The chef leaned over to pick up the puppy again. It was whining hard now. It looked so much like the Hatter Anna couldn't keep the tears from her eyes.
She snatched up a half-brick off the floor, and hit the chef in the head with it. He shook but didn't slow down. He grabbed the puppy and lifted it. Anna hit him again, this time in the back of the neck, and that seemed to get his attention. He jolted and turned his glowing eyes jerkily to her. She shoved him, barely enough to rock him back, but enough for her to grab up the box of puppies and dart out of the gap.
They were heavier than she expected, and the box was sodden so it was hard to keep it together even with her arms crossed beneath it like a sling.
The chef grasped at her ankles and she gasped, almost tripping, but caught herself in time and stamped down hard on his knuckles. His grip released but he crawled closer.
"Leave us alone!" Anna shouted, and kicked at his head once, twice. Her foot bounced off uselessly. She backed up until she edged up against the panting nurse, then shrieked
Where could she go? The chef was on his feet again, trailing sausages. To his left there was the dark door leading into the restaurant. Perhaps she could…
She ran, ducking beneath his outstretched hand and leaping into the cool pipe-hall. The rotten box tore, throwing the puppies out over the floor, and Anna leaned back to grab the door handle a final time. The chef reached her just as she dragged the door shut.
It slammed on his fingers with a massive metal bang, the latch clicked, and Anna was plunged into darkness. With the last of her energy she lay down on the cold stone floor, careful not to squash any of the puppies beneath her, and laid her hot and spinning head down to the ground.
8. LITTLE HATTERS
In the darkness, the oysters snuffled and mewled close by. The Walrus and the Carpenter were so hungry. She reached down and patted them. They were so warm and downy and…
Anna opened her eyes and looked around. Her head felt like jelly and the floor was cold and hard. She sat up, careful not to nudge the puppies, who were all wedged in close to her belly. How much time had passed? The end of the hall was lit with bright sunlight. She must have slept all night.
She looked down at the puppies and counted six of them, wiggly shapes in the dimness. Her vision was still blurry though, so it was possible she'd counted several of them more than once.
"You're all very wobbly, aren't you?" she asked them, chucking them under the chins and rubbing their little bellies. "I mean, very friendly." Her voice felt thick and slurred, like she was speaking through honey, and her hand was jerky. Her head didn't feel right. "Not like mommy."
They licked her hand.
"Let's get you into the cold. I mean out of…"
On her knees, she found their box and lifted them slowly and carefully back into the shreds of it. Each one fitted in her palm beautifully, their little bellies settling against her fingers like bags of hot porridge. The double vision was fading and she only tried to pick up a puppy that wasn't there twice. When she was convinced she had them all, she picked the box up and stood, but almost fell. Her head pounded hotly.
"Stop that," she told it, "I've no time for you at all."
She carried the puppies very carefully, shuffling down the hall and hardly lifting her feet. A little way down she noticed one on the floor that wasn't moving, and she knelt and stroked him. He was cold and his back felt twisted.
That was sad.
She emerged past a toilet door, then a swing door for the kitchen, into the main part of the restaurant. The walls were decorated with red and gold dragons, and a padded leather sofa ran around the outer wall and under the window. Round wooden tables were spread through the middle, with gold-framed leather chairs set neatly around them. Velvet curtains hung at the window edges. It reminded her a little of home.
"Here," she said, and carried the pups to the sofa where the midday sun was shining. She laid the box down then caught herself from falling again. On her knees the world swirled. The sun pierced her eyes painfully.
The puppies mewled pitifully up at her.
"Water," she mumbled, nodding. She dumped her pack and took a swig of water. The bottle was almost empty. She took a small dish from the nearest table and poured the last water into it.
"Here you go," she said to the puppies, but they didn't try to drink. Instead they snuffled closer to her hand and licked and sucked at her skin. It was funny and strange and she rubbed their heads.
"Don't be silly," she said, though actually she was very happy. "Have some water, it's right here. I'll get food."
She headed to the kitchen. Through the swing door it was darker. A long metal counter stretched down the middle of a narrow space, with countertops attached to the walls, a large sink, a fridge, and a larder at the back filled with packets of something.
What did puppies like to eat? Her head sloshed too much to think clearly, and she'd never fed the Hatter so she wasn't sure. Babies liked milk but there hadn't been any good milk for ages.
She pulled open the heavy fridge door and was knocked back by the stink. This was normal, now. In the trays at the bottom was a black mulch that had probably once been vegetables. The milk cartons were a deep orange inside, with furry black stuff at the top.
She'd poured these out before. They were all globular and bitty and smelled like death.
Nope. There were a few cans of Coke but she doubted the puppies wanted that.
Heading toward the larder she caught sight of something terrifying. For a second she tensed, ready to fight with her brick again, then she realized it was her own reflection showing in a bit of shiny metal wall.
She looked bad.
"Anna?" she asked.
This other Anna leaned in just as she did. Her face was a mask of blood, and her hair too. Blood was all over her with hardly a clear bit of skin. Her blue dress was dark and crusty with it, and it had plainly all come from her head. She reached up tentatively, and watched her bloody double do the same thing.
Her head was hot and tight feeling. Her hair had gone crackly, like her Daddy's beard. There was a bump in the side above her ear, then a depression around the back of her head that was shocking. There were several depressions actually. She twisted her head and looked in the mirrored metal, and saw grooves dug in her skin and bone.
She almost fainted. There were actual holes in her head.
She lurched away and sat near the puppies, panting hard. The mommy dog had bitten through her skull? Wasn't her skull where she kept her brain? Her brain was still thinking, though, so something was working, even if it wasn't working very well.
"What do you think?" she asked one of the puppies, who was leaning out over the edge of his box. His little eyes were still closed and he was adorable. "You don't want to eat my brain do you?"
He sneezed. For a moment Anna was taken aback; the high-pitched squeak had been the last reply she'd expected. Then she laughed out loud.
"OK, you're Pig," she said, thinking of the Duchess' baby in Wonderland, which sneezed for all the pepper in its soup. She looked at the others and went on dreamily.
"You can be Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum, on account of you're both about the chubbiest." She tapped their heads ceremonially, like she was the Queen dubbing knights. "You can be Humpty because your head's so delightfully egg-shaped," she dubbed another. "You can be the March Hare, with whiskers like that, and you can be Dinah, as you look so mothering."
She picked up Dinah and kissed her on her soft forehead. Then, feeling guilty, she kissed them all. It quite distracted her from the holes in her head.
"I am sorry about your mother," she told them, now with her arms spread around the box. "I promise I'll get you something to eat."
They tumbled and rolled closer, mewling. It was almost enough to make her cry.
"Toughen up, Anna," she muttered, and got to her feet again.
The dizziness was fading a little. Through the window with all its pictures of strange fish she could se
e the street outside. The chef was there now, leaning against the glass. His face looked so sad. His belly hung open and gray sausages hung out like stuffing from a poorly repaired teddy bear.
"You can go to the ocean now," she told him. "You and the waitress both. You saved me, you know, before you went crazy."
He shifted slightly, as she moved closer. She touched the glass by his face.
"There is a difference," she said, "between a mommy dog and its babies, you know. They're not scary at all. You have to see that."
His eyes flickered momentarily. His head turned, then he started away from the glass. Anna watched as he stumbled away down the street, with his gray stuffing trailing behind him like a tail.
"Bye bye," she mouthed.
There was no sign of the waitress.
* * *
In the larder she worked her way through plastic boxes full of sneezy herbs and rice, packets of mustard and packets of custard, both of which looked much alike, and neither of which could be eaten by puppies. There was no cereal or baby food, no dog food or nice fresh fruit, but there were some long dry bread sticks, which she chewed on thoughtfully. They helped settle her sloshing head down.
Next were the cans with pictures of tomatoes, beans, lentils, corn, tuna, pineapple, plums, and sliced radish on them. They looked appetizing but she had no idea how to open them.
"Do they peel here?" she muttered to herself, working at the paper wrappings around them. They weren't simple like bananas or candy wrappers. She got one off but it was just paper, not even offering a little window into the contents like the sandwiches in shops. Perhaps there was a special way to peel it, or a special tool, so she rummaged through the drawers looking for ideas. There were so many bits of metal and wood though, and none of them looked like can peelers.
She set the cans down in a neat stack and sighed.
"This is useless."
Back through the restaurant she went. The puppies had barely touched the water. The front door didn't open so she went around through the back door.
The alley looked very different now. The waitress lay next to the dead mother dog, splashed with red as though they'd been colored in outside the lines. Anna felt differently to see them like this, and her father's voice haunted back to her, speaking Alice's thoughts from Wonderland.
“I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!”
It was the greatest puzzle of all. She was Anna still, but not the Anna she remembered.
She walked past the bodies. The dog was definitely dead, but the waitress still had her faltering eyes open. The white glow clicked on and off.
"He's gone, I'm sorry," Anna said. "I don't say he didn't love you, but perhaps he wants the ocean more."
These seemed like very wise words, and Anna was proud of them. The waitress raised a hand and Anna took it, standing there for a time. Her skin was very cold.
"You'll be all right, I'm sure of it," she said. "Just don't give in. We never can give in."
Finally the waitress let go and Anna walked away.
The street in full sunlight was baking hot. Sweat poured down her face and back like a river. It came away on her hands smeared red. She had to have a wash. Even the asphalt underfoot was hot and smelled bitter. She looked in at the restaurant window to check on the puppies then moved on.
Down the street there were more places that might be restaurants. On the corner there was a shop and she wandered in through the pegged-open door. It was so dry inside, with newspaper pages blown all over the floor. There were lots of shelves, and many of them held more cans, but also jars and bags and boxes of cereal.
She filled up her backpack with water bottles, cereal boxes, cereal bars, candy bars, red strings and also with a big bag that had a picture of happy dogs on.
"Everybody likes candy," she muttered to herself, while she unwrapped and chewed on a Mars bar. It was mushy because of the heat, and delicious.
Back in the restaurant she poured hard little brown cereal nuggets out of the big dog bag onto a new plate. They smelled salty and meaty. She tried one but spat it out. Thank heaven she wasn't a dog!
The puppies sniffed at the dog-cereal bits but didn't seem too interested.
"They're really delicious," Anna said, and mimed eating a handful. They pattered off the carpet behind her, but the puppies couldn't see that. She held some up to their faces and put them on their paws, but they did no more than sniff.
She tried putting them in water and smashing them, like her banana milkshake, but that didn't help either. She dipped her finger in the mix and held it to their faces, and they licked a few times, but not very much.
"Perhaps they're not hungry," Anna said to herself. It was nice to hear someone speak. She looked at the bag again: it was definitely for dogs. They hadn't touched their water much either, but that was fine really, as sometimes Anna went without water for days, just because she forgot.
She tried a few other things. With a knife in the kitchen she tried to slice open some of the cans, but it just cut the paper labels to ribbons. She tried pouring the milk, but it was just as foul as always. She mushed a little bit of Mars bar onto her finger and offered it to them, but they turned up their cute button noses.
She petted the puppies and kissed them. They were truly getting sleepy now. Their hot little bodies were wilting like flowers. She arranged them in a line and sang a song to them, making up the tune with the words of Jabberwock.
One by one they went to sleep.
Anna ate some dry cereal. She stood outside and talked to the waitress some more, though it was a very one-sided conversation. It wasn't nice to look at her throat either, all torn and messy.
With water bottles she washed herself. Blood came off in crusty rinds. She was very careful washing her head, afraid water might somehow get into her brain. She didn't rub too hard at the hard bits of scab, though it was very tempting to do so.
When she was clean and dry, she didn't want to put her filthy dress back on. Instead she wandered around the streets for a while, enjoying the feel of the breeze on her skin and the heat of the road under her feet.
At last, two streets over, she found a shop with some clothes in it. The door was locked though, and she didn't know how else to get in.
Back at the restaurant she washed her dress, squeezing the old blood and dirt out of it. She'd done this at least a dozen times already, so it was quite stained, but she was used to that. It dried quickly on the hood of a hot red car. The metal was scalding. These routines were a good thing, probably, just like her old routines with her Daddy.
She went back inside the restaurant. It was hot and airless, so she stopped the side door open. She went back to the little Hatters and checked their water and their food. They hadn't touched any of them. She stroked their little bodies, and leaned in close to hear them breathing.
They weren't breathing at all, though. They were dead.
9. MISSION
She walked. She'd expected to cry, but it seemed like there were no more tears to cry. For a little while any kind of thinking became difficult and all she could do was walk.
The world changed around her. The town became a city and tall buildings gleamed with glass and metal. She walked down roads and side-alleys, past row after row of shuttered shops until she came to an intersection where a car had crashed impressively into a bus.
A dark stain that looked like blood spread across the blacktop. The car was crumpled, the whole front smashed up like a banana wedged into a too-small cup. The bus was dented too, with groove marks cut into its front fender.
Anna touched the tooth-holes in her head. It was all the same, really.
She climbed into the bus through the broken door, walked the length of the tilting aisle, and laid down on the furry back seat. She closed her eyes and trie
d to imagine all of this away. Maybe she wasn't a little girl lost in a city of death. Maybe she was a little girl going to school on the bus, riding with her Daddy by her side.
"What are you thinking, precious?" he would ask in his warm brown voice, because real Daddies talked.
"About birdwomen," she'd say, comfortable again in his presence, "about the cucumber men and their pomegranate farms."
He'd chuckle and stroke her frizzy hair. Maybe on the other side her Mommy would be sitting and smiling down. They would all be holding hands together. From the seats nearby there'd be the bustle of other children and parents talking, and outside there'd be the thrum of cars and buses; horns, people laughing, even planes buzzing by overhead.
She opened her eyes. It was silent, still, and she was alone. Imagination was useless.
She got off the bus and kept walking through the city. The day turned into night but she wasn't very tired, so she kept walking. Her Daddy had walked without ever stopping, so why should she be any different?
People passed her by at times, heading in the other direction; gray people in sun-bleached gray clothes, staring with their glowing white eyes off to the hidden horizon.
"You're nearly there," Anna would tell them, encouragement for the end of their long journeys. She wondered how long these people had been walking for, driven by some hunger she didn't understand. From what far-off places had they come without stopping even once?
"Only a little further, you'll be there by the dawn."
Sometimes she hugged them, especially if they looked like her Daddy. If she held their legs together just right they couldn't move while she hugged them. They were cold but they were something. Her dogs had all died and she needed something.
"Ok you can go now," she'd say, and they'd amble on, off to a tea party only they were invited to, and again and again Anna was left alone.
The night grew darker and she heard dogs howling in the distance. Their cries sounded so lonely, like the last lost cry of Wonderland as Alice left it behind. How would the Hatter and the March Hare feel when Alice left, and their entire world was lost? It was all made-up, after all, even the birdwomen and the cucumber-men too, and everyone knew that when the dreamer woke up, the dream died.
The Last Mayor Box Set Page 27