The Darkness and Dogs

by Lanchbery, T. S.

  Chapter Four

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  “Up until just before my tenth birthday I had always wanted a dog. I asked my dad in the lead up to every birthday, Christmas, and even Easter just for the hell of it, and he always said no. I asked my mother and she would say they’d think about it, and then she’d wait a while, and then she’d say no. I always held out hope that they would give in, right up until the Thursday two days before that birthday, when I was walking home from school and got chased for three blocks by a Dalmatian and bitten badly on my left leg. Thirteen stitches and a new phobia. I wasn’t so keen on getting a dog after that. For a good few years afterwards I even wondered if my dad had set the whole thing up. For my birthday I got some Sea Monkeys, they never bit me, and I loved them as much as anyone could love a Sea Monkey, or at least I did for about three weeks, then I accidentally knocked them off a shelf and cried my eyes out as I watched them wriggle and die in the carpet of my bedroom floor. I remember my dad hearing the crash, and coming in to my room. He surveyed the wreckage, and my obvious distress calmly, without comment, and then raised his eyebrows, turned, and left the room.”

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  As the boy hits the floor, both of the dogs that had been holding the flank surge forward intuitively. As they close on the boy, the leader pounces, snapping his jaws on the flank of one before whirling to confront the other. Both dogs instantly slink back, chastened, and the five dogs form a circle around the unconscious child. The alpha settles onto its haunches, and the rest of the pack quickly follows his lead, fighting against their instincts to obey the instincts of the top dog. It isn’t only a superior size that sets the lead dog apart from the others. Whilst each dog bears a multitude of battle scars - a legacy of life amongst the pack – the leader alone displays evidence of a greater confrontation; a raised, jagged mutilation running from the corner of his mouth on one side, lifting his lip into a permanent, ugly sneer, and continuing to the very tip of his skull. Another wound runs parallel to the first, from the crown of his great head all the way down towards his flank, where it disappears among his course black fur. Whether he had won the conflict that bestowed these injuries is unknowable, but that he had survived such a trauma speaks volumes to his comrades. His keen intelligence, allied to a vast combat experience would have been enough to gain their submission, even without his considerable advantage in size and strength. The best guess as to his ancestry would have to be a combination of German Shepherd, to which there is a considerable resemblance in the shape of his skull, and of a pit bull fighting dog or similar, bestowing his considerable bulk and savage instincts. Of the other four dogs, three are bitches. The fourth takes his position, as always, to the right of the leader. An ugly combination of Shih Tzu and uncertain other small breed is the smallest of the pack by a distance, but by the far the most vicious. Unlike his superior, this dog’s ferocity is born out of an intense, inbred feeble-mindedness, and what could be taken for bravery is in fact merely a complete inability to recognize any personal vulnerability. The second takes all cues from his scarred general, and backs all of his decisions with a mindless thuggery. On his own, the small dog would surely be dead within a day, but the larger dog has come to recognize the advantage in having him on his side; in having a tiny but savage whirlwind that will nip and tear at the flank and bellies of his enemies while he faces them head on.

  To the alpha’s left sits his favored bitch, a beautiful Bernese mountain dog of an impressively pure pedigree. She is the only dog in the pack larger than he, and his only true blindness. Alone in the pack, she possesses an intelligence that matches that of her leader, and with which she early identified his weakness for her. She keeps him in thrall by withholding her favor often, and her instincts allow her to tell exactly how far she can push him, and rather when she must submit to the his demands. Just behind the Bernese sit two slightly smaller bitches in many ways similar to their mother; the shape of their heads, the patchy, multi-colored markings, but with a somewhat leaner, more muscular physique that they have inherited from their father. Two-years-old now, they had originally formed part of a litter of six, but the four males were dispatched by their father, the alpha, a few weeks after birth, or rather were dispatched by the Shi Tzu as the alpha squared off against the desperate mother. After that she withheld her affections until the remaining pups reached adulthood, and had retained a hatred of the smaller dog ever since.

  The last two in the pack, a pair of nearly identical black Labrador Retrievers, also play their games of social progression. One concentrates her energies on usurping the position of the lead bitch. Whenever the leader is alone, she will crawl up to him and offer herself openly. The other focuses on the stupid dog, offering herself as an ally to him in a mutiny for the alpha position. The response to both of these acts is always swift and often brutal, and rarely involves the leader. The Shih Tzu cross and the Bernese pounce on the attempted insurrection, their private struggles set aside in favor of the good of the pack, and mete out a vicious punishment. As a result, more often than not the lowest two expend the majority of their energies on fighting between themselves, all to gain a notional position above the other in the pecking order. In truth, there is no way for them to achieve any promotion, the current status quo suiting the three dogs at the top of the hierarchy to the satisfaction of their ambitions, and now, as the boy lies still in the midst of the pack, that hierarchy asserts itself. The alpha has indicated that they should wait, and has backed this assertion with force, so the others wait. They lay, tails twitching, steadily shifting their gaze between their prey and their leader, and occasionally licking their lips to still the thick drool that oozes in anticipation.

  The man strains to hold still on his perch. He has seen this behavior before, and knows well that the fate of the boy is sealed. His sole focus now is on ensuring his own safety, and he knows that to do so he must climb higher. He doesn’t dare try whilst the dogs are lying in wait, whilst the slightest movement from him runs the risk of attracting their attention. Rather, he has to wait patiently until the boy regains consciousness and their focus is fixed away before he makes his move. For now, he permits himself only the occasional minute shifting of weight from one side to the other as a dangerous numbness and sapping weakness plagues his muscles. He wonders again about the boy’s age, and whether he has ever known another life. If, as the man has guessed, he were indeed around ten he would not have, but rather would have emerged straight from an infant cocoon into this harsh under-populated world, learning to fear but not to laugh, to hide but never in play, to eat but never be sated. If he were older then he may have held on to some vague memory of the time beforehand, but by no doubt would have lost such a remembrance by now. For how could he hold on to it when it would bear so little resemblance to the world he knew, and had always known?

  The boy shifts slightly on the floor and at once the dogs stir. Still lying on her belly, one of the low ranked females begins to keen, and simultaneously ease forward on her belly. At once, the leader lets out a low growl. The bitch freezes, and sinks back onto her haunches, and the dogs continue to wait. After a spell the boy begins to move more regularly, his legs and arms twitching as consciousness returns to him, and the dogs’ agitation returns with it. The youth’s eyes flutter briefly and then open, a look of abject confusion registers as he realizes his whereabouts. He attempts a stretch and yelps as he feels a sharp sprain in his shoulder, and as the fog of his heavy fall begins to clear from his head, he sits up groggily. Rubbing his eyes, he suddenly makes out the shape of two dogs in front of him and instinctively rears backwards, raising himself to his knees. Seeing another animal blocking his path in that direction too, he stumbles again. He places a hand on the ground to steady his fall, wavers for a moment, and then the pain in his shoulder proves too much and he pitches forward, landing with his elbows in the dirt directly in front of the alpha. Anticipating that the dominant dog will attack, the other dogs bristle menacingly, and inch forward. Instead, the leader mere
ly moves his head forward to within an inch of the boy’s own and snorts deeply, his huge nose twitching and quivering, as he inhales the smell of the boy’s terror with a palpable satisfaction.

  Sensing a chance to escape yet, the boy hauls himself painfully to his feet, and backs away from the leader. Behind him, the lead bitch growls and makes as if to move in, but a single soft bark from the alpha stands her down and, with a swift shake to signal her reproach, she stands aside. The boy keeps his eyes on the alpha, tested the weight on his foot, and then limps unsteadily away and, to the man’s horror, makes straight for his tree. The scarred dog, expecting this, stalks steadily around to his side and waits until the boy is within two feet of the trunk before springing forward to block his path, nipping painfully at the boy’s good arm as he lands. The boy recoils in pain, spins around again, and makes to stagger away once more in the opposite direction. Again, the alpha tails him steadily, always keeping within an easy bound of his prey. The pack quickly pick up on the game, and form a ragged semi-circle around their quarry, each time allowing a small gap for the boy to drift towards. On every occasion, the boy advances a small distance, and then the leader leaps forward and delivers a painful bite, altering his course once more. Again and again the boy is driven, first one-way and then another. Occasionally, he falls to the ground exhausted, at which point the whole pack surge forward, and rain small bites across the length of his body, until he forces himself to drag his tired frame upwards and onwards.

  Chapter Five

  In the tree, the man senses his opportunity to climb higher whilst the dogs are distracted. He has now been holding on for upwards of an hour and the muscles in his arms and legs are numb, and at first refuse to respond. Glancing down, he is spurred on by the horror of the spectacle unfolding below him. With his last reserves of strength he manages to stretch one arm aloft and strain to lift himself upwards and onto the bough above. Twice he tries and fails, before he designs to ease one foot into the crook of a branch and use the extra leverage to force his body upwards. Once there, he lies still for a moment, panting with exertion, and employs the rest time to work out his route further up into the tree’s upper reaches. Thanks to his work in clearing many of the smaller twigs, a path of larger branches now extends another ten feet up the tree, ending in an inviting nest of three crossed limbs. As quietly as possible, the man makes his way unsteadily up this path, before gratefully collapsing onto the natural latticework. A screen of leaves now spreads below him, effectively camouflaging him from those on the ground.

  As he lies there, he curses himself for assuming that he could remain safe within these woods indefinitely. It was true that he had never seen the dogs come inside before, and so he had decided that they must feel the same sense of disquiet in these dead woods that he did, and so avoided it as he originally had. He had stayed within the woods for around three months now, with no sign of another living thing, but now he knows that if he is able to make it away from the pack he will have to move on. They are creatures of habit, and now that the dogs have come in this far there can be no guarantee that they will not return.

  He watches as the dogs pursue the boy back and forth between the trees and around the man’s shelter. The child is moving more and more slowly now, but still has enough presence of mind to sense that his continued movement is the only thing standing between him and the dogs attacking. In addition to his other more recent injuries, it is evident that the sickness indicated by the wound on his ankle is now beginning to take effect at last. His face exhibits a rapidly increasing swelling, his already exhausted breathing has acquired an overlaying rattle and his limbs have begun to display a definite lack of coordination. As the man looks on the boy makes one desperate last lunge towards the shelter, and, as he reaches it, he summons the last of his strength and leaps, straining to reach the felled tree that runs across the top of the hide. His reserves of energy finally spent, he barely grazes the underside of the tree with his fingertips before crashing back to the ground, catching the underside of his jaw a painful blow on an outstretched branch as he falls. A pitiful whine of terror and frustration escapes him, ending in a choking sob, and then he lies motionless for a few more seconds before reaching out one arm, as if to make one last try to get away and then stops, the last of his will to live coursing away as he collapses still sobbing into the dirt.

  At once the dogs move in with a new sense of purpose. The rest of the pack stays back respectfully behind the alpha as he approaches the boy. When he reached the child, he moves straight in and bites hard on the top of his thigh. The boy cries out, and looks up towards the dog, and then past him. His eyes lock accusingly onto the man, safe in the tree, and he holds his gaze for a few seconds before letting his head hang low, and then sink one final time to the earth. As soon as he does the scarred dog moves in again. There is no messing around now, as he clamps his jaws hard around the boys arm and wrenches a mouthful of flesh free. The boy’s scream this time reached a new, inhuman pitch, but still he makes no effort to move. The instant that the other dogs see this they leap in, and begin to tear at the boy, ripping meat from all over his body. To the man’s relief, he sees the boy pass out from the pain within a few seconds of the attack; the last of his pained howls dying on his lips. Almost as soon as he has done so the smallest dog moves in to the boy’s head and reaches round to his jugular, tenses, and then rips the larynx clean from his throat with what appears a practiced flourish. The dogs continue their savage orgy of feeding for perhaps fifteen minutes without respite, until they are all sated, and, once they have left no more than a pile of bloodstained clothes and bones of what was once the boy, the dogs settle down. At once, the lead bitch sets to cleaning the alpha, delicately licking the last of the boy’s blood from around his cranium, before prostrating herself in front of him for reciprocation. The other dogs clean themselves and sleep, occasionally moving in to scavenge the odd scrap left on the boy’s carcass.

  Up above, the man watches the boy’s final moments dispassionately. He is not unmoved by the child’s plight, merely desensitized by the unremitting cavalcade of horror he has witnessed in the times that have followed the ruin of the civilization he once knew. Now though, to his surprise, he finds himself crying. Not just the odd tear, but streams of heartfelt lament that pool in the cavernous eye sockets that sink deep into his malnourished head and then roll down his cheeks leaving lighter lines in the thick grime that coats his skin as they go, and huge gut-wrenching sobs that force one hand over his mouth for fear of alerting the beasts below to his presence. In small part he weeps for the boy, but mostly he weeps for the countless lost others he has known whom have passed in a way identical to that he has just witnessed. He sobs also for the boy’s mother, as he imagines her out there now searching for the boy, and finds himself hoping that she might already be dead; to save her the trauma of encountering the grisly tableau at the foot of the tree that lays bare the horrific nature of his killing. As he contemplates the mother, his sadness transforms into a familiar burning hatred for the dogs below, and for all of their kind. He assures himself that, had he but a weapon greater than the notched and well-worn machete tucked into his belt, then he would leap down onto their backs and enact a terrible vengeance upon them. If this is true, there is no evidence of it now. The man merely lets a succession of violent fantasies play out in his mind as he observes the dogs below, all the while cowering and shaking with fear as now and again one of them ventures too close to his hiding place for comfort or directly approaches the tree to sniff and then relieve themselves onto its trunk.

  The dogs lounge for most of the rest of the day, sleeping off their meal. Finally, as the sun begins its slow descent into the horizon, they rouse themselves, stretch extravagantly, and, pausing briefly for one final pick at the child’s body, pad off nonchalantly as one, back in the direction that they had come.

  Chapter Six

  The man waits anxiously until they have passed from sight before clambering down from the tree. Des
pite his exhaustion, and contrary to what might be expected from his half-starved appearance he moves swiftly and smoothly, without a sound, dropping gracefully from branch to branch, hand over hand, before hitting the ground with barely a noise and then padding softly away from the tree. He heads straight to his shelter - giving the ragged remains of the boy a wide berth – drops down onto all fours and crawls inside. Inside, he quickly gathers his few tins of food and the rest of his paltry possessions into his pack and then shuffles back over to the doorway and peers outside. The man is confused. He is sure that it had only been a few seconds since he entered his hide, but in that short time a thick mist has descended over the forest, obscuring all but the forest floor closest to him from view. As the mists shift, trees swam in and out of sight, like a legion of ghosts advancing through a wall of smoke towards him. Virtually blind, he tilts his head to one side to listen, and soon becomes aware of a noise in the distance: a rhythmic thud and crackle of twigs coming steadily closer to his position. Leaning inside the shelter, the man grasps hold of a machete and then waits, slowly sweeping his head back and forth, using his ear like radar dish to locate the source of the sound. Finally another sound – someone noisily clearing their throat – echoes out of the blankness and makes the man jump with fright. Peering ahead, he thinks he can make out a figure leaning against a tree a few meters in front of him.