Return of the Jed (8 page)

“Let me get this straight,” Luke said. “This stranger comes out of nowhere, says he can get you your dog back, tells you how to break into doggy prison, and you just let him go with a, ‘Thanks, podner.’ Really?”

“Why didn’t you ask that before we broke into doggy prison?” I spat. “You didn’t need much convincing.”

That was true. Dad was in the shower when I got back to the hotel, giving me plenty of time to tell Luke about the plan to spring Tread.

“I really liked the idea of going all secret agent, to tell you the truth. Until this.”

We faced the iron bars keeping us from the ring of keys, one of those keys able to get us into Kennel 206, where Tread waited. But we still had to get past the padlock.

Luke readjusted his grip on my arm, the one he’d ripped out a few minutes ago.

“Two arms are better than one,” he said. “But maybe not in this case. I really thought I could reach the keys this way. But now maybe we need to leave. Your cowboy friend led us astray, podner.”

Spike had offered the only chance I had of saving Tread. He’d handed me a solid plan, complete with a map. Luke and I had entered through an unlocked window and filled our arms with treats from the first closet on the right. We then threw treats into each kennel, as Spike had suggested, to keep the inmates quiet.

It had all been perfect until now. Spike had neglected to mention the iron bars that stood between a successful jailbreak and us.

“If you had doubts, why did you agree to join me?” I said.

“I loved the idea of sneaking out, but even that wasn’t much fun. Your dad wasn’t much of a challenge.”

That was true. With the hum of the air conditioner masking our escape, Dad didn’t even stir as we slipped out of the hotel room.

“You also promised me your fries for the rest of our stay in Mexico,” Luke continued. “A suitable payment for breaking and entering. But why are you here? What’s your excuse?”

“Desperation,” I snapped back. “You don’t have to be here. I do. You heard my dad when we left the customs office. We’d stay here one more day, and if we couldn’t get Tread, we had to leave because of Dad’s job.”

“He also said we could call every day, and when they released Tread, we’d come and get him.”

“Come on, Luke, you know Tread is never going to be released. His tail fell off! They know he’s not your usual dog. Was I wrong in trusting a complete stranger? Absolutely. But I also know this was the only chance I have and I took it. So shoot me.”

“Wouldn’t do any good,” Luke said. “You’d get right back up. It’s the zombie in you.”

“Darn straight,” I said, more determined than ever to spring Tread. I motioned to my arm in Luke’s hand. “Give it another shot. Nothing to lose.”

As Luke strained once again against the bars, my arm in his hands, all I could do was watch. Was he getting closer this time? The gap between my finger and the keys seemed narrower. It was so close.

Suddenly my middle finger touched the key ring, and it was as if I could feel the cold steel brush the tip.

No, I really did feel the key ring, like my arm was still attached. I stared at the finger, trying to will it closer, believing my arm was still a part of me. I closed my eyes and saw my fingers stretch out, reach …

“What the—” Luke said, followed by a sickening thud of flesh on concrete.

I opened my eyes, knowing what I’d see. I was not disappointed.

My left arm was on the floor—on the wrong side of the locked door. Once again, distance worked to our disadvantage. The way it fell, there was no way Luke could reach it.

“Dude, I’m sorry. But, holy crap, that scared the spit out of me,” Luke said, staring at my arm.

“You know what scares the spit out of me?” I said. “When they come to arrest us and say ‘Put up your hands’ and I have to say ‘Is one enough?’ Really, Luke?”

“Didn’t you see it? Can you blame me?”

“See what?”

“Jed, your arm came alive. The fingers, I don’t know, stretched out. And they should not be doing that, with you not attached to them.”

“You must’ve imagined it,” I said. “You were probably thinking the same thing I was, if only I could move those fingers just a little—”

“You were thinking that?”

“Yeah. Weren’t you?”

“No, I was thinking how tough life was for a guy with such short arms, the top shelves being forever out of reach.”

“My arms are proportional to my size.”

“Exactly.” Luke laughed. “What else is proportional?”

“Really? Would you be laughing if that were your arm on the other side of that door?”

“I’d probably be looking for something to stop the bleeding. Like for bandages on the top shelf, since I could reach them.”

“Dang it, Luke, take this seriously.”

“Did you just say ‘Dang it’? What are you, eighty?”

“Luke, you need to—”

“Wait. Did you say you were thinking about moving your fingers? At the same time your fingers actually moved?”

“I, uh … Coincidence?” It had to be. “Coincidence,” I repeated, as if saying it enough would make it true.

“No, not coincidence, Jed, and you know it. I can tell just by looking at you. So, the way I see it, we have two ways out of this. And both involve you handing over your right arm.”

I’d already given my left arm to save Tread, but both?

I knew the answer even before I finished the question.

“You realize that once I’m unarmed, it’s going to be all up to you,” I said, offering Luke my last arm.

Without a word, he put one hand on my wrist and another on my elbow. With a quick twist and a yank, I was suddenly powerless to do so much as scratch my nose. Which I now really had to do. Stupid psychosomatic brain.

Without its usual support structure, my backpack thudded to the floor.

“Once you get the technique, ripping your arms off is pretty easy,” Luke said. “Make sure you never shake my hand after beating me at something.”

“Just get my other arm,” I said.

“No worries,” Luke said, reaching through the bars with my right arm, snagging my left arm, and sliding it toward the door.

Soon he held my right arm in his left and my left in his right.

“Success,” Luke said.

A smile crossed his lips. Flipping each arm so he held them by their (massive) biceps, he placed my hands on the ground and scooted them along the concrete, walking slowly away.

“And the left takes the lead,” he said. “But wait, here comes the right, it’s going to be a photo finish!”

“What the heck are you doing?” I said, making sure to stay on his heels.

He turned, showed me a smirk.

“Arms race.”

I groaned.

“OK, back to work,” Luke said. “I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.”

He unzipped my backpack, rummaged through, and pulled out a new roll of duct tape.

“There’s a used roll of tape in there,” I said. “I’d like to use that before breaking open the fresh one.”

“Shut up,” he said.

If I’d had an arm, I would have slapped him.

He put my arms on the ground, arranging them so my left hand overlapped my right biceps.

He ripped the cellophane covering off the roll, snagged the edge with a fingernail, and ripped away an arm’s-length of tape before tearing it with his teeth.

“Did you have to use so much?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Do you want your arms to come apart just when we need them most?”

“You mean like what just happened? Or have you forgotten the role you played in relieving me of limbs I’ve come to depend on?”

“You always knew I had a disarming personality.”

“That’s all you have, bad puns? Just finish and get the keys so we can get Tread and get the heck out of here.”

Just as Luke finished taping my arms together, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Except this particular light was at the end of the hallway.

Someone was coming.

If they catch us, this is bad news.

That was exactly what Luke and I were thinking, but neither one of us said a word. Muffled voices came from down the hall. The acoustics made it impossible to tell just how far away these new arrivals were, and who knew where they were headed.

Three things were obvious: We needed to get the keys, Tread, and out of there, in that order. And whoever was just around the corner wasn’t supposed to be here either.

Luke froze in place, like a vampire in solar headlights. I head-butted his shoulder, the only thing I could do to get his attention.

“You need to get those keys, and you need to do it now,” I whispered.

Luke shook his head. “I think we need to get out of here. I didn’t pack for an extended stay in a Mexican prison.”

“Right, Mexican prison.” I paused as it sunk in. “But those guys are speaking English. My guess is they don’t belong here either.”

“Belong or not, we are in serious trouble if anyone sees us. Even if they’re fellow burglars.”

“You need to get your act together, my arms through the bars, and the keys in your hand, in that order. You got it?”

Luke picked up my arms, the tape holding well. They flopped a bit, but the makeshift pole was more than long enough to snag the key ring.

“Jed, I’m not sure we—”

“If I had just one of those arms, I would punch you in the face so hard right now.” I head-butted Luke’s shoulder again. “We came here to get Tread, and we are not leaving without him. You need to get it together.”

“Geez, are all angry zombies so impatient? Fine, just keep an eye out. Not literally, since I know you can actually do that.”

If I’d had my arms, I would have taken an eye out, knowing how much Luke hated it. For now, I gave him one last head-butt, turned, and headed toward the light as Luke went to work.

I passed one kennel after another, creeping so as to not unduly bother any residents who may have finished their bones.

As I made my way toward the corner, and the light, I listened for footsteps, whispers, anything that might indicate where the other break-in artists might be. I was a few feet from the corner when I heard them.

“I swear to God I’m not lying.” It sounded different from the first voice. Higher-pitched. A girl. She went on. “I overheard Dad. The customs guys don’t even know what they have.”

“What if I said I believe you? OK? That good enough?” The first voice again. A boy. They were just a couple of kids. Still, kids can call for help as easily as adults.

“We cannot pass this up,” the girl said. “This isn’t the comic convention where everyone with a mirror and $15 in fake blood and putty is stumbling around like brain-dead idiots. This is real life.”

“Maybe, but are you positive this is our only shot? Because I don’t want to have to put ‘Stint in Mexican prison’ on my college application.”

“Quit being a wuss. And yes, I heard Dad say the customs guys are coming before the place opens to take it away. They think it’s a chupacabra or something.”

“Maybe it is,” the boy said.

“Seriously? Maybe he was on a walk with Bigfoot, and the border police spotted them from the back of their trained dragon, so they sent in their team of extraterrestrial special-ops soldiers armed with fictional-character detectors and—”

“Fine, I get it. But you realize that fictional-character detector also would pick up this thing you want me to see.”

“I know how weird it sounds, but Dad was positive,” the girl went on. “It’s all part of—”

CLANG!

Looking back, I knew how my mind had made that sound about a hundred times louder than it really was. It was more of a “clink,” and I knew exactly what it was—keys hitting concrete.

But it seemed to echo forever, and within milliseconds, the hall with filled with yips, yaps and yowls. We had to get out of there.

“We have to get out of here,” I heard the mystery boy say before I turned and bolted toward Luke, thinking exactly the same thing.

I careened on two feet, missing the thrust and balance provided by the two arms that should have been pumping by my side. I rushed by the kennels, each with an occupant leaping and yapping at the chain-link gate.

Twenty feet and closing on Luke, I leaned in a way my legs could no longer keep up.

My world went from sixty miles per hour to slow motion as the floor rose to meet my face. And me, without any upper limbs to brace my fall.

Poor face.

I turned my shoulders just enough to avoid full frontal impact, rolling on my back as I hit. There I remained, rolling back and forth.

Turtling.

I felt hands lift me up, settling me back on my feet. Something jingled in front of my face. I focused, and there was Luke, holding up the key ring.

“Success, dude,” he said.

“My arms?”

“Dismantled and snug in the backpack.” He flipped around, revealing my pack with my hands poking up, each looking as if gripping Luke’s shoulder.

Note to self: License a zombie backpack with hands as straps. Cool.

“Luke,” I said trying to break through the undead-brain fog. “The other people. They sounded like kids. Two of them. And I’m pretty sure they broke in to look for Tread.”