The Pet Plague

by Darrell Bain

“If I told on you, they would be more likely to help you undress. Don't worry, you'll work the kinks out as the day goes by.” She was not quite truthful, knowing that it would be several days before his body became accustomed to the weight of his pack and the long hours of walking, but saw no reason to discourage him.

  “I certainly hope so.” He slid painfully into his coveralls, then sat back down again to pull on his boots. Suddenly the impart of her previous remark struck him. “Kristi, I'm sorry I fell asleep on you so soon. I didn't intend to."

  “You almost fell asleep on me, literally,” she chuckled. “I don't think you lasted five minutes after we finished, but I forgive you this time. You wouldn't even wake up to admire Fuzzy Britches’ mouse. He was proud of it, and quite put out with you when he couldn't get you up to admire it."

  “I'll apologize to him, too. Where are they all, anyway?"

  “They got up when I did. In fact, you were practically covered with animals when I woke up. Lady must like you; she hardly ever sleeps next to anyone but me, but there she was, covering you like a rug. Look, I have to go; Troy will be looking for me in a minute. Let's get the shelters packed."

  “Troy?—oh, Captain Masters. I had forgotten his first name. Let me get this other boot on.” He managed it, barely, then strapped on his gunbelt and bent painfully to pick up his pack. He carried it outside then watched curiously as their shelters re-folded, making hissing noises as they expelled air. Each step in the process seemed logical of itself, but the whole thing smacked of magic; each fold seemed to push the previous one into another dimension. By the time that was finished, he was feeling merely awful rather than ready for burial. Kristi kissed him briefly then moved off in the direction where Masters was talking to several other rangers.

  Fuzzy Britches and the two dogs appeared from around a collapsing shelter.

  “Greetings, lazy human,” the cat said, getting in the first word.

  “Our master wakes at last,” Woggly said.

  “Jamie lazy,” Conan grinned, tongue lolling and tail wagging. He had obviously been cued by the two pets.

  “Don't listen to these two guys, Conan. They tell lies. Fuzz is the lazy one, and Woggly is almost as bad.” He began handing out food bars.

  “Fuzzy good. Woggly good,” Conan said.

  “I'm sure they told you so. Fuzz, I hear you caught a mouse last night. Are you still hungry?"

  “Hungry for more mice. Not this.” He sniffed disdainfully at the food bar, but began nibbling at it nevertheless. Jamie wondered if the cat and dog were as sore as he was, but decided not to ask. One or the other would be sure to tell him not to spend so much time in bed.

  Judy put in an appearance as he was finishing the last of his own ration. He thought he could detect a little puffiness in her eyes, but she seemed cheerful enough, so perhaps he was only imagining it. Just as she was greeting him, he noted with amusement that Maria Martinez was standing in the company of a male ranger while their shelters were re-folding. The ranger mystique strikes again, he thought.

  “Good morning,” Judy said. “Did you sleep well?"

  Jamie examined the statement and decided there was no recrimination in it. “Like a cat in the sun,” he said. “Is it time to go?"

  “Almost."

  “Do I have time to brush my teeth?"

  “Why don't you wait? We should stop at a safe watering place this morning, but if it's not accessible, you'll need the water for drinking. The floater won't be in until this evening."

  “I'll wait, but my mouth won't like it,” Jamie said, wondering why the floater didn't contact them more often but not wanting to ask.

  A short time later they were again on the move. There was no fog that morning but the wind had taken a turn and was blowing from the north. Before the sun was well up it became obscured by clouds. It began to drizzle, then to rain, and as the morning wore on the temperature began to drop. The March Northerly was unexpected; the expedition had been so hurriedly organized there had been no time to negotiate a weather forecast from the space controlled satellites.

  Jamie was glad he was wearing the ranger coveralls, even though the hood half blinded him and he was constantly having to balance the suit controls between shedding water and leaving it's thermosmotic properties intact. The colder weather had driven the insects back to shelter, though, and he was grateful for that.

  The march slowed as they neared the promised watering place. The trail led off the old highway for the first time that day, then across a shaky railroad trestle which the dogs checked carefully before allowing humans onto it. They crossed cautiously, then wound their way down toward the water beneath. They passed through a dense stand of water oak and vine-entangled shorter trees which Jamie didn't recognize but soon came to dislike for their propensity of slapping wet branches across his face, causing drops of cold water to drip into the neck of his suit. They emerged finally onto a thin sand bank fronting a small river. The sand extended no more than ten yards back from the bank and scarcely more along it. A tangle of willows surrounded the exposed sand. The water was brown with silt from erosion further upstream, but the small filters built into each canteen soon gave more than enough potable water. The animals drank directly from the stream, unconcerned with contamination. Fuzzy Britches actually relished the taste of the water, claiming it had more flavor than that of the Enclave.

  The stop was a short one; Masters seemed determined to put miles behind them despite the adverse weather, which only grew worse. The old highway was also impassable for the next few miles, necessitating travel through dense woods and scrub, with potholes and puddles and soggy mud not always visible. Jamie encountered a knee-deep, water covered depression and filled a boot despite the snugness of the shin closures. Thereafter he squished as he walked until the boot expelled the water and dried his foot, but not soon enough to keep him from developing a painful blister.

  The noon break was hardly worth the stop. There was no convenient shelter and the rain continued to pour down, making eating difficult, especially for the animals. Masters led them on after only fifteen minutes, promising a longer stop when the rain quit, which he prophesized it would. As the weary afternoon wore on, his prognostication proved correct. The clouds turned from stormy black to a sulky gray and the rain dwindled down to no more than a drizzle. At about the same time, the path led back onto the littered concrete again. He sent word back down the line to the tired scientists that a sheltered stopping place would soon be reached; Jamie and the other neophytes picked up their pace in anticipation of a rest.

  Jamie was simply enduring and trying to keep up with the others when several sharp barks from ahead interrupted his misery. Woggly and Conan, who were walking with him, perked up their ears but showed no real sign of alarm, and the column continued to move.

  “What is it?” Jamie asked.

  “Nothing serious. We'll see in a minute,” Judy replied, unconcerned. As they progressed, he heard more barks, each one closer, until Conan turned his head at an angle and gave a woof of his own. Below a growth of young pines in the median strip crouched a large bobcat, protecting the remains of a rabbit between it's paws. The cat gave off a continuing low growl, but made no threatening moves. Jamie could see by it's large head that it was of enhanced ancestry.

  “Just a cat,” Judy remarked. “The dogs are telling it that we're just passing through and not looking for trouble. It's a male, see?"

  “I see. He's a big one, isn't he?"

  “Uh huh. I wonder if that was an enhanced rabbit he's eating? Hard to tell with it's head missing. Rabbits are getting scarce around here—or at least we're not seeing many these days. They may just be concealing themselves better, though, since the cats have gotten so numerous. It's hard to tell sometime what's going on with the smart animals."

  “I wonder how it will all come out in the end?” Jamie asked idly.

  “So do I. Do you know, before we started on this trip, I requested a new pair of boots and couldn't get them? Some
thing to do with a shortage of the material they use to fabricate the osmolayer."

  “The same kind of thing happens in my department,” Jamie said. “I've had a new micromanipulator on order for over a year. My old one can hardly tell a gene from a geranium. If we could trade with the other Enclaves by ground as well as by air, it sure would help the supply situation. I wonder why they ever let the highways fall apart like this?” He waved a hand at the cracked and overgrown pavement they were traveling on.

  “I don't know. What history I've studied didn't go into the reasons that much. Maybe they just fell into disrepair when the small towns and cities got to be uninhabitable because of the animals."

  “I guess that must be part of the reason. And then maybe when the economy got so bad there wasn't enough money to pay for repairs. Still, I don't think they were in that bad of shape before parts for floaters started getting scarce."

  “It's not really my field,” Judy admitted, “but if you go back far enough, all our troubles started when so many enhanced animals got loose and started to breed. That's where it all began."

  “I understand that, but still—” His voice trailed off.

  Judy shrugged. “It's all ancient history so far as I'm concerned. Look, yonder's the off ramp. We'll be taking a break down below."

  “I'm ready."

  Perversely, even the drizzle stopped once they had wound their way down and around to the shelter of a half collapsed overpass, but Jamie and the other scientists were grateful for the break regardless, if for no other reason than to shed their packs for awhile. Fuzzy Britches and Princess appeared, changing positions with the dogs again in some sort of rotation system of their own.

  Captain Masters came over to the scientists while they were stretching stiff, sore bodies. He still wore his pack, as oblivious to the extra weight as if it were filled with air. “Are you people doing OK?” He grinned sympathetically, remembering his own military training as a youth.

  “Pads sore,” Fuzzy Britches complained before any human had a chance to speak. He rolled over onto his back and waved all four paws in the air. Masters bent to examine them, then turned to Jamie.

  “Check with Kristi; if I know her, she brought something along for Princess. Maybe she has enough to spare.” He looked down at Fuzzy Britches, still lying upended. “Little cats like you have a hard time if they're not used to walking this much."

  “Us little people have a hard time, too,” Maria Martinez said sharply.

  “I know you do, but my orders are plain: we must travel as fast as possible.” He spoke in a reasonable, soothing tone of voice.

  “Why couldn't we have just waited and come by floater?” Drewson asked, rubbing at his shoulders.

  Masters stroked his chin, where a thin white stubble was beginning to show. “You could have if there was any certainty about where we are going and if we could totally depend on our communications, but we don't and we can't. Our gear is old and worn out; we haven't had any replacements in years. Besides that, we can't depend on the satellites for relay because we really don't care to let the space folk know what we're after just yet. And finally, we have to keep you close because we may need your expertise desperately before this is over."

  “Oh, all right, if we have to,” Maria said wearily. “How much further today?"

  “Not too far,” Masters answered amiably. “We have to allow time to contact the floater and let it get here before dark. They are mapping the route by air."

  “One more question,” Maria prompted, glancing down at her pack with undisguised hostility.

  “Sure, but make it short."

  “Are you conducting a search in the general vicinity of our destination, just in case there is something we can identify by air?"

  “John Whitmire tells me we are, but so far, no results; at least as of last night when I talked to him. In any case, an air search has to be carried out with caution. It may be that a floater would be welcomed with open arms—or paws—or tentacles, but then again, it might not; it could scare the very parties we're hunting for into hiding. We just don't know enough to be sure. Furthermore, based on the time it took Conan to reach here, we're talking about a circle with a radius of fifty miles or more as our probable goal. You see the difficulties?"

  “I do now. It still doesn't make that pack any lighter, but I can make it, I guess."

  “Then let's be on our way."

  The ranger captain's “not too far” proved to be six or seven more weary miles, but fortunately, most of it was easy, keeping to the ruined highway rather than having to beat their way through woods and brush. Even so, Jamie and Fuzzy Britches were both limping and struggling to keep up by the time they finally halted.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 13

  Jamie spotted the floater as a speck in the distance and watched from a comfortable seat on a recently fallen tree as it slowly approached. It descended rapidly once the group was located, obviously trying to conserve power. With the landing skids down, it looked somewhat like a streamlined bathtub with a bubble canopy, bulging large at the front, like a wingless four-legged beetle, with the power gathering antennas extending forward like feelers. In came in close to camp and he felt his hair stand on end as he was brushed with a backwash of magnetic flux. The floater carried a re-chargeable power cell, augmented by solar panels. In flight, those power sources were supplemented by conversion of ambient magnetism, but that only served to extend it's range; the conversion process was simple and not efficient enough to power the craft alone. Floaters were the workhorses of air transport between the Enclaves, but like so many other items, materials to manufacture and repair them were scarce. All but unnoticed by most citizens, their numbers had dwindled over the last decade, with a subsequent decline in commerce.

  Fuzzy Britches was lying on his side, in obvious pain from his sore pads. They were abraded, but there were no obvious cuts or wounds. Jamie was soothing him with petting and chin scratching while Woggly tried to help by licking his feet. Fuzzy Britches doubted if that was of any benefit other than temporary relief, but appreciated the dog's efforts. Kristi was with Masters and one of the sergeants, conferring with the two man floater crew and Jamie didn't want to interrupt her to ask about medicine for the cat.

  Judy saw what he was doing and snapped her fingers. She dug into her pocket and brought out a small tube of ointment. “Sorry, I forgot; Kristi said to give you this."

  “Thanks.” Jamie examined the label listing the ingredients and found himself no wiser, but the directions were clear. He applied the ointment to all four of Fuzzy Britches’ pads, then took his boot off and examined the blister on his own heel.

  Judy squatted down and peered at it. “Hold your foot out and I'll fix it for you.” There was a brief stab of pain which made him wince, then she applied a medicated stickpad and slapped his leg. “All done. You'll have a callous there by morning. Isn't science wonderful?"

  “Wonderful,” Fuzzy Britches agreed, rolling to his feet.

  “Take it easy, Fuzz. No mouse hunting tonight,” Jamie warned.

  “Maybe get a rabbit. It smelled good,” the cat said, referring to the bobcat they had passed.

  “You better leave the rabbits to Wog. From what I saw, the ones around here are as big as you are."

  “Not smart like us,” Fuzzy Britches said.

  “If we're so smart, what are we doing here?"

  The cat couldn't find a ready answer for that one. He was still enjoying the trek, but like Jamie, he realized now that his previous assumptions about life in the wilds were far removed from the reality.

  * * * *

  Jamie was stretched out on the ground, nearly asleep, by the time Kristi finished her consultations and returned. “Did you get the ointment I sent over for Fuzz?” She asked, picking up his shelter half and melding it with hers.

  “Yes, feels good,” Fuzzy Britches opened his eyes long enough to answer, then immediately went back to sleep. Woggly woke him again by snuffling in his fa
ce, then he and Lady pushed into the readied shelter, carefully wiping their paws at the entrance. Conan followed, imitating their actions. Fuzzy Britches yawned and stretched, then he and Princess trailed Jamie and Kristi inside. A wet animal smell permeated the air but soon disappeared.

  While they were removing their boots, Jamie asked, “What was the consultation about? Anything new?"

  “No, we were just checking coordinates and putting them into the computers. Here, I brought you a present.” She passed over a small chocolate bar.

  “My God!” Jamie exclaimed. “Where did you get this? Thanks.” He broke off small pieces for the pets to sample and popped the rest of the bar into his mouth.

  Kristi smiled at his thoughtfulness in sharing with the animals. His rapport with his pets, as well as those of others, was one of his traits which attracted her. She loved her own pets and treated them as equals other than in the military guise as commanding officer, but had about decided years ago that her attitude was generally an attribute of women rather than men. She thought most men tended toward a master complex and it pleased her that she saw no signs of it in Jamie. “One of the floater pilots is a friend of mine. She got the candy from a South American sailor last week when his ship was docked. Enjoy it; you may never see any more."

  “Is it that bad down south?"

  “Bad enough. Chocolate production has been discontinued every where now, she thinks. Contact with the Bogota Enclave has been lost. I guess the food rioting got out of hand."

  “Good news from everywhere."

  “Yeah. Damn, if those lab boys had just been content to work on the animals’ intelligence and left their longevity and resistance to disease alone, we could get control back with a plague of some sort."

  “Sure, but who would have bought a pet that might up and die on them? Besides, ‘if onlys’ are only good for historians. They don't help the present at all."

  “You're right, Jamie. I shouldn't let it bother me. What's done is done.” She glanced at her thumbnail. “No sense in getting undressed. We go on guard duty in a couple of hours. Second shift tonight."