The Last Dog on Earth (11 page)

“Mom, please,” Logan croaked.

“You can stop trying to get your mother to side with you,” Robert said. “She and I are in full agreement on this.”

Logan stiffened. “Full agreement on what?”

Mom sniffed. She turned and hurried into the kitchen. The door swung behind her, back and forth, back and forth … until finally it came to a standstill.

“What's going on?” Logan asked. Panic started creeping along his nerves. “What are you talking about?”

“We're sending you to the Blue Mountain Camp for Boys,” Robert said.

Logan shook his head. For some reason, all he could think about was Jack. If he went to boot camp, he wouldn't be able to keep training her. And training Jack was about the only thing that didn't make him want to punch somebody in the face or blow up all of Pinewood or run away to Antarctica. It kept him out of the
house, away from Robert, away from trouble, away from
everything that made him angry.
“But I thought—”

“We thought you were showing some real improvement,” Robert continued, as if Logan hadn't even opened his mouth. “We really did. Your mother thought you were doing well with the dog. And I have to admit, you were staying out of trouble. It seemed you'd made that attitude adjustment we were talking about. But now it's clear to us that you were just plotting your next big move.” Robert folded his arms across his chest. His jaw twitched. “You've got problems, Logan. We can't handle you. It's that simple.”

Logan stepped forward. “I wasn't plotting anything, Robert,” he promised. “I swear. You have to believe me. Mr. Boone ordered Thor to attack Jack.”

Robert sighed. He trudged into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind him, too.

“The July session starts Monday,” he called. “That gives you three days. I suggest you start packing. And bring your hiking boots. I understand they do a lot of hiking at that place.”

Logan could hear Mom crying softly at the kitchen table. He tried to ignore her. “Well, what about Jack?” he yelled. “Who's going to take care of her if I go away? I thought—”

“That's not your concern,” Robert interrupted. “Jack will be just fine.
Your
only concern is shaping up. And shaping up fast.”

Logan opened his mouth again.

Then he stopped.

What can I do?
he asked himself.

It was a good question. What could he possibly do? Go in there and beg and plead and say he was sorry a billion more times? Promise Mom and Robert that he wouldn't get in more trouble?
Yeah. Sure. He didn't even believe that himself. He doubted he could talk, anyway. The lump was taking up all the space in his throat.

Besides, that closed door sent a pretty clear message. It told Logan everything he needed to know: They were in
there
, and Logan was out
here.
Or just
out.
Period. The decision had been made. Mom had given up. Robert had won. He'd gotten Logan the greatest quick fix of all: boot camp. And like he said, it was time to pack.

Right. Well, Logan had better get started, then. Jack could help. She could chew up all the clothes he didn't need to take with him.

“Jack?” he called. “Jack?”

Upstairs, he found Jack in Mom and Robert's bathroom, peeing on the floor.

When Logan first arrived at the Blue Mountain Camp for Boys, he wondered for a second if Robert was playing some kind of practical joke on him. Well, maybe not a
joke.
But as far as Logan could tell, the Blue Mountain Camp for Boys was abandoned.

The entrance was just a gate in a chain-link fence on the side of a dirt road. There was a sign next to it—the kind with movable plastic letters so you can change what it says. The Plexiglas cover was scratched and flecked with mud, and several of the letters had fallen down into the trough at the bottom of the sign. It looked like this:

When they drove up the bumpy dirt track to the actual camp, Logan wasn't much reassured. On the way they passed two or three long, low, barrackslike buildings squatting among the evergreens. They were built of cinder blocks and painted a sickly, institutional green. Stenciled on the side of each building in red paint was a number: 4, 5, then 6. Vines crawled up the walls, partially covering the numbers.

Robert stopped the car in front of a Quonset hut that stood by
itself in a clearing. A flagpole loomed over the building, with a limp American flag hanging from its top.

There wasn't a person in sight.

“Spooky,” Logan muttered. He draped an arm around Jack, who'd been sharing the front passenger seat with him. She at least had enjoyed the drive up into the mountains, riding with her head thrust out the open window, ears blowing in the breeze. Robert hadn't wanted to bring her along—he'd said she'd mark up his leather upholstery and slobber all over his clean windows—but when he'd tried to drive away from the house earlier that day, she'd twisted free of Logan's mother's grip and raced after the car, howling. Finally Robert had pulled over and, scowling furiously, allowed Logan to let her in.

Robert opened his door. “Stay here,” he snapped as Logan started to open the passenger-side door. “The last thing we need is your dog running wild around here. I'll go in and see where you're supposed to go.”

So Logan stayed in the car, his arm still around Jack's neck. She leaned against him, panting gently, gazing out through the windshield. He could feel her heartbeat through his T-shirt, almost as if it were his own.

Logan lolled his head against the seat back and looked out his open window. The morning was still, almost windless, and hot. A few birds chirped. A mosquito buzzed by his ear.

“This might not be so bad,” Logan said to Jack.

She cocked an eye at him as if to say,
Don't try to kid a kidder.
Then she went back to gazing out the windshield.

“Then again, it might suck hugely,” he added.

Finally, after what felt like ten years, Robert stepped out of the Quonset hut, shaking his head.

“What's going on?” Logan asked.

“You're late, so you missed the orientation hike,” Robert muttered— as if it were somehow Logan's fault, even though Logan had had no idea what time he was supposed to arrive. “The rest of the kids won't be back until lunch. Sergeant Bell left a note saying you should wait here. He'll come back and show you around as soon as he's finished giving his opening speech.”

“Sergeant Bell?” Logan repeated.

“He's the head of this place.” Robert opened the trunk of the car and tossed out Logan's duffel bag. It hit the ground with a thud. “Look, I can't wait around. I've got to get back to work.” He slammed the trunk shut and looked Logan in the eye. “So I guess this is it. I hope this does you some good.”

Logan shrugged and burrowed his hand into the soft fur on Jack's chest. He doubted being here would do anyone any good, but what point was there in saying that now?

“Destroying somebody's property is never okay, Logan,” Robert stated. “Blowing up a microwave oven and causing hundreds of dollars' worth of damage is
never okay.
”

“I know,” Logan said. He stepped out of the car and cleared his throat. “Hey, Robert. Will you do me a favor? Will you keep an eye on Jack for me? I'm worried people might think she has that disease and try to do something to her—”

“Don't worry about Jack, Logan,” Robert interrupted. “Worry about yourself. We'll see you in four weeks.” He got into the car.

Logan threw his arms around Jack's neck and squeezed her until she let out a grunt. “Be good,” he whispered in her ear. “I'll come home as soon as I can.”

Robert turned the key in the ignition. Jack whimpered softly.
The painful lump came back into Logan's throat as he watched the car speed back down the dirt road, vanishing in a plume of dust. Once again, the air was still and silent.

He was alone.

A strange thought occurred to him. Blue Mountain Camp for Boys wasn't all that far from Newburg. Probably about forty miles. He'd been surprised at how close it was, in fact. He'd thought it would be deep in the mountains, out near where his dad lived. But it was right on the western edge of the Cascade Range. Walking, Logan would probably need about twenty hours to get back home. Maybe longer, since he'd be carrying his duffel bag and stopping to rest and stuff.

It was eleven in the morning now, so he probably wouldn't get back until dawn the next day. It would be hard, lonely, grueling— and a big pain. And maybe that was the whole point.

“Bring your hiking boots,”
Robert had told him.
“I understand they do a lot of hiking at that place.”

Logan scratched his chin. Robert
was
a weird guy. (To say the least.) And Logan couldn't really see him taking care of Jack for the next four weeks. Or going out to buy his own whole milk. The truth was, in a strange way, Robert
needed
Logan. So maybe he just wanted to scare Logan a little bit. Robert knew Logan liked hiking. So maybe he wanted to make Logan hike so far that he ended up hating it. Maybe Robert figured that a forty-mile march would be enough to convince Logan that blowing up a microwave was
never, ever
okay….

“Moore?”

Somebody was storming down the path. A very short man burst through the underbrush, swatting stray branches out of his way with
a stick. He was even shorter than Logan. He couldn't have been more than five and a half feet tall, but he probably weighed close to two hundred pounds—and it was all muscle. He didn't seem to have a neck. His bald head looked as if it had been stuck right on top of his body, like one of those action figures with detachable limbs. He was wearing a tight camouflage T-shirt and baggy fatigues.

“Moore?” he grunted. “Logan Moore?”

Logan nodded. The man had black, beady eyes, like Thor's eyes.

“You're late,” the man said irritably. “I told your foster dad to drop you off at nine.”

“My foster dad?”

The man's face soured. “Your guardian. Whatever he is.”

Logan was puzzled. “You mean my stepfather?”

“Whatever,” the man muttered. “We get a lot of fosters here.” He tossed the stick aside, then beckoned Logan to follow him.

Logan picked up his duffel bag and hurried after him.

“I don't give an owl's hoot about your home life, either,” the man added as he strode along a dirt path toward one of the cinder block buildings. “That's got nothing to do with me. When you're here, you're mine. You obey
my
commands. As of now, the world outside this fence no longer exists. Do I make myself clear?”

Logan just stared at him.
An owl's hoot?

“Do I
make myself clear?”
the man barked.

Logan nodded, swallowing. “Yes,” he said. “Uh, yes,
sir
,” he added. He figured he'd better play it safe. This man definitely seemed like the kind of guy who would insist on being called sir. Especially after the “obey
my
commands” line.

“I am Sergeant Bell,” the man said. “That's
B-e-l-l.
As in Liberty Bell. As in the sweet ring of freedom and brotherly love.
From now on, you will be known as Private Moore. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant Bell,” Logan said.

“Yes, Sergeant Bell,
sir
!” Sergeant Bell snapped.

“Yes, Sergeant Bell, sir,” Logan said.

Sergeant Bell smiled. “Private Moore, do you know
why
you're a private?” he asked.

“No. No, Sergeant Bell, sir.”

“I'll tell you,” Sergeant Bell said. “Because privates are the lowliest form of maggot on the planet. There are officers, and there are maggots. I am an officer. You are a maggot. Do you understand now, Private Moore?”

Logan blinked.

“Do you understand now, Private Moore?”
Sergeant Bell bellowed.

“Yes, Sergeant Bell, sir,” Logan said. “I'm a maggot. Sir.”

“Exactly.” Sergeant Bell stopped smiling. He pointed down the dirt road toward the gate. “Did you see a sign when you drove in here, Private Moore?” he asked.

Logan nodded. “Yes, Sergeant Bell, sir,” he said. “Notice anything funny about it?”

“Uh …” Logan licked his lips. He had a feeling the question was a trick. Sergeant Bell was like the stereotype of the mean drill sergeant from every army movie ever made. Mean drill sergeants always asked trick questions.

“Answer my question, Private Moore!”

“Uh … yes. Yes, Sergeant Bell, sir,” Logan answered. It was best just to fall for the trick and get it over with. “The sign was missing a few letters. Sir.”

“Very good, Private Moore,” Sergeant Bell said. He smiled again, pretending to be impressed. “Do you happen to recall which ones?”

Logan tried to picture the sign in his mind.
LUE MOUNT IN MP FOR OYS
. “It's missing
b, a
, and
c
, Sergeant Bell, sir,” he said.

“That's right, Private Moore. It's missing the ABCs. Why do you think that is?”

“Because it's an old sign, sir?” Logan guessed.

“Because you already
know
your ABCs!” Sergeant Bell barked. “You weren't sent here because you're
stupid
, Private Moore. You were sent here because you're
rotten.
You were sent here to learn how to take orders. To follow rules. Do I make myself clear, Private Moore?”

Logan nodded. “Yes, Sergeant Bell, sir,” he said.

“Good,” Sergeant Bell said. “Then you and I should get along just fine.”

Logan was in cabin three, along with three other maggots.

Twenty-eight kids were attending the July session at the Blue Mountain Camp for Boys, and their ages ranged from eleven to fifteen. Many of them had been in trouble with the law. A few had spent time in juvenile correctional facilities, or kiddie prison, as Sergeant Bell called it. A couple of them were even considered dangerous. On the other hand, a lot of them were just spastic— kids whose parents couldn't handle their wild behavior.

All of them were maggots.