Night Howl (11 page)

“I don’t care if you go along or not, lady, but like the man here says, it’s not a picnic.”

“I’m very well aware of that,” she said.

“But what about your work?” Kevin asked. He stepped forward so that he could be between Ann and Qwen. Qwen understood that Kevin wanted some privacy, so he went to the truck and leaned against the bashed-in fender.

“You know as well as I do that I need him back in the laboratory before I can go much further.”

“Dr. Bronstein said we have to think about working around that.”

“Listen to me, Kevin,” she said. She drew him farther from Gerson, who glared hatefully at her defiance. She took a deep breath. “I haven’t told you everything. I haven’t told anyone.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There was something I saw happening. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to see any delays or participate in any stupid roundtable discussions about morality.”

“Ann, what the hell are you talking about? I’ve got this guy ready to go. We’re already wasting precious daylight...”

“I knew that eventually he would escape,” she said.

“What?”

“He was making judgments about us, about what we were doing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Dammit, Kevin. He didn’t want us to know how intelligent he had become. He deliberately failed tests. He deliberately made mistakes. Don’t you see, that’s more than intelligence growth. That’s . . . that’s foresight. We didn’t just expand an animal’s perception and ability to make conclusions on a higher level. We’ve developed something beyond that. We’ve created a creature with ego. You know he has self-awareness. You know what that means.”

Kevin stared at her.

“We should have talked more about this. You were in there doing all those tests, all those other things . . .”

“I know, but I thought it was interesting,” she said, looking down, “and I didn’t want to fill the others in on everything just yet. You know how it gets to be, everything becomes a committee decision.”

“It’s supposed to be a group effort, Ann. For Christ’s sake—”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Qwen said, “but we could have been a half a mile or so by now.”

“Right. One more moment.”

“I’ve got to go along,” Ann said when Kevin turned back to her. “Don’t you see? I know things about him that you don’t, and when you confront him, it might come in handy.”

“Okay,” he said. “But when we get back, we’re going to have one helluva meeting with Dr. Bronstein. And no holding back on anything.”

“It’s a promise,” she said.

“Ann’s coming along,” he said, turning to Gerson and Qwen.

“Bullshit,” Gerson said.

“What the hell’s the difference to you?” Kevin asked. Gerson shot a look at Qwen and then at him.

“Dr. Bronstein said—”

“I’ll take full responsibility for her going. Don’t worry,” Kevin said.

“Why don’t we ask the dog how he feels about it?” Qwen said and then laughed, but he stopped when all three of them turned toward him and looked at him as though he had just solved some great mystery.

“Let’s go,” Kevin said, and the four of them started toward the gate. Qwen took a chaw of his tobacco, chewed it vigorously, and then spit a glob high in the air to his left. It wasn’t until after the institute disappeared behind the forest that he began to feel this little trip could somehow become life-threatening. He made a mental note not to trust anyone or anything but himself and Maggie’s instincts.

Sid was up at dawn. He wanted to be on the road by six-thirty because he had a good five hours of driving
ahead of him. Clara heard him in the bathroom and rose to make the coffee and get him some breakfast, even though it would be a quick one. He had done almost all of his packing the day before, so he expected his departure to be smooth and fast.

“I don’t think I fell asleep,” Clara told him. “I think I passed out.”

“You’re right. I thought I’d wake you with my tossing and turning.”

“Didn’t hear a thing,” she said.

They spoke to each other softly, almost as softly as they had when he’d courted her on a summer night, the two of them sitting on the porch of her house, her parents just inside, watching television, the sounds of the neighbors subdued, their own conversation broken occasionally by her parents’ laughter within. There were strong feelings just under the surface of things, passions and emotions lying dormant, just below the thin membrane of courtesy and restraint. He wanted her in his arms just as much as she wanted to be in them. The truth of their desires was written between sentences, in the lingering glances, and in the closeness of their bodies.

Now, in the early morning hours, there was a similar thin membrane of courtesy and restraint between them, only this time it covered disturbing tensions, aroused by the events of the past few days and Sid’s impending business trip. They both searched for small talk to avoid any references to the pain and fear.

“What’s this place like?” she asked him. She usually inquired about his projects.

“They make paper containers for things like dairy products, ice cream. That kind of thing. They’re growing, but not at the rate they should. They’ve had some labor problems, but I think they’re top-heavy in management. There’s a lot of duplication.”

“I guess you won’t be too popular with the executives.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m in and out. If they want to listen, good, it’s their nickel. If not . . .” he shrugged and she forced a smile.

“You have everything?”

“Just about. I was looking for that new calculator Morris gave me last time I was in New York.”

“Oh, Bobby had that.” She thought for a moment. “He was down in the basement with it, last I remember. It’s probably right on the bar or the table. I’ll look for it.”

“No, that’s all right. I’ll go.” He got up quickly. “You’ve got to get the kids up for school soon.” He was hoping they’d be awake before he left.

He went to the basement door, flipped on the lights, and descended the steps.

In the darkness below, he had awakened with the first sounds of Sid’s rising. He had listened intelligently to the movements upstairs, recognizing the heaviness that identified the adults. He was naturally more afraid of the man; he was keenly aware of Sid’s location above him every moment. It wasn’t his intention to go right into battle now. He wanted to wait and look for opportunity. Although he liked where he was and was comfortable here, he wasn’t satisfactorily familiar enough with all the surroundings yet.

The early dawn light that flowed through the basement windows gave him a better view of the room and its contents. He explored with a sharp curiosity, looking for familiar things. There was another part to the basement, a room that housed the water pump and hot water heater, as well as the box of circuit breakers. There was no oil burner or gas heater, since the house had electrical heat. The room had no carpeting, nor did it have paneling on the walls. There was a cold cement
floor and rough, poured cement foundation walls. Pipes and wires were freely exposed. Because they weren’t heating the basement playroom at this time, the door to this utility area was left open. The morning light penetrated a single basement window here, too.

One corner of the room contained the family’s older possessions. There were some cartons of clothing, some pieces of furniture, boxes of pictures and books, and a variety of knickknacks, including small lamps and a small desk. He moved around the items slowly, inspecting, sniffing, searching for anything that would have value to him. There was nothing of any particular interest as far as he was concerned, and he would have gone out of the utility room and gone directly for the stairway if he hadn’t heard Sid descending.

He went to the doorway and looked out into the playroom, debating whether or not he should attack the man now. He heard the footsteps of the woman above and he wondered whether there would be any more men coming. He had a healthy respect for packs. It was one thing to take down a single man; that was relatively easy, but groups of them presented other dangers. For one thing, he didn’t like the possibility of battling them in a confined area. It was still their environment. They knew it best. Successful predators chose the time and place best suited for them.

These conclusions didn’t come to him quickly. The alternatives presented themselves in a logical fashion, and he made his choice just the way a well-programmed computer might—moving ahead only when the correct set of variables existed. His decision was to wait.

When Sid made the turn at the bottom of the stairway, he saw the shredded bacon bits box immediately and went right to it. It was curious that the box had been so torn up and left in the middle of the floor. He knelt down and inspected it, noting how cleanly it had
been emptied. He smirked and shook his head. He was about to stand up again when he saw the dog hairs just below the box. There were only a few, but he thought they were King’s.

“Dammit,” he muttered. He stood up and looked about, remembering that he had to find that calculator and get a move on. He went to the table and moved some books and papers around, but the calculator wasn’t there. He thought about the bar and the shelves behind it. When he went there, he saw the smashed glass on the floor. “Shit. What the hell went on here?”

His first thought was to yell for Clara. Then he realized that the mood wasn’t right for him to raise his voice. It would just frighten her unnecessarily. But he didn’t have time to stay down here and clean up the mess. He’d have to tell her about it and leave it for her. He found his calculator at the corner of the bar and turned to go back upstairs. That was when he saw it.

The basement door to the outside was slightly opened.

“For Christ’s sake,” he muttered and went to it. “Jesus,” he said, closing the door. “Talk about making it easy for burglars. You might as well put up an invitation.” He slid the latch-lock to the right, securing the door, and then he turned around and considered the rest of the basement playroom. Nothing else looked disturbed and it was already six-thirty. He couldn’t tolerate any further delays, so he ascended the stairway and turned off the lights.

Clara was just rousing Bobby and Lisa when he came to her.

“You found it?”

“Yeah, but I found something else too,” he said.

“What?” She held Bobby’s shirt to her bosom.

“Seems Junior there was down in the basement with King. There’s a torn-up box of bacon bits and a glass smashed behind the bar.”

“Oh, Bobby.” She looked at the little boy, who was just stirring. He sat up and rubbed his eyes in confusion.

“Why didn’t you tell me you broke a glass downstairs, honey?”

“I didn’t break a glass,” he said.

“The dog probably did it,” Sid said. “And he covered for him.”

“I’ll go down and clean it up later, after they’re off.”

“That’s not all,” he said. “He left the basement door open. Anyone could have just walked into the house.”

“Oh no! You know, I always mean to check that at night before I go to sleep. Bobby, you’re getting to be impossible, do you know that?”

The little boy stared up with growing confusion. He was no longer sure himself when he had last been down there. He had gone down there with King, at times, but he couldn’t remember doing it recently. At the moment, he had a poor perspective of time, anyway. And his father was talking as if King were still alive. For a moment he wondered if everything hadn’t really been a dream.

“I gotta get going,” Sid said. He went into the bedroom, put the calculator into his suitcase, shut it, and started out. He paused at Lisa’s doorway and gave her another kiss good-bye, kissed Bobby and shook his head gently, and then went to the garage door. Clara followed him to the car and watched him throw the suitcase into the trunk.

“Have a good trip,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll call you tonight. You’ve got the name of the motel and the numbers where I can be reached if you need me for anything.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m going to be all right.”

“Sure.” He kissed her and got into the car. She
watched him back the car out of the garage and then waved one more time as he turned and headed down Lake Street.

As soon as he was gone, her sense of dread became terribly heavy. She closed the garage door and busied herself with the children to keep herself from crying. But when the school bus came and they got on it, she couldn’t hold back the tears. It was irrational; it was weak, but she couldn’t help it. She stopped when she remembered the mess in the basement. She was almost grateful for it. She was grateful for anything that would keep her mind off her seemingly inexplicable sense of doom.

F
OR
THE
FIRST
few hours of the morning, they traveled in relative silence. To Qwen there was something monastic about the forest in the early morning hours, anyway. The crack of a branch, the heavy shuffle of feet, a cough, a grunt, even the sound of his own breathing were all amplified tenfold. In the weaker, early morning sun, the shadows of the taller, wider trees loomed around them like cold stone walls. He had a religious respect for the stillness. Ever since he was a little boy, since his grandfather began teaching him lessons of nature and making it seem like a living, intelligent being in and of itself, Qwen imagined the forest housed some great, wild, night creature, a beast unseen by men, feeding off the darkness and retreating into the trees and dark earth with the coming of the morning light. It was an irrational thought, a ghost of childhood past, the product of a young boy’s imagination, but a product that lingered in the closets of the adult’s mind, peering out whenever an unusual sound was heard or a shadow moved quickly and mysteriously across the surface of his peripheral vision. Like a descendant of some indigenous Indian tribe, he clung to a belief in the spiritual life of the forest.

Qwen kept Maggie close to him until they reached the spot from which he had turned back the day before. She was eager to be turned loose, to follow the commands of instinct and do what she was genetically programmed to do—search and discover. He could see the anxiousness in her walk, the way the muscles in her legs and flank tightened, and the manner in which she kept her head high so she could sift through the breeze and hone in on the scents. But Qwen didn’t see any point in having her confirm the zigzag pattern the dog had taken. It was a particularly arduous path, designed, it still seemed to him, to make things more difficult for pursuers.