Webster (19 page)

The rest of the dogs were right behind him, although Jack was hopping and Rachel was racing, while MacNulty veered back and forth, and the others moved forward in their breed-specific gaits.

“Get out of here!” the woman yelled, but she sounded a little scared.

Yep. She
should
be afraid.

The Bad Hat kept advancing slowly—ever so slowly, making his eyes as fierce and ominous as possible. He wasn't going to growl, unless he had no choice, but he didn't mind
looking
really scary.

“We can't bite anyone,” Duke said urgently. “Biting is bad!”

“We're just
acting
scary,” the Bad Hat said.

Duke shook his head. “I don't like it. It seems mean.”

The Bad Hat stopped swaggering long enough to stare at him. “You're a
police dog
, man. We're taking control of the scene, to prevent injuries to any innocent bystanders, and then, we'll evacuate the casualty.”

Duke's expression relaxed. “Okay. I can do
that
.”

So, the dogs kept advancing down the driveway.

“You better not come near me!” the woman said, still cowering on the porch.

The Bad Hat moved even more slowly, never taking his eyes off the woman. Then, he raised his lips, the way Matthew always did, showing her that he had a whole lot of teeth. Big teeth.
Sharp
teeth.

“No biting!” Duke said.

Fine, whatever. “Then, smile at her,” the Bad Hat said. “A big, pretty smile that shows all of your teeth.”

“Of course,” Duke said happily, and beamed at everyone.

The woman hesitated, and the Bad Hat knew that this was the moment when things were either going to get really bad, really fast—or when the woman was going to retreat, like the animal-hating coward that she was.

Maybe ten seconds of utter stillness passed, but it felt like ten hours.

Time to raise the stakes a tiny bit. So, the Bad Hat scraped one paw across the dirt, exactly the way angry bulls did, when they were warning that they were about to charge. Then, he crouched a little, as though he was
on the verge of attacking, but he held his position, waiting for the woman's reaction.

“Hey, I could care less what happens to that stupid cat,” the lady said gruffly. “Kill it, for all I care. I'm going inside to call Animal Control.” She turned around, went—quickly—inside her house, and slammed the door.

The Bad Hat was so relieved that he thought his legs might collapse, but the lady might go inside and get brave—or find a weapon, and there was no time to waste.

“Grab onto the branch with me,” he said to MacNulty. “And hang on tight,” he said to Clarabelle. “We're getting out of here, as fast as we can.”

But, before they even had a chance to take a step, the door flew open again and a burly man with a thick brown beard came lumbering outside.

The Bad Hat's heart sank when he saw that the man was holding a glass bottle in one hand, and a large wooden baseball bat in the other hand.

If the Bad Hat had been by himself, he wouldn't have been worried, because he could easily outrun this guy. But, how were they going to protect a cat who couldn't even sit up all the way, forget run?

“Leave me behind,” Clarabelle pleaded. “I'm okay, now that I know my babies are in a good place. I don't mind staying here.”

The Bad Hat paid no attention to that. Either they were all going to get away from these awful people—or none of them were.

“Smile at him, Duke,” he said. “The biggest smile you have!”

Duke grinned merrily—and the man gasped in fear.

“Keep smiling,” the Bad Hat said. “The rest of you, follow me!” He took a deep breath, lowered his head, and charged towards the man full force, with the rest of the dogs only steps behind him.

“Yeah, come get it!” the guy yelled, like some crazy thug from a bad movie.

The Bad Hat knew that he was going to swing the baseball bat at them—and he was prepared for that. Just as the man drew his arm back, the Bad Hat leaped into the air, and caught the handle of the bat in his teeth. He wrenched it out of the guy's hand, and continued right past him. In fact, he had so much momentum, that he actually banged into the side of the house—which hurt. But, he landed effortlessly
and spun around to look at the man, still gripping the bat in his teeth.

“Home run!” Jack said, and laughed.

The man threw his beer bottle, and it shattered against the wooden floor of the porch. The Bad Hat instantly closed his eyes, as glass sprayed all around him and—yuck—beer splashed everywhere, too.

“Everyone okay?” he yelled, not opening his eyes yet.

As they all yelled that they were fine, the Bad Hat jumped over the porch railing, with the bat still in his mouth. He landed quite hard on the sparse grass, and then whirled around to face the man, looking as threatening as he knew how to look.

Which was, all things considered, impressively threatening.

The man's eyes widened, as though he was dense enough to think that a dog was actually capable of swinging a baseball bat and doing some damage. Instead, the Bad Hat dropped it, and raced over to the tree branch in the driveway.

“Hang on!” he told the cat. “It's going to be a bumpy ride!”

Clarabelle dug her claws into the branches, gripping
them as well as she could, and the Bad Hat and MacNulty grabbed the end and tugged with all of their might. As they ran down the driveway, dragging the makeshift litter, the man stormed down the front steps. He tried to catch up with them, but Jack and Matilda darted underneath his feet, and the man tripped and fell heavily.

“Keep running!” Matilda yelled, as she squirmed out from underneath the man. “We'll catch up.”

“Yeah, hurry!” Jack said. “We'll be right there!”

The Bad Hat and MacNulty didn't hesitate, dragging the branch as quickly as they could, and trying to get as far away from the house as possible.

“What do I do?” Duke asked.

“Just keep smiling, dude,” Lancelot said. “And run along with us.”

Duke nodded seriously. “Okay. I can do that.”

So, the dogs all raced down the driveway, and away from the house.

“Yeah, go!” the man shouted, between raspy coughs. “See if I care!” Then, he hurled the baseball bat after them.

The dogs kept running, and the bat clattered harmlessly onto the ground. The Bad Hat was able to feel
from the weight of the branch that Clarabelle was still with them. If the guy started chasing them again, or—worse—got in his stupid truck, and drove after them, it was going to be—no, he couldn't worry about that. He had to concentrate on escaping.

So, he did. They ran up one street, down another, around a corner, and down another street.

When MacNulty saw a path in the woods, he veered to the right and hauled the branch over there. “Come this way!” he yelled.

That was a good idea, so the Bad Hat helped him steer the branch in that direction. That way, they would be out of sight, and could rest for a minute, and maybe have time to stop being terrified.

Clarabelle lay on the branches, gasping, and the Bad Hat and MacNulty leaned against a tree, panting. The rest of the dogs gathered nearby, also panting.

“My mouth is tired,” Duke said. “Can I stop smiling for a minute?”

The Bad Hat had to laugh. “Sure. At ease, Duke.”

“Whew,” Duke said, and let his mouth relax.

“You all right?” the Bad Hat asked Clarabelle, who nodded feebly.

In his opinion, she didn't sound—or look—so good, but okay, he would take her word for it.

“We'll try not to let any people see us,” he said, “and we're going to cover you with some leaves, so that if they
do
see anything, we'll just look like some wacky dogs playing with a tree limb.”

Clarabelle nodded.

Good. Cats could be pretty cooperative, when they were tired.

Lancelot and Jack and Matilda enthusiastically tore up grass and flowers, and dropped them on Clarabelle, while Rachel gathered some leaves and dropped them on top of her, too.

“Don't suffocate her,” MacNulty said. “That's like, a lot of vegetation.”

At least, though, it wasn't going to be obvious that they were transporting an ill cat.

It was going to be a long, hot walk to the rescue farm. Their feline passenger was so weak from starvation and thirst, that she even lost consciousness at one point, but there wasn't much they could do about that. Joan and Thomas and Dr. K. would be able to deal with it, the Bad Hat assumed. He hoped so, anyway.

The end of the stick had some sharp splinters that cut into his gums, but he couldn't think of a solution for that, either. He just put one foot in front of the other, and walked with his head down to save energy. Sometimes, he switched off with Duke or Lancelot or Rachel, and MacNulty took a few breaks, too.

Several civilians noticed them, and took the usual cell phone photos, or said things like, “Look, there goes Wandering Webster with some dogs and a big stick!” So far, the leaf camouflage seemed to be working. One woman tried to approach them, but the Bad Hat just stopped and gave her a dead-eyed
don't mess with us
look, and she didn't come any closer.

“You're wicked scary,” MacNulty said.

“Yeah, and don't you forget it,” the Bad Hat said.

Duke looked worried. “Please smile. It's important that dogs should
always
smile.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. “I'll try,” the Bad Hat said. “Want to take a turn with the branch?”

“Certainly,” Duke said. “Hang on there, miss,” he said to Clarabelle. “We'll be home in no time.”

Home. They were going home. It was bizarre to think of it that way, but the Green Meadows Farm was their
home. And, yeah, the Bad Hat
liked
it there. He hadn't known that it mattered to have friends, and be involved in their lives, and share things with them, but now, he had learned that it did. In fact, it mattered a lot. Even a notoriously aloof Bad Hat—so famous that he had his own Facebook page and was a media sensation—needed to have companionship. No, he didn't know what was going to happen, or how his life was going to turn out—but, for the first time, he didn't feel dread. He maybe even felt—well—
optimistic
.

Which was completely unfamiliar—but, undeniably
nice
.

“I'm sorry to be so much trouble,” Clarabelle whispered.

“Happy to do it, ma'am,” the Bad Hat said, in his best cowboy voice. “You just sit tight.”

Clarabelle nodded, and let her eyes close again.

The dogs walked slowly, and steadily, down the road, pulling the branch along behind them. One paw, after the other. Clarabelle was pretty heavy, and they had to stop to rest a couple of times. But then, the dogs would get up, and start trudging forward again.

When they got to Green Meadows Farm, they all stopped for a minute, to admire the view.

“It's so pretty,” Rachel said happily. “I
love
it here.”

“And supper!” Jack said. “We're back just in time for supper.”

Which made them all wag their tails.

From where they were standing, the Bad Hat could see that the other rescue dogs were all running around in the meadow.

“You guys should sneak back in there now,” he said. “I'll take her the rest of the way.”

The dogs looked at each other, and then nodded.

“Okay, Captain,” MacNulty said. “See you inside!”

As they ran off, and disappeared around the fence—to wherever the stupid tunnel was, the Bad Hat tried not to think about how exhausted he was. He just focused on bending down, picking up the branch, and making his way to the front door of the house. Then, he eased Clarabelle onto the doormat, and used his right paw to try and brush the leaves off her.

“Are we here?” Clarabelle asked, her voice frail.

The Bad Hat nodded. “Your kittens are inside the house. Everything's going to be okay now.”

For the first time, he saw her truly relax, and she sank back onto the welcome mat.

“I don't know how I'll ever thank you,” she said.

“Money is good,” the Bad Hat said.

Her eyes widened.

“Joke,” he said. Then, he barked one sharp bark at the front door.

This time, he heard rapid stumping along the floor inside, and it sounded like Florence got there even before Joan did. But, Joan was the one who opened the door, of course.

“Is that—” Joan turned to shout over her shoulder. “Monica, call Dr. K.! I don't know how he did it, but I think Webster's brought us the mother cat. Thomas, come quickly, you're not going to believe this!”

The Bad Hat stepped off to the side, while Joan tenderly lifted the weak, dehydrated cat into her arms. Thomas came running out from the barn to see what was going on. There was a lot of rapid, excited conversation swirling above him, but the dog was too worn out to pay attention.

He looked up at the doorway, where Florence was smiling at him.

“Well, aren't you a wonder,” she meowed.

“I don't know,” he barked, and lowered his head bashfully. “Maybe. The others helped a lot.”

“There's no maybe about it,” Florence said. “I'm so proud of you. All of you!”

When was the last time someone had been genuinely
proud
of him? And
cared
about him? Not since he had been with his mother, and siblings, probably. “I lost my whole family,” the dog said. “When I was little. And since then, I've always been alone, and I don't know how to trust anyone, or be nice, and—I'm scared.”

Florence nodded. “We all get scared. But, please don't leave again. You belong here, and we love you, and
we're
your family now.”

Yes. Maybe they really were. And the dog felt something he hadn't felt since he was tiny.