Dog Page 18

  Moonlight butted the casement window and flipped the catch with her paws. Seconds later, Spider had hurled himself through the opening and was inside.

  “Spider, wait!” she cried, but it was no use.

  The dog rolled himself past her, falling heavily on to dirty crockery. He shook the splinters from his fur. The next moment, he was racing up to the bedroom he remembered so well. The scent of Tom was everywhere, but even as he skidded to a halt and gazed around him, it was obvious that yet again he’d failed in his quest. Tom was agonizingly absent.

  Thread let himself down and dangled just above his head.

  “This is an outrage, Fido,” he hissed. “First a mutilated cat, and now you. We all thought you were dead.”

  “You know who I’m looking for,” panted Spider. “Where’s he gone?”

  “He’s a fugitive, as far as I know. And, by the way, you’ve got a flea on your face.”

  “He certainly has,” said the flea. “And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time. Tell us what you know—and don’t lie.”

  “Did he go to school today?” yelped Spider. “Help us, Thread—I need to find him.”

  The spider chuckled and twirled. “You really want the truth?” he cried. “You can have it, dog—because it’s all down to you. It’s been chaos round here ever since you left. The phone’s been ringing non-stop, and we’ve even had the police round—”

  “The police? Why? When did you last see Tom?”

  “This morning, of course! He cried himself to sleep last night, as usual. Oh, my goodness, you wouldn’t believe the tears. Then up he gets, and I’m on the landing, listening as the lodger comes upstairs. That’s when your boy makes his move. He’s a delinquent now, you know: he stole the motorbike and skipped school. Sometime later, two policemen showed up, talking about a road accident—”

  “But where is he now?” barked Spider.

  “Who knows?” shouted Thread. “We’re waiting for news. They found the bike on the railway line, smashed to pieces. The rider vanished—under the train, presumably—”

  “Oh, God!” howled Spider. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t stay here…”

  He raced down the stairs, retracing his steps to the garden. Moonlight followed, and in no time they were back at the front door. Buster was on the front step, keeping guard.

  “He’s gone, and he’s hurt,” said Spider. “What do we do?”

  “Eat,” said Moonlight. “Let me find you something—”

  “I’m not hungry, you fool! I’m never going to eat again, unless it’s with Tom.”

  “Don’t say that, Spider!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have to keep your strength up. And, oh, look—where’s your flea? You’ve left it behind.”

  Moonlight went to nuzzle him, but Spider spun away from her. The next moment, he was standing motionless, a paw in the air.

  “What?” asked the pit bull.

  “Leave me,” said Spider. “Don’t touch me…”

  “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s his heart,” whispered Moonlight. “It’s breaking, I think—”

  “Spider, talk to us!” barked the pit bull. “What’s happening, pal?”

  The dog lowered his head and swallowed. His ears started to twitch, and the fur along his backbone rose, hair by hair. He could feel the strangest tingling sensation, and the tip of his tail was hot.

  “Tom is close,” he said softly. “He’s close, Buster—and he needs me. I can feel it.”

  He whined, and sniffed the air. The tingling had turned to a persistent throbbing, and he’d never felt anything as intense before. It was an awful pounding of the blood in both his heart and his head. He turned in a circle and managed to gasp.

  “Why am I standing here?” asked Spider.

  “You shouldn’t be,” said Buster. “Find him.”

  “Which way? I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but he’s… he’s calling me!”

  “Listen harder,” said Buster. “I’ve had this myself, buddy, so don’t resist it! What can you see?”

  “I see that railway again.”

  “What else?”

  “I see… the train, the one we were on, and… we’re too late.”

  “We can’t be!” cried Moonlight.

  As she spoke, they heard a siren. Somewhere nearby, an emergency vehicle was answering a call, and it jerked Spider into action. He barked once, and it was a triumphant bark, because it was the bark of realization. Suddenly, he knew which way to go. His tail was up, and in an instant he was gone—he seemed to rise upwards like a missile, and then he was flying down the pavement. Buster and Moonlight followed, but he was way ahead of them. They saw him flash across the street, as a police car missed him by a whisker.

  Buster picked up his scent and gave chase. She was in time to see him coursing down an alleyway, back towards the town centre. They were soon in front of the church, its familiar clock tower rising high above their heads. It was chiming five, the bells crashing over the town like an awful countdown. Spider ran yet faster, bounding into the station. He raced over the concourse to the first platform that he came to. He dodged a railwayman, who tried to block his path, and sailed over a barrier. Then they were all on the tracks, and Spider caught a whiff of his master. He forged ahead, faster than ever. A horn blasted as a train lurched slowly towards them. They scrambled under it, rolling between its wheels on to a patch of scrub. There, the lines divided, and the freight wagons came into view.

  They gathered on the empty platform, but now a fence blocked their way. Spider jumped at it, barking, for he could smell his master on the stone and in the grass. The boy had been here, not long ago, and he wasn’t alone.

  “Help me, Buster,” he whined. “We have to get through.”

  “This way!” cried the cat. “There’s a gap just here.”

  “Is Tom still close?” asked the pit bull.

  “Yes, but he’s not safe. He’s in the most terrible danger.”

  Tom felt the floorboards he was balancing on shift beneath his feet. He was aware of cracks in the brickwork, which frightened him. Another couple of roof slates slipped, and he heard them shatter below. He heard the freight train, too, blasting a long whistle as it heaved its way out of the sidings.

  “Spider!” he cried. “Where are you, boy? Spider!”

  “He’s dead,” said Robert Tayler. “How many times do you need telling?”

  Tom looked down at him. “He’s alive.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “That’s all you do,” said Tom. “You lie all the time. You don’t know what the truth is.”

  He looked at the metal rod the boy was holding, and realized the moment had come. His enemy was climbing towards him, smiling, and Tom felt a curious calm—there was no way to avoid the conflict any more. It had been coming for a long time, like a slow train, and there was a terrible rightness to it. They were in the perfect place: the drop was deadly, and there was no escape. An idiot might clamber on to what was left of the wall, and over the rafters, but you’d have to be mad to try. Tom’s eyes flicked right and left, then focused on Rob, who was still smiling.

  Marcus was behind him, looking nervous.

  “You’re a freak, Lipman,” said Rob.

  “Am I?”

  “You’re so scared. You’re such a little weakling.”

  “But I’m not.”

  Rob waved his weapon like a sword.

  “You’re scared,” he cried. “Just look at you.”

  “I’m not scared at all,” replied Tom. “I’m working out how many of your bones I’m going to break. You’re a rotten, wretched liar, and I’m going to batter you. I don’t care about your little mate because it’s you I’m after.”

  Rob blinked. He found that his mouth was open, and though he held the metal rod in both hands, he was no longer quite so confident. His eyes had widened, and Tom could see that he wasn’t sure w
hat to do.

  “Guys,” said Marcus, “this isn’t safe.”

  “Who cares?” said Tom.

  “I’m serious,” Marcus said. “Let’s go down and talk.”

  Tom took a step forward. “What shall we talk about, Tayler? You’re nothing, you know. Spider’s alive, and I’m going to find him. But first, I’m going to kill you.”

  Rob raised his weapon again, but now it was to defend himself. He went to speak, but before he could, Tom did a very clever thing. He’d seen it in a film, but he was amazed to find it worked so well.

  He shouted, “Marcus, no!”—and that made Rob turn, giving Tom the split second he needed.

  His feet were firmly planted and he let his enemy have it: a heavy right-hander that cracked into the boy’s face so hard Tom felt the shock up to his shoulder. Rob was knocked off balance, utterly stunned, and Tom moved in again, grabbing at him with both hands. He had Rob’s tie in his fist, up near his throat, so he yanked the boy forward and threw him sideways. Down he went, the weapon skittering into the void. Tom stepped back to use his feet: all he wanted was to kick the boy’s head clean off his shoulders.

  Someone had told him that you should always fight fair, but his enemy had asked for this for so long, and was now on all fours, totally at his mercy. The rage and hurt boiled in Tom, and he kicked with his right foot as hard as he’d punched. Luckily for them both, he misjudged it. The kick went wide, and Rob scrabbled to his feet, his face a mask of blood-splashed panic.

  Marcus was shouting something, but Tom was ready again, thrilled that his opponent’s nosebleed looked so serious.

  He punched again, and caught Rob full in the mouth. The boy couldn’t defend himself, and staggered back, staring into Tom’s burning eyes.

  He knew he was beaten, and he knew he had to run. Tom was blocking the stairs, so he took his chance, scrambling up on to the brickwork behind him. It was the only way, and he could just make it round if he jumped.

  “Rob, no!” cried Marcus, but then he fell silent.

  Rob had dropped to his knees, for he had misjudged it. He put his arms out, horrified to find that the parapet he was on was way too narrow. It was also sickeningly high. With nothing on either side, it was like balancing on a tightrope, and even Tom saw the terror and indecision as Rob lifted his right foot without knowing where to put it. He wanted to turn and get back to safety, but he also wanted to stay away from his attacker.

  Marcus put his hand out, and Rob just managed to grab it. He jumped, and as he landed, hard, they all felt the timbers shift and tilt. A roof girder above them broke loose and smashed downwards like a hammer. A section of brickwork toppled slowly inwards and burst into a shower of rubble.

  The warehouse was finally collapsing.

  The boys went down with it, in an avalanche of timber, brick and slate. Everything fell in terrible slow motion, the columns and archways crumbling in upon each other.

  When the debris had finally settled, a dust cloud rose up and hovered over the devastation, boiling in a soft, grey fog. Then silence reasserted itself, as if nothing of any significance had happened.

  Spider squirmed through the fence as the last tremor died away. The stillness returned, and the site seemed deserted. Nothing moved except a curious dust cloud, which expanded slowly outwards. He could see the roof of a bulldozer buried in a pyramid of stone.

  He snuffled in the grass, for once again there was the scent of something familiar—a distinctive smell of cloth. He followed the trail, and there they were: two red and black blazers, folded over two school bags. Neither belonged to Tom—he knew that at once—but he also knew he was getting closer.

  Buster limped towards him on aching paws, and they gazed at one another in silence.

  “Trust those instincts,” said the pit bull.

  “I’m trying. He’s here somewhere—I know he is.”

  As he spoke, they heard the faintest of cries.

  Both dogs leapt forward and clambered on to the debris. Spider barked a volley of short, piercing barks, but they were swallowed again by total silence.

  “Be careful,” whispered Moonlight.

  “Why?” asked Spider.

  “I smell danger, angel. It’s all around us.”

  “I don’t care. He was calling me, wasn’t he? I heard his voice!”

  The dog was shivering all over again. His tail was up, and the throbbing had returned. He whined and barked as loudly as he could. He threw his head back and howled. He filled his lungs again and cried like a werewolf. At once, a boy’s plaintive voice found strength, and called out once more. It was weak, but the animals heard it clearly: a forlorn, exhausted cry for help.

  Moonlight led the way, racing among the rubble. Tom’s scent was rising from somewhere, so Spider bounded this way and that, hunting for a way down. He found a narrow gap at last. It was between two lumps of masonry, but it was scarcely wider than his head. He pushed into it, and the passage opened at once into a narrow cave. Buster joined him, and they could both see that it zigzagged into the depths like a chimney. While they hesitated, a wooden spar groaned and split, and everything shifted.

  “Tom’s underneath us,” said Spider.

  “Let me go first,” said Buster. “If the way’s blocked, I’ll deal with it.”

  Without waiting for a response, the pit bull scampered forward and wormed her way into the darkness. Spider was right behind her, and Moonlight followed.

  The chute turned at once into a horribly tight elbow, and they found themselves slithering. Only then did they see the true horror of the situation. They had come to a low, dimly lit chamber. A section of brickwork was tilting inwards, held up by a girder that was about to give way. A slab of concrete rested heavily on that, and there was a constant trickle of smaller stones.

  “We haven’t got long,” Spider whispered.

  “I know.”

  “We shouldn’t be here!” said Moonlight. “We can’t help him, darling. If he’s down here—”

  “Keep still,” said Buster. “Let’s think about this. Can you smell him? My nose is full of dirt.”

  “He’s so close,” said Spider. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “Do you think he’s alive?”

  “Definitely. What’s that between those blocks? I can see something white.”

  Moonlight gasped. “It’s a hand!”

  “I think you’re right,” said the pit bull. “We’re too late.”

  Spider launched himself and landed beside it. He hunched over the little fingers, pushing at them with his nose. He turned them and licked at the palm, nipping the thumb and willing it to move. Just as he’d given up hope, the fingers flexed. They stretched, reaching out towards the dog’s mouth, and they touched his distinctive tooth. They ran over it gently, and then they reached up to stroke his muzzle. Spider pawed frantically at the rubble, and in a moment the wrist emerged, clad in a dusty sleeve of red and black. Spider yelped in joy, and gripped the fabric in his jaws. He pulled and pulled, and the arm curled right around his shoulder. Moonlight joined them, pawing the debris away, and at last they saw human hair. Spider forced his muzzle into the grit around it, twisting and lifting, and they saw a cheek, a closed eye and pale, bloodless lips. The whole face seemed lifeless, but as Spider licked it, the eyes blinked open and focused. The other arm shook itself free and, though he was weak and in pain, Tom managed to embrace his dog.

  “Oh, Spider,” he croaked. “At last…”

  Spider couldn’t stop licking the boy, and in a moment his face was clean. Buster and Moonlight were scrabbling at the masonry that crushed his legs, and Tom managed to twist himself loose. He got a leg free, and they worked together to ease the largest stone, which trapped his other knee. Tom rolled on to his front, then crouched on all fours, unable to believe he was alive. Spider whined, and Moonlight leapt towards the exit above their heads, mewing in fear.

  “No,” hissed Tom. “We can’t leave.”

  Spider stared at him.

&
nbsp; “There’s two more, Spider. We can’t leave them, can we? They’re here somewhere. Help me dig!”

  Tom plunged his hands into the rubble, and the animals realized something was still horribly wrong. Almost at once, a new scent reached their noses, and they set to work. Within minutes, they’d uncovered a shoeless foot, and an arm in a torn, white sleeve.

  Tom was gasping and choking, for the dust was thickening around them.

  “Marcus!” he cried. “Rob!”

  The two boys were lying face down. It took another long minute to uncover them, and when they managed to raise their heads it was obvious they were nearly done for. The smaller of the two, Marcus, managed to get up on to one knee. He coughed, and Tom helped him to free his other leg. His friend was hardly conscious, and Tom moved to his side.

  “Come on, Rob,” he said. “You’re not dying here!”

  “Mum?” whispered Rob.

  “It’s Tom.”

  “Help me, Tom. I can’t feel my legs.”

  “You have to move, OK? I can’t carry you.”

  “Is that you, Lipman?”

  “Yes!”

  “I’m a liar, aren’t I? I’m so, so sorry, but—”

  “I don’t care about that!” cried Tom. “Just get up and push, OK? Use your arms!”

  Marcus was on his knees beside them and managed to grab his friend’s shirt. He worked with Tom, and at last the third boy was hauled clear. They lifted Rob from behind, and Moonlight was waiting for them. She led the way up the slope towards the tiny circle of daylight above their heads. Marcus squirmed to the front, pulling at Rob behind him. Tom came last, taking some of his old enemy’s weight as the bricks slid under their feet.

  Another section of stone was crumbling, and it was Buster’s one good eye that saved them, for she noticed the girder again, even as it shifted. She wedged her thick body against the metal, and Spider heard her gasp as it crushed her. Her lungs were straining, and she was snarling in pain. Somehow she braced herself, and the three boys scrambled past. Buster followed, just in time, and they reached the surface as the ground sucked and plunged beneath them.