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Chapter 16 - Keefe

Keefe had come to the conclusion that humans officially sucked.

First of all, they got mad at you for staking out in the cargo hold of an airplane and illegally flying across the ocean—which he found completely unfair. It wasn't his fault his mom had to be a total creep. She was the reason that all of this was happening in the first place.

He'd snuck in with the suitcases onto a plane labeled British Airways, and hid in the cramped, sweaty, hot, uncomfortable storage unit for the longest 7 hours of his life. If he hadn't learned temperature regulation, Keefe was sure he would have passed out from the heat.

Sneaking out of the airplane was a lot harder than sneaking in. In New York, he had easily been able to hide behind suitcases as they were being loaded. But in London, they were being unloaded. So when the cargo hold was completely empty save for Keefe himself, a baggage handler noticed him right away.

He remembered the worker speaking into what looked like a walkie-talkie—probably calling the police.

So Keefe had made a run for it.

He jumped out of the airplane and spirited across the tarmac, looking for a way to get off of the airstrips, only to find that the entire place was fenced in.

Currently, Keefe was crouched behind a baggage carrier truck, trying to catch his breath. It was dark out, the blackness interrupted by flashing red and orange lights on different vehicles, as well as from the garish runway fluorescents.

In hindsight, his plant probably wasn't the smartest. But he'd been so flustered after the "New York Incident," (as Keefe liked to call it now) that his mind wasn't thinking straight.

Keefe poked his head around the side of the truck to see if he had any pursuers. From his hiding spot, he could see the worker who had spotted him was now talking to the police. She was waving her hands in gestures, trying to explain what happened. One policeman had a pad of paper out and was writing down notes, nodding as the baggage handler retold the story. Then she pointed right in his direction.

All the heads of the policemen turned towards him.

Welp, that wasn't good.

Keefe snapped his head back around and pressed his back up against the truck. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. When he opened them several seconds later, he was staring face to face with a german shepherd.

At least, he assumed it was a german shepherd, based on Foster's human stories. She'd told him they were police dogs, trained to sniff out criminals.

Keefe winced. Don't think about Foster.

Autumn coloured fur covered the dog's legs while a patch of black spread out over his back. It growled at him.

"Niceeeee doggy," Keefe muttered, slowly backing away with his hands raised.

The dog barked and merely seconds later several more german shepherds showed up, snarling at him like a pack of wolves.

Keefe bolted.

He dove out from behind the truck and sprinted across the tarmac. He looked over his shoulder to see that the animals were already chasing him, snapping at his heels. Keefe tried to lose them, but they were obviously trained for this.

Shouting filled the air and before he knew it, the police were running after him too.

Great.

He zigzagged around the tarmac, ducking behind trucks, avoiding startled baggage handlers, but he was running out of places to hide.