We race around the corner, and Chance pumps his fist in the air and shouts, “We did it!”
My ears perk up at a sound behind us. It’s the distinctive high-revving engines of Animal Control vans on the road behind us.
“What’s going on?” Chance asks.
He steals a glance behind and sees what I’ve already heard. Two Animal Control vans skid onto the road about half a mile back and accelerate to pursue us.
“Oh no!” He bears down on the pedals, gaining a little speed, but there’s no way the two of us on a bike can outrun these supercharged vans.
I look around, trying to find a dirt path, a hiding place, anything that might give us an advantage.
“Hello?”
It’s a girl’s voice. I sit up in the basket and look around, startled.
I don’t see a girl.
“Hello?” the voice says again. “It looks like you’re in trouble.”
“Did you hear that?” I ask Chance.
He stares at the road ahead, all of his focus on getting us away from the vans.
“Who are you?” the girl says. “You’ve got some bad people after you.”
I look right and left, but there’s no girl. That’s when I realize the voice is in my head.
“Are you talking to me?” I say uncertainly.
“Who else would I be talking to?”
“I hear your voice in my head.”
“Of course it’s in your head. We’re transmitting on an internet channel. I don’t know what kind of equipment you’re using, but you broke in on my hack, so I think I deserve to know who I’m talking to.”
I look at Chance, wondering if he can hear her, too. He’s pedaling as fast as he can, his face tense and focused, completely oblivious to the conversation I’m having.
That’s when I realize that it’s the collar! Myron said it translated the signal somehow, and it powered up in Chance’s bedroom—
The girl’s voice cuts in again. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me who you are.”
“My name’s Wild.”
“That’s your handle?”
“What’s a handle?”
“Your hacker name.”
“I’m not a hacker.”
“Nice try. You’re up in my signal,” she says. “You couldn’t get here without some powerful tech.”
I moan in frustration. I don’t know what’s happening exactly, but I know this girl can understand me, so I decide to go with it.
“I told you my name,” I say. “What’s yours?”
“You can call me Junebug.”
“That’s your hacker name?”
“You ask a lot of questions for a girl being chased by security troops.”
“Who’s chasing us exactly?”
She takes a sharp breath, and I wonder if she’s stalling for time before answering the question.
“I don’t know who they are,” she says. “Some kind of high-level security operation. Advanced tech. Coordinated. Maybe military.”
“Military? Don’t you mean Animal Control?”
“Animal Control? Did you escape from a circus or something?”
That’s when I realize she doesn’t know I’m a dog. She’s hearing the voice in my head, a girl’s voice, so she’s assuming I’m human.
One thing’s for sure. I’m not going to correct her.
“Hey, Junebug, thanks for your help. We could sure use a friend right now.”
I hear her sigh on the transmission. “Friends. Yeah, I don’t have a lot of those.”
“Why not?”
“Long story, Wild. Not really the time for it. Besides, I see another half dozen vans on my monitor converging on the corner of Twenty-Sixth and Montana.”
“That makes eight vehicles in all. It’s like a small army.”
“Like I said. Military.”
“The people you’re listening to—have they used the name Maelstrom?”
There’s a moment of hesitation on the line.
“I’ve never heard that name,” she says quickly, but I noticed the pause before she answered. “Animal Control, Maelstrom, angry Uber drivers. I don’t know who the heck they are,” she says.
“So why are they looking for me?”
“It’s not you. They’re looking for a dog.”
I’m not willing to tell her any more, so I decide to lie to her.
“Like you said before, it’s a code. My hacker name is Wild, and they call me the Dog.”
“Damn, I’m good!” Junebug says, and she lets out an excited whoop.
I hear tires squeal up ahead. I look at the nearest street sign. We’re on Montana and Nineteenth Street, moving toward Twentieth.
“You said something about Twenty-Sixth Street, right, Junebug?”
“For sure. That’s where they’re waiting.”
“It’s a trap!” I say. “What did you mean when you said you could see my signal?”
“You’re emitting a low frequency GPS signal like a car or a phone.”
“But I’m on a bike. And I don’t have a phone.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. If I can see you, they can see you. So if you want my help—”
I look at Chance sweating with exertion. I don’t know how much more of this he can take. The street sign for Twenty-Second flashes by.
“We want it,” I say.
“Cool,” she says, and I hear keys tapping.
Chance is pedaling for all he’s worth, but he has no idea he’s heading for a trap. The vans behind us drop back, aware that we’re moving into danger. We cross Twenty-Third Street and Chance speeds up, thinking he’s getting away.
Junebug’s voice is back in my head.
“There’s an alley on your right after Twenty-Fifth Street. It’s not on the map.”
“I see it!”
I whine at Chance to get his attention, and then I nudge my nose against his right hand.
“Not now,” he says, stealing a quick glance at the vans behind. “I have to get us out of here.”
I nip his hand, again gesturing to the right with my snout.
“Cut that out,” he says.
I lick his hand, and he looks at me and his expression shifts to curiosity.
“What are you trying to tell me?” he asks.
I position my snout toward the alley. It’s ahead on the right, just like Junebug said it would be.
“You want me to turn in to that alley?” Chance asks.
I bark at him.
“This is not happening,” he mutters under his breath, and he yanks the handlebars to the right, nearly toppling us over, but cutting down the alley and avoiding the unseen trap ahead.
“Good job, Chance!” I bark my approval.
“You did it!” Junebug shouts. “When you hit Washington, take a right.”
Behind us, the first van shoots past the alley, jamming on its brakes when it realizes we’ve disappeared.
I nudge Chance’s arm, indicating we should go to the right.
“Again?” he says, and I bark.
This time he doesn’t argue, and he turns onto Washington, narrowly missing a car coming from the opposite direction.
“Sharp left!” Junebug shouts. “There’s another alley that takes you to Douglas Park.”
I nudge Chance’s left hand.
“How do you know the neighborhood?” he asks.
He turns left, staying just ahead of our pursuers who are pulling onto Washington Street a few blocks back.
“I don’t know how you’re doing this,” Chance says to me. He bikes into the park, pedaling fast down a walking path that runs across the center of the park. The rain has stopped, and there are people everywhere. They shout and jump out of the way.
“Sorry!” Chance yells to them.
“We’re almost out of the park,” I say to Junebug. “What’s next?”
“Until we figure out where your signal is coming from, you have to confuse them. Stay where there’s a lot of interference, like the high-power line that runs along Wilshire Boulevard. Take Wilshire all the way to the Promenade. Do you think you can make it that far?”
I look at Chance. He’s breathing hard, but his face is determined.
“I’m sure we can,” I say. “What happens when we get to the Promenade?”
“You go where the electronic interference is the loudest.”
“Where’s that?”
“The Apple Store.”