Dad turns to Romo and looks him up and down. “Did you take care of him?” Dad asks seriously. I’m not used to the strong side of him, but I don’t doubt for a moment that he means business.
“Yes, sir,” Romo responds. Dad and Romo seem to hold an understanding that both me and Charlie are safe when we are with either of them. Romo isn’t afraid to throw a punch—or many punches in this case. Dad would do anything to keep us safe, and I’m sure murder isn’t out of the question.
“Good job, son. So, Jo Leigh Jacobs, why in god’s name did you not stand up for yourself? You just let a guy push you? I thought I had taught you better than that.”
Romo snickers and mom sighs, leaning back on the wall. It seems that dad is the only one who hasn’t heard what happened. “Dad, he didn’t just push me out of nowhere. He was talking about Charlie earlier in the night and I punched him pretty hard. It was a shot to his ego and he wanted retaliation, but I didn’t expect him to push me.”
Dad clears his throat and I can tell that he’s trying to hold his amusement at bay. “You socked a boy for your sister?” He asks. I nod and he lifts his hand for a high five. “All right, nice job. But next time be on the lookout for him to come back. A bruised ego is a fragile thing.”
We all laugh at the situation and when we’re done, mom signs me out and we head home to pick up Charlie, who dad left with the neighbors. They, of course, adore her to pieces and want her to visit more often, but they didn’t experience one of her seizures.
The ride home is anticlimactic. Romo follows us out of the hospital but turns to go home. He’s been with me since last night and his parents are worried sick. When we drive by the neighbor’s house and Charlie struts out with a plate of packaged food, I smile and shake my head. Charlie turns and waves at our neighbor, surely giving one of her brilliant smiles, before jumping into the car.
“Aren’t we just going home?” Charlie asks. I lean back in my seat, careful to avoid pressing on the three stitches in my head.
“No, mom and dad have to run some errands,” I mumble, feeling slightly queasy from the motion of the car.
Charlie leans back in her seat and fastens her safety belt over her chest. “So, what happened?” Charlie asks.
“I punched a guy and got pushed. I hit my head and got a concussion and a few stitches. It’s not a big deal.” I don’t tell her the motive behind the dispute. If I did, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.
“I’m just happy you’re okay. If there’s anything I can do, don’t hesitate to let me know.” I smile at Charlie and close my eyes, trying to ignore the nausea as it works its way through my stomach and up my throat, wrapping itself around every part of me until I’m sure I’m going to puke.
“So how did you get off work today?” Mom asks as dad drives us down the interstate. I don’t bother to open my eyes.
Dad sighs. “There really isn’t any work at the shop right now,” dad explains. “Nobody is bringing in anything to get cut up. In fact, nobody can catch anything right now. It’s almost like all the animals have just disappeared. The only ones that people can find are already dead.”
I wonder what could cause something like this. Dad hasn’t taken Charlie or me out hunting lately, which is odd considering we’ve always adamantly hunted in the past. Deer season has passed, but we often hunt squirrels and other small animals to stay in practice. I am an excellent shot and Charlie is better than me. Because we all love the sport so passionately, Dad opened a butcher shop and it became the most successful one in our county.
But the county has never had an absence of animals, so this is unusual. “I thought you were always busy?” Mom asks.
“We always are. That’s why this is so strange. Even our most expert hunter can’t catch anything in his sights.” I open my eyes and notice Charlie fiddling with her bracelet—the one that matches mine almost exactly.
“How is that possible? There are tons of animals out there. Squirrels are everywhere and we have tons of whitetail deer. Indiana’s full of them,” Charlie says nervously. We both know that this is a problem. “Is it possible that maybe people are taking their business somewhere else?”
“No, honey. I went out the other day to our sweet spot and sat for hours. There was nothing there,” Dad says.
“Okay, enough with that. We’re almost here.” Mom smiles and turns toward us, but I lean back in my seat, closing my eyes once again.
“What are we doing, exactly?” Charlie asks. I feel the car pull to a halt and Mom jumps out and slams her car door. “We’re at a warehouse…” Charlie says, confusion evident in her tone.
“We have a surprise for Charlie,” Dad says, following mom out of the car. I open my eyes and take a deep breath. My head is pounding and I can feel my heartbeat in between my eyes. I sit up in my seat and immediately hunch over, afraid that I may release the minimal contents of my stomach.
“I think Jo should stay in here. She doesn’t look too good,” Charlie says, stroking my arm. “We can just leave the car running and she can lay down for a few minutes.” I nod my head, agreeing wholeheartedly that that is a very good idea. I am not in a good position to be seen by the public.
“Jo really needs to join us,” mom says from outside the car. She knows better than anyone how painful a concussion is for a person. She treats them daily and has had two.
I sigh and open my door, pulling myself to my feet slowly. Charlie offers me her sunglasses and they shield my eyes from the harsh morning light, thankfully allowing my headache to diminish into a more bearable ache. “What is this place?” I ask.
“You guys will see,” Dad says, opening the front door for Mom. She smiles and pecks him on the cheek excitedly before strutting inside, leaving us all in her dust. “This was all your mother’s idea,” Dad whispers as we walk through the door.
I’m immediately pelted with the stench of animals. It’s almost like a wet dog smell, masked with lemon candles. I look around the entrance area for any clues. Charlie is doing the same and our eyes catch a poster almost simultaneously. “No way,” Charlie says, shaking her head quickly and covering her mouth. It doesn’t take long before tears begin streaming down her face.
Service Dogs available for blind, epileptic, or otherwise disabled citizens.
I look around the waiting room and realize that this isn’t a typical warehouse. It’s a center for service dogs. “Hello, are you here for an appointment?” The desk secretary asks once we’re all in the small waiting room. Mom walks to the desk and exchanges some information with the woman before coming and sitting beside me. The secretary types furiously on her computer and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“What do you think?” Mom asks as if we’d have a problem with her surprise. Charlie and I have talked about getting a service dog for years but were never brave enough to bring the expensive proposition to our parents.
“Mom, I don’t even know what to say,” Charlie blubbers, rushing over to mom and embracing her in the most affectionate way she can.
The door to the backside of the warehouse flies open and a man in casual clothing greets us. “Are you Karen Jacobs?” The man asks my mother, walking in her direction. We each stand and mom extends her hand, shaking his excitedly. “Well, I'm pleased to inform you that we have multiple young dogs trained for your daughter’s condition. Would you like to pick one?”
Charlie is practically bouncing on her toes and Mom looks almost as excited. Dad and I stand behind them and follow as we walk past multiple pins of dogs. It looks as if each room is divided into different types of trained dogs. The first room we pass is for diabetics, but when we enter the room for seizure dogs, we come to a halt.
The room isn’t full of kennels or cages. It’s open and each dog has enough room to move and interact with each other. Upon our arrival, all the different sizes of dogs’ rush to get closer to us. Some yip and some simply wag their tails, but each of them are excited to see us.
“My goodness, they are all so precious,” Charlie cri
es, hand over her mouth once again. She is clearly shocked and more excited than she’s ever been.
“Go ahead, Charlie. You get to pick.” I look around at all the dogs and realize that she has a few different breeds and sizes to choose from. Most of the dogs look like they’re about a year old and almost fully grown. I can honestly say, as she walks down the aisle and pats a few dogs on their heads, I’m not expecting what happens.
As she approaches the end of the room and turns back toward us, weighing her options, a small dog, likely only a few months old, squeezes through the bars of the pin and stumbles over his small, clumsy paws as he approaches her. Charlie looks at her feet in shock and watches as the little ball of fur falls onto his back and rolls around the floor, tongue hanging limply from his mouth.
I didn’t see the puppy behind the big dogs and I’m sure that Charlie hadn’t seen him either. He looks like a husky with gray and white fur, but instead of two blue eyes, I can see from here that he has one brown and one blue. “I’m sorry about that,” the man says. “He’s new to the business and has only been here about a week. I didn’t realize he could escape the cage so easily.”
The man walks in the direction of Charlie and the puppy and instead of allowing him to tend to the dog, Charlie crouches down and examines the dog’s tags. The man stops and allows Charlie to finish. “Bosco?” Charlie asks politely.
“That’s his name,” the man says.
“I want him.”
*****
Chapter 8
I sit on the couch alongside Dad as Mom works on fixing dinner and Charlie lies on the ground with her new service puppy. I read over the sheet with Bosco’s information again. I have done so numerous times in the past week, knowing that when one of the signs appear, I need to recognize it. He’s one of the youngest known service dogs, which made Mom exceedingly nervous. Fortunately, we were assured that he is just as well trained as the rest and wouldn’t be in the business if he didn’t do an excellent job.
According to Bosco’s chart, he lays down and whines when predicting a seizure. His warnings are typically ten or more minutes in advance, which will give Charlie plenty of time to take medication to slow down or stop the upcoming seizure. I read the chart carefully.
Bosco was born into a family with an epileptic mother. His natural instincts allowed him to predict her seizures and once she no longer required treatment, she gave Bosco to the nearest service dog center for formal training. Training courses are a year and a half, but Bosco graduated in mere months and became the youngest the shelter has ever seen. His warning signs may be one of the following:
Lying down and whining is often a long-term warning which indicates that a seizure is likely to happen in 10+ minutes.
Barking profusely is often a short-term warning which indicates an immediate and/or fast-approaching seizure.
If the service dog nips or bites at your hand, this is often a short-term warning which indicates that a seizure is immediate and/or fast approaching.
For working purposes, when Bosco is on duty, be sure he is not distracted by civilians petting him or drawing his attention from his designated purpose. If this happens, the safety of Bosco’s master may be at risk.
Bosco is six months old and his birthday is November 12th.
I fold the paper and lay it on the coffee table in front of the couch. Bosco loves Charlie and lays with her on the floor as she rubs his belly. The news is on beside them, though they pay it no attention. I watch as the news reporter looks into the camera, obvious concern on her expression. I catch a few words from her dialogue: water pollution, acidic rain, and coastal disasters.
It means very little to me. We pollute water all the time, but for now, we’re fine. There’s plenty of clean drinking water, and everyone has a filtration system nowadays. Maybe not other countries, but America has plenty of water and light pollution won’t change that.
“Bosco,” Charlie squeaks as he runs his tongue down her face excitedly. “Buddy, calm down.”
“He’s a puppy; he’s just playing,” Dad says to Charlie, a small grin on his face. I watch Bosco for any of his telltale signs, but he’s acting completely normal, which means Charlie should be completely healthy.
The front doorbell rings and I don’t bother to stand, too mesmerized by the new animal in our home. “Joe, could you please get that?” Mom shouts.
“Which one?” I shout back, looking at my dad and smiling, hoping that she’ll order Dad to leave the couch. Ironically enough, Dad and I both have the same name. I was named after him when they were convinced I was a boy, but when I came out of the womb without any male parts, they added Leigh to the predetermined name. Hoping for a boy the second time, they decided on Charlie Rae for my younger sister and didn’t change it.
“It doesn’t matter, just answer the door,” Mom shouts. I groan and stand, knowing that Dad won’t get up unless Mom specifically requests it.
I peel the door open and widen my eyes when I see who stands on the other side. “I know you don’t want to talk to me or even associate with me for some reason, but you need to listen to me right now, okay?”
“How did you know that the boy was planning on attacking me at the party?” I ask. “And where have you been for the last week?” I ask, realizing that he hasn’t appeared for school in the last week. I was thrilled, but as time passed, I became increasingly curious. “And why are you at my house?”
Hayden shakes his head. “I just know when you’re in danger. I’ve been preparing for the last week and I’m here to warn you. This water situation is not a joke. Soon, there will be hardly any left for human consumption. You need to stock up. Go and gather all the fresh water you can find and hide it. It will be of great value and it will lead to your survival.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, laughing at his absurd accusations. “We’re okay. We’ve always had minor water pollution.”
Hayden looks frustrated and he begins pacing in front of the door. Turning my attention to the people inside the house, Dad isn’t paying us much attention, but he keeps looking over his glasses to see who it is. I give him a reassuring smile.
“You don’t understand. This pollution is spreading like wildfire and destroying every source of water it touches. It originated from a supposed eco-friendly factory, but the waste is contaminating all the drinkable water and it’s almost here. You need to listen to me,” Hayden says. His eyes are wide and frantic, almost like a lunatic on a rampage. I want to ignore him, but last time I did, I ended up with a concussion and three stitches.
“Where did you get this information?” I ask.
“That doesn't matter. It’s important that you believe I’m telling you the truth and you need to do what I say for you and your family’s sake. Please listen to me. I have to keep you safe.”
“You need to leave,” I state. It doesn’t matter if Hayden predicted a teenager’s egotistical backlash, I can’t convince myself that he’s not crazy. He probably saw the same news broadcast that was on my television earlier and is interpreting it in his own psychotic way.
“No, you need to listen to me, Jo Leigh. This is serious—”
I close the door and turn the deadbolt before walking back to the couch silently and leaning back once again, watching my sister and her dog.
*****
Chapter 9
By Wednesday evening, Charlie has taken her dog to school for a week and is now halfway through her second week. At first, most students were mesmerized by the puppy and wanted nothing more than to pet it and play with it, but Charlie had to publicly announce that the dog was there for a purpose and not meant to entertain students.
For the first few days, we didn’t trust the dog as much as we should have, but by the fourth day, the dog gave one of its signals and Charlie followed through with it. Because of the dog and her ability to take medication before the seizure, it was hardly even a seizure. It was minimized into mere twitching, and Charlie was hardly sick or tired afterward.
After that, we gained some new trust in Bosco and even left her unattended for a few minutes every day. We still watch over her carefully, but we’re not as obsessive about watching her as we always have been.
“What do you say we train this dog to be a hunting dog?” Dad proposes. Charlie looks down at Bosco who sits on his wagging tail and stares up at us as if he completely understands what we’re saying.
“He may be trained well for seizures, but he’s still a puppy. He won’t do well when he sees an animal running around. The last thing we want is a missing service dog,” I reason. “And I thought you said that there wasn’t much to hunt?”
“We’re not legally supposed to be hunting right now, but if we see a wild hog on the run, we can take it out,” Dad says.
“And we can keep Bosco on the leash and tie him to a tree or something. He’s trained not to bark unless it’s a warning, so he should be quiet enough,” Charlie reasons. “He’s a great dog. The least we can do is give him a chance.”
I’m outnumbered in arguing, so I allow them to make the preparations and decide what to do with Bosco, who should never leave the immediate proximity of Charlie. What will Bosco do when Charlie is in a tree and he is unable to get to her?
We gather all of our gear and load it into the back of dad’s truck before rushing out. Mom is at work and doesn’t approve of hunting on school nights, but she doesn’t need to know everything. “Are we actually planning on hunting, or are we scoping the area?” Charlie asks. She enjoys shooting, but she noticeable dislikes killing creatures unless they are food for our freezer. She understands that we need the meat that comes from hunting.
“If we see something that we can shoot, take the shot, but we’re mostly going to scope a few different areas and see if there is anything out there. Too many people are having trouble finding the animals, so the critters either learned to outsmart us, or there’s something wrong,” Dad explains. “And I’m betting on the latter.”
Eternal Rains: A Dystopian Trilogy (BOUND Book 1) Page 4
