Lucy

by Chris Coppel

“What! But that’s ridicul . . . ” Lucy began to exclaim.

  “Hush! Let me finish.” Rodney voiced sternly. “I don’t know where they took you from, south I’d wager from the colour of your coat; but you’re now in London. The docklands to be exact. And I’m relatively certain that these breeds are not the sort you are used to dealing with. I’ve only been here a few weeks myself, but from what I gather, these bipeds are part of a much larger ring involved with smuggling, and possibly even worse.

  “But what’s a biped, and what do they want us for?” Lucy asked, incredulously.

  “Bipeds are what we call humans, and they use dogs to smuggle things when the load is small enough. There’s a couple that you’ll see . . . Anyway so I told them it’s steak or nothing for me.” Rodney’s voice completely changed as he spoke the last sentence.

  Lucy looked at him with confusion and was about to say something when Rodney gestured with a brief flick of his head. She couldn’t at first gather what he was referring to, then realised that it had something to do with the Boxer dog that was just passing them. He nodded politely to Lucy and Rodney, then continued on his way. Once out of earshot, Rodney stepped close to Lucy.

  “That was Champ,” he began. “And don’t let his demeanour fool you for a second. He’ll turn you in to the bipeds as soon as look at you. He’s a bad’un that one. He’s sold a few of us out already for no more than a few scraps of beef trimmings. Anyway, so where was I . . ., oh yeah, I remember . . . there’s this couple you’ll see occasionally. Very posh and toffee-nosed bipeds, both of them. Apparently, they put on this charade of travelling to some place with their dearly loved family pet in tow. Of course, the pet is one of us and we’re dearly loved because we have something valuable and illegal hidden in, or on ourselves.”

  “In?” Lucy asked with a look of revulsion on her face.

  “We’ll cover that later,” he continued. “Once whatever it is, has been delivered, they have no use for us anymore, and besides, they’re then out of the country and they don’t bother bringing any of us back through customs. That’s why they pick the sort they do. Good breeding, fine health and with a gentle disposition.”

  “What’s customs and what could possibly be so valuable for them to need to steal dogs? And what happens to the dogs after they are used?” Lucy asked in a rush of words.

  “Customs is the law over here. They say what comes into the country. If you leave the country for even 5 minutes, they have the right to give you a full going over. As for the valuables, who knows! I hear sometimes it’s these little shiny stones, and other times some kind of powder. Whatever the stuff is, it’s important to the bipeds.”

  “And after the dogs are used?” Lucy asked hesitantly.

  “We don’t know. We just know that they never come back. I suppose the best we can hope is that they’re let go free wherever the journey ends.”

  “And the worst?” Lucy asked with wide, horrified eyes.

  “Let’s not think about the worst, that’s not going to happen to us,” he said encouragingly.

  “But how . . .” her words were cut off by the piercing sound of a whistle being blown. They both looked over at the doorway and saw Fat Man as he raised the whistle again to his mouth.

  “Just don’t worry, Goldie,” he said in a whisper, his voice carrying a slight edge of urgency as they began to move towards the door. “Just take my word for it. Things will only get better.”

  They were in a crowd of breeds as they funnelled back into the building. Lucy was caught in a veritable sea of dogs and was soon separated from Rodney. She tried to see his tiny frame among the teaming mass of dog hair but couldn’t. She realised suddenly how much better she’d felt talking to the tiny terrier, and now he was gone as well. Lucy kept up with the flow and found herself in front of her cell. She wasn’t certain how she knew it was hers, but she did. She also found out why the dogs were given the break outside. All the cells, hers included, had apparently been very thoroughly hosed down. The entire enclosure was sopping wet from the ceiling to the floor. A diminished, but still sizeable stream of water ran along one wall, and down the black hole in the corner. Lucy suddenly felt incredibly tired, and desperately wanted to sleep, but she couldn’t even contemplate lying on the floor until the cell was a least partially dry.

  “Psst!” Rodney signalled.

  Lucy turned and saw her new friend just outside her cell, trying to not be swept away by the continuing flow of dogs returning to their enclosures.

  “I was trying to tell you before we were separated,” he said in an excited whisper. “Don’t get too depressed about this place. You won’t be here that long.”

  Lucy’s entire frame sagged. “You mean they’re going to use me to smuggle?” she began tearfully, “And then leave me in some foreign country or even . . . even something worse. How can I . . . ”

  “Will you pipe down, you silly girl!” he snapped. “There’ll be no more smuggling, or anything else out of this place.” He smiled smugly as he let his words sink in. Lucy looked over at Rodney, and tried to read something, anything from his expression.

  “Get in your cages, ya bloody mutts!” Fat Man yelled from the far end of the passageway, sending dogs slipping and sliding chaotically down the hallway as they tried to carry out his order. Rodney, however, remained very calm as he leant against her cell.

  “Tomorrow, my golden beauty,” he whispered. “We’re going to put an end to all this nonsense.”

  Lucy tilted her head in curiosity.

  The Yorkie gave her wink. “Tomorrow, we break out!”

  CHAPTER 6

  As Rodney spoke and Lucy realised what he was saying, she desperately tried to stop him. Just behind Rodney, moving with deliberate slowness, was Champ, the Boxer. He didn’t acknowledge having heard the terrier’s words, but after Rodney’s earlier warning, Lucy felt very uncomfortable indeed. By the time Rodney had picked up on her display of facial contortions, it was clearly too late. They both watched in silence as the other dog continued down the passageway, and without a backward glance, entered his enclosure.

  “Whoops,” Rodney whispered.

  “Do you think he heard?”

  “Hard to say. Fact is, he was going to be taken care of prior to the big event anyway, so don’t worry about it. I’m not going to.” With that, Rodney gathered up all eleven mighty inches of himself, and with a brief wink for Lucy’s benefit, sauntered back to his cell.

  Lucy spent the rest of the day, as did the other inmates, shut in her enclosure attempting to grab fitful naps. Lucy had made a few rather dissatisfying attempts at conversation with an Afghan hound in the cell adjacent to hers but found the other animal to be almost staggeringly vain, and not terribly intelligent. The Afghan was far more concerned about the condition of her coat, than of her own skin. She considered the entire ordeal troublesome, but only because she had not kept her weekly appointment at the pet groomers. Lucy had tried to guide the conversation to other subjects, yet each topic somehow found its way back to her appearance. Eventually Lucy gave up and left her neighbour bitterly complaining that the least her abductors could have done was provide her with a mirror.

  “Different needs for different breeds.” As Lucy’s mother used to say.

  The one constant during the day was the endless crying from the spaniel she had seen earlier in the yard. Lucy now knew her to be called Angel, which pretty much gave one the entire picture of her previously pampered existence. Apparently, her entrapment had been totally unpremeditated. The dog-nappers had their eye on her housemate, a fine and even-tempered Labrador. As in Lucy’s case, the piece of steak laced with a sleeping powder had been used (Lucy had learned that this was the napper’s usual M.O.). Only as the gentle Labrador made his way with slow dignity towards the offered piece of meat, Angel had appeared out of nowhere and before the men could dissuade her, had grabbed the steak and devoured almost ha
lf of it. She keeled over right in the middle of the front lawn just as her owner was pulling into the drive. The men, not wishing to leave any trace of their misdeeds, had waited until the owner was out of sight in the garage, and then grabbed Angel. Amazingly, she still had the remains of the meat clenched in her jaws. Apparently, the whole cell-block had heard the row when the dog-nappers were refused any payment for Angel’s capture.

  Now the poor creature simply cried non-stop, such was her fear and homesickness. Lucy had at first felt great sympathy for the animal, but by mid-afternoon the sound of her bawling had become like toenails on polished stone. Occasionally, other dogs would yell threats down the passageway, but these seemed to have no effect on the distraught creature. Fat Man had even given her a dose of ‘the bat’ but this seemed to only change the pitch of her crying, not stop it. Lucy knew that if she didn’t shut up, it was only a matter of time before some great harm befell her. She also knew that there was little she could do. Besides, despite her wish to help the other dog, she had her own future to worry about.

  By late afternoon, Lucy was very hungry. She hadn’t touched any of the grey slop they’d given her for breakfast, and after returning from the yard had found the metal bowl to have been removed. Earlier in the afternoon, each dog had been given a small bowl of water, then shortly after, this too had been taken away. It had been explained to Lucy that their captors didn’t want to deal with too much mess in the cells, so their food and liquids were heavily restricted.

  Sometime in the evening, Lucy heard the passageway door open and a group of human voices heading towards her cell. There were three of them. A female biped that was, Lucy felt, exceptionally unattractive, even for humans. She was short and dumpy, with features that seemed to have been squashed, as if by some enormous pressure from above. She was holding a white cylindrical tube in her hand and occasionally placed it in her mouth and sucked on it. Lucy could see that it appeared to be burning, and that after sucking on it, the woman would breathe out a large cloud of smoke. The second human was equally as frightening. It was a male. A very tall, very thin one, with what appeared to Lucy, to be not enough skin on his face. What there was, was pulled far too tightly over his bones, giving his head a skull-like appearance. His black hair was exceptionally long, greasy, and was pulled into a ponytail at the back. He was wearing all black and was also sucking on a burning tube - only his was brown and longer. The third person was Fat Man. The three stopped at each cell, as skull face and squat lady gave the occupant a long look, before giving Fat Man an instruction that he would note on a paper bit that he was carrying.

  After what seemed an eternity, the group arrived at Lucy’s enclosure. As was her well-mannered way, she got to her feet and acknowledged their presence. This seemed for some reason to please Skull Face. His lips pulled back across his long, and very yellow teeth, in what Lucy had to assume was some horrific parody of a smile.

  “This is a fine bitch,” the ghoul stated. “Put her down for the Geneva run.”

  Fat Man nodded and made some squiggles on the paper bits. The males moved on, but the squat female stayed back for a moment, and lowered her already low frame close to Lucy’s gate. Lucy decided to risk it and moved over to her. The woman stared back at Lucy through the wire mesh, then suddenly expelled a plume of pungent smoke directly in her face. Lucy recoiled, almost tripping over her own feet, as the woman shrieked with a high, horse-like laughter, before rising to her full height and re-joining the others.

  Lucy felt a new emotion inside her. Something vastly different. It was a tightness, and a raging heat that she’d never felt before. As she lowered herself to the cold floor, she could only think of the ugly woman and her sour, smoky breath. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the mesh gate, or let her body relax in any way.

  Though she didn’t realise it, Lucy was, for the first time in her life, feeling real anger.

  When much later, Lucy finally fell asleep, she didn’t dream of Burden Dell or of warm kitchens and fresh bread. She dreamt of stalking something through a dark, and dismal countryside. She didn’t know what she was hunting, only that she was driven, body and soul, to seek it out, and, by her own paw and tooth, destroy it.

  CHAPTER 7

  Lucy woke the following morning an felt a distinct electricity in the air. She could almost see the tension it was so thick.

  When Fat Man appeared with the grey slop, Lucy was certain that the big moment had arrived; but as she listened to him toss each bowl into a cell, then retrace his steps along the passageway with the squeaky cart in tow, she realised that the breakout was obviously not at hand after all.

  She decided that she should try to eat something as she was bound to need her strength for whatever lay ahead. She wanted to ensure that she was both mentally and physically ready for whatever was needed of her. She took a mouthful of the slop and almost gagged. Even with her great hunger, it was near impossible to swallow. It tasted not only of mould and metal, but also had a strong after-taste of the liquid her Man used to put into his vehicle. On top of that, it had a very slimy feel as she tried to chew the almost un-chewable lumps that she encountered under the grey sheen. She finally managed to eat half the bowl, but instead of the expected rush of energy she had hoped for after nourishing her body, she simply felt heavy and a little bit queasy.

  She tried to settle down and relax until the morning exercise in the yard but couldn’t seem to stop herself from pacing within the narrow confines of her cell. Finally, after what seemed to her to be two eternities, Fat Man reappeared and opened their enclosures. The inmates were all anxious to get into the open air on this special day. Lucy could feel the excitement as she stepped into the throng of other dogs, as they almost tripped over each other to reach the door.

  Lucy was one of the last to step into the yard and could immediately tell that something was wrong. The sense of excitement that she had felt only moments before had vanished. She looked into the crowd for Rodney so she could find out what was going on but couldn’t see him. He was a rather small animal, so this didn’t particularly phase her. She began a more thorough search, and soon realised that he wasn’t there. Rodney had vanished.

  Lucy was so shocked that she didn’t know what to do. She stood for the longest time rooted in place, as her mind swam with a veritable potpourri of possibilities. He was sick. He had left without them. He’d . . . He’d . . . She couldn’t stand not knowing where her new, but very trusted, little friend had gone. She was suddenly nudged quite roughly, causing her to almost yelp in surprise. She turned and came face to face with three exceptionally large, and very tough-looking, alpha dogs; two Dobermans and a Rottweiler. One of the Dobermans stepped forward and looked her coldly in the eye.

  “Rod said you was alright,” he said with a surprisingly rich Eat End accent. “We noticed you were looking for something.”

  “Yes, yes I was,” Lucy said, trying to keep the trepidation out of her voice. “Where is Rodney? I thought today was . . .”

  “Shh,” the Doberman whispered forcefully. “It was, but something unexpected happened. They came for him during the night. They’ve only taken him on a bloomin’ run, haven’t they!”

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You mean he’s gone? Just like that?”

  The Doberman tried to look somewhat understanding. “That’s how it works around here, love.”

  “Oh my.” Lucy tried not to let her emotions get the better of her. “Does that mean the . . . well you know . . . is off?”

  “Has to be,” he said in a voice laden with disappointment. “He was the only one who could pull off the plan,” offered the Doberman.

  The Rottweiler suddenly cleared his throat loudly. They followed his glance and saw that the Boxer was approaching.

  “Filthy snitch,” the Doberman growled.

  Champ looked their way, and with a distinct lack of concern, walked right up to, and through t
heir little group. The Doberman at first blocked his path, but then, with a brief growl, let him go.

  “I was looking forward to dealing with him,” the Doberman stated in a frighteningly cold voice.

  “Is he really that bad?” Lucy asked.

  “Ha! There have been two attempts to get out since I’ve been here, and on both occasions, guess who alerted the bipeds?”

  “Oh,” Lucy murmured.

  “And what’s more,” the Doberman continued, “on both nights following his snitching, and after the escapees were dealt with, very brutally by the way, who do you think got a nice big steak for dinner, while the rest of us bloody starved?”

  Lucy simply shook her head, as she watched the Boxer as he paraded around the yard. “So, what happens now?” she asked.

  “Not much. Rodney was the key to the whole plan.”

  “Can’t I help,” she offered. “I’m certain I could do something to . . .”

  “You’re too bloody big,” the Rottweiler interrupted.

  Clearly offended, Lucy stepped up to the dog. “That’s hardly called for! I’ll have you know that I take good care of myself. I eat sensibly and . . .”

  “Not your figure,” he said, with thinly veiled exasperation. “You. You’re simply too big. We all are. Look, without drawing any attention, have a gander over at the wall on your right. You’ll see a very small hatch.”

  Lucy nodded.

  “Well, we’ve been working at that for weeks, and it’s now to the point that with one really good shove it’ll give way, but only one of us could ever fit through.”

  “Rodney,” Lucy said, finally understanding the Doberman’s point.

  “Right,” the Rottweiler continued. “At which point Rodders was gonna do a bunk through the hatch, then nip round to the other wall on the left in which you will see a door. A door without a latch on this side. Well, according to our little missing friend, his human had the same type of door at the bottom of their garden. Rodders had, so he claimed, become quite the little expert at jumping up, and smacking the handle down as he dropped. He guaranteed he could do the same with that one.