Pat's smile broadened.
"Why thank you, kind sir,” Pat replied in an exaggerated southern accent. "You say the kindest things."
Remembering why she was here, Allan began to review the case with her, telling her how well the wound had healed and what to look for over the next couple of days. Pat listened intently, occasionally asking a question for clarification. When he was finished telling her how to care for Lucky, there was a pregnant pause.
"Well, I guess I'll go tell Dawn to bring Lucky up to you,” Allan said awkwardly, but didn't move to the door. Instead, he stood frozen in place, the fluttering of his stomach intensifying. Hell, I'm going to blow it. Go ahead, just ask her. What's the worst she can say? She can say no. She can say how inappropriate and unprofessional it is for a veterinarian to ask a client out. She could say . . .
"Is there anything else?" Pat's words interrupted Allan's argument with himself.
"No. Yes. Well, what I mean to say is no. That's all I think you need to know about Lucky. Do you have any other questions?"
Pat smiled. "Well, yes. There is one question. I was wondering what there might be for Lucky and me to do on a Saturday night. I mean, we could just stay out at the campsite all night, but I thought if there was some place I could take him, I might find his owner or someone who would like to take care of him."
"Well, most people will be at the high school football game on Saturday. We're playing Morganton. They're one of our biggest rivals. I don't know. You might have some problem getting Lucky through the gate, but if you want to give it a try, I'd be happy to go with you. I'm pretty sure I could convince them to let Lucky in."
"Would you do that?" Pat asked. "That would be great. I haven't been to a high school game in ages."
"Do you enjoy football?" Allan asked, surprised at how easy it suddenly was to talk.
"No, not really. I mean, I'm not a great fan of the game, but I do love the excitement that's around it -- especially with the right company."
Allan found himself blushing. "Well, is it a date?"
"It's a date. Why don't I just meet you here at the clinic around 6:30? That'll give us plenty of time to get to the game by 7:00."
"That's fine," Allan replied as he started to open the door to escort Pat into the lobby. Then he stopped, a confused look on his face. "How did you know the game started at 7:00?"
It was Pat's turn to blush. "Why I believe it came up when I was talking to Dawn a few minutes ago." She patted his cheek as she walked by. "See you Saturday."
Allan huddled in the front seat of his Chevy Blazer, his rifle still in its case in the seat beside him. He had the engine running and the heat cut on full blast, but so far the stream of warm air had done little to warm the cab. He shuddered inside the down vest. Six in the morning was his accustomed time to rise during the week, but normally he spent the first hour warming himself next to the wood stove as he made coffee and toast. He hadn't realized how important that time was to his tired body. As he shifted in his seat, he could feel the familiar twinge along his lower back. It felt like a rusty door hinge in need of a good spraying of WD-40.
I'm like an old car, he thought. Fine once I warm up but not worth a plug nickel until the oil begins to flow. He thought of waiting in the clinic but as it turned out, he didn't have any cases to check over. There was a thick stack of paperwork waiting on his desk, but it would just have to continue waiting.
A beam of light from an approaching car drew Allan back to the real world. He glanced at his watch — 5:58. It was one thing you could count on about Bo. When it came to hunting or fishing, he was never late. Now bringing in his dogs for heartworm testing, that was a different matter.
Allan turned off the engine and grabbed the gun case. Hopefully, Bo's truck would be warmer since he had driven from across town. He locked the Chevy’s door and waved to Bo as he pulled up beside him, then ran around to the passenger side of the brick red truck. He tried the door before remembering that it couldn't be opened from the outside. He waited while Bo leaned over and opened it.
"Sorry about that, Doc. Been meaning to fix that thing one of these days."
Allan smiled to himself. The door hadn't worked for at least the last three years. Bo's remedy for fixing something was to come up with a pat excuse that could be used whenever needed. He climbed into the seat next to the large man and was surprised to find the cab colder than his own.
"Oh, by the way. The heater went on the fritz a few weeks ago. Gotta get it fixed when I take ol' Nellie in about the door." Bo jammed the truck in reverse and started to back out.
"We could take mine,” Allan offered hopefully.
“Nah, that's okay. Ol’ Nellie's feelings would get hurt and my reputation would never be the same if I was caught in one of those new fangled yuppy-mobiles. No offense, Doc."
Allan huddled deeper into his vest and stuck his hands into its pockets, seeking even the smallest pocket of warm air to thaw his numb fingers. "None taken, Bo,” he answered and watched as the fog from his breath collected on the windshield. Something told him it was going to be a long morning.
Allan glanced at Bo over the vest's collar. Bo was undoubtedly one of Waynesboro's most unique citizens. Despite all outward signs to the contrary, Bo was one of the richest and shrewdest businessmen in the county, possibly in the state. He'd made most of his money in real estate using his down-home-good-old-boy technique to keep his competition off stride. About the time they figured they had a real sucker, he usually found a way to turn the tables on them. Many a high roller from the big city had returned home with their tails between their legs and with an expensive lesson they'd not soon forget.
At the same time, Bo was one of the most honest men Allan had met. He shot from the hip; if he liked you, he would give you the shirt off his back. If not, you would know it within ten minutes of meeting him. Allan felt lucky that Bo had taken a shine to him from the first.
"Oh, we're going to get us a deer today, today . . . " Bo started singing off key. "A deer we're going to get, oh yeah . . ." Singing was not one of Bo's strong suits.
Allan smiled. Maybe the day wouldn't be such a chore after all.
It was around 7:30 or 8:00 when the buck appeared on the crest of the hill, less than fifty yards from where Allan sat huddled next to a tree. He had been instructed by Bo to climb in the tree, but had refrained. He wasn't sure his back was ready for such antics. He had just about dozed off when he heard the slight snap of the twig. He looked up, half expecting to see one of the other hunters approaching.
There it stood, silhouetted against the early morning sky. Allan counted at least ten points on its antlers, a marvelous specimen of deerhood. He raised his rifle and clicked off the safety. The deer remained frozen as though a statue one would place in the front yard. Allan squeezed the trigger, bracing himself for the kick of the gun. Then his finger froze just short of the critical point that would end the deer's life.
What are you doing, Doc? He asked himself. Going to kill yourself a deer, huh? Mind if I ask you why? You don't particularly care for venison, as I recollect. Maybe you're thinking of mounting that gorgeous head. You could place it in the reception area. That would sure impress your clients, wouldn't it? No? Well, how about over the fireplace where little TJ can look up every day and see it. What silent lesson would that be for the boy?
Allan lowered his rifle, but continued to stare at the deer. Go on, get outta here, he thought. The forest isn't safe today. Allan raised his arm, preparing to scare the buck away. The deer raised its head at the motion, a split second before the explosion of Bo's rifle stopped Allan's heart for a few seconds and the buck's heart forever.
The buck leapt in the air as though to run down the ridge, but stumbled on the third step then stumbled again, falling forward on the carpus of its right then left front foot, tried to run that way but found it impossible. It fell into a clump of bushes and lay motionless.
Allan stood frozen to the spot, wondering from the pain in h
is chest whether he'd been shot in the same moment. He finally realized he had stopped breathing, took a gasp, then another, like an old car in need of a jump-start. Everything appeared in slow motion for the next few seconds.
He heard Bo yell, "I got me a good on' I sure did." Then Bo appeared from the brush about twenty yards to Allan's left, running up the slope towards his kill.
Allan suddenly felt nauseous. So this was deer hunting. Now he knew why every year he had been so reluctant to accept Bo's invitation. As he clicked the safety back on, the thought flashed through his mind to keep it off and see how good a shot he was on the moving target in front of him. He leaned the gun against the thick oak he'd been using for support and began walking slowly up the hill.
Why was he walking in that direction? Did he think he could save the fallen deer? Maybe give it mouth-to-mouth until they got it to his clinic. Do emergency thoracic surgery to recover the bullet and sew up the gaping hole it had dug through the heart. No. He knew Bo's shot had been too perfect. The kill had been virtually instantaneous. The deer was dead in its tracks, the last few steps more of a reflex than anything else. Still he wanted to see -- to be certain the deer was dead.
Like he had had to be certain when Laura and Todd were killed. Had insisted on going to the county morgue to view the charred remains. Had insisted on studying the dental charts to verify what was no longer apparent by viewing the bodies. He had to be sure that the blackened twisted logs lying in the morgue were his wife and child -- were the remains of the two people who, only hours before, had been his every reason for living.
Within ten minutes, the other hunters had gathered around the carcass of the dead deer. There were Jake and Jeff Hawkins, father and son. It was Jeff's first hunting trip and at sixteen years of age, to be this close to a fallen deer was a rare treat. Suddenly, he had a new hero besides his dad: Bo Rawlins, the great white hunter.
The other two men, Lee Reynolds and Larry Withers, were regulars with Bo. They immediately began to compare the most recent kill with the dozens of other deer Bo or one of them had killed through the years. After about ten minutes of jarring, during which it was decided that this was about the largest and most handsome buck to date, Bo pulled out his hunting knife and wiped the blade on his pant's leg.
"Well, if we want to get any decent meat out of this here carcass, I guess we'd best get with cleaning and gutting it. Lee, how about you and Larry help hold him steady while I slit the belly open. We'll field dress it here and then take it in to Bryce's Grocers for him to finish the job."
The two men stepped to either side of the deer and rolled it over on its back. Starting at the sternum, Bo expertly stabbed the belly and sawed his way down to the pubic bone. As he did so, the belly glistened open. They rolled the carcass to one side, and the contents of the abdomen slithered out onto the leaf-covered ground.
Allan had seen dozens of autopsies on animals both in vet school and since. Already the procedure seemed to diminish the magnificence of the animal. Less than an hour before, he'd stood watching the deer, awe-struck by its regal beauty. Now, it was rapidly turning into a side of meat: a slab of dead, gamey tasting meat.
He started to turn away from the activity, suddenly disinterested in the hunt. But a brief glimpse of a familiar white glistening lump pulled his eyes back to the contents of the abdomen.
"What is that?" Jeff Hawkins asked as he leaned closer to the spectacle in front of him, pointing to the white mass that had drawn Allan's attention. As he pointed, the contents continued to roll onto the ground revealing four similar lumps -- larvae.
"Must be some sort of worm or parasite,” said his father, the least knowledgeable of the group when it came to animal innards.
"No type of worm I've ever seen,” replied Bo, as he poked gingerly at one of the lumps with his knife.
The larvae were smaller than the first set Allan had seen. He estimated they were not more than four inches across. Immature, not fully developed, he thought. Probably won't live. May not have any signs of life yet. He continued to study the small lumps as each pair of eyes turned to him for an answer to Jeff's question.
Noticing he had suddenly become the center of attention, he stooped down on his haunches and studied the lumps closer, as though seeing them for the first time. He took Bo's knife from him and pushed one of the larvae away from the others, rolling it over as he did.
"Not any type of parasite I've ever seen either, but that doesn't mean a whole lot. Deer autopsies are not my forte. They could be some form of liver fluke or some such that I'm not familiar with. Strange, they're floating free in the belly like this."
"Well, the important question, Doc, do you think the meat will be okay to eat?" Bo asked in a worried voice.
"I can't say for certain, Bo, but I don't see any reason why not,” Allan replied. His mind was suddenly racing. What if they find out about the other larvae? They'll find out about Todd -- they'll take him away and study him. Don't be a fool. How are they going to find out? Just take care of these larvae and everyone will forget about them in a few days.
"Go ahead and finish dressing the animal, Bo. I'll take these back to the office and do some checking into them. I'll let you know if I find out anything."
One of the men handed him a plastic bag left over from a couple of biscuits packed by his wife. Allan placed the four small lumps into it, and pressed it shut.
How many more animals are running through the countryside with larvae inside them? Allan wondered. What would happen if they started popping up elsewhere? Dawn would certainly hear about it sooner or later and make the connection with Molly's strange C-section.
Could he cover it all up? Could he shelter Todd from discovery? What would he do if they found out that his young nephew wasn't what he seemed? As Allan walked back to Bo's truck, he had the strangest thought of all. What would Pat think of what he had done?
High School Football
Saturday, Nov. 6
As Allan pulled into the parking lot of his clinic, the alarm of his quartz watch beeped six o'clock. Pat's car was already parked near the front entrance, but Pat and Lucky were nowhere to be seen. He pulled his car next to hers and cut off the engine but left his lights on.
As he opened his car door, the inside light highlighted the bright bouquet of flowers resting in the passenger's seat. Dumb. Bringing flowers were dumb, Allan thought. She'll think I'm a country hick. Long stem roses might do, but not these flowers. The local florists had closed early because of the game. Their son was one of the star defensive backs and so despite the loss of business, they always closed early for home games.
So Allan had had to settle for an assortment of cut flowers from the largest grocery store in town. She'll hate them. I just know she will. Maybe I should just take them into the clinic for the staff. Dawn and Marva would like them.
Allan started back to the car to fetch the flowers just as Lucky bounded around the side of the clinic with Pat not far behind. Too late. If I try to tell her the flowers aren't for her, she'll really think I'm a jerk. Relax, man. Maybe she'll like them.
Pat waved to him as she trotted up to the cars. Her cheeks were flushed from running in the cool night air. She was wearing a thick bright turquoise sweater with a full turtleneck and corduroy pants. Allan thought she was about the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Why in the world was she going out with me? He wondered, then mentally kicked himself for such a thought. After all, he wasn't such a bad date. He was still young, reasonably attractive, and a successful doctor and businessman. There were dozens of eligible young ladies who would be insanely jealous of Pat when they saw the two of them walk into the football stadium. Many of them were his clients. One of Dawn's favorite games was to point out to her boss which of his young and sometimes not-so-young lady clients were flirting with him.
Well, here goes nothing, he thought as he reached into the car and withdrew the flowers.
"Ahh, how sweet,” Pat said as she broke out into a gorgeous smile. "I
t's been quite a while since someone has given me flowers." She slipped up next to him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then twirled around him, her arms grasping the flowers to her chest and Lucky prancing beside her, barking.
"It's been such a great day, and now I get to cap it off with flowers, a football game, and being escorted by one of Waynesboro's most eligible men."
Allan blushed. "Just how long did you and Dawn talk on Friday?"
"Oh, long enough. I had to find out if it was safe to accept your invitation,” Pat replied with a light giggle. "She assured me that it was although she cautioned me that I might develop several lifelong enemies of the female persuasion."
The three of them piled in Allan's car and drove to the game. As they approached the high school, the traffic became increasingly thick.
"Wow. I didn't know there were so many people in Waynesboro,” Pat remarked as they waited for one of the local police officers to wave their line of traffic forward.
"There isn't, really. A lot of these people have driven in especially for the game. This is the biggest game of the year. Morganton is just up the road about thirty miles. Their high school is almost twice our size but for some reason every year, our boys give them a run for their money." Allan gazed in the rear view mirror at the lone line of lights behind him. "And I imagine nearly half of these cars are from Morganton's fans. They always have a good showing."
Pat turned in her seat to Lucky who was sitting quietly in the back seat and patted his head. "This looks like the perfect place to find your owner or to find someone who would like to be your owner."
"How did he do today?" Allan asked.
"He was marvelous. He's obviously been well taken care of. He's very obedient and learns fast. In some ways, I'd like to keep him myself but with my schedule, I just don't see how I could."
They arrived at the stadium with ten minutes to spare. "Let's see how much clout as a veterinarian I have in this town. Dogs are normally excluded from being part of the Waynesboro cheering section, but I made a couple of phone calls late Friday and explained to Frank Whiting, the head of security, what we wanted to do." Allan reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pair of dark sunglasses.
FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1) Page 10
