Dog Page 13

  He sat down, and the flea pinched him.

  “I think you’re right,” it said.

  “Dear old Jesse. She was trying to help, but she got confused. Why should a fox know what a school is? Oh, flea, it could still be miles away. This is hopeless.”

  The two friends were silent.

  They wandered back along the platform, and watched as the train that had emptied filled up again. It rolled out of the station, and soon another replaced it. The lights came on, for it was getting dark. The passengers thinned into a slow trickle, which dried up altogether.

  The flea moved down on to Spider’s nose.

  “You need to rest, old pal. You’re exhausted.”

  Spider nodded.

  He lay down on the concrete, and realized how thirsty he was. He was hungry again, too, and his paws were so numb he could no longer feel them. He was covered in dirt, and his tongue was parched and gritty.

  The flea pulled at a hair gently.

  “You’re depressed,” it said. “And you’re bound to be, Spider.”

  “I think it’s all over,” said the dog.

  The flea chuckled. “No,” it said. “We just need a few hours’ sleep. In the morning, we try again.”

  “Try what?”

  “To find this wretched school. It might be round the corner, Spider, waiting for us. You never know.”

  “We might be in the wrong town, though. We could be farther away than when we started. You should get out while you can—before it’s too late.”

  The flea was quiet for a moment.

  “Get out where?” it said, at last. “Where would I go, Spider? You’re my home now.”

  “I can’t be.”

  “But you are.”

  “No. Top yourself up, and let’s say goodbye. I think you should be on your way.”

  The flea stood absolutely still.

  “Spider, wait,” it said. “I don’t get what you’re saying. What’s wrong?”

  The dog said nothing. He closed his eyes and whined—there was nothing else he could do.

  “OK,” said the flea, at last. “I do understand—of course I do. You’ve had enough of me. That’s what you mean, yes? You think we should go our separate ways. I told you to say that, if it was ever what you felt. Honesty is the best policy, always… and now you’ve said it.”

  There was another silence, and Spider felt the flea walk up his nose and down again.

  “That’s it then,” it said. “I do what I’m told. I’ve been unwanted all my life, dog, so you’re not going to hurt my feelings. I just thought we were getting on pretty well.”

  “We were.”

  “What’s changed? Have I been bossy? Have I overdone it?”

  “No. You’ve helped me, and I appreciate it, but… come on. You’ve got your own life to lead.”

  “And I’m leading it, pal. With you. You’re a good, loyal, friendly animal, and I want you to find Tom. Why split up now? We can split up when you’re back in his arms, and he’s throwing those sticks for you.”

  Spider shook his head.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because everything I do leads to disaster,” he cried. “Everyone who meets me seems to end up unhappy—it’s like I’m cursed. First it was my master, then it was Moonlight. I spent one day with Jesse and look what happened to her! There are other animals, flea, and you deserve better. Don’t you have a family?”

  The flea sighed. “Several, but I don’t see them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, it’s complicated.”

  “What you need is a nice, normal creature, because if you stay with me you’re going to end up hurt. I had a friend called Thread, the first friend I ever made. It warned me I was a failure—and that’s exactly what I am.”

  “That was your friend, huh? A friend told you that?”

  “Yes.”

  “A spider?”

  “Yes.”

  The flea laughed.

  “My God,” it said quietly. “You’ve been listening to spiders? I don’t believe it.”

  “This one told me the truth.”

  “I doubt that. It sounds terrible, Spider! It must have wrecked your confidence, because that’s what spiders do. They’re complete, total liars—everyone knows that. They make webs! They’re stealthy. That’s how they survive.”

  “Thread was different.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” cried the flea. “You are such an innocent. The world is complicated, my friend—and there are some species on this planet who deceive us, and enjoy doing so. Spiders are the worst! Where does it live?”

  “In Tom’s bedroom,” said Spider. “Up in the skylight.”

  “And it would eavesdrop, I imagine?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it’d listen in on conversations, like a spy. Then it’d float down and pretend to know everything, and interfere—yes?”

  “He was very friendly,” insisted Spider. “He invited me to his home once.”

  “Did you go?”

  Spider nodded.

  “What was it like?”

  “Not very nice,” said the dog. “He’d caught a little moth, and he was playing with him. Torturing him, really.”

  “Exactly! You see? That’s what they do! I’ve met so many spiders in my time, and there might be exceptions, but they’re generally sadistic, solitary and desperately unhappy. They lie for the pleasure of lying, and they feed off the misery of others. I tell you something: when we get to Tom’s place, I’ll sort him out. He won’t try that nonsense with me. Now I’m a parasite—”

  “No, that’s not true—”

  “Of course it’s true! Look at me. I don’t like the word, but I will never pretend to be what I’m not. And I don’t claim to be useful, but at least I’m not deadly, or poisonous—and I don’t get pleasure out of grief.”

  The flea took a deep breath and sighed.

  “I choose life,” it said. “And perhaps I’m going to speak out of turn. You can shut me up or shake me off, and if you want me to go, I’ll go—I’m a flea, after all, and you’re not going to miss me—but there’s something we have in common.”

  “What?”

  “We believe in what’s good. We believe in sticking together. You’re not going to rest until you find Tom, and that’s what I love about you, Spider: you have a purpose, and that’s why your blood is so rich. I’ve never been happier.”

  Spider said nothing. He was aware of his friend moving to the tip of his nose. The next moment, it had vaulted straight upwards and was on the ground between his paws. It gazed up at him with fierce, serious eyes.

  “Do I stay or go?” it asked.

  “Flea,” said Spider, “I don’t want to cause you pain.”

  “Well, that’s going to be hard, because the world’s full of it—as we both know.”

  Spider was silent again.

  “Come on, dog!” cried the flea. “Let’s cut to the chase here, because we need a plan. Are we together, on a mission? Or are we finished?”

  Spider twitched his ears back and blinked. He put his muzzle so close to the flea that the little insect suddenly seemed huge. Its big eyes were moist, and its antennae were trembling with emotion.

  “Stay,” said the dog softly.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. And… thank you. Thank you for helping me.”

  The dog gazed down the empty platform, too tired to move, and thought of Tom. He thought of the park and the lead and Tom’s soft, comfortable bed.

  Closing his eyes, he didn’t notice the shadow as it fell across him. He didn’t even pick up the scent, for he was just too tired—and the flea’s tiny scream came seconds too late.

  A boot clamped down hard on Spider’s tail, pinning him to the ground. Even as he tried to scramble up, a gloved hand pressed a weapon to his shoulder, and a jolt of electricity sent him into yelping convulsions. The second blast hit him full in the
chest, and knocked him unconscious.

  Spider came round to find that his paws were tied together.

  When he went to moan, he felt something round his mouth, and realized it was the same kind of restraint that bound his legs: it was a plastic strip, pulled tight, and there was another connected to it, under his ears. There was no way of chewing them, for his jaws were sealed. Worst of all, there was a throbbing pain in every muscle. He was on a sheet of old, stinking cardboard.

  “Are you awake?” asked the flea.

  Spider had never known such relief. He wasn’t alone: his friend was still there, deep in his ear.

  “You’ve been out a long time, Spider. It’s morning, and we’re in trouble. Can you speak at all? Take it easy.”

  Spider managed a thin whisper. “Where are we?”

  “It’s a garage of some kind. He unloaded us late last night and locked us in.”

  “Why? Who is he?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I can smell other dogs. Cats, too—are we on our own?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s the laboratory, I bet. Did he say anything?”

  “No, but I’m still hopeful, Spider. I think he might work for a rescue centre, or something like that. We were put in a van, so it must be his job to gather in stray animals. When the owners come looking, you get reunited: that’s what I’m hoping.”

  “So why am I tied up? I’m so thirsty, flea. This is terrible! We have to get out.”

  “I know it’s hard, Spider, but there’s nothing we can do at the moment. We have to sit it out and cooperate. We have to stay optimistic.”

  “He’s coming back.”

  “Now? How can you tell?”

  Spider whined in fear. “I can hear his boots,” he said. “I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him—”

  “OK, but stay calm! Don’t try to fight or he’ll just zap you again.”

  “Oh, Tom… Where are you?”

  The flea tugged at a hair, and pinched him.

  “Keep calm,” it hissed. “Tom is looking for you, even now. Don’t forget that.”

  Heavy footsteps were definitely approaching, and there was a jangle of keys. A door opened with a metallic screech, and the early-morning sun hit Spider right between the eyes. He squirmed in terror, for there were now two men standing over him, and they were shoulder to shoulder. The grip around his paws was merciless, and all he could do was shudder.

  “He’s fine,” said the first, after a short silence.

  “Good,” said the second. “I thought he might be too skinny. You definitely want him?”

  “Why not? The more the merrier.”

  Spider writhed again, but he couldn’t quite see their faces. They were dark shapes, and they smelt of sweat.

  “Any ID? Have you checked?”

  “Nothing at all. No collar, no chip. He’s only a few months old, so he’s been abandoned, I imagine. Unwanted gift.”

  “That’s what we like.”

  “Long legs.”

  “Young and tender.”

  Spider felt a boot under his ribs. He was turned over, and one of the men squatted close. A hand pulled at his fur, and he managed a yelp of panic.

  “It’s the coat I noticed,” said the man. “I thought it had a certain softness. Loose skin as well—feel it.”

  “Forget it. I’m not dealing in fur.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I got caught, mate. There’s no money in it, anyway—not at this end.”

  Spider gazed up, totally confused. Both figures were sturdy, and the stink of cigarettes was overpowering. There was a sudden scent of leather, too, for one was pulling out a wallet, and Spider glimpsed banknotes. The first man’s mouth twisted into a thin smile as he pocketed them, while the other hauled on a pair of large gauntlets. The stench of dirty rubber made Spider gasp—there was old blood in the mix, too. Seconds later, the gloves were under his forelegs, and though he tried to twist, he didn’t stand a chance. He was lifted up, as the other man hauled a wire cage from the side and opened it under him. He bucked, but there was no point: the hands were strong, and one grabbed his tail to force him through the gap head first. He collapsed on to a hard steel tray, and the two men lifted him together. Spider started to shake. He hadn’t noticed the truck, for it had been parked some distance away, but now he could hear the engine. Its shutter was up and open, and as he approached the darkness within, Spider heard volleys of barks and a terrified whimpering.

  “Stay calm,” hissed the flea.

  “How?”

  “You just have to.”

  “Where are we going? Where are they taking us?”

  “Be brave, Spider. I’m not leaving you. If it’s a dogs’ home, we’ll be fine, so—”

  “But we’re prisoners!”

  “Shhhh!”

  The flea was shaking, too. It moved swiftly to Spider’s neck and clung there as they were loaded into the truck.

  In the gloom they could see rows of cages, jammed haphazardly on top of each other. They could make out anxious eyes, too, and there was a chorus of agonized howling. Paws rattled at bars, but the men took no notice at all. One of them leapt into the vehicle and started to organize things. The howling grew louder, and Spider’s cage was forced into a gap between a slender spaniel, which was lying on its side, and what might have been a bulldog. A chain rattled over their heads, and a padlock clicked shut. The man’s face came close, and Spider saw that despite the gloom he was wearing sunglasses. He saw his own terrified reflection in the lenses. The cage door opened, and a knife touched his throat.

  Spider had no time even to yelp, and he felt fingers close to his windpipe.

  The flea clutched his fur.

  “Stay still,” it hissed. “It’s only for the plastic. He’s taking the plastic off!”

  The first band was cut neatly in half. It fell from Spider’s mouth, and he sighed with relief. The man’s hands moved to his paws, and suddenly his legs were free. He struggled to his feet, poised to spring through the door—as it snapped shut in his face.

  “I can smell death,” whimpered Spider. “It’s all around us!”

  “I know.”

  He had just enough room to stay upright, but could only turn with difficulty. The man had vaulted out of the truck and was disappearing round the side. The shutter started to close, clanking as it came down. The light was fading.

  “OK,” said someone. “Hold tight, guys—it looks like we’re moving.”

  Spider wormed himself around again, and saw the outline of the dog he’d glimpsed earlier. It was actually a pit bull, with broad, powerful shoulders, and its face was pressed to the wire, peering in at him.

  “Are you hurt?” it barked. “What’s your name, pal?”

  “Who?” yelped someone.

  “We’ve got a newcomer here. Last one in, I reckon.”

  There was a frantic scratching from further down the line, and a hoarse panting from underneath.

  “We need to know where we’re going,” said a voice. “Does anyone know for sure?”

  “Please,” said someone else, “I need food. I really do need food…”

  “Has anyone got water?”

  “Down here, guys. We’ve lost another one…”

  Spider said nothing at all. He inched his body round in another tight circle, and saw that the dog on his other side hadn’t moved—and wasn’t going to. A few cages below, a creature was gnawing at the wire, but the worst sound of all was the continuous howling: it was the screech of cats as well as dogs, rising in volume as the truck’s engine revved madly, and the vehicle started to shake.

  “I’ll go and explore,” said the flea.

  “Don’t!” said Spider. “Don’t leave me.”

  “We have to get some answers,” whispered the flea. “Keep calm, OK? I’ll be back.”

  “You won’t find me!”

  “I will, Spider—trust me. I won’t desert you, so stay still. Save your energy.”
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  Spider whined, and saw his friend leap out into the gloom. His neck was twisted, pressing against the mesh, and he could smell the pit bull’s bitter breath as it panted. That’s when he realized his cage had shifted, and they were now nose to nose.

  “Take it easy, pal,” it said quietly. “You’re safe.”

  “Am I?” asked Spider.

  “You’re going to be fine, buddy. We’re being looked after.” Spider tried to retreat, but there was nowhere to go. He gazed at his neighbour and shuddered. In all his short, protected life, he had never seen a creature so mauled and disfigured. He went to speak, but no words came.

  “What?” said the pit bull. It flexed the muscles across its chest and put its huge head on one side. “What are you looking at, boy?”

  “Nothing,” whispered Spider.

  “No?”

  “No. Just trying to get my bearings.”

  “That won’t be easy,” growled the pit bull. “You’re the last man in, I think. We made a detour for you, pal—you only just made it.”

  Spider blinked and tried to breathe normally. The animal’s voice was deep and coarse, and its teeth were broken stumps. The nose was blunt and crushed, and Spider saw that the right eye was completely missing. There was no fur anywhere, either: just pale, bruised skin stretched over a dented skull. He knew the dog was female, and he remembered meeting a similar breed in the park. This one clearly needed help—an ear had been bitten to a stump—but she stood in her cage, as firm as a rock.

  “Buster’s the name,” she said. “What happened to you? You look bad.”

  “I got caught,” said Spider.

  “Who by?”

  “By one of those men. He had a gun, I think.”

  “That’s not a gun, buddy—that’s a cattle prod. Were you lost or left?”

  “I don’t know. Lost, I think.”

  “That’s too bad. A lost dog is a sad dog, and that’s what I am, too—lost as lost can be. Pleased to meet you, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you…”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Spider.”

  “Buster.”

  “I was trying to get home, Buster—back to my master.”

  “Is he looking for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t have to worry, then. I’ve got a whole load of people, thank goodness—they’ll be out looking for me right now, so it’s just a question of time. That’s why I’m not making a fuss, you see? No point fighting this. What’s your name?”