The Long Walk
Chapter 12: The Long WalkOctober 1, 198615:19 HoursSouth London, England I sat in the outfitting room of the Kennel for long minutes after Handler Proust had left. Forty-Seven passed by without so much as a word to me. We'd known each other since the day we opened our eyes, and she brushed past me, never even glancing my way as I sat despondent on a bench by the door. I watched her cool and efficient motions as she collected her things, following the posted instructions on the wall to the letter. Backpacks sat prepared against the far wall, she threw one over her slim shoulders, adjusting the straps to make it lay right over her new travelling clothes. The only step that required thought was food. With Dogs moving out to posts all over the country, we had to pack our own kibble. The directions to our territories listed the number of days the journey would take. All we had to do was take an equivalent number bags of sealed kibble and place them in our backpacks. I waved a hand after her when she left, her eyes never having even once fallen upon me. I wasn't even sure if she'd noticed I was there. Or if she cared.
Her tail had hardly passed the door when Sixty was the next to enter. He didn't walk the same way Forty-Seven had. She had been sure, calm, confident that the world was as it should be for her. Sixty scuttled in, glancing nervously from side to side. For a moment his hesitant motions reminded me of Forty-One. That changed when he saw me. He ran to my side, falling to the ground before my feet as I remained slouched over on the hard wooden bench. "Sir..." His voice was shaking. He still called me by that fake title. He had been yet another one of the Dogs in my group who I had forced by hook or by crook to address me as his implicit superior. Now that title made me want to spit. "Please, Sir, tell me what's going on... I'm not supposed to score... you're not supposed to... please, Sir..." His voice rose to a whine, eyes pleading. I wanted to be angry, I wanted to lash out at him in a vain effort to solve all my problems. Some black corner of my mind whispered that I should do to him that which I had done to Forty-One, make an example of him...
But I hardly had the energy to draw a breath as I spoke. "You won, Sixty. Is that so hard to understand? You're better than me. The Exam proved it beyond all doubt. That's all there is." If anything the confusion in his eyes grew. They bordered now on sheer terror. "No... not right." His voice was growing guttural now, parts of his mind starting to fail. "I'm second best... I'm always second best. You, you're number one..." I could almost
hear his rigid mind starting to crack under the stress of an unexpected change in his world. He was so near snapping that I could have reached out with a finger and broken him in two. Yet I couldn't find a single word to say. "You're... you're joining MI18, aren't you?" His eyes snapped back to focus as he jumped to the wild conclusion. His words were enough to force even me in my stupor to take notice. MI18 was a mythical Military Intelligence service that supposedly handled Dogs who were tasked with duties above and beyond those which could be revealed to the public. I'd once heard General Train refer to it jokingly off of hand. There was no such thing as MI18. There was an MI17 and a MI19, but there had never been an 18. It was just a bedtime story that we had told to each other to while away the hours when we were young and untrained.
"You have to be..." He was rambling now, carrying on, likely not mattering much if I was even here or not. He'd just decided on his worldview, and nothing I could say would ever change it. "You'll meet the Queen." Huh? To be honest I'd just kind of tuned him out after the first few seconds, content to wallow in my own misery and leave him to his ramblings. Now Sixty's normally stoic demeanour was cracked and peeling, he very near bounced around the room like an over stimulated puppy. "That's amazing, Forty-Two. Do you realize what this means? You're joining M18, you're going to meet the Queen!" I just rolled my eyes at him. Sure. M18. Whatever. All I wanted right now was for him to go away and leave me in peace. It wasn't until I'd all but shoved him out the door that a wan smile finally crossed my lips. Sixty, likely the highest scoring Dog of our generation, if not all time, still looked up to me as a hero. And, what was I if not a mythical agent of some secret military program? Had I not been pushed further than any Dog? Was I not a greater sum than any who came before me?
And had I not thrown it all away because I knew it was but a sham? God. I leaned forward, resting my brow against the cool metal of a set of lockers. I had. I'd thrown it all away. The image of Forty-One dying in my arms floated back to the surface of my mind. I'd had good reason. I could end it now. I could. I shouldn't exist, I was an abomination, I shouldn't be alive. The cardinal rule for any Police Dog, any Goddard's animal, is that we cannot kill. Yet I had. My own brother. What difference would there be between having Forty-One's blood on my hands and taking my own life? I looked down at my claws, the same hands that Handler Proust had not but hours ago washed free of all traces of blood. He had buffed them
to a near perfect shine that persisted through my disgrace at the Final. They still reflected the dim bulbs above me. Well, that was it then. Wasn't it? There was only one honourable way out of this. Suicide was, technically at least, a crime, and a sin as well. But... I guess that sometimes the ends do truly justify the means. That wasn't a rule they had ever taught us in training. I'd learned that from Proust.
But how? My claws were more than capable of the act, that was obvious, but I wanted my death to be clean, quiet. If I killed myself here, now, there would be an uproar. I could almost hear the gossip now, 'Philosopher Dog commits a Romeo to protest his score'. It would unquestionably result in an autopsy and full investigation. That would involve blood-work and genetic analysis to discover in what way I was defective, and to make sure that other Dogs were not so afflicted. The problem was that I had given my word to Proust and the others that I would conceal my nature, even past the grave. My word was my binding, I couldn't break it. Not even in death. So... that complicated matters some. I could handle that. It was a long way to West Woodburn, almost all the way to the Scottish border in the north. There were a lot of roads between here and there, a lot of rivers, lakes, and mountains that could swallow me whole. The grim smile that had hung from my face grew. I had a purpose again. Though not the one I had been designed for.
I pulled out the piece of paper I'd been given back in the assignment room. The directions to my new territory were long and complicated, the top of the paper had an estimated walking time of almost two weeks. A testament to my remote posting was that the backpacks we were assigned had only enough room for a single week's worth of kibble. I stuffed in what I could, but there simply wasn't enough space. It did little to dampen my smile. I likely wouldn't be needing it all in any event. At long last I departed from the outfitting room, now fully equipped with a pack and sundries. My dress uniform was carefully stowed, a simple blue travelling shirt and trousers now my attire. I, despite my disgrace, made sure to pin my newly earned badge to my chest. I'd dreamed of this moment since I was a pup, to step out into the streets of London a full Police Dog. It was a short walk from the outfitting room to the front door of the Kennel. Before, I'd only thought people were laughing at me, now they didn't even bother to hide their sidelong glances and even outright gawking. It seemed I couldn't round a corner without someone pointing me out. There was a crowd at the front door by the time I arrived. No one said a word.
An officer waited in a small booth by the door. I handed him my orders and checklist as I stepped up. His purpose was to be one final check to ensure I had everything I needed before entering the real world. He was human, a comely old fellow with mutton chops and a long grey beard. The look in his eyes told me that he had seen more Dogs pass this way than even time could count. He did a once over my papers before raising his watery blue gaze to me again. "So, you're him, are you?" His voice was soft. I didn't bother to shrug. The grin on my face had died down, but it was still there, pinned so firmly in place as though I was afraid it would fall to the ground and shatter into a thousand pieces. "You've cause quite a shake up as I understand." I didn't bother to reply to his comment, it didn't seem worth it. "Well, it's about time. This place hasn't changed much in a long while. We just keep making you fellas stronger, faster, more obedient, nothing else. Good luck to you, friend. May God find you the place you belong." His eyes flicked down before the old man's voice changed to a more professional tone. "Everything seems to be in order, Constable. You're set to leave."
I nodded as I turned, walking away. I don't believe I'd said a single word to him. My first step out into the light was all but blinding. I had to stop and pause a moment as I raised a hand to shield my eyes against the mid-afternoon sun. It wasn't as if this was the first time I'd ever set foot outside the Kennel, we were well experienced with supervised excursions about London and into the countryside, but this was the first time I'd ever been out alone. Vision clearing, I continued on down the steps and nearer the short barricades that held back the onlooking public. I'd once heard it described as similar to the crowds of people who came to see the Queen, or even merely the changing of the guard at Buckingham. Be it night or day, the public was always in attendance at the front door to the Kennel. Dogs were graduated twenty-four hours a day, and we all trickled, one at a time, through the ceremonial front doors on the way to our assignments. The people who stood not a stone's throw from me ran the whole gauntlet from tourists who simply came for a kitschy photo to screaming protesters who made no apologies for why they were here. There were those who came with placards that varied from canonizing us to those who demonized all Goddard's animals.
The oddest of the humans though were those who protested for Dogs' rights. They were in the minority, but they always stood out in their acts to try to 'free' us. I ignored them all. Like every other Dog to journey this way, I put one foot in front of
the other and walked on. Never so much as raising my eyes to them. It wasn't until two blocks down that I had my first real encounter. This is where the smart people stood in wait to watch us. Close enough to the Kennel to be sure we would pass their way, but far enough back to avoid the crowds and barricades. A mother and her young daughter waited under the awning of a store, out of the sunlight of a rare clear London day. The mother never took a single step in my direction, it was the child who came stumbling towards me. She must have been barely old enough to walk, three at the most, but still she came towards me holding a single flower clutched in her small hands. The meagre blossom was hardly anything to speak of, nothing more than a dandelion or some other weed, but she held it up to me as she tugged insistently on my pant-leg.
The grin was still plastered in place on my face, hard as clay, and I was thankful it hid my surprise. Turning from the traffic light that I was waiting for, I knelt down to the little girl, shifting the weight of my pack so as not to overbalance. "Is that for me?" I'd never spoken to a child before... I all but whispered in an effort not to frighten her. She nodded. A wide smile of her own coming to dominate her tanned, freckled face. Gently, slowly, I took the single withered stalk from her hands and threaded it through one of the buttonholes on my shirt. I wasn't sure what else to do with it. I'd once, long ago, seen Handler Llyal walk into the Kennel with a flower perched like this on his breast. "Thank-you." The girl didn't say anything, only turning to run back to her mother, wide smile still shining brightly. It wasn't until the little girl was safely back in her mother's shadow that they walked towards me together. I still had yet to stand back up.
"You wouldn't believe how many Dogs Monica had to offer that flower to before you accepted. Is there some kind of rule that prevents you from accepting gifts?" The mother's voice was calm and relaxed, seemingly at ease speaking with me. "No, Ma'am. It simply isn't part of our training to accept flowers." My thoughts skipped briefly to Sixty. I idly wondered how he would react to the gift of a flower... He'd likely as not assume it was a bribe and treat it as such. "Huh." She waved her hand vaguely to the north. "Old Sparky back in Corby never had that problem." "Sparky, Ma'am?" She laughed, blushing slightly. "That's what we've always called our Dog back home. Monica is always giving him flowers. I thought we'd stop by here since we're in London. Seems you big city Dogs are a different breed." I cocked my
head slightly, "No, Ma'am, we're all the same." The smile on my face became real for just a moment. "We simply have our training fresher in our minds."
"Then I guess," she replied, preparing to set off, "You must be one of the better Dogs to be able to think on your feet." The light changed a moment later. I set off again, heading north. The rest of the day's journey was long and tiring. The streets and crowds of London slowed my progress to a crawl, but they gradually gave way to suburbs and highways. I was only able to make it to the outskirts of London by the onset of evening. While my backpack did have a small reserve of cash, there was far too little to ever hope to be able to find accommodations for the night. We were expected to locate that for ourselves. No Dog ever rode to their assignment, we always walked. That was part of our reward for graduation. Or perhaps our punishment. All the best Dogs were stationed in London proper, the best of the best hardly even having to leave the Kennel. Those of us who were not so fortunate journeyed on foot, following the roadways to our new homes. Even on the edge of London where I now stood, there was no true place for a Dog to sleep. All we could do was search out a warm recess, a snug hole or gully to spend the night. It wasn't vagrancy, such laws as those only applied to humans.
Walking well into the evening, long past the fall of the sun, I made it out to Bricket Wood, following the A1 road north-west out of London. The houses were thinner here, with more space between them to lose myself in. Bricket Wood Common was just off the carriageway, a natural forest left to grow to its own accord. My feet were aching by the time I decided to break from the path for the night, calluses having already formed on the pads of my toes. It was difficult to call an end to my march for the night. Such wasn't something I was used to. There had always been a Handler before to tell us when we were done, when we'd accomplished enough. I just kept walking until it was obvious that I could walk no more. The soft, wet black soil of the woods was soothing under me after a day spent on the hard stone of the roadways. Pushing forward, I dove amongst the close, deep greenery that was so thick it almost formed a wall. It felt like descending into another world, one untouched my man.
I hadn't made it more than a few steps when the scent of another Dog tickled my nose. He was older than me... and possibly of a different line. That was all I could tell from this distance. He had passed this way not long ago. I had planned to stop where I was and bed down for the night, but the thought of meeting another Dog out here, on even terms, was
irresistible. Bending slightly at the knees, I worked my way forward. I would have hunched further to get my nose closer to the ground, but the low underbrush here made more contact with my pack than I would have liked, the extra weight nearly overbalancing me. It wasn't long until I was almost upon him. He must be like me, a traveller who'd delved into the woods for the night. It wasn't surprising. We were on the A1, so close to London that thousands of Dogs must pass this way. "Hail!" I shouted it out between the branches before me. I still couldn't see him, but I knew he wasn't more than a few paces away. There was a good chance he may be asleep, as he'd yet to acknowledge my approach, and I didn't want to startle another highly trained officer out here in the dark.
I didn't want to hurt him. "Hail," he called back, ahead and slightly to my right. His voice was old and gravelly, sounding frayed at the edges and tinged with an accent I couldn't place. "Welcome. Come closer, brother." Pushing one last curtain of leaves aside, I stepped into a small clearing. There was just enough space between the trees to see the sky above. An old Dog was lying face up on the ground before me, his arms crossed behind him to pillow his head. "Fancy coming across each other out here, brother. God truly does smile on us tonight." His voice still sounded odd, and now I knew why. He was, as I had suspected, a different line than me. I was a German Shepherd, he was an English Sheepdog. Long, soft grey hair surrounded him, looking almost like a formfitting cloud. I fought to press a wan smile to my face, not really feeling it. "If you say so, brother." My own voice was hollow as I took the final steps to stand before him. He hadn't made a single motion to recognize me. He hadn't even fluttered his eyes, obscured as they were behind the soft, billowing fur. "May I join you?"
"Of course, brother. As I said, we are blessed to meet out here in the travelling wilds. It is not often as I would like that a Dog such as I is granted the grace of company, and I would be a fool to turn down the offerings of God." I cleared my throat nervously as I removed my pack and slowly stretched out beside him. Above us I could see the dull grey, low-hanging clouds of London, the smog running off the city. "May I ask your name, brother? I am Forty-Two." A slight chuckle escaped his weathered lips. "Only if you insist. We are brothers, is that not enough? Or, for that matter, I could just as well be your sire for all we know. Does it truly matter who I am? I'm just another Dog, Forty-Two. One of the few who is cursed by our masters to ever roam the highways and byways of our country until the day I
cannot walk anymore." A highway patrol? Well, that might just as well explain his breed. The highway patrol were a separate branch of the service, looked down upon by all the others for the simple fact that they were denied any territory of their own, anyplace to lay their scent.
The highway patrol did exactly as he waxed so philosophically about. They were set to the road, given a series of way-points and dates, then expected to meet them while watching for any accidents or criminal infractions on the never ending ribbons that ran between the islands of human civilization. "You are of the patrol, brother?" I already knew the answer, but it felt uncomfortable to lie beside him and not hear his voice. Perhaps it had something to do with all the nights I had laid beside Forty-One without saying a word, and I wanted to use my new found freedom for something... anything. Or perhaps it was more than that... his voice reminded me of Forty-One, of Handler Llyal. "You are an observant one, Forty-Two. And, by the smell of you, fresh from our dear lair. How is the Kennel these days, pup? Are they still churning out Dogs as quickly as the bitches can whelp us?" "Yes, Sir." Technically we were of the same rank, but something about his deep, slow voice, something in his rhetorical words and subtle condescending manner left me with the distinct feeling that I was addressing a superior officer, and not just merely higher ranking one.
"How long ago did you graduate?" I asked him. He didn't answer for a long time, we simply lay there and watched the clouds slowly drift above us. Every so often I could just barely make out the stars valiantly shining through. "I've been on my own forty five years, Pup." His voice was even more drawn out and weary now. "You're the first one to ever ask me that. Of all the Dogs I've met over the years, you're the first one who's ever asked." The breath caught in my lungs for a moment. This was a dinosaur, living history. The average working life of a Dog after graduation was never expected to be anything beyond a quarter-century. Being forty-five years in the service... plus another eight years in training... Was the government even raising Dogs back then? That would have had him born in the nineteen-thirties... before even the onset of the Second World War. He had to be lying. Slowly, without moving my head, I glanced over at his grey furred body. I couldn't work up the voice to object to his answer.
"And where are you headed, Forty-Two? A proud young Dog like you can't be posted far from London, the center of the world." The lump in my throat that had been growing since I'd left the Kennel suddenly swelled to near the point that I couldn't
speak. "North, Sir. I'm... I'm assigned to a territory named West Woodburn. It's... not a major posting." Finally, he turned his head to me. I could only just make out the ghost of warm brown eyes somewhere deep within his shroud. They were bright and calculating, never erring as they held me in their gaze. "There is no shame in a humble posting, brother." His voice came softer now, quiet, almost lost on the light fragrant breeze that flowed between us. "Many of the greatest Dogs I have ever had the honour of meeting were relegated to humble postings. Sometimes the world, the human world around us, simply is not ready for the next step in our existence. We're ready for them, brother, we only need give our masters the time to catch up."
"Not I, Sir." I brushed the back of a hand across my lips, pushing away the ghost tang of blood. And the memory of Forty-One. "I'm defective. I failed the Final Exam. I have received what I deserve. No more and no less." I could just see the slightest upward curve grow on his lips. "If you failed the exam, Forty-Two, then what are you doing here? You would be dead if you failed. And I, for one, do not feel dead myself. That must mean we are both alive, as I don't make a habit of conversing with ghosts." The words came agonizingly slowly from him, as if he was relishing the obscene pleasure of extending the torture of my examination. "I did fail, Sir. I received a final score of under eighty. It was only through special dispensation that I was given an extra-ordinary bonus. I failed. I am only alive by the grace of our Handlers." I closed my eyes to the sky above. I didn't want to see the shifting, chaotic clouds anymore. An indeterminate moment later I felt a heavy weight fall gently across my chest. It took me some time to realize it was the Sheep Dog's arm. I could feel the warmth of his body through my uniform.
"It is not by the grace of our Handlers, Forty-Two. It is only through the grace of God that miracles befall us. And," I heard a slight chuckle escape his lips, "I'll let you on to a little secret. The Final Exam may attribute you a percentage grade, but it is truly only a pass or fail. Like all of our lives until we at last escape the Kennel, it is only pass or fail. Survive, or commit ourselves to the flames." "Then why am I so disgraced as to be assigned to what could very well be the smallest municipality to ever receive a Police Dog?" I was whining now, the words escaping from my lips with a high-pitched squeak. I hadn't cried when I'd failed my exam, but I could feel tears at the edges of my eyes now. The old Dog's arm slowly curled around my chest, pulling me closer into his warm and encompassing fur. "As I told you, my
pup..." His lips were mere inches from my ears now, yet I still had to strain to hear his words. The effort seemed to clear me of the impossible free falling spirals that threatened to open up under the precarious foundations of my mind. "Sometimes the humans simply are not ready for us. This is hardly the Dog's fault. Are all Dogs not bred to be more than any who have come before? How can they hold it against us if we try to be nothing but the very best that nature, humans, and God will allow? Many of the greatest Dogs I have ever met were before their time. I have the feeling that I will be remembering you as one of them, long after you are past. I will be telling the eternally young pups that come this way of you for years to come."
My eyes were drooping closed now. Something about being held in his embrace slowed my heart, calmed my mind. I could feel my breath coming slower, though the tears that edged my eyes flowed without impediment now. And they didn't bother me. I whetted down the other Dog's fur with my tears but neither of us cared. At the edges of my hearing, just as I gently drifted off into a smooth sea of perfect black, I could hear his voice one last time, "And you know what, Forty-Two? You pass." When next I awoke the sunlight was streaming down from the empty blue sky above me, the clouds were gone. And so was the Dog. There was not so much as a single sign that he had ever been here. Even his scent was long gone and vanished. It took me long moments to realize that he hadn't been wearing a Police Officer's uniform. A shiver wracked through me. I wasn't sure if it was the cool morning air or the sudden lack of his warmth next to me. There was nothing to busy myself with before I returned to the road, I'd done nothing but remove the pack from my back. I was, however, relieved to see that it was untouched.
I continued my way up the A1, being passed by cars every few seconds. The drivers didn't pay me the least attention as I was buffeted from side to side by the wake of their passing. Only once that day did I catch the glimpse of another Dog, on the other side of the double carriageway, across a sea of blacktop. He was so far away, separated by a wall of moving traffic as he was, that he might as well be in a different world. I waved to him, tried to call over the drone of roaring engines, but he never heard me. Or, if he did, he gave no indication. I suppose it was for the best. Dogs were rarely recalled to London, to the Kennel, and it was almost never for pleasant reasons. My steps were lighter today than they had been but a few hours ago. There was still no question in my mind of what I would have to do. But now, just perhaps, I would journey all the way to West Woodburn before seeking
a way to end my pitiful existence. There must be a hundred ways to escape my defective mortal coil; I could take my time in finding the perfect one.
And I was determined to enjoy myself until that opportunity was presented. The other Dog had been right. I had passed the Final Exam. No other Dog had done what I had. I had failed to parrot the proper answer for one of the Goddard questions, and yet still walked from the hall with my soul tethered to my body. That had to stand for something. Didn't it? And, in any event, I had been assigned a territory. And I'd be knackered before I left this world without seeing the land that had been given to me in recognition of my efforts. Ten hours later I reached Milton-Keynes. It was a new city, just off to the west of the A1, a relatively recent development that had been put into place to relieve the congestion of the never ending humans who streamed in and out of London on a daily basis. There was no commons to become lost in here, so I simply dropped where I was next to the road. For much of my life, before meeting General Train, my secret expectation had been to be assigned to such a location as this. An outer satellite city of London, still one of the most prestigious posts a Dog could ever receive. They were sometimes called the 'London Tourists', the best of the not quite best.
I had always held the dream of scoring even higher, but this was where, in the darkest recesses of my heart, I had truly held out hope of being the lowest post I would receive. And, walking through it, I was less than one tenth of the way to my new home. I had no equipment to spark a fire, or even a sleeping bag or blanket to make camp, so I simply sat on the roadside grass and watched the traffic as it raced endlessly by. The sun fell soon after, plunging me into a scatter-shot darkness that would be near complete if not for the constant flights of cars and trucks not five feet from my nose. Their headlights left me in a daze as they passed, the winds of their flight pulling at my fur. Perhaps that would be best... I would be following the A1 all the way up to Newcastle Upon Tyne, and there must be near as much traffic up north... That would be a painless way to die, now wouldn't it? Simply take a single step into traffic and let the rush of the world sweep me away...
No. That would be no good. I shook my head violently, a quick snap that sent my spine clicking. That would never do. For one thing, I had decided to journey all the way to West Woodburn before contemplating such actions. And, for a second tick, I could leave no body behind to be examined. It was a pity that West Woodburn was not on the sea. That
would have simplified my problems immensely. Oh well, one can never have everything one wants in life. I turned my mind from such grisly thoughts, forcing myself to compose for sleep. From the corner of my eye I could just make out the indistinct shadow of a shape prowling through the long grass on the other side of the road. It moved in ways that no human ever could. It was another Dog. I didn't move, didn't breathe. A true Police Dog of the second order stood on duty not scant feet from me. It was silly, I knew, but I had to sit and watch. I was forever separated from joining such ranks, but it could not stop me from dreaming.
He moved smoothly through the night, almost gliding across the grass as he strode confidently in the dark. He was gone from sight soon after, having done nothing but walk. I was vaguely disappointed, having wished that I would have had the opportunity to watch him spring into action. But, that was it, then, wasn't it? That was the life that was handed to us. Simple servitude and devotion to duty without deviation. We all knew it, but, like all children throughout time, we wished for more. At some point we all saw ourselves as knights in Arthurian legend, all saw ourselves as Sirius, the great Dog. That was hardly the case in the real world, and we all knew it. With few exceptions, we were delivered into a life of simple mechanical repetition and by-the-book procedures. A lifetime of drudgery for the slimmest moment of adrenaline steaming excitement. Except that many of us never were provided with that singular instant. I journeyed onward and up the A1 for the next four days. The towns became further and further spaced as I pressed from London. I didn't see even one more Dog.
I wasn't sure if I was grateful for that or disappointed. The boost that had been given to me by my brother back during the night in the woods was wearing thin. Every step was an exercise in sheer willpower now. That, and my supply of kibble had run out. I'd been going through it faster than expected. Not only was my body larger that was proper for a Dog, but the seemingly endless journey left me digging into the prewrapped packages more often than I should. I'd gone last night on an empty stomach. All I could do after falling aside the road for the night was to lick the empty bags clean of even the smallest crumbs that remained. The feeling of hunger was as alien to me as blood-lust had been. Back at the Kennel our exercise and caloric intake was carefully monitored. We'd never gone more than twelve hours without our ration of kibble. The hunger hurt, digging at my gut from the inside, feeling like a wound that I had never suffered before. And I didn't like
it.
There was nothing else to it. I needed to stop for supplies. The thought should be academic. We were permitted, in emergencies, to procurer our own sustenance. We'd all been trained in the proper way to perform transactions, and even what foods we were able and unable to digest. But, like most other things, I'd never done it before. I kept walking, putting one foot steadily in front of another, but inside I felt like Sixty. My mind simply could not reconcile what I had to do. I'd always had my physical needs cared for, never having to think of them as anything more than something to be dealt with at steady intervals by following a set routine. Looking up, I found myself in Wakefield, an outer burrow of Leeds. I would have preferred to push onto Leeds and try to make contact with the Dogs that were certainly stationed there, but I simply could not stand the thought of coming face to face with one of them. Even now my legs felt weak, as if they would give out if I did not pay them proper mind. My head swam, threatening to send me spinning to an early demise on the road beside me.
I did have the presence of mind to giggle at that one. Although... giggling was hardly a good sign. I would meet my death, but it would be on my own terms. Not as a result of a light-headed misstep that made me nothing more than another accidental road splatter to frighten an innocent motorist. I was still on the edge of the town, and it was early grey morning. All that spread around me were the hulks of greasy-spoon truck stops. They would have to do. Few were open at this time of day, but their numbers were so great that I still found one within minutes. I didn't note its name, it didn't make any difference to me. What I did notice were the signs posted in the front window. 'No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service' and 'No animals allowed'. Heh. I suppose I was disqualified on both accounts. My uniform didn't include any shoes to cover my clawed canine feet, and I certainly qualified as an animal. But I walked in anyway. The air within was heavy with the nauseating scent of cold cigarette smoke. There was little here but a few booths pushed up against the front windows and a row of stools before the counter. The entire place was worn down and many times darned over. There were more patches on the seats than there was of the original fabric.
"With you in a moment, Gov," a young female voice called from somewhere out of sight in the back. "Make yourself at home and I'll get you a cup 'o tea." Her voice was followed by the clattering of metalware from somewhere I couldn't see. I didn't say anything as I took a hesitant seat on a stool after throwing a wary look to the other seats. I'd
never sat on a stool before, but it looked to better accommodate my tail that the human style booths. I very nearly sent myself flying as it revolved underneath me when I put my weight upon it. A few moments later I had myself centered when the woman walked out. She looked to be possibly of Scottish stock, brown-haired, short and stout. She did a double take when she saw me, almost letting the cigarette fall from her lips into the 'cup 'o tea' she held. "Blimey. A fur job!" she laughed, slapping a free hand on her knee as she set the cup before me. "Perhaps I should be getting you a bowl 'o water. Eh, Rover?" She laughed at her own joke, running a hand through the long off-blond hair that flowed from her head, unrestrained as it was by a regulation hairnet.
"No thank-you, Ma'am. I can provide for my own water." My mind quickly flashed back to the rivers and streams that I'd filled my canteen in. Some had been sweet and crystal clear. Others had been so bitter that they would have been undrinkable if my need had not been dire. "I simply need to stock up on food. Would you be able to provide me with such?" My words were stiff and ungraceful, I was quoting from our book of instruction on how to interact with the public. She was not exactly a textbook example of the kind of person I expected to deal with. She laughed again, "Sounds like you're fresh out of The Smoke. Don't they kit you Dogs up with your own food?" I blushed slightly under by fur, looking away. "Yes, Ma'am. We are provided with our own rations. Mine have simply run out." I held a hand out to her, open, palm up. "I do have currency to pay, of course. And, my name is Forty-Two." She laughed again, this was becoming a common occurrence for her. "I'm sure you do, Six."
"Six?" I looked at her blankly. "Four plus two, Six. Easier to remember than some big number like Forty-Two." "But... Forty-Two isn't a number, it's my name." "Whatever you say, hon. What can I get you?" She tossed a grey and stained cloth over her shoulder and tapped the ash of her cigarette on the edge of the counter. I watched it fall to the ground in a flutter. "I... I'm not sure." There was a list of acceptable foods in my head somewhere, but it seemed to have flown off on the breeze. "Have you served any other Dogs here?" "Nah," A grin split her face, "All they ever come in for is a bowl of water. They always bring their own food. Cheapskate loafers the lot of 'em. Same nasty stuff every time, too. I'm sure we can do you something better." The only thing that was crystal clear in my mind was that I had been provisioned with a mere £10 for my entire trip, and I had to make it last. "What
can I purchase for ten pounds that will last me a week, and keep?"
She laughed. "You've come to the wrong place, hon. You've got a restaurant, not a supermarket. They only thing I might be able to load you up with that you could eat on the road is some fruits and vegetables. And I haven't many of those." I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes. "I'm sure they will be wonderful, Ma'am. I'll take as many as I can fit in my pack." "Whatever you say, hon." She disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. I could hear pots banging back and forth. By now I was putting it down to being nothing more than theatrics for my benefit. Looking down at the cup and saucer she'd left before me, I could now see why she referred to it as 'cup 'o tea' and not just simply 'tea'. I was English after all, and I had been taught once how to drink a proper British tea... and this did not qualify. It was a liquid, and it was warm, or at least lukewarm, but that was about the most it had in its favour. To quote a famous author that I had once heard a snatch of on the wireless, it was "almost, but not quite, entirely unlike tea".
None the less, I quested my tongue out to take a hesitant taste. The canine mouth wasn't designed to sip like a human's. We had to train long and hard to lap our drinks without splattering them all about. I nearly gagged and spit upon my first drop of this foul concoction. It tasted like boiled over gutter water after having been strained through a pair of well used gym socks. And I'd likely have to pay for this culinary offence too. The waitress came back a few minutes later, a water stained cardboard carton drooping in her arms. "Sorry, hon. All we've got is a half load of last week's carrots that were left in the back of the fridge." She looked down at my half empty cup. "Like your tea?" I had to force myself to keep from grimacing. "It was... a very interesting blend, Ma'am. I don't believe I've ever encountered anything like it." And, God willing, I never would again. She just smiled. It wasn't until now that I noticed she was missing as many teeth as she had left in her mouth.
"That's what they all say, hon - only not as polite. Guess that's why I have to give it away for free." I cleared my throat slightly. "And regarding the issue of payment..." "Never you mind, hon. It's on the house. I'd just be throwing them out later today anyway." She hefted the box onto the counter with a thunk. My nose twitched at the unfamiliar earthy scents that came from within. It wasn't that I didn't know what a carrot was, but, like so many things, I knew it in only an academic sense. I could identify them on sight or description, but I had
never actually seen one. Or smelt one for that matter. Frankly, it didn't smell like food. Food was kibble. Food was dry and chemical coated, it came in small granulated chunks that were poured from wax paper bags. What lay before me was most certainly not food. "Uh, thank-you." I began reaching out to scoop as many as I could into my pack. "Don't mention it, hon." She turned her back to me, scraping the burners and stoves that lay behind the counter. "First time I've ever gotten to feed a Dog, this will be a story to remember. But you'd better get yourself off and running. I'll have my morning crowd in here soon, and they'll be wanting free kit too if they see me giving you the charity case."
That was the last I heard from her. She disappeared into the back again a few moments later, and I followed suit by slipping away through the front door. I, however, made sure to leave a one pound note on the counter behind me, sitting under the chipped saucer of the now empty tea cup. I'd been weak from hunger before, and the tea, vile as it had been, had done little to relieve that. I made it no more than a few steps before pulling one of the less sickly carrots from my pack to hold before my nose. It didn't have all that much of a scent to be honest, not like the kibble. I knew it was edible, I'd seen it on a list of emergency foods somewhere. I wouldn't want to subsist on it for any length of time, that was most strictly advised against, but it would keep me walking until I got to my new home. Huffing out a breath, I put the tip of the withered orange root between my lips and crunched off a few inches. Much like the tea, I had to keep from gagging at first reaction. I nearly choked as I forced the thing down, its alien texture was nearly making me physically sick.
The effect wasn't exactly pleasant, but it did begin filling the hole that nested in my gut. I snapped off another few inches between my teeth as I walked on. This time it wasn't nearly so bad, I was able to gag it down without making a face. Leeds was round about the half-way point in my journey, and, to be honest, it was seemingly easier now. My steps felt lighter and my pace quicker and more sure. I would have just as well said that the world was a warmer place, but that would have been silly. Two days later I approached Darlington. From here I could either follow the easy walk of the A1 north-east up to Newcastle Upon Tyne, or push north-west on the less used A68, straight to my superiors in Hexham before finally attending my post in the mysterious West Woodburn. It was getting late though, and I had the luxury of being able to put off that decision until tomorrow. The carriageway
didn't really go through Darlington, but only grazed its west side. I had, however, pushed east until finding a small manicured park surrounded by buttoned up offices and stores. I'd spent so much time on the dusty and noisy country road that it felt nice to have the cut lawn under me to lay upon. I'd even considered the wrought iron park bench for a moment, but it would be harder and colder than the unassuming earth.
It could have been no later than two o'clock in the morning when I was next awoken. For a moment I couldn't understand why. The fast fading echo of a piercing sound hung in the air, but it was long gone by the time I'd gathered my senses about me. I was only a heartbeat from disregarding it and returning to sleep when it came again. The shriek of a young woman. It echoed shrilly off the flat walls of the empty office buildings. I was on my feet and sprinting before the scream had left the air, racing towards its source. I didn't have far to travel. No more than a few hundred yards away a lorry idled, backed up in an alleyway, its windows fogged over and impenetrable. I couldn't see what was happening within, but the sounds of a struggle were plain, hanging in the still night air around us. There were protocols that had to be followed, procedures that needed to be taken step by step... my training kicked in as my mind fell in to a well worn and comfortable track.
I couldn't guaranty this is where the scream had come from, and, more than that, I couldn't guaranty that anyone was truly in distress. I knocked polity but firmly on the lorry door, hoping that this was all a misunderstanding. The scent of fear that leaked out didn't comfort me. "Go away!" The voice that came was gruff and male, out of breath and sounding near feral. I knocked again, harder this time, rapping my claws against the metal. I couldn't see what was happening within, but neither could they tell there was a Police Dog at their door. "I said GO AWAY!" The door was violently kicked open a moment later. I would have had to jump back if I hadn't already been expecting exactly as such. The man within was short and round, a good three stone over-weight, with matted black hair that extended down to a thick moustache covering his upper lip. He wore a faded and frayed grey flannel suit that sat unbuttoned and left in total disarray. The alcohol was obvious in his actions as well as his stench. If nothing else, I was sure he was not safe to drive.
He froze for a moment upon seeing me, jaw almost dropping open at the sight of a Police Dog not a yard from his red, vein filled nose. "Sir, there appears to be a disturbance here." My body was still running on
autopilot, words coming clear and unthinking from my lips. Someone moved behind him, I heard an inarticulate sound that I could only assume was a feminine scream. Well, that answered the question of there being a problem. "Sod off, you mongrel." The slur in the man's voice was so thick as to make his words all but illegible. The booze clouding his mind seemed to shield him from even the realization that I was a bobby. "Sir. You will get out of the vehicle. Now." My pulse was steady, hands still as stone. This was what I had been born for. Everything was textbook perfect until he pulled a knife. He moved quickly for a man so intoxicated. The situation had just changed. Regulation now moved from nothing more than a simple altercation to a possibly major incident.
I was still calm, still collected. We had practised these actions and reactions more times than I could count. The man leaned away from me, back over the center console of the truck, arms stretched out to grasp the long blond hair of the lady beside him as he pulled her closer, the knife at her throat. "Get away from me, Dog! I'll kill her, I swear. The bitch had it coming." The woman's eyes were wide, form hardly moving in his grasp. She looked at me, I could see nothing but blind terror. I doubted she even recognized me as a Police Dog. "Well then, Sir. If you swear you're going to kill her I'll have to take you at your word. There's no reason for me to leave. I'll just wait here until you're done, then book you for murder." "What...?" His eyes wavered as he tried to focus on me, attention faltering for a moment as he failed to make sense of my words. A single second was all it took. A normal, human, police officer would have stepped back in a situation like this and avoided any escalation of the conflict. But I, a Dog, my life held no value outside my duty. It was my purpose to perform any and all actions I could to protect an innocent.
I lunged forward, moving quicker and surer than any mere human could dream of, more again even than any Dog. His knife hand was out of reach, the next best thing was his neck. I was bordering on committing assault myself now, but I could not let the woman come to harm. His reaction as I enveloped his throat in my hand was immediate and brutal. Exactly as I had been expecting, hoping. The moment that he was in danger he forgot completely about his hostage, all of his attention turning to preserve his own life as his air flow was quickly and surely cut off under the rough pads of my fingers. He was in no danger from me, a Police Dog sworn to uphold the law, but he, of course, didn't realize that in his panic. I was bound not
to kill him, but I could inconvenience him as required to ensure the safety of others. Dropping the woman, his free hand sprang to my wrist, trying to pry my much stronger fingers away. The other hand was of more interest to me - that was the one with the knife.
I could see it more clearly now as he brought it towards me, a rusty old switchblade. Its edge was so dull as to fail to even glint under the overhead lights of the vehicle. While it was undoubtedly sharp enough to slice flesh, I was more likely to die of tetanus after being stabbed by it than anything else. The plan now was for my free hand to arc up and relieve him of the knife he held. So far everything was going well... but my claws were catching on the uniform I wore. I'd practised this manoeuvre a thousand times, but I'd always been naked, wrapped in nothing more than my pelt alone. Now the shirt of my uniform snagged my too long, too sharp black claws, loose threads entangling them and trapping my fingers as I raised an arm to intercept the blade. I could hear the fabric of my shirt tearing, coming apart as I forced my arm up, but I would be too late. Oh well. A slash from that blade would unquestioningly spill some of my blood, but I had been through far worse. I'd just have to let him cut me, then relieve him of the knife a few moments later.
In the back of my mind I was even somewhat looking forward to it. My first case, and my first scar. I could live with that. I watched the blade come towards me with a detached interest. It made contact on my left forearm, on the outside, between the wrist and elbow. I released my breath just before it hit, an old technique to help me focus and categorize the pain, all in an effort to work through it and concentrate on the issue at hand. A red hot shot ran up me, but I didn't even so much as flinch. Very good. Now on to the next step of the plan - to remove the knife from the perpetrator and subdue him. I took in a deep breath, preparing to end this so called battle. And the hot, salty, absolutely enticing and seductive scent of blood came to me. I went stiff. The man struggled in my hand as my grip on his throat inadvertently tightened, cutting off the last of his air. I tried to let go of him, tried to run howling into the night to get away from the scent that twisted and danced before me, but I couldn't.
It was my own blood, dammit! This shouldn't be happening. Not now... not ever. Lips slowly peeling back from teeth, my canines exposed to shine in the wan light. The man's eyes bugged out before me, fear finally working its way fully from behind the alcohol. And I doubt his reaction was merely from lack of air. My claws were now free
of the clothing that had entrapped them just moments before. I snapped my hand up, sending the knife flying from his limp fingers to skitter across the ground behind me, traces of my blood still upon it. My claws nicked the soft flesh of his palm as I did. The enticing scent of his own blood adding to the mix that enthralled me so. My blood alone may have been enough to send me sleepwalking, his pushed me beyond, wild. My motions were halting now, the two sides of my mind squaring off against each other, but the dark corners always winning. Delicately, gently, almost reverently, I lifted his sliced hand to my lips. The man's eyes were cloudy now, unfocused and reminding me of what Forty-One's had been after I killed him. I took his palm to my lips and lapped the single drop of blood that had formed there.
And the woman who had been laying not two feet from us screamed. She had freed herself from the stupor that had bound her before. Her shriek was at full volume now, unmuffled by the car door, though it was just as base and inarticulate as when I had first heard it. My head snapped up. The fog behind my eyes had not cleared, but self-preservation was more important than anything else, even pleasure such as this. For perhaps the first time, both sides of my brain were in full and total agreement. I dropped the man from my grasp, letting him fall back into the plush leather seat, both his hand and throat coming free. I was gone an instant later, but not before collecting the blood stained blade from the ground where it had fallen. I had not left a drop of my own blood behind, and for that I could only thank God. Or perhaps the Devil. I wasn't sure who I should be praying to anymore. As one might expect, I didn't spend the rest of the night in Darlington. I was back at my pack in seconds. It was only then I remembered the glass tube I had stashed away. I took long moments to transfer it from the pack to my trouser pocket, vowing never to leave it behind again. Then I set off.
The roads were quiet for a moment, but then the woman's shriek broke the night air, again and again. I steadfastly ignored them and walked away as quickly as my unsteady legs could carry me.