“What about the cats and tigers?”
“I’m working on arrangements for them. As a matter-of-fact, since I no longer have someone to care for them, how would you like to take over that duty? I know Aileen showed you how it is done. The cattle and pigs need to be fed and then of course they’ll become feed for the Bengals and sabres. I’ll get you a schedule of feed times. All told it comes to maybe an hour or two a day.”
It’s a chance to observe and photograph them alone. “Okay. I think I can do that.”
“Wonderful.” He walks up to me and shakes my hand. “This will be a fine arrangement and I’m sure the book will begin moving well now.” He guides me toward the door. “Unless you have any other questions, this should conclude our business.” He opens the door and I step out. “You will have that feeding schedule within an hour.”
The door closes and I’m standing alone in the hall. There is a tingling sensation in my hand and on my shoulder where his hand momentarily resided. I’m feeling something that I did not feel when his aura was visible, something I don’t like, something sinister. I’m regretting my agreement about being the animal caretaker, about everything having to do with Sans Sanssabre. Through that touch I understand that what he just told me about Traci killing McCully was bull-crap. I can’t believe I bought it so easily. I’m no longer suspicious that he was the murderer; I now know he personally, with Traci’s assistance, executed his veterinarian, and that McCully is not the first person he has murdered. Yes, all suspicion is gone. I know it for a fact now. It’s not that, however, that is sending me into shakes in the hall. What flashed through my mind like a bolt of inspiration is that Tanya and I are alive only because I still have a job to do for him. When completed, we’ll join Doctor McCully. What I still don’t understand is why he wants this book so badly. What will it do for him?
Chapter 38
I open my door to find a guy twice my size sitting at the desk with my computer. “May I help you?”
He doesn’t move his attention from the screen. “Mister Price I presume. It looks like everything is up and running for you. If you’ve never had a high speed connection before, you’ll like this.”
I look down at what he’s doing. All I recognize is something that says, “Administrative Privileges.” He quickly navigates through a couple of windows and then closes everything, leaving the computer desktop the way I had it.
“That should do it.” He stands, ejects a CD and slips it into an envelope. “I see you have Netscape as your browser. I’ve installed the latest version of Internet Explorer and placed an Icon on your desktop. If you have any problems, just let me know.” There’s a nervous tilt to his voice and something flowing off of his aura I can’t put a finger on. I’m too depressed to care.
Before I can say anything, even if I wanted to, he is gone. I retrieve my bottle of water and then stare at the computer until it drops into power-save mode. I shut it down. I’m not concerned about someone messing around in my personal life anymore. I’ve already been violated at just about every turn so what difference does it make? I go sit in the easy chair and stare out at the melting snow. My thoughts are not about the new network connection that the network administrator has set me up with. I’m in a slump because I now know for certain that Tanya’s life is numbered in weeks, or maybe only days. I don’t much care about my own anymore.
It’s less than an hour when there comes a knock again and the door opens. Doesn’t anyone wait for a response, like, “Come in,” or “Go away?”
“Zach,” Lance says as he walks in. “Here’s the schedule Victor promised you. We really appreciate you taking this on.”
I don’t know what to say. Should I skip the cattle and throw myself to the hungry felines now and get it over with? Other than taking my own life, why should I do anything for them?
“The pass code to the gate is also on here. I don’t think you should have any problems. None of the rest of us have ever done this before, so believe it or not, you have the most experience.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say dryly, accepting the folded notepaper from him.
“Thanks,” he says. He lingers for a few seconds and then turns back to the door.
“Lance, when you talked to Tanya . . . does she remember everything that happened?”
He stops and turns at my question. “She doesn’t stay fully coherent for very long. She understands that she slipped from a cliff edge and that you attempted to catch her and thus you both went over. She feels responsible for it all. She has a good picture of the accident. What she doesn’t remember is why you and she were there, hiking in that weather. She remembers coming to see you for some reason but doesn’t remember why.”
“What if she remembers and her memory is different from what you just described? What if she remembers what really happened?”
“I don’t think that’ll be the case. She’s heavily drugged.” He points at the notepaper in my hand. “You might notice that they need to be fed today as it’s been a while. The cattle and pigs need feeding twice a day and they haven’t been attended to since day before last.” He looks directly into my eyes. “Victor says that you and Aileen did it together once.”
There is no doubt as to his double meaning. “Yes. She showed me how they are fed.”
He opens the door. “Good luck.” The door closes.
Of course he can say in confidence Tanya won’t remember because he knows she’ll not recover long enough to have the memory. I return to my roost over the melting white world.
It’s nearly four o’clock when I force myself to stir from the chair. I no longer have the energy to keep going. I don’t feel I have an escape, but one side of me keeps saying not to give up. “What should I do?” I ask.
Anything is better than nothing.
“We already tried that and now Aileen is dead and Tanya lies with a broken back unknowingly waiting her own death.”
It’s not over until the last breath is taken or until you give up.
”Easy for you to say.”
Go feed the animals.
I glance at the schedule now lying on the counter, memorize the code and then retrieve my coat. I submit because at least I’m occupying my mind.
Maybe you’ll think of something.
“Maybe I’ll just end it.”
No you won’t. You’re not a quitter.
“Never too late to start.”
You’ll never be a quitter. What kind of father do you want Christi and Rebecca to remember? One who lies down and beckons to his executioner?
I head down to the gardens.
Snow is gone in areas that receive all-day sun exposure. The shadows are is still stacked high with the new snow as well as some of the leftover old snow. Normally the walkway is shoveled edge to edge, cleaned clear of any trace of snow or ice. Now there is but a foot path, clearing only in the full sun parts. I wish I had worn my gloves. Zitnik’s miracle formula may have healed the frostbite, however, my finger tips, nose and ears have a memory and they don’t like the temperatures, even in the few minutes it takes to get through the gate and into the Bengal garden. I stand in front of the blowing hot air until I begin to break out in a sweat.
As I walk along the path I’m nervous that I’ll come upon a Bengal tiger or two lying in wait for me. Is this Vandermill’s way of getting rid of me; let the animals free to roam and then send me out on an errand to never return? When he asked me to feed the animals did he mean that I should become the animal feed, present myself for their dining delight? Part of me wishes it is so; the other part prays not.
I stop and look in at the viewing area. A Bengal hungrily paces back and forth. I move on.
There is movement in the barn when I enter. They are definitely hungry in here and they are letting me know by their lack of silence. These are not content animals.
There is also a truck, the same truck that was here when they were cleaning up. The barn is cold because the big doors are open. “Hello!” I yell
. No response. I go up into the loft and yell again. Still nothing except bleating cows and snorting pigs. I go about doing my chore.
The fruit in the refrigerator looks bad, and there isn’t much of it. Who keeps that supplied? I split half of it between the chutes for the Bengals and the triplet sabres, and then drop part of a bale of hay down the last chute. I have no trouble sending the animals to their doom. They smell the delectable treats and fight to get there. I give two pigs each to the sabres and Bengals, and send a cow out to the other sabres. I know that they are all mixed together–the triplets and the other four, as well as Simon and Tricia. They can all share the pigs and cow. There are only eight pigs left now and four cows. They make a lot of noise at me. Is it because they’re hungry, or angry at my sending their friends to death?
There is more than enough hay for a couple weeks, it appears, however there is not enough fruit for this one feeding for the remaining pigs. I give them what is left. They are not happy.
I step onto the passenger side running board of the truck and peer through the window. The key is in it and the truck is backed in, pointing toward escape. Very inviting. I could drive out of here, ram through the gate and find my way into Kalispell and the sheriff’s office.
What if I don’t make it? What if the truck is not strong enough to get through the gate? What if Vandermill unleashes retribution upon my family before authorities can stop him. Would the sheriff believe me? What evidence do I have? The ladies are gone and likely all evidence gone with them. Is there a law against experimenting with cloning the extinct sabre-toothed cat? Would the sheriff bother with investigating my allegations when Vandermill could slip a crazy amount of money into his pocket? We’re dead anyway. Do I have anything to lose?
I step off the running board and walk to the open door and look toward where the three of us met our fate. I’d like to walk it in the daylight on a warm summer day, find what I fell face-first into, find where Tanya fell from the fence, maybe see if I can locate Aileen’s bones. I don’t think the walk will ever get a chance to take place.
“Do I have anything to lose?” I again ask myself.
Maybe not, but that’s no reason to go running willy-nilly without a plan, I remind myself. There must be a way to strengthen my side of the chess board. Yes, just like chess. I have to strengthen my defense while at the same time planning my offense.
I return to the truck and remove the key. It hangs on a plastic key-fob shaped like the state of Montana. The worn red print reveals only the word Realty. I don’t know what my plan is but for now I hide the key under the cows’ water trough, a place which I can reach through the fence. I then realize they have not been watered. I figure out how to go about doing that, water them and the pigs and then proceed to the overlook of garden three.
I see no sabre-toothed cats, young or adult, and no cow. Are the two groups working together now, or is there a division of territory? I remember that during our trek to escape over the fence there were many sets of tracks, of different sizes, even dog size. It does appear that they were cooperating with each other to fill their dinner plates with three tasty looking Homo sapiens, doing a little on-the-job training at the same time with the two kittens.
“So,” I ask myself for maybe the tenth time, “what are you going to do?”
You want to get in the truck and head for Kalispell. You have nothing to lose since he plans on killing you anyway. Better to go down fighting.
“Or running!”
Maybe the truck is a setup. A wheel will fall off in the middle of sabre territory and I’ll be forced to attempt it on foot again. Or maybe I’ll get through the gate and then the brakes will fail on a steep grade and I’ll die in a fiery crash. He wants my death to be an accident. With all that has happened what does he need a book for anyway? Why is it that important? Maybe he’s looking for an easy way of getting rid of me.
You’re being a wuss. What’s your defense?
“Hell, I don’t know.”
What’s your offense?
“I don’t have anything. I’m just trying to survive.”
You’d better come up with something or you and Tanya are dead.
I see one of the pregnant sabre-toothed cats stroll across the knoll where a number of days back I saw one of them lying.
Do something or die.
I bring up the binoculars and watch her for a moment. Her front legs are shorter than her back legs but because of her massive shoulders she stands considerably taller in front than in back. She is definitely not made for speed, or for pure out fight. I don’t think I’d stand a chance either way, however, running or fighting. Her power is in taking down large animals. I read that they could kill a small elephant as well as the largest bison. I can see where a pig is only a play toy. The cow I just provided is just plain fun. That’s probably where the males are now, feasting on the cow. Although I have never seen them side-by-side, it seems to me the male is larger. It’s obvious the female is quite capable of taking care of herself, but in this community, when she is with kittens, the male takes care of her.
The female I’m watching stops and looks directly at me, or seems to. A chill runs down my back at the sight of the huge sabre teeth and I try to shake off the sudden picture of that jaw closing around Aileen’s neck. The only consolation I can think of is that her death had to be quick.
The pregnant sabre continues onto the path down which the cow probably ran in her attempt to get away from the threat she sensed. It’s dinner time and the weather is nice. Maybe she’ll go dine in the backyard with the others. The second pregnant sabre-toothed cat appears, trailed by two much smaller cats. Simon and Tricia. The contrast in size is amazing. They are now one big happy family of nine, getting ready to gather around the dinner table, say their prayers and eat.
I put the binoculars away. My dinner bell is ringing as well. I move my jaw and tongue around and wonder if I can handle something with a little more chew to it. I head back to the apartment.
I analyze a can of hash and think of thick crust pizza with everything on it, or a quarter pound rib-eye wrapped in bacon, baked potato smothered in butter and sour cream, followed by a large bowl of rocky road ice-cream. I drool through those thoughts as I drop about a third of the hash and a fistful of grated cheddar cheese onto a layer of liquefied eggs. A hash and cheese omelet; a manly man’s meal. When I finish, I can still imagine the rib-eye. I consider a beer to wash down my medication, chide myself for even considering such a thing and grab a bottle of water.
The laptop is still sitting where the network administrator left it. I stare at it for a full minute and then turn off the lights. With my water bottle in hand I go watch the outdoors dim and then turn dark.
With Sans Sanssabre’s computer network, they can monitor my keystrokes. That means that if I should go out and update my journal at Catalog.com, they’ll get a recording of everything they need to find it and delete it. They’ll have my user ID and my password. Of course, they probably have my password anyway with the way in which Vandermill described how they figured it out. However, at this point they have no idea that Catalog.com is my safe storage. I did that across the phone line and there’s no way they could have captured those keystrokes, I don’t think.
I could do that again. But Vandermill warned me away from going to my Dallas provider. What’s the worst they would do if I did it anyway? Kill me? That’s already on the agenda. They’ll probably take away my phone privileges again. That means I’ll only have one shot at getting something out.
They can’t monitor the phones continuously with almost everyone gone. If they do catch me making a long distance phone call, will they shut me down? How much time will I have? And how am I going to get information to someone without them knowing who I got it to? Are they able to access or monitor my regular email account? I can’t chance going in that direction. I’ll have to create a hotmail account. There is no way they’ll know about the account or who I sent a message to as long as I clear the cache
s and clean up after myself on the way out.
Hyper-conscious of being watched, I turn on a lamp and walk lazy-like over to the laptop. I disconnect it from power and the network. I’ll write a new journal, short and to the point, and turn that into a pdf, a small file format that can be universally read, that is if the person trying to open it has Adobe’s free Acrobat Reader. That should not be a problem. The main problem will be getting online, getting to hotmail.com, creating a new email account and then sending the file to someone before being shut down by big brother Sans Sanssabre.
It’s 8:30. I make myself comfortable with a water bottle and one lamp, and the computer in my lap. I begin my condensed journal, starting with the phone call from Lance in Seattle and the contract.
I realize I’m not condensing it enough when after barely making any progress in the timeline, I have eight pages written. Hell, I’m not condensing it at all. That’s when Nurse Peterson arrives. I shut the computer down, place it back on charge and drop a CD in the stereo.
The session is silent, except for Michael Bolton, until she is almost done. “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon,” she says. “Your final therapy will be at noon.”
She sees the concern in my face.
“You’re doing just fine. You don’t need me anymore and I’m needed elsewhere.”
“You’re the nicest visitor I get every day.”
“You’re sweet. You’ll still have Ulla to invade your privacy.”
I laugh. “So, where are you going?”
“Somewhere in Northern California. I don’t really know for sure as I’ve never been there.”
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 33