Animalypse

by Octavio Guerra Royo

  “Try the bread, it’s great!”

  “No, too many calories.”

  “Oh, you women and your obsession with being as thinner as air. You should eat some bread, so you don’t disappear someday. Look,” Mora makes a discrete gesture toward a distinguished Afro-American lady sited in a nearby table, “If you continue studying at the law school, you could have lunch here every day as her.”

  Chandra turns around to look at the woman turning quickly back to Mora lowering her voice.

  “It’s her!”

  “Who?” Asks Mora whispering.

  “The lobbyist from Saint Mount, Khaxandra…”

  “Ukelele?”

  “Ougenele, don’t be such a clown!”

  “Oh, yeah, what a coincidence!” Responds Mora amazed.

  “Got her!” Says Chandra standing up.

  “Wait, wait!” Whispers Mora in vain as she approaches the nearby table.

  Chandra addresses Khaxandra, who is having lunch alone at her table.

  “Excuse me, are you Mrs. Ougenele from Saint Mount LLC?”

  The woman raises her eyes from her plate scrutinizing Chandra severely.

  “With whom I have the pleasure?”

  Chandra sits down at her table without asking permission.

  “I’m Special Agent Wilkison from the FBI, but, don’t worry, I’m not in any assignment at all. I only wanted to ask you about the relations between your company and Senator Kotchner.”

  Khaxandra freeze for a second, pointing outside of the restaurant with both hands’ indexes.

  “I’ve got to go now, sorry,” she drops some money on the table leaving in a hurry without finishing her lunch.

  Mora puts his hand on his head.

  “What have you done, are you out of your mind?” Complains Mora whispering as soon as Chandra comes back to the table.

  “I’m sorry,” responds Chandra confused, “I’ve got carried away by my enthusiasm. I didn’t want to upset her.”

  “Well, that’s exactly what you’ve got. The only thing left was pointing your gun at her face!”

  “Don’t be so exaggerated, please!”

  “Let’s hope things stay right here without any further consequences,” hopes Mora stroking his shaved head.

  Chapter 8. A Non-Adverse Action

  FBI Assistant Director Earl Wright, a traditional law enforcement bureaucrat, is at his desk typing on the computer. By a stroke of luck, Wright substituted FBI Assistant Director Philip Wilkison, Chandra’s father, when he passed away. He was the only one available when it happened so, h He remained in his post strictly following the rules knowing that he was not the most suitable for the position.

  Special Agent in Charge (Sac) Arthur Dekker, a grouchy hardened veteran, sits in an armchair in a corner watching his shoes visibly upset.

  Everyone on the Bureau knew that Dekker was the one that should have replaced Wilkison, but he was on an important assignment when Wright took over the position.

  Someone knocks at the door.

  “Come in!” Shouts Wright while typing.

  Chandra pokes her head through the door.

  “Did you send for me, chief?”

  “Come in, Wilkison!” Answers Wright roughly.

  Chandra enters and stands in front of Wright’s desk for several uneasy seconds. He stops typing and looks at her angrily.

  “What were you thinking, agent? You can’t harass a federal Senator!”

  Chandra hesitates.

  “I was just investigating certain irregularities in Saint Mount corporation’s political donations.”

  Wright gets angrier.

  “Did someone tell you to?”

  Chandra tries to hide her panic.

  “No one. I received an anonymous tip and just made some inquiries.”

  Wright gets increasingly livid.

  “Why didn’t you make your superiors aware of that information?”

  Chandra tries awkwardly to justify herself.

  “I just wanted to check them out before doing so.”

  Wright rises from his seat.

  “You shouldn’t ever act without authorization. Senator Kotchner is asking for our heads now.”

  This time, Chandra gets annoyed, overcoming her fears.

  “Is it forbidden to make an inquiry about any politician who is allegedly taking bribes?”

  Wright’s face gets red.

  “Do you have any evidence that incriminates senator Kotchner?”

  Chandra lowers her head, thwarted.

  “Not yet, but I was up to…”

  Wright hits the desk with a hand, snorting in anger.

  “Being the first time, you’ll only receive a non-adverse action!”

  “But, Assistant Director,” Chandra tries to defend herself, “I just made a couple of inquiries, I haven’t even presented the report!”

  “This way you'll learn where your limits are,” yells Wright, “you're dismissed, special agent!”

  Wright sits down reviewing some papers. Chandra freezes for a second, vacillates and leaves troubled.

  Wright looks up at the door and shakes his head with pity.

  “Weren’t you rather harsh with her?” Dekker breaks the silence.

  “I’m protecting her,” says Wright without looking at him, “I don’t want anyone to think that the daughter of the late chief Wilkinson has any privilege.”

  “Wilkinson is a good agent,” Dekker moves his head, “but… a non-adverse action…?”

  “I know… I have my reasons,” mutters Wright.

  “I don’t want to know them,” responds Dekker standing up, “what should I do with her now?”

  Wright makes a dismissing gesture.

  “Make her do anything that doesn’t get her into troubles.”

  Dekker walks toward the door.

  “Anything that prevents her from getting you into troubles, you should say.”

  Dekker steps out. Wright waves his hand as saying: “get out of here!” and continues typing.

  Chapter 9. Hawaii is not so bad

  The FBI agents’ office is as busy as usual.

  Seated at her station, Chandra stares depressed at the picture of her father on the honor wall along with photos of other officers, dead in the line of duty, including her both grandfathers.

  Over the golden plate where the name of A.D. Philip Wilkison shines, her father stares at her from those eyes that years of hard experiences on the field couldn’t take away his tenderness. The decorated uniform makes him look like a movie star, but he was a real hero, her role model, the man she will love forever the most.

  There was no day in which Chandra remembered her father. Most of the time, he was away, but their bond was stronger than distance and time. He wrote her regularly, in an endless dialog, planning their next encounter.

  Those days were the best memories of her life. Her father, her mother and her altogether at home, cooking dinner or playing cards or dancing or going to the zoo or the beach.

  She treasures those vacations in Orlando, going from one park to another until falling exhausted.

  One of the things that she remembers most were those endless conversations in which her father talked about her mother, her deep love and admiration for her, and his wishes that she, someday, could become like her mother. That was something she sometimes regrets, not doing what her father and mother wanted, but her heart was in continuing her father fight against crime and their country.

  One of the things she learned from her father was his definition of happiness. When she was still in junior high school, she asked him if he was unhappy being so long away. She has always remembered his answer. “Happiness for me, darling,” he told her, “is doing my best on behalf of others while wishing to come home to be with you two. Then, when I’m here enjoying being with you and your mom, I feel the need to go back and continue working to help other people to be as happy as I am when I’m with you.”

  Chandra was up to shed a tear when Mo
ra sits noisily at her side.

  “¿Qué pasó, chica? You look as if you’ve been hit by a car.”

  Chandra answers evasively.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Didn’t you get the promotion?”

  Chandra stares at him.

  “Promotion? I’ve earned a non-adverse action.”

  Mora jumps in his seat.

  “But, why?”

  “Senator Kotchner and Saint Mount.”

  “Don’t tell me more,” Mora moves his head annoyed.

  Chandra sights.

  “Probably, they’re going to send me to Alaska or Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii is not so bad,” Mora smiles to cheer her up.

  Chandra stares at him with killer eyes. Mora tries to mend things up.

  “But, don’t worry. They won’t do so.”

  SAC Dekker suddenly approaches with a cart full of old files. He stacks them all on Chandra’s desk almost not letting her see the computer screen.

  “What I’m supposed to do with all this?” Asks Chandra, confused.

  “You must write a report on animal attacks. Those of the past two decades are on the server,” Dekker says moving away.

  Chandra watches him go, stunned and stares back at the stack of files in front of her.

  Mora leans toward her whispering.

  “As my people use to say, the blood didn’t get to the river. You’ve just lost your ticket to Hawaii. ¡Dale!”

  Without a word, Chandra takes a deep breath, grabs a file and begins thumbing it through disgustingly.

  Chapter 10. The Stack of Files

  “Time is relative,” thinks Chandra while browsing the files from the stack in front of her, and taking some casual notes on the computer.

  She feels as if she was a statue in the middle of the busy FBI agents’ office.

  One after another, hundreds of records on animal attacks pass in front her eyes as if someone else was doing the job. She feels out of her body, watching herself as a robot doing things mechanically.

  For her, a whole year has passed since Wright sanctioned her. But She only had passed a couple of days reading those typewritten police reports, full of erasures, with almost illegible handwritten notes, poorly photocopied maps, with old yellow disturbing photos of people and animals severely injured or killed.

  There were countless reports of dog attacks on postmen, children, and innocent bystanders; and reports on bears, wolves, crocodiles and snakes’ attacks in rural, wooded areas, swamps, and deserts.

  She couldn’t realize if there was day or night in that windowless office while reviewing the mountain of old files. Boredom and sleepiness overwhelmed her.

  The stack of files gets lower and, when she finishes reviewing the last folder, she starts watching the files on the computer.

  Countless files, documents, forms, photos, images, and maps pass by the computer’s screen. Some files include amateur videos.

  The files include killer bees, wasps, scorpions and spiders’ attacks again and again.

  There were more and more reports about dogs, bears, crocodiles, snakes and rats’ attacks.

  A video of a squirrel biting the nose of an old man makes her laugh, but, when briefly looking up, she stumbles with Dekker’s inquisitive eyes. She quickly lowers her eyes gloomily.

  Her only moments of feeling resurrect were when Mora brought her coffee and donuts to compensate her, making some silly but funny Cuban joke.

  But, monotony would take over her days and nights until boredom, depression, and sleepiness overwhelm her almost making her feel sick. Everything around her spins in an increasingly accelerated rhythm and, when she was up to faint, something on the screen awake her from her slumber.

  The header of the report says: “Cats’ attack on their owner. Medford, Jackson County, Oregon.”

  Chandra clicks on the link to the attached forensic video.

  It was an amateur video: someone shoots it, following an obese Hispanic police officer on his forties who lights with a flashlight the dark inside of a shabby apartment. Behind him, enters who seems to be the condominium manager, a bald, pot-bellied old man wearing a dirty t-shirt and a key ring with lots of keys hanging from his belt. Both cover their noses with their hands at the stench.

  The house looks as it has been ransacked. Furniture is overturned and broken. Tapestries are ragged with their fillings out, stained with blood.

  The camera follows the manager and the police officer toward the kitchen. Behind the counter there is movement. A strange growl is heard.

  The manager stops and takes a step back in fear calling faintly.

  “Mrs. Morris…, Mrs. Morris…!”

  The police officer pulls out his gun making a warning.

  “Police! Get out with your hands up!”

  A huge cat jumps on the counter. It has the colors of an ordinary cat but the size and jaws of a large mountain lion. Its nose is bloody.

  A second feline with the same size leans out by the side of the counter. Both growl menacingly.

  “What breed are these cats?” Says the man handling the camera, “what is that behind the counter?

  The camera moves cautiously sideward, revealing the remains of a human skeleton still with traces of meat in a pool of blood and fluids behind the counter.

  The police officer steps back talking to the one with the camera.

  “Let’s get out of here and call reinforcements!”

  The three walk back cautiously.

  The cats roar like mountain lions and jump on them.

  The police officer shoots at them.

  The camera moves violently preventing from seeing what’s happening. Gunfire, screams, and roars are heard.

  Chandra opens her eyes in amazement. She moves the mouse of the computer and type to see another report.

  Mora has been sneaking Chandra’s screen and gets interested in what she has found.

  “¡Coño! What the heck was that?”

  “Something from the X-Files,” answers her, excited, “let’s see the next video.”

  The next video shows a municipal kennel, the camera follows a couple of animal control officers. The first one is a muscular and tattooed young man, followed by a skinny and bald guy in his fifties. Both walk cautiously carrying animal control poles down a corridor of a kennel full of cyclone fence cages.

  There is a racket of barking dogs, meowing and grunting sounds. The noise is so loud that the men should shout and make signs to each other.

  “Watch out! That animal looks dangerous!” Says the one behind the camera.

  At the end of the hall, there is giant Pitbull with huge muscles and jaws growling in a cage. It throws itself fiercely against the wire fence, threatening to tear it down.

  The animal control officers try to restrain the huge Pitbull, pulling their poles through the fence.

  The Pitbull bites the poles and takes them away from the men’s hands.

  The dog gets even more enraged and throws itself again and again against the fence until it pulls it down.

  The men scream and try to escape, but the animal jumps on them. The huge open dog’s jaws approach swiftly to the camera. The video ends abruptly.

  Chandra and Mora look at each other in awe. He whistles amazed.

  “Where did they get those animals?”

  “There are more,” says Chandra typing into her computer and moving the mouse.

  It is another video from an Arkansas local news channel

  An artificial blond female reporter who tries to hide her age with heavy makeup covers the news of an attack on dairy farms.

  A line at the bottom of the screen says: “Veronica Browning, FPF News, Arkansas.”

  At her background, there are several patrol cars and ambulances with flashing lights in front of a dairy facility where the mooing of hundreds of cows is heard.

  The reporter talks to the camera.

  “Three workers were attacked by a cow in this dairy, located southeast of Fa
yetteville, Arkansas, with one dead and two injured workers.”

  The camera pans the dairy facilities.

  A couple police officers interrogate a group of workers while a pair of rescuers carries an injured worker on a stretcher to an ambulance.

  The reporter continues talking off screen.

  “This is the fifth incident reported in this area, where three fatalities and half a dozen injured were reported last week.”

  Mora leans back in his seat looking at Chandra.

  “Bueno, muchacha, you’ve got a compelling case in your hands.”

  Chandra shies.

  “I don’t want more troubles. I've had enough.”

  Mora tries to encourage her.

  “If the chief gives you the authorization, you’ll be covered. If you find anything interesting, you could even get that promotion.”

  Chandra doubts.

  “Thanks, Mora, I’ll think about it.”

  “Call me Manny, dammit! How many times do I need to tell you?” he opens his arms showing the long table where they are, “we are at the same galley bench!”

  Chandra smiles with caution.

  “Okay, Manny.”

  “¡Esa es la cosa, dale!”

  Chandra intends to focus on her work. Mora stares at her a few seconds with a friendly smile and goes back to work.

  Chapter 11. The Assignment

  Assistant Director Wright reads a file with curiosity. He reviews pages, back and forth, checking figures in the tables.

  SAC Dekker enters.

  “Did you call me?”

  “It’s about this report on animals’ attacks,” answers Wright still reading.

  “Yep, what about it?”

  Wright looks up at him.

  “Where did you get all this info?”

  Dekker sits down leaning back:

  “You’d order me to put Wilkinson to do anything to keep her busy. That's her report.”

  Wright strokes his chin.

  “Are you thinking of sending her to the field?”

  Dekker watches his nails, whipping his fingertips with his thumb.

  “She has discovered interesting things. I just want her to confirm them.”

  Wrights makes a skeptical face.

  “She has never been in the field on her own.”