It took two months before he had the courage to enter the park again and three before he could walk past the Lake to the rock formation. When he finally entered the cavern, the stray was waiting. He saw the missing ear. That was all he needed to know.
His shrink, the one Judge Allerton made him see, called it necroanthropomorphism—projecting the characteristics of a dead human on a living animal. It was a big name to try to convince him that he’d lost it. But Andy wasn’t convinced. Instead he learned not to talk about her. Not even with Father Gabriel, who might have understood that the death thing wasn’t nearly as linear as everyone thought.
Andy could never bring himself to name the one-eared stray. He felt she already had a name.
“C’mon, girl. Time to get out of here,” he called to the dog. She turned her gaze back to the surface of the Lake, searching.
Andy stowed his violin and took a few steps forward. The dog whined but didn’t move. She allowed Andy to rub her head and then take a leash and loop it around her neck.
Andy needed to tug hard to get her moving.
“It’s not safe here anymore. You can stay with me now,” he told her.
He tugged again and this time, her tail down and ears flat, the dog surrendered and slowly followed him.
They made it twenty-five feet before they ran into their first patrol—three men in blue vinyl biohazard suits, each carrying one of the ominous black-and-red canisters Andy had observed in the DEP van.
Andy quickly pulled the dog behind some trees, held his breath, and waited for them to pass. As they moved away, he heard one of the men say, “Hell, Pete. I didn’t take this job to kill dogs.”
“They aren’t dogs anymore, remember?” the other said. “These are ‘biological pathogen vectors.’”
Once their voices moved off and the trail was clear, Andy stepped out again.
“What the hell you doing, kid?” The voice came from behind him.
Andy spun around expecting to see more DEP insignias, or cops, or maybe even Guardsmen. Instead he came face-to-face with the old black man in the long coat. “The park’s been closed now to dogs. You can’t be wandering all around with her,” he said, pointing to the dog. “Especially not her. They get their hands on her and… well, that changes everything.”
“She’s my dog. I’m taking her home.”
“Don’t play me, kid. I’m like the last friend you got right now. You won’t make it out.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ve always worried about you, Andy.”
Andy startled. None of this felt right. “How’d you know my name?”
The black man smiled, showing his stained brown teeth for just a moment. “We all know you. Just like we know she’s not your dog.”
We? Andy stepped away, suddenly frightened.
The man grabbed Andy’s arm more quickly and with more power than Andy would’ve thought possible. The one-eared dog growled, but the man silenced her with a glance and turned to Andy. “She can’t go with you, you know?” The dog nuzzled up to Andy and the affection between them was unmistakable. Even the old man lost his words for a moment. “Look, it ain’t nothing on you, Andy. But she can’t go beyond the wall. That’s not her place anymore. She’s given enough.”
“Get your hand off me,” Andy demanded, but there was no force behind it.
The man nodded and released the boy. “No harm intended. Just trying to save you some ache. She doesn’t end here… but she does for you. You and I can’t change that.”
“I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do. But whether you do now or you don’t, you will in a bit.”
The black man moved off as silently as he’d arrived.
13
Luke pulled the truck up to the front of the shelter next to Greg. The dogs, excited by the sudden absence of forward motion, barked and howled, but the sound was low and muffled on the street.
Luke jumped out of the cabin. “We’d better get the dogs inside before the noise attracts attention.”
“Where’s the boy?” Greg asked.
“He’s coming.”
“Don’t like that answer,” Greg said as he followed Luke to the back of the truck. Luke unlatched the rear door and yanked upward on the handle. The door lifted a few inches and sniffing snouts began to materialize in the gap. “You got them?” Greg asked through the space.
“Yeah.” Gabriel was exhausted and couldn’t muster enough energy to hide it. “I really need to get out of here. I don’t even think I like dogs anymore.”
“You’ll be out in a second,” Luke promised.
Greg opened the truck door all the way and jumped inside. The dogs eyed him for a guarded moment, but judged quickly and approved. “I’ll take them down from here, Father.” Feeling guilty but relieved, Gabriel handed over the leashes.
As Gabriel climbed down from the truck, he saw it and almost let out an expletive.
Luke followed his stare. “How the hell did that get here?”
A Guard Jeep pulled up across the street in front of the corner deli and double-parked. If the driver turned their way, he would be able to see directly into the back of the truck.
“Not enough time to get everyone inside,” Greg said. “Close us up.” Greg pulled the dogs farther into the truck and Luke slammed the door down.
The lone Jeep occupant reviewed some papers on the front seat.
“I’m gonna hurt Sid,” Gabriel hissed.
As if the utterance of his name had summoned his form, Sid strolled into view wearing the self-assured look of someone who had completed a difficult task beyond all expectations. “Everything OK?” he asked as he arrived at the truck.
“Not so much,” Gabriel said through clenched teeth, and nodded to the Jeep.
Sid stumbled and almost fell. “That’s the guy who tried to kill Louis at the perimeter. Owens. How the hell did he get here?”
“You tell me,” Gabriel snarled. “He passed you.”
“Not possible!” Sid argued.
“You’re right, Sid. The Virgin Mary just dropped him down from the heavens. There’s only one way here—and it was through you. How could you miss a military Jeep?”
“Let’s not panic,” Luke said. “He’s only on a break from the perimeter… going to get a sandwich or coffee or something. We just need to keep everyone calm until he leaves.” Luke stepped on the rear truck bumper and leaned over to pretend to tie a shoe. “Hang in there, Greg,” he told the door.
Several dogs whined in response.
“How am I going to keep them quiet?” Greg asked.
“Do magic tricks,” Gabriel said. “Give them your leg to hump. It did wonders for me.”
Owens left his Jeep and started up the steps to the deli. He was almost in the store, but then stopped. Gabriel saw it as if in slow motion—the train starting to break from the tracks, the building of momentum sending the line of cars in a way that is at once terribly wrong and inevitable. Owens turned toward their truck.
Gabriel put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “You and Sid get inside. I’ll deal with him.”
Luke nodded and then he and Sid were gone.
Owens crossed the street toward Gabriel. “Everything OK here, Father?”
“Certainly,” Gabriel said.
“This truck with the shelter?”
“No, it’s a flower delivery for us. We have a wedding scheduled for later.”
“You want me to have the guys help unload?” Owens asked.
“No, no,” Gabriel said too quickly. “Not necessary at all. You’ve got more important things to do.”
“Actually”—Owens leaned in as if he was sharing a secret—“we’re bored out of our freaking minds. It would be fun for me and the guys to do something useful.” Owens reached for the truck door.
Gabriel grabbed Owens’s hand in both of his and gave it a vigorous shake. “Really, thank you so much,” Gabriel said, still shaki
ng the hand. “But it’s an insurance coverage issue.” Gabriel led Owens away from the truck.
“OK. If you say so,” Owens said. But Gabriel knew that tone. He’d heard it often enough when he tried to give comfort to someone who had suffered an inexplicable loss—when he tried to tell them about “God’s greater plan.” That tone was one of pure, unadulterated disbelief. Owens was calling bullshit. Perhaps he would leave the shelter alone for now, but he’d let his CO know that some weird shit was going on. He’d be back.
Owens was three steps away from the truck and headed back toward the deli when a noise from inside the truck stopped him in mid-stride. Owens turned to Gabriel, one eyebrow raised.
Another sound—like nails scratching against metal.
Owens returned to the truck. “Didn’t I just see this truck outside the park?”
“Not this truck,” Gabriel said.
“Are you sure?”
Gabriel nodded.
Owens rapped the side of the truck hard with his hand. The truck barked, woofed, yapped, and howled for thirty seconds until Greg somehow managed to quiet the dogs. By then it was far too late.
“Doesn’t sound much like flowers,” Owens said. He stared at Gabriel for an explanation, but the priest gave him back a blank “I didn’t hear anything” look.
Two pedestrians paused to watch the scene from a few feet away.
“Please open the truck, Father,” Owens asked quietly.
“That’s not really necessary,” Gabriel said.
“I think it is.” Owens took a position at the rear truck door. “I don’t know what game you all think you’re playing, but we have a serious health situation. So stop screwing around and open the truck, or I’ll do it myself.”
“This is on you then, son,” Gabriel said in his most stern confessional voice, and close enough to the truck door for Greg to hear him. “You can still just cross the street, get your coffee, and let this one go. I swear to you on all that is holy that we’re doing the right thing here and you’ll regret this decision.”
For the first time, Owens seemed unsure of himself. “Stand away from the truck. I need to report this.”
Gabriel sighed with paternal disappointment and moved to the side. “Then I cannot help you,” he said.
Owens grabbed his phone and dialed. “Yeah, this is Owens. I’m in front of that animal shelter. I could use another pair of hands for something.” He listened for a moment, eyes to the ground. “I know it’s off our list… No. I don’t think so. No… I believe they’re transporting dogs into the quarantine area, not out of it,” he whispered. “No, I don’t know for sure. I did not have visual confirmation, but I sure as hell heard it… That’s what I need the hands for.”
The two pedestrians grew to four and then six. They stood close to Owens and it was clear he didn’t want the company. “Keep moving,” Owens told them, but they ignored him. Owens spun away from them and spoke into the phone again, his voice edgy and anxious. “Then don’t bother McGreary with this, but could you just send someone, please? This doesn’t feel right.”
While Owens had his back turned, Gabriel quickly undid the latch and swung the truck door upward.
The overwhelming frustration of dogs locked in a space too small for too long exploded all over Private Owens. The first dog out of the truck—a large shepherd/Lab/Doberman combo—hit Owens square in the back before the soldier realized what was happening. The force knocked him to the ground and his phone skittered three feet away.
Owens rolled onto his back just as a second dog—an improbable combination of pit bull and Saint Bernard—jumped out and landed on his chest. In moments the remaining dogs, excited to be free from the confines of the truck, jumped out.
Greg grabbed all the dogs and led them into the shelter before Owens could clear his head enough to realize what was happening.
“Are you OK, son?” Gabriel called to Owens.
Owens scrambled to his feet, pulled out his gun, and held it pointing down at his side. “Don’t move, Father.” Owens looked more confused than angry as he wiped a thin line of blood from his nose. The pedestrians crowded around him and his eyes darted from face to face like a cornered animal’s. “Stand back!” he yelled at them.
“I’m sorry to do that,” Gabriel told Owens calmly. “But there was life in there. I had no choice.”
Gabriel backed up toward the shelter. Owens raised the gun, pointing it at Gabriel’s forehead. “Don’t move.”
“Can’t do that. They need me in there more than you need me out here.” He took another step backward.
“Hey, what the hell?” one of the bystanders called.
A second Guard Jeep, with its sirens blaring, cut the corner hard two blocks down and drove at them. Gabriel glanced at it and then ignored it as best he could. With the sirens came three more pedestrians.
“I’ll make this easy,” Gabriel said. “I’m going to turn around and walk into that shelter. For what it’s worth, I promise that there are no weapons in there. Just life. You do what you need to.” Gabriel turned.
Owens steadied his pistol with his empty hand.
Bystanders shouted in anger, panic, and outright disbelief: “He’s a priest!”
“Let him go.”
“Lord, no!”
Owens looked around and slowly lowered his gun. The bystanders—now a crowd—cheered.
Greg held open the shelter door and Gabriel dashed inside just as the second Jeep screeched to a stop between Owens and the crowd. Four Guards, all privates like Owens, jumped out.
“What the hell’s going on?” asked one of the soldiers, a kid with impossibly orange hair.
“Some crazy priest just locked a bunch of dogs inside the shelter,” Owens said.
“You’re kidding, right? Sounds like the opening line to a bad joke,” one of the other soldiers said.
“Do I look like I’m kidding, asshole?”
“Wait a sec,” Orange Hair said. “That truck was just at the park. You’re saying it had dogs? Like dogs from the park?”
“How the hell should I know?” Owens complained. “All I know is they attacked me and then ran inside.”
The crowd swelled to fifteen. One teenager yelled, “Leave the shelter alone!”
His friend, another teen, joined in. “Looks like someone’s finally standing up to you.”
“I said stand back.” Owens made a move to push them away.
“Or what?” the first teenager challenged. “You gonna shoot me?”
The kid’s friend stepped up beside him. “And me too?”
Several people had their phones out, recording the scene.
A Guard from the second Jeep grabbed his cell phone. “I’m gonna call Command for help.” He dialed. “Captain McGreary, sorry to disturb your meeting, sir, but I think we have a situation… The shelter… Yes, we know it was removed from the patrol list, but I think it just got back on.”
14
After thirty minutes the door to the security room opened.
“It was incredibly stupid of you to follow me,” Morgan said as she entered. “This is criminal trespass. I will have your license for this at the very least, Samantha. And your friend over here can say goodbye to probation.”
Beth shrugged her “I’m not impressed” shrug. “Easy come, easy go.”
Despite Morgan’s strong words, Sam could see that she had shaken Morgan’s usual confidence. Something else was going on and Sam knew she had precious little time to find out what it was. “We don’t want to bother you, Jacqueline. We’ll just wait for the police to arrive,” Sam said with a sudden interest in her fingernails. “It is taking the police an awful long time to get here, though. Are you sure you dialed the correct number?”
“Yeah,” Beth added. “Do you have a deck of cards or something? Perhaps a checkerboard while we wait?”
“Actually,” Sam jumped in, “a pen and paper would be great. I want to be sure that I can collect all of my thoughts for my statement to th
e police. How do you spell adjuvant, by the way?”
The effect of that word on Morgan was immediate and apparent: she squeezed the bridge of her nose, clenched her jaw, and twisted her perfect hair.
“You’ve been continuing the Ramses study all along, haven’t you?” Sam pressed.
“I see your father is still telling you tales and you’re still believing them like a little girl.”
“Perhaps, Jackie—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Look, we know about the cholera toxin adjuvant,” Sam bluffed.
“I don’t care what you think you know. Cholera toxin as an adjuvant is no longer that novel. Your father has been away from the science world for too long.”
“But I didn’t authorize you to use a cholera adjuvant–based vaccine on my dog and I’m sure the others who brought their dogs to you didn’t either.”
“I did no such thing.”
“CVTP—the indication after all of those names. At first I couldn’t place it, but VTP sounded familiar. Then I remembered—it’s the acronym for vaccine trial protocol. The C is for cholera, right? Sounds like you’re the one about to lose her license.”
“You’re just guessing now. Why would I use dogs in my own practice? As you’ve already seen, I have unlimited access to all the research subjects I need.”
Samantha knew Morgan had a point. Why would Morgan test on her own patients? It made no sense. But she also felt that Morgan was trying to figure out how much Sam already knew—what Sam could tell the cops and maybe others. Sam needed to keep Morgan talking. If Sam could keep Morgan worried and interested, there was a chance she might slip. At least Sam could buy some time and prevent Morgan from destroying files until… until when, exactly? There was no cavalry waiting to swoop in from over the hill. But Morgan didn’t know that.
Sam glanced at her watch conspicuously. “Oh, yes, we saw those poor creatures,” Sam said. “Tell me, did you do those alterations yourself? Looks like your handiwork.”
“Actually, I order them that way now. It keeps the noise level down, and silent dogs do not attract attention.”
“Attention from whom?” Beth asked. “You’re like in the middle of nowhere. Can you even get Tab here?”
Just Life Page 26