The Last Dog on Earth (20 page)

“Why not?”

“Because the CDC will dispose of her, if the state troopers don't get to her first. Don't you read the papers? Don't you follow the news at all?”

Logan's face darkened. “Actually, Dad, I don't. See, Mom and Robert sent me to boot camp, and then I ran away, and then I got lost
in the woods for about a week, and then I was arrested for shoplifting.” His voice quickly rose to a shout. The veins in his scrawny neck bulged.
“So, no. I haven't had time to read the stupid papers!”

Westerly swallowed. He had no idea what to make of what Logan had just said. If it was the truth … well, if it was the truth, then Westerly knew he should have made more of an effort to keep tabs on his ex-wife.
Boot camp?
What did that mean—that in the past seven years, his son had turned into some kind of juvenile delinquent? He couldn't believe it. No, correction … what he
really
couldn't believe was that seven years ago, Logan's mother had actually had the nerve to accuse
him
of being a bad parent, of being a quitter, of wallowing in self-pity after losing his job and neglecting his family….

Okay, so maybe he
had
felt a little sorry for himself. But one thing was certain: He would have never allowed Logan to turn out like this. Not if he'd had anything to say about how the boy was raised.

“Why are we even standing around here?” Logan asked.“If I'm supposed to take Jack to a hospital, why aren't we doing that right now?”

“Because there's no point,” Westerly said, trying to be patient.

“What are you talking about?” Logan said. “She needs help!”

“That's true,” Westerly said. “She needs some basic medical care and a lot of rest. I can provide that for her right here. I have everything … everything we need.” He choked on the last three words. Over the years, he'd stockpiled lots of veterinary equipment so that he could tend to Jasmine at home if she were ever sick or injured. He'd collected enough surgical tools and bandages and medicine to open a small animal hospital.

And in the end, none of it had done a bit of good.

“So why don't you just get to work?” Logan pressed. “Why don't you
do
something? My dog is dying, Dad! Come on!”

Westerly stared at him. “You know, your dog could have saved my dog's life,” he said. His voice quavered. He turned away from Logan and sat at his desk.

Logan didn't say anything for a while.

“You had a dog?” he asked finally.

“Yes. I did. She died yesterday.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Logan cleared his throat. “But, you know, I have no idea what you're talking about. How could my dog have saved your dog's life?”

“Because your dog is immune, Logan,” Westerly said. “Your dog is one in a million. And if I'd gotten my hands on her, I could have taken her to the university and gotten to work on a cure. I could have used her tissue to create an antidote.”

Again, Logan was silent. Westerly could feel tears welling in his eyes. He fought them back. He refused to cry in front of his son.

“Why are you mad at me?” Logan asked.

Westerly spun around in his chair. “What?”

“You're acting as if I was supposed to know all this. How was I supposed to know? How was I even supposed to know you had a
dog
? We haven't spoken to each other in seven years, remember? Not since you walked out on us.”

Westerly didn't answer. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. His head was suddenly throbbing. He couldn't take the stress of this encounter anymore. He and his son weren't communicating. In a way, this conversation was very similar to the last conversation he'd had with Logan's mother.
She
hadn't been able to understand why he'd been too miserable to explain himself, either.

Maybe he should just call her and have her come pick Logan up. The boy was on the run; he was wearing a broken handcuff. Trying
to help him was asking for trouble, clearly. Marianne could take him to the hospital nearest to Pinewood. Westerly would tend to this dog, but the less he got involved with Logan's problems, the better.

“You know, Mom was right,” Logan said. “You really are a quitter.”

Westerly opened his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Listen to what you're saying. You're not making any sense. You won't take my dog to the hospital. But you said that if you
did
, you would use her to help create a cure. I don't get it. Just because
your
dog is dead, every other dog has to die, too? Is that it? You're just giving up again? The way you gave up on Mom and me?”

Abruptly, Westerly was seething with rage. If anything, Logan and his mother had given up on
him.
“How dare you talk to me like that?” he snapped.

Logan sneered. “I can talk to you however I want,” he said.

“No, you cannot! I am an adult! You are a child!”

“So what?” Logan said. He laughed grimly. “What's the difference? Every adult I've ever met is just as lame and stupid and selfish as every kid I've ever met. The adults are just allowed to get away with it.” He bent down and scooped Jack into his arms. “You know what? Fine. If you want to sit around here, I'll take her to a hospital myself.”

Westerly's heart pounded. He couldn't just let Logan and Jack wander back out onto the highway. And even now, a part of him— a dark, hidden, secret part—found itself wondering what Harold would do if Westerly appeared at the university with this dog … the dog that could possibly provide the key to stopping this epidemic. Would Harold welcome Westerly back with open arms? Or would he just grab the dog and shut the door in Westerly's face and take all the credit for himself ?

But then, these questions might be meaningless. It might already be too late.

“You should know something, Logan,” he said. “Taking Jack to the CDC might not even do any good at this point. Your dog may very well be the last healthy dog in Oregon.”

Logan's face twisted in disgust. “So what? What about the
people
, Dad? Fifty-six people are already dead from this thing. Maybe more.” He raised his eyebrows. “You do read the papers, don't you?”

“I …” Westerly swallowed. He hadn't even thought about the people. The rage faded, leaving only a cold void in its place.
What's happening to me?
Logan was right: Westerly was as selfish as a child. He sickened himself.

But Logan didn't have to know about that. Logan didn't have to know about any of Westerly's feelings. Those belonged to him alone. He stood up. “All right. I'll call the university and let them know we're coming.”

Logan didn't move. His face was unreadable. “You mean it?”

Westerly nodded. “Yes. I mean it. I want you to get checked out. And we'll see what we can do with your dog.”

“You won't take me back to jail?”

“Jail?” Westerly stared at him in surprise. “No. Why?”

“It seems like the kind of thing you would do,” Logan said.

Westerly blinked. For some reason, that one remark hurt more than anything Logan had done or said since Westerly had found him.

“To be honest, jail never once crossed my mind, Logan,” he replied. “So you can put the dog back down. I'll be ready in just a minute.”

Logan's father was truly amazing. He hadn't said one word since they'd left his house. Not even a peep. In two hours.

Logan knew that he was a so-called nonverbal type himself, but this … this was bizarre. Dad
was
aware that Logan was his son, wasn't he? He
did
know that Logan had lived a life for the past seven years, didn't he? A very interesting life, if Logan said so himself—full of groundbreaking inventions and lame Summer Kickoff Barbecues and harrowing escapes from jail and boot camp.

But Dad apparently had no interest in hearing about it. Or in talking about his own life, for that matter.

They were already chugging over the Willamette River into the heart of Portland. The skyscrapers loomed ahead of them, framed against the blue sky as if on a giant postcard. For about the millionth time, Logan glanced over his shoulder at Jack, just to make sure she was still breathing. Yes … her chest was rising and falling. So she was alive. She lay there on the backseat, swaddled in a blanket like a newborn. Her eyes were closed.

Logan faced front again. He didn't mind being on the bridge so much because at least he couldn't see any houses. They'd driven past way too many houses on the way to Portland, houses of every kind: old, new, big, small, rich, poor … but they all had one thing in common. None of them had dogs in their yards. Not
one.

On a sunny summer day like today, dogs should be outside. It wasn't right. Logan felt sick whenever they passed a BEWARE OF DOG sign.
What dog?
he wanted to ask. There
were
no dogs.

There were a lot of army trucks, though. And a lot of black ambulances. Which just made Logan feel even sicker. For all he knew, Jack might very well be the last dog alive. If she even survived the rest of the journey …

“So, Dad,” he said finally. He couldn't stand the silence for another second. He practically had to shout to make himself heard over the rattle of Dad's junk-heap car. “You built that house yourself, huh?”

Dad nodded.

“How long did it take?” Logan asked.

“It's not really done,” Dad said. “It's sort of a work in progress. I had help with the heavy stuff. Construction workers did most of the actual building. I just designed it.”

“Wow,” Logan said. He didn't say it because he was impressed with his father's ingenuity or do-it-yourself gumption. He said it because his father had actually formed real sentences. Several in a row. Incredible.

“So why did you do it?” Logan asked.

Dad's forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean? Why did I build the house?”

“No. Why did you run out on us?”

The question just sort of popped out of Logan's mouth. He hadn't meant to bring up the past. But part of his brain must have figured there was no point in waiting around any longer to ask the question he'd wanted to ask for seven years. After all, they might not have this chance to speak to each other alone again.

“I didn't run out on you,” Dad said. “Your mother threw me out.”

“That's not the way I heard it,” Logan said.

Dad cast a quick sidelong glance at him. “How
did
you hear it?” he asked.

“Actually, I didn't hear anything. I remember that after you got fired from Portland University, you just sat around and did nothing. Mostly, you talked about how mad you were at the guy who fired you. Mom ended up having to pick up your slack. She got fed up. She gave you a choice: Either you go out and get a job, or you go wallow in your own misery somewhere else.”

Much to Logan's surprise, Dad nodded. “That's exactly right,” he said.

Logan frowned. “It
is
?”

“Yes,” Dad said. “Your mother threw me out.”

Logan glared at him.

“What?” Dad said.

“Nothing,” Logan muttered. He faced forward again.

“You're angry, Logan. Tell me why.”

Logan turned to him. “You don't get it. Mom didn't want you to
leave.
She wanted you to shape up.”

“She wanted me to shape up, eh?” Dad asked. He smiled.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing,” Dad said. He shrugged as he turned off at the first bridge exit. “Let me ask you something, Logan. Why did your mother send you to boot camp?”

“Because I blew up a microwave oven in a deli,” he said.

Dad laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. You think that's funny?”

“No, you just took me by surprise, that's all,” Dad said. “Why did you do it?”

“I don't know,” Logan mumbled. “A dog was attacking Jack.”

Dad didn't say anything for a moment. “I guess you don't want to talk about it.”

“Not really.” Logan chewed his lip and shifted in his seat. He felt antsy and agitated all of a sudden, as if he'd just chugged a massive cup of coffee. “But you know, it's not what it sounds like,” he added. “I mean, I felt bad and all. I would have done something to help make up for it. Robert was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me.”

“Oh,” Dad said.

“What do you mean, â
oh
'?” Logan snapped.

Dad shrugged again. “Nothing. It's just … I believe you. My situation was very similar. Your mother was just looking for an excuse to get rid of
me.
”

“No, she wasn't,” Logan said.

“How do you know?” Dad asked.

“Because I know Mom. All she wants is for people to do what they're supposed to and for everything to be smooth and organized and …” Logan hesitated for a second, searching for the right word.

“Stable?” Dad suggested.

Logan nodded. “Exactly,” he said. “Stable.”

“Right,” Dad said. “That's why she was such a great librarian. She made sure everything was smooth and organized for people who wanted to find books.” He glanced at Logan again. “You know, that's how we met. At the Portland University science library. She helped me find a book on Spanish influenza—”