The Dog Runner

by Bren MacDibble

  I shove the branch under the step and drag the end up and hook it over the edge of the basket, and bungee tie it down. Then I stretch bungee cords over Emery so he’s held down in position and maybe his arm won’t flop off him. His knife is on the ground, so I put that in the pouch beside the handgun.

  ‘Wolf!’ I call. ‘Wolfy-boy!’ Nothing. I get out the lighter and do a quick walk around, thinking I’m just gonna find a mound of brown fur that used to be Wolf, and crying coz if I do, it’ll break me, I can’t handle that.

  ‘Wolfy!’ I howl long and loud into the night. Maroochy answers with her own howl, calling to Wolf, or calling to me to come back to Emery and help, I don’t know.

  I run back to Maroochy, clip her in at the head of the gang rope and bury my fingers in her thick fur. I rest my head on her forehead and tell her, ‘We gotta get away, Rooch. Those people are coming back tomorrow looking for us. We gotta get far away.’

  I guess we gotta keep going the way Emery showed me, at least as close as I can make out in the dark, and I pull the dogs around so the cart is facing the right way.

  The dogs are yelping to get moving.

  ‘Wolf!’ I yell again. I don’t wanna just leave without him, but I have to keep Emery and the other dogs safe. I just hope Wolf isn’t injured somewhere. I hope he’s not lying there watching us leave him. I cry again thinking about that.

  I flick off the brake and yell, ‘Mush! Hike! Hike!’ and the dogs throw themselves into the night. I hope they can see better than me.

  They slow to a trot straight off and we keep the dark lumps of bush against the lighter starry sky to one side. I’m pretty sure we’re s’posed to follow it for a while on the map.

  Emery wakes and groans and grumbles and goes quiet again. I don’t think this is good for him, all this bumping, but getting found tomorrow by those guys I shot at is gonna be worse.

  He wakes a little while later and he’s crying and moaning, begging me to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry!’ I say. ‘We gotta get away. We gotta keep moving while it’s dark.’ I cry along with Emery for a while, my heart breaking for him. It’s not fair. He goes quiet again, and I lean down and rest my hand on his chest. Make sure he’s still breathing. Why were those people so mean? Why couldn’t they just let us pass by?

  After a while I stop the dogs and give them some water. I hack some bits of roo off and feed them while they sit there, still harnessed to the cart.

  I check Emery, he’s sleeping again while the cart is still, so that’s best.

  We set off again, and soon we leave the bush outline behind and head out across harder ground. I’m glad coz it means the tyres won’t leave such deep tracks. The stars are the only things left to guide me now, and I try to keep a really bright group to one side. I panic that they’re moving and they’ll send me in circles. I dunno what stars do as the planet turns. I’m sure they move in the sky or something, but which way? After a couple of hours, clouds drift over and they’re gone anyway.

  Maroochy runs into a wire fence and all the dogs bunch up. I haul at the brake on the cart just before it bangs into them all and get out my lighter and check it out. The wires are snapped and curling everywhere, and I have to untangle Maroochy and lead her out. Then I turn the cart around so I can lead her along the fence line until we find a gate, my legs so tired, like I done all the running, and set off again overland. There’s a few trees, but the land seems to still be really flat, so we keep going through the dark.

  The dogs are panting, heads down. The cart is heavier without big Wolf to help pull, but the other dogs are still trotting on, doing their best.

  Clouds drift across the stars and the smell of wet dirt hits my nose. Then it rains, and I worry that it’s gonna wash our smell from the ground, and Wolf, if he’s out there, will never find us, but then the rain will wash away our tracks as well and right now we need that so bad.

  ‘Woah!’ I yell, then get off and get the dogs to just walk beside me for a while. They’ve run too long without a rest. All through the night almost, when normally we don’t run them more than two hours without a rest, but we can’t stop until we find somewhere safe.

  The rain is cold and I’m shivering, even if the dogs can’t feel it through their warm coats. Emery starts moaning again.

  ‘Ella!’ he cries.

  I stop Maroochy for another rest. Tell them all to sit. I haven’t got any more water for them.

  ‘Are you okay, Emery?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ he moans.

  ‘We have to keep moving. Another hour maybe,’ I say. The sky is a little lighter. It won’t be long before I can find us somewhere to set up the tent and give everyone a rest.

  Emery is shivering just like me, and I pull my hoodie out of my backpack and tuck it around him.

  Then I go and get the dogs back up and walking. I put my head down against the rain and just put one foot in front of the other.

  I’m so wet it doesn’t matter if I cry or my nose runs. I can’t tell what I’m doing, just hauling in deep sobbing breaths, my throat aching, and putting one foot in front of the other, one hand buried deep in Maroochy’s warm neck fur.

  Me and Maroochy, dog-tired and full of misery, just trying to get Emery somewhere safe.

  The sun peeks over the horizon, the sky fills with light, and I head for a dark gash in the land. It must be a creek.

  There are two farmhouses off to one side but they’re sitting quiet. No lights on. No dogs barking. Maybe they’re abandoned. So many farmers headed for the cities when the grass first died, looking for food the government was handing out.

  The government was still promising to hand food out to people, even after they stopped. Lies, Dad said. To stop people panicking. I wonder if the farmers are heading back now. Or maybe other people left the city looking for empty houses, and they found these and are hiding in them.

  The dark gash through the landscape is a really deep gorge. There’s a tiny track leading down into it, so I hop back onto the cart and tell Maroochy to take us down there, working the brake and the handlebars to keep the cart on the trail as it winds down between spiny bushes and under low-hanging trees.

  This is looking good for hiding. We’re so wet already it doesn’t really matter when we hit the creek.

  ‘Gee!’ I call, and Maroochy turns, and we bump along the edge in the shallows. Poor Oyster and Squid are having to drag and strain to get the wheels over the creek rocks and through the mud, me off and walking alongside the cart coz it’s already heavy enough with Emery in it, but finally I find a bit flat enough and well-hidden enough to pitch a tent. I get the cart up there and stop the dogs, then let them off. First thing I do is pull off the roo and hack it into four pieces. First piece for Rooch, just like Emery does.

  Then I move the tent out gently from under Emery, who’s lying there, breathing through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut, like he can’t stand to see this world no more.

  I set up the tent just as the first bit of sun slides over the top of the little gorge. I push the tent pegs into the soft sand and get the two sleeping bags in there, rolled out. They’re only a little wet in patches. But I don’t think I can move Emery with his arm bent like that. I hunt around the creek until I find a big hunk of bark, a little curved on the inside.

  Emery screams when I lift his arm and slide it under, and I start to cry again coz I don’t know what to do. Emery isn’t telling me, coz he’s in too much pain and I don’t know how to fix it. I fold up two T-shirts and put them either side of the lump on his arm, and then I take the bungee that was holding him on the cart and wrap it around and around and around, above and below that ugly swollen lump on his arm.

  ‘Emery,’ I say, ‘move to the tent. You can lie down properly there, get some sleep.’

  I hold his arm in its bark shield and haul at his other arm with my other hand until he’s out of the cart, onto his knees.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Get in the dry.’

  He takes his wrapped arm and hol
ds it against his chest, then I help lift him to his feet and into the tent.

  I go fill the drink bottle and get him to have some water. Then I’m back out into the rain, pulling branches up from the creek, and cutting bracken stalks, trying to hide the tent and cart. I unload the rest of our gear, including the two guns, into the tent. Then me and four tired, wet dogs climb into the other side of the tent and I zip it closed. I’m soaked, we all stink, but the sun climbs high in the sky and we are warm in here at least, so we all sleep. Me, I’ve got that handgun right beside me, but there’s no way I can stay awake to guard. I just have to rely on Maroochy’s good ears.

  Later, when I wake up, my legs ache, my arms ache, but I suppose it’s nothing compared to Emery. There’s blood all up the scalp on one side of his head, but it just looks like a gouge there, on through his scalp, a bloody line, with all the hair gone, and that bump on his arm is turning blue-green.

  I give the dogs each a cooked potato and eat one myself, and then a pile of plums and I feel better.

  Emery wakes with a start and says, ‘Ella! We have to get away!’

  ‘We did,’ I say. ‘We’re safe now.’ But I don’t know how long for. It’s whether those guys are chasing us or not.

  ‘The dogs! They’ll shoot the dogs!’ he says.

  ‘They’re here. They’re safe,’ I say, and he won’t be able to see the difference between four dogs crammed into a small tent and five. It’s just a mass of hairy bodies everywhere.

  ‘But they’ll find us!’ Emery says, and groans, reaching for his head, but then grabbing his other arm like he’s not sure which bit hurts more.

  ‘It’s the middle of the day and we’re hiding in a gorge, under a pile of bracken. And I have a gun,’ I say. He looks at me like maybe I’ve really lost it, and goes back to sleep.

  I want to wash and cover that bad cut through his scalp. It bled a lot last night, I think. It’s still bloody now and it’s all through his hair and on the bottom of the tent. But I don’t want to wake him again.

  I’m trying to decide if there’s any point to us moving from here right away. Emery’s still hurting, so we won’t be able to move fast, and the rain maybe covered our trail in, but it might not be raining late in the afternoon, and we’ll probably only end up somewhere worse for being found. I guess we’re all too tired and just have to hope this is a good hiding place.

  The rain stops and I take the dogs down to the creek for water, then tie them to the trees next to the tent so they can’t wander. And while they sit in the sun, I cut up our last possum. Already missing a few bits. I guess I couldn’t expect Oyster and Squid not to have had a go at it when I left them alone. I feed the dogs half the possum and cut the other half into five chunks I put up in a tree. It’s starting to stink but I figure the dogs can have it for breakfast tomorrow. They don’t mind a bit of stink.

  I leave the dogs eating and take a walk around, head back up the trail. See if I can see anyone moving about up above on the flats. See if I can see Wolf looking for us. It seems really quiet, but then those guys had electric bikes so that means nothing. There’s no trail from us heading in last night. So that’s good.

  I head back to the tent. I pick a few blackberries, growing in the sun beside the track. What I notice is there’s lots of blackberries down low, but hardly any up high. Is it birds or people or roos eating only the top ones and leaving the bottom?

  It makes me find more bracken on the way and pile it up around the tent and over the cart. I don’t want anyone seeing it from anywhere and coming down for a look-see.

  Emery stirs and sits up. ‘I gotta pee!’ he says, holding his good hand out of the tent. I pull him to his feet and help him walk, but he pushes me off. ‘I’m fine,’ he mumbles and stumbles off to some bushes.

  The dogs are all standing up, panting happy and bouncing to see their Emery back on his feet, and the moment I been dreading is here. Emery turns, holding his arm to his chest, and looks at the dogs, and he’s still looking. He’s looking for Wolf. His eyes are all scrunched up like the sunlight is too much for them, like he don’t believe what he’s looking at.

  I swallow. My heart sinking. It’s bad enough I’ve been worried about Wolf. Worried about leaving him behind, but now I have to explain it to Emery.

  ‘Was Wolf shot?’ Emery says.

  ‘I don’t know. It was so dark.’ My voice rushes out like I’m making excuses. And I am. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what the right thing was. Did I do the wrong thing? ‘I thought I saw him running away with Bear when the gun went off, but only Bear came back.’

  ‘Did you look for him?’ Emery asks, like he forgot it was dark and he was just shot and I was panicking.

  ‘I looked but it was too dark. I called him. He would’ve heard us leaving. He’d know which way we went. I just don’t know why he didn’t follow us.’ I slap at the tears on my face.

  Emery takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut. ‘It’s okay. You did good. But they might come back and find us. We should get further away.’

  I smile. ‘We did. We’re not in that patch of bush.

  We’re in a gorge way across the flats.’

  ‘You got us that far away?’ Emery asks, looking round like he’s someplace new.

  I nod. ‘And look!’ I lean into the tent and lift the sleeping bag to show the rifle and the handgun.

  ‘What?’ he says, his mouth drops open. ‘But they’re definitely gonna be coming for us now. Guns are gold.’

  ‘But I had to take them,’ I say. ‘They only left coz they thought I was gonna shoot them.’

  Emery says a little ‘Ha!’ then squeezes his eyes shut and groans. ‘I wish I could’ve seen it. I wanna go looking for Wolf, but my head hurts so bad. And my arm.’

  ‘It’s quiet here. I think we can stay till you’re feeling better. I checked around for Wolf before,’ I say. ‘We’ll look again later.’

  I help Emery back into the tent and give him the water bottle and some potatoes and fruit. He picks at it, rubbing his forehead, scrunching his eyes. I unfold the map and try to figure out where we are. Emery squints at it and I point to a gorge with two houses above it. We’re still on course for staying away from towns.

  Emery pushes out a smile. ‘Did good, Els. Did good,’ he says and lies down again.

  I feel better except about not being able to find Wolf.

  He prods at his scalp. Checks his fingers. ‘What’s it look like?’

  ‘Looks like someone took a knife and carved a strip off your head,’ I say. I pull my last clean T-shirt out of my pack. It’s a long-sleeve one so it works great to fold and tie around Emery’s head and cover up the bullet gouge.

  The sun goes down, I bring the dogs in and we all sleep.

  In the night, I dream we’re back in the city and the sirens are going and people are smashing up a building, and it’s making our flat shake.

  ‘Ella!’ Emery’s shaking me.

  Bear and Maroochy are howling. Howling so loud.

  ‘Shh!’ I say and pull on their collars.

  We all listen. Somewhere out in the dark is another dog howling.

  Rooch is nudging the zipper.

  ‘It’s Wolf!’ Emery says.

  I pull the zip up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Emery says.

  ‘Going to get him,’ I say.

  ‘No! Those men might have him. It might be a trap.’ I fumble around for the handgun. ‘Then I’ll get him back,’ I say, coz family is family, even a big old doggo.

  I let Maroochy out, tell Bear and the others, ‘Sit. Stay!’ and zip up the tent.

  ‘Wait!’ Emery is saying. But I don’t wait.

  By the time I turn around, Rooch is gone. The black dog gone into the black night, and it’s just me trying to use my memory to remember the way to the trail. I stumble on creek rocks, trying not to fall or get turned around. There’s a howl again, far away and Bear answers it behind me. That sets Oyster and Squid off, and Emery hushing them
all.

  There’s an excited yowl further up the trail. Rooch is keen to run and find her friend Wolf, and I hope she brings him back real quick, before I get completely lost.

  The bare land is a little lighter than the trail when I finally make it, staggering up to the top of the flat. There’s a half-moon and a sky full of stars giving off a touch of light. I stick to the edge of the bush around the gully. I don’t want no one seeing me if they’re up here. No sign of Roochy. No lights. No noise. Then a yip in the darkness far away. And an answering yip, like two dogs meeting each other again. I give them a little while, keep listening. The dog noises are nice happy snuffling and little yowls and those goofy malamute talking noises. They’re such silly doggos when they’re happy. It all seems okay.

  ‘Roochy!’ I call softly. Then a bit louder. Then I wait.

  The panting noise reaches me first then the scrape of paws on dirt, then a black smudge bowls out of the night and into my legs. Another with a pale bit of face and pale legs circles me.

  ‘Wolf!’ I call. ‘Come here, Wolfy!’ but he’s not doing that. He keeps circling me, like he don’t trust me no more. I get down low and hold out my hand and he sniffs it and then ducks away when I reach for him. Poor scaredy Wolf.

  ‘Come on, Rooch,’ I whisper, ‘let’s get back to Emery.’ Maybe Wolf will let Emery check him out.

  But Wolf doesn’t. He slinks to the tent to nuzzle at Bear through the side of the tent, and then when I get there, he darts away again.

  ‘Is it Wolf?’ Emery asks and unzips the tent.

  ‘Yep, but he’s acting like we hurt him or something,’ I say. I put Rooch back in the tent with Emery and he tells all the dogs to sit.

  ‘Wolf! Come on, Wolf!’ Emery says but Wolf is staying just far enough away. I reach into the tent and get a couple of cold boiled potatoes out and then haul down two of the smelly chunks of possum meat I was saving for tomorrow. I guess I’ll just have to cut the rest of the lumps smaller. I hold them out for Wolf, but he won’t take them from me. I put them on the ground, and back away to the tent.