‘What … ?’ said the captain, jumping to his feet. He pulled out his gun. ‘Give that back.’
But Duncan, with his back against the wall, had already plunged the swabber in his mouth and pressed the button. He stood there, waiting, staring defiantly back at the captain.
The captain roared and launched himself at Duncan, but just as he was upon him there was a beep. He froze, hand out in a claw, and Duncan’s eyes widened. He pulled the swabber slowly from his mouth. It was red.
‘What?’ said Duncan. ‘It can’t possibly be …’
‘Oh dear,’ said the captain, with a grin stretching. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Wait, no. There has to be some mistake.’ Duncan shook the swabber as the captain reached for him. He replaced it in his mouth, sucked at it, pressed the button, removed it. Still red. The light faded until it had extinguished completely. ‘No!’
The captain grabbed Duncan by the arm.
‘Hawkins?’ he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to make the arrangements?’
‘Yes, sir!’
The ginger guard released Charlie and ran off, chuckling, through the doorway. We heard him clattering through the hall, a door banging, and boots echoing in a distant stairwell. Charlie crawled back to the mattress and huddled close to Aisha.
‘Where is he going?’ I said.
‘Never you mind,’ said the captain. ‘Thanks for the game, now. Nighty-night!’
He led Duncan, protesting, away. ‘No, you can’t do this, that was a faulty swabber, clearly it was. I mean look at me, for Christ’s sake. Look at me!’
The captain laughed as their voices disappeared into the great hall. We heard a zipping sound and looked up at the gallery, where a stark silhouette of the ginger guard stood in the moonlight, feeding a long rope down to the floor below. There were sounds of a struggle – grunts and puffs from the captain and a gargled cry from Duncan – then, ‘Haul him up!’ cried into the dome, and the young guard above braced himself against the wall and heaved.
Nobody made a sound. I crawled to the mattress, where Charlie lay sobbing, and lay my head close to Aisha’s, trying to conjure some reality in which only the peace of her face existed.
We heard spluttering and choking, caught the shadows of legs cartwheeling above us and then, once the guard had lashed the rope to the railing, we saw Duncan swinging, legs still going, hands at his throat. Distant peels of laughter disappeared away into the hall.
Later, as the rope creaked and Duncan’s still body swung in and out of a shaft of grey dawn light, I heard footsteps on the gallery above and looked up to see another figure. It was the young woman, the guard who had tried to step in, working at the rope with a knife. After a minute of furious cutting, it snapped and Duncan’s body fell with a thump. The guard stood and looked down. For a few moments she did nothing. Then she folded her knife, replaced it in her belt, and left.
Sex
LINEKER
You know what makes the world go round? Not love, not money: sex. Sex is why the world howls.
They put me in with bitches sometimes. It’s for breeding, I expect, not that I care either way. It’s all good. I go in, we sniff about each other, and if I take to her then we do our business. There are no blissful cuddles afterwards. I am sated and I sleep.
We’re slaves, you and me. This urge that drives us, this code snaking through our chemicals that forces us to strut, preen and fight over each other, to sell our souls for the chance of a quick fuck – it is our master, and we follow it blindly. There is a reason dogs snarl when they see one of their own who’s been freshly neutered: jealousy. That dog is liberated, free from the chains of lust.
Lust. Greasy, dark lust. It lurks within every thought and under every deed. Don’t fool yourself; that piece of art your crafting, that higher thought you’re pursuing, that scientific expedition upon which you embark to lift you from the mire and swing you up to the angels? It takes you to no such place. You end up where you began. The fruits of your labour – the sculpture, the book, the mathematical equation – it’s peacockery, something for you to present to the world and say: ‘Look. Look what I did. Now, don’t you want some of this?’
Einstein? He was just trying to get laid.
There are a trillion, trillion steps between you and the sludge that once hauled itself across this planet, each one some version of a fuck. Fucking is what we’re made of. Fucking is the meaning of life.
Last night they put me in with that husky. It was a reward of some kind, perhaps, or maybe they just did it to see what would happen. Makes no difference to me. I went in as usual, she smiled as our eyes locked, and my world slipped into fierce cobalt as the door slammed behind.
And I’m not going to say what we did in there, but I can tell you this: she was a very, very bad dog.
Work
REGINALD
Sleep seemed impossible but somehow it snuck up on me and I woke to find everyone else already awake. Nobody spoke. The body was gone. Fog had crept in during the night, and now hung in a loose halo far above the ground.
Charlie was combing Aisha’s hair with her hands, a ritual of theirs that I could not help watching, no matter how much it hurt. Charlie’s face was paler than usual and a dry crust had formed around her lips.
‘You’re sick,’ I said, rubbing my neck.
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. I’m certainly not the worst in here.’
She glanced at the opposite wall, where Dana was kneeling by two pale-faced children, inspecting their eyes and mouths in the low light.
Boots approached, a sound to which we each performed our own Pavlovian response – flinches, stoops, jumps and shuffles – before Mr Jag sauntered in holding a foil-wrapped sandwich. Aisha raised her nose to the cruel scent of hot meat, and I saw the other children do the same.
‘Good morning,’ he boomed, mouth full and grinning. ‘Breakfast is served.’
A dark-eyed, skinny man in striped overalls scurried in carrying a tray of bread and something that looked like porridge, which he laid on the floor. He gave us nervous glances as he left.
‘Enjoy,’ said Jag, and he turned to leave.
‘Wait,’ said Dana from the far wall, where she was standing, rubbing her palms. We all froze. A breath left her body as Jag stopped and turned.
‘What do you want, turtle dove?’ he said with a smile.
‘The children,’ she said, with gritted teeth and clenched fists, fighting her fear like an animal caught in a snare. ‘They’re sick. I think they might have the flu … and … and …’ She drew a sharp breath as Jag approached.
‘Slow down,’ he said through the last mouthful of his sandwich. He screwed up the empty foil and licked his fingers, one by one. ‘Tell Jag how he can help.’
Dana seemed to falter, perhaps rethinking her plan, but just then Aisha, who had been watching from the mattress, stood up.
Jag turned at the movement.
‘Aisha,’ I said, reaching for her.
‘Ah-ah,’ he said, showing me the barrel of his gun. ‘Get back.’
I shrank to the wall.
Jag relaxed his pose and regarded Aisha, nonplussed. He lifted a hand as if to say: Well, go ahead, and to our horror, she walked to Dana’s side and took her trembling hand. Not once did she take her eyes off Jag.
At Aisha’s touch, Dana seemed to calm.
‘They need medical attention,’ she said, her voice having re-plumbed the depths of its natural register. ‘Painkillers, antibiotics, antiseptic, bandages and blankets.’
Jag stared back at her with a look of bland amusement, then turned his gaze to Aisha. I fought the urge to leap to her side.
‘You, little girl,’ he said. ‘You feel sick?’
Aisha shook her head slowly. Jag then cast his eyes around the walls, landing on Clifford, who was sitting on his own with his rocks.
‘You, boy?’ he said, walking over and taking a rock from his hands. ‘Sick?’
Clifford shook
his head.
‘Huh,’ said Jag. ‘Nobody’s sick. Nobody.’
Spotting the neat piles of rocks next to him, Jag spilled them with a careless kick of his boot. Clifford gasped and fumbled for them, desperately trying to reform their complex piles. Jag laughed, and, feeling a spear of rage rise inside me, I got to my feet.
‘We are,’ I announced. Jag snapped his attention to me, his laughter silenced. ‘You can, quite clearly, see we are. And if you don’t give us medical attention, then … then it’s against the Geneva Convention.’
David got to his feet and stood shoulder to shoulder with me.
‘We just need some medicine,’ he said shaking.
‘And more food,’ said someone else. ‘Our children are hungry.’
The roofless room, having found its voice, suddenly erupted with demands from every corner.
‘Quiet!’ yelled Jag, spinning around with his gun raised.
The voices hushed. After scanning the walls to make sure everyone was back in their place, he returned to Dana. Aisha renewed her grip.
‘Wait here,’ said Jag, and left. A minute later he returned carrying a zipped white case.
‘No more food,’ he exclaimed. He cocked his head at me. ‘And Geneva fell, so sit down.’
Reluctantly, I took my seat.
Jag held out the case for Dana but when she reached for it he snatched it back.
‘You,’ he said to Aisha. ‘Get back.’
Aisha stayed where she was. Jag’s brow squashed into furious, deep furrows. ‘I said get back!’
Dana took back her hand.
‘Go on,’ she whispered, pushing her away. ‘Please, go.’
Aisha finally backed towards us, still holding Jag’s glare. Charlie and I pulled her down to the mattress.
A leer crept onto Jag’s face as he turned back to Dana.
‘What is this worth?’ he cooed.
Dana swallowed and shook her head.
‘I don’t …’
‘You can give Jag something nice too?’
She released a breath. Then, with a dip of her eyes, she nodded.
‘I’ll go with you,’ she said. ‘You give me the medicine and I’ll go with you.’
Jag beamed, but as Dana bowed her head and went to take his hand, the air filled with a sharp, deafening blast.
We all looked around, including Jag.
‘Outside,’ he said. ‘Everybody outside, now.’
There were no swabbing tables in the yard this time. This, and the fact that the piles of timber had been uncovered and were now being sorted through by men in boiler suits, made everyone even more unsettled than usual. Even the guards had formed huddles and were glancing about, eyes full of questions.
Charlie and I kept Aisha even closer than usual, and David joined us with Clifford. The young boy clutched a rock to his chest.
‘What’s wrong with them?’ whispered David, nodding at the guards.
Charlie coughed. ‘They’re worried,’ she said. ‘Something’s troubling them.’
‘Those noises last night,’ I said. ‘What was going on out here?’
David shook his head. ‘Something bad. Or good?’
Pete, Anna and their children joined us, closing the circle. ‘We have to do something,’ said Pete, nodding at the mass of prisoners. ‘Look, there’s hundreds of us. We outnumber the guards, what, five to one? Six? We’re not chained, we’re not cuffed. We could take them.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Charlie. ‘They’re armed.’
‘Yeah, Petey, calm down,’ said Anna. ‘You jump on one and the other’ll shoot you. Think about it, yeah?’
I could see the muscles in his jaw work. ‘But if we all go together? Yeah?’
He looked around, trying to rally us, as if were a squadron of trained killers, rather than a rabble of sick, exhausted prisoners.
Charlie coughed again and pulled her cardigan tight.
‘You’re not well,’ I said.
‘I’m fine.’
A metallic whistle sounded from the far corner and we turned to face it.
‘Your attention please,’ came a voice over a loudspeaker. We gathered the children and formed a huddle under the guards’ close scrutiny.
‘We are seeking skilled workers to help us restore and improve the structural integrity of the unit, ensuring the safety and well-being of yourselves and your fellow detainees.’
‘Structural integrity?’ said David. ‘That suggests problems to me.’
‘We ask that every able-bodied adult inform us of any practical skills in which they once had a trade. In particular, we are looking for carpenters, bricklayers, plumbers and electricians.’
Charlie shot me a hopeful glance.
‘Those and the families of those selected to work will be rewarded with more substantial living quarters and greater rations. They will also be granted immunity from vetting procedures.’
‘Reginald,’ said Charlie.
So that’s what Jag meant by being ‘useful’.
It seemed a rotten way of doing things but I had no choice. As far as they knew, we were a family, and if families were protected too then this was our only hope of saving Aisha. I joined the line and informed them of my skills. Then we were led back inside.
Two days passed without a word. Then, early one morning I woke to find a guard kneeling next to me, rocking my shoulder. Everyone else was still asleep.
‘Reginald Hardy?’ she said, looking at her clipboard. It was the guard who had cut Duncan’s body down.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re an electrician?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come with me,’ she said, standing sharply.
I went to wake Charlie and Aisha, but she stopped me.
‘Leave them,’ she said.
‘But they’re my family.’
‘They’ll be sent for. Follow me, please.’
‘But …’
‘Now.’
After a moment’s hesitation, I stood and followed her through the mass of sleeping bodies to a door near the back of the cathedral. She nodded at the guard beside it and led me down some stairs onto a long corridor lined with further doors. Halfway along, she opened a door and led me inside. It was a small room with a single bed with starched sheets, a sink, a bucket and a desk beneath a high, barred window through which grey dawn light seeped.
‘This is you,’ she said with a friendly smile. ‘You’ll receive your work duties later this morning.’
‘My family,’ I reminded her. She looked away.
‘They’ll be sent for,’ she said, and left, locking the door behind her. I stood in the chill silence, staring down at the small bed and wondering what I had just done.
Human
LINEKER
In here I have a different name. The name of a dog.
Out there I had the name of a human. I was treated like a human, told to behave like one.
Why do you do that – humanise us? Is it because you failed with yourselves?
What did you see when we crept from the safety of the trees?
Company? Protection?
Or a mirror?
Perhaps you had already caught a glimpse of the monsters you would become, sensed the havoc you could wreak with those reckless minds, those busy fingers and those two transcendent thumbs. You already knew that, no matter how far you reached for the light, something much deeper and older than you would always pull you back to the dark.
Then you saw us and thought we might convince you otherwise. Our furry faces – kind, reflective surfaces in which to drown your failings, the same way you drown ours.
But you mistake us like you mistake yourselves. For we are savages: killers, murderous hearts. Love slips from us at the first scent of blood.
So here is the truth: you and me? We’re animals. And animals kill to survive. There’s nothing more to it than that.
Roach-enslaving wasps, assassin bugs with paralytic skewers, sharks with teeth like
subterranean drills and lumbering lizards with filthy mouths. Nature – it’s one big suicide pact. Beautiful? Maybe, but drawn beside the blueprint for the antelope’s heart is another for a claw to shred it.
Worms, maggots, parasites, viruses, hornets, rattlesnakes, tarantulas, crocodiles, hawks, jellyfish, wolves, bears, lions.
Dogs.
Killers.
And then there’s you. And we have nothing on you.
You slaughter the forests with giant saws. You throttle the sea with plastic. You drown the sky with soot. You kill everything in your path. And why? Not to survive – you’ve already nailed that one – oh no, you kill to give yourselves little luxuries like skin scrubs, painkillers and boxes to chatter on. You – you kill for no other reason than comfort and curiosity. You kill so your eyes don’t sting when you wash your hair.
Bravo, you fucking maniacs, you murderous hearts. I mean it, I’m impressed.
But even that’s just the start of it. Because, not content with killing us, you kill each other too. And this is where you truly excel yourselves.
From the cruellest nightmares of a sexual predator in his MDF dungeon to the trained torturer trembling over the car battery, your thirst for the blood of your own species knows no bounds. Then there are the drone operators, the generals pushing figures across tables in windowless rooms, the sweatshop account managers. You would rather children died than you paid a few quid more for your underpants.
Death by proxy. Beautiful.
You crowd around women as they shriek in flames because somebody invented the word ‘witch’, and if you think that was an embarrassment consigned to history then look east to the back alleys of Saudi and south to the Kenyan hills. You’ll still see the fires burning bright.
You place men, women and children in chains and tell them to work until they die. Another phase you grew out of? Take a peep in through the window of that house you thought was condemned. You’ll see families inside shackled by broken promises and one-way tickets.
Bravo, bravo, you murderous hearts.
Your greatest accomplishment – and the natural evolution of that wondrous discovery, fire – was to delve so deeply into the fabric of the universe that you tore it open. You bled out the very thing that held it together. And what was the first thing you did with this enlightenment? You vaporised a city. Because you needed to. That’s what you told yourselves – collateral.
The Last Dog on Earth Page 27
