Apollo rose and walked to the back door, scratching at it. He waited for Emmet to open it to begin his nightly perimeter check. The back door of their house opened out to a fenced-in yard, with three cypress trees dotted throughout it. Behind the yard was a canal, and so any home with outdoor pets had to have a secure fence to keep the alligators out. Of course this didn’t prevent the little black mutt from smelling nearby gators and barking his head off.
Emmet cleaned up the kitchen and repacked his books in his backpack, ignoring the green file that was still there. Until he figured out his next step, his plan was to pretend it didn’t exist. At least until morning.
Emmet wasn’t sure how much time had passed with Apollo outside. Apollo sometimes became fixated on a leaf or a bird feather that might have floated into the yard. It often took upward of half an hour to thoroughly smell whatever delicacy he may have uncovered.
While brushing his teeth, he thought Apollo made a funny noise from outside. Not a bark of fear or pain, but a strange yip. Emmet rinsed his mouth and went to the back door. When he flipped the switch beside it, two powerful outdoor floodlights snapped on. His dad had gotten them installed after Dr. Catalyst had kidnapped him. The lights were powerful enough to illuminate every corner of the backyard.
“Apollo?” Emmet called. He stepped through the door onto the small concrete slab that served as a patio. There was no answering bark. Apollo usually appeared whenever Emmet called him. “Apollo?” he called again.
His eyes traveled to every corner of the yard. He didn’t see the dog anywhere.
But he heard something.
In the darkness beyond the fence, down in the canal, a powerful boat engine roared to life. Emmet had been in Florida long enough to know the sound of the throttle being engaged and heard the propellers churn through the water. He sprinted toward the fence as fast as his legs would carry him, not thinking of any danger that may lie in the blackness beyond it. He leapt and pulled himself to the fence top in time to see the running lights of a boat headed south, disappearing around a bend of the canal.
“APOLLO!” he shouted.
DR. CATALYST WAS SPEAKING OUT LOUD TO HIMSELF, rehearsing for the next recording he would soon release to the media. The boat was docked in the river that ran right past Undersea Land. He had carried the dog inside. He believed it was named Apollo, if he remembered correctly from the audio recordings from his bugs at NPS headquarters. It was stirring now, the effects of the tranquilizer beginning to wear off.
The cage trap now rested on the concrete. Dr. Catalyst opened a small door on the side and placed the dog on a blanket he had laid on the bottom.
With his tablet he activated the winch, and the cage rose in the air. Another touch and it swung over the tank until it hung suspended, ten feet above the swimming creatures.
“I am not a monster,” Dr. Catalyst said to the empty aquarium. “I am no criminal. It is not I, nor the creatures I have created, who have damaged our environment to the point of no repair. In my quest for change I have used controversial methods. But it has never been my intention to harm anyone.” He paced back and forth, repeating the lines over and over. In one of his previous media statements, he had asked for the public to join him. His hope had been for his supporters to get in the way of the authorities. But so far, only a few fringe environmental groups had offered token support. He was sure it was because he was being unfairly portrayed by the media.
“There is a saying that desperate times call for desperate measures. I have made my conditions clear: Close the Everglades to the public. Cease all efforts to reclaim the Pterogators from the park. Close all beaches, and allow my newest species to clear the reefs of the destructive lionfish. If that does not happen by ten A.M. tomorrow, the automated timer above this tank will open the floor of the cage. I do not need to provide the graphic details of what will happen next. I ask the members of the media to use restraint in showing this video to children. It was not my wish to take this drastic step, but I have been given no choice. Ten A.M. tomorrow.”
When he was ready, he activated the wireless video cameras. The split screens showed a view from the cage floor into the tank below. The water was a foamy mass of swirling fins, tails, and teeth. A longer view showed Apollo, who had come groggily to his feet. Still dazed, he was sniffing around this strange new enclosure. A third shot, at an angle, showed the cage hanging above the tank. Apollo was clearly visible inside it.
After recording several minutes of video, Dr. Catalyst finally pushed the audio-record button and recited his comments. Once completed, he replayed them. The program allowed him to overlay the audio with the video images of Apollo in the cage and the Muraecudas swimming below him.
When the video was done to his satisfaction, he emailed it to his list of media contacts, including Dr. Geaux’s personal NPS address. There was no way it could be traced back to him.
He activated the winch and lowered the cage safely to the ground beside the tank. There was no reason to leave the pooch suspended there. Unlikely as it was, something could happen to the mechanism, and there was no need for an unnecessary accident.
Apollo barked louder, growling low in his throat as Dr. Catalyst approached the cage.
“Easy, boy,” he said calmly. “It’s all right. I’ve got a nice, cozy room for you to stay in. Food, water, a bone.”
His words had no effect. Apollo was angry. Snarling and snapping now any time Dr. Catalyst squatted next to the cage and reached for the latch on the door. It was almost amusing, he thought, the amount of indignation such a small creature could show. As the dog seemed to calm for a moment, he lifted the latch and opened the door.
An explosive, ink-black ball of angry fur catapulted out of the cage and a mouthful of sharp teeth sank into Dr. Catalyst’s injured hand. He screamed and stood, trying to free himself, but the dog’s grip was unbreakable.
He shouted in pain and dropped his tablet. It bounced and clattered on the ground. With his free hand he clawed at the dog’s jaws, desperately trying to get loose, but Apollo was committed and would not let go. Waves of agony cascaded up his arm.
“LET GO!” he bellowed. To his complete surprise, Apollo did just that, dropping the short distance to the ground, landing deftly on his feet. He darted quickly behind Dr. Catalyst and sank his jaws into the calf muscle of his right leg.
Dr. Catalyst howled and danced and shook, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t break free.
“Ow! OW!” he shouted again, but he was in an awkward position and finally tripped over his own feet, tumbling to the ground and striking his forehead on the hard cement floor. Dr. Catalyst didn’t believe his day could get much worse, but it did. Apollo let go and backed away, crouched and growling.
What the doctor did not know is that when Apollo was a puppy and Emmet was a little boy, Apollo’s favorite game in the world wasn’t fetch, it was “grab and go.” Emmet would throw a ball or a stick, and instead of returning it, Apollo would entice his young master to pursue him through the yard or field.
The trouble was Apollo enjoyed playing “grab and go” at the worst times, with the most inconvenient objects. Anything in the house that fell to the floor was fair game. Apollo would snatch it up with his jaws and be off like the wind.
As Apollo spotted Dr. Catalyst’s tablet computer now lying on the floor, the old game kicked in. He grabbed the tablet in his jaws.
And he went.
EMMET FELT WEAK. HIS DAD CAME STAGGERING OUT OF the house at the sound of his shouts, still half-asleep. Emmet yelled for him to get the truck and try to follow the boat by road, but his dad first stumbled around the yard, making sure there wasn’t a hole in the fence that Apollo had dug under somewhere.
By the time they were in the truck and speeding along the streets paralleling the canal, there was no sign of the boat.
As they drove back toward their house, Dr. Doyle called the police on his cell phone. He put it on speaker so he could call hands-free.
“
This is 9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?” the operator said.
“I need to report a stolen dog,” Dr. Doyle said.
“Sir, this is an emergency line,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Do you have an actual emergency?”
“Yes, it’s an actual emergency! Dr. Catalyst stole our dog! Now get the police to put out an APB on —” Emmet shouted.
“Who is speaking?” the operator asked. “This is a line for emergencies only. If you need to contact the police department for nonemergencies, that number is —”
“Shut up!” Emmet yelled. Apollo being gone was starting to make him feel stunned and helpless, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Dr. Catalyst stole our dog. His name is Apollo. He’s a black —”
The operator cut him off. “Young man, if you’re playing a prank, there are very serious consequences for that.”
Dr. Doyle clicked off the phone.
“Dad!” Emmet yelled at him.
“Hold on, son,” Dr. Doyle said. He punched another button on the phone. It rang twice, and then a very sleepy Dr. Geaux answered.
“Hello?” Except to Emmet it sounded like “Smello.”
“Rosalita? It’s Benton. Sorry to bother you, but we might have a problem.”
“Dr. Geaux! Dr. Catalyst took Apollo!” Emmet shouted.
Dr. Geaux was awake now. And her voice came through the cell phone loud and clear.
“Tell me what happened,” she said.
Emmet repeated the details of the last few minutes.
“All right. Go home. I’m going to get the task force on this. I’ll get the Coast Guard to bottle up the river so no boat can get through from the canals to the bay. Emmet, I’m going to need you to think about the boat. I realize it was dark, but how big was it? How many lights did it have? Was anything about the size or shape unusual? I know it’s hard, but try to remember anything that might help. I need to hang up now. I’ll be at your house in twenty minutes.”
The truck bounced through the streets. Emmet begged his dad into following the canal one more time, but they didn’t see anything. After fifteen minutes more of fruitless searching, Dr. Doyle turned the truck around and they sped home.
Emmet didn’t know what to do. Part of him felt like crying. Another part of him felt like punching something. When they finally reached their street, there were two police cars in front of their house. Dr. Geaux arrived almost simultaneously with them. One of the police officers was Stuke’s dad, who had gotten himself assigned to the task force. Dr. Geaux huddled with them for a minute or two, then one of the cars sped off. The other remained behind to keep watch while the three adults and Emmet went inside.
“Emmet,” Dr. Geaux, said, “I understand how worried you must be. You know how much I love Apollo. But I’ve got to ask you again, so Officer Stukaczowski hears it as well. Please tell us exactly what happened.”
Emmet did, telling them about doing his homework, letting Apollo outside, and the strange yelp he made.
“Did he sound hurt?” Lieutenant Stukaczowski asked.
Emmet thought for a minute. “No. Once he got his paw caught in the screen door at our old house, and he squealed. He makes a different sound if something hurts him. This was like he was … surprised. I didn’t … I should have … If I’d gone outside right then …” Emmet couldn’t help it. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. Stukaczowski put his hand on Emmet’s shoulder.
“Emmet, you listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. If it was this creep claiming to be Dr. Catalyst, and I’m betting it was, we’re dealing with a nut job. What you’re describing sounds like your dog was sedated. Our Animal Control officers use tranquilizer guns, and when a dog is shot with one it often startles them. They make a little yelp, and they go to sleep. This is good news. It means whoever took Apollo, your dog’s probably okay. You didn’t hear a gunshot, so my guess is he’s keeping him to force us to do something.”
“Like what?” Emmet asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Lieutenant Stukaczowski said. “But I’m pretty sure we’ll know soon. In the meantime, I want you to look at something.” Using his phone, he pulled up a screen that showed the silhouettes of several different types of boats. Handing it to Emmet, he said, “Can you scroll through these and tell which one most closely resembles the boat you saw?”
Emmet looked through the images and found one matching the shape of the boat he’d seen in the canal.
Lieutenant Stukaczowski took it back from him, a puzzled expression on his face. “A fishing boat? Why would he be using a fishing boat?”
“Maybe to blend in,” Dr. Geaux said. “Think about it. He’s not in the Everglades. His airboat was a lot easier to hide out there. If he uses a really fast or fancy boat right now, it might call unwanted attention. One of the smaller commercial fishing craft … it might be slower, but nobody is going to pay attention to it. And he’s probably modified it, boosted the engine with all his high-tech gizmos.
“Whoever this is —” Dr. Geaux went on.
“It’s him,” Emmet interrupted her.
“Emmet, I know your opinion, but we’ve talked about this. The blood we found at the accident site … it’s likely the real Dr. Catalyst had an accomplice, or someone who’s taking up his cause. A fanatic who went to that much trouble, dealing with such dangerous creatures, would have someone to take over in case something happened —”
“It’s him!” Emmet shouted.
The adults in the room went silent. Dr. Geaux looked down at the floor.
“Emmet,” his dad said, “I know you’re upset. And I want Apollo back, too. But you don’t need to speak —”
“Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” he shouted. “I was there! I looked into his eyes! So did Calvin! If it were me running around like this loon, doing all this crazy stuff, I’d have a plan in place to make it look like I’d died if I needed to get away. Haven’t any of you ever been to the movies? The criminal always fakes his death!”
“Emmet, I’m sorry, hon,” Dr. Geaux said. “But …”
Emmet would hear no more of it. Without another word he stormed away to his room and slammed the door. Inside he threw himself onto his bed. He couldn’t stop the tears. It felt like he was losing everything. First his mom, then Montana, and now Apollo.
When he had finally cried himself out, he sat at his desk and plugged in his laptop. He went to his school website and looked at the staff listings. After all this time, he didn’t even know Dr. Newton’s first name. Everyone just called him Dr. Newton or the Newt. In the staff directory he discovered it was Peter. A few more minutes searching Florida City and Dr. Peter Newton in a search engine gave him an address.
He could hear the adults talking in the room outside his door. They were giving him space. Emmet dug through his backpack and found some spare change and his city-bus pass. He stuffed them into the pockets of his cargo shorts, along with his cell phone and charger.
As quietly as possible, he lifted up his bedroom window, removed the screen, and slipped out into the night. He cut through the backyard of his next-door neighbors to avoid the police car in front of the house. Then, when he made it out onto the sidewalk, he started running.
He was going to pay a visit to Dr. Newton. Or should he call him Dr. Catalyst? Emmet wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing.
He was getting his dog back.
DR. CATALYST LIFTED HIMSELF TO HIS KNEES. HIS HEAD hurt and his hand was bleeding. He reached back and felt the spot on his calf where he’d been bitten. His fingers came away with more blood on them. How had such a small dog done such damage? It felt as if a Rottweiler had attacked him.
There was no chance the dog could get out of the park. The fence surrounding it was twelve feet high. Still, he did not look forward to chasing it down. The mutt was apparently both vicious and devious.
As he climbed slowly to his feet, he looked around for his tablet. It was protected by a hard shell case, but he was using it to run hi
s systems and needed to make sure it wasn’t damaged. But he didn’t see it. The first rows of bleacher seats in the aquarium were a few feet away. Perhaps it had tumbled beneath them. Groaning with the effort, he sank to his knees again and searched carefully beneath the metal benches.
The tablet was not there.
It was gone. Had the dog picked the tablet up and run off with it?
“Doggie?” he called to the darkened aquarium.
There was no sound. The noise from the pumps and filters powering the tank would have drowned out a response, anyway.
“Apollo? Here, boy!” he shouted again.
Nothing but silence.
He wasn’t too concerned. All the doors leading into and out of the aquarium were closed and locked.
Still, hunting down the dog was going to be a waste of time, and he needed to get back to work. For that, he needed his tablet. He would go to the operations room, turn on all the lights in the building, and track down the dog.
An open doorway behind the tank led to a room filled with power switches and a console with equipment that controlled the pumps and filters. Dr. Catalyst flipped on the switches, and the room, as well as the rest of the aquarium, lit up in the harsh glow of fluorescent lights. Dr. Catalyst heard a soft thump and thought he felt a brief gust of air. He glanced beneath the equipment console as he made his way through the room. Even with the lights on, Apollo was completely black and would be difficult to see in the shadows.
Then the bumping sound again. And again. When he reached the end of the room he found the source. It was the door that entered from the outside. The door he used to get to and from the aquarium. The way he’d entered when he carried the unconscious dog inside a short while ago. Apparently it had not latched completely shut. Apollo was loose in the park.
Still Dr. Catalyst did not panic. Removing his phone from his pocket, he launched a GPS application that would track the location of the tablet. He had planned for every contingency.
On his phone’s screen a blue map of the area appeared. He zoomed in until the map showed the park. In the center of the map a red dot was moving in a zigzag pattern. It was Apollo, running around wildly with his tablet.
Feeding Frenzy Page 7
