The Great Escape (4 page)

‘What if it’s not rats, though? What if it’s a cat, or a dog, or a monkey?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t feel any differently. I still prefer you. But all animals are the same to me, love – I like them. I wouldn’t hurt any of them by choice. You know that.
I mean, I’d call a man in if we had mice running around the place, because they could start a fire, chewing through the wiring behind the walls. But a dog, a cat, a monkey, a guinea pig
– none of them should live in a cage. That’s why we don’t keep a pet. Animals are wild creatures, they’re not meant to be kept locked up.’

Even though she couldn’t see him, Millie could feel Max nodding fervently.

‘I know. But’ – Millie had a sudden flash of brilliance – ‘you wouldn’t mind if I fed that cat that’s been hanging around outside, would you?’

‘Which cat?’

‘The stray one I told you about.’ This was a lie, but in such a good cause, she couldn’t help herself. It was like telling someone they looked nice in a new but horrible dress
to which they were irretrievably and inexplicably attached. Sometimes you had to lie for the greater good. After all, they wouldn’t take the dress back if you said you didn’t like it.
They’d just like you slightly less for not lying to them.

‘I don’t remember,’ her dad said, frowning slightly.

‘I knew you weren’t listening.’

‘Well, don’t get too attached to this cat – it almost certainly has a home somewhere else. Cats are pretty resourceful, you know. They don’t often end up in a
scrape.’

‘He looks a bit skinny, Dad. Can I get him some cat food?’

‘Well, I should think so. But cats can usually find their own food, you know. They don’t very often go hungry.’

‘Well, maybe this one’s not been well. He looks a bit raggedy.’ She heard a tiny, huffy hiss, which she hoped her dad wouldn’t notice. ‘I’ll get some
tomorrow. Thanks, Dad.’

‘What are you up to now? Do you want to come and watch a film?’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

Her dad recognised his cue to leave. ‘OK. I’ll just go and make a couple of calls – I’ve been meaning to do them all week. Come down when you’re done up
here.’

The door shut behind him. Millie went and opened the wardrobe secondary defence again. Max appeared from under the bed.

‘I hope he’s not ringing that woman,’ Millie said thoughtfully. Max didn’t hear.

‘
Raggedy?
’ was all he could say, almost spitting.

‘Not really,’ she said quickly. Cats’ feelings were obviously more easily wounded than she had imagined.

‘I just needed to have a reason to buy you some food,’ she explained.

‘Well, that was pretty quick thinking, I suppose,’ he congratulated her.

‘Thanks. You’re going to have to try and look a bit scrawnier, though.’

‘Scrawnier?’

‘Thinner.’

‘What are you saying? I am a very handsome cat. I am a Chartreux, from the ancient French cat family.’

‘Exactly.’ Millie smiled. She couldn’t deny that Max was a beautiful cat. He had thick blue-grey fur, and extraordinary, almost glowing orange eyes. ‘You’re
supposed to look like some skanky stray who needs feeding. So if I were you, I’d groom a bit less, and maybe try and flatten your fur down, so you look smaller and more pathetic.’

‘Pathetic? I have never heard such a thing. I will catch birds myself and eat those.’

‘There might be times when I can’t let you outside, when my dad’s here. Then what are you going to do? It’s either look a bit feeble on the off chance my dad or the lady
next door sees you, or a diet of cheese. You decide.’

Max thought for a moment. ‘You are right,’ he said, defeated. ‘I shall try hard to look . . . ordinary. It won’t be easy.’

The next day, Millie told her dad that she would stay at home – there was a book she wanted to finish before she had to take it back to the library. No problem, he had
said cheerily, he’d drop a note round next door, and Mrs Ellis, their neighbour, could pop by and see she was OK. Millie rolled her eyes heavenwards, and asked again what an old lady would be
able to do if the much-heralded crisis ever actually occurred, perhaps swim in to rescue her if a water main burst, for example. Her dad told her not to be so ungrateful and ruffled her hair, in a
way which was designed to be only slightly annoying, as he left.

Millie opened the door to the back garden, and let Max out of her room. He flew off, delighted by the prospect of some real, undiluted freedom for the first time in many weeks. He was keen to
start planning the rescue of the other cats as soon as they possibly could, but they both agreed that he should have a look around Millie’s neighbourhood first, and stretch his legs. How else
would he get in shape for a mission?

Millie found her book and read it, lying on a towel on the grass, waving up at Mrs Ellis when she saw her, to try and put her off coming round and interfering. Max reappeared an hour later,
looking sleek and happy, with the merest trace of feathers around his mouth. Millie got up casually and wandered into the kitchen, as though she were going to get something to drink. She really,
really didn’t want Mrs Ellis to think she had seen her talking to a mysterious cat. Max snuck in through the French windows.

‘I can see what you’ve been eating,’ Millie said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

‘If they only came with napkins . . .’ Max shrugged. He licked his lips. ‘Now let’s go and do some proper hunting,’ he said.

They went back upstairs, and were online a few moments later, looking for the protesters’ website. They soon found a page which explained that the Haverham laboratory
belonged to Vakkson, a pharmaceutical company with offices in London, France, Germany and Spain. The laboratory was their only one in the UK, but they had several more on the Continent. The
protesters claimed that the reason the company went largely unnoticed was because they ‘only tested on rodents, which aren’t cute enough to stir up public feelings. People would react
differently if it was puppies they were torturing.’

‘
Some
people would react differently,’ muttered Max.

‘Don’t be so unkind,’ Millie said hotly. ‘Just because you don’t like dogs.’

‘I don’t like rodents either,’ he pointed out. ‘Except as a starter.’

‘These people are on our side, you know. They’re the ones trying to stop Vakkson from testing on animals. I think they stand outside all day with placards and shout at all the cars
that come onto the property.’

‘Have you seen them?’ Max asked, interested.

‘No. They get there after we do. My dad saw them, though, over the trees.’

‘So, how have they helped, exactly?’

‘Maybe they haven’t. But at least they’re trying.’

‘I suppose so. But they obviously know very little about what’s been going on, if they think there are only mice and rats in there. I presume even quite a stupid person would realise
I am not a mouse. Or a grubby little rat.’

‘And they think that it’s only medicines that are being tested. But that’s not what they were using you for, is it?’ Millie frowned.

Max had no idea. He shrugged.

‘I mean,’ Millie carried on, trying to explain, ‘they didn’t give you a voice to test a medicine, unless it was an unexpected side-effect, which doesn’t seem very
likely. I can imagine there are medicines which could
damage
your voice, but not give you one from scratch. And they don’t need to find a medicine that can make people talk – we
can talk already.’

‘More’s the pity,’ snapped Max. ‘Present company excepted of course. You’re right, though. So, what
were
they doing?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong –
could
it have been a side-effect of a drug? Did they seem surprised when they found you could talk?’

‘Not as surprised as you did.’

Millie grinned. ‘I bet they didn’t. So they expected you to be able to talk?’

‘Yes. I think so. They asked us questions. That suggests that they were expecting answers.’

‘When did they ask you questions?’ Millie asked.

‘Every day.’

‘From the day you arrived there?’

‘No, from the second or third day. I’m not sure. I was tired, and my throat hurt.’ Max looked a bit dejected, not something Millie had seen before.

‘Your throat hurt? Let me see.’ Millie reached out for his neck, and he jumped back, hissing.

‘I’m sorry,’ Millie cried, and pulled back her hand as if scalded. They looked at each other for a long moment.

Max sighed.

‘No,
I
am sorry. I know you’re trying to help me, and I didn’t mean to get angry. It’s just—’

‘I know,’ she said, imagining how she might feel if the last human being to come near her had kidnapped and tortured her. ‘I just want to see if there are marks on your
fur.’

He stepped forward, and she put her hand gently on his throat, where the fur seemed shorter than elsewhere. She nodded, grimly.

‘I think you were tired because they gave you an anaesthetic the day after you arrived. And your throat hurt because while you were unconscious, they operated on you to give you a voice.
Your fur’s shorter here, because they must have shaved it. I had my tonsils out last year, and my throat hurt for a fortnight. And yours must have been much worse than that.’

Max looked a bit sick.

‘They . . . shaved my fur?’ he said faintly.

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Tell me we will punish them for this indignity,’ he said.

‘Of course we will. Do you always sound like one of the Three Musketeers when you get angry?’

‘Always.’

They sat for a moment, and Millie gave him a small smile.

‘Did they test you for any other things?’

‘They took temperatures, heart rates, that kind of thing. They had charts on each of us, I think,’ he replied.

‘That just sounds like they wanted to check whether the surgery had made you ill in any way. Did they operate on all the cats as soon as they came in?’

‘I guess so. I don’t know exactly.’ Max furrowed his brow, trying to remember.

‘Could you all talk, in the end?’

‘Yes. Although they thought one of us could not.’

Millie raised her eyebrows, questioning.

Max explained: ‘There was one cat, Monty, who refused to talk to them at all. He could, but he wouldn’t. He was there when I arrived, and he was very smart, very funny. He took care
of me. He was always planning some kind of escape, but he is old and not so quick or strong as I am. His daughter, Celeste, was there too – he was planning for her, I think . . .’ Max
gazed at Millie. ‘We
must
help them.’

‘We will,’ said Millie simply. ‘I promise.’

‘After the first couple of days, when they started questioning us, he never answered. They thought it hadn’t worked on him.’

‘The surgery?’ asked Millie.

‘Yes, the surgery. They spoke to us all, and we all replied. It didn’t occur to us not to, you know, when we found we could talk. We wanted to ask them where we were, what
they’d done to us, when we could leave.’

‘And did you?’

‘Of course, but they never replied. Just told us to be quiet.’

‘How ironic.’

‘Quite. Anyway, Monty never replied to any of their questions, although I think he’d been through the same operation as the rest of us. They were very annoyed about it. They did more
tests on him than on all the rest of us put together. He just used to yowl at them, like a normal cat.’

‘And he
could
talk, he just wouldn’t?’

‘Yes.’ Max suddenly sounded tired.

‘I’m sorry,’ Millie said, ‘I know you probably don’t want to think about it very much.’

‘Quite the contrary. If it helps us to rescue my friends, I will think about it all day. What do
you
think was happening?’

‘I think they wanted to give you all voices. That must have been the plan. I just can’t think why.’

Millie and Max spent the next hour online, trying to find out as much as they could. There were two sites in particular which interested them – the first was the initial
one they had looked at, which complained about Vakkson and its rodent testing, and had as its address
www.haverhamlabprotest.co.uk
. The
second Millie found by searching again, and it came up as
www.haverhamlabprotest.org
.

‘That’s weird,’ said Millie. ‘Why would there be another one?’

Max had no sensible suggestions to make. He wasn’t much of an internet expert, he admitted, and didn’t really know what to make of it all. Millie clicked onto the link, and went to
look at the second site, which seemed fairly similar in content to the first. She combed through it, trying to see why someone had set up a second site. There was a diary page and she clicked onto
that.

‘Maybe this will help,’ she said, beginning to read. ‘Ah.’

‘Ah?’ said Max. He had been hoping for less reading and more action, and though he could see that Millie thought this was all useful research, he was getting a little bored.
He’d thought that perhaps they could just run to the lab and get the others out today, although he did admit that this plan lacked sophistication.

‘They’ve fallen out with each other,’ she explained, pointing to the screen. It appeared that the protesters had now formed two groups: one who did the placards and shouting,
and one who thought the first lot a bunch of wimps, and advocated ‘direct action’.

‘What do you think that means?’ asked Max.

‘Rescue missions?’ guessed Millie.

‘Really?’

‘No, probably not. Well, maybe. I think they do that sometimes. But usually I think they do things like hassle the people who work for the lab, and their families, and stuff. Try to
frighten them out of doing it.’

‘Seems fair,’ said Max.

‘Mmm,’ said Millie.

‘You don’t think so?’ he asked, surprised.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I met some people last year who were campaigning against animal testing labs. And I wanted to join them, but some of them were really scary,
and Dad wouldn’t let me.’

‘What do you mean, scary?’

‘I mean, they would ring the people who worked at the lab in the middle of the night . . .’