Trapped (6 page)

“Sage, that group of yours isn't considering doing anything illegal, is it?” Mom asks. She pushes her plate away, looking worried. “I've read about some of the things that the more radical animal rights groups do. Recently they set fire to a factory that makes food for mink farms. That's dangerous! People could get hurt.”

“They always make sure there are no people in the building,” Sage says defensively.

Mom sighs.

“Why don't they just let all the minks out of their cages?” Jayvee asks.

His innocent question makes Sage grin, and I realize how much I've missed my brother's smile.

“They do!” Sage says. “Isn't that the coolest? They sneak into mink farms at night, all dressed in black. They open up all the cages and liberate the animals! There are directions on the Internet about how to do it.”

“Wow, cool...” says Jayvee. He pauses. “What's ‘liberate'?”

“It means they set them free,” my dad explains. He's shaking his head. “And it's not always the best thing for them. Sometimes they run off and get hit by cars or eaten by other animals.”

I guess Sage isn't the only one who's been doing his research!

I look at Sage. Our quiet family dinner has suddenly turned into something else. I feel as if I'm at a tennis match, turning my head from side to side as each player hits the ball. Dad, one. Sage, zip.

“Right,” Sage admits. “So some of them die. But guess what? If they stayed prisoners at the mink farm, all of them would die.” Score one for Sage. “Anyway, usually the people who free them try to catch them and give them good, safe homes.”

Dad just shakes his head again. “I'm glad that you care about animals, Sage. We brought you up to respect all living things. I just hope you'll keep in mind that humans fall into that category.”

I'm not sure what Dad is getting at, but Sage seems to understand. “Uh-huh,” he says shortly. Then he stands up. “I have a meeting to go to,” he announces. He takes his plate to the sink and rinses it off. Then, before we know it, he's gone.

“Dessert, anyone?” Mom asks, trying to salvage what's left of our family dinner. “It's apple pie.”

After pie, I help Dad with the dishes and then head up to my room to do some homework. I've fallen behind a little, and if I don't study for tomorrow's math test, I could be in big trouble.

When I open my backpack and look things over, I realize that the situation is worse than I thought. I have an English paper due in two days, my social studies group project is supposed to be well under way, and I'm scheduled to give an oral presentation in tomorrow's health class, on food safety.

Eek.

First things first. I'd better get going on that oral presentation. There's only one problem: I left my health book in my locker at school.

If Sage were home, I'd ask him if I could use his computer for a while to do some research on the Internet. (The family computer is way too pokey.) Come to think of it, if Sage were home, I'd never have a chance at the computer, since he's always using it.

It takes me only a second to decide. He hates me to go into his room without asking, but I don't really have a choice, do I?

I go down the hall to Sage's room and knock softly on the door, just in case he's still there. “Sage?” I call. No answer. I push the door open.

His room looks the same as always, which is to say it's a total pigsty. No, that's not fair to pigs. They're actually very smart and clean. Sage's room is, well, what can I say? I have to practically wade through piles of dirty clothes, books, and woodworking projects in order to get to his desk.

The computer's on, so it takes only a few minutes to get onto the Internet. I do some searching, trying to remember Sunita's techniques. It's not too hard to find what I'm looking for, and soon I've downloaded more information than I'll ever need about salmonella bacteria counts, hand washing, and how to clean your kitchen counters.

While the information is printing out, I quickly check my e-mail. Nada. Just a couple of those stupid chain letters everybody loves to forward. Then, bored, I do something I know isn't quite right. I go to Sage's list of bookmarks to see what Web sites he's been visiting.

And boy, do I get an education!

These animal rights people are serious. Like that fire my mom talked about, in the feed factory? That was only one of dozens of fires people have set. They've also defaced the windows of stores that sell fur, vandalized fast-food places that serve meat, and sent threatening letters to scientists who use animals for experiments.

Some of the people have been arrested for their activities—including some Animals Always members! They're known as “political prisoners,” and there's a list of addresses so you can write to these people in jail.

There's a page that shows how to disguise yourself when you're doing “direct actions,” and a page that tells how to disable video surveillance cameras so that you can't be filmed while you're freeing minks or setting fires.

No wonder Mom and Dad are so worried about Sage. He could be headed for real trouble if he gets too involved with these groups!

Then, I check one last page. “Directions for Building a Man-Trap,” it's titled. There are pictures with captions explaining how to construct a trap that will grab a man's ankle the same way much smaller traps grab an animal's leg.

“Oh, no,” I breathe. I think of the way Sage has been talking about “direct action.” Is this what he has in mind for the Morrison guy? It can't be. I don't blame Sage for being angry at the trapper who caused Chico's injuries, but my brother would never hurt somebody just to prove a point.

Would he?

Suddenly, I remember the mess that I waded through to get to Sage's desk. I whirl around in the chair and stare at the floor. Woodworking project? Why would Sage be doing woodworking in his room when he can use Dad's shop and all his tools anytime he wants?

I fall to my knees and push aside clothing and books, exposing Sage's project.

It's not a woodworking project at all, though there are a few pieces of wood involved. Mostly, it's made out of metal. And sure enough, it looks just like the trap on the computer screen. The jaws aren't quite like the ones that hurt Chico so badly. In fact, they're padded the way “humane” traps are supposed to be. But they're huge. I wince at the thought of how they would feel clamping down on my ankle.

I sit there, staring at the jumble of metal and wood and shaking my head. You've gone too far, Sage. I hate the thought of what that Morrison kid did to Chico, and I hated the sight of the guy when I saw him. I might even have wished that he were the one in the trap—but still, I don't think I could do something like that to another person. If it's wrong to hurt animals, isn't it wrong to hurt humans?

I try to collect my thoughts, figure out what to do. Should I tell Mom or Dad? Confront Sage? Call the police?

None of those seem right. I don't want to get Sage in trouble—and I don't want him angry at me, either. Not if this is how he acts when he's angry!

Instead, almost without thinking, I reach down and—carefully—unhook one of the huge springs that controls the action of the jaws. A spring that size cannot have been easy to find in the local hardware store. Sage must have ordered it specially, maybe even from a trapping supply store.

After I remove the spring, I shove the clothes and books back into what I hope is close to their original position. If I'm lucky, Sage won't notice right away that the spring is missing. That will give me some time to figure out what to do next.

Chapter Eight

I
t's hard to sleep. I toss and turn and worry about whether Sage will notice the broken trap, whether he'll be able to fix it, whether I should tell Mom and Dad . . .

The only thought that finally calms me down is that the Morrison kid must be in jail by now. I know, it's kind of weird, but at least I don't have to worry about him being caught in Sage's trap.

At breakfast the next morning, Mom notices how bleary-eyed I look. She puts her hand on my forehead as I'm slicing a banana into my oatmeal. “Are you feeling all right, Brenna?” she asks.

“I'm fine,” I tell her.

I glance at Sage, who's staring down into his bowl of granola. He ignores me. Good. At least that means he's not furious with me, which means he probably hasn't noticed the missing spring. Yet.

“Are you sure?” Mom asks, concern in her eyes. “Absolutely,” I say. To avoid any further conversation, I pick up the Local section of the newspaper and glance through the news while I eat. Not much happens in our town. There's a report on a zoning board meeting, and an article about upcoming changes in the sewer system. Talk about excitement! I sigh and start to fold the section up again.

Then a boxed item catches my eye.

“Court News,” it's headlined. There's a list of names, and after each one it tells where the people live, what crime they committed, and what happened when they appeared in court. The name “Morrison” practically jumps out at me.

I take a closer look. “Morrison, William, 24 Maple Avenue. Illegal trapping. Fined and released on conditions.”

Fined and released! I stare at the words on the page. “No way!” I say out loud.

“What?” asks Dad.

Oops. Maybe it would be better not to bring up this whole subject, not while Sage is at the table. “Oh, nothing,” I say. “I just can't believe it would cost so much for a new sewer system in town.”

Dad gives me a curious look. “You're interested in sewer systems?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?” I say. Then I take the last bite of oatmeal, jump up, and take my dish to the sink. Hoping nobody notices, I take the paper with me as I dash upstairs to brush my teeth.

That little blurb in the paper means the Morrison kid—William—isn't in jail after all. That's bad for two reasons. First, he's getting away with what he did to Chico. Second, it's only a matter of time before Sage finds out that I broke that “man-trap” of his, and then just a little while longer before he figures out how to fix it.

Oh, and there's a third reason—the worst thing of all. If Morrison isn't in jail, that means he could still be trapping. More animals could get hurt.

I need to do something.

But what? I sure don't like the way Sage is dealing with the problem.

I look again at the blurb in the paper. It includes Morrison's full name and address. That's it! I'll go to his house and talk to him. Explain why it's illegal to set traps in the nature preserve and wrong to kill animals for their fur in the first place. I'll persuade him to stop.

I can't see a thing wrong with my plan.

“Are you out of your mind?” David stares at me, forgetting all about the piece of chocolate cake on the plate in front of him.

It's lunchtime at school, and I've just told my friends what I'm planning to do.

I see Maggie and Sunita exchanging a look. “It's too dangerous,” Sunita says. She must be thinking about the Morrison guy's gun.

“She's right,” agrees Zoe. “You can't go to his house. That's nuts!”

“But it's the only thing to do,” I insist. “The court didn't take care of the problem, so it's up to me to try to change his mind.” I haven't mentioned Sage's trap. The fewer the people who know about that, the better.

“I'm going with you,” David says quietly.

“What?”

He shrugs. “If you really feel like you have to go to this guy's house, you shouldn't go alone. So I'm coming.”

“So am I,” Maggie declares. “After all, I'm the one who went with you to meet him the first time. Might as well finish what I started.”