Just Life

by Neil Abramson

  “What the hell now?” Kendall asked no one, and jogged over.

  A familiar woman stepped out of the driver’s door. Sam recognized her as the usually pleasant history teacher at the nearby intermediate school. Sam had spent last Christmas Eve with the woman, her twelve-year-old daughter, and their beagle Monster after the dog ate a string of Christmas lights—one of those desperate knocks on the shelter door. Because of that prior history, Sam felt privileged to ignore Kendall’s advice and joined him at the car.

  Sam peeked through the passenger window. The daughter sat in the backseat squeezing Monster into her chest. The only time the daughter loosened her grip on the dog was to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “Dr. Lewis! Thank God,” the woman said, and grabbed Sam’s arm like a bad swimmer going under for the last time.

  “What’s going on, Joan?” Sam asked, but she’d already guessed the answer.

  “I need to get Sarah out of here before this virus or whatever spreads. We’re going to stay with her father for a while in Jersey. But they’re telling me”—Joan pointed to an officer with the name tag “Tully”—“that I can’t take Monster with me.”

  “I’m afraid that’s right,” Kendall said with a sympathetic nod.

  “Why?”

  “I explained this to her,” Tully said. “She won’t listen.” Kendall warned him off with a wave of his hand.

  “You didn’t explain. No one has. I’ve been watching the news. The CDC doesn’t actually know anything. If they did, they would have made some sort of statement. They’re just guessing. First it was birds, now it’s dogs, will it be cats tomorrow? This is ridiculous.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but—”

  “What am I supposed to do?” Joan challenged. “Leave Monster in the apartment to starve while we ride away?”

  “Isn’t there someone else you can leave him with?” Kendall asked.

  “Everyone I know is trying to do the same thing. If they’re not leaving today, then tomorrow or the next day.”

  “This should all be over soon. Maybe it would be best if you just turned around and went home,” Kendall offered.

  “Do you have kids?” Joan asked.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” Kendall said.

  “Do they live in Riverside?”

  Kendall didn’t answer.

  Joan took his silence for a no. “Lucky you. If they did, you wouldn’t even suggest that. Kids are dying from this thing and you all just expect people to hang around?”

  “The virus isn’t transmitted that way. They need to come into contact with a rabid animal,” Kendall argued.

  “You don’t really know that, do you? And you’re telling me to play Russian roulette with my child while yours is safe in his bed? How dare you tell me how to protect my child!”

  “Now hold on—” Kendall began.

  “No! You hold on. You’re not giving me any choice,” Joan said, near tears. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to have no option?”

  “As a matter of fact, I sure do,” Kendall said.

  “He’s just trying to help,” Sam said. “Don’t take it out on him.” Sam leaned into the car window again. Sarah and Monster were both trembling. “Don’t worry,” she told the girl. “It’ll be OK.” Sarah nodded but seemed far from convinced.

  Sam turned back to Joan and Kendall. “Maybe I have an idea.”

  “I’m all ears,” Kendall said.

  “You need to trust me, Joan. Turn the car around and meet me at the shelter.”

  “But—” Joan protested.

  “I said you’ll need to trust me.”

  Ten minutes later Sam led Joan, Sarah, and Monster through the front door of Finally Home. The girl was still crying. “It’s OK now,” Sam told her. A phrase from another lifetime popped into Sam’s head and she voiced it: “Nothing bad is going to happen in our house.”

  Sam was a little shocked to see that the phrase still held some magic; Sarah smiled at her for the first time.

  Luke and Greg joined the group at reception and Sam introduced them. “Can you bring Sarah and Monster into the back and find a comfortable place for him? He may be with us for a little while.” Luke led the family to the back room.

  “Can I speak to you for a minute?” Greg asked, and pulled her into a corner. Sam didn’t miss the fact that he was using his “Daddy voice.” She knew a reprimand was coming and she was not disappointed.

  “You want to let me in on what’s going on here?”

  Sam explained the situation at the perimeter.

  “Your lease specifically prohibits boarding. Morgan will make sure that this is the final nail.”

  “We’re a little beyond worrying about my lease at this point, don’t you think? I’m done here, Greg. Might as well blaze out. Morgan isn’t taking anyone in and Sarah’s got no one else.”

  “Yeah, I get it, but you could also lose your shelter license and you won’t be able to get that back for anyplace else. And you’re probably gonna end up bringing those fools in the lab coats right back to our door. That puts our own dogs in the cross hairs.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Another kid died,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “This whole situation will get worse. And when it does, others will come to you as a safe haven.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”

  “You’ve got no guarantee that you’ll be able to protect any of these dogs.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—”

  “But what, Sam?” he snapped.

  “But it’s the right thing to do.”

  “When did that ever really matter when it comes to strays?”

  “Maybe it should start, OK?”

  Greg raised his hands in exasperated capitulation and turned away.

  12

  The pain shooting through Gabriel’s knees from years spent kneeling in prayer would not let him delay his return to the church any longer. He didn’t know precisely why he dreaded bringing Eliot across the perimeter into the quarantine zone, he knew only that he did. Steve had offered to board the dog until the quarantine was over, but Gabriel had nixed that idea. The truth was that he couldn’t stand the thought of Eliot returned to a cage at this point; the dog would believe the priest had found him unworthy and Gabriel could not be responsible for inflicting that pain on a creature who had done nothing to lose God’s light.

  As Gabriel crossed over to 106th, he saw the barricades and then the sign: “DO NOT BRING YOUR DOG ACROSS THIS BARRIER. IF YOU DO, YOUR DOG WILL NOT BE PERMITTED TO LEAVE THE AREA UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THERE WILL BE NO EXCEPTIONS.”

  “Not a lot of gray in that,” Gabriel told Eliot. When he glanced down, the dog was looking right back at him, wagging his tail and waiting for their next shared experience. The dog’s trust left Gabriel a little frightened, but there was another feeling alongside that that Gabriel at first didn’t recognize. It had been so long. Then he knew: the emotion was excitement.

  Gabriel searched for a familiar face at the perimeter and found one in Sergeant Kendall. Kendall smiled at him from behind a police sawhorse.

  “Hello, Father. And who is this?” Eliot wagged his tail at the attention and lifted the stuffed turtle for Kendall’s admiration.

  “I’m going to try to foster him for a little while. Keep my cat company.”

  Kendall’s smile faded quickly. “Wish it was another cat. Not a great time to be bringing new dogs into Riverside.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I’m sorry, Father, but once he is in, he’ll be stuck in here for two weeks. I don’t have the authority to make exceptions.”

  “I understand.”

  “You sure you want to bring him through?”

  “I’m afraid his urgent circumstances didn’t permit another choice.”

  Kendall pulled the barricade back. “Then welcome to the fun side of the island, sir.”

  Gabriel closed his eyes an
d stepped across the line. Kendall pushed the sawhorse back in place behind them. Gabriel imagined he heard a click and a dead bolt sliding closed.

  “You got a minute, Father?” Kendall asked.

  “Of course.”

  Kendall brought Gabriel and Eliot over to an older man in army fatigues with a silver bar on each shoulder. “Father Gabriel, this is the officer in charge of the National Guard contingent, Lieutenant Ray McGreary.” The lieutenant extended his hand and Gabriel shook it. “Father Gabriel knows a lot of the people in the neighborhood. I figured you might want his number just in case you come across a situation and I’m not around.”

  “Very much obliged, Father,” McGreary said. “I hope you don’t mind if I call on you.”

  “Not at all. I don’t know how helpful I can be, but of course I’m happy to try. Any problems so far?”

  “Not really,” McGreary answered. “Seems like a good bunch of folks, although it doesn’t feel like anyone is too happy to have us. A lot different from the feeling we get when we walk through Grand Central Station.”

  Gabriel noticed a young soldier with the name Owens on his uniform hovering nearby. Owens glowered at Kendall and finally moved off. Gabriel had seen that kind of stare-down before—part dominance display, part territory marking, part insecurity. It was the kind of look you never wanted to see on someone carrying a gun.

  “Just nerves, Lieutenant,” Gabriel said. “In Grand Central you’re stopping terrorists. Here you’re telling New Yorkers they can’t do something that they’ve been doing every day, because of a force of nature they can’t see. That’s a hard thing for people to take in the best of circumstances.”

  McGreary’s cell phone chirped and he grabbed it. “McGreary here… Where?… OK, I’ll check it out.” McGreary shook his head as he replaced his phone. “You know what a Shiba Inu is, Kendall?”

  “Nope,” Kendall answered.

  “Well, someone on 104th insists that, whatever they are, they’re not subject to the quarantine.”

  Kendall turned to Gabriel. “Catch up with you later?” Gabriel watched Kendall and McGreary move away, already lost in conversation.

  Gabriel debated whether to attempt to introduce himself to the other members of the Guard at the 106th perimeter, but they all seemed disinterested or, in the case of Owens, hostile. Fourteen days was a long time. Gabriel figured there would be opportunity enough for pleasantries.

  As the priest walked Eliot toward the church, he noticed the back of Andy’s head and familiar backpack half a block ahead. Gabriel shouted for him, eager to share the news of Eliot. The boy must not have heard because he continued on, head bent forward in concentration, hands opening and closing to an unknown rhythm or memory.

  13

  Andy met Sid and his new dog, Louis, at the entrance to Tessie’s Bagel Nosh on 104th. The boy and the hardware store owner often met on the bench outside to grab a bagel, drink coffee, and discuss their shared love of classical music. Andy had asked for the meeting today because he thought that, since Sam was unavailable, Sid might be a safe place to raise his concerns about Gabriel. He was pleased that Louis was with them—dogs were always a welcome addition for Andy.

  Sid directed Louis to the bench. “Sit,” Sid commanded. Louis whined and tugged at his leash. “S-s-s-i-i-i-t-t-t.” Sid repeated the word slowly so that it lasted a full ten seconds. Louis wagged his tail, and for just an instant acted as if he might comply. Then a plastic bag blew past and Louis tried to catch it.

  “I think you’ll need to work on that one,” Andy offered. “His ADHD may actually be worse than mine.”

  Sid looped the leash through the slats of the bench and tied a knot. “Be a good boy and we’ll get you a little something.” He patted Louis on the head and, together with Andy, walked into the store.

  Five minutes later—about when Louis’s limited patience expired—a young woman left the shop and rubbed the bored puppy’s head. The attention had the same effect as tying a rope around Louis’s neck and tugging him down the street.

  As the woman walked away, Louis tried to follow. He strained at the leash until he pulled his head through the collar. Finally free, he bolted after the woman.

  A few people on the sidewalk noticed the puppy and smiled down at him—a brief respite from the worries of their day. No one associated Louis with the virus or the quarantine; he looked too healthy, too young, and, ultimately, too cute to be carrying a deadly disease. One man tried to grab him, breaking the dog’s eye contact with his woman. Louis darted away and the man soon gave up. But by then the woman was gone. The dog spun in a tight circle of confusion and whimpered.

  A block behind Louis, Sid and Andy emerged from Tessie’s, with Sid trying to manage two messy bagels and a large cup of coffee. “Look, Louie, turkey for—” Sid stopped when he saw the empty leash. “Louis?” Sid called. They searched the area around the bench, but found nothing.

  Andy stopped an old woman walking past. “Did you see a puppy?” She shook her head. He repeated the same question to three other pedestrians with the same result.

  Sid dropped the bagels on the bench. “I’ll go back to my store,” he told Andy in growing panic. “It’s the one place he knows so maybe he went there.”

  “I’ll keep searching around here.”

  Once Sid departed, Andy’s mind began traveling its overworked path to the worst possible outcomes. One jumped out above all the rest. Of course Louis would not just return to Sid’s hardware store. That would happen in a world of love and light—a world where innocent creatures were not destroyed. Andy knew too well that this was not his world.

  Andy ran toward the perimeter.

  For Andy the act of running was transforming. That sensation—legs and arms pumping, warm city air flooding his lungs, salty sweat beading on his upper lip—brought him back to the many times when he was either running to or away from something. Most often it was running away. Behind him trailed an endless line of foster parents (some who’d tried and some who hadn’t), foster brothers and sisters (some of whom he’d loved, but most of whom he’d feared), teachers and school psychologists (who’d come the closest to reaching him, but too often were crushed under the weight of overwhelming caseloads and stifling bureaucracy), and bullies of various ages (whom he could usually outrun but never fully escape).

  And ahead of him? Only the knowledge that innocence was a synonym for weakness and that all promises matured into lies.

  “Don’t ever look for me in the park at night,” he had told Alexa.

  “Why?”

  No answer. He had his reasons… unpleasant things he had seen in his life, people capable of perpetrating incredible cruelty, all replayed in the shadows of the park. “I will always meet you at the entrance,” he said. “If I’m not there, go home. Promise.”

  She must have seen the love and concern in his face. “OK,” she said, and kissed him. “I promise.”

  Her parents had learned about their park meetings. They had Andy picked up on various bullshit charges. He tried to explain that he needed to meet her, but no one would listen. They threw him back into the juvie system—a bare room behind a cold metal door—to await his disapproving caseworker. Judge Allerton sorted everything out and arranged for Andy’s release, but that took until dawn. Andy ran toward Alexa and the park that morning as fast as he could. He was not fast enough.

  This time would be different, he told himself. This time he would get there before the shadows. This time he would not be too late.

  Andy tried to lock out every memory and focus on that one thought—pick the right street and get there in time.

  In less than three minutes, Andy had Louis in his sights. But that was three minutes too long. The dog was a hundred feet away and trotting directly at the perimeter. Andy thought he might have the angle to intercept, but it was going to be close.

  “Louis!” Andy called out as his long legs motored and he closed in.

  Sixty feet now, but Louis showed no sign o
f stopping. Andy pushed harder, his quads burning as he closed the gap.

  Louis was ten feet away, but picking up speed.

  Andy was down to no choice. He went airborne, his arms stretched out to their full length, his body cutting a sharp line through the air. He timed it perfectly, like something out of a football highlight film.

  Andy landed hard on his chest with an umpf, his wind gone. His fingers—strengthened from years on the violin—quickly tightened around the dog’s middle. Louis strained for a moment against the contact and then relaxed in Andy’s hands.

  But the shadows were unyielding. In the next moment, Andy was on the ground staring at his empty hands. Louis had slipped free and was running again at full speed toward the perimeter.

  Andy scrambled to get to his feet. He knew he would be too late once again—this time by seconds. With no ally in the twenty feet between Louis and the perimeter, the entire street was about to witness in vivid, bloody color the reality of the new quarantine.

  Andy could only look on in horror as a hulking blond soldier dropped to one knee no more than ten feet in front of Louis and slipped a black baton from his belt. The soldier raised the baton an inch above his shoulder.

  “No!” Andy screamed.

  Louis was less than three feet from the perimeter, oblivious to the threat. The pedestrian traffic froze in place, watching the inevitable. Andy braced himself for the blow as the soldier swung the club down.

  14

  Kendall threw his right shoulder into Owens’s chest. The blow lifted Owens off the ground. They rolled on the sidewalk and came to a stop with Owens on his back and Kendall straddling him. Kendall’s face was inches from Owens’s eyeballs. “This is New York, you dickhead!” Kendall screamed. “We don’t club puppies in New York!”

  Kendall heard the telltale mechanical clicks before he finished his sentence. He looked up and saw that four Guards had surrounded him, their automatic rifles pointed at his head.

  “I’m NYPD,” Kendall shouted. He raised his hands while sitting on Owens’s chest.