Run Woofard run!
Woofard runs fast!
Woofard runs very, very fast!
See the helicopter.
The helicopter flies very, very fast!
The helicopter flies faster than Woofard!
See the man in the helicopter.
The man in the helicopter throws a ball.
Does he want Woofard to catch the ball?
No!
The ball blows up!
It was not a ball at all!
It was a grenade!
Now Woofard runs faster.
But not faster than the helicopter.
The man in the helicopter is sad.
He does not have any more balls to throw for Woofard.
Now he will have to shoot Woofard instead.
See the man shoot.
Bang! Bang!
See the blood.
The blood is red.
The blood comes from Woofard's back leg.
Woofard is sad.
He is sad because of the blood.
He is sad because soon he will be dead.
Look!
Woofard sees a city!
The city has lots of buildings!
Woofard can run between the buildings.
The helicopter cannot fly between the buildings.
If Woofard can get to the city he will be happy!
Then the man in the helicopter will be sad.
See Woofard run.
Run, Woofard, run!
Run, run run!
Run like fucking hell Woofard!
Woofard, having finally eluded his pesky pursuers, has managed to find himself a nice alleyway to hide out in for the moment while he assesses his injuries. Most of the last several hours are pretty blurry. Escaping from that damned kennel at the airport should have been the end of his troubles and the beginning of his great escape. Inside of ten minutes however, there was an unmarked black dauphin helicopter hanging on his curly tail and a very unsympathetic man throwing hand grenades at him!
Fortunately for Woofard, hand grenades are not designed to be thrown from moving helicopters at dogs, and he was able to get out of the way with his carcass, if not his wits, intact. Unfortunately for Woofard the guy in the helicopter eventually gave up on the grenades and started using a high powered rifle instead. Either through luck or skill, Woofard managed to dodge several shots before a rifle round went clear through his left haunch, thankfully missing both the bone (which would have shattered, more or less blowing his leg cleeeeeeean off) and the dangling appendage behind it (which would have had serious repercussions for the possibility of future little Woofards).
This is not to say that it didn't hurt like all holy hell, though.
Having more or less resigned himself to death, without even the benefit of a cool sound track, no one was more surprised than Woofard to top a hill and look down on a quiet suburban neighborhood beyond. Even more surprising, once he got in among the houses the helicopter rose to a higher altitude, and they guy stopped shooting at him. Woofard continued to have a sense that all was not right, however, and when he noticed several black sedans cruising the neighborhood, he realized that the game was not quite finished yet.
Only after several agonizing hours of limping along did he manage to elude his pursuers (both airborne and not). By that time he had left the suburbs behind for a more urban district filled with small shops, apartment complexes, and large buildings of one sort and another. Finally deciding that the time had come to assess his injuries the exhausted akita limped into an alleyway and behind some overflowing dumpsters. Warily eyeing some rather prodigious rats (each about the size of a house cat) peering at him from the garbage, Woofard set about examining himself.
The wound in the haunch isn't bad, but then again it isn't good (who ever heard of a good gunshot wound?). The hole is clean, and although the fur of the leg is soaked with blood, its at least still usable. Woofard's paw pads are also somewhat the worse for wear, and are cut and bleeding in a couple of places, but again this isn't immediately fatal. Thirst, however, is something of a problem - now that other considerations have been resolved, Woofard realizes that he is absolutely parched. He's just considering what to do about the problem when there is a flash like God's own instamatic going off and something falls into the garbage with a loud *THUD*, momentarily scattering the rats.
The big dog nearly leaps out of his tawny fur, despite his injured leg. He takes a few steps, but stops and looks back curiously. He looks up from where something might have fallen into the garbage, and then back to whatever it is that fell into the trash.
As Woofard considers running, the object twitches and makes a high pitched keening sound. As it thrashes around amid the muck, Woofard realizes with a start that it is a young girl!
The akita dog starts to climb into the garbage to help the little girl, but the smell is too nasty. He backs off a bit, and whimpers. He looks around and sees the big rats starting to come close again, but a snarl from the big dog backs them off for a moment. Reluctantly, the golden furred dog starts to dig the girl out of the garbage. The purple metal tag on his collar jingling as he works. He soon finds himself nose to nose with the young girl. Not knowing what else to do, he gives her a friendly schlurp on the face.
Marda's first reaction is simple panic. Not being able to see anything combined with ominous rustling does little to alleviate her frayed nerves, thus resulting in her screaming for Tata - no doubt an unpleasant sound for any animal with acute hearing.
Then something comes up and actually licks her face. This is one of those generally new sensations for Marda, with the exception of Vlad's one tour near Marda's living quarters back home. In fact, Marda recalls that Vlad's trainers were unhappy with his behavior in the whole situation mostly because it wasn't in keeping with the purposes of a dog named after a ruler who after all was best known as the Impaler.
Marda, however, considers the Vlad experience a more or less positive one as it involved a friendly fuzzy animal, so she responds by laughing and petting the animal, cooing, "Bune ciine. Bune ciine."1 In fact, she almost forgets for a moment that she is in a dumpster, apparently alone, almost definitely blind, and certainly without her beloved Teddy.
The big akita starts a bit as the youngsters hands caress his thick soft fur, but the laughter negates some of the surprise. Soon the tawny colored dog's curly tail starts to wag. And the petting feels very nice, especially after all the abuse he's gone through so far. He's so happy to find someone friendly, he gives her another couple of quick face schlurps, before he knows what he was doing.
Not really looking forward to spending the rest of the day in the garbage, the dog backs up to let the little girl out. He sits quietly watching her crawl from the refuse, eyeing her curiously, his head cocked to one side.
The dog's withdrawal comes as something of a shock to Marda as she still can't quite see where anything is right now. "Ciine? Ciine?" She feels around for the animal, but all she finds is what feels like people's garbage.
After a bit of groping, Marda finally hits something hard and metallic. After scrambling over it as best she can, she finds nothing but air beyond that. The nothing but air thing is too bad really, as, dog experience aside, she is having a pretty lousy time of it already, and doesn't need a fall out of a dumpster to add to her problems. She has just about enough time to figure that she probably doesn't have much say about the whole thing before she hits terra firma below.
The akita watches the girl stumbling around in the dumpster curiously.
What is wrong with her, is she blind or something? Oooh. "Woof,"
says the dog, and wades back into the garbage in an attempt to lead her
clear of the refuse. When he gets her clear, he gives her some more schlurps,
and rubs against her with his thickly furred shoulders, in the way of an
apology. He watches her to see if she is ok.
Woofard, for his part, notes that Marda was in need of a shower long before she landed in the dumpster, and his keen sense of smell tells him that she is fairly weak, as if recovering from some sort of illness or injury, though nothing is apparent by looking at her.
A rather ominous *SQUEEK* draws the attention of both the girl and the dog towards the mouth of the alleyway, where they both note with some consternation that a steadily increasing number of beady red eyes are staring at them. Already a good dozen cat-sized rats are gathering in the shadows near the entrance, and rustlings in the garbage indicate that more of the creatures, no doubt smelling blood, are on their way.
A growl reflexively fills the dog's body. Keeping his eyes on the hideous vermin, he maneuvers himself in a way that brings the collar around his neck into the blinded girl's hand.
Woofard lets out a fearsome growl as he move in close to Marda, hoping to induce her to grab hold of his collar. This causes the hackles to rise on the backs of many of the rats, but does not seem to have any other effect, and the pack continues to stare at the two, with one or another rat giving an occasional *SQUEEK*. Then the pack falls ominously silent, as four additional rats, each about the size of a big raccoon, join those already waiting.
Marda is glad that she can now actually see, although a bunch of giant hungry rats would not have her first choice of viewing material. "Come on, Ciine, we gotta get outta here." She grabs onto his collar and lets him lead the way.
While they still have some space between themselves and the ROUS's (Rodents Of Unusual Size), Woofard takes a quick look around the alley to see if there are any exits that seem less threatening. Doors, the other end of the alley, or anything else that looks likely.
Nada, other than at least one sewer grate and some holes gnawed in the walls of the flanking buildings. There's also a rusty fire escape, but it requires more height to activate than either Woofard or Marda can muster at the moment, and appears structurally precarious in any event.
As he doesn't see anything likely, Woofard leads the girl towards the alley... slowly. Growling with every step. Every muscles tensed for a death fight. He doesn't think much of his chances to get past those four, especially in the condition he is in now, but he is damn sure he was going to get this little girl through to the street.
As Woofard and Marda advance towards certain doom at the teeth of the rats, the ferocious rodents suddenly turn as one and bolt from the alley mouth in all directions. Almost simultaneously the mouth of the alleyway fills with some sort of whitish fog, blocking vision. From within can be heard the agonized shrieks of rats, apparently experiencing something really horrible.
The dog stopped cold dead, staring a the unnatural fog rolling in, trying to pierce the fog's billowing cloak to see what hideous fate befell the rats. As horrible as what ever this is, he feels at least slight relief at not having to get torn apart by giant rats. Or worse yet, having to taste the greasy little bastards if he was forced to bite one in half. He sniffs the air to see if he might at least get a clue about what's about to kill them.
Marda digs viciously through the trash, attempting to locate the device. Perhaps she can manage to get herself and the dog somewhere else before whatever got the rats gets them.
Woofard notices that the girl seems to be able to see again. That is good. Unfortunately, she will have to look at whatever is going to kill them both. He wonders what the Hell she is doing digging through the garbage. Maybe she's gone nuts... but she seems to be looking for something. He stands between the girl and the fog (closer to the girl, something about that fog makes him want to stay as far away as he can) and snarls his best. He doesn't hold out much hope though. If it didn't scare the rats, it is damn unlikely to bother whatever it is that eats rats.
The squealing of the rats is stilled almost immediately as Marda digs frantically through the garbage and Woofard stands protectively nearby. Whatever the fog is, clearly its heavier than air, for it sinks to the ground about as quickly as talcum powder would. In fact, it seems to seep into the gutters and holes in the area as if it has a mind of its own. In only seconds the alleyway is clear again, save for the bodies of numerous rats which lie twitching and convulsing, their limbs waving feebly like leaves in a breeze. Even this activity is short lived; then the rats lie perfectly still. Then a man steps into the entrance.
The man is exactly six feet tall, 180 lbs, in good shape but not particularly well muscled. He's wearing a set of work boots, dark blue coveralls, and a respirator. There's some sort of tank on his back, held on by shoulder straps, and a hose runs from the tank to some sort of nozzle in his hand. He handles the nozzle as though it were a shotgun, sweeping it back and forth across the alley. The eyes above the mask are brown and hard, set in an expression of concentration similar to that of Clint Eastood in "A Fistfull of Dollars" The man's hair is light brown, just touched with gray. A patch over the left breast of the coveralls reads "Throckmorton Exterminators" in friendly red letters on a white background.
Marda emerges from the garbage, triumphantly holding what appears to be a half melted TV remote.
The akita stares at the newcomer with an odd mixture of relief and suspicion. He has no idea what to make of this man. The big dog limps over to the girl and stands with her protectively, keeping one eye on the stranger, while trying to figure out why the girl is getting so excited about a melty remote control.
Marda glances at the ruined controller in her hand. It doesn't look good, but maybe just maybe she can fix it later - Hey but if it doesn't, it'll look really cool on the wall.
More important, however, is the discovery of her savior. "Thanks, Mister!
The man's eyes narrow even more (if that's possible) when Marda speaks.
"Hhhhhey lllittle girlllll!" he says in a voice that sounds quite
a bit like Darth Vader's "Whaaat arrree....?"
"Hey there little girl," he says in a friendly barritone, "What are you doing here? Don't you know that its not safe to be out after dark by yourself? Especially not in alleys!"
"Those rats were real scary," the Romanian scamp continues. "I'm Marda, and this is a doggy, uh, my doggy, not a rat or a bug or anything. By the way, where are we?"
"Hwuff," says the dog, as if to confirm the girl's statement. He still keeps a wary on on the newcomer's every move.
"Well," says the man, "You don't have to worry about them anymore. At least not for awhile. But where are your mother and father? And what happened to your doggie - he looks hurt."
But he did bring up a good point. Tata is conspicuously absent. "Tata must still be in there! We gotta get him out!" She then looks at the controller. "When we figure out how."
Which comes to the next point brought up by the exterminator. "Ciine! You are hurt! What happened to your leg? We gotta take care of him, too! You don't have a bandage or something, do you?"
"Whoa! Slow down there youngster!" says the man, not unkindly, "I got a first aid kit out in the van. We can fix up your doggie and you can tell me what's wrong, OK?"
The man leads the way out of the alley, booting a couple of rat carcasses out of Marda and Woofard's way in the process. The area outside the alleyway looks mostly residential, with many two-and three-story buildings pushed close together, the occasional tree doing little to break up the monotony of concrete, stone, and glass. Parked down the street is a white van with the words "Throckmorton Exterminators" in large, friendly red letters on the front and sides. The man leads Marda and Woffard in that direction. Upon arrival he opens up the back of the van (revealing all sorts of cool exterminator gear), grabs a first aid kit, and sits down on the rear bumper.
"C'mere pooch, and lets take a look at that leg."
The Akita, Woofard according to the purple metal tag hanging from his collar, feels the exhaustion, pain, hunger, and thirst refill his body as the rush of adrenaline starts to fade. Seeing the new comer is not an immediate threat, Woofard limps towards the open back doors of the van. He looks at the first-aid kit, gives it a sniff and sneezes. He looks at the van man. Finally suspicion succumbs to pain and weariness. He turns his injured leg towards the man and watches.
The man pulls a flashlight out of a holder on the wall of the truck and takes a good look at Woofard's leg.
"Holy moly!" he exclaims. "Hey kid, your pooch has been shot! He sure must have been digging around in the wrong garbage can! You oughta keep him on a leash before he gets killed."
Facing away from the exterminator, Woofard rolls his eyes in a silent plea to the heavens.
The man eyes Woofard. "Now you listen here pooch," he says. "I'm gonna have to put something on that hole in your leg to clean it up, but I don't want you to bite me, OK? 'Cause I'm doin' it for your own good." He fishes around inside the firstaid kit and comes up with some antibiotic swabs.
Woofard stares levelly at the man as he speaks. He continues to hold the stare for a few moments after he has completed the explanation. Woofard finally breaks the stare to give a doggie snort in the man's general direction. He then turns so that he is facing away from the man, while the injured leg is within the man's reach to work on.
"Marsha, I need you to hold onto your pooch's head while I put this on his leg. Hold on tight so he doesn't bite me, OK?"
Marda looks on with a good measure of shock. Who would be mean enough to shoot a dog, even in this place? But she resolves to do what she can, so she says, "OK," and grabs hold of Woofard's head. "You be good - Fii cuminte, Ciine."2
Woofard readies himself for the pain. Even as the girl grabs his head, Woofard closes his eyes and tries to stand as still as he can.
Once Marda has a firm grip on Woofards head, the man starts dabbing at the wound in his leg with some sort of goop covered sterile pad. The reaction is immediate and surprising. Woofard jumps wildly, as if his back leg had just been set on fire. For his part the man jerks his hand away, wanting to keep his fingers well clear of the Akita's jaws.
"OOOOWWWWW!" Woofard howls.
"Be brave, Ciine," urges Marda in her most soothing voice as she struggles to hold on to Woofard's head. "I know it hurts, but that goop is good for you - it gets rid of germs which could make you very sick." She doesn't seem the least concerned by the high possibility that dogs don't generally understand the finer points of pharmacology.
Woofard grits his teeth and winces, one he stops jumping around. He turns to look at the goo slathered injury, dragging Marda along with his head. He looks at the injury for a couple of moments. He seems satisfied. He wags his tail weakly and gives Marda a couple of schlurps. He turns himself towards the man once again, to allow the man to finish up the first aid work. He sighs, and then tenses up preparing for the big first aid finish, snuggling his head into Marda's arms.
The exterminator guy finishes professionally fixing up Woofard's leg (it stings like mad, incidentally). "You need to see a vet, doggie. A tetanus shot and some antibiotics would do you some good."
Woofard stares at the man, head cocked to the side, for a moment. He straightens up. Sitting in front of the man, Woofard extends a paw in the classic "shake" manoeuvre. After this has been executed, Woofard stands (with a slight whine), and looks toward the girl expectantly.
The man turns to Marda. "Now then, Marsha, why don't you tell me what you're doing out here, and where your parents are. If you have their phone number I'll give them a call to let them know you're ok, then I'll drive you home."
"It's Marda, Mr. BugKiller, sir." After that, Marda thinks for a long while, absent-mindedly scratching behind Woofard's ears as she tries to decide what it's safe to reveal and what is better to conceal. In the end, she figures she might need a little help from the other grownups if she's going to bust Tata out of the CPC, so home might be the best idea. "I'm here with my Tata, his name's Sam Dart, and we're staying at Cesar's hotel, but I think he might be in a lot of trouble."
Mr. Exterminator takes Woofards paw and gives it a hearty shake. "You're a clever pooch aren't you?" he says, patting the Akita on the head.
Turning to Marda, his tone grows more serious. "Now just hold on there a minute, Martha. What sort of trouble are we talking about here? Maybe you had better start at the beginning and explain the situation. Is there someone at the hotel I should call? What room number? And what happened to your dada?"
Marda stares blankly at the man for a moment. What room was it? - it seems so long ago and far away. Oh yeah. "We're in room 217. If you don't get Tata you can ask for Mr. Funny Clown.
"As for what happened, it's a really long story. Some bad people took me away and Tata had to come and get me and I got out 'cause of this really cool thingy," she waves the now deformed remote, "but I don't know if he got out and they're really bad people and they do bad things when they get mad and..."
As anyone who knows Marda at all at this point will understand, it's about this point where intelligible speech turns into incomprehensible wailing. (Those who don't will learn quickly. I guarantee.)
Woofard stares at the wailing child helplessly. He looks at the exterminator guy. Nope, no help there. He gets confused, and worried. The dog gives her several schlurps to the face. When he has her attention, a little, he sits up in the classic begging posture (wincing at the pain in his leg). When he is sure Marda is looking, he falls over and plays dead, with only his curly wagging tail moving. He rolls to his feet, and nuzzles Marda with his big soft furry head.
The exterminator hops out of the back of the van and heads around to the drivers door. Reaching in he pulls out a cellular phone and starts dialing numbers. "Martha!" he calls, "Why don't you get your pooch into the back, then you can come and talk to your folks if I get ahold of them."
"Hello, directory assistance? Cesar's Hotel please. Thank you. Yes, please connect me." A momentary pause. "Hello, I'm trying to reach Sam Dart. I believe he is staying in room 217."
The phone seems to ring for an eternity, and Marda notes that the exterminator is about to hang up when he pulls the phone suddenly back to his ear and says "Hello? Mr. Sam Dart?"
There is a moment's pause.
"My name is Clyde Throckmorton," replies the exterminator, "I'm over here in Science and I just found your daughter Martha and her dog over here in an alley. She seems to be holding up OK, but her dog's been hurt. I can't really get much out of her - she seems to be in a state of shock or something."
After shepherding Woofard back into the van, Marda listens intently as the exterminator contacts the hotel. She shrieks in delight when she realizes that Throckmorton must be speaking with Sam at the hotel. "Tata's in the hotel! Do you hear that, Ciine? Tata's OK! Can I talk to him, Mr. BugKiller, sir, please?"
Clyde pauses. "Hey, I can bring her to you - I got my van here. That would be faster anyway. And Martha wants to talk to you. Hold on...." He turns and hands the phone to Marda. "Here ya go, honey. Now don't drop it."
Woofard appears more than a little wary about hopping into this guy's van. Once in side he seems to get a little tense, but Marda's presence seems to calm the big dog quite a bit. He looks around the inside the van to see what can be seen... and sniffed.
Marda eagerly grabs the phone and squeals, "Tata, are you all right?" Pause. "OK, Tata! And I've got some good news for you when I get here! Did you find Teddy? Bye!" Excited as she is about being reunited with her newfound extended family, something seems a little wrong. First of all, Teddy was still conspicuously absent, and Marda was sure that if Tata had found him, he would say so. Secondly, it would seem that Mr. Nigel somehow found a way out without telling her, and that kind of behavior, while perhaps justified in adult terms, is just plain scary to your average six-year-old. Or even to the terror that is Marda Ordilescu.
While the girl chatters away on the phone, Woofard looks over the contents of the exterminator's van, sniffing anything that does not appear to be deadly chemicals.
The two actions seem almost self contradictory, as almost everything in the back of the van either consists of deadly chemicals, or is some sort of apparatus for applying, mixing, or transporting deadly chemicals. Woofard feels his nose shriveling up just from sniffing around back there.
At the conclusion of the telephone call, the exterminator hops out of the van and slams the back doors, closing Woofard in the back, then gets back in the front and starts her up.
"OK Marsha - I'll take you home now."
The van pulls out into traffic. After a relatively uneventful
20 minute ride, it pulls up in front of Cesars.
To Be Continued...