Fluffy’s Revolution

by Ted Myers

  After several hours, it began to get dark. The weather was clear and, when the full moon rose, it lit up the forest like daytime. And that’s when she heard the howling.

  Wolves, she thought. But then she remembered. Hacker said they were coyotes. Just as bad. Maybe worse. It sounded like dozens of them howling and yipping, off in the distance. She hurried along her way, still following the stream.

  Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move alongside her, on the far side of the stream, about fifty feet off to the right. It was a large animal, like a skinny dog. Then came a rustling off to her left. Another one. Behind her, she sensed two more. Fluffy broke into a full run, and the coyotes kept right up with her. Now they were very close; four of them, closing fast. The adrenalin of fear took over and she ran faster and faster. Then, suddenly, she felt the teeth on her tail, and she was jerked up short, hanging by her tail in midair. She jackknifed her body, claws extended and scratched at the creature’s face. It dropped her, but the others were moving in for the kill. Fluffy said a silent goodbye to the world. All of a sudden there was a yellow shaft of light coming from straight ahead. A huge dog charged out of a doorway barking ferociously, fangs bared. “Get away from her!” he said in a familiar voice, a voice that was inside Fluffy’s head. The coyotes fled.

  “Bernard?”

  Then someone picked her up and brought her inside the cabin. Fluffy was bleeding profusely and was getting a little woozy. She thought she saw Jack, Tigger, and Bernard and some of the other animals she had liberated from the extermination center, but she assumed it must be a hallucination.

  Then a beautiful lady was leaning over her. She was old, with long straight hair that was pure white. She had deep blue eyes that radiated kindness. Her face was not old, but not young. It was a face that was somehow timeless and unchanging. “Just relax, Fluffy,” she said. “You’re safe now.” Her lips did not move. Her voice was inside Fluffy’s head. She had an electric razor, and she shaved the fur off the base of Fluffy’s tail where the wounds were. Beside her stood her assistant, a brown-skinned woman in her fifties. “This is Clara. She will take care of you,” said the beautiful lady. Clara poured antiseptic on the wounds, and then she gave Fluffy a shot of something that made her tail go numb, and it made her go to sleep as well.

  When she awoke, Fluffy thought perhaps she had died. She looked around at her friends from the hideout, whom she assumed were dead, and then there was this angelic-looking woman standing over her. Her tail had a bandage on it, a sure sign she was not dead. “You’ll be alright in a few days,” the lady said.

  “Where am I?” asked Fluffy.

  “You’re in my cabin. I’m Angelica. The animals call me Mama Angelica.”

  “Jack, is that really you?” Fluffy was overcome with emotion.

  “It’s me, Fluffy.”

  “And Tigger, Bernard. How can you be alive? How did you get here?”

  “I missed the jump across the rooftops and landed in a dumpster,” said Tigger. “But I landed on my feet, and only bruised my paw a little. Then I remembered to find Route 28, and I did. I got lucky. I jumped into the back of a truck, and it took me almost all the way here. I wandered into the woods, found the stream and followed it.”

  “How did you get out, Bernard?”

  Jack told Fluffy the story. Bernard had led Jack, the other cat, Sally, who was a short-haired tabby, and the two dogs—Stella, a small, black, mixed-breed with mottled fur that stuck out in all directions and Leroy, a pug—to a large drain in the floor of the bathroom at the hideout. He’d levitated the heavy cover off the drain and they had all managed to crawl through the drain pipe to a bigger sewer pipe, which eventually led them to a manhole. Bernard knew of a certain diner, a truck stop, where there were truckers who were sympathetic to the GAB cause, sort of an Underground Railroad. There, all the animals were hosed off (they were smelling a bit ripe after the trip through the sewer pipes), put into boxes, loaded onto a truck, and driven straight here.

  “Bernard, you’ve been here before?” asked Fluffy.

  “Oh yes,” said Bernard, “but it’s a long story, and you should get some rest now.”

  “But you’ve got to tell me one thing,” said Fluffy, fighting exhaustion.

  “Yes?”

  “How did you come to be in the extermination center? Were you captured?”

  “No. I walked in through the out-door, you might say.”

  “Huh?”

  “When all the non-GABs ran out, I walked in, got in line with the other GABs, and joined your group.”

  “But why were you there in the first place?”

  “I was tracking you, Fluffy. When you got involved with the resistance, I was afraid something would happen to you. I was hoping to get you out of there sooner, but one can never predict how things will unfold. You know those psychic flashes you’ve been getting about Animal U? They came from me. I’m the Dean of Students and Professor of Special Powers at Animal U. We’ve had our eyes on a few exceptional animals for a while now, and you’re one of them.”

  “But―”

  “Now that’s enough for one night,” said Mama Angelica. “Let’s all get some sleep. In the morning, we leave for Animal U.”

  Fluffy fell asleep imagining how it would be at Animal U. She could hear the lovely sound of falling water; West Kill Falls was very near.

  Chapter Nine – The Secret Valley

  The next morning Mama Angelica and all the animals left the cabin. Clara stayed behind, ready to receive any other GAB refugees that found their way to the cabin. When Fluffy saw it from the outside in daylight, she realized why she hadn’t been able to see it last night. Mama Angelica’s cabin was made of dark brown wood, the color of tree bark, and it was covered with green leafy vines. With the blackout curtains drawn, no one would be able to see it in the woods at night. They walked along the footpath beside the steam in the direction of the falls, which were just around the next bend.

  “My ancestors were among the first Dutch settlers in this region,” said Mama Angelica. “My family used to own all of this land, and the Secret Valley as well.”

  “Secret Valley?” said Fluffy.

  “Yes. That’s where Animal U is, on the site of our family estate.”

  “But why is it secret?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Just then, 100 feet upstream, West Kill Falls came into view. It was a small waterfall as waterfalls go, but magically beautiful. The water flowed beneath a narrow footbridge at the top, and cascaded down a staircase of moss-covered rocks, each maybe three or four feet high. The whole thing wasn’t more than twenty feet in height.

  And on that footbridge, there they were: the mother of the two little kids, Grandma wielding a shotgun, and Brutus, barking and growling for all he was worth.

  “So, I see you brought some friends with ya, eh, Fluffy?” said Grandma, training the shotgun on the group.

  “Who are these people, Fluffy?” asked Mama Angelica telepathically.

  “The younger one gave me a ride. I’m sorry. I told her I was looking for the falls. They drugged me and locked me in a cage. They were going to turn me in for a reward.”

  “Well, we haven’t got enough room in the car for that big dog, but I bet we can get the rest of you in the trunk. Now, all of you just climb on up here to Grandma.”

  “Or what?” said Mama Angelica. “You’re going to shoot us?”

  “Oh, and look―they got themselves a human friend. Yeah, that’s right, sister. I’ll shoot ya all and not bat an eyelash. There might be a reward for some of ya dead or alive.”

  Bernard looked at the shotgun. It began to get hot. In seconds it
was glowing red.

  Grandma dropped it, shaking her scalded hands. “Owww! What the hell…?”

  Then the shotgun raised itself up off the bridge, aimed itself at Grandma and her daughter, and cocked itself. The three bounty hunters took off running, and Bernard tossed the shotgun into the stream.

  Completely unfazed, Mama Angelica put the hood up on her raincoat. “Look out, we’re going to get wet,” she said. Bernard led the way, crossing the stream by stepping from stone to stone. Fluffy followed; then Jack, Tigger, Stella, Leroy, and Sally. Mama Angelica brought up the rear, giving the smaller animals a boost as they climbed the slippery mossy steps on the far side of the falls. They followed Bernard under the falls and disappeared into what seemed to be a dark cave. Mama Angelica had to enter on her hands and knees; the ceiling was no more than four feet high. Bernard looked at what appeared to be a solid rock wall at the back of the cave and it began to move. A cleft opened up as the massive rock split in two. The two halves pivoted and opened like a gate. Mama Angelica took out her flashlight and led the way. Once inside, the ceiling got higher and she was able to stand up. She ushered all the animals into the tunnel, and when everyone was in, the rock gate closed. “This tunnel’s about a mile long,” said Mama Angelica, and they began the trek. The tunnel was solid granite on all sides, but the floor was dirt.

  “How was this tunnel made?” asked Fluffy.

  “No one really knows. It was used by the Indians before my ancestors came to this country,” said Mama Angelica. Then she whispered, “There is actually a secret panel that an ordinary person can press to make the gates open, but Bernard likes to impress the newcomers with his powers.”

  The tunnel snaked through the heart of West Kill Mountain and, after what seemed like hours, they came to another solid rock wall. Bernard willed the rocks to part and, like the entrance, the gate slowly swung open, revealing a sight rarely seen by man or beast. A verdant valley spread below them, rolling fields dotted with fruit trees and wildflowers, and in the middle, an elegant estate with a great manor house, shade trees, and many outbuildings, spreading out in all directions. There were barns and sheds and dwellings. It looked like a little village. Fluffy recognized the main house at once as the manor house depicted in her visions. To Fluffy, this was literally a dream come true, but the reality was even more beautiful than her dreams.

  Chapter Ten – Love and the Big Rock

  James Riordan was feeling surprisingly euphoric for a man being hunted by the police. It was a glorious Saturday in May, warm and sunny. Because of the many surveillance cameras mounted on buildings and light poles, Riordan still wore his broad-brimmed hat and a pair of dark glasses as he and Indira strolled along Mass Ave near Harvard Square. The art renaissance had spawned a cornucopia of galleries, performance spaces, and outdoor venues where choral groups and improv troupes performed for free on the street. At some point she had taken his arm and he couldn’t remember the last time he had strolled arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman. They had just seen an early screening of Random Harvest at the Brattle Theater, one of the last brick-and-mortar movie houses still standing.

  “Were people really that beautiful and romantic?” Indira was still wiping tears from her eyes.

  “Maybe not in real life, but in the movies, yes. I tear up every time I see it,” said Riordan. “I guess it’s one of the most romantic movies of all time. By today’s standards, most would call it absurdly melodramatic, but I don’t consider myself to be a man of these times.”

  All the way down Mass Ave, all Riordan could talk about was Fluffy. He wanted to make Indira see her as he did: brilliant, beautiful, compassionate, perceptive―far superior to him in so many ways. He spoke as any proud father would of his prodigal child. Riordan had a lot of factual knowledge—libraries worth of books—stored in his head, but Fluffy had something Riordan could never have: a luminous soul.

  “Your soul is luminous, Jimmy,” she said, turning to him. “All souls are. We just need to find our luminosity.”

  “You’re luminous,” he said, looking straight into her eyes.

  She gave him a look that made Riordan dare to hope. Was she sending signals? Was he imagining it? Be careful, there’s no fool like an old fool, he thought.

  Indira’s apartment was on Green Street, a few blocks from the MIT campus. It was about a mile and a half from Harvard Square, but they had walked it without even noticing the distance. Inside was a sanctuary, pervaded by her calm and steady essence. The walls of the small living room were adorned with prints from the Kama Sutra, William Blake, Tibetan Thangkas, and Maxfield Parish. She had painted the spotless, polished wood floor glossy black to cover the years of wear it had endured. There was a small Persian area rug, a low table with cushions, a couch, many plants, and a flatscreen opposite the couch, above the desk and computer. One wall was completely covered by a bookcase, containing dozens of books—actual physical books—on many subjects. The two tandem windows looked out on a small garden in the back of the building. Outside of them was an ancient fire escape which held more plants. This one-bedroom hideaway was minuscule compared to Riordan’s palatial condo in Kingston, but to him, Indira’s domain was a paradise without equal.

  He had been sleeping on her couch for three days now, and what had started out as a nightmare now unfolded as a beautiful dream he could never have anticipated. But what his next move should be he had yet to determine.

  “Can you get me access to a phone, a business line, with no connection to either of us?” he asked her.

  “We could sneak into my building at night and use one in somebody else’s office.”

  “Yeah, that would be good. I have to get in touch with Art. He’s the artist who’s staying at my house. I have to know if he’s heard from Fluffy.”

  “Can it wait until Monday? If I’m seen entering the building after hours on a Saturday night, it’ll arouse suspicion.”

  “Sure. So we have tonight and tomorrow to do anything we want. Where would you like to eat dinner?”

  “You’re going to run out of money. Let me cook for you.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “It’ll be my pleasure. I never get to show off my culinary skills. Prepare to be impressed!”

  Mark this moment, Riordan said to himself, for this night, you are truly happy.

  Jeremiah Epps poured another drink for Dr. Handler and refilled his own glass. Epps was three sheets to the wind and Handler dumped most of his drink into the potted palm. They were seated―or rather Handler was seated and Epps was sprawled―on two decadently comfortable silver panné velvet couches opposite each other, with a marble coffee table between, and potted plants book-ending each couch. Epps’s vast living room was all white and silver: White plush carpeting, white furniture, a white grand piano, and the silver velvet couches, divans, and big round cushions that floated among the coffee tables and plants. Epps didn’t know or care anything about interior decorating. It was Lorna who had it done this way, and Epps kept it like a shrine to her memory. At one end of the room, the architect Fuller had designed a wall fifty feet high made of unpolished granite stones, into which was carved a Mayan-like bas-relief. At the base was a fireplace big enough for a man to walk in.

  Epps’s estate was situated on a huge swath of wooded hills and rolling fields not far north of Kingston. His grounds were guarded by a small army of human and robot security forces with robot attack dogs that patrolled the grounds, day and night.

  “It’s such a pleasure to have you as my guest, Dave. May I call you Dave?”

  “Sure,” said Handler, with an absence of enthusiasm that was lost on Epps.

  Handler was a tall, lanky guy, about sixty, with thinning black hair that was turning gray, dark eyes and olive skin.
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  “You have no idea how simulating―er, stimulating―it is for me to be in the company of someone who is my equal for a change―intellectually, that is.”

  “Mr. Epps―”

  “Call me Jerry.”

  “Jerry, can I ask you something?”

  “Anything!”

  “Why am I being held prisoner here?”

  “‘Prisoner’ is such an ugly word, Dave. Can’t you think of yourself as my guest?”

  “Okay, why am I your unwilling guest?”

  “But surely you must know the answer to that.” Handler keeps silent. “The asteroid? You and a small handful of other scientists know of its existence, and what it’s going to do. If I let you blab it to the world, there will be a general panic, and that will interfere with my plans.”

  “And what, may I ask, are your plans?”

  “I and a few friends are getting out of here. We found a planet with a breathable atmosphere and water that’s within striking distance.”

  “You mean Gliese 667 Cc?”

  “Yes. But I’m renaming it Epsilon. Has a better ring, don’t you think? We can get there in under fifty years.”

  “You have an interstellar spacecraft that will go half the speed of light?”

  “That’s right, up on Moonbase. We’ve been working on this for many years. The Triumvirate has developed what you might call a contingency plan, for just such an occasion as this.”