Einstein Dog

by Craig Spence

  “Good work, Bob,” Hindquist’s voice crackled through the intercom. “We didn’t think you had it in you.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Bob answered, putting as much bravado into his voice as he could muster and glancing up at the surveillance camera cockily.

  He maneuvered the limp bodies into transport cages and onto a dolly. As he wheeled his sedated prisoners through the AMOS facility, Bob whistled nervously. So far so good. The odds were still against him, but at least he’d carried off the first part of his plan. Bob allowed himself a little smile of congratulation. For once he’d done the right thing and no matter what happened from here on in, they could never take that away from him.

  “You seem kind of chipper,” Charlie observed, helping load the cages into the back of the van. He peered into each one to make sure the dogs had been properly euthanized. “To be honest, I thought you were too much of a chicken to carry out a hit, little bro. Guess I was wrong.”

  Bob nodded and breathed a sigh of relief as they peeled off into the night.

  Rapid movement. A radio blaring. Human voices. Cap recognized these fleeting impressions, but couldn’t fit them together. Then the van shuddered over a pothole and with a start, he bolted upright. For the second time in his life, he found himself in the back of a speeding van piloted by the Gowler brothers. He shook himself, then froze, suddenly aware of how much noise he was making.

  “What was that?” Charlie demanded.

  “What?”

  “I heard something back there. You better have used enough juice to kill those mongrels, Little Brother. It would be very messy if we had to finish the job out here.”

  Cap couldn’t make out all the words over the throb and rattle of the van, but the threatening tone came through loud and clear. Charlie Gowler hadn’t lost his appetite for murder.

  “I’ll go check,” Bob said nervously. “I used enough tranquilizer to kill a horse, but I’ll look, just in case. Maybe one of the darts didn’t inject properly.”

  Undoing his seatbelt, Bob made his way clumsily toward the back of the swaying van. He peered into the cages. “If any of you are awake, pretend you’re not!” he whispered urgently.

  Cap frowned. The human who had drugged them knew they were alive and was pleading with them to keep quiet so his brother wouldn’t find out. It didn’t make sense.

  What do you make of that? Breeze asked after Bob returned to the front of the van, where he assured Charlie everything was okay.

  Breeze! Cap beamed, overjoyed.

  Still breathing, she signaled.

  Me too, Blizzard joined in.

  We’re not dead!

  Not yet, Blizzard agreed. But if that other one up there gets his way, we’re gonna be pretty soon.

  It’s either him or us, Cap growled. You know who he is?

  Yes, they agreed.

  For now let’s play along. Where there’s breath, there’s hope.

  We may get out of this yet.

  They bounced along for some time, then the van slowed and veered right. The hum of pavement gave way to the crunch of gravel. “I don’t know why we don’t just throw ’em into a ditch and be done with it,” Charlie griped as the van stopped and the Gowler brothers shoved open the doors. “Who’s gonna track down three dead dogs? No one, that’s who.”

  “Mr. Hindquist wants them buried,” Bob said.

  “Yeah? Well, what Frank Hindquist don’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “You start digging over there at the edge of the pit; I’ll bring the cages over and join you,” Bob said.

  “Getting pretty good at giving orders, aren’t ya?” Charlie challenged.

  The back doors swung open, admitting a rush of cool night air. Cap breathed in deeply and caught a glimpse outside through his cage. They were in a place where darkness had not been driven back by the glare of city lights.

  Stars! So many of them they merged into a spray of constellations. Not since their days at Triumph had he seen a night sky, and never had he witnessed one like this. Cap vowed that instant that if they escaped, he’d never allow himself to be captured again.

  “Here,” Bob said, handing a shovel and pickaxe to Charlie, who lumbered off with the clanking tools.

  As soon as his brother was out of earshot Bob turned to Cap and the others. “I don’t know if you can understand what I’m saying,” he began, “but I’m hoping you’re all awake now. I’m going to put the cages on the ground, then open them up. I want you to run. Just get the heck out of here. Please, you’ve all got to run for your lives.”

  “Nice speech, Little Brother,” Charlie’s voice mocked from out of the darkness.

  Damn! Cap swore.

  Their benefactor froze like a deer in the headlights.

  Open the gate! Cap signaled, focusing every shred of will into a telly he beamed at Bob.

  Bob couldn’t move, though. He was paralyzed by Charlie’s contemptuous gaze.

  Panic churned Cap’s gut, but he concentrated and tried again. OPEN THE DAMN GATE! he commanded.

  “So tell me, Bob, have you sunk so low that your only friends these days are dead dogs?” Charlie laughed cruelly. “Think of the family name, bro. Talking to corpses would be bad enough, but dog corpses! Man, that’s pathetic.”

  As Charlie taunted, Bob deftly fiddled loose the latch to Cap’s cage, then moved away. “Just saying goodbye,” he explained. “They were my friends, Charlie.”

  “Were or are?”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, it’s just that I’ve never heard of a dead dog running for its life,” Charlie scratched his head. “That’s what you were telling these carcasses to do, wasn’t it? Run for their lives?”

  “Maybe they can hear me from wherever they are,” Bob said.

  “Like you was talking to their spirits, you mean?”

  As he mocked, Charlie sauntered up to Cap’s cage, bending over to peer through the grill. Cap waited until the mean, pudgy face filled up the grate, waited until the hatred coiled up in his haunches screamed Kill! Kill! Kill!, then he exploded out of the plastic cage, a whirlwind of fangs and claws.

  “Aieee!” Charlie screamed, stumbling and flailing at the demon that had latched onto him.

  Cap clamped his jaws tight and tore at his enemy. He roared, thirsting for the taste of cursed blood.

  Something hit him hard on the ribs, a punishing blow that knocked the wind out of him. And again. “Stop it!” Bob shouted, striking a third time with the shovel. Cap released his victim and backed away, his hackles raised. “Stop!” Bob shouted. “And you, Charlie, stay right there, or I swear, I’ll clobber you with this thing!” He brandished the shovel in his brother’s face.

  Enough! Breeze’s voice joined Bob’s. He opened the gate so you could escape, Cap, not so you could kill his brother.

  And you think I should let this scum live?

  Cap glared at his mother’s murderer.

  You must. For the sake of the one who set you free. Anything less would disgrace us and dishonor our mother. It would be evil.

  How can it be evil to avenge our mother’s death? Cap howled.

  Another time we can seek vengeance, brother, Blizzard seconded Breeze. It would be wrong now. We must accept the skinny one’s terms.

  Cap sighed, a prolonged groan that ended in a growl. All right, he conceded, nodding at Bob.

  “You understand me?” Bob asked.

  Cap nodded again.

  “And we have a deal?”

  Once more Cap confirmed with a nod.

  Satisfied, the younger Gowler opened the doors to the other cages.

  Let’s go, Breeze and Blizzard said, jumping out of the van.

  Just one thing, Cap said. He trotted over, lifted his leg and peed on the front of Charlie’s shirt.

  Charlie sputtered and roared, taking a swing at the insolent hound. But his fist slammed into the dirt, for Cap, Breeze, and Blizzard were already gone.

  The Nicomekl meanders through a flood plain of purple sedge
, blackberry thickets, and mixed forest. Usually hardly more than a creek, when it rains heavily the waters surge and swell, transformed into a sizeable river. For that reason the surrounding land cannot be built on, which has resulted in a broad swath of parkland running right through the centre of Langley City — an ideal habitat for raccoons, coyotes, beaver, possums, kids, and SMART dogs.

  It was here Bertrand, Ariel, and Einstein trained. Well, you couldn’t really say how their training differed from the games of Manhunt that had been played in the floodplain ever since anyone could remember. But occasionally the three comrades would huddle alone in Fort Nicomekl, a shaky platform of boards, ropes, and canvas hidden under the drooping canopy of a gigantic old willow tree. At these conferences they would renew their pledge to avenge Libra and free Einstein’s brothers and sisters.

  “Until then we must practice,” Bertrand never tired of saying.

  So practice they did.

  Einstein crouched in the tall grass snuffling the air. Nothing. If he’d been downwind he might have picked up a scent, but that direction was blocked by the Little Dipper, the smaller of two ponds just outside the back fence of Forestview. The Little Dipper formed a natural moat around Fort Nicomekl, which actually hung out over the water. Einstein wanted to inch closer but had run out of cover. He’d make an easy target if he left his hiding place in the tall grass.

  See anything? Bertrand established contact from his flanking position up the knoll toward Forestview.

  They’re hunkered in, Einstein reported. I can’t pick up any scent, so I don’t know who’s there.

  Time ticked on. A complicated set of rules had evolved concerning their skirmishes: whoever held the fort — the “Defenders” — had to actively engage the attacking team. They couldn’t just hole up and wait out a siege. The Attackers, on the other hand, had to mount a credible assault. Points were awarded for ‘kills’, of course, but also for how far into hostile territory Defenders and Attackers penetrated. The boundaries were never precise, the rules never exact. As a result, arguments flared after each game.

  Einstein was playing spotter and decoy. He pinpointed enemy positions, and drew enemy fire so his own soldiers could get a bead on the opposition forces. Bertrand had the tree fort in his sights. As soon as a defender popped up to take a potshot at Einstein — thwack! — he’d get blasted.

  Anyone up in the fort would be aware of the danger, of course. They had to be tricked into a careless instant, exposing themselves to Bertrand’s deadly fire. At the same time, Einstein had to be wary of the scouting parties that had no doubt taken up positions around the fort. He snorted disdainfully. Humans were the noisiest, smelliest creatures in the universe. Had any of Airee’s troops outflanked him? Fat chance! Einstein scoffed, wriggling forward.

  Bertrand called these exercises “war games”, but Ariel teased him about it. “They’re just games, period,” she retorted one day. “Some army! Are we going to conquer AMOS with sling shots and paintball guns? Gimme a break, Birdman.”

  Einstein had kept his thoughts to himself, but he sided with Ariel on that one.

  “As soon as we’ve got some positive evidence, we’re going to penetrate Fortress AMOS,” Bertrand had fumed. “We won’t regret all this training then!”

  But the prospect of infiltrating AMOS seemed as remote as the notion of putting a dog on Mars. Aside from the yellow tranquilizer, not a single clue had turned up implicating Hindquist in the murder of Einstein’s mother and the kidnap of his brothers and sisters. The case had been forgotten by the media and the police, so no new developments were likely any time soon.

  Einstein trembled with anger and shame whenever he thought about it. His mother had been murdered, his family abducted, and here he was playing make-believe war games with a bunch of children! Sometimes he wanted to howl at Bertrand, tell him to grow up, remind him that some kids his age carried real rifles in real wars . . . That wouldn’t be fair, though. Bertrand did his best.

  Phht! Phht!

  Two paintballs smacked him, spattering his flanks with pink dye.

  “Ha ha!” a pair of masked, camouflaged figures tumbled out of a nearby bush, laughing wildly. “Gotcha!” they whooped hysterically. “Gotcha good!”

  They did a little dance around their chagrined captive, guns pumped in the air. Einstein sighed and wagged his tail pathetically. He’d been outfoxed by a couple of bumblers – two of the worst players on the field. He could already hear Bertrand squawking incredulously in his cracked, teenaged voice: “How could you let them get you, Einee? Will and Cory don’t know which end of a paintball gun is which.” And so on.

  They had him, though. There was no denying it . . .

  A shrill cry cut through Einstein’s embarrassed calculations. He froze, cocking his head attentively, not sure he’d actually heard what he thought he’d heard.

  Shut up! he growled at his giggling captors, who backed away wide-eyed.

  “Whoa!” Cory cried. “It’s just a game, man!”

  Then they heard it, too, and their eyes widened even more.

  “Help!” someone shrieked. “Help me!”

  Einstein had never heard a cry like that before from a human. But he knew what it meant: blind, incapacitating terror.

  Einstein! What is it? Bertrand had heard the screams too.

  Don’t know, Einstein answered. But it’s coming from the direction of First Bridge. As he talked, he launched himself in the direction of the commotion, racing flat out toward the distress calls. Whoever it was needed help NOW!

  I’m on my way, Bertrand signaled.

  Einstein had already reached the paved Nicomekl Trail, his paws drumming furiously as he coursed toward the unknown. The electricity of fear and exhilaration tingled his nerves; he shuddered to think what horror he might be closing in on, but he exulted in the speed and decisiveness of his response.

  This wasn’t a game.

  A knot of people had gathered down the embankment, just before the path angled up to First Bridge. A culvert ran under the trail there, allowing water from a marshy area to drain into the Nicomekl.

  “My baby!” a woman wailed. “I only looked away for a second. Somebody help, please!”

  Einstein guessed instantly what had happened. The woman’s child must have crawled into the culvert and become trapped. The narrow pipe angled down toward the Nicomekl. A child could fit inside, but would not be able to turn around and crawl back out. Since the far end of the pipe was submerged, except in the driest weather, the child would not be able to crawl forward to get out, either.

  Einstein’s heart raced. The child could drown. Weaving between the legs of the spectators, he did not hesitate: he plunged into the tunnel.

  “Hey!” someone shouted. “What was that?”

  “A dog.”

  “What’s he going to do to my Robbie!” the mother screamed.

  Einstein squirmed a short way in then stopped, out of reach. Hurry! he signaled Bertrand. There’s a kid trapped in the culvert near First Bridge. His name is Robbie. I need you to talk to him.

  Almost there, Bertrand replied.

  Robbie whimpered from the far end of the pipe. Einstein peered into the gloom, hoping as his eyes adjusted to the light that he’d be able to see the boy. But the darkness thickened deeper in, becoming impenetrable. He couldn’t go any farther for fear of panicking the already terrified child. What if the boy mistook him for a rat, or some other denizen of the sewers?

  “Hey!” A ruckus at the open end of the tunnel greeted Bertrand. “Is that your dog, kid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well get him out of there!”

  “He’s an Iberian Rescue Hound,” Bertrand improvised testily. “He’s doing what he’s been trained for: saving lives. He’ll get the boy out, if you let me through.”

  “An Iberian Rescue Hound?”

  “Yes!” Bertrand shouted. “Let me through!”

  Some grumbling and scuffling followed, but Bertrand must have persuaded them
because after a few seconds he called down to Einstein.

  Talk to Robbie, Einstein directed. Calm him down if you can. “Robbie?” Bertrand obeyed.

  A tiny whimper echoed up the pipe.

  “Robbie?” Bertrand persisted gently.

  “Yes,” the child moaned.

  “It’s going to be okay. We’ll get you out.”

  Ask him if he can crawl backwards.

  “Robbie? Can you back out?”

  “N-no!” the boy stuttered. “It’s too slippery.”

  “Then don’t move. Just stay put. We’re coming to get you,” Bertrand promised.

  Ask if he likes dogs.

  “Robbie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like dogs?”

  “Yes,” the boy sniffed.

  “Okay. That’s good. We’re sending a dog down to get you. His name’s Einstein and he’s very friendly. Is that okay?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “Say hello, Einstein.”

  Einstein woofed. Deep inside the tunnel Robbie giggled, a nervous giggle, but a giggle just the same.

  So what now? Bertrand asked.

  We need a rope.

  He heard Bertrand ask up top if anyone had a rope, and a voice replied, “I’ve got a retractable dog leash.”

  That will have to do, Einstein said, backing out of the culvert so Bertrand could clip on the lifeline. Okay, he instructed. You play out the leash as I go. If I slip, you’ve got to keep me from sliding into the boy and knocking him into the water.

  Gotcha, Bertrand signaled.

  Einstein inched into the cramped tunnel, crawling the way he’d learned in Bertrand’s training exercises. How Robbie had managed to get himself down there, he couldn’t guess. The corrugated pipe was slick and confining, too small for even a medium-sized dog to stand in.

  “You okay Robbie?” Bertrand checked.

  “I’m slipping!” Robbie answered, his voice panicky again.

  “Woof,” Einstein encouraged.

  “Hang in there, Buddy,” Bertrand urged, “Einstein’s on his way.”

  Einstein wormed into the utter black, praying the leash would be long enough. If Robbie slipped, he would drown. No doubt about it. Bertrand, he called back, worried he was running out of lead. You might have to crawl into the tunnel, too, and get someone to hold onto your feet. Pull me out real slow when I give the signal, okay?