Doglands

by Tim Willocks

  “Please, help me!” begged the pup.

  Furgul looked all around but didn’t see anything. It didn’t make sense.

  “Where did you come from?” said Furgul. “How did you get here?”

  “I don’t know,” said the puppy. “Everything went dark, then my leg hurt.”

  The puppy wasn’t lying. The sooner they got out of here, the better. Furgul bent over and grabbed the puppy by the scruff of the neck with his teeth. He picked him up and turned to carry him back to the house. He heard a rustle in the bushes and dropped the pup and started to dodge away. But too late.

  He heard a sound: CLACK-CLACK!

  Then something hard as steel hit Furgul’s skull. He staggered, still trying to get away, trying to open his jaws to bite, but a sack was thrown over his head and he couldn’t see. He struggled but there were two of them. He felt ropes wrap around him and tighten, trapping him in the sack. He heard the poor puppy squealing and heard several heavy blows with the steel bar. The puppy fell silent.

  Furgul knew there was no point in fighting the ropes. The men would only hit him again and that would make him weaker. Furgul played dead. He felt the two men pick him up. As they carried him away the chemical stink got weaker, and he got a whiff of something he recognized: the rancid odor of Spotty and Tattoo. They dumped him in the bed of their truck, swearing and chuckling with glee. Then they drove away into the night—and Furgul left Appletree farther and farther behind.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE CARNIVAL

  Spotty and Tattoo were crafty. When they got Furgul out of the sack, they didn’t untie the ropes until they’d fastened a choke-collar around his neck. The choke-collar and leash were made of steel chain. They also put a muzzle over his snout. He couldn’t bite and he couldn’t run away. Furgul decided there was no point in fighting until he had a chance to win. When they pulled on the leash, he jumped from the back of the truck without resistance.

  It was morning now, and the scents he’d smelled on the dognappers—cotton candy, hot dogs and engine grease—saturated the air. As Tattoo pulled him along with vicious—and unnecessary—tugs on the choker, Furgul took a look around.

  They were on a sprawl of wasteland at the edge of a town. The wasteland was covered with enormous, dirty machines and with funny little brightly colored shacks full of gimcracks and glitter. In fact, the whole place seemed to be built from color and dirt.

  There was a giant wheel festooned with colored buckets. There was a railway that went up and down—over towering peaks and plunging dips—with colored carriages sitting in a row on the tracks. There was a contraption with long metal arms, like a giant spider’s, and at the end of the arms were colored coaches with bright red plastic seats. The little shacks were painted with colored stripes and hung with colored balloons. There were colored flags and colored plastic castles and colored fake horses hanging from stripy poles. The colors were so many and so loud, you could almost hear them shouting.

  Yet everything was smeared with dirt, and the place was quiet.

  None of the machines were moving. And no one was living in the little stripy shacks. A few people mooched around here and there, but they didn’t speak to each other. Their clothes were as brightly colored as the machines, and their faces were just as dirty. Furgul didn’t know where he was, but he knew he didn’t like it.

  Tattoo dragged him through the dirt toward a holding pen that was fenced and roofed with wire mesh. At the back was a filthy kennel made of corrugated iron. Furgul’s nose detected a gang of dogs. The dogs, like the people, stank of junk food and nasty habits. Bad people and bad dogs were a bad combination. Furgul felt a clench of fear in his belly. He remembered what Argal had said.

  When you’re scared is the only time you really need to be brave.

  Furgul saw the dogs in the cage, and the dogs saw him. They pressed their noses to the wire and checked him out, their black nostrils writhing, their slavering mouths hanging open to reveal rotting teeth. There were four of them, all skanky mutts. They must have been picked for their spiteful and obnoxious temperaments: mixed-up breeds of Doberman and corgi, pit bull and collie, and others too weird to untangle. Dogs who’d been born mean, and whose masters had treated them badly to make them meaner.

  Tattoo unlocked the gate of the holding pen and spat curses at the dogs. Mean though they were, the dogs were terrified and cringed away. Tattoo loosened the choke-chain and slipped it from Furgul’s neck and kicked him inside. The boot caught him hard on one hind leg. But Tattoo didn’t take Furgul’s muzzle off. Furgul couldn’t use his teeth to defend himself.

  “Welcome to the carnival, dogbait,” said one of the mutts.

  “Give him a break, Gremlin,” said another. “The dogbait hasn’t had his breakfast yet.”

  “Neither have we, Lunk,” said Gremlin. “But it’s just walked in the door.”

  The gang laughed and slavered, their drool making pools in the dirt.

  Furgul didn’t respond. These dogs had done this before. Many times before. He could see it in their soulless eyes and smell it on their breath. He had to keep calm and think it through. Argal had given him advice on how to fight in a muzzle.

  A muzzle takes away your teeth, but look around—there are teeth everywhere.

  Furgul’s eyes roved the pen. He spotted a nail sticking out two inches from a fence post. He saw a couple of sharp, rusty edges on the corrugated iron of the walled kennel at the rear. Just in front of the kennel was a stout metal trough on legs, which stank of rancid hot dogs and french fries. Between the roof of the kennel and the roof of the pen, there was just enough room to stand up in.

  Turn your enemy’s attack against him. Use speed, timing and position.

  Furgul felt out the ground beneath his paws. It was slick with drool and other filth. His eyes returned to Gremlin. Gremlin was the type of nasty little rat dropping who liked to talk tough—as long as there were other dogs to do the fighting.

  “The masters are always stealing lurchers and greyhounds,” said Gremlin. “They’ve only got one use for you lot—and none of you ever come back.”

  Gremlin stared at him. Furgul stared back. It was a battle for dominance.

  The fight is won or lost before it starts. Never be the first to blink.

  Furgul remembered Argal’s awesome stare, when they’d first met in the Trap truck. After holding the eyes of the king, looking into Gremlin’s hateful little face was as challenging as staring down a hamster. After only a few seconds, Gremlin blinked and turned away. His cronies hooted and mocked him.

  “Did you see that, Freak?” crowed Lunk. “Gremlin’s scared of the dogbait.”

  Freak rolled his massive shoulders. “Dog—bait,” he mumbled, very slowly.

  Freak deserved his name. His yellow coat was shaggy and matted with grime. His big flat head was misshapen, as if a mastiff had mated with a donkey. His teeth were as dirty and yellow as his coat. Furgul guessed that his brain was no larger than a peanut, and that even at that size, half of it had never been used.

  “Very good, Freak,” said Gremlin. “That’s the longest word you’ve ever learned. And I’m not scared of the dogbait, Lunk. I just got something stuck in my eye.” Gremlin scrubbed his eye with a paw, but no one was fooled, not even Freak.

  “Does the dogbait want to scare me?” said the fourth dog.

  Furgul looked at him. The fourth dog wasn’t as big or as monstrous as Freak, but he looked to be the most dangerous of the four. His eyes were cold, and his spirit was dead, extinguished by countless beatings. All that was left inside him was the need to hurt other dogs, the same way that his masters had hurt him.

  “Well, do you want to scare me? Dogbait?” said the fourth dog.

  “Take it easy, Chopper,” said Lunk. “The masters will want the dogbait fit for work. Nothing worse than flesh wounds, remember? Just enough blood to make him tempting to the guard dogs. He’s got to be able to run fast.”

  “I know the routine,” growled
Chopper. “By the time I’ve finished, the dogbait will be running faster than a rat on fire.”

  Furgul had no idea what they were talking about. He didn’t bother to ask. He was still staring at Chopper’s eyes without blinking. Any second now Chopper would make his move. Furgul decided to provoke him.

  “Tell me, Chopper,” said Furgul. “Why do dogs who can’t fight always have such tough names?”

  Chopper hurtled toward him with a growl of rage, his teeth bared and gnashing. Furgul stepped aside and circled behind him. The wind of Chopper’s snapping jaws blew through Furgul’s whiskers. Chopper tried to halt his furious charge but skidded on the slippery ground. He smashed into Freak, and Freak, without thinking, bit a piece out of Chopper’s ear. Chopper snapped back.

  “Not me, you yellow oaf!” said Chopper. “I’m fighting the dogbait, not you.”

  Freak lumbered backward into the fence. “Dogbait,” he drooled.

  Chopper charged again. Furgul took off across the pen, Chopper’s fangs snapping at his tail. The metal trough loomed in front of him. Just before he got there, Furgul coiled his hind legs and powered up into the air. As he landed on the roof of the kennel, he heard Chopper crash into the trough. He glanced down. Perfect position.

  “Where is he?” roared Chopper.

  Chopper’s head was right over the trough, his throat above the hard metal rim. Furgul dropped down from the roof, curling his legs underneath him. He landed full force on the back of Chopper’s neck. His weight smashed Chopper’s throat down onto the hard metal rim of the trough with a loud crack. Furgul landed on his feet and backed away.

  Chopper twitched in jerky spasms. Pink foam spilled from his mouth.

  His cold, dead eyes would be cold and dead forever.

  Furgul had never killed a dog before, but he felt no remorse. He hadn’t started this fight. He was muzzled and outnumbered. And Chopper wouldn’t bully greyhounds anymore. Chopper had gotten what he deserved.

  “Dogbait!” roared Freak.

  Furgul turned as Freak pounded toward him. What Freak lacked in speed he made up for in strength and fury. Furgul glanced ahead at the kennel. For an instant—with a shock—he saw the gleam of deep, dark eyes inside the door. But then they vanished. He glanced back at Freak and waited for the monster dog to come.

  “Dogbait!” roared Freak.

  At the last moment Furgul ducked sideways, and Freak lurched after him, trampling on Chopper’s corpse. Furgul spun around and stuck his hind leg out, right between Freak’s front paws. Freak tripped, tumbled onto his face and went head over heels. His back slammed into the kennel, and a sharp rusty edge of corrugated iron sliced him open to the bone. Freak howled with pain and rage and scrambled to his feet. He wanted to get his teeth into Furgul. Freak charged again.

  Furgul ran across the yard but slowed until the brute was right on his heels. Furgul looked up ahead. There it was. He ran straight toward the fence post. An inch away, he braked and skipped to the left, the wire mesh scraping along his flanks. He heard a great clunk, and the whole pen shook and rattled like a giant tambourine.

  Furgul turned.

  Freak had run headfirst into the fence post, just as Furgul had intended. He stood there panting and growling as if nothing had happened. But when he tried to move he couldn’t do it. He shook his head from side to side, and the pen rattled even louder. Freak couldn’t turn around. Furgul took a closer look. The nail sticking out of the fence post had driven straight through Freak’s forehead. The nail must have missed his brain because Freak seemed as strong as ever. He seemed just as stupid too.

  “Dogbait! Dogbait! Dogbait!” howled Freak.

  Furgul left Freak to rattle the cage and turned to Lunk and Gremlin.

  “Two down, two to go.”

  Without the big bullies to protect them, Lunk and Gremlin huddled together like the nasty little cowards they were. Furgul panted to cool down. He’d never felt more alive. He breathed deep through his nostrils. Beyond the foul stench of dying dogs, grease and carnival filth, he thought he detected a scent from long ago.

  Lunk and Gremlin barked in panic at whoever was inside the kennel.

  “The dogbait’s killing us! Help!” pleaded Lunk. “We need you!”

  “We’re sorry we wouldn’t let you join the gang!” wailed Gremlin.

  Furgul turned toward the kennel. So there was another dog in there.

  Just at that moment he heard a “plop!” Freak was sitting back on his haunches, staring at the wet nail in the fence.

  “Freak, hurry!” barked Gremlin. “Let’s rush him! He can’t take us all at once!”

  Furgul watched Gremlin and Lunk dart toward him, their sharp teeth bared to nip at his tail while Freak and the mystery dog attacked him. Freak had turned around from the fence post. The leaking hole between his eyes didn’t seem to bother him at all. He shambled toward Furgul, smacking his lips. But what bothered Furgul most was the mystery dog. He glanced over his shoulder at the kennel. He felt a ferocious power in there, lurking inside the dark doorway.

  Freak, Lunk and Gremlin closed in on him.

  “Here she comes!” cried Lunk. “Lend her a claw, boys!”

  A thunderbolt, black as midnight, exploded from the gloom of the kennel.

  She was fast.

  Much faster than Chopper. And almost as fast as Furgul. Furgul’s plan was to dodge behind Lunk and Gremlin and tangle them up. As the devil dog closed in behind him, Furgul sprang forward, jumping over Lunk’s head. He landed and turned, ready to run, but what he saw stopped him right in his tracks.

  The devil dog was a stunning German shepherd, but instead of coming at Furgul, she went straight for Freak’s throat and sunk her teeth in. With one savage twist of her head she left Freak panting his last in the blood-slaked dirt. She whirled and sprang at Lunk, who was too shocked with horror to move. A second later Lunk lay dying too. The shepherd turned on Gremlin with the gore of both victims dripping from her fangs.

  Gremlin squealed with terror and ran to the wire. He scrabbled at the dirt like a mole deranged, trying to dig a hole beneath the fence, though he must have known he would never make it. The shepherd walked over. As Gremlin whimpered for mercy, she crunched her jaws through the back of his neck, and it was over.

  She turned to look at Furgul. She’d changed a lot since last they’d met. Cruelty and abuse, and the company of evil, had changed her. What was most amazing was this: While killing the three cur dogs, she hadn’t made a single sound.

  Not a bark, not a growl, not a whisper.

  She didn’t play at fighting anymore.

  She was silent death.

  “Hello, Dervla,” said Furgul.

  Dervla didn’t answer. She held his gaze.

  There was a darkness in her eyes that came from somewhere painful deep inside. Dervla had learned how to hate. She’d become a ruthless killer. Furgul’s heart went out to her. Yet despite all she’d been through, despite the many scars on her hide and the scars on her soul, she still seemed lovely to him. She walked past him and poked at Freak’s body with her paw. Furgul wondered if she still knew how to smile.

  “I don’t think he’s going to get up,” said Furgul.

  “You’d better believe it.”

  She wasn’t smiling, but at least she knew how to talk. Furgul had the feeling that she hadn’t done even that in a long, long time. She looked at him.

  “That was a neat trick, with the nail,” she said.

  “Something my dad told me. There are teeth everywhere.”

  Dervla licked the blood from her whiskers. “Hope I didn’t spoil your fun.”

  Furgul laughed, but Dervla wasn’t joking. He could see she’d enjoyed the killing. And why not? Dervla was a born huntress. And she’d saved his life.

  “Dervla,” said Furgul, “I’m very happy to see you.”

  Dervla said, “I’m happy to see you too.”

  • • •

  Dervla chewed through the strap of Furgul’s muzzle. What a
relief it was to get it off. Then she made herself comfortable by using Freak’s corpse as a bed.

  “It’s the biggest spot in the yard that isn’t covered with slime,” she explained.

  Furgul thought this was a very good idea. He went over to where Chopper lay and quickly checked his coat for evidence of fleas. To his surprise he didn’t find any and grabbed Chopper by the scruff of his broken neck. He dragged him into a sunny spot near Dervla and settled down on top of him. Chopper was a bit bony, but his body was a big improvement over lying in the blood and the ooze.

  “They won’t start stinking too badly before tonight,” said Dervla. “By that time you’ll be gone. And I’ll never see you again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Furgul,” she said, “I’m glad to see you’re still in one piece. And they haven’t broken you inside yet, which is even better. But don’t expect me to get close to you. When you leave I don’t want to have to care. I don’t want to care at all. And you will leave. The masters will make sure of that, just like they did the last time we met. And believe me, this time, we’ll never see each other again.”

  With a sudden sick feeling in his stomach, Furgul realized that Dervla was saying that she had been broken inside. For a moment he couldn’t believe it. Then he saw the expression in her eyes. A terrible sadness came over him. He didn’t want to think about the horrible things they had done to her. He didn’t want to argue with her either.

  “Do you know why they called you dogbait?” asked Dervla.

  Furgul shook his head.

  “Because that’s what you are,” said Dervla. “You’re bait for the guard dogs.”

  “What guard dogs?”

  “Tattoo and Spotty are thieves. Burglars. They break into the houses of rich people, when the rich people are away. Then they steal loot.”

  “You mean money?”

  “Money and things they can sell for money. Jewelry, gold watches, music machines, TVs, even clothes. Anything they can carry. But some of the rich have guard dogs. Like me.”