The X-Files: Antibodies by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

though.”

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    Mulder’s eyebrows perked up. Scully looked at her partner, then back at the veterinarian. “With severe trauma from a car accident, I wouldn’t expect the temperature to rise,” she said. “Not if the dog was in shock and entering a coma state.”
    The doctor nodded his head patiently. “Yes, that’s why I was so curious. I believe the animal had some sort of infection before the accident. Perhaps that’s why he was so disoriented and got struck by the car.”
    Hughart looked deeply disturbed, almost embarrassed. “When I saw there was no hope, I gave the dog an injection of Euthanol—sodium pentabarbitol—to put him to sleep. Ten ccs, way more than enough for the body mass of a black Lab. It’s the only thing to do in cases like that, to put the animal out of its misery . . .
    and this dog was in a world of misery.”
    “Could we see the body of the dog?” Scully asked.
    “No.” The veterinarian turned away. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
    “Why?” Mulder asked.
    Hughart looked at them from beneath his bushy gray eyebrows before glancing back down at his scrubbed-clean fingers. “I was working in the lab, studying the fresh blood sample, when I heard a noise.
    I came in and found that the dog had jumped off the table. I swear its forelegs were broken, its rib cage crushed.”
    Scully drew back, unable to believe what she was hearing. “And did you examine the dog?”
    “I couldn’t.” Hughart shook his head. “When I tried to get to the dog, it barked at me, turned, then pushed its way through the door. I ran, but that black Lab bounded out into the night, as frisky as if he were just a puppy.”
    Scully looked at Mulder with eyebrows raised.
    The veterinarian seemed distracted by his own recollection. He scratched his hair in puzzlement. “I antibodies
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    thought I saw a shadow disappearing toward the trees, but I couldn’t be sure. I called for it to come back, but that dog knew exactly where he wanted to go.”
    Scully was astonished. “Are you suggesting that a dog struck by a car, as well as given an injection of concentrated sodium pentabarbitol . . . was somehow able to leap down from your operating table and run out the door?”
    “Quite a lot of stamina,” Mulder said.
    “Look,” the veterinarian said, “I don’t have an explanation, but it happened. I guess somehow the dog . . . wasn’t as injured after all. But I can’t believe I made a mistake like that. I spent hours searching the woods around here, the streets, the yards. I expected to find the body out in the parking lot or not far from here . . . but I saw nothing. There’ve been no reports either. People around here talk about unusual things like that.”
    Scully changed the subject. “Do you still have the original blood sample from the dog? Could I take a look at it?”
    “Sure,” the veterinarian said, as if glad for the opportunity to be vindicated. He led the two agents to a small laboratory area where he performed simple tests for worms or blood counts. On one countertop underneath low fluorescent lights stood a bulky stere-omicroscope.
    Hughart pulled out a slide from a case where a dried smear of blood had turned brown under the cover slip. He inserted the slide under the lens, flicked on the lamp beneath it, and turned the knobs to adjust the lens. The old man stepped back and motioned for Scully to take a look.
    “When I first glanced at it,” the veterinarian said,
    “the blood was swarming with those tiny specks. I’ve never seen anything like it, and in my practice I’ve 94
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    encountered plenty of blood-borne parasites in animals. Nematodes, amoebas, other kinds of pests. But these . . . these were so unusual. That’s why I sent the sample to the CDC.”
    “And they called us.” Scully looked down and saw the dog’s blood cells, as well as numerous little glints that seemed too angular, too geometrical, unlike any other