“Though I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to name you. Just so I’m not running around saying, ‘Hey, dog, come here,’ or, ‘Hey, dog, quit lookin’ at me like that.’” She thinks on it. “I could just call you Asshole or Shithead. Because you’re kinda both, you ask me.” One eye opens and the dog whines. “Okay, okay, just kidding. For a man-eater you’re awful sensitive. You got a head like a cement block, so we could go with Blockhead. A little nicer, at least, won’t get me too many looks out in public.” She pauses. “But I figure since you’re Velcroed to me every doggone step I take, let’s just go with White Shadow. Whitey for short.”

The dog’s eyes close and Whitey starts to snore.

“Yeah, naw, it’s not like I was talking or anything.” She rolls her eyes. “Have a nice nap, Whitey.”

Whitey. What a blockhead.

Ends up that she has a nice nap, too. Falls asleep in the chair on the porch. Eventually Whitey slides off her and lies on the floor splayed right at her feet, occasionally letting loose these noxious puffs of fly-killing dog-fart that wake her from her slumber long enough for her to make a sour face and curse him and the rest of his litter. Then, back to sleep.

At around nine at night she wakes up again.

This time to the crackle of gravel under approaching tires. Headlights slice the darkness as a car eases slowly down the driveway toward the house.

No, not a car. An SUV. A big one, too. Chevy Tahoe. White.

Atlanta’s not sure what to do. She thinks to go hide. Lots of places to do that—into the corn, out back of the house, in the cellar with the doors all locked.

The dog—White Shadow—starts to growl in the back of his throat. He stands, stiffens. She sees the hairs on the back of his neck go sharp like the bristles of a boot brush.

Hell with it. Dog’s ready to meet this head-on. So’s she.

Atlanta feels around the side of the wicker chair she’s sitting in, finds the squirrel gun leaning there. On the other side, a box of shells. She dips her hand in the way you’d reach into a bowl to grab some cheese doodles, pockets a bunch, and saves one.

That one goes into the broken barrel. She snaps the gun closed, the vibration running along her hand.