Chase

Nine

Once the luggage compartment door was closed and the bus was in motion, Chipper attempted to get comfortable in spite of the unpleasant exhaust smell. He’d wedged himself in behind an oversized suitcase, and when he started to be troubled by an itch just behind his ear, he was unable to get his hind leg in position to scratch it.

So he backed out from behind the suitcase and found an area about three feet by three feet where there were no bags. He had to find this spot by moving around and bumping into things, because there was no light in here at all. He was working blind. Even though The Institute had equipped him with very special eyes that could transmit images and record video, he did not come with a set of headlights. What he needed right now was a miner’s hat made for a dog.

When he found a spot he liked, he circled it twice, the way dogs do, then lay down. And scratched. And scratched and scratched and scratched.

That felt better.

For the first time today, he had a moment to think. And as he so often did, he thought about the kind of dog he used to be.

A plain old pooch, that’s what he once was.

He was one of a litter of six border collies born on a farm. It was a sheep farm, and Chipper’s mother did what border collies did best. She rounded up those sheep at the end of every day, nipping at their heels, barking at them like a drill sergeant. Some of Chipper’s earliest memories were of scampering after his mother in the field, his five brothers and sisters bouncing along with him.

What a wonderful time it was, growing up on the farm. But it did not last long.

One day, when Chipper was nearly a year old and still playful as a puppy but fully grown, a man and a woman arrived at the farm in a black car. Chipper didn’t understand words back then, so he didn’t know what they and the farm owner said to each other. But soon after the conversation, Chipper found himself in the back of the car, being driven away. He recalled leaping up in the back seat, paws on the rear window ledge, watching the farmhouse recede into the distance.

And his mother chasing after him, but finally having to give up when the car hit the main road and the woman behind the wheel hit the gas.

He was taken to a place where there was no grass or sheep or barns or fields or chickens or anything at all like that. What he remembered was a lot of white. White walls and white floors and white lights and men and women in white coats.

And then, everything went totally and completely black.

He did not know how long the blackness lasted. A week? A month? Maybe as much as a year? Of course, time meant nothing to him before the blackness. It was only after he emerged from the blackness that he began to be aware of time.

When he came out of the blackness, he was aware of much, much more than just time.

He was aware of everything.

They had done things to him. Put things into him. Taken out some parts of him that were real and replaced them with other parts that were not.

As a pup, he’d loved to be overwhelmed with the multitude of smells the world offered. Hundreds of scents wafted up his nostrils and he could very quickly distinguish one from another. It was like radar for the nose, and Chipper loved it. And he could handle it, too.

But when he awoke from the darkness, it wasn’t just that they’d awakened his other senses — of touch, sight, hearing and taste. They had done that, to be sure, but it was as though Chipper had not just five finely attuned senses now, but five million.

Whenever there was something he wanted to know — the weather, the time, where he was, even something like 76,354 divided by 297 — he just knew it.

There were two White Coats who worked with him, eased him into his new life and new capabilities. They were so nice. They comforted him when he was frightened and overwhelmed. He no longer had a mother, but they were almost like parents to him.

He loved them.

And then, they were gone.

Chipper coughed.

He rested his snout on his forelegs and thought about where the bus was going. From the way it had been described to him long ago, his destination sounded like a wonderful place. Out in the country, on a lake. Far, far away from the city’s loud noises and traffic and thousands of people.

Chipper coughed again.

The Institute had taken Chipper and the other animals out in the country a few times, and it was always his favourite part of training. It was like being a puppy again, back on the farm. A rainbow of scents. Flowers and grasses and dirt and birds and pollen and squirrels — oh yes, squirrels! — plus rabbits and skunks and possums and chipmunks and snakes and frogs and wasps and ants and, well, the list went on and on.

It was so nice in the country. He hoped that where he was going would be like that.

Chipper coughed again. There was something seriously wrong with the air in this luggage compartment. It was a sickening smell. Dirty and oily, and it seemed to be pushing away what little air was in here.

Diesel exhaust from the bus was leaking into the luggage area.

Chipper tried to hold his breath, but he was only able to do that for a few seconds. And when he went to breathe in again, he ended up taking even more of that noxious exhaust into his lungs.

Chipper now realized this wasn’t the best place to hide after all. It was dawning on him that if he stayed in here much longer, he would die.

Cough cough cough.

He rose on all fours and started working his way over to the closed door. There were a lot of suitcases in his way, but there was about a foot of space between the top of the bags and the roof of the luggage compartment. Chipper, his head and back rubbing up against the top of the hold, crawled awkwardly over them until he was up against the door.

He sniffed around, rubbed his nose up against the metal, looking for a button or a lever or anything that would make the door lift up, but found nothing. The only way to open it was on the outside, he figured.

More coughing.

Chipper’s head throbbed. And even though, in total darkness, he had no visual sense of up or down or left and right, he was feeling dizzy.

The dog was losing consciousness.

He didn’t know how long it would take for the bus to reach Canfield. A couple of hours, he figured, and he had been on the bus for the better part of an hour. He checked his built-in software: exactly seventy-two minutes to go. Could he last another hour?

Chipper did not believe he could.

He gave his head a shake and kept running his nose along the edge of the door. He managed to push one bag about six inches away from it, dropped his nose down, and saw a sliver of light at the bottom of the door, a crack to the outside.

Chipper pressed his nose up against the crack, getting whiffs of fresh air from outside.

He sniffed and sniffed and sniffed.

The dizziness held off slightly, but the headache was unrelenting. And the coughing wasn’t letting up, either.

This tiny sliver of fresh air was only going to buy Chipper a bit of time, but it was not going to save him. He dared not move away from it, worried that as soon as he did, the exhaust fumes would overwhelm him.

Sniff sniff sniff.

The headache was getting worse. Chipper was starting to feel sleepy.

Sniff sniff.

He began to feel less concerned about his situation. He was starting to think maybe he didn’t feel that bad after all.

He began to dream that he was back at the farm.

There was his mother, herding the sheep. Looking his way, encouraging him to follow. Chipper stumbling along after her on his short, puppy legs.

I’m coming, Mom! Wait for me!

What a lovely place to be. No worries, no cares. All you had to do was run around and play and chase the sheep.

Sni—