“What if Hemming’s Sanctuary won’t take her?” Otis asks.
“You’re the PR guy. Call them. Don’t give them a choice.”
“If they have advance warning, time to convene their board of directors, talk to lawyers, they’ll definitely say no.”
“Then we just show up with a sick calf. They’ll have to let us in.”
“Lily, to do this right? It’d take weeks to plan.”
“I have two more days here. After your family reads my last article, they might kick me out before then.”
“What’d you say?”
“I made it clear that Swifty isn’t doing well at Walker’s, implied that Howard is ignoring the facts, and that Swifty might die.”
Otis hesitates. Suspended. My hope grows wings, desperate to take flight.
“I’m sorry, Lily. I can’t.”
Otis leaves without looking back. I sink down beside Swifty, rest my forehead against hers. Flea watches us, Nibs in his mouth. Even if I still wanted to take Swifty, steal a truck, somehow drive to the Sanctuary, I can’t. Otis would stop me. His family comes first; Howard comes first. The realization is like being run over by a truck. “It’s over,” I tell the calf, my voice a croak. We’ve lost.
36
“Hey there, pretty lady,” Clem says, stepping into the pen.
I look up and wipe away my tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, forehead wrinkling.
I shrug. “I’m just sad that I have to leave Swifty. She’s... She matters to me. What are you doing here so early? You’re not on until midnight.”
“I couldn’t wait.” Clem slides a bracelet made from tiger’s whiskers around my wrist, smiles as he spins it. “It’s good luck.”
I think about telling him that there is no such thing. Instead I say, “Thanks.”
“Has Swifty eaten yet?” Clem asks, pulling a bottle out of the fridge.
“No. Why don’t you give it a try?”
Two hours later Swifty has had two sips of her formula and I’ve learned that Clem has three ex-wives, got hooked on heroin when he was thirteen, switched to meth because it was cheaper, got arrested for dealing and spent eight years in prison, where his nickname was Squash. Swifty is lying beside Flea, the tip of her trunk in her mouth. I cover her, tuck in the blanket and put Nibs against her chest.
“Wish I could’ve done better,” Clem says.
“It’s not your fault.” I attempt a smile but can tell it’s pitiful. My curls have staged a revolt, a lot of them escaping from my ponytail holder. I pull the elastic free, start to twist my hair back into a low knot.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Otis says, stepping into the pen.
I jump, pulling the elastic too hard. It breaks. “What do you want?” I refuse to meet his gaze.
“Just looking for Clem. Maximus forgot one of his bags at Little Bit Ranch Supply in High Springs. He wants you to go get it.”
“It’s a two-hour drive,” Clem says. “They’ll be closed by the time I get there.”
“You know how my father is about the tigers’ supplements. He got the owner on the phone. They’re staying open for you.”
“Guess I gotta go, then.” Clem winks at me. “Later, Lily.”
Clem’s footsteps fade. A door opens, closes, then silence. “Go away,” I say, curling up beside Swifty.
“The key is public perception,” Otis says. “That and finding a place to hide out until Walker’s is forced to do the right thing.”
I sit up so fast it makes me dizzy. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you do this, help Swifty?”
Otis looks down, kicks at the straw. “Ask me why I didn’t have you sign an NDA.”
I scowl. “You thought I was a lightweight reporter, that you could control me with your approved interview list, locations and spies.”
Otis shakes his head. “You ran between a stampeding mother elephant and her calf. You risked your life to save an animal you barely knew.” He rubs the back of his neck like it hurts.
I’m beyond confused. “So you’re saying that you wanted me to expose Howard?”
Otis shakes his head like he’s confused, too. “It wasn’t a plan or anything. But...I guess there was a little part of me that hoped you’d figure out a way to save Swifty again. Do what I couldn’t.”
“And now?”
Otis looks up, his eyes steely beneath a furrowed brow. “This place? I can’t do it anymore. I won’t. I want to be closer to the person I want to be.”
I let his words sink beneath my skin then take a deep breath, allow hope to unfurl her wings. “We’re doing this?”
Otis exhales. “Yes.”
“If the key is changing public perception, I’ll post the video of Howard on YouTube.”
“Using an ankus isn’t illegal.”
“Howard was drunk, and the way he used it was cruel and barbaric, especially on a traumatized baby elephant. People will be furious.”
“It won’t look good for Walker’s,” Otis agrees. “But you’ll get sued for posting it.”
“I have six hundred and seven dollars in my bank account.” Addie’s words float to the surface... You’d do that to your father? “Can Walker’s sue my dad over what I do?”
“You’re eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Legally, you’re an adult. They might try to go after your father, but they’d probably have to settle on you, the newspaper or the zoo.”
“Addie has no idea what I’m planning.”
“Are you paid by the zoo?”
“I’m a volunteer. Same with the newspaper.”
“Then my best guess is that it’d just be you. But Walker’s won’t only go after your savings. They’ll tie the damages lawsuit to future earnings. You could be paying Walker’s for the rest of your life.”
I almost smile. “Let’s do it.”
Otis holds up his hands. “Slow down. Another problem is that our lawyers will make YouTube take your video down pretty fast.”
“I can send it to animal activist sites.”
“A lot of people don’t believe what they read on those sites because their views are extreme. It’ll be easy for lawyers to make them take that video down, too. You said something about a petition?”
“It’s on Facebook. Created by people who want Swifty returned to the zoo. Last I looked there were over ninety-seven thousand signatures. I can post the video of Howard on their wall.”
“That won’t work either. Walker’s lawyers will force them to erase it. And they’ll force you to wipe out the link.” Otis keeps pacing. “The best way to do this is to upload the video to an anonymous, offshore file-sharing site where lawyers can’t find it without serious footwork. Footwork that’ll take more time than Walker’s has to keep public perception under control.”
“How do we post the video on an anonymous site?”
Otis stops pacing. “That’s easy. I can do it then give you a link to the video. You can post that link on Facebook and send it to activist websites. After those sites are forced to wipe it, people who saw the link will still be able to share it because it’ll remain active. That is, if anyone is actually interested.”
“They are. What if it’s still not enough to force Walker’s to let Swifty go?”
“Can you write more articles?”
“The P-Times wants at least one more. I’ll throw out being balanced. Tell the real story.”
“Not about what Howard did to that guy or his time in prison,” Otis says. “You can talk about Swifty, her needs, even about how our circus is no place for wild animals. But nothing about my brother beyond that video.”
“But—”
“It’s a deal breaker.”
We glare at each other, but this is impossible w
ithout his help. “Okay. Where do we hide out?”
“I know a place.”
I hold out my hand. We shake. The touch of his skin sends tingles down my arm.
“I already picked up more formula from the cold storage building, a cooler, ice and put it all in the truck around back,” Otis says.
Wow. He’s been busy. “Let’s go,” I say.
Otis grabs my shoulder. Our faces are inches apart. For a moment I imagine leaning in, kissing him to seal the deal. Otis’s fingers dig into my skin.
“Lily, there’s no going back. We might both end up in jail.”
“Are you scared?”
“Yeah.”
“Me, too. Let’s go.”
It’s after eleven, dark, so the area behind the animal building is empty, warm air alive with the thrum of frogs and crickets’ chirps. Getting Swifty into the truck with the lift gate is easy, because Flea gets on first so the calf follows. I cringe at the whine of the motor as the gate lifts, but there’s no one around to hear it. Swifty follows Flea into the back of the truck. Otis has lined the floor with a thick bed of straw and tossed in extra bales. We tuck a wool blanket around the calf, covering her ears, ease the rolling door down and then climb into the front seats.
Headlights off, we slowly drive past the performers’ homes. I’m no longer the same girl who saw them for the first time. That girl had her eyes closed. “Is there any security at night?” I whisper.
Otis shakes his head. “Since we’re in such a remote location, and we all live on campus, there’s no need. Once in a while we get wind of an animal-rights demonstration heading our way and hire a local security company, but usually the animal-rights groups stage their protests at the venues for optimal coverage.”
“What about performers?”
“This place is a ghost town after nine. We’re in the midst of putting together our new show, so people get up early, work hard all day then fall into bed exhausted.”
Despite what Otis says, I strain to see in the dark, nerves tingling. A few of the houses have TV screens flickering silver and blue. Others are dark, the performers probably dreaming of their next dangerous stunt, the roar of the crowd, their names in record books.
“Duck,” Otis says, shoving me down into the footwell then tossing his jacket over me.
“What?” I whisper. Otis’s electric window goes down. My pulse is a runaway train. Is this over before we’ve even driven off Walker’s grounds?
“Hey, Otis.”
“Hey, Esmerelda. You’re up late.”
“Gotta get that new trick,” Esmerelda says. “What’re you up to?”
“Heading to the bar for a drink.”
“Want company?”
“You’re fourteen.”
Esmerelda giggles. “Can’t blame a girl for trying. You know your headlights are off?”
“I’ll flip them on soon as I’m off campus. Don’t want bright headlights in a window to disturb anyone’s sleep.”
“Another reason you’re my favorite Walker,” Esmerelda says. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.”
I stay hidden as Otis puts the truck in gear. A pang of guilt hits. What I’m doing, what we’re about to do, it’s going to impact all the performers at Walker’s. If we’re successful in turning the public against the circus, people like Esmerelda who don’t train animals, who are hardworking and talented, might lose their jobs. If that happens, will Esmerelda’s family be sent back to Venezuela? Will she still get an education, survive the unrest and thrive? Am I wrong to put Esmerelda and others like her in jeopardy? I don’t want to hurt anyone... But. But Swifty matters, too.
“You can come out,” Otis says.
We exit the circus grounds, round the bend. The campus lights quickly fade away and we’re swallowed by Florida’s sticky darkness. Otis pulls to the side of the road. He turns off the truck’s engine. My stomach slides to my feet. He’s changed his mind. Reaching beneath the seat, Otis pulls out a thick roll of duct tape. “Um. What are you doing?”
“Give me a sec.” He gets out of the truck.
I hear duct tape being paid out, ripped then stuck on Otis’s door. He comes around the front of the truck to my door and does the same. He’s covering the Wild Walker’s Circus emblems. “Where are we going?” I ask once we’re rolling again, this time with headlights on.
“Cedar, Florida. It’s a three-hour drive.”
“Why there?”
“I know a girl.”
A twinge of jealousy hits. It’s ridiculous and totally inappropriate. “How do you know we can trust her?”
“A while ago I helped her out.” Otis nods at my pack. “Start writing that article. You’ll have to ditch your iPad and phone in about an hour.”
“Why?”
“Because both can be tracked by the police. I’ll ditch my phone then, too.”
“Then how will I post the video link?”
“Keep the camera. I’ll set up the file-sharing site once we’re hidden for the night. Then you can post the video. But I’m going to cut out the part with me in it.”
Otis is risking a lot to help me, but that’s still a little bit disappointing. “Okay. Does your girlfriend have internet?”
“Limited. But yeah.” He looks over at me. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
I duck my head, using my curls to hide a blush. Does Otis have a girlfriend? It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
“It looks cool.”
“What?”
“Your hair. Why do you always wear it up?”
I think about lying. “My mom had the same hair. I never wanted to look like her.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. The spitting image.”
My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Sawyer. He’s finally answering what I asked in my last voice mail about why he left porn in Cushing’s office.
SAWYER: Because I wanted Cushing to talk to me, love me. Because living a lie is making it hard to breathe.
It hits me like a kick to the gut. My perfect, athletic, brilliant, kind, beautiful, incredibly considerate best friend doesn’t have the choice to bury his secret so that he can remain home. That secret is crushing him. And no matter how much he wants to change himself—not because he thinks being gay is wrong, but because he desperately wants unconditional love from his parents and to fit in—he can’t. I’m used to powerlessness, Sawyer isn’t. I take a minute to collect my thoughts then text back.
ME: I get it. Finally. You succeed at everything you touch. But you can’t change who you are inside for your dad
ME: Here’s the crappy truth. Cushing may not be capable of loving you unconditionally. But I do and always will. And so will a ton of people that you haven’t met yet
ME: And eventually, you’ll love you, too. We will figure this out together. Promise
SAWYER: Gotta go
I think about telling him what I’m doing but decide against it. First, it’d be making things about me again. Second, it might get him into trouble. Despite everything, one side of my mouth crooks up. We’re a long way from okay, but we’re texting. That’s something.
Otis pulls onto a dark bypass road then Highway 19. I start writing, not worrying about the length of my article. Mr. Matthews will print all of it, because I’ve kidnapped a baby elephant.
The Pennington Times
BY T. LILLIAN DECKER, INTERN
Swift Jones Struggles to Survive
Swift Jones, the Asian elephant calf rejected by her mother at the Pennington Zoo, claimed by owners Wild Walker’s Circus, has spent three days in her new home in Florida. She is showing serious signs of deterioration and depression.
Swift Jones, nicknamed Swifty, is now consuming less than ten pints of milk a day. Normal consumption is up to twenty-four pints.
I di
g out Dr. Robertson’s card and dial her cell phone.
“Hello,” a sleepy voice answers on the fourth ring.
Crap. I forgot it’s late. “Dr. Robertson? I’m so sorry to wake you. It’s Lily, from Oregon? The newspaper? I’m taking care of Swifty tonight?”
“Is everything okay?” Dr. Robertson asks, now sounding wide-awake.
“I guess. But I’m still worried.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Dr. Tinibu,” Dr. Robertson says. “Less than ten pints of milk a day will not sustain that calf.”
“How long can she survive?”
“Given her depression, a week or so, if she continues to drink some formula. Less if she refuses it.”
“Even with the enemas?”
“I’m sorry, Lily. I can tell how attached you are to Swift Jones. But if she wants to die, she’ll die.”
“Thanks for talking to me. And sorry again for waking you.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have better news.”
“May I quote you?” I can almost hear the cogs in Dr. Robertson’s brain spinning. Howard Walker might get angry. She could lose a ton of work.
“Yes.”
According to the circus’s veterinarian, Dr. Robertson, “less than ten pints of milk a day will not sustain that calf.” When asked how long Swift Jones can survive if her situation remains the same, Dr. Robertson said, “Given her depression [Swifty has] a week or so if she continues to drink some formula. Less if she refuses.... If she wants to die, she’ll die.”
I glance at Otis.
“What?”
“I’m just at a hard part.”
Today I witnessed Howard Walker, Wild Walker’s elephant tamer, who was previously quoted in this newspaper saying, “I never use an ankus. Don’t need one,” use an ankus (a rod with a sharp steel hook and a pointed end that resembles a fire poker) on one of his adult elephants, Tambor. The bull was trying to protect Swift Jones. Howard Walker, visibly drunk at the time, swung the ankus like a baseball bat, connecting with Tambor’s most tender spots—the back of his ears, feet and trunk. He drew blood each time.
An elephant’s skin is so sensitive that they can feel the pain of an insect bite. Howard’s blows caused Tambor,
When Elephants Fly Page 22
