Just Life

by Neil Abramson

  Sam couldn’t answer. Her head was pounding. She made it down Morgan’s driveway just as her adrenaline ran out. The delayed exhaustion hit her hard, blurring her vision.

  Sam drove across the street and into the entrance of the horse farm. She parked behind a stand of trees, believing this was as far as she could safely drive until the booming in her head subsided.

  “Why’re we stopping?” Beth asked, and turned to Sam. “Wow, you look like crap.”

  A look in the rearview mirror confirmed Beth’s opinion. Her skin was ugly-pale with dark rings under her eyes. When she was in vet school and had been on call for forty-eight hours, her classmates used to call the look “zombie chic” and laugh. Now it wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny. “Just give me a minute before we head back,” Sam said.

  “Sure thing. Want me to drive?”

  Sam glanced in the mirror again. This time she noticed something in addition to her sickly reflection. She could see Morgan’s house through the trees. Morgan stepped out of her front door with a lab sample cooler in each hand, looked around to confirm that no one was watching, and dropped the coolers into the back of the Benz. She ran back to the house, returned with two storage boxes, and dropped these into the car next to the coolers. Then Morgan jumped behind the wheel and started the car.

  “Holy shit,” Sam mumbled, her headache and fatigue forgotten for the moment.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “She spooked.”

  “Morgan?” Beth strained to see the house beyond the trees. “Maybe she’s going to get the newspaper or ran out of toilet paper or something.”

  “Maybe,” Sam offered. But she didn’t think so… not with those coolers. Sam pulled the car deeper into the horse farm to hide it from the road. In a few moments, the Benz shot out of the driveway and turned onto the street. Sam waited for a few cars to pass as a buffer and pulled out. “You got anyplace you need to be? Parole officer meeting or something you can’t miss?” Sam asked.

  “Does my answer matter?”

  “No.”

  “I figured. By the way, the word you’re looking for, dear, is apophenia.”

  “What’s that?” Sam asked.

  “That is the experience of seeing false connections in random events.”

  “This isn’t random.”

  “That’s exactly what Russell Crowe’s character says in A Beautiful Mind before he goes totally bonkers.”

  “Shhhh.”

  “I just don’t want you to be disappointed when she stops at the mini-mart for some Charmin,” Beth said.

  “Quiet. I’m concentrating.”

  “Haven’t you ever followed someone before?” Beth asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Not even a creepy boyfriend to see what he does when he goes out carrying a paper bag stuffed with women’s underwear?”

  Sam broke her gaze with the road long enough to throw Beth a quizzical stare.

  “Don’t judge,” Beth said. “I was young… OK, so I was thirty. But I was a young thirty.”

  “You really are a disturbed person,” Sam said.

  “Have I not been telling you this?”

  They followed Morgan as she got onto the state highway going north. “So much for your toilet paper hypothesis,” Sam said.

  “She’s probably going to a Costco. Must be a sale on multi-roll packages.”

  5

  Andy felt like a stranger as Gabriel led him into the shelter reception area. He had known rejection before, but this was different. The power of rejection came from the importance of the person delivering it and the unexpectedness of the act. Andy’s dismissal from the shelter had been a complete surprise from one of the few people he trusted. Sam’s words had left Andy reeling; returning to the shelter now rubbed that wound raw. He shifted from one foot to the other with the nervous distraction of a drug addict on a low.

  “Try to calm down,” Gabriel said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Andy wanted to believe the priest’s words, but his history left him with little reason for optimism. “Trying,” he said.

  Luke spotted them. “Hey, Andy. I’m sorry, but you know you can’t be here.”

  “I know,” Andy said. “But it’s important.”

  Gabriel stepped forward. “Can you tell Samantha that we need to speak with her?”

  Greg joined them. “Sam’s not here.”

  “When is she due back?”

  “We don’t know,” Greg answered.

  “Did she leave someone in charge?” Gabriel asked.

  “Lucky me.” Greg pointed to himself. “What’s up?”

  Gabriel ran his hands through his hair and then blew out a chestful of air. “We have a problem.”

  “Can’t really take on one more problem, Father,” Greg said. “Can we deal with this later?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I’m afraid—”

  Andy broke in. “They’re going to kill the park strays. All of them.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Gabriel suggested.

  Andy told them about the strays and the plan to kill them all. He left out the part about the cave and the one-eared dog, though; he knew his story was a hard enough sell as it was.

  “You’re talking about the park pack? Come on now, Andy,” Greg said. “You know that’s just an urban myth.”

  “It’s not. I’ve seen them,” Andy answered. “Often.”

  “Maybe you saw a few dogs off-leash traveling together…,” Greg offered.

  “No!” Andy shot back. “I know what I saw. There are at least ten and they’re not just off-leash. They have structure. They’re a pack. They have an alpha.”

  “OK, let’s say that’s right,” Greg said in an obvious effort to placate the boy. “Let’s pretend there is a park pack and that they may get destroyed in this campaign. What do you want me to do about it? No one’s asking my opinion about right versus wrong these days.”

  “I want you to help save them.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Greg said with a sweep of his arm, “we’re pretty tied up here with our own mess.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Even if we were able to catch them—”

  “We can. They’ll come to me—”

  “We can’t bring them here because we’d need to cross the perimeter. I’m pretty sure the Guard would take an interest in a priest and a kid walking a pack of strays that you say they are actually trying to kill into the quarantine zone, don’t you?”

  “I can figure out a way,” Andy said.

  “And what if they’re sick? Isn’t that the reason you say the Guard has orders to kill them in the first place?”

  “They’re not sick. These dogs have eaten out of my hands and they are fine. So am I.”

  “Then why does the Guard have orders to kill them?”

  “You know why! The Guard has orders to kill them just because people are scared and there’s no one to speak for them… except me. They’re only strays, so who cares? Strays just like—”

  “You’ll bring the Guard right through our door, Andy. We can’t have that and I can’t take the risk, not while I’m protecting all of the dogs here.”

  “But there must be some way,” Gabriel insisted.

  “We can’t,” Greg snapped. “I’m responsible for the shelter right now. I’m sorry.”

  “I did this!” Andy shouted. “These dogs are going to die because I messed with those traps. I need your help. Dr. Sam would never let these dogs be murdered.”

  “You don’t know that,” Greg pushed back. “Not with so much at stake.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Andy said.

  “Can I speak to you in private?” Gabriel asked Greg. Greg rolled his eyes, but followed the priest to the back.

  6

  As soon as they were alone, Greg’s frustration poured out. “No disrespect here, Father, but what the hell were you thinking? The park pack? Really?”

  “The boy believes what he believes.”
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  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we all need to follow him down the rabbit hole. There’s already some seriously confusing shit going on.”

  Gabriel almost said, “Spend a day in my head.” Instead he said, “I’m not prepared to dismiss what Andy believes. I would give him the benefit of my doubts.”

  “I don’t have that luxury. I got a hundred lives depending on my doubts.”

  “We’re the only real human family that kid has left. You can see how important this is to him… how important it is that we trust him. This is what families do for each other. I don’t want to even think about what might happen if he is abandoned again.” That was a low blow, and Gabriel knew it. He would repent for it later… if he remembered. “Why don’t we ask Sam?”

  “Tried that. The knucklehead gave her phone to her father. She’s got Beth’s phone and we don’t have that number.”

  “Her father? He’s here? But they haven’t spoken in years.”

  “Yeah, I know. Long story. Like I said, seriously confusing shit.”

  “I think Luke believes Andy. I’m sure he would help.”

  “And that’s supposed to encourage me? Luke is still trying to find heaven through a computer program. You’re all nuts.”

  “We know what Sam would do, don’t we?” Nick had once been a stray, as had so many others who now were neighborhood family dogs. “Sam would at least try to figure out a way and go down swinging.”

  Greg shut his eyes for a long moment. “I’m really not happy with you right now.” When he opened them, he said, “OK, no promises. You two figure out a plan. If I think it can work without bringing the walls down on us, we can give it a try. If not, then you’re gonna need to drop this.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel said.

  “You know you’ll need at least another pair of hands to have any shot, right?”

  “I have a pair in mind.”

  “Was afraid of that. And when this is all over, you, me, and Sam are going to need to talk about the boy. We’re not doing him any favors pretending he’s OK.”

  Gabriel nodded. He knew that Greg was right, but he also knew that youthful faith was a delicate thing and did not respond well to the blunt and inelegant fingers of those probing for reason.

  An hour later Gabriel and Eliot stood alone in the middle aisle of the church nave. The priest tossed a small stone in the air, measuring its weight as he stared at the intact section of the stained glass window of Abraham and Isaac. He was about to take aim when Sid entered and took a seat in one of the nearby pews. Eliot trotted over and gave Sid a warm greeting of wet licks on his hand.

  “I got your message,” Sid said.

  “And your thoughts?”

  “Rounding up living creatures and shooting them because we’re afraid? What do you think?”

  “There will be issues. Lots of issues. Our neighborhood may never recover if we are wrong.”

  “No doubt. But there always are issues,” Sid answered.

  “All the more reason to tread carefully,” Gabriel cautioned. “You don’t have to.”

  “Actually, I think I do.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know what Channa would say: ‘Good thoughts are nice, but love requires action. You need to just do.’”

  “You sound like a Jewish Nike commercial,” Gabriel said.

  “You got a plan?”

  “Not even a glimmer.”

  “The others?” Sid asked.

  Gabriel shook his head.

  “Well then, I can see why you’re so enthusiastic. Let’s get some paper and pens.”

  “Why?” Gabriel asked.

  “A map,” Sid said. “All good plans start with a map.”

  With one final glance at the broken image of Abraham, Gabriel slipped the stone into his pocket and mumbled an Our Father.

  “A prayer for our success?” Sid asked.

  “No. For different cells when we get popped.”

  7

  After an hour tailing Morgan, Sam came upon the rolling pastures of Dutchess County, New York, farmland.

  “Maybe we should just turn around,” Beth said.

  “No,” Sam shot back.

  “Thank you for being so reasonable. Has it occurred to you that maybe she’s driving to a vivisection conference in Canada?”

  “No.”

  “What can I do to get you to move past monosyllabic answers?”

  “I’m concentrating. This isn’t easy.” Sam stayed a quarter mile behind Morgan, keeping a few cars between them, making sure she didn’t turn off at an exit. The whole following thing had made her head hurt again.

  “I’ve got to pee,” Beth declared.

  Sam glanced at her. “Are you kidding me?”

  “You may have the bladder of a camel, but I don’t. Too much Tab before we left.”

  “You’re gonna need to hold it.”

  “I have been.”

  “Hold it more.”

  “I can’t.”

  Sam reached into the backseat and pulled out a thin blue pad of gauze and cloth.

  “What’s this?”

  “A puppy wee-wee pad.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Try not to splatter,” Sam told her.

  “Oh,” Beth said at the realization. “Gross. No fucking way.”

  “I can’t stop. We’ll lose her.”

  “Why don’t I just hang my ass out the window?”

  “You can do that too.”

  Beth began to unbuckle her pants.

  “Wait,” Sam stopped her. Morgan had turned on her blinker.

  The Benz pulled off at the exit marked “Annandale-on-Hudson” and then took a two-lane road for another two miles. Sam shadowed.

  Morgan turned into a narrow, winding road that ran up the side of a wooded hill. Sam gave her a three-minute lead and then followed.

  After a mile at a forty-five-degree incline, the road crested.

  Sam gasped. “Holy shit!”

  Below them, separated by a large metal gate and completely hidden from the road, a hundred acres of valley pasture supported a large barn and dozens of cows grazing peacefully on huge wheels of hay. It appeared to be a typical dairy farm—except for the two-story, five-thousand-square-foot glass-metal-and-concrete structure rising up from the middle. The building looked as if someone had accidentally Photoshopped it into this pastoral setting from an industrial park. Morgan’s car sat at the entrance.

  Only one sign was visible in the entire complex: a large “Private Property—Keep Out. No Trespassing” command in angry red letters against a black background posted on the gate. Sam slowly drove toward it.

  “Do you think the sign is ambiguous?” Beth asked.

  “Quiet.”

  A keypad and tiny speaker stood guard on a metal pole adjacent to the gate. The speaker squawked and a pleasant male voice came on. “Can I help you?”

  Sam powered down her window. She noticed a small camera lens above the keypad. “I think I’m lost,” she lied to the box.

  “No problem, ma’am. What address were you looking for?”

  Crap. Good question, she thought. “What address is this?”

  “What address were you seeking, ma’am?”

  “Main Street,” Beth blurted out. Sam punched her in the thigh. “What?” Beth whispered. “Every town has a Main Street. That’s why it’s called Main Street.”

  “Sorry,” the voice said. “I’m not familiar with that one.”

  “That’s OK,” Sam said. “I’ll find it.”

  “Have a good day,” the cheerful voice replied.

  “This is a beautiful place,” she told the box. “Can you tell me what facility this is?”

  The box was silent.

  “Hello?”

  Again, no response.

  Sam turned the car around and headed down the road that served as the driveway. She stopped where the driveway met the main road and turned on Beth. “Main Street?”

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bsp; “I didn’t see you come up with a better idea. And I still have to pee,” Beth said. “It’s becoming an urgent matter.”

  A UPS truck came into view down the road. Sam flicked on her hazards, jumped out, and flagged it down.

  “Problem?” the driver asked.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said. “But we’re lost. Can you tell me what address this is?”

  “One-twenty Willoughby,” he said.

  “Is there a bathroom somewhere nearby?” Beth called over from the car.

  “Over in town. There’s an info center on Grand Street with a bathroom. About five miles. Turn left out of the service road. Not much between here and there, though.”

  “Grand Street,” Beth muttered. “That was gonna be my second choice.”

  “Do you know what this place is?” Sam asked, pointing up the hill and trying to sound as innocent as possible. “It’s really beautiful, but they weren’t too nice.”

  “When I was growing up around here, it used to be the Malone Dairy Farm. Now I think it’s part of some company called VetMed Biologics or something like that. Never been allowed past the gate myself, even for deliveries, so I don’t think they’ll let you use the bathroom. There’s always the woods, though.”

  Sam thanked the driver for the information and he drove off. She jumped back into her seat. “You heard the man,” she said, and pointed out the window. “There’s the woods.”

  “In the interest of fairness and full disclosure,” Beth said, “I’m not sure I can limit it to just a number one at this point. Happens when I get over-stimulated.”

  Sam reached into the backseat for a roll of paper towels.

  Beth grabbed the roll. “You always come prepared, don’t you?”

  “Life of a vet.”

  “I may be a few minutes.”

  “You’ll want to go pretty far in for humanity’s sake.”

  Beth left the car. “You got anything to read?”

  “Just go!”

  Beth ran—or what counted for running in Beth’s world—into the woods. Sam grabbed Beth’s phone and dialed her own cell number.

  “Where the hell are you?” her father barked before she got to hello. “Everyone is trying to find you.”

  “Why didn’t someone call me?” Sam complained.