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XD I'm going to have to practically start over on the second chapter so it "House !" Said doctor barely graced the call with a pause, glancing.
Table of contents
The kidnaper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand. Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cage-like crate. There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride.
He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least.
But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl. But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evil-looking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that was what they wanted.
Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon.
A Monster Calls
Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car. For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him.
When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed.
He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue. He was glad for one thing: That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would never get another rope around his neck.
Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turned bloodshot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.
Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club. There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance.
Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out. At the same time he dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand. And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his bloodshot eyes.
Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid-air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by a club in his life, and did not understand.
With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was aware that it was the club, but His madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.
After a particularly fierce blow he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose.
All the pain he had endured was nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lion-like in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left, cooly caught him by the under jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward.
Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on his head and chest. For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless.
Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all will go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffing outa you. As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest.
When the man brought him water, he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chuck by chunk, from the man's hand. He was beaten he knew that ; but he was not broken. He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learned the lesson, and in all his afterlife he never forgot it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction halfway. The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused.
As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck: Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand.
Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in the struggle for mastery. Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedlingly, and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater. And at such times that money passed between them the strangers took one or more of the dogs away with them. Buck wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear of the future was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when he was not selected. Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man who spat broken English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buck could not understand.
Considering that the price of dogs had been boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so fine an animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor would its dispatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs, when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand--"One in ten thousand," he commented mentally.
by Paul Griffin
At least, that's what we think, he was still under when I left. If you plan on making any sense sometime today, be sure to let me know. The room was curtained off and dimly lit, though quiet murmurs could be heard through the glass. Wilson pushed open the door, glancing inside quickly before nodding at his companion to enter. The rest of the team had already gathered; Foreman was beside the bed checking on one of the machines. Chase and Cameron stood to one side apparently in some deep discussion, though it cut short when the others entered.
House frowned slightly, striding over to the bed and peering down at his newest charge. He had seen teenagers in weird outfits, but this one seemed beyond the normal definition of weird; it appeared to be a hazmat suit, though without the hood. White gloves and boots adorned the mostly black suit and a white D sat on the boy's chest, almost like some superhero logo. Not just bleached, like he had seen before, but pure, snow white. Glancing back at the group, the doctor gestured for someone to speak. It was Foreman that stepped forward first, pushing the heart monitor back into its corner.
He kept screaming about some lab and his parents…we had to sedate him before bringing him up. Were those taken after he was put under? I thought it was a malfunction in the 'copter's equipment, but now that he's on some of our's…" He gestured at the machines and stepped quickly aside as House strode forward to examine them. House suddenly swore, hanging his cane on the side of the bed and leaning over to stare at the boy's face. He was pale, but not extremely so. I'm not sure what he was seeing, but the kid seems almost fine now…except for the whole 'should be dead' aspect of it. I'm guessing that's why the response team brought him over.
There's no obvious wounds…" Pulling a small flashlight from his pocket, House lifted one eyelid carefully and flicked on the beam, his frown deepening as the pupil immediately contracted. So how could a sixteen year old kid be alive with no pulse and a temperature way beyond hypothermic? Though someone should watch him, make sure nothing…well, nothing else happens. He shot them each an innocent look before pulling a chair to the side of the bed. I can't volunteer for anything now? What do you people take me for, some uncaring monster? Only call me if someone gets worse than this kid. It was only thirty minutes before the kid began to stir, something which disappointed House immensely.
He had been planning on taking full advantage of 'watching' a sedated teenager and catch up on sorely missed sleep. As the boy groaned, however, the man was on his feet in an instant, leaning over the bed with both hands on the railing. Your damsel must be in the next tower over. Extremely bright green, really…he was half expecting the teen to leap out of bed and begin pounding on the wall. The entire thing was very anticlimactic, however. His patient put one gloved hand to his head, groaning softly as he attempted to sit up.
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Now, first thing first; what's your name, kid? His team would be interested to know the sedative had worn off so quickly…but they were sure to have other more pressing matters at the moment. Why do you…" He trailed off, glancing down at his chest. There was a sharp intake of breath, something that seemed strange for a person who wasn't actually breathing, and the patient lifted his hands to examine them quickly. Wilson failed to mention why you were brought here in the first place, but we've got this other situation now, and we need to contact them.
Where the heck am I? New Jersey," he felt compelled to add as the statement received a blank look. I'm in New Jersey? I'm in a hospital in New Jersey? You had me sedated? I think that was probably Cameron, she's all about the 'sympathy' stuff. Didn't want you falling out the window or something, though it probably would've saved me a lot of trouble-". Storing that piece of information on his mental white board, the man glanced down at the paper he held. As it's four now, I'd guess about an hour and a half. That leads to my first and probably least interesting question; how did your body get rid of the drug so quickly?
We're able to counteract it to wake people up faster, but I seriously doubt anyone would have attempted it with the resident lunatic here. Now would you stop changing the subject? Not that there had been much to begin with, though…"I need some answers, Danny, if that is actually your name.
The Call of the Wild: Chapter 1
The quicker we find out what's up with you, the quicker you can leave and I can get back to my office to sleep. He glanced at the white glove and seemed to wince again before continuing. There's nothing wrong with me! Trust me, I'd be glad to kick out every whiney teenager that comes in here once we fix them, but apparently the government frowns on that.
Certainly not the reaction expected, House observed with a growing frown. What kid found out his heart wasn't beating and just seemed frustrated? Jotting another note on his mental white board, the doctor rested one elbow on the bed-side table and peered at his charge carefully. He didn't seem scared anymore, which was an abrupt change. Now he was almost…angry? What happened to your chest? Everybody lies, the man reminded himself with a frown. Well, if they couldn't figure out what was wrong with him because he refused to share crucial information, that was no fault of the hospital. When he looked up again Danny was muttering under his breath, seeming to have forgotten he had an audience.
I told him this would happen. There's a reason we don't come here, didn't I tell him? What's your full name? The very slight tensing of the boy's face told him what he had originally thought, but there was no reason not to play along for now. You," He jabbed a finger at the patient. I'm going to give this to the front office so they can call your parents and then we'll discuss this 'situation' in more detail.
Eyes rolling, the doctor pushed open the door with his shoulder and stepped into the hallway. He paused in front of the curtained window to scan the paper in his hands again quickly. Danny Phantom… the name sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.
by Patrick Ness
Some character from a movie, maybe? It certainly wasn't the kid's name, unless all of his years mastering body language had turned out completely wrong. Snorting, he had just started back down the hall when a sharp piercing scream froze the man in his tracks. He spun around just as it died off, striding as fast as his leg would let him back to the room he had just vacated.
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As a nurse hurried after him he paused, one hand on the door to face her.