Raising Rufus (15 page)

Martin's stomach gnarled up, and his heart began racing again. This was not how things were supposed to go.

He started pacing around once more, thinking, thinking, thinking. If only he could reach Mr. Eckhart. But how? He was probably just arriving at the U. Maybe Audrey would have an idea. Martin realized he'd left his phone on the kitchen counter. But his mom was in there, so he would have to sneak down and get it without her seeing.

He looked out the window and saw the sheriff open up his tranquilizing rifle and run a cleaning brush down the barrel. If anything was going to be done to help Rufus, it had to be
now.

He cooked up a desperate plan. If he could get into the woods through the trailhead down at the end of his street, he might be able to circle around and slip into the backyard at the far end of the barn, and probably nobody would see him there. Then he could pull away the cinder blocks, free Rufus, and head off into the woods, just the two of them, and stay hidden out there until Mr. Eckhart got back. Or at least until he could think up a better plan.

Martin slipped quietly out of the bedroom and peeked down the stairs. Coast clear. He tiptoed down and spotted his mom in the kitchen, watching the others in the backyard through the
window—probably
as close as she wanted to get. He crept silently into the kitchen, grabbed his phone from the counter, and then slunk out into the hall, glided across the living room, and flew out the front door.

He could almost hear the precious seconds ticking away as he ran down the street. He knew he would need somebody to alert Mr. Eckhart where he was, so, without slowing down a bit, he switched on the phone and dialed Audrey's home number.

“Come on…come on, answer.” Four rings. Five rings. Where was she? He'd just walked her home an hour ago! Six rings. Why couldn't she have her own cell phone? Flustered, he clicked off the phone and dropped it in his pocket.

Though it was only a quarter mile from there to the trailhead, by the time Martin got there he was pretty well spent. Still, he knew he couldn't let that slow him down, and he pushed on into the woods. As planned, he hooked straight back around toward the house—but, not knowing this particular set of trails very well, he made a couple of wrong turns and ended up at the white rock instead. Totally annoyed, he gave the rock a hard kick—which only made things worse, because now he had a bruised toe.

He knew the way back from there, but had already lost an extra ten minutes. So when he finally arrived at the far end of the yard, his whole body went limp when he saw that his dad and the others weren't there anymore—which could only mean they had already gone into the barn to do their dirty work.

Martin swallowed hard. He didn't know which was more alarming—what they might do to Rufus, or what he might do to them. Either way, he had a sickening feeling he was too late to do anything about it.

He raced over to the double doors and tried to peek in through the tiny slit between them. The view wasn't very good, but he could make out the tops of three men's heads behind a row of wooden crates. They were kneeling down, doggedly working on something on the ground in front of them. Martin couldn't tell who was who, but they sounded pretty tense as they worked.

“You got that one?”

“Yeah, it's good. Wait—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“I got it, I got it.”

“Easy does it.
Easy.
”

“Okay. I think we're there. All good.”

They slowly stood up, all breathing hard but looking hugely relieved.

“Wow,”
said Mr. Fairfield. “Not bad for three old guys, eh?”

“Speak for yourself, buddy,” said the sheriff, and all three of them chuckled.

Something moved just a bit on the floor in front of their feet, and Martin knew right away what it was: the tip of Rufus's tail, sticking out from behind the crates. The worst had obviously already happened: they had tranquilized him and tied him up with the phone cord.

Martin's heart was palpitating, his teeth grinding. He wanted to scream out, but there was a giant lump in his throat blocking his voice box.

“Whoo!” Sheriff Grimes sighed. “For a minute there I thought my head was gonna get bit off.”

“Ha ha!” Mr. Fairfield cackled. “When he came at us like that, I thought we were
all
done for.”

“Good thing you didn't miss,” said Mr. Tinker.

Hearing them joke about it did nothing at all to loosen the knot in Martin's gut. He just wanted to smash the doors in, tear those cords off Rufus, and fly him off to another planet where the people weren't so heartless.

“So what now?” Mr. Tinker said.

“We wrap him up in that tarp over there,” said Ben Fairfield, pointing to a big piece of canvas in a corner, “and load him up in your truck and take him to the Trout Palace.”

“You got a place to put him there?” the sheriff asked.

“For now we can just lock him up in the maintenance shed. That should work for a week or two.”

“Is that gonna be secure?” said Martin's dad.

“Sure, sure. I'll see to it nobody goes near there. You told your kid to keep his mouth shut, right?”

Martin was only a tiny bit relieved that Mr. Fairfield had addressed that one to Sheriff Grimes, not his dad.

“Oh, yeah. No problem with Donnie,” the sheriff said.

“After we close next week, we'll make a nice big holding area for him, get him good and fattened up over the winter. By next spring, we should be good to go. Gordy, why don't you and Ann come over there first thing in the morning and we'll talk some business.”

Suddenly, there was a grunt from behind the crates, and Rufus's tail swung weakly toward their feet. They all jumped back, and Mr. Fairfield quickly grabbed the stick out of Mr. Tinker's hand and took a swing at the body on the floor in front of them. The
thump
sound of wood on rib cage pierced Martin's heart like an ice pick.

“No!” Fairfield barked. “Down!”

He took another whack. Martin nearly jumped out of his shoes.

“Ben, easy,” Martin's dad implored. “He's not going anywhere.”

“Hey, a dangerous animal like that, you've got to show him who's boss. Who's up, who's down, that's all they understand.”

When he reached back to take a third whack, Martin had seen and heard enough. He suddenly pounded his hands on the wooden doors with everything he had.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

“What in creation—?” said Sheriff Grimes.

Bam bam bam bam!

“Who's out there?” Mr. Tinker called.

“You can't have him!” Martin cried out, fighting against tears that threatened to choke him. “He's my friend and I won't let him go!”
Bam bam bam!

“Criminy, he's down here
again
?” Mr. Tinker muttered, heading quickly for the cellar stairs.

Martin knew his dad would be out there in a flash; rather than face him, he wheeled around and took off at full speed into the woods.

He ran and ran, not even noticing that it was starting to get dark out there. As far as he was concerned, if he got lost or fell and broke his leg or got eaten by some deadly night creature, that was just fine with him.

But he didn't get lost or break a bone or get eaten; within a few minutes he found himself at a very familiar spot: the shore of Winoka Lake. He plopped down on his thinking rock and buried his head in his hands, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase all the awful sights and sounds he'd absorbed that day.

He saw a drop of water hit the ground below him, leaving an amoeba-shaped blob of mud on the smooth, gray dirt. A second drop fell, and he realized it wasn't raindrops, but his own tears.

He took a long, deep gulp of air and lifted his head to gaze out across the surface of the lake, shimmering in the approaching dusk. He stared hard at the thousands of spots of light as they ignited and then quickly vanished, hoping maybe he could vanish along with them, and then reappear sometime in the far future when all this stuff would be just a vague memory.

A crackling sound jarred him out of his sullen daydream, and he glanced back to see his dad approaching. He hadn't expected to be discovered quite so quickly. Not wanting to provide even the slightest reminder of the Orville-the-hamster situation, he quickly brushed the salt water off his cheeks and fixed a steely gaze on the horizon.

Mr. Tinker didn't yell, like Martin expected he would; instead, he slowly wandered up and stopped a few feet behind him.

“Hey,” he said calmly.

Martin pretended not to hear; he just kept staring out over the lake. His dad sauntered over and sat down on another rock nearby.

“Look, uh…I know you're not on board with this. I get that. You got attached. But don't forget, it was you that broke the rules. We told you, no pets.
Especially
a beast like that thing.”

Trying to hold his tongue, Martin exhaled tightly.

“But you know what, we don't have to dwell on that. What you obviously haven't thought about is the good that's gonna come out of this. Things'll be a little easier for us all for a change. Plus, you'll probably be the most popular kid in school. I'd say it's a pretty good deal.”

Martin whirled around and faced him. “How could you sell him? To jerky Ben Fairfield, of all people! Now he's just gonna be some stupid circus act!”

“What did you think was going to happen, Martin?! Did you think you were just gonna keep that thing down there forever? What kind of parents would that make us, when it got twelve feet tall and decided to make a lunch out of you?”

“He would never do that!”

“You don't know that, and you
know
you don't!”

Martin jumped to his feet, picked up a stick, and threw it out into the lake as far as he could.

As he paced around, his dad watched him with a taut frown. “Tell you what,” he said. “We'll let you get a pet. A dog or something. You like dogs, right?”

Martin gave a dismissive snort. Now it was his dad who jumped to his feet.

“For crying out loud, Martin, you are almost twelve years old! When are you gonna learn how to take things like a man?”

“I'm not a man!” Martin shot back, facing him square-on. “And if it means being greedy and heartless like you, I'd rather not be one!”

“Hey!” his dad barked, pointing a stiff finger straight at his nose. Martin knew he'd crossed the line with that one, and figured this would be the start of an all-out tongue-lashing. But instead Mr. Tinker slowly lowered his finger, looked away, and softened his tone.

“Look, I'll do everything I can to see he's treated well. That's all I can promise you. We can sit down later and hash it out. Right now we need to get back. It's getting dark out here. C'mon.”

Martin picked up a stone and tried to skip it across the water, but it just plopped straight in.

“Let's go, pal,” his dad said.

Martin shuffled around for a few more seconds. Then, without saying a word, he turned around and sprinted back down the path—by himself, not with his dad.

He ran all the way back, went straight into the house, breezed past his mom, and stomped up the stairs to his room.

Martin didn't want to watch as Mr. Tinker backed his truck into the yard, and then he and the sheriff and Mr. Fairfield headed around to the far end of the barn. Minutes later they emerged pushing a large wheelbarrow with Rufus, now limp and rolled up in a tarp, draped across it. With great effort, they wheeled their bulky cargo up the slope and, with a lot of grunting and straining, managed to load it into the truck bed.

As much as Martin hated watching this, he couldn't
not
look either, and he stood there in the bedroom window, breathing heavily, as the scene unfolded below. What was even worse was what happened after they finished the deed: Mr. Fairfield pulled something out of his pocket, scribbled something down, tore off a small, rectangular sheet of paper, and handed it to Martin's dad—a check, sealing the deal.

Martin slammed the window shut, flopped back on the bed, and turned up the clock radio really loud with rap music. He stayed there for a long time, hoping his mind would drift to other things. But he just couldn't shake the thought of everything that had happened—and he feared that the worst was yet to come.

The rest of the evening came and went, and Martin barely moved, except to go over and sit down next to the window to stare out at the full September moon. The big talk his parents promised never happened, but that was fine with him; right now he just wanted to be left alone. He refused even to go downstairs for dinner. He decided he would simply stay in that room for the rest of his miserable life, until he shriveled up and turned into a dusty skeleton. They'd have to haul what was left of him out of there in a Hefty bag. Yes, he'd show them, all right.

But then his mind went back to poor Rufus. He
couldn't
just sit back and do nothing while they treated him like some giant carnival freak. But what could an eleven-year-old kid possibly do?

There
had
to be
something.

E
ven in its best days, the Trout Palace had never seen crowds like this. A huge circus tent had been put up on the grounds, and people were jammed in by the thousands. They were all buzzing excitedly and jostling for the best view of the big stage set up at one end of the tent.

Ben Fairfield, dressed in a snappy tuxedo, strutted out from behind the curtain to the center of the stage, a bright spotlight following him. He stepped up to a microphone and waited patiently as the hubbub turned to dead silence.

“Folks, you've heard about it,” he said dramatically. “You've read about it, and now you've come from all over the world to see it for yourselves. So I'm not going to make you wait for it one moment longer. Ladies and gentlemen, I give
you…Tyrannosaurus
 rex!”

A blast of loud music suddenly struck up over the PA system, and slowly the curtain rose to reveal a huge prehistoric beast, shackled at the neck and feet while chained to a thick metal post. Rufus was now a fully grown tyrannosaur, almost twenty feet tall, and the sight of him drew a huge gasp from the crowd. Their speechless amazement gave way to a chorus of astonished murmurings. Then, when the sight of this fearsome creature had fully registered in their brains, a wave of thunderous applause swept across the sea of people like a tidal wave.

But Rufus was not looking at all fierce or vicious. He twitched and squirmed, blinded by the bright lights and weighed down by the chains. Even worse, every time he tried to pull free, one of three men dressed all in black would jolt him with a long electric cattle prod to keep him in line.

People clapped and whistled. Cameras flashed like a lightning storm. Children pointed in amazement. Babies cried. The music continued to throb, shaking the whole tent.

Way in the back, Martin was trying to push through the crowd toward the stage. But he could hardly move, everybody was packed in so tight. He twisted and squeezed and shoved, trying desperately to get to the stage so he could some way, somehow put an end to the outrageous spectacle.

He could see, just offstage, his parents and Mr. Fairfield exchanging delighted smiles, beaming at the sensation they'd created.

For Rufus, it was all too much. The chains, the prods, the throngs, the noise…it brought him right to the point of panic. Agonized, he reared back and let loose with a long, thunderous ROAR—and the sound triggered something in Martin and he threw his own head back and let out a shrill, deeply pained
“NOOOOOOOOO!”

Martin bolted upright in his bed. Darkness engulfed him, and his eyes darted around in confusion. He was panting hard; sweat covered his body. Then, as his head cleared, he felt his muscles gradually loosen a bit. Never had he been so relieved to awaken from a dream.

But his relief didn't last long. He jumped out of bed and paced furiously back and forth. To just sit and do nothing while they turned Rufus into a cheesy circus act…well, it simply was not an option.

He went to the window and gazed out at the moon, his mind racing. His thoughts quickly started coming together. Fact one: Rufus was imprisoned at the Trout Palace. He would have to be freed. Fact two: Ben Fairfield did not have Rufus's best interests at heart. Fact three: Mr. Eckhart was still the only hope. Somehow, he would have to be found.

“Don't worry, Rufus,” he said to the black sky, with a new, steely resolve. “I'll take care of you.”

He looked over at the dimly lit clock radio next to his bed: 4:45 a.m.

With fierce determination, he threw on some clothes in record time, raced downstairs very quietly, slipped out the side door, and jumped on his bike. He pedaled off into the darkness at top speed, which was probably not the smartest thing to do, since his bike had no light. He hit a couple of bumps and nearly wiped out two different times, but somehow managed to keep it together.

As he rode, a plan started taking shape in his head. He knew where Mr. Fairfield kept the keys in his office, and with luck, he could sneak in there and get them. Then, while Audrey created a distraction for the night guards, he would open up the maintenance shed and free Rufus. Then all three of them would slip out the gate in the chain-link fence at the back of the Trout Palace grounds. From there they could escape into the woods and make their way to Mr. Eckhart's house.

Martin knew if he thought about it too much, he would realize what an outlandish plan it was, and he might lose his enthusiasm. So for now, he didn't think any more about the details.

In just minutes, he made it all the way to the Blanchards' house.

Martin rode into the front yard, vaulted off his bike like a gymnast dismounting a pommel horse, and ran around the side of the house to where he knew Audrey's room was. He waded through some low bushes to get to the window, then tapped quietly on the glass. No response. He tapped louder, and finally a surprised and groggy-eyed Audrey opened the window.

“What are you doing?!” she rasped.

“We have to save Rufus. They took him to the Trout Palace and they're gonna make him into a freak show.”

“Ai-yai-yai…”

From behind an evergreen bush on a wooded ridge just beyond the back fence of the Trout Palace grounds, Audrey and Martin scoped out the scene. From there they had a pretty good view of the whole place. It was strange to him how a place that was so bright and loud and full of life during the day could be so dark and eerily quiet at night.

He had told Audrey his plan, and to his surprise, she hadn't asked a lot of annoying questions or tried to point out all the flaws. He was glad to know she was as committed to freeing Rufus as he was.

“So, which building?” she asked in a hushed voice.

He pointed to a dull gray structure, about the size of a two-car garage, that was right next to the fence, away from the main building. It was used to store tools, lawn equipment, restaurant supplies, and whatever else might need a home from time to time. At the moment, it was also home to a seven-foot-tall tyrannosaur. At least, that was what Martin assumed from having overheard Mr. Fairfield talking to his dad.

“So you can get the key for that, right?” Audrey said. She was referring to the roll-up gate that filled the front wall of the storage shed, secured by what looked like a giant padlock.

“Yeah…but I'm kinda more worried about
him.
”

Yes, “him” was going to be a problem. The night guard, a pudgy, unshaven guy named Ollie Thwait, was sitting right next to the shed gate underneath a lonely floodlight mounted on the corner of the building, deeply absorbed in some phone app game.

“He doesn't usually stay in one spot like that. They must've told him to stay there.”

“Uch…. So what do we do?”

“We need to get him away from there.”

“Okay…. How?”

Martin chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then stood up and started tiptoeing down the ridge. He motioned to Audrey, and she followed.

They worked their way along the outside of the chain-link fence, well beyond the storage shed, until they reached a gravel driveway that led to a wheeled gate that rolled open to allow service vehicles in and out. It was locked and chained, but that didn't slow Martin down; he dropped to the ground and slithered through the narrow opening under the gate next to the wheels.

As he emerged on the other side, Audrey looked at him with a blank expression.

“You're as skinny as me,” he half whispered. “Come on.”

She gave a tiny shrug, then dropped down and slipped underneath the gate as easily as Martin had. They followed the narrow pathway between the fence and the main building until they reached a small window, which Martin pushed open.

Climbing through the window, they found themselves in the kitchen of the Heart o' the Woods restaurant. As Audrey followed Martin into the dining area, she couldn't help slowing down to check out the odd sight of a line of fishing poles leaning against the wall. He motioned to her to hurry up, and they made their way into the eerily dark and deserted main hall.

“I can't see,” she whispered.

“Just follow me.”

He led her to a secluded corner and flipped on a few light switches; enough fixtures went on for them to see their way around a bit better.

“Just go to all those booths and look for the ‘on' switch,” Martin said. “But don't flip 'em yet. I'll be right back.”

“Okay,” she said nervously as he slipped away. “Wait a minute, how do I— Martin?” Too late. He was well on his way.

He dashed over into a short hallway and stepped inside Mr. Fairfield's office. Having done some cleaning in there many times before, he knew exactly where to go: a key box on the wall just next to the door.

He threw open the box and gaped at the keys hanging on hooks. He didn't remember there being quite so many—there were at least fifteen or twenty. Not knowing which one was which, he just grabbed the whole bunch and stuffed them in his pockets.

As he ran back out into the main hall, keys jangling, he spotted Audrey across the way, examining the U-Bag-Em game. He trotted over and pointed out the big red Start button.

“This one.”

“Ah. Right. You got the keys?”

“Yeah. So just start with this one and do the same thing on all these.”

“Okay…”

She looked a little unsure, so he led her over to a ring-toss booth next to a small alcove and showed her the button.

“See? Easy.”

“Okay. Got it.”

“When I go, count to a hundred, then just start flipping as many as you can. But do it fast, and then get out.”

She threw him a wry look. “Really? I was hoping to get caught.”

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched
shriek,
and they nearly jumped out of their shoes. Rigid and wide-eyed, they looked into the alcove—and saw that they had just awakened the furry inhabitants of the muskrat cages. Breathing easier, they shared an unsteady smile.

“Meet me back at the service gate,” Martin said with back-to-business seriousness.

“Okay,” Audrey said, and swallowed hard.

“See ya.”

“One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…”

As he sprinted back over toward the restaurant, he couldn't shake the thought that he was in way over his head with this crazy scheme and they'd both end up in juvenile hall. But there was a battlefield general in his head, telling him to keep pushing, pushing, pushing the whole thing forward.

He raced through the dining area, scampered into the kitchen, and climbed back outside through the open window. As he ran along the fence back toward the storage shed, he had to grab onto his pants pockets tightly to keep the keys from making an unholy racket. He knew he must have looked pretty dorky running like that, but right now that was last on his list of concerns.

As he neared the storage shed, he slipped behind a propane tank and peeked out at Ollie, still parked in his chair right next to the rolling gate in the front of the shed. It was pretty clear that it was going to take a lot to move him out of there.

Martin stooped low behind the tank, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Two minutes went by, then three, then four. What was taking so long? Maybe Audrey couldn't find the switches. Or maybe she had, but it was too far away for Ollie to see or hear. Or maybe—Jasper!

He had completely forgotten about Jasper. He was the other night guard, and if he was anywhere near the Trout Palace building, Audrey could get caught, the whole plan would go down the drain, and the next stop for both of them would be the county lockup.

Martin's heart was beating a mile a minute. He gripped his key-laden pockets tightly with his sweating palms, his anxiety burning hotter and hotter. He felt like he might faint any second. Then…

Ollie quickly stood up and looked over toward the main building. He picked up a walkie-talkie and put it to his mouth.