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From Rex Zero and the End of the World
Kincho stops at the top of the steps that lead down into Adams Park. He sits, which is kind of amazing. I didn't know he knew how. It gives us both a chance to catch our breath.
I look at the park stretching out before me. The moon is low in the sky, so all the shadows seem to be pointing right at me. I've never been out this late alone, and it's kind of exciting. The park is long and sinewy, like a snake. The paths look white under the moon. It's so quiet. Dead quiet, dark and empty. It smells of nothing but cool greenness. I sit down on the top step beside the dog, with my arm around his neck. If Adams Park were a stadium like Lansdowne Park, these would be the dollar bleachers.
Then I hear something – I'm not sure what – but Kincho hears it, too, and both our heads swivel toward the wall of trees flanking the north side of the park. I don't see anything moving – anything except the trees. If Kincho sees anything, he isn't saying, but he's on red alert, I can tell. The breeze picks up and the trees seem to turn their heads to look up the field, like fans watching a car spin out of control on the northeast turn. We follow their gaze, Kincho and me. He growls low in his throat.
"What is it, boy?"