She wanted to see Radar again, too… and Radar wants to see her, I think.
“Down.”
Radar looked at me but stayed on her feet. She peered into the darkness between the boards, back at me, then back at the boards. Dogs find ways to get their points across, and to me this one seemed totally clear: Hurry up, Charlie.
“Radar, down.”
Very reluctantly she went on her belly, but the moment I moved the boards from parallel to a V shape, she was up and running down the steps, fleet as a puppy. There were patches of white on the back of her head and the base of her spine, near the tail. I saw those, and then she was gone.
I had been worried about getting her down the steps. That was pretty funny, wasn’t it? As Mr. Neville, my English teacher, was fond of saying: Irony, it’s good for your blood.
2
I almost called for her to come back, then realized it was a terrible idea. She probably wouldn’t pay any attention. If she did, and tried to turn around on those small steps, she’d almost certainly fall to her death. All I could do was hope she didn’t miss her footing in the dark and fall to her death anyway. Or start barking. That would undoubtedly send any lurking jumbo cockroaches packing, but it would startle the bats—also jumbo-sized—into flight.
There was nothing I could do about it, anyway. All I could do was follow the plan. I descended the steps until I only stuck out from head to chest, with the boards once more in a V shape and close on either side of me. I began placing tied bundles of magazines on them, walling myself in. All the time I was doing it I listened for a thud and a final cry of pain. Or, if the fall didn’t kill her, many cries as she lay on the packed dirt, dying by inches because of my bright ideas.
I was sweating like a pig as I pulled the boards close around me. I wriggled my arms up through the enclosing wall of magazines and grabbed one more bundle. I balanced it on my head like a tribal woman carrying a load of wash to the nearest river, then bent slowly. The last bundle came to rest on the hole I’d left. It landed slightly askew, but it would have to serve. If Andy just gave the shed a cursory look before locking it up, it would. Of course that left the question of how I was going to get out of the shed again, but that was a worry for another day.
I started down the steps, once again keeping my shoulder against the curve of the wall and the beam of the flashlight trained on my feet. The pack made it slow going. I counted steps again, and when I got to a hundred, I shone the light down the remainder of the shaft. Two eerie spots of light shone back up at me as the beam hit the reflective surface dogs have at the back of their eyes. She was down, she was okay, and she was waiting instead of running off down the corridor. The relief I felt was enormous. I got to the bottom as fast as I could, which wasn’t very, because I didn’t want to be the one lying there with a broken leg. Or two. I dropped to a knee and gave Radar a hug. She was perfectly willing to be hugged under ordinary circumstances, but this time she pulled away almost at once and turned toward the corridor.
“Okay, but don’t scare the wildlife. Hush.”
She went ahead of me, not running but walking fast, and with no sign of a limp. At least yet. I wondered again exactly what the miracle pills were, and how much they were taking away while they were giving. One of my father’s sayings was There’s no such thing as a free lunch.
When we neared the place I thought of as the borderland, I risked disturbing the bats to raise the flashlight beam from the floor so I could watch her reaction. What I saw was nothing at all, and I was wondering if that effect wore off after one’s initial exposure when that same lightheadedness swam through me—that sense of having an out-of-body experience. It passed as rapidly as it came, and shortly thereafter I saw the spark of light where the corridor opened onto the hillside.
I caught up with Radar. I brushed through the overhanging vines and looked down on the poppies. Red carpet, I thought. Red carpet.
We were in the other world.
3
For a moment Radar stood perfectly still, head forward, ears cocked, nose going. Then she started down the path at a trot, which was now the best speed she could make. Or so I thought. I was halfway down the hill when Dora came out of her little cottage with a pair of slippers in one hand. Rades was maybe ten feet in front of me. Dora saw us coming—more properly saw who was coming on four feet instead of two—and dropped the slippers. She fell to her knees and held out her arms. Radar broke into a full-out run, barking joyously. She pulled up a little at the end （or her aging rear legs did）， but not enough to keep from slamming into Dora, who tumbled over on her back with her skirt flying up from her bright green stockings. Radar straddled her, barking and licking her face. Her tail wagged furiously.