Dog

by Andy Mulligan

  There was another silence. Tom’s father sat down.

  “We can still do the laundry, you know. It just means… organisation. Let’s get going, and we’ll sort it tonight.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here.”

  Tom’s dad added some sugar and sipped again. Tom stared at a spoon, and another silence stretched between them, unbreakable. Outside, a builder chose the moment to hammer at a piece of wood, and they found themselves listening as he drove home the nails: every blow ricocheted twice, and then it was so quiet again that it hurt.

  Phil’s phone bleeped, but he ignored it.

  “Your school is the best there is,” said Tom’s dad. “We chose it together. You worked for that exam, and you passed it easily, and you’re doing well. You’re clever, and you enjoy it… or you used to.”

  Tom said nothing, so his father sipped his drink and swallowed.

  “It’s an adjustment—of course it is.”

  “I don’t have any friends.”

  “Tom, we talked about this. You told us you wanted a new start and a whole new challenge—that’s what you said, and we didn’t push you.”

  “Mum did.”

  “Did she? She encouraged you, yes. Because she—”

  “Because she what?”

  “Believed in you. As she still does, just as I still do. Phil does—everyone does. And what happened with the dog was a terrible thing, but we have to get past it and move on.”

  Tom went to speak, but found that this time he couldn’t.

  “You’re not a baby any more,” said his father. “Things change, and there are some things in this world that we have to face. We have to cope with what life throws at us. If you don’t go to school, you’ll fall behind and become more miserable. What do you want to do? Sit there all day and feel angry? I’ll buy you another dog.”

  Tom put his hands over his face.

  “I will, Tom, if—”

  “I don’t want another dog, and I don’t want anyone. Why were you so cruel? Is that why people leave all the time? Because of you?”

  Dad put down his cup.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I want to leave, too. I want to get out of here and never come back. I can’t stand it here.”

  “I’m sorry. But people leave because things go wrong. Sometimes we break, Tom. I break because I’m not a saint—I’m human, like you. And right this minute I’m on the very edge—so is she—”

  “Where did she go? Where is she?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Mum needed some space, whatever that means. And if you need to ask questions, you should just talk to her, because all you’re doing at the moment is hurting yourself. It can’t go on.”

  Nobody spoke. The builder started drilling.

  “I’m not having you sitting there all day. Listen to me, Tom. I’m going to go upstairs. By the time I get back, you will have walked out of here and you will be on your way to school. Blow your nose, please. Get your bag. And get yourself moving.”

  Tom sat back in his chair as his dad left the room.

  He watched as Phil walked to the kitchen door in silence, bolting it shut. That meant he would be leaving soon. He would go up to his room first, to get a few bits and pieces, and then he would ride away. His keys were on the counter, because he picked them up last, and Tom stared at the long, silver one, aware that his stomach had contracted. Sweat prickled under his arms, and he started to breathe faster. He waited for Phil to reach the landing. He could hear his father in the bathroom, so there was no time to lose.

  The moped was right outside the house, and Tom had the keys in his hand. If he wore the crash helmet, nobody would see that he was too young to be riding. He knew how to control the thing because Phil had let him play on it in the garden, and he even had five pounds in his pocket should he need fuel. He opened the front door, pulling his coat over his blazer—the zip went right up to the chin, so the red and black were concealed. There was nothing to stop him now, except the fear of getting caught—and why should he care about that? School was over—he would never go back. If he ended up in jail, what did it matter?

  He would scour the roads and find out the truth, for something had clicked into place. It was something Phil had said—about Robert Tayler, and the need to cause upset, or pain. It had brought back the memory of the boy’s evil smile. He’d been grinning even as he wrote his note, and he’d gazed at Tom as he opened it. Phil hadn’t been there, but he’d known instinctively, and he—Tom—had been stupidly slow. He had swallowed a lie, and if that was the case, Spider was alive and well, and needed to be found.

  He closed the door and eased the bike off its stand. It was heavier than he remembered, and more awkward, but he got it down and steadied it. The helmet was bright yellow, locked to a bar by the saddle: he freed it and slipped it over his head. All he had to do now was mount the thing and fire the motor, but his hands were trembling so violently that he couldn’t turn the key. Finally, he managed it: the motor roared, and he only just remembered how to engage the brake.

  Surely Phil would hear the noise? He would recognize the sound of his own bike and burst out of the house. Tom pulled the throttle back, hard, and lifted his feet. The next second he’d swerved into the middle of the road, hauling the handlebars round just in time. He wobbled and veered sideways, braking again. Then he accelerated harder than ever, and was gone.

  Nobody gave chase.

  Phil heard the door close, and so did Tom’s father.

  They came down to the kitchen together, relieved to find it empty. They assumed the boy was being sensible, and didn’t realize that the moped keys were missing for another twenty minutes. They had another cup of tea together, agreeing that Tom would get over his loss soon and things would get better. By the time Phil discovered the theft, Tom was on the ring road.

  The truck’s shutter had lifted completely, and the workers stood ready. Spider gazed in horror, trying to take in his new surroundings.

  The rear of the truck fitted snugly into the bay, and amber lamps gave the world a sickly glow. A bell was still ringing, and he could hear the violent drumming of wheels as a conveyor belt cranked into life. Those waiting wore identical white overalls and their eyes peered out over face masks, so you couldn’t tell if they were men or women. What scared Spider most, though, were their bright red gauntlets—he could smell a powerful disinfectant, but under it was the unmistakable scent of blood.

  As he looked on, whimpering, two of the figures leapt into the truck and set about their work. They disentangled the cages, using their boots to kick them into line. Then they lifted them, one at a time, and hurled them out of the vehicle. They didn’t need to sort them. Nobody looked inside, for nobody cared about individual animals. The cages were flung from one worker to the next, and there were cheers as they bundled them towards the conveyor belt.

  Spider had no idea where Moonlight was, for his own cage had been thrown to one side and he’d lost all sense of direction. The next moment, he felt hands lifting him up and he was pitched through the air. When he was slammed down again the breath was knocked from his body.

  The flea was gripping the dog’s fur for dear life.

  “Spider!” it cried. “Do something!”

  “Go,” gasped the dog.

  “Go where?”

  “Save yourself! Jump!”

  Dazed and desperate, Spider got his head up and glimpsed what lay ahead. He was on the conveyor. It was moving slowly into the factory’s dark mouth, and he could feel the heat of an oven. In the distance there was a small, square hatch that every cage would pass through. The bell had stopped ringing, and there was now a low, mechanical grinding, while the belt still groaned and squeaked. Suddenly a buzzer sounded. The motors changed up a gear, and there was a scream that left Spider cowering. The unloading was complete—he could see that—and the belt was accelerating. Moonligh
t appeared for a moment, two cages ahead of him, and he realized that he hadn’t even said goodbye. He searched for Buster, twisting painfully in his prison, but seconds later he was through the hatch, and was plunged into inky blackness. The flea was still in his ear, pinching hard even as it shook.

  Spider felt a change in direction, and he pawed at the wire. He barked and attacked the cage with his teeth. He lashed out with his claws, but they were blunt and useless. On he went, into the light again, and now he could hear pulleys above. The lamps were mercilessly bright, and the world had expanded into a great white chamber covered in gleaming tiles. Spider looked left and right, trying to work out what was happening. He could see cables overhead, stretched between slowly turning wheels. There were hooks, too, dangling at intervals—he saw one dip low on its chain and pluck the first cage up neatly by its handle.

  All at once, he understood—and he realized there was nothing the animals could do.

  The first cage was lifted into the air and carried onwards and upwards, higher and higher. Then the second cage was lifted, and then the third. He heard a click as his own cage was plucked up off the belt, and he found himself swinging as the pulleys squeaked cheerfully. It was getting hotter, and Spider saw the future in all its terrifying detail. The pulleys were hauling the cages ever closer to the source of the heat, which was an enormous vat—its iron cover had been folded back, and steam billowed upwards. The first cage disappeared into the murk, and the final stage of the sequence was all too obvious. The cages would pass over the container and they would be flipped upside down, the doors opening automatically as the cables tightened. Every pet would be shaken loose and dropped into whatever was boiling beneath them.

  Spider found that he was scrabbling at the wire again, just like every other creature in the line.

  Moonlight was yowling, but the most insistent voice was the one deep inside the dog’s ear.

  “Use your tooth, Spider!” cried the flea. “Use the long one!”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s our only chance!”

  Spider attacked the mesh harder than ever, but the cage was simply rocking, and he was still a prisoner. The stench engulfed him, and for a moment he thought he’d pass out. He was aware of other fleas jumping for their lives—and that was the moment he glanced behind and saw hope.

  Buster had freed herself.

  She was five cages behind, and by some miracle she had bitten through part of the mesh. The old dog’s mouth was cut, and her one good eye was flashing with fury. Somehow she had gnawed her way through solid steel, tearing open a hole through which she now hauled her scarred, twisted body. As Spider watched, she dragged herself on to the roof of her cage and got ready to leap. With astonishing grace, her back legs launched her through the air, and she grabbed the cage in front. She clung to it as it swung wildly, and a quick push with her blunt, bloody nose sprang the catch so that the gate fell sideways. A young puppy jumped for its life.

  Inspired, Spider tried again, straining with his muzzle and working his long tooth at the loop that sealed him in. Buster appeared above him just as he succeeded. The door popped open, and he was out, steadied for a moment by the pit bull’s powerful shoulder.

  He was free.

  Now he could try the same manoeuvre as his friend. His paws scrabbled, but he jumped and just managed to cling to the cage ahead. He hugged it between his forepaws and flipped the lock with his tooth. Buster moved back down the line, while Spider moved forward. The steam left his eyes streaming, but he got to Moonlight in the nick of time. Her cage door swung open like all the others, but the cat was clinging to the wire, too terrified to move.

  “Jump!” barked Spider.

  “I can’t, darling.”

  “You can. You have to!”

  “Let me die, Spider,” she cried. “I’ve lived my life, and what does tomorrow hold? Only the pain of lost love—”

  Her last words turned into a gasp, for Spider had her round the neck. He dragged her out, hoping he might throw her to safety, but alas, it was too late for that. They were directly above the vat, and a foul, glutinous liquid bubbled and spat, the froth splashing their paws.

  Moonlight yowled in terror, as Spider lost his footing and fell. Somehow he managed to grip the rim of the vessel with his forepaws, and somehow he twisted himself back over the edge. He writhed, and spat Moonlight on to the ground, launching himself after her. They rolled together on the hard concrete floor.

  Alarms were ringing now, as animals dived for cover; the factory workers gazed in helpless wonder.

  Buster appeared, and butted Spider into action again. There was no time to lose, for an enormous grille was descending, blocking their escape.

  “Stay together!” snarled the pit bull. “Follow me!”

  She dived into a nearby chute, and the whole pack rushed after her, a heaving mass of ears and tails. They found themselves slithering downwards on their backs to land with a clattering crash among empty tins. Spider lay entangled with the lurcher, while a skinny dachshund he’d never seen before wormed its way, yapping, from under his rump. They were on another conveyor belt.

  “What now?” cried Moonlight as they sailed onwards.

  “I don’t know,” Buster panted. “Hold tight, I guess! It’s not over yet, guys…”

  They were in the bowels of the factory, where steel levers gathered the tins into organized lines. A set of pipes appeared over their heads, and a dark substance dripped from a dozen nozzles in stinking lumps. A welding mechanism flashed as it sealed those that were full. Spider took the initiative this time, and as he came under the first nozzle he threw himself sideways into a tunnel that bent sharply to the left. The animals plunged after him, skimming helplessly into a mountain of soft powder. When they’d managed to clamber free, every creature was snow white from nose to tail.

  “Flour,” said the flea in Spider’s ear. “Keep moving.”

  “We’re still alive!” cried Buster. “Let’s keep it that way, guys. We’re doing well.”

  “Which way is out?” asked Moonlight. “I need daylight.”

  Spider shook himself and saw a door.

  “That way!” he cried. “Move it!”

  The door gave out on to a corridor, and he stood back as the line of animals dashed past him. Seconds later, they were in a warehouse. A forklift truck buzzed between storage racks, its light winking. Buster led the way again, dashing down the aisles in search of an exit.

  They were soon lost and bewildered, for every shelf was solid with identical cartons. The picture Spider had seen by the bins was reproduced ten thousand times: the same smiling woman served a glutinous gunk to the same eager pets. As the animals stared, mesmerized, a guard appeared. Two more stepped into the space behind them, and they saw they were trapped.

  The lurcher started to bark, and there was soon an ominous howling as the pack squeezed together. Every dog and cat prepared its claws, ready for the fight. The guards, meanwhile, were calling for back-up.

  “We’ll have to break through,” panted Buster. “We need a fire exit. If we could find one of them, it might save us.”

  “A fire alarm,” said the flea.

  “What about it?”

  “That would buy us time. Panic and confusion are what we need, so let me on to that stack, Spider. Above your head.”

  “Why?” whined Spider. “We don’t have time! They’re coming for us.”

  “Stand still,” cried the flea. “It’s an old trick, but it never fails…”

  The animals watched as the tiny insect hopped from Spider’s ear to the nearest shelf. It leapt again, vaulting up the cartons towards a thin wire. For a moment they lost it, but—even as the guards advanced—it reappeared beside a bright red box. It squeezed through the seal, and seconds later, Spider saw a tiny spark.

  The building erupted in howling noise. Sirens wailed, and a metallic voice burst from overhead speakers: “Emergency! Emergency!”

  The words were re
peated over and over, and the guards had no choice but to run for it.

  The flea pushed its way back out of the box, dazed and unsteady. It dived, and Spider caught the exhausted insect right on his nose. It was hot as a cinder.

  “Go,” it cried weakly. “I short-circuited the system, but it won’t give us long.”

  “Wait,” hissed Moonlight. “Look at the roof, Spider. That’s a cooling system up there, I’m sure of it. If we could get inside, we’d find our way out.”

  “You mean climb?” said Buster. “How?”

  “I don’t know,” Moonlight replied. “I don’t have the strength, but the rest of you might make it.”

  The animals gazed up at the warehouse roof. Sure enough, there were ducts and pipes above their heads, and the fattest was almost within reach.

  “It’s our only chance,” said Spider. “What we need is a ladder.”

  “Behind you,” said a terrier.

  A pair of ragged spaniels raced down the aisle to a set of steps. They grabbed its rail between them and it was soon in position. The next moment, Moonlight had jumped nimbly up its rungs, and was soon close to the vent. Spider struggled after her.

  “There’s a bracket,” he barked. “Get on to that, and you can open the hatch.”

  “I know what you’re looking at!” she cried, as she wrapped herself round the pipe. “You’re laughing at my tail!”

  “Just go!” barked Spider. “Hurry…”

  “They’ll be back,” growled Buster. “We have to keep moving!”

  Moonlight snapped the flap open with her paw, and the animals scrambled into the gap as best they could. They used their jaws and their paws, and somehow tipped themselves into the vent, hauling each other upwards. Thankfully, the chute levelled almost at once, and they were soon in a line again, trotting briskly into the gloom. When they came to an intersection, it was a Labrador that guided them.

  “Fresh air,” she whimpered. “I can smell it, I know I can…”

  She turned right, and they all caught the scent together. They galloped now, their paws drumming on the metal, and reached a set of pumps and valves. When they’d clambered past them, they found themselves gazing upwards, for they had come to a chimney and, at last, they could see a disc of pure blue sky. The cats found the final ascent simple, but the dogs had to inch carefully upwards, bracing their backs against the metal. When they got their chins over the rim, it wasn’t so hard, and they rolled over and dropped down on to the factory roof. They staggered to its edge and dropped again, into a car park. The perimeter fence proved no obstacle: they all pushed under it into a field of long, lush grass. As the alarms faded behind them, they realized they were free.