
Domingo grabbed one of the lanterns and held it up while Quinto stared at her legs and arms.
Quinto shook his head. “I think there are fragments of the dart in the shoulder. The arm’s swollen, too. Look, I don’t have no equipment to treat her here, not even a stethoscope. I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
“Where would you have the equipment?”
“Over at the kennels. But that’s the stuff I use on the dogs, dude. No guarantees it would help.”
“Then let’s take her there.”
“You crazy? The Jackal would have a shit fit if I took her there. He’s paranoid about the dogs. You want him breaking your arms?”
“I’ll worry about that later.”
“She’s covered in blood. My car—”
“Then we’ll wrap her in a blanket and her jacket. Let’s go.”
Quinto looked like he wasn’t going to move an inch, but the dog growled and he grabbed a blanket.
*
The city seemed strange as they drove to the kennels, quiet and gloomy, the only noise in the car the back and forth of the windshield wipers and the patter of the rain. Quinto wasn’t too thrilled that, on top of a vampire, he’d asked him to bring the dog along, but they’d all crammed into the Volkswagen in the end, with Atl in the backseat.
Quinto parked the car behind the old factory that had been retrofitted to serve as kennel and fighting arena for the dogs, and together they carried Atl inside. The place was a major disaster zone, a jumble of crates littering the main entrance. They walked down a narrow hallway that led to a large room filled with cages, most of them occupied by sad-looking dogs, and kept going. Their destination was the “hospital”—that’s what Quinto called it—a room that was fitted with several tables and special instruments so Quinto could patch up the dogs. Quinto turned on the lights and the room lit up.
“Over here,” Quinto said, and they lowered Atl onto a wheeled veterinary surgery table. “Christ. Okay, let me wash my hands and find my things.”
Quinto rushed around the room, pulling bottles off shelves and grabbing scissors, knives, and pliers. He dumped them onto a smaller table and dragged it next to Atl, muttering to himself.
“Okay, I see this asshole. The projectile, whatever the hell it was, broke into shards and is embedded in her arm and leg. I can clean it up and stitch her up, but I have no damn idea if I should administer epinephrine.”
“What do you mean?” Domingo asked, watching Quinto as he made a small cut on Atl’s arm.
“It could give her a heart attack for all I know. Okay, here’s one shard. Pass me that dish.”
Domingo stretched out his hand and held out a white ceramic dish. Quinto dropped a metallic sliver into it.
“I guess you shouldn’t give it to her, then.”
“Well, I don’t know. Her face is swelling. She’s lost a shitload of blood. Do I give her a transfusion? Where the hell do I get blood? I have no idea what I’m doing here. Here’s another shard.”
Quinto dropped the shard into the dish and Domingo watched him as he pulled several more bits of metal out and then stitched and bandaged Atl’s arm and leg.
Quinto kept muttering to himself. He grabbed a syringe and looked at Domingo. “I’m going to try and give her an intramuscular injection. I don’t know if this is going to help or not.” Quinto pushed the plunger down.
He took Atl’s pulse and shook his head. “Let’s try again.”
Quinto kept checking Atl’s pulse, watching her and shaking his head. “I think it’s working,” he said at length. “Shit. It’s like trying to treat an elephant. She’s got a ton of adrenaline pumping through her body and she barely twitches.”