The Last Dog on Earth

by Adrian J. Walker

  We were halfway across the yard when I heard dogs and a sharp report of gunfire from somewhere close. I kept running, but it was not until I felt Aisha labouring behind that I knew something was wrong.

  I stumbled to a halt and turned, praying to a God I did not believe in not to see what I thought I would see.

  ‘Reginald!’ cried Charlie from somewhere ahead in the billowing cloud. ‘Hurry, they’re leaving!’

  I peered back through the dust. And there was Aisha. She was facing to her right.

  ‘Aisha!’ I yelled in relief. ‘Come on!’

  I grabbed her hand but she pulled it away.

  ‘What is it?’ said Charlie, finally finding me.

  ‘I don’t know. Aisha! We have to …’

  But it was too late. The Chinook was rising and I saw that the gun in the turret had finally turned – our rescuers could not risk another second on the ground. As the dust settled and the noise lifted with our disappearing freedom, I saw what Aisha was looking at.

  ‘Linn-kaaa!’

  Kill

  LINEKER

  Those beasts flew off like giant rooks leaving piles of bodies – canine and human – metallic wrecks, and everywhere dust and snow drifting down at its own pace, as if gravity was reminding us that all the chaos in the world could not bend its will.

  And it was through that falling dust that I saw her: the girl. And then him.

  The husky growled, rattling her chain as she lurched for them. She, standing above, pulled her back.

  ‘Steady,’ She warned.

  The battle was now concentrated on the rubble of the busted wall behind, and I flinched as one of the turrets exploded beneath a burst of fire. We were losing, I knew that much. But it didn’t matter. We still had a job to do.

  On the opposite wall was another, smaller hole, and it was towards that hole that Reg, the girl and the many-clothed woman now ran.

  She unhooked our chains and issued our command. ‘Kill.’

  And with that clink of freedom and that cold, bloody word, we ran.

  The feeling – I cannot describe to you the feeling. The blood of that mastiff was still on my tongue, flooding me with dreams of dank forests and the bulging eyes of fallen deer. I ran side by side with my bitch across the yard, both of us feeling the same rhythm pounding in our bones. We flew effortlessly, feet hardly touching the ground, the world rolling past in awestruck streaks of light.

  With a glance at me she ran ahead, powering her paws into the dirt. And the scent was strong in my snout – the scent of the one I had to kill.

  They were up on the rubble and pulling their way through the fallen rock. The husky hit first, slipping on the lower bricks, and I scrabbled up behind her. The pile was unstable but we pushed on, springing between the rocks, driven on by Her shrieks from the ground.

  ‘Get them! Faster, you mongrels!’

  Quicker we went, quicker went our pulse, quicker went our blood. I was next to her now, our haunches bristling against each other and the delicious, sour smell of her sex swirling around me. Up ahead I saw Reg struggle. His legs trembled with every step. His flesh was far weaker than ours.

  Our hearts roared, our lungs screamed and the whistling in my ear grew and grew until I thought my skull would burst. They were almost at the top and we were almost upon them, and with a final growl the husky leaped, and I leaped too so that we soared together through the air, weightless, flying. Just like birds, I thought, opening my jaws and ready for the taste of flesh.

  Then something happened, something I shall never forget, and this is the only way I can describe it.

  In mid-flight I saw Reg turn and cower, and time and space fell from beneath me. For one boundless moment I found myself sailing through pure nothing, and in that moment the sun took its cue to break through a cloud in glorious streams, and there, standing on the wall’s lip, was the girl, lit up in amber and gold. The blizzard seemed to freeze and all at once the only thing that existed was her face. My heart dazed. My thoughts exploded. She fixed me with a dead-set gaze, opened her mouth and cried out my name in a beautiful song, louder and closer than anything I could imagine, and the note tore through that ringing in my ear and drew it out until it was something else entirely – deeper, longer, rounder, my own howl joining hers, my hatred draining too and – ah, there it was, that love, the love I thought I had forgotten, and I kept my eyes upon her, that burning heart in the snowstorm, until finally my teeth sunk into the flesh of my prey. The sky spun and my eyes rolled upwards, to where a flock of real birds – geese – were flying in formation. Beautiful. I closed my eyes.

  Blood. Muscle. Sinew.

  And pure white fur.

  The husky yelped and shook, and the pair of us rolled onto a flat section of rock. We faced each other, snarling. Her perfect coat was ragged, stained with a crimson spray, and her snout shook with shock-filled hate.

  But love – love, sweet love – can be just as furious as hate.

  The blizzard whirled around us. The Howl rained down. It questioned me, and I answered: I’ve made my choice. I made it a long time ago. Love, not hate.

  I stood my ground, hackles raised, with three human beings cowering behind me, and I knew I would die for all of them.

  She leaped first and I rose up to meet her, attaching my jaws to her gullet. She continued in her arc, pulling me with her until we landed, her weight on mine and my skull against a rock.

  Out.

  Then, one by one, my senses returned, deadened. I was groggy and weak, but I forced myself to stand because she was prowling again, though her throat hung low and her eyes drooped.

  This time I leaped first and caught her on the side of the head with my outstretched paws. She gave a growl of annoyance and stumbled to one side; it was a weak strike, not enough to knock her over.

  But the rock I had pushed her onto wobbled and her balance shifted. Now she was at the edge with nothing behind her but a sheer drop. I lifted my head, sensing the calculations flit through her muscles to the rock beneath her. She whimpered as she tried to correct her footing, but her paws slipped and, as those calculations settled on her fate, she took one last look at me with those steel-blue eyes and was gone.

  I let my head rest, and darkness quickly overtook me.

  REGINALD

  ‘Lineker!’

  He lay lifeless on the stone slab. Charlie sprawled behind me with Aisha, crying. The rubble we had climbed fell down in a slope on the other side. At the bottom was a clearing, a squashed wire fence and a path that led out into empty, snow-drifted streets.

  ‘I’m going to get him,’ I said, picking my way to the slab, but as I stepped onto the first rock there were cries from the skirmish on the opposing wall. A row of black uniforms standing along the broken lip were beckoning the rest to pull back, to leave the open grave of purple-clad bodies upon the mountain of soot-blackened, snow-whitened stone.

  ‘They’re pulling out,’ I said, wobbling. I looked down to the yard as five more black-uniformed soldiers ran from within the building and joined the retreat, motioning for the rest to pick up the pace. ‘They’re leaving us. Hey! Over here!’

  But my words were lost in a tremendous explosion from the cathedral. The wall shook and I fell back, clawing for an anchor as the ground shifted beneath me. When it had finally settled I found myself further down the slope, with Charlie and Aisha still clinging to the summit and the slab upon which Lineker lay now raised up on a precarious plinth.

  I craned my neck to look back. The yard was a maelstrom of snow, smoke and fire, but through the flickering haze I could just make out the last of the black uniforms retreating from the wall, their battle won, and the three Chinooks banking west.

  Charlie called down to me.

  ‘Reginald, are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’

  ‘Can you climb back up? We can make it down the other side.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, and got to my feet, but as Charlie turned to descend the rubble
, I saw spidery limbs clambering after them. It was Hastings; she had made it up the slope. Her face was caked with hair and streaked with sweat, and her uniform hung in tatters with one huge tear revealing a bloody wound in her side. She grimaced as she scaled the rock, brandishing her cane above her.

  ‘Charlie!’ I called. ‘Watch out!’

  I made for the lip, jumping and stumbling between rocks, but she was nimble and the obstacles only seemed to propel her on.

  Charlie and Aisha, oblivious to their silent pursuer, had just managed to edge down to the slope when the rock behind them slipped, knocking Hastings off balance. The impact made her grunt and Charlie turned at the noise, catching sight of the rabid face with a shout of horror, and picking up her pace.

  Hastings’ slip had allowed me to gain some ground and I was only a metre or two from her when, with a wheezing cry, she sprang.

  I pulled at the rocks, ignoring the sharp edges as they cut my legs, but as I reached the summit she was already upon them. Charlie had fallen and Hastings had grabbed Aisha. She yanked her round and gripped her by the throat, holding the cane above her head. I stopped and faced her through the blizzard.

  ‘Let her go!’ I yelled.

  ‘No,’ she replied with a curled lip.

  I held a hand to my forehead to protect it against the whipping snow. Charlie was dazed upon a slab of concrete.

  ‘What are you planning to do with her?’

  ‘I’m planning on disposing of her. What else?’

  The rock upon which I stood slid a few inches back and I shifted my feet forward to restore balance.

  ‘But you’ve lost, Angela. Look around you. What possible reason do you have to kill her now?’

  She grimaced and stretched her spine.

  ‘It’s Captain Hastings, and the reason is that it is my purpose; something that an idiot like you would never understand.’

  She renewed her grip on Aisha’s neck. I had to get to her; I had to make time.

  ‘Purpose,’ I said. ‘Yes, er … oh, you were wrong about dogs, by the way,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Hastings, spittle flying from her mouth. I edged up the rock, looking for a safer one on which to step.

  ‘Dogs. They’re not the machines you think they are, and they’re not wolves either, as it happens. Not the wolves you think, anyway.’

  ‘What are you fucking whittering about, you—’

  ‘It’s, ah –’ I stepped onto a nearby boulder, which took my weight ‘– oh, good – a fascinating subject, actually, and one that’s benefited quite substantially from recent advances in modern DNA, reassessments of studies performed in captivity, that sort of thing, anyway, the long and the short of it is that dogs may well benefit from a purpose as you so grandiosely put it.’

  I swallowed and inched up the boulder until I was only a few feet from her. ‘It is a reasonable assumption that certain breeds of domesticated canines are sometimes happier when they are put to work: farm dogs, police dogs, that kind of thing.’ The boulder wobbled, then settled. ‘However, when all is said and done, what your dog really needs from you – the only thing he needs from you, truth be told – is not your mastery or your dominance or your training, but …’ I stood on the tip of the boulder, arms stretched out for balance, ‘… your understanding.’

  The rivers of snow felt cool upon my face.

  ‘Dogs need our understanding,’ I repeated, ‘no matter how strange or different their behaviour might seem to us. And in that respect, Captain Hastings, I would tend to agree with you: humans and dogs are indeed most alike.’

  She regarded me for a while, standing like a scarecrow on that rock. ‘Understanding,’ she said with a nasty sneer. ‘You don’t understand anything.’

  She shook Aisha roughly. ‘This child does not belong here. That dog should be put down.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘And what would you know? You’re nothing. A fat, useless, loveless, pathetic excuse for a man. Nothing.’

  I fixed her as steady a glare as my precarious position allowed.

  ‘I may be some of those things, Angela, but I am not nothing. I am still a father, still a husband, though my family are gone.’

  My gaze travelled to the rock behind her. ‘And what is more, I have known more love and forgiveness thanks to that fine creature lying behind you than you could ever know, and that child you are holding has shown more courage, grace and kindness in her short years than you or any of your army ever will. So I would greatly appreciate it if you would let her go now.’

  ‘Or what?’ she said.

  ‘Or that fine creature behind you will be the end of you, Captain Hastings. Go Lineker! Go now!’

  Lineker, who had risen and now stood silhouetted on his slab, leaped at my command and clamped his jaws around Hastings’ neck. She howled with rage, just as Aisha sunk her teeth into the hand around her own neck. Hastings threw the girl down and ripped Lineker, growling, from her punctured shoulder. He landed on his back but before he could get up she had brought down her cane upon his head – once, twice, three times with a terrible crack.

  ‘No!’ I yelled, scrambling from my rock.

  ‘Linn-kaaa!’ screamed Aisha, as she slipped away.

  Four, five, six – Lineker’s struggles and yelps weakened with every blow. With one last surge of effort, I jumped the final stone and snatched the cane from Hastings’ hand. She spun round and as that insufferable face met mine, I screamed into it with all the rage I could muster in that freezing blizzard: ‘You do not hurt my fucking dog!’

  And I brought the cane down, hard.

  Her head whipped back without a cry, and when it returned, like some nightmarish, rubbery toy, a dark red line had appeared on her cheek. Her eyes met mine again and I thought I saw the beginnings of a smile, but it flickered out before it could take shape, like a flame starved of oxygen. The lids of her left eye twitched twice and she gave me a strange kind of pout, before she stumbled back a few steps and, with a tired gasp, fell from the wall.

  I looked over. She lay in the red snow with her legs and arms in a perfect diagonal cross as if she was just a little girl making a snow angel. Not far from her, her broken dog lay on its side, back straight and paws together, still obedient in death.

  ‘You do not hurt my dog,’ I muttered into the wind, and turned away.

  Charlie had found Aisha, who now clung to her like a koala. Lineker’s body lay still upon the rock.

  ‘Lineker,’ I breathed, picking my way over to him.

  His eyes were closed and snow was settling around his snout, but I could see his chest rise and fall in short breaths. I lifted his limp body from the plinth and, carrying it gently in my arms, we made our way down the ruined wall and headed north.

  London’s empty streets echoed with the sound of shots and cries, and we navigated between skirmishes as best we could, ducking into alleys and hiding behind cars. We skirted the blast zone of the first bomb at Kings Cross, where weeds and bushes now grew from the debris. We ran down freezing side streets, sharing silent looks with others who were, like us, fleeing the fray. Finally, we joined a main road crammed with burned-out cars, passed Euston station ablaze, and reached Regent’s Park. From there, we climbed Primrose Hill. I carried Lineker all the way and never felt his weight.

  LINEKER

  It is peaceful on the hill as I lie on Reg’s lap. Snow dots my whiskers and nose in cradles of ice so small and light that they hardly seem to make any impression in the world at all.

  The view is strange but I can see further than I ever have before. London is burning. Black trails of smoke fill the sky in messy swarms through which helicopters roam, jets soar and missiles fly. Something is happening down there. But it has nothing to do with what is happening up here.

  Smoke is a curious smell, hard to categorise – it can represent the comfort of a pipe or a snooze beside a well-stacked hearth, or it can represent the danger of an inferno, and the desperate flee from its flames.
/>   Comfort or danger, opposite poles, and the risk we accepted when we chose to follow those first trails to your camps.

  Right now, although this particular smoke is rising from a battlefield, I feel no danger, no threat, just comfort, safety and peace. I look up at the brightening sky and see birds descending in a slow circle. Are they real? Can anyone else see them but me? Can you see them, Reg?

  Reg unfastens my purple collar, slips it from my neck and tosses it on the ground before us. My throat opens and the air comes easier, although still in short, slow breaths.

  I study my master’s face and all fear slips from me.

  Maybe it’s true that love is to accept without understanding, but that doesn’t stop me wondering: Where is his pain? What carved those lines in his face? Who are those ghosts that roam his moor? I wish I had been there with him before they came. I wish I could have shared his burden.

  But I’m still glad, so very glad, that I was there with him after, all the same. Because you can’t operate alone. Nothing can – not the wolf, who still craves the warmth of her pack, nor the bear who rolls with his young in the forest, not even the spider, who allows himself to be devoured whole, just for the chance of a sixteen-strong knee-trembler on a drizzly branch.

  You of all things should know this. You who cluster in cities and build houses with many rooms, who make space for each other and yet fill it anyway, just to be close. You who are not murderous hearts at all, but burning hearts of love that only fail because sometimes fear, worry and ignorance get the better of you.

  You who are, despite everything, nature’s one and only hope.

  They’re coming down; those feathers are descending, and I can see now that they only seem black from below. The tops of their wings are gold and pearl, gleaming with the light of a thousand suns.