The Dog Who Saved the World

by Ross Welford

  “I can’t,” he says. “There’s something wrong with my helmet. Everything keeps going black, like I’m back in the dome.”

  “Just do it!” I urge.

  He bites his lip and nods, taking a step back to build his run-up. Then there’s a voice. “Hey, you! What are you doing? Who are you talking to?”

  I look around, and there’s a soldier approaching on my side of the wire, holding a big black rifle across his chest. He’s talking to Ramzy and hasn’t seen me. I slink behind an oil drum and crouch down.

  “This is a protected government facility,” says the soldier. “Just what on earth are you doing?”

  “J-just looking,” says Ramzy.

  “Just looking? What is there to see, son?”

  “Erm…nothing.”

  “Dead right. Nothing. So get lost. Go on—off with you.”

  I can hear Ramzy’s footsteps retreating, then a distant shout. “Good luck, Georgie!”

  “Less of your cheek!” shouts the soldier. “Keep going, son. Don’t stop till you get home!” I hear the soldier talking to someone in his headset. “Some kid on the perimeter fence, sir…Nah, fence intact, no threat…Righto, sir…”

  He goes back the way he came, and I wait a few minutes before I whisper, “Dr. Pretorius? Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  A bit louder now: “Dr. Pretorius? Ramzy?” I wiggle my earpieces but nothing happens. I can still hear the noises around me, but nothing from Dr. Pretorius or Ramzy.

  A wave of fear passes through me, and I tell myself, It’s OK. You’re still in the dome studio.

  But without proper communication, it’s impossible to feel certain. I tell myself to relax, to stay calm. That Dr. Pretorius will be working on a solution. It’s just a slight technical glitch caused when I went through the fence and…something happened.

  But I also know that I’m on my own. On my own in the future, surrounded by armed soldiers and running out of time.

  Now, ordinarily, when you’re in trouble, it’s a relief to see someone you recognize. But that is not what I feel when I look across at the Edward Jenner building and see a woman walking toward the entrance.

  I swallow hard. Shortish, with angular limbs and spiky hair.

  Jessica.

  And following her is a boy…no, a girl. A girl I recognize.

  Me.

  OK. Screech of brakes. Freeze-frame.

  Stop! I mean, really stop.

  Of all the things I am not expecting, this doesn’t even get on the list because it’s impossible even to think of.

  I hunker down behind the oil drum again, my breath coming in rapid little pants.

  It can’t be, I tell myself. This is ridiculous.

  Cautiously, I peep round the oil drum. The two of them have stopped a few yards from the door to the Jenner building. They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re saying, but it is definitely, definitely Jessica.

  Jessica and…?

  Honestly, I hardly dare look at the figure next to her. But when I dare to peep again, there’s no mistaking her. I mean me. Same short, curly hair. Is she taller? Maybe a bit, but we’re a year ahead, don’t forget, and—as Dad said—I’m due a growth spurt. Favorite checked shirt. Jeans? They’re new. I like them. New shoes too. Smart shoulder bag, the one I got from Clem, slung across her chest…

  Hang on, I tell myself. This is not a fashion show. I guess I’m just blown away by seeing myself, and I’m trying to drink in every detail. They’re standing by the entrance, talking. Soon they’ll go in and I will have lost my chance, so…

  I work out a route that will get me to the entrance without being very noticeable. On the lawn, with its back to the wire fence, is a low outbuilding that will provide some cover, but at some point I need to get access to the inside of the Jenner building, and what I do there is something I haven’t yet worked out.

  At the Jenner building door, two armed soldiers have just checked the security pass around the neck of a man in a white lab coat who has gone in. Jessica follows him, leaving me—Other Me—standing outside beside a low wall.

  Other Me has a pass around her neck, too, but she doesn’t go in. Instead, she pulls some earphones out of her jeans pocket. She puts them in her ears, touches her smartwatch (Cool! I think. Must have got that for my birthday…), and sits down on the wall, bobbing her head to the music.

  Exactly like I do.

  I have an idea. It’s bold but it’s got to work. It’s going to involve meeting myself, and I know I don’t have long.

  Half crouching, half running, I get up from behind the oil drum and scuttle the twenty or so yards across the lawn to the outbuilding, where I press myself against the side. I expect to hear “Hey you! Halt!” at any time, but no one has seen me. It’s good cover: I cannot be seen by the soldiers standing in the doorway, and I’m within hissing distance of Other Me.

  “Pssst!” I say. “Pssst! Hey! Georgie!”

  I’m suddenly reminded of Dad.

  “Will you take those damn things out of your ears?” he often yells. “I’ve been speaking to you for the last two minutes and you haven’t heard a single word!”

  Now I know exactly how he feels.

  My hissed attempt to get Other Me’s attention hasn’t worked at all. Peeping round the corner, I can see her mouthing the words of a song. I’m thinking of throwing something, a pebble maybe, when my phone buzzes with an incoming message.

  I look down and see that it’s Ramzy. This is when—if they aren’t already strange enough—things get even stranger.

  Even as I’m tapping my screen to answer him, I’m trying to work out what’s going on.

  I’m in a three-dimensional re-creation of my world a year from now, inside a huge, dome-shaped studio in Whitley Bay, in which the hospital up the road is surrounded by wire fencing and soldiers.

  So is Ramzy, although he’s on the other side of a virtual wire fence.

  This world also contains a three-dimensional re-creation of me, Georgie Santos, who is about five yards away, listening to music on some steps.

  Ramzy is calling me on my phone, which we are supposed to have switched off, but in the panic, we have both forgotten to do.

  I know. I’m finding it hard to get my own head around it.

  “Ramzy? Where are you?” I’m half whispering. “I’ve lost contact with Dr. Pretorius.”

  “Me too. I’m scared, Georgie. I’m going to take off my helmet.”

  “No—don’t do that, Ramzy, it’s dangerous. Ramzy!” I shout the last word, and hear no more.

  “Ramzy!” I shout again.

  “Who are you talking to?” The voice comes from behind me, and I immediately know who it is. Slowly, I turn round.

  Can we just pause for a second—because I think this might be the weirdest thing that has ever happened to anyone ever.

  It’s not like looking in a mirror. Not at all. A mirror image does exactly what you do. Other Me doesn’t.

  I gasp. She doesn’t.

  I say, “Oh my God.” She doesn’t.

  You see, I know that Other Me is me. She doesn’t know that. I think she just thinks I’m someone who looks very like her.

  She looks me up and down. She must recognize my favorite red top, with the star on the front? The jeans that have worn through at the knees, with an ancient ink stain on the thigh? My dark, curly hair that’s exactly the same as hers? My light brown eyes?

  She does that blinky thing that I do: two or three rapid blinks when I’m surprised.

  Other Me says: “Who, erm…” I think she’s going to ask me who I am, but she doesn’t. “Who were you talking to just then?”

  “Ramzy.”

  “How?” I hold up my phone.

  “You can’t be,” she says, shaking her
head.

  “Why not?”

  “Because Ramzy’s dead.”

  Other Me looks at me carefully while I take in this information.

  She checks over both shoulders. We cannot be seen. There’s a few seconds during which we just stare at each other, till Other Me starts to nod slowly, the way you would when suddenly everything makes sense.

  She breaks the silence by saying, “It’s OK. I know who you are. I’ve been expecting you. Kind of.”

  I say nothing. It’s just so strange, hearing me talk but not forming the words myself. But she is probably as astonished as I am. Then she says, “You’re in the dome right now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  She puffs out her cheeks (like I do) and says, “Wow.” Then she reaches out and touches my face, gently running her fingers over my cheek, then my hair, saying, “Wow!” again and smiling.

  “Does that mean you’re not…real?” I ask, and she smiles. I’ve got a nice smile, I think.

  “I’m real, all right. This is all real, although I wish it wasn’t. I knew you were coming. That is, I hoped you would.”

  I frown at her in puzzlement.

  Other Me flicks her eyes from side to side to check if anyone’s coming; then she says, “You nearly didn’t come at all.” Still I say nothing.

  She continues: “That time, in the lane, when we…when you decided to take the campervan, to get Clem to help, to spring Dr. Pretorius from the hospital…you nearly didn’t do it.”

  Is this a statement or a question? She’s right, of course: we very nearly didn’t do it. It was scary, risky, unworkable. It really very nearly never happened.

  Other Me goes on, her voice becoming sad: “But you did do it, right? I mean, you went through with it. Took the campervan, busted Dr. Pretorius out, went to the dome. You must have.”

  “Um,” I say. “Yeah. It wasn’t easy, but yeah.” I think about it, picturing the moment when we were about to go ahead with the plan. “If I hadn’t remembered Mum’s song, I don’t think I’d have had the nerve.”

  She’s looking at me blankly. “What?”

  “Mum’s song,” I say. “Someone to tend to, be a friend to…I thought about it, and it…gave me the courage, I guess. To do it.”

  She nods sadly. “Well, I didn’t think of that, and I didn’t do it. I had the chance to change everything, to take the risk, to put it all right, but I was scared and I messed it up and…well, you’ve seen.” She looks about at the razor wire and I see her swallow hard. “You see, you changed your world. I didn’t, and this is the result.” She waves her hand to indicate the barbed wire, the checkpoints, the awfulness of what the world has become.

  “Wh-what happened?”

  “What do you think? It was exactly as we feared. Worse, in fact. Dog Plague. CBE. It took millions. Young people, old people, all the dogs, and worst of all…” Other Me trails off, staring at the sky. Her chin wobbles as she tries to form a word beginning with R.

  “Ramzy?” I say, and she nods and looks down. “How? I mean…”

  Other Me sighs deeply and doesn’t look up. “Because I chickened out. Instead of taking the plunge, breaking out Dr. Pretorius…I just…got too scared. That’s why all the soldiers are here. It went crazy. Riots, people looting hospitals, people stealing medicines. Millions and millions of people died. It’s been horrible, Georgie. And all because I was cowardly.” A tear rolls down her cheek and she brushes it away.

  “Cautious, I think.”

  “No. No! Sometimes you have to do the risky thing. And I didn’t. Do you remember that poster on our bedroom wall?”

  “The Wisdom of the Dogs?”

  “If what you want is buried…”

  We say the last bit together: “Dig and dig until you find it.”

  Other Me says simply, “I stopped digging too soon.”

  I let this sink in. On the other side of the wire fence, an army truck trundles past.

  “Why are you here today?” I ask. “At the hospital?”

  “I knew what our plan was. I wondered: if I didn’t carry out the plan, maybe you would. I’ve thought of nothing else for the last year. It’s been driving me nuts. And in case you’re wondering, this is just as weird for me as it is for you. For me. And you. You know what I mean.” She chuckles, and it sounds so like me that I laugh, too, and she laughs at me laughing, and within seconds we’re both howling, and that turns to crying, and I don’t know what I’m crying about.

  “Mr. Mash?” I say, and Other Me shakes her head and I breathe in sharply.

  “We had his blood sample, though,” she says. “That was a smart move. It’s going to help us.”

  “Dr. Pretorius?”

  “She died in the hospital. Another heart attack. All her stuff was scrapped. No one knew what it was and, to be honest, everyone had other concerns. Georgie?” Other Me turns to me, wiping away tears, but more form in their place. “You’ve got to do this. You’ve got to. However strange this whole setup is, you’ve got to stop this. I can get you the cure. You can take it back to…to…the past, I guess?”

  “Georgie! There you are!”

  We both turn round, shocked. Jessica looks first at Other Me and then at me. Then two things happen at once. The alarm on my phone starts to go ping pong, ping pong, warning me that my time in the dome is about to come to an abrupt end.

  And Jessica? She looks at me, then at Other Me, then at me again, her eyes narrowed to slits from curiosity.

  “Oh my G—”

  “God!” Jessica’s exclamation is still ringing in my ears when everything goes black, and I fall to my knees with the familiar severe headache that I experienced before. I scrabble with my fingers for the helmet’s release catch.

  In my head, behind my eyes, it’s as though there’s a firework display going on: flashes and bursts of color accompany every stab of pain, and I’m gasping for breath. Somewhere, miles away, I can hear a voice.

  I look up. I’m back in the dome, back in my own time.

  “Georgie? Georgie?” It’s Ramzy, but in the total darkness of the dome studio I cannot see him. As my head clears, I know that he’s not miles away, but only a few yards.

  “Where are you, Ramzy? You OK?”

  “Yeah. Headache from hell, but yeah. I’ve been stuck. While the floor’s active, I can’t get across it: my feet stay in the same position when I walk.”

  “I know. It does that. But now it’s stopped, I think.”

  The flashlight from Ramzy’s phone suddenly pierces the darkness. It swoops round the vast circle above us and comes to rest on my face, and I screw up my eyes. I feel like I’m being interrogated, especially when Ramzy says, “Did you get it?”

  That is when the full force of everything comes rushing over me, like a shower of shame. I shake my head but cannot say the word no. With the light in my eyes, I can’t see Ramzy’s reaction, but it’s nice of him not to say what I would say, which is, “Why on earth not?”

  We cross the floor to the edge of the circle, using the light’s beam to find the entrance to the annex. Together, we heave the door open and the sight that greets us makes us both gasp.

  At the end of the room, propped up against the wall, lies Dr. Pretorius. Beside her is Mr. Mash, his nose nudging her hand. At first I think she’s dead, but her eyes flicker open. She licks her lips with a dry tongue and croaks, “Hi, kiddos.” And the effort makes her eyes shut again.

  “Dr. Pretorius!” I say, rushing over to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Dandy,” she says without reopening her eyes. “Just, you know, I had a sort of repeat minor myocardial infarction. That’s a heart attack.” The effort of talking is making her breaths shallow and frequent. “Still…actually…having one.”

  “We’ve got to get you to the hospital,” says Ramzy, and he takes o
ut his phone to make the call.

  We’re both startled by the force of her command.

  “No! No, no, no. Give me an aspirin. Over there…in the drawer.”

  I give her the pill and she chews on it, glugging some water from a bottle on the desk. She blinks hard, and finally her eyes settle on me.

  “I’m sorry I lost contact with you in there. I just blacked out. I only came round thanks to your darn mutt lickin’ my face. Gee, he stinks.” She takes another effortful breath. “I don’t know how long I’ve got left, but we’ve got to stay here and finish this. If I go to the hospital, it’ll be days, weeks. Perhaps, you know…forever.”

  I say, “But if you don’t go to the hospital, you’ll die!”

  Dr. Pretorius’s face contorts in a spasm of pain and she sucks a long breath through her teeth. She’s panting as she talks.

  “We’re all gonna die, kid. And a whole lot of us much sooner than we should if we don’t do this. It’s ninety minutes till the satellite passes over again. We gotta wait here, ’cause out there there’s a bunch of angry, worried folks. Are you gonna go back in and finish the job?”

  Do I have a choice? I don’t have a choice. I’ve seen what will happen if I don’t go back. Lots of people will die.

  Ramzy will die.

  It’s the Wisdom of the Dogs. I’ve got to keep digging.

  As if in response, my phone buzzes and it’s Dad calling. I let it buzz while I think what to do, and after a few seconds I click to decline the call. I just don’t know what to say at the moment. Instead, I bury my face in Mr. Mash’s fur, take a deep sniff of his doggy smell, and I have to try really hard not to cry. Crying is not needed right now.

  We all look up when there’s a thumping on the control-room door.

  “Let me in! Let me in!”

  It’s a blond girl in an electric-green Lycra one-piece. I don’t remember her name till Ramzy says it.