The Darkness and Dogs

by Lanchbery, T. S.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  As they prepare to leave, Lowell crams as much of the food into his pack as he can manage, and then stares happily at the remainder, imagining the look on Walter and the other’s faces when he shows them his hoard. His plan is to leave what he can’t carry at the hut and then return to it once he has reached the group and been accepted into their number. The one thing that is missing from the supplies in the hut is a tent for however long they will be on the road. Given the variety of items that are there, he had expected to find one, and as he shoulders one of the rifles from the rack and makes to depart, the thought that they might have to bunk down outside in the snow now concerns him terribly. Were he not so preoccupied with thoughts of tents, there is a good chance that he might have missed the small square of green tarp that is just visible poking out beneath a mound of snow along the rear wall of the hut. As it is, his eye is instantly drawn to it and, imagining that he can use the material to build a makeshift shelter on the road, he walks over to investigate. Digging down into the deep pile of snow, it isn’t long before he begins to realize that he has found something far more significant. After fifteen minutes, he manages to shift enough snow that he can pull free the tarp, and once he has he stands back and whistles appreciatively at the sight of a seemingly pristine 4X4, emblazoned with the parks department logo on one side.

  A moment later, he is back inside the building, searching desperately amongst the draws and boxes for a key that is nowhere to be found. He has all but given up, and reverted to his natural state of experienced pessimism, when he happens to glance up, and there, hanging on another hook by the door he sees a large set of keys, and in the middle of them a chunky black plastic fob that can only be for a vehicle. Skipping over to the door, he grabs them and approaches the 4x4 nervously. He is sure it can’t possibly work. After so many winters outside in the cold his chances of getting it started, with his complete lack of mechanical prowess, seem next to zero. Nevertheless, he has to try. Holding his breath, he inserts the key into the lock, twists it slowly, and then exhales triumphantly as the lock clicks free. The next issue is the door itself; predictably, it has frozen shut in the bitter cold, and after several minutes of yanking it forcefully he returns to the hut, prepares a pan of boiling water and then carefully pours it down the inside of the door until he is finally able to pull it open.

  Once he is in, Lowell puts the key in the ignition and then sits in the drivers seat for several moments, praying to every deity he can think off as he summons the courage to turn the key and find out if his luck will hold. The first attempt produces nothing more than a faint, uncertain chugging sound as the long dormant engine responds to the unexpected call to action. On the second this noise is joined by a repeated wheezing whine that for a second almost sounds as if it will turn over and start before dropping off once more. Some time later, as he turns the key for the hundredth time, he finally accepts that the battery is dead, and sits tapping the steering wheel thoughtfully as he considers any way to get the thing started again. Eventually he hits on a solution, and he buzzes with excitement as he charges back into the cabin, Venus trotting with interest at his heels, and then tears around the place collecting equipment from every corner of the hut as he goes.

  A few hours later Lowell sits at the wheel once again, one hand on the ignition, the fingers of his other hand crossed for good luck. On the ground in front of the truck a small diesel generator sits idling where it has recently been unhooked from the battery. Lowell has only a faint idea what he is doing, and has to hope that he has managed to charge the battery enough to start it, and not just shorted the thing instead. Counting to ten in his head, he shuts his eyes and turns the key. Again the engine gives only a brief flutter on his first effort. He waits a moment and tries again, receiving much the same the second time around. Finally, after five attempts, just as he begins to think that all is lost, the engine pauses mid-chug, lets out a deep, satisfying roar, and then turns over into a steady rhythmic hum as the engine springs to life.

  *****

  “I began to think of my father once again, trying to find the good amongst all of the casual neglect and disapproval. I found myself thinking about my first driving lesson, back when I was sixteen years old. My dad had taken me out - not in his car of course - we took mother’s Rambler. He had said that he wanted me to learn to drive a stick, but really I knew he just didn’t fucking trust me in his car. He drove me down to a mall parking lot, sat me in the front seat, and methodically worked through every aspect of getting the car moving. At first I was nervous, but after three slow laps around I was sure I was a natural. Everything was going fine, and then he asked me to pull in between two parked cars. I was shitting myself, but there was no way I was going to let him know that, so I picked a spot, aimed for it and eased it round the first car with no problems – easy! It was only as I looked across triumphantly at my dad sitting next to me that it occurred to me that I had no idea how to stop. As we rolled ever closer to the bollard at the end of the space I fumbled wildly for the brake, panicked, through my arms up in front of my protectively, and lifted both feet off the pedals. My dad, who had been watching with pitying amusement and one hand on the handbrake right up until that point, had about two seconds to react. To his credit, he managed to get out the words “don’t let your foot off the fucking” before the car stalled, and leapt forward into the bollard. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t even bother getting out to look at the damage.”

  “He just pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers for a moment, clapped one hand on my shoulder, and said “well, that’s the first lesson over son, why don’t you jump out and get back into the passenger seat, eh?” It was times like that I was glad he wasn’t much off a talker. A moment later, as I slumped down in my seat, and we drove home to tell my mother, I remember thinking how, when I had kids, I would just pay for someone else, preferably a professional, to give them their lessons. But now, even though that following week or so after that lesson hadn’t been much fun, I cant help but think that I’m glad I’ve got that memory of the taciturn old bastard. Whatever we think we might have achieved in life, after we die we only truly live on in the memories of others.”

  *****

  Once Lowell has got the hang of driving again, and learnt the hard way that it is best to take it slow when driving across a landscape littered with obstacles thoroughly obscured by snow, they set a good pace. As soon as he had got the engine started, he had wasted no time in getting away, merely pausing for a moment to add the two canisters of diesel to the boot, as well as the other gun, before throwing his pack in alongside a few extra bits and pieces and leaping back into the driving seat. The bigger issue was Venus. Even for a dog that had lived in a world with countless cars on the road, the first experience as a passenger can be unnerving, but for Venus, who had never known such a thing, it was terrifying. Even coaxing her into the strange thrumming metal box was a challenge, and when, with the incentive of almost an entire pouch of jerky, he had finally managed to do so, she sat hunched forward, ears pinned back, shivering.

  Now, she is wearing an insane terrified grin that could have almost been mistakenly interpreted as excitement, were it not for the curious, relentless whining that she emits, rising and falling in pitch and leaving no uncertainty as to her state of mind. Just a short while ago, Lowell would have had no idea as to how to handle the situation, but his experiences with Venus have taught him well, and despite his desire to get on the road as quickly as possible, he is careful not to move too rashly now. Instead, he prepares the packet of jerky, careful to ensure that he holds it in plain sight, so that Venus knows that it is still in play, and then proceeds to inch the vehicle into motion, travelling only for a few feet and then stopping to reward her with a small piece of dried meat before repeating the exercise. It is a slow process, and each time they stop, she waits until she has been given the jerky before making a desperate lunge towards the closed window, but, slowly but surely, she grow
s more comfortable, and by the time he has completely run out of jerky they are well on their way.

  With the tracks of the vehicle they are pursuing no longer visible due to the snow, Lowell has to rely on a combination of potluck and intuition whenever a choice of multiple directions presents itself. Thankfully, on the occasions that they do make a wrong turn, it is never long before they came across a blockage in the road, at which point they double back and take the alternative route instead. By this method of trial and error, they continue to make decent progress throughout the remainder of the day, and by the time evening draws in, and poor visibility and a disinclination to advertise their whereabouts with headlights forces Lowell to pull off onto the side of the road, he is more than happy with the distance they have covered.

  For the first time on their journey, Lowell feels that they must be gaining on Walter’s gang, and each time they pass a vehicle that looks as if it has been recently cleared from the road he experiences a thrill at the thought of the amount of time it must have taken them to shift it out of the way. He is gaining on them. And with that comforting thought in mind he switches off the engine, and then leans over and opens the passenger door to send an eager and semi-hysterical Venus bursting out face-first into a snow bank. Stepping out himself, he walks to the middle of the road and stands stock still in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust slowly to the night as he stares forward and strains to make out any lights in the distance. Seeing nothing, he sighs heavily and then returns to the vehicle, portions out two small meals of cold beans from their stash and then readies their bedding for the night.

  At first light the next day, after a frigid and uncomfortable night stretched out as much as is possible in the back of the 4x4, they continue onwards. Not half an hour down the road, they encounter the first hold-up of the day - two cars sitting in the middle of the road, brutally entwined from a severe high-speed crash that must have spelt the end of the occupants of both vehicles. On both sides of the pile-up, other vehicles have been abandoned; left in desperation by those frenziedly fleeing from the horror that they weren’t to know was equally terrible in either direction. At the sight of the blockage, Lowell backs out carefully, swings the car around, and then follows the road back towards a turning onto a small side-road he had decided against taking a couple of miles before. Another three miles or so along that road though, he finds himself stopping once again, and eying another impassable obstacle - this time a mighty fallen oak, fully ten feet around the trunk, utterly immovable and slowly rotting where it lies. Lowell scratches his head absent-mindedly, lets out an exasperated sigh, executes a twelve-point turn in the narrow space available, and then drives back in the direction they have come. As he traverses back along the small road, and then up once again to the crash he had visited prior to that, he crawls along slowly, scanning right and left along the verge, ever vigilant for any other overgrown lanes or hidden turn-offs he might have missed along the way. Mentally working back along the route he has covered, he finds himself at a loss as to where his course could have diverged from that of those who went before him.

  Cursing his bad fortune, he is just on the brink of swinging the vehicle around to retrace his route, when something over to his left catches his eye. Pulling on the handbrake, he leaps out of the car, and walks slowly over towards the obstruction in the road to investigate. Sure enough, up close, it is exactly as it appeared from a distance. From one side to the other, the whole road, bar one small patch, is covered in a neat blanket of snow from the most recent fall. Above this small section to the side, however, a tree that extends far out towards the center of the road has left a small area with only a thin layer of snow and, here, Lowell is just able to make out, loosely covered but still just visible, the faint but unmistakable tracks of a vehicle. The marks extend for no more than a meter, but as he crouches down to inspect them more closely Lowell is able to see that they are bearing left, on a course that would lead just off to the side of the road in front of the crash. Following the trail, it isn’t long before he finds the vehicle, a battered old silver transit van, tucked neatly off into and tidily camouflaged by the mass of foliage at the verge.

  It is clear at once that it is the one he has been looking for; the only vehicle present, other than his own of course, that wears only a thin jacket of snow. At the sight of it, his breath quickens, and he feels his heart begin to beat wildly within his chest. It is clear that there is no one around, but nevertheless, he approaches cautiously, and then peers through the side window. At first, he is unable to see anything at all within the van, but then, as his eyes gradually adjust to the dark interior, he is just able to make out a large mound within, covered over with a tarp, that has been secured with a couple of logs. Moving slowly around to the rear, he tries the back doors and finds they are locked. The side of the van has been parked pressed up tight to the overgrown hedgerow that runs alongside it, but Lowell finds that, breathing in, he is just able to shuffle sideways along the narrow gap until he can reach the side-doors. He pulls back the lever, and is rewarded with a satisfying click as the handle lock springs free, and the doors slide open. As soon as he is in, he pushes aside the nearest weight to him that is securing the tarp, pulls one corner free, and reveals the vast majority of the stash of guns and food that he had last seen occupying the makeshift armory and loft-space of his former home.

  As soon as he has seen what is inside the van, Lowell quickly backs out, slides the door closed behind him, and sidesteps quickly back along the side of the vehicle to his own 4x4. There, he hesitates, and then grabs both his pistol and one of the rifles from his car, and looks around nervously before sliding back the door as quietly as possible. He is caught in two minds. The last thing that he wants is to turn up to greet Walter and his group armed to the teeth – and with their own weapons no less – but he remembers the greeting he received last time they met, and hopes that the guns might buy him the time he needs to explain himself. Wherever the group has gone, it seems unlikely that they will have ventured very far from their supplies. He glances with apprehension at the trees that line the road in both directions, and wonders if they are in fact watching him now, biding their time and waiting for him to stray into their crosshairs. His first instinct is to conceal himself in the bushes with his weapons, and wait to ambush them upon their return – it has been a long time since he has tried to make any new friends, and is unsure of the etiquette - and he is just inspecting his surroundings for a suitable position when a low growl from Venus draws his attention.

  As he looks over, he sees that she is standing at the edge of the road, staring into the overgrowth. Lowell immediately unslings the rifle from his shoulder, and approaches her steadily, keeping the weapon aimed into the bushes as he does so. As he gets closer, he can see at once that there can’t be anyone hiding there, as the only cover in that position is a thin screen where the edges of two bushes have grown in together and are barely touching. Leaning down to tousle the hair that stands tall on the nape of Venus’s neck, he pushes through the brush, and then experiences a thrill of excitement as he realizes she has found a footpath - quite invisible from the road - that stretches away along the side of a field towards what looks to be an old farm house in the distance. It takes a moment before he is able to see what has drawn Venus’s attention, and then he makes out a thin plume of white smoke tracing a line from the chimney of the old house and on up into the pale sky.

  Chapter Forty

  Lowell stands stock still, watching the smoke rise and disappear, and for the first time since they left the house he begins to question the wisdom of getting involved with the group. He thinks they will probably accept him, in time, but he is worried about his own ability to adapt after so long on his own, and concerned about how they will react to Venus, especially so soon after losing some of their own to the disease. Venus stares back at him from a few feet ahead, one ear cocked quizzically, her tail wagging slowly and cautiously. And how will she react to the other humans, Lowell w
onders, and then, as if in answer to his question her tail stops wagging and stiffens, her hair bristles, and her head twists in the direction of the farmhouse. She sniffs the air, and lets out a low growl of warning. Lowell hears no sound, but he trusts her instincts over his own, and drops low and peers through the gap in the bushes. Nothing is moving ahead on the footpath, at least on the twenty meters or so that Lowell can see before the path curves away and out of sight, but something has definitely spooked Venus. He has to get closer to see. Rising to a stoop, he taps the side of his thigh to indicate that Venus should follow and then pushes through the gap in the bushes and immediately dives right, through the brush at the edge of the path, until he can press forward under cover and continue perpendicular to its course.

  As he approaches the end of the lane, he slows his pace, and continues stealthily along until he finds a spot towards the edge of the lane that overlooks the courtyard outside the main building. The farmhouse lies just ahead and to the left of his position. It is a handsome rustic home; solidly built of rough pale stone, it looks as if it has been around for many years before the outbreak, and will last for many years more. Directly ahead and obscuring his view of one side of the house is a large barn of rusted corrugated iron, and opposite that a stable block, of the same materials as the farmhouse. It is an idyllic scene, with the layer of snow serving to obscure the steady encroachment of weeds and plants from the overgrown fields that lead off from the courtyard, this the only sign that would usually betray the reality that the farm had in fact been deserted some time ago. Although multiple footprints in the snow indicate that someone is present, there is no sign of the group now, so Lowell settles in to wait, with Venus, who has clearly also sensed the presence of others nearby, lying quietly and uneasily to his side.