Alex, the Dog and the Unopenable Door

by Ross Montgomery

  Alex looked around in horror. Some of the other children were actually nodding.

  ‘Come on, Jeremy!’ said one. ‘Do it!’

  ‘Please!’ said another.

  ‘You’re an inspiration to us all,’ said Trent Davis, wiping away tears from the corners of his eyes. Alex looked around and took a deep breath.

  ‘Cool,’ he said emptily. ‘That’s totally cool.’

  ‘Great!’ Steph beamed.

  Everyone applauded and patted Alex on the back. Alex gave a thumbs-up, his face crumpling with misery. He had no idea being popular was so awful.

  ‘Well, come on everyone!’ Steph shouted, running up the stairs. ‘Let’s get some well-earned rest for our big day tomorrow!’

  Everyone grabbed their instruments and ran up the stairs, piling in through the door. Alex sighed desperately and trudged after them.

  ‘I didn’t know you were good,’ said Martha. ‘You don’t look it.’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ said Alex. ‘I’m like, totally the best at horn playing there is!’

  ‘What are you going to play us?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, you know, whatever!’ Alex laughed, looking away. ‘Like, an opera, or whatever.’

  ‘You’re going to play a whole opera?’ said Martha suspiciously.

  ‘Awesome!’ said Alex, fighting through the crowd to get away from her. But everyone had stopped and had started all shouting at once. Over the top of their voices, Steph’s air-raid siren could be heard screaming with frustration. Alex pushed to the front and looked into their barracks. The room ahead of him was filled with hundreds of barking dogs.

  8

  The night watchman rubbed the stubble on his cheeks with a tea-stained hand and looked with apprehension at the young man standing in front of him. In all his years working as a security guard at the Cusp he hadn’t seen much. He’d certainly never seen anyone quite like this.

  ‘Please,’ said the young man, clawing at the edge of the desk. ‘I’m begging you.’

  The night watchman glanced down nervously, shifted his half-eaten slice of cake a little closer and looked back up.

  ‘Look,’ he said wearily. ‘I’ve already told you: there’s nothing I can do. The bus got inside the perimeter a few hours ago. That’s all I can say. Firstly, it’s against base regulations to tell you anything else. Secondly, even if I could tell you, I wouldn’t know who was on that bus.’

  He punctuated the statement by taking a mouthful of cake.

  ‘But it’s an emergency,’ said the man.

  ‘So you keep saying,’ said the night watchman through the cake, spraying crumbs across his front and a wide spread of the table. ‘But that’s just how things work around here.’

  The young man groaned. The night watchman finished the cake and had a good long look at him. He wasn’t certain, but he could almost swear the man was wearing a school blazer two sizes too big for him.

  ‘Please,’ the young man repeated. ‘I’m desperate.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said the night watchman. ‘But there’s nothing I can do. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m extremely busy.’

  He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. The young man didn’t move. The night watchman sat with arms crossed for a bit. Then he took a flapjack from his pocket and started eating it.

  ‘You’re not busy,’ said the young man angrily. ‘You’re not doing anything!’

  ‘I’m doing paperwork,’ said the night watchman, nodding at the stack of papers on the desk in front of him. The young man grabbed the top sheet and looked at it.

  ‘This is a script,’ the young man said. ‘For a local production of HMS Pinafore.’

  ‘Give that back!’ the night watchman yelled, snatching it out the young man’s hands. ‘All right, fine, I’m not busy. But I already told you, there’s nothing I can do. Have you taken a look over there?’

  He nodded at the vans piling up at the main gates in the distance, honking and flashing their headlights. People were jumping out, carting enormous television cameras and microphone booms up to the barbed-wire fence, vying for a good shot of the floodlit base in the distance.

  ‘It’s chaos,’ said the night watchman. ‘Vans coming in, vans coming out, everything’s behind schedule … By tomorrow morning every news station in the world’s going to be inside, too!’

  ‘For the press conference?’ said the man.

  ‘Yep,’ the night watchman nodded. ‘There’s going to be a big announcement. Really big.’

  ‘Do you know what it is?’

  The night watchman blinked.

  ‘Er, no,’ he said. ‘They don’t tell me stuff like that. It’s top secret. But quite frankly our last concern is whether or not the wrong child is playing First French Horn in the orchestra.’

  ‘Then let me in,’ said the young man. ‘Let me sort it out.’

  The night watchman stared at him like he was completely mad.

  ‘Listen,’ he sighed, picking up his phone. ‘I’ll do you a favour, seeing as I feel sorry for you. I’ll send a message to the people at the boundary about your boy. How about that?’

  The young man’s face suddenly flooded with horror.

  ‘No!’ he cried, throwing himself over the counter and slamming his hand down onto the phone. ‘Don’t phone anyone!’

  The night watchman leaped back a foot. ‘What do you think you’re doing?!’ he bellowed. ‘This is a security booth!’

  The young man slithered over the counter and landed on the floor beside him, clutching the phone. The night watchman trembled with indignation.

  ‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘Get out! I’m in a whole lot of trouble at the moment, believe you me, this is more than my job’s worth!’

  ‘Trouble?’ said the young man.

  ‘Yes, trouble!’ the night watchman shouted, shoving the young man out the door.

  ‘Is it to do with Alex J. Jennings the explorer?’ said the young man quickly. ‘And how he broke into the Cusp last night?’

  The night watchman started and glared at him in horror.

  ‘… You know about that?’ he muttered.

  The young man nodded. The night watchman dragged him back inside the booth, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Who told you?’ he hissed, prodding him. ‘Was it Steve?’

  ‘Er …’ said the young man.

  ‘That’s top-secret information!’ the night watchman growled. ‘No one’s supposed to know about it! It was Steve, wasn’t it? I bet it was Steve.’

  ‘Er … yep,’ the young man nodded.

  The night watchman trembled with anger.

  ‘That damn loudmouth! I’ll kill him!’

  ‘Is that why the announcement’s been so sudden?’ said the young man.

  The night watchman’s eyes widened with worry.

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to be announced for months yet,’ he said. ‘But ever since the break-in the whole place has gone crazy. Kyte’s really spooked by it. I mean, I only turned my back for one second … how was I to know that nutjob was hiding outside my booth?’

  ‘Alex J. Jennings?’ said the young man. ‘He just snuck past you?’

  The night watchman sighed with humiliation. ‘Worse. He waited until I went to the toilet and barricaded me inside with a chair. There’s no windows in there or anything! And I’d left my walkie-talkie on the desk, so I couldn’t call the other perimeters …’

  ‘That’s not your fault,’ said the young man. ‘It’s a simple mistake. Anyone could have made it.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said the night watchman. ‘But try telling that to management. “Gross negligence”, they said! “Inadequacy”!’

  ‘What, and it’s your fault that you’ve been provided with improper facilities?’ the young man said furiously. ‘Without a panic alarm in the toilets? You’re a security guard, for heaven’s sake! You’re risking your life every night! It’s a disgrace!’

  ‘You think?’ said the night watchman. />
  ‘Without a doubt!’ said the young man. ‘Where’s your toilet?’

  ‘Here,’ said the night watchman, opening a door at the back of the booth. The young man looked in and shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Barely even enough room to turn around,’ he muttered. ‘How long did you say you were stuck in there?’

  ‘All night,’ said the night watchman pitifully. ‘I got terrible cramp.’

  ‘Unbelievable!’ the young man cried. ‘And just look at how easy it is for me to lock you in here!’

  He pushed the night watchman into the toilet.

  ‘Yeah, you see?’ said the night watchman. ‘We should take some pictures and send them to the press! That’d show them!’

  The young man closed the door. There was the sound of a chair being jammed under the handle. The night watchman pushed against the door.

  ‘Yep, doesn’t move an inch. Just goes to show, eh? Ridiculous.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said the young man. From behind the door came the sound of a filing cabinet being dragged across the floor.

  ‘No need for that, mate,’ the night watchman shouted. ‘The chair’s all we need to prove it.’

  ‘Great!’ There was a smash, not unlike the sound a computer screen would make hitting the floor as the desk was overturned and placed against the door.

  ‘You can let me out now,’ said the night watchman.

  There was no reply. The night watchman swore he could hear his locker being opened and his spare uniform being zipped up.

  ‘Mate?’ he said nervously.

  And the sound of the booth door being slammed shut.

  ‘Mate?’

  Silence. The night watchman pushed against the door. It was stuck fast. He grabbed in his pocket for his walkie-talkie. He pulled out his half-eaten flapjack.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said.

  9

  Alex peered out from under the blanket. The barracks were still and silent. Outside, dawn was breaking. The only sounds around him were the gentle snores of children and dogs lying side by side. The air was thick and warm with the smell of the sleeping dogs.

  Now, Alex, said a voice in his head. Now’s your chance.

  Alex sat up and started. Something was brushing up against his leg. He looked down. At his side, a friendly-looking terrier was gazing up at him. It wore a black patch over one eye and was wagging his tail sleepily.

  ‘Hello, friend,’ whispered Alex.

  The dog wagged his tail harder and made to lick Alex’s face.

  ‘Shh!’ Alex said, pushing him gently away. ‘Not now. Go back to sleep.’

  The dog grumbled and fell drowsily back to the floor. His chest was soon once again rising and falling and his legs gently kicking, dreaming his dog dreams.

  Alex picked himself up and looked around the barracks. No one else was awake. Most were curled up on their bunk beds with a handful of snoozing schnauzers, or on the floor using fluffy poodles as makeshift pillows. Trent Davis was cuddling up to a snoring Dobermann. Only Martha lay alone against the wall, her back to the room. She was trying to hide her face, so no one could see she’d taken her teeth out for the night.

  Alex tiptoed silently between the sleeping bodies and came to the door. His exit was blocked by Steph, sleeping surrounded by a collection of long-haired Labradoodles. Her arms were wrapped protectively around her clipboard.

  ‘It’s such an honour to receive this award,’ she murmured groggily.

  Alex took a silent breath and lifted up one leg. He stretched it over the mound of sleeping dogs, until in one giant step he had finally placed his foot on the other side. He held himself for a moment, legs akimbo. Then, in a flash, he whipped his other leg across and fell unsteadily against the door. No one stirred. Alex exhaled. He opened the door, fraction by fraction, and squeezed himself through the frame.

  He stood outside in the early morning sun. In front of him stood the Unfinished Pier, a great broken mess of wooden boards and steel rivets jutting out from the boundary. The Forbidden Land lay stretching out before him, its waves of grass swelling with the breeze that seemed to blow endlessly across it.

  ‘The Forbidden Land,’ said Alex quietly.

  He peered at the trees just visible on the horizon.

  That’s the forest, said the voice in his head. The one he told you about.

  Alex stood and stared. Far away, the treetops leaned and swayed in the wind.

  Do you remember the stories he used to tell you, before he got sick?

  Alex’s stomach tied itself in knots.

  ‘Stupid,’ he said out loud.

  He crept down the runway, back towards the main part of the base. Work was still going on at a feverish pace under the glow of floodlights. Three more enormous warehouses had been put up, their curved steel roofs now alive with the flickering blowtorches of a hundred frantic welders. Alex leaned against the side of one of the buildings and peered around the edge. The perimeter fence was now in sight. Trucks were still pouring in, weaving through the bustling crowd of reporters and cameramen that clogged the runways.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Alex. All he had to do was hide in the crowds, and he’d be able to sneak back through the security fences without being noticed …

  Only once you leave, said the voice, you won’t be able to come back.

  Alex started. ‘Why would I want to come back?’

  Deep down, Alex already knew the answer. His stomach tied itself in knots again.

  ‘I already said,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t save him. They’ll find me, and lock me up too. And what good is that?’

  You’re just going to … leave him here?

  ‘Why not?’ said Alex bitterly. ‘He left me too. He left me more than anyone else.’

  You would rather run away, said the voice, and live alone in the Outskirts?

  Alex turned back to the forest, a solitary island on the horizon.

  ‘I’m alone already,’ he said quietly.

  ‘WATCH OUT!’

  A speeding truck suddenly screeched to a stop, narrowly missing him. Alex swung round. The driver furiously leaned out the window.

  ‘You idiot!’ he cried. ‘Are you trying to get yourself killed?’

  Alex panicked. ‘I … er …’

  The worker shook his head and picked up a walkie-talkie. ‘Kids! Hang on. What’s your name?’

  Alex didn’t think. In one second he had spun on his heel and flung himself into the darkness of the nearest warehouse.

  ‘Hey!’ cried the worker. ‘Hey, come back!’

  Alex ran as fast as he could without looking back, his eyes desperately searching the darkness for a way out. All around him were cages, hundreds of cages lining the walls on every side, stacked right up to the ceiling. There was no way out. The air was filled with the echoes of barking dogs and the clanging of their metal doors as they tried to escape. He came to a far wall, and there it was – a metal door in the corner. He threw it open and fell into the dimly lit corridor that lay behind it. It was empty. Alex ran on, glancing fearfully over his shoulders. In the darkness it was impossible to tell if the man was following him or not. He had to keep running.

  He turned a corner, skidding on his heels. At the end of the corridor was a shabby-looking curtain. He breathed a sigh of relief and flew inside. Alex stopped dead. He was on a stage. He was in front of an enormous crowd of people.

  ‘Oh crikey,’ he said.

  He caught sight of a great long table in the centre of the stage beside him. Without another moment’s pause he flung himself underneath it and covered his head with his hands. The auditorium was bustling and noisy. Nobody seemed to have noticed him come in. He carefully lifted the side of the tablecloth with a finger. The place was filled with hundreds upon hundreds of reporters, chatting animatedly to each other.

  ‘Oh crikey,’ Alex said again.

  There was a wail of microphone feedback. Everyone turned excitedly to face the stage, and at once the air was filled with shouts and cries and
the sounds of photographs being taken. Alex’s eyes were suddenly blinded by a thousand camera flashes.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ came a voice over the speakers, ‘thank you for your patience and co-operation this evening. The press conference is finally ready to begin. May I introduce the Official Head of Expeditions … Mr Davidus Kyte.’

  Alex’s stomach dropped. He crawled back as fast as he could to the edge of the table, but a pair of shoes immediately shot under the red tablecloth, missing his fingers by inches. The raised heels of Davidus Kyte were unmistakable. Alex fell backwards again, his heart racing.

  He was trapped.

  The applause died down. Kyte’s reedy breath seethed out of the speakers around him.

  ‘Good evening.’

  The reporters fell silent. Kyte took the opportunity for a dramatic pause.

  ‘For over a thousand years,’ he began, ‘the Order has struggled in vain to discover what lies at the centre of the land beyond the boundary.’

  He took another pause. You could have heard a pin drop.

  ‘Tomorrow morning’, he continued, ‘will mark an historic moment in its relationship with that struggle. For too long the land past the boundary has been left unexplored, unknowable, undiscovered. But after tomorrow, our children will no longer think of the Cusp as the extent of man’s knowledge.’

  There was a growing murmur of excitement throughout the audience. The flashing of cameras reached a fever pitch.

  ‘Because tomorrow,’ Davidus announced, ‘a new Expedition will set out across the boundary. And this time the Expedition shall succeed.’

  The room exploded. Everyone started shouting at once. Alex lay on the carpet, his heart pounding.

  ‘Quiet, please!’ came a voice over the speakers. ‘Mr Kyte will now take several questions from the audience.’

  Alex peered carefully under the tablecloth. The reporters in front of him were now on their feet, waving their hands in the air.

  ‘You,’ came Davidus’s voice, ‘at the front.’