*****
On his fifth day of caring for the dog, Lowell wakes early, and yawns extravagantly. He feels as if his sleep has been disturbed, and his head takes longer than usual to clear as he becomes aware of his surroundings. As the cold autumn nights have gradually grown frostier, he has become accustomed to waking up numb and shivering beneath his thin covering of sheets, but today he feels a great warmth spreading through his body. It takes him a long while before he is aware of the cause, and then, with a start, he realizes that at some point in the night Venus has crept to where he sleeps and nuzzled in close to him, and now lies curled snugly and snoring fitfully in the natural curve at the front of his body. For a minute Lowell remains still, not daring to move, and then slowly he stretches out his free hand and lays it over the dog’s flank, ruffling the soft hair on her chest. Venus stirs briefly, lets out a long, contented sigh, and then wriggles herself closer still. Lowell watches the dog’s chest rise and fall slowly for a while until he hears a low snuffling snore once again accompany her breathing and then with a broad smile, he lowers his head and goes back to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The following day marks the beginning of a rapid and miraculous recovery for the Malamute. When Lowell wakes he finds Venus is sitting bolt upright next to the stock of food cans, tail wagging, watching him with an expectant intensity. Not wanting to appear to acquiesce to her demands too readily, he takes his time in getting out of bed, yawning theatrically and arranging himself unhurriedly until he sees out of the corner of his eye that the dog has returned to lying still. No sooner is he out of bed though and she is up again, and he can’t resist a wry smile as she jumps up in the air eagerly and completes a graceful spin in excitement – spoiled only slightly by a small pained squeal as she lands on her bad paw - as he moves towards his supply of food and grabs a can of spaghetti. Gathering her bowl, he ladles out a generous helping – slightly more than half this time - and lays it out before her, and then sits down to eat his own. A second later, as he raises his fork to his mouth, he noticed her once again sitting at his feet, her bowl empty and a look of desperate longing on her face as she stares at the spaghetti on his fork. For a moment, he is almost compelled to reach down and refill her bowl, until his own hunger wins out and he turns to one side so she can no longer make eye contact as he quickly shovels down the remainder of the tin. Once he has finished, she continues to watch him for another half an hour in the hope that he might produce something else before eventually she accepts breakfast is over, wanders grumpily over to the far side of the room, and lays down to fix him with a resentful stare out the corner of her eye.
With two mouths to feed, Lowell is uncomfortably aware that the supply of food that he had taken from the house is dwindling fast, and so that day, as Venus sleeps, he eases back the barricade that covers the hole in the wall, crawls into the pet store next door, and then pulls the shelving back into place to conceal the opening behind him. He moves warily through the ash and rubble, stopping to brace and wait for the roof to collapse on his head whenever he hears a creak from above. It doesn’t take him long to find what he is looking for. The vast majority of stock is gone, burnt into dust, but in an area that would have once been a stockroom, he comes across a shelving unit covered entirely in blackened cans of dog food. Towards the end of the rack closest to the shop front many of the tins have burst in the heat, and the others closest to these let out a putrid spoilt smell when opened, but the others further down seem fine - slightly gamey perhaps, but better than nothing. Gathering up as many as he can carry, he heads back to the pharmacy. About halfway back, he pauses, as he hears a strange high-pitched sound coming from the entrance up ahead. Creeping forward slowly, it takes him several seconds before he realizes what it is. He quickly runs forward to the gap by which he had entered. Up close, he can hear the whining more clearly, and is now aware that it is accompanied by the sounds of a desperate scrabbling against the rear of the boards. Pulling back the shelving unit, he is instantly knocked off his feet as Venus hurls herself through the gap. Startled, Lowell cries out in alarm, and throws his hands up to protect his face, only to be overwhelmed by a wave of exuberant, loving licks that cover his head and hands. Laughing, he falls backwards, grabbing the dog’s head and scratching her ears in delight. It has been a long time since anyone has missed him.
When he has finally managed to get her off him, wiped the slobber off of his face and hands, and brought his supplies into the pharmacy, he immediately pries open a can of dog food, deposits the entirety into her bowl, and then proudly stands back and watches as she devours the lot in a few seconds flat. He has no idea how he will manage to keep them both fed from now on, but that is a question for another day, for now Lowell just basks in the joyous feelings that this unexpected companionship has gifted him, and smiles dopily as he realizes that he feels far happier than he has in a long time.
If there is one area of concern for Lowell - apart of course from the packs of wild dogs roaming the land that will tear him to pieces given half a chance, it is the weather. It has continued to grow steadily colder over the previous month, and he can now feel the constant aching numbness in the ends of his fingers and toes that tells him that the worst weather is close around the corner. He can’t be sure of the date, but he would estimate it is somewhere around late November or early December. The relative comfort of the routine that he and Venus have established in the pharmacy is a welcome relief from his life as a fugitive, but he knows it cannot last; eventually they will be have to either move on to find somewhere with better insulation, or gather sufficient supplies to hole up where they are for the winter. Several times, he wakes with a determination to take matters in hand and strike out while the going is relatively easy, but on each occasion his nerve fail him, and he decides to stay put for another day. And so it is that one morning a few weeks later, as he returns once more from the pet store next door with the last few tins of dog food - that have by now become his own food as well as Venus’s - that he glances out of the window and sees with dismay a light coating of white covering the street outside, rapidly thickening with every passing minute.
*****
“Before long, I grew comfortable with the idea that Venus and I were a team, although my thoughts soon turned to how on earth I would find enough food to see us both through the long winter ahead. Last winter was by far the most difficult time I have experienced in all the years that have passed since the outbreak. The first three or four winters after the outbreak were a doddle. Food was easy to come by, snow afforded all the water you would need, and so it was just a case of stocking up and hunkering down until the snows passed. Two of those seasons I spent in groups, which made it all the more, bearable. After that though, they became harder each and every year. The supply of tinned food, or at least that which hadn’t been taken or hidden, rapidly dwindled, as did the supply of people to cooperate with.”
“Up until last year, the sixth winter had been my toughest. That was the last time that I rode it out with another group - three American brothers, rednecks, who had saved my hide in a close run with a pack. To repay them, I invited them in to the place I was living; the basement of an army surplus store on the outskirts of Whitechapel. The place was a dream, all the survivalist equipment we could desire; clothing, sleeping bags, gas, and plenty enough freeze-dried food to see us through until spring, or so I thought. For the first month or so it was great, a warm convivial ambience inside buoyed by a large stash of good rum the brothers’ had brought to the party, but outside the snows lasted longer that year than any in recent memory. We stretched our supply of food as long as we could, but after about two and a half months we reached the bottom of the barrel while the snow was still piled high against our door. After three days with no food the companionable atmosphere had disappeared. After a week I noticed the first glances between the brothers. Around two weeks in I woke in the dead of night to see an urgent conversation, taking place between the brothers on the other
side of the room, full of meaningful looks in my direction. I’d seen enough episodes of Bugs Bunny to convince myself that they were seeing a steaming roast dinner every time they glanced in my direction, and that I needed to check out as fast as possible. The next morning I volunteered to collect the snow for the day’s water, waited until I was out of sight and then ran as fast as my legs would carry me, taking the small stash of jerky that I had concealed from the brothers along with me. Actually, that’s not quite the truth. Before I ran, I locked the heavy basement door behind me, and as I ran, I could hear their panicked shouts pursuing me away from the tomb I had made for them.
*****
For three more days they stay in the pharmacy, watching the snow pile up outside as Lowell bites his nails and procrastinates and their reserve of food continues to deplete rapidly. Much as he tries to ration what they eat, and put off the inevitable as long as possible, it is clear that before long they will be forced to leave in search of a supply that will see them through the colder months. His first instinct is to leave town, and attempt to make it across the valley to Fenton - he’s had good results scavenging there in the past - but as he inspects the few tins of cat food that now represent the entirety of their stockpile of food, he knows that it will not be nearly enough to see them through the dangerous voyage on foot. If they cannot make that journey, then they are left with two choices: either they can continue to scavenge in the town, and surely guarantee that they will run into the pack at some point, or they can return to his house, where he knows there will be food, and face the wrath of Walter and his cronies.
Chapter Thirty-Three
As they head through the backstreets and alleyways behind Main Street, the going is slow; those extra few days holed up in the pharmacy have made all the difference. Lowell had hoped that the snow would ease up enough to give them a window to move, but instead it had come ever harder, and now lies up to four feet deep in places. Lowell is finding it very difficult going, as the extra resistance on every step quickly saps his pathetic reserves of energy - but Venus is really struggling. Although she has healed well, her wound is still sore, and within five minutes she is once again walking with a pronounced limp. That morning before they set off Lowell had re-wrapped her bandage once again, and included an extra layer of padding for the journey, but already the whole has become saturated with icy cold water, and Lowell’s inexpert knot is quickly coming unraveled. Regardless, she shows no signs of straggling this time, but rather trots close behind Lowell, taking care to place her injured paw in Lowell’s compacted footsteps as she goes. She is clearly used to the snow, and if it weren’t for her injury she would be in her element. They would have made a strange sight, if anyone else had been around to see them. As every year, the bright, new snow has had a cleansing effect on the town, adorning each building with a twee, seasonal trim, and concealing the damage, dirt, debris, corpses and bones that litter the streets from view. Against this backdrop, Lowell and Venus could, at a glance, have passed for a man out walking his dog on a sleepy Sunday morning in winter, before the rest of the town has woken. Indeed, a very similar thought occurs to Lowell, and, though he strains to stay vigilant, he is fast dropping into just such a happy daydream. Some way on, he begins to whistle absent-mindedly and then, spotting a stick, he snatches it up, turns to Venus, proffers it for a second, and then tosses it away a few meters for her to chase. As the stick sails through the air, Venus watches it go for a second, and then turns back to Lowell with a mildly disdainful, curious expression. He stares at her for a moment, glances sadly at the stick laying several meters away, and then turns and pushes on through the snow.
At the top of Main Street, they hunker down in the corner of a bicycle shelter for a quick breather and to scout out the way ahead. As Lowell drinks from his water bottle he eyes Venus warily. He is increasingly worried about her reopening her wound, as well as the question of what to do with her when they reach the house. There is no way that she is going to be much help to him in her current condition, but he is equally concerned about the amount of noise she will make if he is to leave her alone again. In truth, with or without her, he doesn’t really have a plan at all. He had only just made it out of the house alive the first time - what are the chances he can get in and out undetected now? As he considers his options, he scans the horizon in both directions. The one thing they really need now is a little bit more snow; not so much that it will make their way ahead even harder, but just enough to cover their tracks behind. On the plus side, any human that sees their footprints will likely assume they are the tracks of a single survivor who is being closely stalked by a dog, and will be unlikely to follow that trail for long. With that comforting thought, he hefts his pack onto his shoulder and sets off again, glancing briefly across to see Venus stop, mid mouthful of snow, and limp unsteadily after him.
They have got one block further on when Lowell drops his pack on the pavement once more and lurches out into the middle of the road. Looking down, he approaches the object of his curiosity. Vehicle tracks. They extend from the intersection to his right all the way down the street towards his house. He has no doubt that Walter’s group must be responsible, but were they coming or going? He can’t believe that they will have all gone out and left their food unguarded yet again, but there has to be at least a slim hope. After all, as far as they know he is surely dead, and the chances of another random coming across their base is vanishingly small. Lowell does the mental arithmetic; it hasn’t snowed for hours, and there is only one set of tracks, so either they were already out when it snowed and have returned today, or at least some of them are still out now. If the second, then he knows he will stand a much better chance of getting in and out undetected. Grabbing his pack, he continues on in the center of the road, walking in the compressed tracks of the vehicles so that his footprints won’t show.
As they approach the house, Lowell moves out of the road onto the pavement on the other side of the street, and gestures for Venus to follow. Ever defiant, she continues to stand out in the open, looking at him quizzically. Lowell waits a moment longer, until it is clear that she has no intention of following, and then frowns cantankerously and begins to crawl along on hands and knees behind the row of parked cars that will serve to block any view from the upper windows of the house. From his position, he can see that the vehicle tracks disappear somewhere over on the other side of the street, and a quick glance at the amount of snow on each of the cars on that curb tells him that they haven’t moved since the blizzard started. For the next fifteen minutes, he sits shivering behind the nearest car, watching the house keenly and attempting to formulate a plan. After racking his brain intently for some time, he is eventually forced to accept that he has no idea better than just sneaking up the path and entering through the front door as quietly as possible; it is after all the only entrance that is likely to be open, and the only one that will afford him a clear path up to the attic without passing through any other of the living areas. His success will all rest on whether they have continued to post a guard on the door since his escape.
Pulling his gun from his belt, he flips the safety off, and then stands up and moved quickly in a low crouch towards the gate. No sooner has he got past the car, than Venus is up from her position in the center of the road and trotting silently along beside him. Reaching the gate, he pauses for a second behind the hedge and quickly glances at each window in turn and then sweeps swiftly on up the path. Halfway along he skids briefly as he steps on a patch of ice, but he manages to steady himself and then keeps on without slowing. A few steps later though he wishes he had heeded the warning as he encounters another patch and finds himself sailing along, his arms flailing, his feet skittering wildly, scrabbling desperately for any purchase on the slick ground, before he at last manages to arrest his progress by lurching forward and slamming himself head first into the front door.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Lowell lies on the front step groaning softly for a few moments while
the pain in his head clears, all the while listening raptly for the slightest sound from inside the house. Reaching out to stroke Venus’s head gently, and to persuade her to stop licking his face quite so enthusiastically, he gingerly rolls over onto one side and then lifts himself up onto his knees. Raising his head up to the hole in the door, he peeps inside, quickly surveying the hallway and stairs for any of the occupants. It all seems clear. He can’t imagine for a second that anyone will have missed the sound of his ill-managed subtle entrance, but he has to reason that there is always the chance they are laying in wait for him inside. Reaching in to get to the latch, he eases the door open and quickly steps inside, gun raised. Inside, all is deathly quiet. The door to the right-hand sleeping area is open, so with his best impression of an FBI agent embarking on a house raid, Lowell hugs the right wall close, breathes deeply and then swings himself round the jam barrel-first. The room is empty, and not just of people, all of the blankets and assorted effects he had noticed on his first visit are gone, and now only the piles of junk heaped in the two furthest corners remained. Exiting the room, he continues down the hall, checking the two remaining open doors at the far end - the kitchen and WC - both also empty of people and possessions. As he backs up and out of the kitchen, he notices Venus, still at the end of the hall. She has her nose pressed tight to the gap at the bottom of the living room door, and is breathing in and out with a rasping snuffle at some intriguing, hidden smell within. Approaching, Lowell half-heartedly swings his gun up the stairs as a token gesture and then turns to investigate with her. The door opens outwards, and someone has nailed four stout lengths of two-by-four to the outside. Whatever is inside is fascinating the dog, she continues to range her head across the length of the gap, inhaling deeply, and has now also taken to a furious scratching at one corner as she attempts to bore herself in. Lowell is also interested, but decides whatever is in there can wait until he has checked out the attic.
The Darkness and Dogs Page 16