"No way, Smitty," Remo said emphatically. "The Old Yeller guilt-o-meter is already cranked up to high. I'll find them, but I'm not going to kill them."
"It may become necessary," Smith warned.
"Let somebody else do the honors. I'm not a butcher."
The emphatic manner with which he delivered the words sounded odd, even to Remo. Given his profession, it seemed hypocritical for him of all people to be so passionate in his refusal to euthanize the BBQs. The seeming contradiction merely acted to further firm his resolve.
Smith seemed displeased with his objection. "Very well," he relented. "But at least return them to BostonBio. Any difficulties with the creatures can be resolved then."
Stemming any further complaints from CURE's enforcement arm, Smith severed the connection. Across the room, Chiun continued to hug the BBQ close to him. The animal was oblivious to the protective arms.
Remo closed his eyes. So much death in what was supposed to be a simple, altruistic assignment.
And in his heart of hearts, Remo hoped fervently that the BBQs were not responsible for all the evil he had seen of late. There were already too many species of killer animals in the world.
Chapter 18
She was no longer Judith White. Yet, in so many vitally important ways, she still was.
It amazed her every time she thought about it. Thought. Rational, intelligent thought.
The thing that lay beneath the cool sheets in the hospital bed at St. Eligius Hospital understood that this was what made all the difference in the world. Thought. The ability to think, to reason. It distinguished her from all other animals on Earth, save one.
Thin gossamer streaks of white moonlight, mixed with the waxy yellow glow of parking-lot lights, spilled across her quietly resting form. The smells of the ward the humans had brought her to flooded her senses.
All the ointments and medications, the stale meals and bad perfumes, nervous sweat and soiled linens-she took them all in.
She smelled the humans. Each odor individual and distinct. To the creature that had been born Judith White, they were not fellow men. They were meals.
The humans had Meals on Wheels. Judith White had her own version of that. Meals in Shoes.
She snorted at the amusing thought.
"Meals in Shoes," she muttered softly, smiling. "Delivered warm right to your door."
"Excuse me?" whispered a voice from the hall. Judith had heard her coming, of course. But she was surprised the nurse heard her voice. Human hearing was just about the worst of any animal in the world. But occasionally one surpassed the rest. Not difficult to do, given the commonness of human limitations.
Judith remained still. Her eyes were open barely a slit. Only enough to see. In the 3:00 a.m. darkness of the room, her whites wouldn't be seen.
Predictably, the nurse attributed the soft voice to a dreaming patient. The woman tiptoed quietly into the room, her white sneakers virtually soundless on the linoleum. To Judith, she might just as well have stomped in wearing tap shoes and a suit of armor.
The nurse checked the patient in the next bed, an obese fifty-year-old woman with two ingrown toenails who had refused to be treated on an outpatient basis. The woman was deep in medicated sleep.
Stepping over to Judith, the nurse smoothed out some nonexistent wrinkles in her bedcovers.
She wore a name tag. Elizabeth O'Malley, R.N. Just beneath the silver tag, the woman's heart thudded audibly in her chest. The enticing sound rang like a dinner gong in Judith's ears. She repressed the urge to lunge.
To the nurse, everything seemed fine. As quietly as she had entered the room, she slipped back out into the hall.
Judith heard her step back up to the nurses' station. A moment later, the woman headed down another corridor.
The instant she was out of earshot, Judith's perfect legs slipped out from beneath the sheets. Her feet made no sound as she stalked across the room to the small closet.
Finding her clothes, Judith suppressed an unhappy cluck. Too much blood on the blouse and jacket. Skirt was dark. At night, the stains wouldn't be visible.
She stuffed the hospital johnny she was wearing inside her short skirt. It gathered in bunches around the waist.
There was a large coat in the closet. No doubt the property of the patient in the next bed.
Judith turned to the gently snoring woman. She watched the sheet rise and fall over her ample belly. A hungry purr rose from the throat of the geneticist.
Familiar footsteps suddenly registered in the hall outside. Judith spun rapidly back to the closet, throwing on the fat woman's coat.
She looked quickly around the room. The footsteps were too close.
The door was out of the question. There was only the window.
Judith made an instant decision. She spun on her heel and headed to the window. With one quick stop along the way.
WHEN NURSE O'MALLEY PASSED by the open door to Judith White's hospital room a few moments later, she glanced inside. She was startled to see both beds empty.
The nurse went into the dark room, not certain what to expect. A cursory examination revealed that neither patient was in the small bathroom.
The nylon curtains of the second-story room blew gently in the soft September breeze.
She looked out the window. Briefly, she thought she saw a dark figure moving quickly and stealthily beyond the lights of the parking lot two stories below. Whatever it was, it seemed to be carrying something large.
A practical woman, she dismissed the sighting as nothing more than her imagination giving in to all of the hysteria swirling around the wild animals that some local company had set loose on the streets of Boston.
Efficiently, Nurse O'Malley clamped the window shut. Leaving the empty room, she went off to search the floor for her two missing patients.
Chapter 19
Judith White's parents were young urban professionals before anyone had even heard the term yuppie.
Her father was a successful corporate lawyer, her mother an executive in the same company.
Back when daddies generally played ball with the kids after coming home from work and mommies usually stayed at home, mother and father White were so busy they had to pencil little Judith in for appointments.
At least, that was what Mr. and Ms. White liked to call them-appointments. In point of fact, the periods of time spent with their only offspring were less appointments than intense, brutal lessons in how not to rear a child.
The point behind these sessions was simple. They had succeeded. Judith would succeed. End of bedtime story.
Mr. White kept his daughter up late the first nine months of her life trying to teach her to talk.
Mrs. White "walked" infant Judith around the house until she was bowlegged and had to wear corrective leg braces.