by Ricky Sides
They entered that door without a problem. George stopped his accomplice and said, “The lab coats will make us blend in if we meet anyone. Remember, we’ll be acting as if we’re looking at a file in the folder. If we keep our heads down, the cameras won’t get our faces. We go to the first left turn, which will lead to the elevator. It’s just a few feet down the hall on the right. With luck, we won’t meet anyone. If we do, just follow my lead.”
“I remember the plan,” Mary Lou said in irritation.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you’d forgotten. I’m just nervous. I want everything to work out.”
“Then relax. You have a great plan. It’s much better than some of the operations other activists have pulled off in the past,” she said reassuringly.
“Alright, let’s do it,” he responded with a nervous smile. Now that he was actually executing the plan, he’d become slightly nervous.
George opened the folder, and then the door that led into the hall. He stepped into the hallway with his face lowered. Pausing he pointed at the folder as Mary Lou entered the hall. She lowered her gaze to the folder and they began to walk. They walked the length of the hallway separating them from the junction they needed. They were almost there when a security man walked out into the hall. The man turned and walked away from them. They saw him disappear into a room on the left. “He must be late for lunch. That’s the break room,” George whispered to Mary Lou.
They continued to their turn and soon they were at the elevator door. It opened immediately and they moved inside. George punched the button to close the door and then the one that would take them to the lab. They exited the moment the elevator door opened.
“We’re here,” George said with a relieved expression on his face.
“Yes we are. Your plan worked perfectly. But I think it’s time you explained just how we’re going to get the cats out of the facility. There’s no way we could ever smuggle out this many animals without getting caught,” Mary Lou commented.
“We’ll use the feed delivery dumbwaiter. It leads to an external delivery door that we control from the lab. We’ll place a small quantity of feed on the platform, release the cats, and when they’re all on the platform, we send it up to the exit and open the door. They’ll leave the car quickly enough when the food is gone. From there they’ll make their way out the fence. There are several places they’ll be able to squeeze through.”
“Brilliant! If they’re hungry this will be a snap.” Mary Lou said.
“They’ll be hungry. They’re always hungry. Besides, I only fed them a three-quarter ration today. I wanted to be certain they’d go for the food bait.”
“I think I’m going to like working with you. You planned the perfect raid, and you seem to be uncommonly lucky. You were also calm and didn’t freeze when we saw the guard.”
“Neither did you,” George observed.
Shrugging, Mary Lou said, “I’ve been on several raids in the past, but this is your first. The first is always the hardest. But we can talk about that later, we’re wasting time. Let’s get that door open,” she said as she handed George a pair of latex gloves. They would both wear them. Even though George worked in the lab, there was no sense in running the risk that he’d touch something during the raid that he wouldn’t normally touch on a day to day basis.
Minutes later, Mary Lou had her electronic scanner set up and began analyzing the lock. It took five minutes for the scanner to discover the sequence of numbers needed to open the door.
The moment the door opened, George moved inside the containment room. The caged cats began meowing in hunger. They kept their eyes on him as they paced their cages impatiently.
“God, they’re loud. Are they always like this? Holy cow! That’s the biggest cat I’ve ever seen!” exclaimed the female activist.
George saw that she was looking at the white cat he called Snowball. The tom was the biggest cat in the room. “Stay away from Snowball. He’s a mean one,” he warned.
“Well, you can hardly blame him. You’d be mean too, if someone tossed you in a small cage,” she responded.
“Which is why I’m here now, risking my job,” he stated.
“I know. I’m sorry,” she said contritely.
George nodded his acceptance and moved to a feed sack situated near the dumbwaiter. Scooping out a large quantity of the feed, George asked his accomplice to activate the button that would open the door. When the door slid open, he tossed the food in the center of the large compartment and darted to the cages.
Mary Lou saw that all the felines were staring at the food in the dumbwaiter. “We’re running out of time, help me open the cages,” George instructed.
“Will they all fit?”
“No. We’ll have to free them in sets. Open five of the top doors first,” he instructed.
Working together, they soon had ten of the cats free. The felines went for the bait immediately. George saw that there was room for several more, because the cats were so intent upon eating that they were crowding around the food in a compact circle. “Open two more,” he instructed as he proceeded to do the same.
When those cats were inside the dumbwaiter, George closed the door and activated the unit. When it reached the ground level, he opened the door and watched the monitor to see if they exited. For two minutes, nothing happened, but then the cats began to leap from the little elevator. “I need to use less bait this time,” he muttered.
It took four trips to empty all the cages, but minutes later, they were in the elevator riding back to the first floor. Once more, they pretended to study the file as they made their way to the exit.
Getting out of the building was easy. They didn’t even have to use their card key. They did have to use it to get back through the locked gate in the security fence. As they approached George’s car, they noticed that they had picked up a shadow. One of the cats had seen them walking. Recognizing George as the man who fed her, the queen followed them.
“Oh, it wants to go with us,” said Mary Lou in a gushing tone of voice.
“It wouldn’t do for the cat to be found at my house,” George discerned.
“I could take it to Birmingham with me tomorrow morning. Our group will find it a good home,” she stated. “She can sleep in the room with us tonight, can’t she?”
“In the room with… You mean… Well sure,” George said excitedly. He’d have agreed to house them all for a chance to sleep with Mary Lou.
“Where are we going to dump the gloves and keycard?” Mary Lou asked as they headed on toward the car.
“There’s a storm drain that leads to the sewer system a few blocks from my house. I’ll pull over beside it. You hop out and chunk them through the slit in the grate.”
“You really have thought of everything,” she said with admiration.
“Not quite,” he admitted.
“Oh?” she asked. “What did you forget?”
“Protection,” he said pointedly.
“You don’t need a gun,” she said.
“Not that kind of protection. I meant protection for you,” he said grinning.
Laughing, she said, “I’ve got that covered. I’m on the pill. I have been for ages.”
***
As was her habit, Patricia suited up for her daily run. Normally she ran before dark, but today, because of everything that had happened, it was nearly 10:00 P.M. before she decided to go ahead and run, despite the late hour.
She ran a circular route that began and ended on Chestnut Street in front of her house. When she left, she ran west on Chestnut Street, turned north on North Clinton, and ran past Oak and Walnut Streets. The area past Walnut Street was a two block long segment, which was a combination commercial and residential section. North Clinton Street forms a loop at the northernmost section, turning first east and then south, briefly becoming East Pine Street before becoming North Beaty. She ran south on North Beaty Street to Chestnut, ending up back at her home.
Thou
gh she had never actually measured the distance, Patricia was sure that three laps along her chosen route would amount to approximately two miles. Generally, she jogged at an easy pace the first lap, and then alternated between a brisk run and a sprint the second. The third lap was her cool down lap, although occasionally, when she was feeling especially strong, she ran all out for a good portion of that lap as well.
Patricia had run the circuit in the dark before. A dedicated runner, when the weather was right for running, she didn’t like to skip a day. However, she wasn’t fond of running the circuit at night, because streetlights were few and far between. Tonight, she found herself too keyed up by the events of the day. She knew that if she didn’t run, she’d end up tossing and turning all night long, so Patricia decided that what she needed most was a good hard run.
Her first circuit was uneventful. The mixed breed dog that normally gave chase as she was running on North Beaty, just past Walnut Street, didn’t even challenge her as he usually did. She couldn’t decide if the mutt was actually trying to bite her. He seemed to delight in the chase, though he would snap at her ankles. She almost believed the animal was just playing, but she couldn’t be certain of that. Therefore, that stretch of the run always got her adrenaline going.
She was just turning south on East Pine Street during the second lap of her run, when she got the feeling that she was being followed. Glancing back over her shoulder, she thought she saw a furtive movement, leaving the area illuminated by the streetlight that she had just passed, and then it disappeared into the darkness. She assumed it was the mutt, her old nemesis, attempting to close in on her in the darkness, before announcing his presence with his normal barking. That gave her an adrenaline rush and she opened up her speed.
A block south, she entered the pool of light from a streetlight. As soon as she did, she heard the raucous barking of the dog that she thought was behind her. Only the sound was coming from somewhere ahead of her. “How’d he get ahead of me?” she wondered as she ran even faster, aided by yet another adrenaline burst.
She saw the dog’s dark form hurtling at her as she ran past the house where his owners lived. As was usually the case, the dog ran at her heels snapping and barking constantly. He ended his pursuit when she was well past his house, at about the same spot where he usually quit the chase.
The dog stood and watched Patricia run as it always did. He knew she’d be back to continue their game, just as she always did, and he relished the thought. Then a strange scent came to its attention. The animal sniffed the air and spun on its haunches to face the street behind it, voicing a low-pitched menacing growl. The creature it faced was hunting the woman. Its scent told the dog that much. The canine’s instinct was to protect the woman from the newcomer. It gathered itself for the leap that would send it into battle with an ancient feline foe.
Patricia ran onward with her heart hammering in her chest. She had gone only about thirty yards, when she heard a high pitched yelp. She assumed the dog’s owner had come out and chastised the animal for chasing her. She had seen him cuff the dog for that in the past, and that had led to an argument with the man. She had protested the cuffing, but he had adamantly said that his dog had to learn not to chase people. When he had asked her what would happen if the animal chased down and injured some kid running down the street. She had pointed out that he could fence in his property to keep the dog in, but he had replied that he didn’t want a fence, and that fences were expensive.
Not wanting to risk a confrontation with the dog owner, Patricia almost stopped with her second lap, but she was soaking wet with sweat and knew she needed a proper cool down, so she continued with her run.
She was running south on East Pine Street at a leisurely pace when she spotted the crumpled form on the street. It was positioned at the edge of the pool of light, which was provided by a nearby streetlight.
At first, Patricia thought that the dog was laying in wait for her, planning to begin his run from that position. However, in all the times she had encountered the animal, he’d never done that. In the past, she had actually seen him run off the street and back into his yard, as if to begin his chase from some preconceived starting point.
Patricia cautiously approached. As she drew closer, she saw a spreading pool of blood around the animal. She stopped beside the canine. At first, she thought it was dead, but then it whimpered, tried to raise its head, and briefly wagged its tail in greeting.
The dog’s nose, face, chest, and front legs were covered in blood. While she was assessing the animal’s injuries, Patricia’s eyes fell on a single bloody paw print. From the pocket of her jacket, she removed a digital camera that she always carried when running. She laid her index finger alongside the track to give it scale and snapped a picture of it.
Next, Patricia went to the house and knocked on the door several times. Eventually, the dog’s owner opened the door. “Young lady, do you know what time it is?” the dog’s owner asked.
“I’m sorry about that, but I wanted to let you know that something attacked your dog,” she responded.
“Something attacked Shemp? Where is he?” the dog’s owner asked with concern evident in his voice.
“He’s in the street about forty yards to the south,” she responded.
“Let me put on some shoes. I’ll be right there,” the man said.
“I’ll be with him. He’s bleeding badly. I’ll try to slow the bleeding,” she replied.
“Don’t. He might bite you, and I can’t afford a lawsuit or your doctor bills. I’ll be right there.”
Patricia jumped off the man’s porch and headed back toward the dog. As she approached him, she thought she saw a shadowy form standing over the dog. Breaking into a run, she shouted and charged toward the indistinct form, which darted away into the darkness south.
When she reached the dog, she found him much as she had left him, but she immediately discerned that she hadn’t imagined that shadowy form. There were several additional bloody paw prints on the street near the dog. She made two photos of the new prints, and then as an afterthought, she made several photos of the darkened street to the south, and then she stowed her camera. She hadn’t noticed anything in the flash, but it was powerful enough to reveal anything that might be present when she had time to review the pictures. That would have to wait, because right now the dog needed her help.
Squatting beside the animal, Patricia spotted the area of the worst bleeding. It was a wound on the dog’s throat. Staying where the animal could see her, she spoke to it in soothing tones, as she put pressure on the wound. The canine whimpered, but made no move to snap at her.
She was still holding pressure on the wound when the dog’s owner ran down the street and joined her. He thanked her for helping as he spoke words of encouragement to his dog. The canine lifted its head and licked the man’s hand as he probed at its wounded shoulder. “I called the vet and he has agreed to meet me at his shop. I’ll take him in my truck,” the man said.
“You’ll never get him there alive. You’ll have to keep pressure on the wound or he’ll bleed to death,” Patricia instructed. “Let’s load him in the back of your truck. I’ll ride with him and keep pressure on the wound. He won’t hurt me. Will you boy?” Patricia asked, speaking directly to the dog.
The animal lifted its head and whimpered, but it wagged its tail.
“Alright, I’ll carry him to the truck,” the man said.
Working together, Patricia and the dog’s owner soon had him placed in the bed of the man’s truck. The man hesitated when Patricia told him to place the dog in her lap. After all, the animal was a bloody mess. But Patricia assured him that it was the only way to prevent the animal from sliding around in the back of the truck while they were in transit, so the man reluctantly relented. The dog whined, but didn’t resist as he was placed in Patricia’s lap. She put pressure on the wound she had been concentrating on earlier. Before they had moved the canine, the bleeding had slowed considerably. However, being
carried to the truck had caused the wound to open up, and it was again bleeding profusely.
The veterinarian arrived just minutes after they reached his clinic. He opened the door, switched on the lights and led them to his examination room. “I couldn’t reach my assistant,” said the vet.
“I minored in animal medicine, but am by no means a qualified veterinarian,” Patricia said, volunteering to assist.
“Well, you’ll have to help me if we have any hope to save this animal. Any idea about how much blood he’s lost?” he asked.
“What you see on me, and this,” Patricia said. She had anticipated the question while waiting for the vet to arrive and had rapidly scrolled through the photos on her camera until she found the one with the dog’s blood pooled on the surface of the road.
The doctor shook his head. “This isn’t going to be easy. Looking at the owner, he added, “I’m afraid it’s also not going to be cheap.”
“Can I make payments, Doc?” asked the owner.
“Of course, we’ll work something out.”
“Then do it. The mangy critter’s useless, but I love him,” the owner said with tears in his eyes. The harsh lighting of the examination room more readily revealed the damage that had been inflicted on his dog. He looked Patricia in the eyes and said, “Thank you for helping. I don’t think Shemp meant any harm when he was chasing you.”
“I don’t think he did either, but I never wanted to stop and find out,” Patricia said with a grin.
It was well past midnight when the dog’s owner, Matthew Carter, dropped her off at her house, waiting in his truck until he saw her safely inside.
