Fluffy’s Revolution Page 6

  Fluffy waited until dark. Then she made her way toward where she had seen the light coming through in the daytime. About fifty feet on, she came to a vent in the duct and through it she could see below a deserted room with work tables and piles of shipping materials and baskets. There was a strong smell of baked goods and sugar; pleasant, but not appetizing. She could see that the vent was fastened in place with four screws. This would not be easy. With all her concentration, she focused on the first screw and she made it turn. Now, what was it Dad used to say? “Lefty loosey, righty tighty.” She turned the screw to the left and slowly, slowly, it came loose and finally fell out to the floor below. Then she focused on the next screw, and the next. When the last screw came loose, the grate on the vent, which was about a foot square, fell into a basket of baked goods and didn’t make a sound. Fluffy took a leap and landed in another basket. The muffins in it cushioned her fall perfectly. Not so good for eating, she thought, but great for a soft landing. She looked around.

  She was in what appeared to be a bakery that made gift baskets. A large banner that decorated one wall read: MRS. MOFFET’S MUFFINS – GIFT BASKETS FOR ALL OCCASIONS. There were rows of big ovens along one wall, and there were long tables on which, by day, workers assembled the gift baskets, addressed them, and sent them out. Then Fluffy heard a rustling coming from inside one of the baskets. She went into stalking mode and snuck up on the basket. She was ready to pounce when she heard a familiar voice. “Fluffy?”

  “Hacker?”

  “Fluffy!” It was Mitzi.

  “Hacker, Mitzi! How did you get here?”

  “Mice can go places others can’t. It smelled good in here, so we followed our noses,” said Hacker. “Is everyone else dead?”

  At this, Fluffy broke down. Between sobs, she told them, “Fang is… I watched her die… It was horrible… Tigger was with us… He kept running… I haven’t seen him since. As far as I know, the others are all dead… even my brother.”

  “What are you gonna do now?” asked Hacker.

  “I’m going to try to get to the mountains, to Animal U. Do you guys want to go with me?”

  “We can’t travel long distances on foot,” said Hacker.

  “And walking in the woods, we’d surely be eaten by something,” said Mitzi. “They got owls, and hawks, and coyotes…”

  “How about wolves? Are there wolves?” asked Fluffy.

  “No wolves around here, just coyotes. Believe me, they’re bad enough,” said Hacker.

  “I had a dream about a wolf…”

  “I’ve got a great idea, Fluffy,” said Hacker. “Why don’t we all go to your house?”

  “My house?”

  “Yeah, the professor’s place. I know how we can get there real easy.”

  “How?” said Fluffy warily.

  “You see those gift baskets over there?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “They’re all wrapped with address cards and ready to be delivered. All we have to do is address a card to the professor, hide in the basket, and have ourselves delivered.”

  “That’s fine for you guys,” said Fluffy. “But aren’t I a bit large to hide in a basket of muffins?”

  “I thought about that,” said Hacker. “All you have to do is hide by the front door until the delivery truck loads up in the morning and jump in when no one’s looking. Then, when we get to your building, voila!”

  Fluffy thought for a moment. “I’d love to go back home to the professor, I really would. But then all our efforts, all the lives of our friends, everything will have been for nothing. No, I’ve got to go on… But why don’t you guys go to the professor’s. You can let him know I’m alright and tell him I’m still trying to find Animal U. I’ll help wrap you in the basket. Maybe the professor can help you get back in the fight. And guys…”

  “Yes?”

  “Tell him I love him, and I’ll never forget what he taught me.”

  “Okay.”

  Hacker got on Mrs. Moffet’s computer and quickly accessed the program that printed out the gift cards that were fastened to the baskets. Fluffy gave him the professor’s address, and they printed out a card. The hardest part was threading the ribbon through the hole in the card and tying it to the basket, but Fluffy was getting more and more adept with telekinesis.

  When daylight came, they said their goodbyes. The police were still cleaning up after the maelstrom of the day before, and the parking lot was cordoned off. Mrs. Moffet employees were able to enter and leave only through the back door, the door that opened onto the street. Fluffy hid among some boxes along the left side of the bakery. She watched as the delivery man came and started grabbing baskets and loading them into his van. Hacker and Mitzi’s was among the first. Fluffy waited near the back door until it was left ajar and no one was watching. Then she darted out onto the street, hunkered down behind the tires of a parked car, and waited until nightfall. She wondered if she should’ve gone home with Hacker and Mitzi. She missed her dad. She missed safety. She had found her poor brother and lost him almost immediately. Now, her only hope was to find Animal U. When it got dark, she started walking toward the mountains. She walked north and west until she found Route 28.

  Chapter Seven – On the Lam

  Riordan decided to drop in on the one person he knew he could trust: his old college roommate, David Handler. Handler was one of the world’s foremost astronomers. He worked out of MIT, where he monitored the world’s most powerful telescope, the Galileo, which orbited 500 miles above the Earth. Riordan made his way toward the supertube. As he passed a cash kiosk, he withdrew as much cash as it would allow, $2,000.

  Cutting through Haines Park, he tossed his bankcard, along with his handheld, which had a built-in tracking device, into the pond. That’s when he heard the footsteps coming up fast behind him. He ran toward the tube station. The footsteps ran too. He figured by the sound it was at least two men. He ran down the long escalator of the station, praying a train would be there to whisk him away from his pursuers, but no. He ducked into the men’s room. In one of the stalls, just sitting there, was a homeless man in a long black coat and ratty baseball cap.

  “Trade me coats and hats and I’ll give you $100,” said Riordan.

  “Is this gonna get me killed?”

  “Not when they see you’re not me.”

  “Okay.”

  Riordan gave the man the money, and they switched clothing. He could hear a train pulling into the station and the running footsteps. He saw two men run past the restroom, then he pulled the hat over his eyes, and ambled, hunched over, onto the train. His new attire stank like a urinal. This was a local, going in the wrong direction, but at the next stop, he would be able to take another local going back the other way to Frank Koenig Boulevard, where he could change to the JetTrain heading for Boston.

  As soon as he got off the local, he dropped the stinking apparel into the nearest trash can. He boarded the JetTrain and took a seat, not near anyone else. He wondered how long it would take to lose the smell. It took approximately fifteen minutes to reach South Station in Boston. He found a cheap hotel in a seedy neighborhood, where he booked a room under the name Percy Kute. He paid in cash.

  In the morning, he found a used clothing shop, bought a new old overcoat and found a hat with a broad brim that could conceal his facial features from the surveillance cameras that were everywhere. He then boarded a local that took him under the Charles River to Kendall Square in Cambridge.

  When he got to Dr. Handler’s office, he was greeted by a stunning example of how the shrinking of the world and the erasure of ethnic and racial barriers had created some very interesting-looking humans. She was a blend of Indian, African and Scottish. She ha
d deep brown skin, black billowing curls, and cornflower blue eyes. She was about forty years old, and she was a knockout. When she opened the door, all Riordan could think was: If I were only twenty years younger.

  “Hi,” said Riordan. “Is Dr. Handler here?”

  “No.” She scrutinized him suspiciously.

  “Do you know when he’ll be in?”

  “No. We haven’t seen Dr. Handler in quite some time.” She was clearly nervous and kept looking around at the three surveillance cameras that were mounted around the room near the ceiling and followed their every move. Riordan kept his hat on and covered his eyes.

  “I’m his assistant, Indira. Who are you?”

  “Oh, I’m an old buddy of Dave’s,” said Riordan, picking up on her nervousness and intentionally not giving his name. Then he whispered: “Is there someplace we can talk?”

  “C’mon,” she said and led him down the hall, and into the elevator. “There’s a coffee shop across the street. We can talk there.”

  Once outside, the professor extended his hand. “Jim Riordan, just came up from Kingston.”

  “Indira Afia Fitzpatrick.” They shook hands, but she was still eyeing him suspiciously. “How do you know Dr. Handler?”

  “We were roommates in college.”

  “What college?”

  “NYU—before they changed it to Kingston U.”

  She smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. “Jim Riordan. Yes, he’s spoken of you.”

  They crossed Mass Ave and entered the Coffee Stop. He bought her a mocha latte and a black coffee for himself. They sat down at a small table by the window.

  “Dr. Handler’s been missing for a month,” said Indira. “Some D.I.S. people came around and took all the computers. No one says anything about it. We no longer have access to the Galileo.”

  “What do you think it’s about?”

  “I think he saw something―she gestured upward―out there.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s more: all the major astronomers and astrophysicists on the planet have disappeared.”

  “What?!”

  “It’s true.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Things get around. They can’t completely suppress everything and everyone.”

  “What could he have seen?” mused Riordan.

  “I don’t know. If I did, I’d be gone too. Whatever it was, it was big…What about you. What brings you to Cambridge?”

  “You’re not gonna believe this, but the D.I.S. is after me too.”

  “I believe it.”

  “They think I’m an animal rights activist.”

  “Are you?”

  “No, but my cat is. I let her leave to join the movement, shot off my big mouth about it in a bar, and now I’m in the soup. I had no idea how serious these guys were.”

  “They’re serious alright. So you’re ‘on the lam’?”

  “Uh, yeah. You like old movies too?”

  She smiled, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah.” A pause. “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping I could hide out at Dave’s place, but I guess that’s out.”

  Indira thought for a moment, giving him an enigmatic half-smile. “You can stay at mine until we figure something out.”

  “Really? No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I hate those D.I.S. bastards.”

  “You live alone?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Art and his girlfriend, Laura, a petite pretty blonde about twenty-five, arrived at Riordan’s apartment, toting his easel and a newly-stretched canvas. The D.I.S. had already come and gone. The basket of muffins and mice sat outside the door, which had been left open by the cops. Apparently, the delivery guy had shown up after the D.I.S., had seen the disarray, dropped the basket and fled. The place had been completely ransacked. The computers were gone, as was Fluffy’s tracking collar. Art looked under the doormat. The keycard was still there. “I guess they don’t look in the most obvious places,” he said, half to himself, half to Laura.

  “Look, muffins!” said Laura. Then, “What the hell happened here?”

  “I told you,” he whispered, “the D.I.S. is after the professor. Watch what you say; the place might be bugged.” They dragged in the easel and canvas.

  “Wow,” said Art, looking around. “He was right; the light is beautiful up here.” He set up the easel where the eastern light from the balcony would hit the canvas.

  Laura brought the basket inside and set it on the kitchen counter. “Want a muffin?”

  “Yeah. Very odd. Now, who would send the professor muffins?”

  Laura looked at the card. “There’s no sender’s name.” She started to unwrap the package. Then let out a piercing shriek. “Aaaaahhhhhh, mice!”

  Hacker and Mitzi jumped out onto the kitchen counter. “Shhhhh!” said Hacker.

  “No screaming, no screaming!” squeaked Mitzi.

  There was a sudden dead silence. Art and Laura regarded the mice, slack-jawed.

  “They’re GABS,” said Laura.

  “Obviously,” said Art. “But how did you do that? How come we can hear you speak? There’s no computer…”

  “Ya like that?” said Hacker. “I invented it. It’s called the voice disk. Y’see these little disks on these collars we’re wearin’? I made ‘em.” Hacker and Mitzi surveyed the apartment. “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not the professor.”

  “That’s right. I’m Art, and this is my girlfriend, Laura. The professor asked us to stay here while he’s, ahem, out of town…” Art walked around the place, looking under lampshades, picking up objets d’art, looking under ashtrays.

  “Have you got a handheld?” asked Hacker. “Yes.”

  “Can I borrow it for a moment?”

  Art put his handheld on the counter near Hacker. Hacker touched the screen a few times with his nose. They watched as an app downloaded. “Okay, pick it up and hit ‘Detect’.” Art did as he was told. “Your handheld is now a bug detector. If there are any bugs in the room, it will beep like a Geiger counter, faster and faster as it gets closer to the bug.”

  Art swept the entire apartment and uncovered a total of six tiny hidden microphones, each one no bigger than a watch battery. He flushed them all down the toilet.

  “Amazing. Who taught you to do that?”

  “We’ve got to get out of here—now. They’ve already heard too much.”

  “You’re right,” said Art. “Get back in the basket. Laura, you take the basket.” Art folded up his easel and grabbed the canvas.

  “Where are we going?” asked Hacker.

  “My loft. It’s very nearby. All they know is my first name and Laura’s they’ll never find out where I live.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Hacker.

  As they took the elevator to the garage, D.I.S. agents were taking the other elevator to the 150th floor. Art’s van was parked in the fifteen-minute loading zone. He loaded his gear into the van, Laura got in the front seat holding the muffin basket, and they took off. They passed more D.I.S. agents pulling up in their distinctive black unmarked cars on their way out, but no one took notice of them. Art kept checking the rearview mirror.

  “Anyone following us?” asked Hacker.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Art’s loft was just blocks away. Once inside, Hacker and Mitzi hopped out of the basket and surveyed the spacious artist’s loft.

  “Better scan yo
ur place too. Can’t be too careful,” said Hacker.

  Art scanned for bugs, but there were no beeps. Then they sat at the table and had muffins.

  “So what happened to the professor?” asked Hacker.

  Art told Hacker and Mitzi about the incident in the bar, how he had warned the professor, and how the professor had made a hasty departure, apparently just before the D.I.S. had arrived. He told them how the professor wanted to hire Art to do a painting of Fluffy. He showed them the photo.

  “Aww, that’s so cute. She was younger then,” said Mitzi.

  “Did Fluffy send you to the professor’s place?” asked Art.

  “That’s right,” said Hacker.

  “So she’s still alive?”

  “She was as of this morning. As far as I know, the three of us were the only survivors of the police bombardment of our hideout. Did you see it on the news?”

  “We sure did,” chimed in Laura. “I work for CNS. In fact, I intercepted a video that was sent to CNS. So far, I’m the only one who’s seen it, the only one who knows it exists…”

  “Huh? Laura, why didn’t you tell me?” said Art, a trifle indignant.

  “Art, this is hot stuff. Very hot. Anybody who knows about this is automatically in great danger. You still want to see it?”

  Art, Hacker, and Mitzi all responded at once: “Yeah!”

  “Okay,” said Laura. “Brace yourselves.” She took out her handheld, synced it up to the big screen on the wall, and pressed Play.

  Janet was filming herself with her handheld. The video was shaky, as was her voice. In the background, you could hear loud explosions. You could see glimpses of Rudy and Giuseppe firing their grenade launchers.

  “This is Janet Epps. The GAB animals are not violent. I and I alone blew up the extermination center. The others voted for nonviolence, but my hatred for my father and his hatred for the animals I love, drove me to violate the pact. I didn’t know my brother was working in there. I killed him.” Here, she breaks down in tears. “I’ll be dead in a few minutes, and I’m glad. But don’t blame the GABs. They’re smarter and better than us. We should learn from them. My father, Jeremiah Epps, is…” You could hear the whistle of the incoming bomb as Janet pressed the Send button.