Invasion of the Dognappers
Page 1
First published by Egmont USA, 2012
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © Patrick Jennings, 2012
All rights reserved
1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
www.egmontusa.com
www.patrickjennings.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Jennings, Patrick.
Invasion of the dognappers / Patrick Jennings.
p. cm.
Summary: When nine-year-old Logan discovers that aliens are abducting pet dogs, he and his friends form the Intergalactic Canine Rescue Unit, and Logan stows away on a spaceship in hopes of saving man’s best friend.
ISBN 978-1-60684-287-4 (hardcover) -- ISBN 978-1-60684-289-8 (ebook) [1. Alien abduction--Fiction. 2. Extraterrestrial beings--Fiction. 3. Dogs--Fiction. 4. Stowaways--Fiction. 5. Interplanetary voyages--Fiction. 6. Science fiction. 7. Mystery and detective stories] I. Title.
PZ7.J4298715Inv 2012
[Fic]--dc23
2011027750
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.
For Logan and Blake,
who heard it first
Thanks to Heather Flanagan;
Cassie, River, Rowan, and Shae;
and Lily Richey, for the title.
Contents
1. The First Dog
2. Poof!
3. A Serious Alien Presence
4. Confidential
5. The Second Dog
6. The Intergalactic Canine Rescue Unit
7. Pickles
8. Yes, Ma’am
9. The Housesitter
10. The Third Dog
11. Crew Rendezvous
12. The Fate of the World’s Dogs
13. Alien Bait
14. Maybe It’s Moms
15. The Fourth Dog
16. After the Hairy Guy
17. The Planet Crete
18. The Alien’s Son
19. Return of the Second Dog
20. Lair of the Dognappers
21. Mind Control
22. The First Puppy
23. The Chairnapper
24. Big Blue Balloon
25. Flipper Fingers
26. Return of the Fourth Dog
27. Hover Planet
28. Aliens Don’t Smell
29. Tap Noses on It
30. Bubba
31. The Co-operative
32. Beautiful Alien World
33. Twenty-two Dogs
34. Giving the Boss the Business
35. A Polite Young Man
36. Returning the Stolen Goods
37. Dog Planet
1. The First Dog
“Stop the bus! Stop the bus! A dog just vanished into thin air!”
The bus driver, who wore a black sea captain’s cap down low over her eyes, looked up at the huge, rectangular mirror over her head and said, “Sit down, Logan.”
Logan was bouncing on his seat.
“Roberta! I think it was abducted by aliens!” he yelled louder. “You must stop the bus!”
“You will be very sorry if I stop this bus, Logan,” the driver said. “Now sit down.”
Logan groaned his disapproval, then plopped onto his seat. He pressed his face to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the thief.
2. Poof!
“I saw a dog vanish this morning,” Logan said.
“What do you mean ‘vanish’?” Thatcher asked, flipping his shoulder-length hair out of his face. “Did it run away? Did someone take it?”
“It was tied up outside Sandwiches,” Logan said. “Then it vanished.”
“A dog vanished,” Kian said flatly. The only sign that he found this remark absurd was the slight cocking of his left eyebrow. Unfortunately, his bangs hid his eyebrows.
“Right,” Logan said. “Poof.”
“Can a dog vanish?” Thatcher asked. “I mean, into thin air? They can’t, right? Can they?”
“What about when they get picked up by the dogcatcher?” Aggy asked, looking up from her book, the third in a series about a girl who discovers Earth is actually the blue eye of a giant being.
“That’s not vanishing,” Kian said. “That’s getting arrested.”
“Captured, more like,” Aggy said, and looked back at her book. Aggy couldn’t abide inaccuracy.
“This dog vanished,” Logan said. “Poof.”
“How do you know its owner didn’t just leave with it?” Thatcher asked, shaking his head. This caused his long, sandy-colored hair to fall back into his face. He tossed it away. “How do you know it didn’t just get loose and run away?”
“Oh, maybe because the collar and leash were still there,” Logan answered.
“They were?” Thatcher asked, with a little gasp.
“The collar was lying on the sidewalk, still buckled, and still connected to the leash, and the leash was still tied to the STOP sign,” Logan said.
Thatcher stared off into space, his eyelids sliding down to half mast, contemplating this.
“I was standing there, waiting for the bus,” Logan said, “and this dog was sitting there, whining for his owner. Unnnh, unnnh, unnnh …”
“Whose dog was it?” Thatcher asked. “Wasn’t he there? Did anyone else see what happened?”
“I don’t know, but let me finish, will you? So the dog’s whining outside Sandwiches—unnnh, unnnh, unnnh—and this guy walks up, pets it for a minute, gives it a dog treat, then goes into the store. The dog stopped whining when the guy was petting him, but started whining again when the guy left. Unnnh, unnnh—”
“Enough with the whining, Logan,” Aggy said.
“Who was the guy?” Thatcher asked. “Did you know him? What did he look like?”
Thatcher often asked questions in clusters.
“Let me finish, will you?” Logan said, glaring.
“Sorry,” Thatcher said. Hair flip. “Go on. Sorry.”
“So the bus pulls up, right? I get on and find a seat, then look out the window, and poof!—the dog’s gone. All that’s left is the collar and the leash. Okay?” He shook his head impatiently.
“You think the guy came out and took it?” asked Thatcher.
“I doubt he came out of the store, undid the dog’s collar, rebuckled the collar, and then ran off with the dog that fast,” Logan said.
“What about someone else then?” Thatcher asked.
“I didn’t see anyone else.”
“Of course you didn’t,” Kian said. “You were at Sandwiches, and there’s never anyone going in and out of Sandwiches.”
This was more sarcasm. Sandwiches was a busy neighborhood grocery and deli. Kian delighted in saying the opposite of what he meant.
“Even if it wasn’t that guy,” Thatcher said, “somebody took the dog. The owner wouldn’t leave his dog’s collar and leash behind.”
“Maybe she couldn’t untie her own knot,” Aggy said, her eyes still trained on the pages of her book. Aggy had fine, cornsilk hair she usually wore braided and bound at the back of her head. Wispy bangs reached down to her dark eyebrows, which often telegraphed her emotions. In this case, her brows twisted in bored exasperation.
“Listen,” Logan said, growing more frustrated by the moment. “The owner couldn’t have come out and tried to untie the leash from the bike rack, then unbuckled the collar and rebuckled it and taken the dog away, all in the time it took me to get on the bus and sit down and look o
ut the window. No way. It happened too fast. I saw the dog tied to the rack when I got on the bus, and then when I sat down, it was gone. Poof. Vanished.”
“Can you stop saying ‘poof’?” Aggy asked. “It’s kind of driving me nuts.”
“I say somebody kidnapped the dog,” Thatcher said. “Right?”
“You mean ‘dognapped,’” Aggy said.
“Dognapped all right,” Logan said. “But not by a person.”
“Huh?” Thatcher asked. “Not by a person? What does that mean? You don’t think it was a human being that napped the dog?”
“Nope.”
Aggy looked up. “You think it was an alien, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do.”
Everyone groaned.
“It must have been,” Logan said. “What else could make a dog vanish? There’s no other explanation.”
“No other explanation,” Kian said.
“Aliens are always your explanation,” Thatcher said.
“I’m telling you, an alien beamed that dog right out of his collar,” Logan said.
“Why would an alien steal a dog?” Aggy asked.
“Maybe he loves dogs,” Thatcher said. “I do.”
“I bet he loves them all right,” Logan said. “I bet he loves them for breakfast.”
“That’s just gross,” Aggy said.
“You guys are discussing your group project, right?” asked Nathan, their teacher, coming over.
Aggy closed her book.
“Group project?” Thatcher asked, tossing his hair. “Do we have to do a group project? I don’t remember you telling us about a group project.”
Kian elbowed him. “Sure, Nathan. That’s exactly what we’re discussing. We’re discussing our group project.”
“So what’s it going to be?” Nathan asked, scratching his untrimmed black beard. “A skit? A model? A game?”
Simultaneously, Kian said, “Skit,” Thatcher said, “Game,” and Aggy said, “Model.”
Nathan smiled. “Sounds like you have more discussing to do. That’s fine, but don’t waste time. It’s time to produce.” He raised his arm, pointed at the ceiling, and repeated in a deep, theatrical voice, “Produce!”
“Nathan,” Logan said, “you believe in alien abduction, don’t you?”
“I don’t know, Logan,” Nathan said, bringing his hand down and resting it on the back of Logan’s chair. “I suppose none of us know.”
“I do,” Logan said. “I saw one today.”
“All right, Logan,” Nathan said. “But for now let’s focus on your astronomy project, okay?”
“That’s kind of hard, Nathan,” Logan said, “considering what I saw today.”
“Well, please try,” Nathan said, and walked away.
3. A Serious Alien Presence
“An alien abducted a dog today outside Sandwiches,” Logan told his mom after he got in the car.
“Uh-huh,” his mom said, putting the car into reverse.
“Or probably aliens, plural. I doubt one would travel across the universe by itself. What if it got sick or something, or had to go to the bathroom during a meteor shower? Who would steer? Autopilot probably wouldn’t work in a meteor shower….”
“Logan, I have a lot on my mind right now,” his mom said. “Patrice can’t babysit this week. She had to leave town unexpectedly.”
“But, Mom. I saw a dog abducted by—”
“Aliens. I heard you, Logan. I’m listening to you. I’m just asking if it can wait till we get home.”
“I’ve waited to talk to you about it all day. If you would get me a cell phone, I could have called you. Or texted you. But you won’t.”
“You’re ten, Logan.”
“Ten and a sixth. And I don’t see what difference that makes. You know I’m very mature for my age.”
“Yes, sweetheart, you are very mature,” his mom said, then smiled at him over her shoulder. Logan sat in the backseat beside his little brother, Sloane, who was strapped into his car seat.
“I agree it wouldn’t make good sense to get Sloane a cell,” Logan said. “He doesn’t even talk good.”
Sloane looked at him. “Goga,” he said.
“See?” Logan said. “He still calls me Goga. Even after all the years he’s known me.”
“Less than two years, Logan,” his mom said with a smile.
“A year and seven-twelfths. I wouldn’t support getting Sloane a cell phone. But I’m mature enough to have one. I sure could have used one today. When I informed Roberta that a dog had been abducted, she wouldn’t even stop the bus. If I had a cell, I could have called nine-one-one. Or the FBI.”
“Roberta has a lot of responsibility, Logan. Maybe an abducted dog isn’t as important as getting a busload of kids to school on time. I bet she reported the incident when she got back to the bus barn.”
“Doubtful,” Logan said. “She’s never reported any of the abductions and sightings I’ve witnessed. In my opinion, she doesn’t take alien presence on Earth seriously enough. Don’t they ask her about such things during the bus-driver interview process?”
“I’m not sure, Logan.”
“You need to go over her head, Mom. Contact the president, maybe, or the head of the FBI. Though I bet they already know about it. I’ve heard the FBI knows there are aliens on Earth, but they don’t tell us because they think we’ll panic. I wouldn’t panic.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“I didn’t panic today. If the FBI knows there are aliens and they’re monitoring them, fine. But I don’t think they should allow aliens to steal people’s dogs. I sure don’t want one to steal Bubba.”
The family’s aged pet bloodhound was resting behind the backseat in the cargo area.
“Unnnh, unnnh, unnnh,” whined Sloane.
“That’s right, Sloanie,” Logan’s mom said. “That’s what Bubba says.”
“Bubba fart!” Sloane said, slapping his chubby palms on the plastic tray in from of him.
“Yup,” his mom said. “Bubba farts all right.”
“It’s not her fault, Sloane,” Logan said. “She’s old. You’ll probably fart, too, when you’re as old as Bubba.”
“Sloanie farts now,” his mom said, peering at Sloane in her rearview mirror.
“Sloanie fart!” Sloane said, and, again, pounded his tray.
“Yeah, you fart, Sloane,” Logan said, “but not as much as Bubba.”
“Which is why we never have to worry about aliens taking her.”
“I hope you’re right, Mom.” Logan turned and stared vaguely out the window. “I hope you’re right.”
4. Confidential
Logan woke up an hour earlier than usual the next morning.
“Aliens,” he reminded himself.
He flung back the covers and leaped into his slippers.
“Must thwart the aliens.”
He tugged off his pajamas and pulled on the T-shirt, jeans, and socks he had taken off the night before.
Bubba climbed down slowly from Logan’s bed, stretched, yawned, then farted.
“Oh, man, Bubba,” Logan said, waving the air away from his nose with his hand. “That’s brutal.”
His mom was in the kitchen, in her robe and slippers, holding a steaming mug up under her nose.
“What are you doing up so early?” she asked.
“What do you think?” he said. “I’m going on alien patrol.”
“At six thirty in the morning?”
“I’m going to stake out Sandwiches. I have a hunch the alien will come back for more dogs.”
His mom nodded her sleepy head. “Okay. But don’t go anywhere but Sandwiches. And don’t talk to anyone you don’t know.”
“Yeah, I know, Mom,” Logan said as he stuffed binoculars, his digital camera, and a clipboard into his backpack.
“You must eat breakfast first, Logan. And I haven’t packed your lunch yet. I haven’t even gotten a hug yet.”
Logan walked over and gave her one. He di
dn’t put his all into it.
“That was sad,” his mom said.
“Sorry, Mom. Real hugs will have to wait till the extraterrestrials are apprehended.”
“Sit, son,” his mom said, standing. “I’m making you some eggs and toast.”
Logan dropped into the chair. “You don’t get how important this is, obviously.”
“Eating is important. You’re growing. And you can’t fight aliens on an empty stomach.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true. I happen to know that all FBI agents eat a substantial, nutritious breakfast every morning before going out to hunt down extraterrestrials.”
Logan glared at her, his pale brown eyes narrowing, his freckles gathering around his nose.
His mom glared back with the same pale brown eyes. She had the freckles, too, though hers were fainter. She didn’t get outside as often as her son.
“Do any of your clients work for the FBI?” Logan asked.
“You know I can’t breach client confidentiality,” his mom answered as she flicked on a burner. “But yes.”
“FBI agents need life coaches?”
“More than anybody,” his mom said, opening the fridge and removing a gray carton of eggs. “And don’t forget about the guy I dated in college who worked for the FBI’s special ET task force. The ETTF.”
“How did you know he worked for the ETTF? Don’t FBI agents take vows of confidentiality, too?”
“I have ways of finding things out,” his mom said with a grin. “Over easy?”
“Over fast. I’m in a hurry.”
“Okay, but the yolk might break, and you don’t like it when the yolk runs.”
“I’ll risk it,” Logan said.
“If you want speedy, why don’t you help by getting out the bread and start making your sandwich?”
“Yes, Coach.”
“That does it. Hit the floor! Fifty push-ups!”
Logan knew she was joking, but he fell onto his palms on the floor anyway.
“Get up, nut job, and make your sandwich,” his mom said.
5. The Second Dog
Logan walked the few blocks to Sandwiches Market, which had been in the neighborhood for more than a hundred years. He stopped across the street, hid behind the dogwood on the library’s lawn, and prepared for his surveillance. This meant removing from his backpack his binoculars and camera and hanging them around his neck, taking out a pair of black sunglasses with black lenses and putting them on, and unpacking a mechanical pencil and a clipboard. He glanced at his watch and, as he couldn’t read the LED display, lifted the dark glasses to his forehead.