Free Dogs by Nancy Kress Page A

reporters from KJV-TV and a few newspapers. So far, Jess noted, no national media, although that wouldn’t be far behind. “Goddamn vultures,” Billy said, without rancor. “But hey, look at that babe with the microphone—isn’t that Annie Farnham from the ten o’clock news?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jess said. “If it is, she probably knows more than we do at this point.”
    â€œWell, that’s why we’re here, right? Check in, get all the poop? And drop off the dogs, of course. Man, even in that coat, she’s got tits out to here.”
    One of the cops—Jess saw that it was young Brian Carby—waved the animal-control truck through. Jess threaded his way among the huge CDC mobile lab, a sheriff’s patrol car, and a black stretch limo with D.C. plates that hadn’t been there on his last trip in. He parked behind the motel. Any dogs in the back of the truck that hadn’t already been snarling and barking started up again.
    â€œI’m going to find out if the protocol’s changed,” Jess said to Billy. “Can you start unloading the smaller cages by yourself?”
    â€œSure thing.” Billy pulled on thickly padded handler’s gloves and hopped out. “Still put the cages in rooms 10 and 11?”
    â€œFar as I know,” Jess said, although rooms 10 and 11 had been filling up fast. “We’re going to need more help, Billy. Maybe we can get some citizen volunteers, like we did for that deer thinning two years ago. How about Miguel Del Toro? He breeds dogs.”
    â€œHe got bit this morning.”
    â€œJesus,” Jess said. He went along the back of the motel to room 1, designated “critical-incident headquarters,” a term that sounded to Jess as if the dogs were all hostages. The double beds had been removed and tables brought in from other rooms. Computers, faxes, and printouts covered most surfaces.
    â€œJess,” Dr. Latkin said, looking as fresh and intense as he had this morning, “I’m glad to see you. Any changes out there?”
    What had he expected to change? Jess said, “No. We just brought in sixteen more dogs. Six benign but on the street, four from reported bites, six who haven’t bitten anybody but are showing unusual signs of aggression, so their owners called in. Billy’s putting them in rooms 10 and 11.”
    â€œNo space left. The animal control people we borrowed from Flatsburgh were just here. We’re using rooms 8 and 9 now, 8 for infected, 9 for benign.”
    â€œI’ll tell Billy.”
    â€œI’ll go with you,” Dr. Latkin said. “I want to see the infected dogs. We have a new symptom. First, though, let me introduce you to Joanne Flaherty from the White House. Joanne, this is the Tyler animal control officer, Jess Langstrom.”
    Jess shook hands, studying her. Thirties, carefully groomed, overdressed for Tyler in the sort of expensive red suit Jess associated with Nancy Reagan. Undoubtedly she had come in the limo, which was also overdressed for Tyler, and that was her uniformed driver reading the Post in the corner. Jess had never heard of Joanne Flaherty, which meant exactly nothing. “From the White House” could mean anything from the Chief of Staff down to a run-of-the-mill flunky. Although if she had an important title, Latkin would probably have used it.
    She said, “I’m here at the direct request of Terence Porter, Mr. Langstrom. He’d like my assessment of your situation here in Tyler, and I’d like yours.”
    Reasonable, straight-forward…except that Jess had never heard of Terence Porter and this woman’s tone was so self-important, her smile so condescending. It conveyed that the president was waiting breathlessly in the Oval Office for Joanne Flaherty’s report, and that Jess was incredibly fortunate that his opinion would be part of it. She…oh, shit, those perceptions