A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

by C. A. Fletcher

  I know, she said. I read your story.

  And then there was nothing to say, because there was suddenly too much to say so we just stood looking at each other. After a bit, she relaxed and stopped trying to pull her hand free. She looked away from me, up at the moon. Her voice was raw but steady. Only the pale moonlight betrayed the wetness streaking down her cheek.

  She took a deep breath.

  They told me she was dead, she said. They told me and I saw her lying on the ground. And then I fainted or they did something to me because the next thing I remember is that it was night, or maybe two or three nights, and when it was day I didn’t recognise any of the land we were passing. They told me I had been traded and that Dad had done the deal, that Mum had had second thoughts and chased after me and fell and they hadn’t hurt her, not like I thought they had.

  And you believed them, I said.

  Not at first, she said. But when Dad and Ferg and Bar didn’t come after me, the only reason I could think of was that they were telling the truth.

  I’m sorry you lost your baby, I said.

  Yes, she said. Yes, I am too, though I didn’t want him to start with. And then when he was born the way he was, a poor little blue shred of a thing, I thought he looked like a doll no one could have loved except me and I was sadder than you could ever imagine.

  He was a boy, I said.

  Ellis told me it was not as big a loss as if it had been a girl, she said. They want more breeders. Not more boys. That’s why Ellis is so excited that you’re here.

  Ellis, I said. He’s…

  Yes, she said. All the bad things you’re thinking? He’s them and more. And the way he looks at me it’s like he knows.

  Knows what? I said

  That I’m going to kill him, she said. I’ve always meant to. Now I have to.

  I’d spent most of my life—ever since that worst day—thinking of her as a little girl. That difference in her voice? She sounded like Bar. Or like Bar would have sounded if she’d ever felt the need to be dangerous and protective. That was my big sister talking.

  You don’t, I said. Can you get me out of here?

  No, she said. I mean I can open the barred gate at the end of the hall, but there are no keys to your door. Ellis is going to take a sledgehammer and knock a hole in the wall when it’s time to get you out.

  But I’ve nearly done it, I said. The excitement made my voice catch. Joy, I said. I’ve nearly done it. I’ve scraped out a big block under the bed. I just need a couple of hits with a hammer to get it moving back out of the way and I can crawl through.

  They’ll hear a sledgehammer, she said. Sound carries. But I know what you can do.

  Her voice had caught my excitement.

  Whatever I can do, it’s “we”, I said. Or I’m not doing it.

  What do you mean? she said.

  I mean I’m not doing anything, I said. I’m not doing anything on my own. Maybe never again. But definitely not this. We’re doing it. Us.

  What? she said.

  You know what, I said.

  We’re going home.

  Her idea was better than a sledgehammer. It was a jack. The kind you would have put under heavy things like cars to lift them by cranking a handle. She went away for a bit and came back with one that she handed through the bars. She passed in another length of pipe like the one they used to bring the water to me.

  Here’s what you do, she said.

  I got it, I said. Good plan. Brilliant really.

  She smiled.

  Hard to believe, she said. But you’re really nearly as old as me, aren’t you?

  Yes, I said.

  Right, she said. Ellis has forbidden me to come near this place. But if the jack works, call for the dogs when I walk past in the morning. I’ll whistle for them so you’ll know to look. If it doesn’t work? Don’t call out for them and we’ll have to think of something else.

  What are we going to do if we do get me out? I said.

  Well, she said. For a long time I thought about locking them in their church one day and burning it down. But that seems a little too much. They’re not even really bad people. Not without Ellis. They’re just easily led. They like the god stuff. It makes them feel special, and it makes them feel less lonely about having been left behind at the end of things, the way we have been. I think Ellis knows the god stuff is not real. Or not real for him. But it was a good way to tell a story they could all agree to, that put him at the top of the pile. That made breeders seem like a good idea. Like it was god’s work, so if it felt a little not quite human, that was the reason.

  We’re not burning them alive in their church, I said.

  No, she said. And her eyes went away for a moment, like she didn’t want me to see what she was thinking. No. We won’t do that. But we’ll have to stop them following us.

  We can take Brand’s boat, I said quietly. She shook her head and leant in to explain why we couldn’t.

  I don’t think he was listening anyway. But it was a wise thing to do.

  He heard me later, when I jammed the metal pole across the room and used the jack against the other wall to push it against the block. The grating noise as it moved woke him and he came to see what was going on.

  It worked well. As the jack opened, the block pushed back, and though it jammed a few times, all I had to do was slack it off and reposition the pole and before long I had opened my trapdoor to freedom.

  Brand was sitting on the bed in the next cell as I crawled

  through.

  You’re going to get us killed, is all he said.

  I asked him if he had a better plan.

  Yes, he said. The one we agreed on. Where I save you once we’re out of quarantine.

  You see the two reasons why mine is a better plan? I said. I mean, quite apart from not having to end up underneath Ellis before you get me out?

  Well yes, he said. Well, one at least. You don’t have to trust me to save you.

  That’s a big one, I said. And the other is bigger. I save myself.

  Well, I know you can trust me, he said. But I can’t persuade you of that. And I certainly can’t argue with the Ellis point.

  I just don’t see how this helps, he said, pointing at the hole I had come in through and then at the locked barred gate at the end of the hall.

  I’m okay with that, I said. Good night.

  And I crawled back and pulled the block back in place and rolled the jack and the pole lengthways under my bed ledge so the Cons would not see it if they looked in in the morning. And then I tried to pretend to myself that I wasn’t too excited to sleep.

  I heard Joy whistling for the dogs in the middle of the morning and when I looked out of the window I saw she was appearing to innocently walk them past my window at a suitable distance. Jip was moving in a lopsided way.

  Jip, I shouted, Jess! Good dogs!

  She let Jip loose, seeming to accidentally drop the rope and chase after her. He lolloped towards me, his happiness making him ignore whatever was making him limp. One of the other Cons was visible in the distance.

  Jip ran up to my window and barked happily at me.

  Good boy! I said. Good good boy.

  It hurt us both not to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t want to have the Cons think he was infectious, not when we might be so close to being free.

  Come here! Joy shouted angrily as she grabbed Jip and made a show of pulling him away from the window.

  Tonight then, she whispered, and winked.

  Why is he limping? I said.

  Ellis stamped on him, she said. Then kicked him hard.

  Why? I said.

  Because I like him, she said.

  Then she stood up and waved at the distant Con who had turned and was walking towards her.

  It’s all right, she shouted. Got him before she touched him.

  The Con nodded and waved and turned away again.

  That was a long day. And then night fell after they brought us food and refilled
my water through the pipe. And then infuriatingly nothing at all happened as the darkness deepened. And I must have fallen asleep.

  I woke with her tapping the bars.

  Now, she said. We go now.

  My heart began thumping with adrenaline as I jumped off the bed and scooted beneath, pushing the breeze-block aside and worming head first into the next-door cell.

  Joy was moving fast, because she was at the barred gate and trying to open it when I emerged into the hallway. She was trying a series of keys from a big ring held in one hand.

  Don’t worry, she said. It’s one of them. I’ll get it in

  a second.

  Jip and Jess were boiling around her legs and trying to get to me through the bars. I buried my face in their neck fur and hoped there was no one close by to hear their happy whines.

  The horses are outside, she said. It won’t be long and we’ll be gone.

  What about me?

  Brand’s words came slipping sideways through the darkness behind me.

  You can come too, said Joy after a beat.

  Thank you, he said, though not like he meant it. He stepped out into the moonlight. He wasn’t quite threatening, but he did change the atmosphere in the room. But if I did, then I could never come back here and maybe there are not so many places with people in them who want to trade that I want to lose one.

  Then we can leave you here, I said. Better that way.

  And if they send you after us, and you do it, said Joy. I will kill you.

  Joy, I said. This doesn’t have to end in blood.

  Maybe it does, maybe it doesn’t, she said. But that’s my choice. They’ve taken everything from me, but they have left me that one thing. Ellis deserves…

  But we can escape without killing Ellis, I said.

  No, she said. Voice low and suddenly flat. No, Griz. Killing Ellis is done. That’s why we have to go now.

  I felt a cold pit open in my stomach. I stared at her. She shrugged. She didn’t look different. But because of what she had done, she was. She had to be. I didn’t care much about Ellis. I was worried that her having killed would hurt and change her, but she looked calmer than I’d seen her. Released even.

  It’s done, she said. It was mine to do.

  What? said Brand. His voice raw, filling the silence that seemed to have somehow imploded the room, turning it into a tiny, claustrophobic place.

  He ate something he shouldn’t have, she said, carrying on trying the keys. Seemed a fitting end. He was always greedy about taking things that weren’t his to take.

  Bar had been teaching Joy about herbs before she was taken. It was one of the things Joy was in a hurry to learn, always pestering her.

  The moon caught the side of her face as she moved a little, steadying herself against the bars on the gate as she tried yet another key. I saw she was looking right at me. Watching to see how much this had changed things between us.

  He was looking forward to taking something else he shouldn’t have too, she said.

  Joy, I said.

  I couldn’t allow that, she said. You know that, Griz. The others are all a little sick too. But they didn’t have enough to do any permanent harm. He had the special portion. They think it was the salted mutton.

  But won’t they know it’s you? I said.

  No, she said. They don’t know I know what I do. If they did, they’d stop wondering why I never had another baby. But it doesn’t matter. They’ll figure I’ve just gone to find my own private bush to be sick behind.

  And then the right key clicked the lock open and she pulled it wide. I went through it fast and filled my arms with Jess, who I never thought I’d really see again, and who now bucked and curved around me, tail thrumming as she tried to lick my face and simultaneously nudge Jip out of the way as he tried to do the same thing. Even though we weren’t yet free and away, it felt and sounded and smelled like home.

  Are you coming? said Joy.

  I looked up to see she was looking at Brand.

  I suppose I’ll have to, he said, otherwise you’ll steal the Falki.

  Is that the only reason? she said.

  Yes, he said. Well—

  I closed the gate. He stared at me as I locked it.

  Too late to steal your boat, said Joy. I’d seen to it before I knew Griz and I would be leaving.

  What have you done? he said, bounding forward and grabbing the bars.

  I haven’t burned your boat. Not like you burned the Sweethope, she said. Though when I read what you did I wanted to. But then I had a better idea.

  Open the gate, he said. Let’s—

  And I’ve left you your dog, she said. So there is no reason for you to follow us.

  Griz, he said. What has she done?

  I cut all the ropes from your boat. And the rudder-lines. Not as permanent as burning. So you can thank me for that, said Joy. I threw them in the water. And the anchors. You’ve a lot of work to do before the thing’s seaworthy again.

  But she didn’t burn it, I said. And if you work hard, the Falki can take you home again.

  His eyes burned into me.

  I know where you live, he said.

  And I know where your home is too, I said.

  You believed that story, did you? he said.

  Yes, I said. Now you’re trying to make me doubt it like that, yes, I do.

  He looked at me, long and hard. Then his beard split and revealed that infuriating flash of white that came when he smiled.

  If I come after you, he said, what of that?

  If you bring these people, it’ll go badly for you, I said. I expect then there will be blood at the end of that story.

  And if I come alone, he said. Griz?

  Don’t, I said. It’s not that kind of story either.

  Joy looked at us.

  You heard, she said. Don’t come with them. And don’t come alone.

  He just stared at me. I don’t know what he was thinking. And I hadn’t seen that thing in his eyes before.

  Maybe it was doubt.

  Don’t come alone, she said. Bring your sisters.

  Joy, I said, my head whipping round to look at her. She shrugged.

  Ferg might like to meet them, she said. And no one knows the end of their own story, not except the very end, where they die. Not even you, Griz. Now we have to go.

  Chapter 39

  True north

  Leaving happened in a fast, furtive dash through the darkness towards the stable and what must have been the paddocks around them, the dogs running beside us, Jip’s limp improving with every step, staying silent as if they instinctively knew we should not draw any attention to ourselves. Joy had my bow and arrows strapped to the saddle, and our horses ready to go. We turned loose the Cons’ other horses so they couldn’t follow us, but we kept the two best ones to carry any useful things we might vike on the journey ahead, and then we rode hard into the night, taking them and my horses north, back the way I had come, following the happily reunited dogs all the way.

  Until we lost sight of the settlement over the first low rise of land, I had my shoulders hunched and hardly breathed, as if expecting a bullet out of the dark with every hoofbeat. Once out of view and lost in the night, I relaxed. No one came after us, the next day or any other.

  The journey that followed is a whole other story and there is no room in the pages remaining here to tell it properly. But we made two stops that belong in this one:

  First, we stopped at the Homely House to bury John Dark.

  Maybe because we were nearing somewhere I already knew was a place of death, my thoughts turned a little blue as we got closer to it. I think Joy found the same thing happening to her, so perhaps it was just the comedown after the relief of our escape.

  Should we have freed the other women? I said as we carefully crossed the expanse of giant hogweed near the house.

  They were free, she said. Most of them. Two of them held me down when Ellis tried to scare me with the poker.

  W
e rode on a bit more.

  It will be easier on the softer ones now Ellis is gone

  she said.

  And as we started up the slope to the house she sighed.

  I don’t know, Griz, she said. Maybe we should have tried to persuade them, but then maybe we wouldn’t have got away. Maybe I was too scared to do all the right things.

  Maybe doing most things right is good enough, I said.

  Maybe, she said.

  And then, after a pause:

  Perhaps one day we should sail back and see if I’m right.

  We weren’t able to bury John Dark as I’d planned to. Mainly because John Dark thought it was a bad idea, as she hadn’t quite managed to die. Instead she’d gained a limp, which she didn’t like, but which didn’t seem to slow her down. So she came north with us too, and she is sitting beside my mother and Joy and Bar in front of the fire as I write these last words. She is scratching Jess behind the ears.

  Jess seems to have become Joy’s dog now. And I couldn’t be happier about it. It feels right. It’s a good sight, and if I had the knack I would sketch it and leave it as the last image of this story. The once dead daughter who never died but was gone returned to the mother, and the grieving mother whose girls have gone but who finds herself with a new family. There is a mismatched symmetry in there somehow, a patched-together happiness. Maybe that’s what we have to make do with now, here at the end of the world. Or maybe that’s just what people have always had to do since time began.

  The second stop was Glasgow, where we camped in the library where Mum and Dad once slept in a fortress of books. The roof was still on, and there I found the Freeman’s book. It was the other reason we stopped there. Other than looking for a boat to vike and repair and sail home. I have the book on my lap now, under the thin last pages as I write. It’s a wonderful book, about science—which we’ve lost—and hope—which we haven’t. There is stuff in it I don’t understand, but what I do makes me happy and sad in equal measure. It’s about spirit as much as science, and about life, not just humanity—how it’s strange and tenacious and good at adapting to almost any circumstance. Like us, really, when we’re at our best. It’s called Infinite in all Directions and that first Freeman’s other name was Dyson. I can see why he inspired the Freemen to try and put life in computers before we all died out. Even though I believe they failed, I think trying made them human. And I think I’d have liked him.