The Dog (19 page)
And then she screams louder than I've ever heard any human scream before. It's a scream filled with rage and anger and pain, and it seems to be ringing throughout the entire building. She reaches for the gun and aims at me, but all the happens when she pulls the trigger is a series of impotent clicks. Tossing the gun aside, she tries again to get up, which brings even more pain and causes her scream to become even louder. She's sobbing, too, with tears streaming down her face, and the bones protruding from her broken legs are shining in a patch of moonlight that shines down through the building's damaged roof.
“My back,” she sobs. “I can't... Help me...”
Finally I turn and walk away, to find another exit. Melissa's screams are still ringing out, and I swear they're loud enough to make the entire building shudder. She's still screaming as I make my way past the bodies of Thomas and the others, and I can hear her even after I'm out of the building. By the time I've limped all the way to the edge of town, she's must further away but her cries can still be heard, filling the entire empty town.
I don't stop.
I don't look back.
I just keep limping out into the barren countryside, desperate to get as far away from humans as possible. My legs hurt and my flank is bleeding, and there's a child's blood smeared across my face and chin. My ribs are stinging too, and I can barely even remember where I came from or how I ended up like this. One thing's certain, though. I never want to see another human again, not for as long as I live.
PART THREE
I stay low in the long grass.
Watching.
Waiting.
Listening.
Eventually I hear another faint rustling sound. Closer this time.
Still I wait.
My belly is stinging with hunger and I know I have to time this just right.
Ahead, the grass is swaying slightly. There's a breeze this morning, but one patch of grass in particular is moving more than the rest and the air is alive with the scent of my prey.
Saliva dribbles down my chin.
Finally I spot something small and brown scurrying through the grass, and my instincts kick in. I leap forward, snarling as the rabbit squeals and turns to run. Its attempt to escape is a fraction too late, however, and I bite down hard on its flank, crushing its legs and feeling fresh, warm blood bursting into my mouth.
It takes several hours to eat the rabbit. I don't want to swallow too many bones, but at the same time I can't afford to leave even a scrap of meat behind. Still, the process is somehow calming, and my mind empties as I rest in the meadow and gnaw at the top of the rabbit's skull. It might take several days before I catch another meal, so I have to make this last.
This is right.
This is how I want to live now.
This is how I should be.
And then suddenly I hear something in the distance, something that makes me freeze. Something I haven't heard for many, many years.
Human voices.
Creeping forward, I stay low as I reach the ridge. The voice are much closer now, somewhere down at the foot of the hill. My heart is pounding, but I know I have to see what's happening. Leaning around the ridge, I look down toward the abandoned farmhouse, and that's when I see them.
Five humans.
Two adult males, one adult female, one little boy and one little girl.
The children are playing, but the adults seem to be examining the farmhouse. They clearly have no idea that I'm here, so I remain in place and watch for a few minutes. I honestly can't remember the last time I saw living humans. I've stumbled across corpses occasionally over the years, but many summers have passed since the day I limped away from the town where Melissa lay screaming.
Ten summers at least. Maybe more.
My instinct is to turn and get out of here. This meadow has been a good home for the past few summers, with a fair number of rabbits and mice for me to eat, but I'm sure I can find somewhere else to live and hunt. Still, the humans are a good long way down the valley still, and despite my aching muscles and bones I feel sure I could outrun them even if they suddenly came for me.
I just have to stay alert.
Sniffing the air, I realize I can smell human sweat, but also the scent of food. The humans have brought several wooden carts with them, each loaded down with meat and other items. It has been so long since I ate human food, but suddenly I remember the taste of ham and cheese, and the bacon Jon used to cook in the mornings, and the almost-empty ice cream bowls I was sometimes allowed to lick. For the first time in many years, I allow myself to think back to those days, to a time that had almost slipped from my mind.
I'd love nothing more than to go through those wooden carts, but I don't dare go anywhere near the humans so I get to my feet and turn to walk away. I'll find another meadow. I'll be fine.
“Harry!” a voice calls out suddenly. “Harry! Over here!”
“Harry, help your sister! There'll be time to play later. Right now, you have to help your sister bring more boxes inside. Harry? Harry, get over here and help out! Harry!”
“Does that mean we're staying?” the boy asks, heading to one of the wooden carts.
“There's nothing wrong with the place,” the man replies. “The house is sturdy and the land looks good. It's damn near perfect.”
“Says who?”
“Says me, now grab a box and help out. Come on, Harry, we all need to pull together.”
Still keeping low, I watch as the boy takes a box and starts carrying it into the house. There's food in the box, and it's clearly too heavy for him, but he struggles on nonetheless. Ever since I first heard the name Harry called out a few minutes ago, my interest in these people has become much stronger. I haven't heard that name for a long, long time, and I can't deny that it sparked some deep part of my soul that laid dormant during my time here in the meadow. I think deep down, I thought the humans might be calling me.
But now the truth is clear. When they call for Harry, it's the boy they're after.
I feel a flash of sadness as I realize that he has my name now. I guess I didn't use it for so long, it was taken away and given to someone else.
“You're not done yet, Harry!” the man's voice calls out. “Grab another box!”
“Listen to your father, Harry!” the woman calls out from inside the farmhouse. “Don't leave all the heavy ones for Sophie!”
A moment later, the boy comes out and trudges toward the cart. He's clearly tired and, as he grabs another box, he manages to stumble. Falling down into the mud, he covers his face as the box crashes down on top of him.
“Harry dropped one!” the girl shouts, with a hint of amusement in her voice. “I guess he's a weak-ass after all!”
I let out an involuntary whimper at the sound of that name, and somehow in my head I almost hear Jon's voice calling me, and Julie's too. I've tried not to think about them during my years alone in the meadow, because those memories only make me sad, but hearing the name Harry again has stirred thoughts that I'd hoped might be gone forever.
“Oh Harry,” the woman says, coming out from the farmhouse. “You need to remember how to lift properly. Or are they too heavy for you?”
“Of course they're not!” Harry says firmly, although he clearly struggles as he gets to his feet. At the last moment, just before he can reach down to grab the box again, the girl takes it from him and carries it inside. “I had that!” he calls after her. “Sophie! That was mine!”
She laughs.
“Just grab another one,” the woman says, following the girl inside, “and try not to make a fuss.”
“I had that one,” he mutters, turning back to the cart. Suddenly he happens to glance this way, and our eyes meet.
I duck down, out of sight.
“Mom! Dad!” he shouts excitedly. “I saw a dog!”
“Nonsense,” the woman replies. “Come on, there's no time for stupid games.”
“I saw a dog up there!” he yells. “I swear, I saw a little dog! He looked right at me!”
I wait, hoping that they don't come looking for me. After a few minutes, the voices settle and I dare to take another look. The boy must be inside, because only the two men and the girl are carrying things in from the cart now, and they seem totally engrossed in their work. I've been down to that farmhouse a few times, but the smell of long-gone humans always kept me from staying for too long. Now it seems humans are back, which means I have to be extra careful.
Still, the food scents drifting up from the house are impossible to resist, and I've already come up with a plan.
“Do you really think we can make this work?” the woman asks later as I sneak closer to the house. “We don't know the first thing about farming.”
It's dark now, and I've waited hours and hours for this opportunity. I no longer remember many details from my time with Jon at the old cabin, but I
do
remember how he used to put garbage out in a bucket each night. Figuring that these humans might do the same, I've finally come down to take a closer look, and now that I'm right beneath one of the windows I'm able to smell some kind of cooked meat. Still, all the interesting scents so far seem to be coming from inside the house, so it seems that nothing has been thrown out yet. Despite the hunger in my belly, I'll have to be patient.
“We'll manage,” one of the men mutters as I slink along the side of the building.
“How?” the woman continues. “It just looks like grass in all the fields around here.”
“There were those wild sheep near the old train line.”
“And what are you going to do with those?”
The man sighs. “I admit it's a steep learning curve, but what would you rather do? Keep roaming the countryside, hoping to find something better? This place is already a miracle, Carly. We'll just have to buckle down and make it work. Trust me.”
“And what if more of those things show up?”
“No-one's seen one in years. But that's why we decided to stay away from the camps, remember? Out here, away from other people, there's no real risk of us getting sick. And if something
does
show up, that's what the rifle's for.”
“And what about other people?”
Silence falls among them for a moment.
“What if other people find us here?” she asks, with fear in her voice. “Those gangs that have been roaming the Mid-West are -”
“This isn't the Mid-West.”
“But there are probably others around. We have one rifle, Sam, and how many bullets?”
“We have two boxes of cartridges.”
“It won't be enough if someone attacks us. Some of those gangs are very organized.”
“Let me deal with that,” the man replies. “I have some ideas. Ways we can keep ourselves safe. And no-one's actually seen anything in the area, have they? You're worrying about a threat that's probably hundreds of miles away. That's why we came this far out. There's no-one else here. It's just us.”
“I feel like we've become some kind of old-fashioned pioneer family,” the woman continues. “I grew up in Manhattan, Sam. With cellphones, computers, cars, every kind of tech... I never imagined I'd end up like this. Even when the sickness started, I thought the government would save us. And now look at us, desperately hoping we can make a go at subsistence farming. And cooking meager scraps in a pot.”
As they continue to talk, I sneak around the side of the farmhouse. There's no sign of anyone out here, so I hurry through the shadows until I reach the next corner. The smell of food is driving me crazy and forcing me to take risks I'd otherwise never even consider, but so far it seems as if these people haven't thrown a single scrap outside. Stopping under another window, I look up and see the flickering light of a fire cast against the stone, but I've learned to live without much warmth.
It's food I need. I'm already so weak and -
Suddenly I spot a scrap of meat on the floor, just inside the farmhouse's back door. It's nothing too juicy, just a strip of gristle, but I can't resist.
After checking to make sure that no-one is around, I creep through the doorway and edge closer to the chunk of meat.
“There he is!”
Startled, I turn and see the two children running toward me from the next room. After grabbing the piece of gristle, I set off in the other direction, running around the side of the house, but suddenly the adults come out through the front door and stop as soon as they see me.
“Kill it!” the woman shouts.
I bark at them, momentarily standing my ground before turning and racing out across the grass, away from the house. Too scared to look back, I run as fast as my aching legs can carry me, and I don't stop until I've made it all the way up the hill and over to the edge of the forest, at which point I stop and look back. My heart is pounding and my muscles are aching.
I can hear voices in the distances, but the humans' scents don't seem to be coming any closer. I made it. I chew the piece of gristle for a moment, before swallowing.
