The Puppy War, page 14
I find what I’m looking for near the rear of the building. A storage room with a large rolling garbage bin piled high with collars. I grasp it with my front paws and knock it over, spilling the contents across the floor.
The scents of dozens of dogs washes over me at the same time. But there’s only one collar I’m seeking, its odor distinct from the others.
Mine.
I snatch it from the pile, lie across the floor, and spin, feeling the magnets click as it snaps into place.
“Is it working?” I ask.
Junebug smiles wide. “Loud and clear,” she says.
“Aren’t you afraid of me?”
“Why would I be afraid?”
“The video on TV.”
“You think I’m going to believe anything Puppio releases? A kindergartner with a phone could make a better deepfake than that.”
A yelp in delight, rubbing myself against her.
“Dr. Pao is responsible for all of this, isn’t she?” Junebug asks.
I nod.
“I told you it was a military compound,” she says, hands on her hips.
“You were so right.”
She looks behind me. I turn and see the dozens of collars spread across the floor. “All those dogs,” she says quietly.
I hear barking in the distance. “Come with me,” I say.
We run through the building until we find the dog holding area. Junebug and I open the cages of the stray dogs who are imprisoned here. Junebug leads the pack and me through the halls until we find the rear entrance, the door lock smashed, a crowbar on the floor where she left it when she broke in.
I kick open the doors, and the dogs run free. I watch them scatter in the night, silently wishing them well.
“What now?” Junebug says.
“The news said Puppio is delivering the dogs to downtown Los Angeles tomorrow. We have to be ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“To squash the plan.”
“Cool,” she says. “Sounds like my kind of action.”
“But first we have to save Chance.”
“Let’s hurry up on that one. He keeps sending me videos of him and that stupid Puppio dog. I can’t take it anymore.” She motions for me to follow. The Mercedes is parked around the corner. “I know where Gregory keeps the keys,” she says, and she flings open the driver’s door, making room for me to dive in first. Then she hops in and starts the car.
I think about the time she saved Chance and me at the PetStar last year, crashing through a line of Animal Control officers and pulling up like a professional race car driver.
“Are you sure you remember how to drive?” I ask her.
“You’re joking, right?” She pumps the gas, making the engine roar. “I promise this is going to be fun,” she says.
The tires squeal as we take off together to find Chance.
THE CAR IDLES AS WE WAIT.
We’re hidden around the corner from Chance’s apartment complex. Eventually, Chance’s apartment door opens, and he runs down the stairs with Big Eyes by his side. Once they hit the ground, Chance takes wide steps, and Big Eyes runs between his legs in a figure eight, so fast and precise she looks like a trained circus dog.
“What’s going on with that puppy?” Junebug asks.
“It’s a Puppio,” I say. “Super smart, pre-trained—”
“And really cute.”
“She’s okay.”
“I mean mega cute,” Junebug interrupts. “She’s like a cartoon character come to life. They’re going to sell a million of those things.”
“Chance hasn’t been the same since he met her.”
She glances at me. “You’re sensitive about this, huh?”
“More like concerned,” I say.
Chance starts toward the mailbox, but halfway there he drops to his knees and wrestles with the puppy, covering it in kisses.
“Whoa, I see what you mean,” Junebug says. “He’s being weird, even for Chance.”
“I’m afraid they’re going to be hard to separate,” I say.
“We’ll see,” Junebug says, and she puts the car in gear and rolls through the parking lot and stops in front of Chance.
He jumps back, startled, and the puppy yips with concern. “What are you guys doing here?” he asks.
Junebug jumps out of the car. “You mean how did we get Wild out of dog prison? Because that’s where you put her, you know.”
“I didn’t put her anywhere,” Chance says.
“You called the police on her,” she says.
“Because she’s dangerous.”
“She’s not dangerous.”
“Did you see the videos?”
I hop out of the car and stand between Chance and Junebug.
“The old Chance wouldn’t have believed that video for a second,” Junebug says.
“What do you mean, ‘the old Chance’?”
“Wild thinks the puppy is making you behave differently.”
“She’s just jealous because I’ve got a puppy and I’m moving on with my life.”
Junebug looks at me, astonished.
“Tell him to put in the earbud,” I say.
“Wild wants to talk to you,” she says.
“Well, I don’t want to talk to her,” Chance says.
Chance picks up the puppy, cradling her in the crook of his arm. The puppy settles in, front paws on either side of its head as it yawns.
“Can you smell that?” I ask Junebug.
She sniffs. “Sure. It smells like apple pie. That’s really weird.”
“Does it make you want to take the puppy home with you?”
“Not really. I’m more of a chocolate-chip-cookie girl.”
“Are you talking about my dog again?” Chance asks angrily.
“You don’t think it’s weird that your puppy smells like dessert?” Junebug asks.
“So what? Dr. Pao said every puppy smells like the owner’s favorite food.”
“Wild’s worried about you. And so am I.”
“There’s no reason to be worried,” Chance says. “I’m happy. Maybe you can’t deal with that.”
A squeal of tires cuts through the silence. My head snaps up, and I can just make out a Puppio van far down the street.
“What do you see?” Junebug asks.
The van accelerates hard, racing toward us. The puppy starts to howl, a loud, warbling sound like a siren.
“What’s going on?” Chance asks. “Why’s she making that sound?”
I look at Big Eyes and I see the faint glow on the back of her neck. Her chip is being activated.
“We have to go,” I shout to Junebug. “They’re controlling the puppy from the van.”
“The van is talking to your dog,” Junebug tells Chance. “Drop that thing and let’s get out of here.”
The dog grabs tightly to Chance’s arm. “I’m not leaving my dog,” he says firmly.
Junebug pulls out her keys. “Good luck, then, you stubborn jerk.”
“Hey, that’s mean!” Chance says.
The van is down the street, nearly on top of us.
“Hurry!” Junebug shouts to me, and she runs for the car.
I look at Chance clutching on to the puppy. I can’t talk to him, can’t explain anything—I look at the van barreling toward us.
I can’t leave him here.
I dive between Chance’s legs, startling him, and I spin around and grab him by the back of his belt.
“Whoa!”
I pull him backward toward the car. He loses his balance and stumbles, releasing the puppy, who hops to the ground, yelping furiously.
Chance is disoriented, so I haul him into the back seat before he realizes what’s happening.
“Step on it!” I shout to Junebug, and she jams the gas. The rear door swings closed as the car rockets forward, just in time to avoid the Puppio van that screeches to a stop behind us.
“Where are we going?” Chance shouts.
“STAPLES Center,” Junebug says.
“You can’t take me against my will,” Chance says, regaining his breath. “It’s kidnapping.”
“You told me you weren’t a kid,” Junebug says.
Chance scowls.
“We’re just getting you away from that puppy,” Junebug says, “then we can have a mature conversation.”
“No way. Not interested,” Chance says.
He kneels on the seat, his face pressed to the rear window, looking for his dog.
“Big Eyes!” Chance shouts.
The puppy is running after us, tiny legs going as fast as they can.
“That thing is tenacious,” I say.
Junebug looks in the rearview mirror. “It’s fast!”
“She loves me,” Chance says. “She doesn’t want to let me go.”
Junebug rolls her eyes and speeds up.
The Puppio van pulls around the corner behind us. It quickly catches up to Big Eyes and stops. The back doors fly open, and I see Sebastian jump out of the van and gather up Big Eyes by the scruff of her neck and jump into the van with her.
I look back and see the Puppio van take the same corner. It stops, unsure which way we went. Then it turns in the wrong direction and continues at speed.
“We lost them,” I tell Junebug.
She nods but doesn’t slow down, weaving through the traffic around us, making sure we’re safe before she lets up on the gas.
“My dog!” Chance shouts. “Take me back to her.”
“Listen to yourself,” Junebug says.
I watch the two of them arguing, and I smell the lingering odor of the puppy where it marked Chance with its scent.
I notice a gas station ahead with an attached car wash. “Pull into that station.”
Junebug gives me a quick, curious look in the mirror.
“We need the car wash,” I tell her.
“Where are we going?” Chance demands. “I don’t have time for this.”
He still can’t understand me since he refused to put in an earbud.
“I guess Wild wants us to wash the car.”
“A car wash? Now?”
Junebug pulls up to the entrance and pays for the wash. The front tires slip onto the track mechanism and pull the car into the tunnel. The spray nozzles turn toward us and the first jets of soapy water shoot at the car from every direction.
“This is going to take forever,” Chance says, exasperated.
“I think it’s going to go faster than you think,” I say.
And I open the door and pull him out of the car, directly into the soapy spray.
THE WATER HITS US FULL IN THE FACE.
Chance sputters and tries to get away, but I grasp his pant leg and hold him tight, keeping the two of us in the stream of soap and water.
“You’re trying to drown me!” he shouts, but some soap gets in his mouth, and he spits and coughs, no longer able to talk. I move as the car moves, following it along the track while keeping a firm grip on Chance.
It seems like it takes forever before the soap jets retract, replaced by rinse bars that spray down like a horizontal shower. The water flows and drenches us. I can feel Chance shivering but unharmed in my jaws.
The rinse cycle comes to an end, and I hear the roar of hot air heading for us. Chance looks up, frightened by the noise.
Enough is enough, I think, and I open the car door, push Chance inside, and dive in after him, biting for the door handle and slamming it closed behind us as the hot air blasts the car.
Junebug looks back at us, wide-eyed.
Chance shakes water out of his hair. I sniff up and down his body. The puppy scent is gone, replaced by the odor of lemony car wash soap. I lick at his face, letting my warm tongue bring him back to the present moment.
The car wash tunnels ends. Junebug slips the car into drive and pulls out of the tunnel and parks by the vacuums.
Chance blinks hard as he looks at us. I lean over and expose my collar to him. To my relief, he presses on it and slips in the earbud.
“How do you feel?” I ask.
“I’m okay,” he says, his voice thin. He squeezes water from his hair, and he sits up suddenly energized. “Why did you do that?!”
“I had to wash the puppy scent off you.”
He shakes water from his hair. He looks from Junebug to me and his expression softens.
“The Puppio marked you the first day you met,” I say. “You’ve smelled like her ever since.”
“Don’t all dogs mark their territory?” Chance asks.
“This is next level,” I say. “You were closely bonded to the specific dog.”
“Bonded? It was more like superglued,” Junebug says.
“I still miss her,” Chance says. “It’s just not as powerful as it was before.”
“I think the smell is only one part of the bonding process. It’s like you bond with the dog emotionally, and the scent turns up the volume.”
“Why did Dr. Pao make them that way?” Junebug asks.
“Puppio isn’t what it seems,” I say. “People are going to bond to the dogs. And the dogs have chips installed in their necks that allow them to be controlled from a central communication point.”
“Controlled by who?” Chance asks.
I think of Sebastian making the dogs sit up and beg at Puppio.
“I’m still putting the pieces together,” I say, not wanting to talk about what I saw my puppies do until I better understand what’s happening.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Junebug asks Chance.
“Would you stop asking me that question? You’re worse than my mother.”
“He’s back to his normal self,” Junebug says with an eye roll.
“What was all that stuff you were saying about STAPLES Center earlier?” Chance asks.
“There’s a Puppio event today. The first set of puppies are going to be adopted by the public.”
“We have to stop it,” Junebug says. She turns to Chance. “Do you want to come?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you were obsessed with that puppy.”
“It’s funny, but the longer I’m away from her, the less attached I feel.”
“I think that’s how they’re designed,” I say. “Do you think you’ll be okay at the Puppio event?”
“If I can help you stop Dr. Pao, then count me in,” Chance says.
Junebug grins from ear to ear, and I bark in excitement as she accelerates out of the gas station, heading for downtown LA.
MEDIA TRUCKS ARE LINED UP OUTSIDE STAPLES CENTER.
The sun glints off the dramatic green glass curves of the arena, temporarily blinding me. I squint and squeeze deeper into the wheel well of a large truck parked across the street.
Junebug and Chance are nearby, crouching down as we watch the lucky families and invited guests walk the red carpet into the arena, interviewed by the media and clutching gold-embossed invitations in their hands.
Only a single arena entrance is open, tightly controlled by security officers in dark suits. Around them are smiling young people in bright blue Puppio T-shirts, their backs adorned with the company logo and a new catchphrase: Puppio. The future starts now.
We have to find a way into the facility, yet there are hundreds of people around who could recognize me from yesterday’s news story.
“Stay here for a second,” I tell Chance and Junebug, and then I belly-crawl beneath the truck, moving to get a better angle on the arena. I notice a row of vehicles parked around the side. One of them is a cargo van, its back open and overflowing with boxes. I see T-shirts printed with the words FUTURE PUPPIO OWNER. It’s some kind of promotional item they’re giving away to spread the word.
I spring back to Chance and Junebug. “Give me one minute, then walk straight toward that door on the side of the arena.”
“You can’t go out there,” Chance says. “People will recognize you.”
“I have an idea,” I say. I nuzzle the back of his hand, and then I take off.
I use the parked cars as cover, and I dart across the street and run up to the van, snagging a shirt in my teeth and taking it into the alley nearby. I slip my front paws through the T-shirt and roll it up over my back.
Now instead of hiding, I prance out into the middle of the crowd, the Future Puppio Owner T-shirt covering my coat, my head on swivel like a happy, proud dog out for a walk.
Chance and Junebug are nervously crossing the street, and I fall in by their side.
“Smile and keep walking,” I say.
We pass a group of Puppio employees. I feel Chance tighten up next to me. I jump in front of him, taking the lead.
“How cute!” one of the employees squeals as I pass by. I let out a quick bark and toss my head in the air. That earns me a burst of giggles from the employees.
“It’s almost like she knows where she’s going,” Junebug says, following behind me.
She and Chance wave to the employees, and the three of us keep walking, right past the security people, who laugh and wave, and through the busy service entrance into STAPLES Center.
THE BACK OF THE ARENA IS A MAZE OF HALLWAYS.
We get away from the Puppio employees, following the hall until it opens into a larger area with passageways going in multiple directions.
“What now?” Chance asks.
“I have to find Dr. Pao. She’s the key to all of this,” I say.
“If those puppies get out into public, everyone will want one,” Junebug says.
“We have to warn people,” Chance says.
Junebug looks up and down the hallways. “I think we should separate,” she says.
“Bad idea,” I say.
“This place is massive, Wild. We’ll never find her. Besides, you can run much faster than us. If you smell her, you’ll start chasing her, and we won’t be able to keep up.”
“If we separate and you find her, what happens then?” I ask.
“We fall back and we call you,” Chance says. “We don’t do anything stupid.”
Junebug nods dramatically.
I don’t like this plan at all, but I think they’re right. STAPLES Center has endless hiding places, and I can move much faster than they can.
“You and Chance stay together.”
“I’m not letting him out of my sight,” Junebug says.
