Chapter 8

"I can't believe I'm doin this." I thought.

There were fourteen of us spread out over about three hundred yards. Three adults, four kids, five dogs and two cats. Below us a torrent in the concrete lined bayou rushed towards the Gulf of Mexico. John Smith, lugging a massive backpack full of tools trudged ahead of me along a small bike trail that was cut in the side of the massive trough about two thirds of the way up the embankment.

The channel below us carried the runoff from the storm. It surged past less that five feet beneath us. I didn't want to think about what would happen if one of us fell into that maelstrom. I reached back and pulled a small knee out of my ribcage.

"Joey," I said softly but with some degree of frustration, "Please keep your knee out of my side." "Sorry Dad." He said for the sixthed time. He was lifting himself up in the harness on my back and peering ahead.

About one hundred yards in front of us I could barely make out the rangy figure of Sam Glennon through the rain. Radio and John Jr. tramped through the mush just ahead of him. Jubie and two of the other dogs spread out along the upper edge of the slope on lookout.

Far ahead, out of sight, I knew Ricky Esquivel, Dusty and a gaunt doberman they called Smitty, were on point. Joe the Frisby Cat and Benjamin, our yellow tabby, slunk through the shadows still furher forward, probably looking like a couple of oversized drowned rats.

I still wasn't used to Joey's ability to "see" through the animals. It was unsettling to say the least. He would sit up from time to time and say something about the terrain of the advance position. It was almost like he was in a trance.

Anyone with an imaginary friend discovered a whole new relationship with animals soon after the awakening. Even I found I had a powerful awareness and sensitivity to their communication that had not been there before. But Joey, Dusty and a few other children seemed to have developed some sort of union with certain animals that was almost a total transfer of sensory information.

Joey could actually see, hear and smell through Jubie and the cats. The bond seemed to require the cooperation of the animal involved. In most cases the bond developed between pets and former masters. The kids were careful to point out that the animals were no longer pets but equals.

Dusty had become the leader of the loose cadre of children and animals that had taken refuge in our house. She had developed the talent to extraordinary proportions and seemed to be able to contact and befriend almost any animal within a mile or two radius. With their help, she could even create a composite in her mind and effectively monitor an entire area. It was due to the emergence of these new abilities that the children had been able to avoid the authorities so effectively. Over the first two days after the Awakening, the method of using animal teams as scouts was developed and refined with the help of the "friends."

It was this bond of equals that had created our latest mission. We were off to liberate the animals in one of the city shelters. In the last few days, authorities had begun a mass extermination of captured animals. The kids all felt it in the "gere" and it was driving them crazy. They had already been on one raid behind our backs and had freed about fifty dogs and cats at a small private shelter.

Mary Glennon and I tried to talk them out of the raid. The city shelter had armed guards and large, barbed wire fences. They wouldn't hear a word we had to say. The best we could do was get them to agree to take a few of us along.

The last few days had been difficult for the adults in the three households. When the kids had threatened that the "grumps" wouldn't run things anymore, they meant it. As parents we were not used to our control being thwarted. We were conditioned to be obeyed, to having a veto and to "knowing best". If we tried to take that tack now or we showed any overt anger towards one of the children, every animal in the room would come to alert with its hackles up and teeth bared...even our own pets. We quickly got the idea that we were in no position to make demands.

It frightened and upset us, not only because we had lost control, but also because we felt responsible for the children's safety and as they didn't consult us about their plans, we were unable to protect and advise them. The kids were changing rapidly. They spent hours in nonstop conversation with their friends and each other and had begun to develop a vocabulary that we didn't always understand. More and more we were feeling left behind and out of touch. Even the occasional visits by my imaginary friend didn't help. He advised me to be patient. He told me there was much I didn't know and to listen and wait. He said the friends would take care of the children. This was advice none of us wanted to hear. Since domination didn't work; Jesse and Variety had tried reason and cajoling with a bit more success. John, Sam and I had been allowed to come along on the raid of the city shelter because Variety had convinced Dusty that we would be useful for tasks that took brute strength like carrying wounded animals. In other words, we were the pack animals on the trip.

Sam Glennon was a captain in the Marine reserve and had spent two years in the jungles of Viet Nam. He had a difficult time adjusting to taking orders from an eight year old about tactics in what he maintained was a military operation. Still, his complaints fell on deaf ears. We could go or stay, but if we went, Dusty made it clear who was calling the shots. She was courteous. She listened to our ideas and concerns...then did what she wanted. It was driving us crazy.

Radio, and John Jr. were having a rough time in the new pecking order too. They had ended up in the middle, stuck taking orders from the adults but powerless over their younger siblings. The first day, they had gone about the tasks before them with sullen resignation. It was clear they resented the fact that the imaginary friends had declined to visit most teenagers. They felt left out.

Ricky Esquivel had joined us soon after the meeting Monday morning at St. Maddy's. Just as John, Variety and I were getting into our cars to leave, a grey Mercedes coupe with dark tinted windows had pulled up. As the window slid down, Los Lobos music poured out.

Ricky stuck his head out the window and said "Hey Variety, check out the wheels." Sitting next to him in the driver's seat was James Purcival, the Marlboro man, silk suit and all.

I looked over at Variety in surprise. She looked back sheepishly. "Well Tom, I didn't have time to tell you who was friend and foe. Mr. Purcival is one of the good guys..." She turned back to Ricky. "Okay, you little gangster, take us to those kids."

Thus Ricky, his two younger brothers and the runaway wardie kids joined Dusty and the refugees from the zoo. Our house was beginning to smell like a kennel.

Two days later, Dusty had become the spokesmen for all the children and Ricky was the titular head of the preteen crowd. It wasn't much of a gang but it was the best he could do. John Jr. and Radio needed someone close to their own age who had the moxie to deal with the situation and one thing the creator had dolled out with generosity to Ricky Esquivel was moxie.

After the first day of sulking through the step n' fetch it tasks we had given them while Sarah and Variety patched the children up, the older boys went on strike. Ricky took their complaints directly to Dusty. After some consultation with her imaginary friend, she had assigned a child to each of the boys to do "gifting".

"Gifting" was what the kids called it when they put their hands on each other's heads and closed their eyes. None of the adults knew what was going on. It was one of several odd new behaviors. We were so concerned with dealing with the physical and medical necessities that we had little time to ask questions. Even when we did, we often couldn't understand the answers.

Whatever it's purpose, it seemed to placate the teenagers.

Jesse and James Purcival were working with Dusty and a little oriental boy named Nam Chin. Nam was in charge of the planned exodus to New Mexico. He was a scrawny, wiry rat of a kid with a goofy smile. He bobbed his head all the time and laughed at things no one else thought were funny. Then, when you were just about to disregard him, he would say something so startlingly dead on that you kept hearing it long after it was said. He and Joey became instant buddies and I got a real kick out of him. Jesse and Purcival were his executive assistants and he kept them hopping. We were leaving soon for some location near the Mescalero Apache Indian Reservation in southern New Mexico. As it turned out, Mr. Purcival's mother was Apache. He had spent most of his childhood summers with his grandfather's people around Lincoln National Forest.

Nam and Joey had "seen" the location. As soon as James had brought the first load of Wardie kids to the house, the two boys ran up to him and started describing the "place with the cave and the waterfall". Purcival was obviously stunned. He wasn't very explicit about why. He just said it sounded like a place he knew. The whole thing was a mystery. It took a while for the self-assured Mr. Purcival to regain his bearings.

"Seeing" was another new talent some of the kids aquired. It was a kind of prescience. They "knew" when some things were going to happen.

The way Joey explained it, "It doesn't have to be the way you "see" it Dad, but if you don't change something, it will be." At first, we adults doubted the accuracy of these premonitions. Nam and Joey faded in and out of a prescient daze sometimes for hours at a time. The talent didn't seem to discriminate between large and small events. They were just as likely to foresee what was for dinner as they were to "see" a more significant event.

Since it was possible to affect the events "seen" by altering circumstances, some would happen and others wouldn't. It was hopelessly confusing as they never knew what alteration of behavior in the present would affect the foretold event, or even if changing actions that lead to the event they had "seen" would create greater dangers. Also, there was no guarantee that horrible things wouldn't happen totally unforseen. The whole thing made my head swim.

Nam had "seen" the success of our mission but he was less than forthcoming about the circumstances. Dusty followed his suggestions for changes in personnel, one part of which was allowing the adults to go. I wasn't sure why, but I was more worried about what he hadn't told us than what he had.

Now here we were, teens and adults, cannon fodder in a war to liberate incarcerated pets. I figured odds were good we'd end up shot or in jail. I hadn't played war since I was ten and even then, I wasn't too good at it.

Joey stuck his heel in my rib again. "Dad, Frisby Joe and Benjamin are at the shelter. There are two policemen at the front door but nobody around back that they can see. Dusty and Ricky are going around back. We'd better hurry."

"Oh crap!" I thought, "Here we go." That Warren Zevon song, "Jungle Work," off Bad Luck Streak In Dancing School lept into my head...

I could see Sam Glennon motion to Radio and John Jr. up ahead. All three dropped onto all fours and began to climb up the side of the massive ditch to the field that surrounded the shelter. By the time John Sr. and I trotted the hundred yards and clambered up the slick and muddy hill, Sam and the two boys were half way across the field crawling on their bellies. I couldn't see the other dogs but Jubie was crouched behind a ragged bush waiting for Joey.

It had been prearranged that Joey would stay on the edge of the bayou with Jubie as lookout. That suited me fine. I pulled him out of the pack and set him down.

What's happenin' Joey" I asked.

"The cats are inside scouting. So far just a couple of men in white clothes and..." he stopped. His face tightened, the color draining out his cheeks and tears came to his eyes.

"What's wrong honey?" He was scaring me. Damn this telepathic madness. My boy was having to grow up much too quick.

He wiped his eyes. An angry resolve came over his face. "Lots of 'em are dead Dad. There's piles of 'em. The animals are real scared." He looked up at me. "Go on Dad, they're gonna need your help." He grabbed my arm. "Dad...be real careful. I can't tell who but somebody's gonna get hurt." For just a moment he was my little boy again. I reached over and gave him a hug.

"Don't worry Bub, I'm way too chicken to take any chances."

John Sr. had already spread his huge bulk out on the ground ahead of me and started crawling. I gave Joey a quick smile and followed.

We crawled as fast as we could to the breach in the rear fence, Radio and John Jr. were waiting for us. Sam had gone into the building with the two dogs to find Dusty and Ricky. This close to breaking and entering, my stomach started doing a waltz in my throat. My ol' Daddy did a good job of raising me a law abiding citizen. I swallowed, pulled the opening apart and started to crawl through.

Half way in, all hell broke loose.

Radio yelled "Watch out Dad!"

I looked up and something large, brown and furry ran over my back and squeezed through what was left of the hole in the fence. Something else gripped my ankles and hauled me backwards out of the hole, scraping skin off my sides and shoulders. A running, barking, whining, spitting and howling blur slammed into me and over me as I was dragged further out into the field on my belly. After about ten feet, I kicked my feet loose and balled up in a foetal position to protect my face from the panicked claws and teeth.

Suddenly the tide parted and I saw John Sr. standing in front of me bellowing and batting the animals away with his massive arms. Blood stained the arms of his wet sweatsuit. I jumped up completely disoriented and heard yelling and gunshots from the other side of the fence. Two policemen ran around the corner of the building and started shooting into the panic stricken swarm of animals fighting to get through the hole in the fence.

I saw one of them bring his weapon to bear on John and me. The whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. One tick...he saw us. Two ticks... he screamed and fired. Three ticks... John Sr. spun around to the left like he had been hit by a truck. Four ticks...I saw my big friend fall crumpled to the ground.

I looked back at the policeman in shock and saw a cold look of fear and hatred in his eye as he leveled the weapon on my chest. He was yelling something but I couldn't hear it over the barking and the screams of the wounded animals. I froze and raised my arms. Just then a black streak hit him from the side and knocked him to the ground. It was Smitty, Dusty's Doberman. At the same time, Sam Glennon jumped off the tin roof of the building next to the policemen and knocked the other officer to the ground.

In a matter of seconds, the mob at the fence joined the attack. As I watched in horror, they swarmed over the two policemen. Dusty was pulling Sam Glennon and Ricky away from the tumbling mass and back into the building.

I could see the man who had shot John because his back was pressed against the fence. He tried to put his arms over his throat and head to protect himself but there were too many of them. Smitty drove his hard muzzle though the man's hands and buried sharp teeth in his throat. I stood less than ten feet away and heard his screams turn into a gurgle as the enraged animal tore the life from him.

The horde was in a killing frenzy. The animals were clearly out of control. They tore and shook the two bodies well after it was clear there was no life left.

I looked over and saw Radio standing on the other side of the opening in the fence with his arms at his side, his expression showing shock and disbelief. John Jr. was stooped over his dad crying. I ran over to the big man. He had been able to pull himself up to a sitting position. There was a bloody, ugly mess around his left shoulder.

I yelled at Radio to come help and the three of us hauled him to his feet. He was obviously in shock and considerable pain but he seemed to have his wits about him.

"Unc, we gotta get these kids outa here. These animals don't know who their friends are." I looked around and saw the gathering pack beginning to circle us and saw he was right. I picked up a mud covered piece of 2 x 4 about three feet long and with the boys helping to support Big John, we started moving towards the bayou.

"What about Dusty and the rest Dad?" Radio cast a worried look at the barking and darting mob behind us. I swung and missed as a large yellow mutt jumped at my legs.

"Dusty will know what to do...we gotta get John to a doctor." I knew I didn't sound very convincing.

Step by step we fought our way across the field. As we got closer to the side of the bayou, I started yelling for Joey. I was worried sick some of these crazy animals might have gotten to him. Twice, I had to kick and bat animals who had come flying out of the mob to bite one of the boys. All three of us had scores of shallow slashes and bites by the time we got to the edge of the bayou.

When we got to the bush where I had left Joey, he was nowhere to be found. I put my worries out of my mind in favor of what was quickly becoming a desperate situation. John Sr. was fading from shock and loss of blood. The boys were frightened and crying and barely able to hold him up. As we reached the edge of the incline down into the bayou, John stumbled and fell to one knee, then toppled over the edge and tumbled down into the darkness below. Both boys held onto him and were dragged screaming down the muddy slope.

I stood my ground at the top swinging my board like a maniac then threw myself down the slippery embankment. I hit the trail below and heard the boys screaming my name. Several of the pack had followed us down the hill and were snapping at the boys. John was barely conscious. His legs were dangling over the edge of the path into the rushing water below. The boys were frantically trying to keep him from slipping into the surging, black torrent.

Kicking a crazed terrier off my boot, I ran over to the boys and gave my board to John Jr. "Here Johnny, keep those mutts off my butt...Radio, give me a hand." I grabbed the pack on John's back and was pulling him back on the path when something hit me hard in the back. I lost my balance and John, Radio and I all fell into the muddy, swirling waters of Buffalo Bayou.

I held onto John's backpack and struggled in a panic for the surface. I kicked out trying to get my bearings and rammed my face into something hard and rough. Momentarily stunned, I lost the air in my lungs and went limp. That must have saved me, because the next thing I knew my head broke the surface and I choked down soggy gulps of air. I wrestled with John's pack while yelling for Radio and succeeded in righting him in the water with his face up. The big man and his pack were relatively buoyant to my intense relief and after a few seconds I had his head on my shoulder and the two of us traveling downstream feet first.

My face stung where it had hit the bottom. The concrete base to this oversized ditch was only about five feet below the surface but it was slippery as hell. It offered no opportunity for foothold. All I could do was push off every once and a while when we threatened to capsize. The water was moving us along at breakneck speed.

I looked back in the dim light to where we had come from and saw John Jr. swinging away with the board and jogging after us with a pack of dogs at his heals. I couldn't see Radio anywhere. I screamed his name in ragged shouts whose primary result was to reward me with a mouth full of oily water.

After the current had carried the two of us several hundred yards downstream, I was getting seriously paniced about the fate of my son. I kept thinking I heard something but it was hard to tell over the rush of the waters. Finally, I recognized a weak call to my left. I made out a dim figure floating on his back about thirty feet away. He waved at me and started to make his way in my direction.

By the time he had almost caught up, it dawned on me that we might have been better off back on the shore with the mad dogs. We were in some serious trouble.

Every time there's a heavy rain in Houston, it seems like someone is found drowned in these oversized storm sewers. They aren't very deep but the water moves at breakneck speed and once you fell in there was no way to get out. Radio caught up with me and grabbed onto John's pack.

Together we slowly moved John and the pack as close as we could to the the concrete bank. Radio tried to find some handhold on the side to pull himself out but all he got for his trouble was a bad case of broken fingernails and scratched palms. No littering signs whipped past us every few minutes with "Don't Mess With Texas! Up to $2,000 Fine!" on them. They zoomed past less than ten feet out of our reach. I was beginning to feel like the three of us were going to end up polluting Galveston Bay. I wondered if they would ticket us for dying in the city's murky overflow.

"I'm tired Dad." he yelled. "I can't get on this stupid bank. It's too slippery. This water stinks. How come those dogs attacked us, Dad, when we were trying to help them. Did you see them kill that cop. It was soooo gross..." I couldn't believe the kid was still running his mouth while we were floating on the edge of the big chill. "...Hey Dad, we got problems here. How we gonna get out. I'm cold dad. Hey how come Big John's pack floats so good. Is he gonna die Dad?..."

Something came crawling out of my unconcious. "Why did Big John's pack float so well?" I realized that I wasn't holding John up. His pack was supporting all three of us. That made no sense because I knew it was filled with tools. Then I realized John had packed a few medical items and a little food in a big plastic cooler to keep them dry. It filled the major chamber of his backpack and obviously had enough air in it to save our lives...at least for the moment.

As we floated hell-bent for the Gulf of Mexico, a crazy plan started to form in my mind. I told Radio to keep John's head out of the water and started digging around the side pockets of the pack and after a minute's struggle found the nylon rope I was looking for. It took several dunkings, ample cursing and two rest periods but I eventually succeeded in tying the small crowbar we had brought to one end of the nylon cord and the other end to John's pack in a way that I was reasonably sure would hold together.

As we rounded the next turn in the bayou Radio yelled out "There's one Dad!" I took aim and threw the crowbar as hard as I could. The effort capsized us and I almost lost my grip when the pack jerked on the end of the taught nylon cord. The water slammed us against the sidesandwiching Radio between the concrete embankment and John and me. It knocked the breath out of him and he lost his hold on the backpack. I threw out my arm and grabbed him by the collar, almost losing my own grip.

I had my arm around Big John's body but I couldn't get a good grip with only one hand. The water was tearing at me, slowly pulling me along with Radio's dead weight downstream. I could tell I was choking Radio with my hold on his shirt. His hands were tearing at his throat.

"Grab my hand Radio!" I yelled in desperation. He reached up and clasped my arm. His hold was solid enough for me to let go of his collar. Gulping air and enough of the dirty water to set off a bout of choking and coughing, he paddled in panic with his free arm, trying to keep his face out of the water.

"Relax son...relax! You're breaking my hold on John!" I was getting real scared. During Radio's struggle I had slipped almost halfway down John's body. I was holding onto his belt but my strength was fading fast. I didn't think I could haul Radio back in against that endless, dark rush of water. I knew if I had to let go and Radio and I had to make it without the bouyancy of the pack, we would eventually drown.

"Dad!" Radio sounded scared and weak "Help me!" I summoned all my strength and tried to pull him close enough to John's body so that he could grab on but my arms failed me. There was nothing left. I had let my child down. Just like Rivi. Just like my first baby. Now another of my children would die right in front of me and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. I prayed to God and then cursed him for a lying bastard. I screamed my frustration at the raging torrent.

I hung on to my friend's belt until my hand was numb. I knew my grip could fail at any time. I wouldn't even be able to feel it when it happened!

Suddenly something hard grabbed me under the armpit. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Big John's eyes were open. The massive bicep on his remaining good arm was knotted and his face was hard and determined. "Tell the boy to climb over me Unc." I could have kissed him. His big legs reached out for Radio and Radio started climbing up him while I pulled at his clothes.

"Took you long enough you overweight son of a bitch. That was one hell of a time to take a nap." Our eyes met for a moment and I almost started crying. The man was in incredible pain. I couldn't imagine what it was costing him to put out this kind of effort. "Watch his arm Radio." Radio made it to John's shoulders and pulling on the rope and using me as a brace he was able to scramble up to the bike path. After five minutes of impossible effort, I made it up the side but neither Radio nor I had the strength to haul the big man out of the water. I told Radio to go for help.

I tied John securely to the signpost to keep him from being dragged off by the current, then collapsed onto the muddy path. As I sprawled on the soggy ground, exhausted and barely conscious, I looked up at the sign to which I had tied my wounded friend. It said "All Pets Must Be On Leash-Order of City of Houston Parks and Wildlife Department."

The last thing I remember was looking down at John Sr. bobbing in the rushing water and thinking "Well, maybe this will teach him to heel."