SHORT STORIES OF
TIME TRAVEL
AND
DIMENSIONAL JOURNEYS
DOUGLAS W. DAECH
Copyright 2012 Douglas Daech
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INDEX
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The Catcher
The Romeo Project
The One That Got Away
Stealing Time
Bloodline
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The Catcher
I had been a dog catcher for longer then I liked to admit. Still, there was something good to be said about keeping a job for a long time. For over twenty-five years I had supported my family. We had a small home on Chestnut Street where we raised our son, Carl. He was in his teens when I started getting second thoughts about my job, but I was in my late forties, and figured it was too late for a change. I kept my restlessness to myself and ignored my desire for change. The job had been good to me and we were doing pretty well.
I had a small office where I wrote reports at the Michigan Humane Society on Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit. It was a campus of brick buildings with kennels, yards and offices, but I was on the street most of my time. My office on wheels was a white Ford pick-up with three animal pens in the back bed. It was nothing fancy but it got the job done. Part of me though I should be working in the office full time, but I really wasn’t the desk job type of person. Twenty five years was a long time to be chasing animals and I was getting a little bored with it, too old as well. On many mornings I felt the aches and pains from the activities of the previous day. It never used to get the best of me like that. I used to always be on top of my game.
The morning of June 12th started like any other day. I punched in and got my report on strays and nuisance dogs. I'd have to keep an eye out for them. There were always a few calls for neglected animals to check out too. They usually have to be taken care of first, but on that morning I had a call that took precedence over all the others. Something had happened that required me to meet the police on scene. My guess was that there had been a dog bite, or there was a dangerous animal terrorizing a mail carrier. Usually it was a matter of catching the animal and controlling it long enough to get it into one of the pens on the truck. I carried a variety of tools to help with that. A control rod with a lasso, nets and a muzzle were the main elements in my arsenal, but I did have a tranquilizer gun too. With a little luck, the lasso stick usually did the trick.
It was a little early for excitement, I had hardly sipped my morning coffee, but it was something different for a change. I jumped into the truck and headed to the scene. It was in an area that frequently had stray problems. I immediately saw the commotion in the carport of the St. Cyril Church. The old church had a double wide drive-thru carport for unloading at the entrance of the convent. Back in the days when this neighborhood was respectable, the building housed a number of nuns that worked in the Catholic school that was run by the church. Today, crime-scene ribbon roped off the carport and two police cruisers blocked the driveway. An ambulance blocked the street near the scene along with several other city vehicles. I added mine to the collection.
The amber morning sun shone on the yellowing brick building and made it look more ancient. Flaked teal paint from the seventies trimmed the building and contrasted it from the shining police cruisers with their flashing lights and chrome. The scene drew a small crowd of local residents from a line of houses that stood across the street. It was a poor, working-class neighborhood with one out of every ten homes vacant. Not long ago an auto plant, malls, and car dealerships supported the community but over the years things have changed. The plants have closed and most of the big employers have moved.
An officer managing the scene took my name and checked my ID. He gave me slip-on booties and rubber gloves so I didn’t contaminate any evidence. Whatever happened must have been serious enough to demand the standard crime scene procedure. In the far corner of the carport a group of officers gathered. Lying on the ground, just inside a bed of spring flowers, a body was being inspected by the coroner. When he looked up and saw me, he motioned for me to approach. One of the men in the group introduced himself.
“Hi, I’m Lieutenant Andrews.”
“Sam Baker” I said.
“The coroner had me give you a call because he thinks we have an animal attack here.” He guided me through the scene and to the body. “It looks like the attack started about six or seven feet from the body,” He said. There was an area on the wall with bloodstains, and the roadbed of the drive-thru carport held a small puddle of blood that smeared in the direction of the body.
As I approached the coroner, he looked up from his kneeling position in front of the body. “Assistant city coroner Dave Adams,” he said interrupting his work. He was documenting the position and condition of the body. I could see it was on its back and had what appeared to be a fatal neck wound. The full front of the shirt was in bloody tatters and the flesh of the shoulder and upper arm on the left was terribly torn.
“Hi, I’m Sam Baker, from Animal Control.” I had seen many animal attacks, but this was a bit more gruesome then I had ever seen. It looked more like a shotgun wound. “What makes you think this was an animal attack?”
He motioned for me to join him in the flowerbed and patiently started explaining. “When you examine the edges of the wounds you can see they are serrated and show teeth marks.” With a probe he pointed out the tell-tail serrated details indicating an animal attack. “Also, the bone shows some scratches in the periosteum. That’s the skin around the bone.” He added.
I agreed and commented it was more vicious then I had ever seen.
“It’s not a normal attack.” He confessed. “The animal did more than just attack, it appears to have fed.” With the probe, he pointed out tendons attached to the scapula and humorous that had the muscle torn and missing. “It looks like several ounces, maybe even a pound of meat has been removed.”
Realizing the horror of the situation for the first time, I looked at the face of the victim. It was a middle-aged man who was well groomed and apparently healthy. He was not overly slight or out of shape. The animal that took this man down must have been stronger and more agile then a stray pet. The coroner was way ahead of me.
“I measured the spacing of the teeth, jaw dimensions and bite depth. I have no idea what actually attacked this guy but it was savage. I’ll send the data to your office.” He looked at me with seriousness in his eyes. “Most predators attack the weak and sick, but this guy was healthy.” He lifted the arm of the victim. There were only a few scratches on the top of the hand. “The attack was fast too, there are hardly any defensive wounds.”
I pointed to the blood trail on the asphalt. “It must have been strong too. That is a drag mark. The body was already down, and the animal dragged it six feet to the flower bed before feeding.”
The coroner added, “The victim weighs about 180 pounds. It was no poodle that did this.”
We exchanged cards and concluded that we would keep in touch if anything further came to light. I had no official position in the investigation but because it was an animal attack, I needed to be aware of it. The call to me was only a courtesy. When I got back to my truck I took a moment to gather my thoughts and jot some notes into my field book. There was still a crowd of onlookers across the street. Small children ran circles around their parents, who were trying to keep them under control with little success. A child would surely be simple prey for whatever animal killed that man.
There were a few other people scattered up and down the street, their morning routine hardly interrupted by the commotion
at the church. A trio of leggy girls walked by, gossiping about whatever teens talk about. Two young men huddled near the side of a vacant house looking suspiciously like drug dealers. A homeless man checked out a trash barrel at the street corner looking for anything of value. A man in a light blue jumpsuit uniform walked in the distance, probably heading to work. Through the open window, I watched and listened to the neighborhood for a few minutes. There was no sign of stray pets or pets on a leash, and no sound of dogs barking at all.
I started a spiral route away from the scene, turning left at every corner, looking for any sign of a dog capable of killing. The first couple of turns took me around the church property and I passed the police activity again. They had moved the body into a truck and the commotion was starting to clear out. The onlookers were disbursing back into the routines of their regular day. Another block up, I turned left again going deeper into the neighborhood. There were more vacant houses, and a couple of empty lots. One more street up took me into more of the same. Still, I saw no stray animals or pet life of any kind, not even a dog chained-up in a yard. Several of the old homes had open garages and many of the vacant homes had missing doors or windows. There were many places for an animal to hide. To my right was a field bordered in the distance by a railroad track on a small mound. An animal could easily be beyond that and out of sight. There was no way to do a thorough search, the animal could be anywhere.
My attention was broken by a call on the radio. “Baker, this is dispatch. We have a dangerous dog call at Southfield Park. Are you still in that area?” It was Betty Braddock from the office. She had been working at animal control for almost as long as I have and she knew I was still in the area because all of the trucks had a GPS unit on them and she tracked us like she paid for the gas herself. I'd been told a hundred times that the trucks were not for personal use. She’s a slim woman, pretty, but kind of a control freak.
“This is Baker. I'm just around the corner and will be there in a few seconds.” I answered, wondering if it could be the killer dog. The park was only a few blocks ahead, where the railroad track crossed over Southfield Road. It had a few baseball diamonds and a playground frequented by many children. When I was a kid I played there. As I approached I saw a few kids trapped on the top of the slide with a large German Sheppard on the ground below. It was barking loudly and circling the structure. I had seen this dog before, and it was trouble.
I pulled into the parking lot and quickly jumped from the cab. I grabbed my lasso stick from behind the seat and headed toward the animal. As my feet left the parking lot and I entered the fenced playground the dog stopped its assault on the slide and looked straight at me. Its dark eyes flashed a look of recognition. For a moment I was worried that the six foot pole with a lasso on one end might not be enough to protect myself. If this was the killer dog it would be a struggle to control. By the time I took another running step the dog had bound off in the other direction. Two strides later it was over the fence and up the mound of the railroad track. Before crossing the tussle, it glanced back and barked a laugh at me knowing the head start made it useless for me to pursue.
It was not the first time I had come across Ranger. I called the dog Ranger because I had been seeing it in all parts of my work area. Here it was again. And again, it had out-maneuvered me. The first time I was called on it was a few weeks ago. It was terrorizing a fenced in terrier not far from St Cyril Church. Ranger had excited the terrier to the point that several people had called because of the barking. When I arrived, both dogs were running the length of the fence line, back and forth, shouting barks at each other like it was the end of the world. It was a simple catch. I used the lasso stick and took the dog into custody. Instantly he calmed and walked obediently with me to the truck while the terrier continued to roll on with incessant barking. The second I took one hand off the lasso stick to open the pen door at the back of the truck, Ranger unexpectedly jerked away and out of the collar. It was waiting for me to give it the opportunity to escape, calculating when my attention would be diverted and taking that moment to make its move. It sprinted off like it was at the races.
Miles from there, but only a day or so later, I saw Ranger behind the old Montgomery Wards Department Store. The store had been closed for years and was due for demolition. The smoky glass of the building reflected the image of the parking lot and gave away my stalking of the animal. Without even a look back, Ranger sprang into a full run in the other direction. This was a smart animal and it was looking out for me.
Ranger showed some aggression towards the children at the park. That type of behavior was new. A bad dog is a whole different animal than a stray. A bad dog can cause injury. If Ranger was going bad, it could have been the attacker at the church. It seemed unlikely though, a dog wouldn't feed on its victim. In any case, Ranger had to come off the streets.
The forensics report had been delivered and it suggested that the bite could have been made by a large dog but the coroner was unable to specify which breed. In fact, the report fell short of saying for certain that the attacker was a canine. Something in my gut told me that it was not a dog. The fact that the animal fed on the victim just didn’t seem right. Food was too easily available on the streets of the city to turn a pet into a wild dog. It just didn’t make sense to me.
Days passed before anything out of the ordinary happened. There had been no further sightings of Ranger and the streets had been unusually clear of other strays. It was a little past mid-day when I got the call to report to the scene of another attack. It was only a mile or so from the church where the first attack took place. I was directed to a local public school, called Taylor Parks Elementary. I pulled into the lot and saw the familiar collection of police cruisers and city vehicles. The coroner’s wagon was there too. An officer directed me towards a stand of woods behind the school. Well-beaten paths, created by bike tire ruts and a million footfalls, trailed through the woods. About a quarter mile into the woods I could hear the commotion of the scene and saw the woods thinning. The trees backed up to the railroad tracks, with only a few feet of tall grass between the rail mound and the woods. Crime scene tape sectioned off an area that was guarded by a few police. The bloody body lied on the side of the rocky foundation of the railroad. Two young boys on bikes watched the activity from a distance, undaunted by the carnage. Down the track a ways, another man watched the scene. He was wearing a light blue uniform of some sort. I recalled seeing him at the last attack. I mentioned that to one of the officers who quickly headed down the tracks to check out the stranger.
“It looks like the same type of animal attack,” Dave Adams said. He had completed his scene investigation and was ready to leave. The body was bagged and on a body board. Two in-turns had the job of carrying the poor soul through the woods. “It was the same type of injury to the neck and shoulder, with signs of feeding too. There were only minor signs of a struggle. The attack was fast and clean.”
“Was the area inspected for paw prints?” I asked.
“The police report should give you all that. CSI were out here a while but it’s pretty clear that it’s an animal attack so they didn’t collect a lot of evidence. I know they took some photographs. I’d suggest you look around yourself.”
With that, the scene investigation was left in my hands as everyone left. Before the local boys could get under the tape I shot them a look and stooped under it myself. They watched patiently, waiting for the coast to be clear, before they would do their own investigation. The loose rocks that formed the base of the railroad didn’t offer any clear prints of paws, tracks or shoes. Random litter was scattered about the railway, but nothing looked suspicious. I entered the tall grass between the tracks and the woods and started a search pattern for anything that would shed light on the attack. I came across an old bike frame, several glass bottles, an empty tattered backpack and a car tire.
The police officer
was a short walk down the tracks so I started walking in that direction. It was coincidental that I would see a man in a blue jumpsuit at both scenes. I started down the tracks to meet the officer, “What was his story?” I asked.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask.” The officer said. “He took off into the woods and I lost him. I’ll note it in the report, but the coroner says it’s an animal that killed the guy.” With obvious lack of interest he skittered down the rail mound and followed a path back toward the parking lot.
I continued my investigation. Stepping along the tracks from tie to tie, I kept an eye to the left and right for anything in the grass. I thought less of an animal attacking me than I did the search for clues. I had only gotten about fifty paces from the death scene when I spotted a bloody piece of fabric in the grass. I slid down the railway mound and approached it carefully. It was a torn sleeve cuff. Some of the grass along this stretch showed some discoloration, with blood dried on its tall lengths. There was hardly a path, and it could have been my imagination, but I followed the break in the grass and entered the thicket of woods.
The ground was grown thick with weeds, brush and saplings. The taller trees of the woods shaded and darkened my way. I heard the rustle of brush and the thought of my own safety entered my mind for the first time. Quickly turning to my right I saw a squirrel scurry up a tree. I knew rabbits, squirrels, raccoons and other such critters were all around and it calmed my nerves. Still, something was out here killing people.
What I thought was a path quickly became too overgrown to travel and I reversed my direction back towards the open grass, but a movement to my left caught my attention. The brush moved where an animal retreated from my intrusion. There, I saw the air swarmed with insects. Large flies circled in a beam of light that cut through the shady woods. The grass and weeds of the ground cover looked stained with dried blood and a carcass of a large fury animal lay half-hidden in the brush. I approached with caution. I didn’t want to surprise an animal when it was feeding, much less a killer.
The carcass was a German Sheppard. It was Ranger. He had many wounds around his face and neck, bites in the flesh reached to the bone. From the decay and infestation of insects, I could tell the corpse was not fresh. It was impossible to say what could have killed the large dog but my guess was the same killer animal that had struck the humans. As I inspected the carcass closer, I saw a strap of some kind protruding out from under the animal. Lifting the dead weight of the dog, I pulled it free. It was a collar of some type, but I didn’t recall Ranger wearing a collar. It must have been torn off the other animal. There was a small plastic box built into its length that held a blinking LED indicator lamp, but besides that, it seemed typical. The metal clasp was bent and the clip didn’t hold. Apparently it was torn off during the fight between the animals. I took the collar and exited the woods. When I got back to the tracks, the kids were already within the crime scene tape and kicking at the bloody rocks of the mound.
I threw the collar over the dashboard and onto the front window deck, started my truck and kicked on the A/C. I grabbed my report book to note the latest details of my day. Betty, Queen of the office, required that every minute be logged and accounted for. As the office manager, she was a stickler for rules. I understood there was a reason for the paperwork; it was a necessary part of the job. My log-book was a jumble of comments, locations, odometer readings and hours. I knew exactly what it meant, but she would be totally lost trying to decode the pages. Something evil inside me enjoyed that fact. I wrote about finding Ranger and the collar down the rail from the death scene. I commented on seeing the man in the blue jumpsuit again, and about the curious kids. The details of the death were fresh in my mind and I wrote down all that I recalled.
The Beatles played on the radio’s oldies channel as I drove out of the school parking lot and back into the streets of the city. The reception was poor and a constant static crackled in the background of John Lennon’s vocals. The static was annoying.
There was still an hour or so of my shift yet to work but by the time I got back to the office and filed my paperwork it would be time to punch out. I thought about the collar as I drove, considered Ranger and his last moments in the battle for his life. Who was the victim on the tracks and what he was doing in the woods behind the school? I mulled over the question of who the man in the blue jumpsuit might be. As my mind meandered through the events of the day, I absentmindedly plucked the collar from the dashboard. Magically, the static cleared from classic Beatle melody. Experimenting, I positioned it closer to the dashboard and the static returned. The collar was the cause of the interference. I tossed it to the floor on the far side of the cab, far from the radio and spent the rest of the drive listening to fab-four, static free, and wondering about the collar.
The next morning I met the man in the blue jumpsuit. He was waiting for me at the office when I arrived at work. The breast of his jumpsuit held an embroidered patch indicating he worked at the Detroit Zoo.
“Hi, I’m Smith,” he introduced. “I’ve been tracking a collar that was stolen from my office at the zoo. It’s got a homing signal built into it and it’s led me to you.” Smith was tall man who appeared to be in his late twenties. His dark brown hair was cut short and barely touched his collar, and a well kept goatee gave him a friendly and presentable look. His smile flashed perfect teeth.
I introduced myself and invited him to have a seat near my desk. “That collar is part of an ongoing investigation,” I explained. “I can’t let it go until the case is complete.”
He leaned closer to me. “Listen, I could be in big trouble if it gets out that I lost that collar. It’s kind of experimental, with the tracking chip and all.” He kept his voice low. I saw Betty looking over her desk at us, hating that she couldn’t hear our quiet conversation. She pulled her straight black hair back behind her ear and strained to listen. “Can you keep it kind of hush-hush, and maybe I can get it back in a day or two?” Smith asked.
The collar was only tied to the human killings distantly, but I didn’t want to give it up yet. I had a feeling there was more to the story than I knew. “Sure, give me your number and I’ll call you as soon as we’re done,” I assured him.
“I’ll come by every couple of days and check on it. I prefer that to you calling my office.” He explained. “Where is the collar now, is it safe?” He asked.
“It’s safe. It’s in the evidence locker,” I lied.
“Great! It’s my neck if I don’t get it back.” He stood, thinking the conversation was over.
“Were you tracking it yesterday along the railroad tracks?” I asked.
He looked at me curiously. “Is that where you found it?”
“Was it you I saw out there?” I asked, thinking I knew the answer.
“I haven’t been by any tracks.” He answered.
I asked, “Were you tracking it a few days ago near Saint Cyril’s Church?”
He looked up surprised. ”No, I started tracking it today.” I didn’t believe him, and kept my thoughts to myself.
“I thought our paths might have crossed before.” I said. “But I guess I was wrong. Come by in a few days and if the collar has nothing to do with the case, you can have it back.”
“It’s really great to have met you.” He said. His smile looked honest and genuine, but I still felt he was somehow involved. We shook hands and the mysterious Mr. Smith walked out.
With raised eyebrows and a condescending voice Betty questioned. “What’s with the zoo keeper? Do you think that wild dog killing people is really a lion or something?”
The theory had potential. I had not considered that the killer animal could have been a zoo escapee, but I wouldn’t let her know that. “It’s only one possibility I’m looking into, Betty.” I answered. “But it doesn’t look like it’s going to pan out. All the facts are leading to an attack by rats.” She shifted in her seat. B
etty had a frightful fear of rats, and I smiled as I left the office.
I pulled out of the Office lot onto Woodward and headed north. The zoo was only a short drive away, at the intersection with twelve mile road. Thoughts raced through my mind as I took the short drive. Could the killer animal have come from the zoo? Why hasn’t anyone reported seeing a wild animal or reported one being missing? It was most likely a dead end, but I’d follow it up. It would give me a chance to check out this Smith character too.
A limestone wall topped with three feet of spiked wrought iron fencing surrounded the zoo. Inside that, a small railway for guests circled the perimeter, backing many of the exhibits. The Detroit Zoo was one of the first zoos to discard cages and build free roaming environments for the animals. Wide moats and ravines separated the animals from the visitors. It is common now, but at one time, it was a revolutionary idea that put the Detroit Zoo on the map.
I walked up to the main offices and introduced myself. I was passed from the public relations office to the personnel office and finally to the manager of the carnivores exhibit. After two hours, I was on my way out of the same gate I had entered earlier. There had been no animal escapes from the zoo. They were not even happy that I considered it a possibility and stressed that there had never been an animal escape from their zoo. The manager of personnel reported that there is only one person named Smith working at the zoo and it was a food service attendant named Mary Smith.
I spent a while with the manager of the carnivore exhibits who explained that most man-eaters really don’t eat men. He explained that predators would only attack man as a last resort. They would most likely claim a territory of their own and keep a familiar diet rather than attack humans. He again explained that no animals had ever escaped from his zoo. This seemed to be a serious accusation and I had hit a sore spot suggesting it. He said that I should consider the possibility the predator might have been a personal pet that had gone bad. Many people owned big cats and really didn’t know how to handle them. That would be easy enough to check because there was a register of privately owned wild animal and big cat owners. The possibility that the killer was an escaped animal was still open.
The theory that an animal would claim a territory drove me back to the schoolyard. The woods behind the school were riddled with paths and trails. It would be a natural place for an animal to claim as its own hunting ground. The collar with the blinking light was on the seat next to me. How did it and the man in the blue jumpsuit fit into the puzzle? Things were not adding up, they didn’t fit into the equation of a big pet cat escaping into the city. Perhaps they had nothing to do with the attacks and it was all a coincidence.
I parked, walked to the woods and followed the same path as I had the day before to the site at the railroad track. But, thinking of my safety first, I grabbed my air rifle and a pocket- case of darts. Each of the three darts were preloaded with enough sedative to take down a bear, though I doubted there was a bear anywhere around. It was a bright cloudless day but the tall oak and pine trees created the look of a dark forest. The paths, well worn with bike tire marks, offered a thousand miles of adventure for the local kids who played in the woods. Occasionally the remains of a tree fort or a hideout showed itself with spray-painted graffiti and rusty nails. In the distance kids shouted, acting out mock wars. The playtime armies were swinging swords of sticks and shooting Dollar Store cap guns. They would be no match for whatever was out here.
A rustle in the brush startled me and I turned quickly, just in time to jump aside as a fearless pudgy child on a silver bike raced past. The fact that I carried a rifle didn’t slow him. In a flurry of leaves and dust he was gone, hidden by the trees and tall brush aside the zigzagging trail. I imagined the kids knew the trails well, which shortcuts led to the tracks or back to the school, and which ones took them deeper into the woods. That would be an advantage to them if they came up on anything dangerous.
A few minutes later, it was quiet again and the shady woods were getting a little spooky. Dark overgrown bushes offered many safe hiding places for even large animals. The bright beams of sunlight that cut through the leaf cover was the only grace to this place. It offered enough light to see the surroundings. I heard a noise to my right, but didn’t see anything. It was a snap of a twig, then a low growl. I readied my gun at waist level, even though I didn’t see a target. The eerie silence put my senses on edge. I looked into the dark woods and imagined all nature of beasts, but none of them materialized. Just as I was about to relax I saw a movement beside a tree. It was brown, about four feet tall and shifted into the dark underbrush, than disappeared. I steadied my gun and stepped in that direction. When my first step off the path snapped the ground litter of the woods, it attacked. I saw an animal upright on two legs, brown skinned with no fur. It exploded from the darkness. With an airy hiss it screeched and lunged at me, its wide mouthed lined with pointed teeth. I was too shocked to move. I froze and didn’t even pull the trigger.
A bright blue flash came from over my shoulder and a beam of light shot through the darkness. A sound like a crack of lightning echoed through the woods. The light beam struck a tree limb, severing it from its trunk. As it fell to the ground, it struck the lunging animal knocking it onto its side. It righted itself and using four legs, shot into the darkened brush of the woods. I had a good look at it then, and it was like nothing I had ever seen.
“That was close.” The voice startled me. I spun around, gun aimed ready to shoot. My heart was racing. I don’t know what stopped me from pulling the trigger. “Hold on! Hold on! It’s me, the guy that just saved your life.” It was Smith, in the blue jumpsuit. I was still in shock. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. “It would have killed you. I had to do something,” he said.
“You didn’t kill it. Why didn’t you shoot it?” I asked. My mind was starting to clear as the adrenalin started to fade from my nerves.
“I tried. I’m not the best shot. You're lucky I didn’t hit you.”
I remembered the blue flash of light. “What did you shoot, some kind of ray gun?” It was true he had saved my life, but I needed answers. “Are you following me?” I took a step toward him, confronting him with questions. “I checked at the zoo. You don't work there. Who are you, really? What was that animal?”
He put his hand into his pocket hiding the small weapon he had used to shoot the branch off the tree. ”Okay, you are right I owe you an explanation.”
“The truth this time,” I said. “Don't tell me you work for the zoo.”
He looked at me and smiled. “I promise.” Then he added, “Walk with me as I track that thing.” He walked into the brush and inspected the ground clutter of the woods. “It's taken a liking to this wooded area.” He said. “There's good hiding and lots of easy prey.” He wiped some of the tall grass with his hand and lifted it to his face and sniffed. “Smell that? It’s the oils from its body.” He held his hands up to my face.
I sniffed lightly. The heavy scent of a dead animal mingled in the air from his hand. “Okay,” I said. ”What is it?”
“Well, I don't really know. We haven't seen anything like it before and there’s no fossil evidence of anything quite like it either. I thought I'd get a bonus bringing in a new species, but it got away from me.”
“New species,” I questioned. “A new species in the city would have been spotted long before now. It can't be from around here. Where did you catch it?”
Smith didn't answer right away. He was following tracks in the brush and smelling the grass. Many times he got on his hands and knees to smell the ground. “True.” He finally answered.
“Where did you get it? Where were you taking it? Who do you work for?” I hammered him with questions as he tracked.
“I do work for the zoo. I'm in the acquisitions department. I collect rare animals for them. ”His voice was quieter now. “The collar you found was on the
animal, but it got torn off. I've been tracking it to recapture the thing. That's how I found you the other day, and that's how I tracked you here today. It was in your truck.”
I still wasn't sure if I believed his story. “The zoo said they didn't know who you were.”
We were cutting across a bike path, and our foot falls were silent for a moment. He held up his hand for quiet, and we stopped. From the brush, not too far away, there was the rustle of twigs and branches. He lifted a leaf above his head and dropped it. It fell, and was blown by a slight breeze in the direction of the sound.
“You stay here. I'm going to go a few yards down the path and wait. Don't move. This time I'll hit it.” He said as he quietly walked away.
A moment later it dawned on me that he was using me as bait. He was waiting for the creature to attack, and he'd try to shoot it. Before I could argue the plan there was a movement in the bushes. It was close. The tall grass and brush shifted only a few yards from me. My eyes cut through the shady woods looking between the bushes and scrub, looking for the killer that was about to attack. A few feet away, out of the darkened underbrush it appeared, staking on four legs, head held low, and eyes locked on me. It had an oily brown snakelike skin, almost reptilian. When its joints bent, large scales separated, exposing a deep red skin that was damp with pungent oils. Its long neck held a head that consisted mostly of teeth. The mouth was wide open, ready for a kill. I shuttered and took a step back, and that was its cue. I started to lift my rifle, but again I was too slow.
I was struck and knocked to the ground. The animal was upon me but it was motionless. Its dead weight must have been 300 pounds. “I got it!” Smith yelled joyfully.
He rolled it off me and into the open path. I knelt beside it, in awe of the animal. It was some kind of little dinosaur. “Is it dead?” I asked.
“Just knocked out, I used a level five stun setting. It should be out for the rest of the trip. I won't trust a level two on this big bugger again.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the collar. “I took this from your truck. You should lock your doors.” He said with a smile. His attitude was quite happy now that the animal was under control. He wrapped the collar around the neck of the animal and locked it on.
“You’ve got to tell me where you caught this thing,” I begged for an answer. “Where are you taking it?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “You won't believe it.” He said.
“Try me.” I figured he wasn't from around here.
“I'm taking it to the Detroit Zoo, just like I said. I work there.”
“They said they didn't know you.”
“I'm on a special team that retrieves animals that have gone extinct.” He waited for a response, but it took a second for what he said to sink in.
“How?” was all I could say. I was afraid that I already knew the answer. There was only one answer.
“I travel in time.” He stood, and helped me to my feet. “I'm sorry this thing got away from me. There was nothing I could do once it shed the collar.”
I must have looked as perplexed as I felt. “Two people died,” was all I could say.
“I should not have stopped here at all, except I wanted to see someone. I'll probably get fired when I get back. I shouldn’t have broken the rules and stopped. My supervisor is going to kill me.”
He pulled the ray gun thing from his pocket, not afraid if I saw it now. It didn't look much different than a large cell phone.” Can you take a few steps back?” He asked. “I've got to get back on the road.”
I backed away.
“Thanks for your help.” He said, starting to punch some keys on the hand held device.
My mind was reeling with the reality of what he explained to me. “Good bye, I guess,” I said, still dazed and confused.
Then I asked. “Did you get to see who you stopped for?”
Surprised by the question, Smith looked up. “Yea, he’s a legend where I come from.”
“Who is he?” I asked.
A faint orange glow was emitting from all around him and the animal. The air was filled with the sound of static. “You.” He said as he quickly faded away.
I stood there looking at the spot where he vanished, not really sure what to do. Was there anything I should do? I was only a dog catcher. Who could I report this to? How could I become a legend?
Walking slowly, with my mind reeling from the words he spoke, I followed the path through the woods back to the school and my truck. I headed to the office to write the day’s report which would obviously be very short. Betty would never know the events of the day. The conversation with the time traveler called Smith replayed in my mind and I tried to process what he said. How could a simple dog catcher become a legend? I wondered what the future held for me. One thing was for certain. It was not too late for me to redirect my life. Perhaps I was destined to do something different, and I slowly began to realize that now I didn’t fear that change.
Time Travel and Dimensional Journeys Page 1
