David Moody - Dog Blood

Mark looked down at the man in the phone booth again. He hadn’t moved. Was he just sleeping? He casually tapped the glass with his knuckles, but the man didn’t react, so he did it again. Then, moving slowly, he shook the door. Still no reaction. Was he dead? Whatever it was that was wrong with him, Mark saw that he had a plastic grocery bag tucked inside his filthy raincoat. It had to be food. Other than weapons and drugs, food was the only thing worth hiding now. He kicked the glass again, this time cringing inwardly as a couple of other people either turned around or glanced up before remembering themselves and looking away again.

The appearance of a small boy walking along the wall around the base of his old work building distracted him. The poor kid looked hopelessly lost and exhausted, all life and energy drained out of him. It said something about this crisis that even the kids were affected to such an extent. He’d seen film of children playing resiliently around the ruins of their homes in World War II bombsites before now, and other footage of kids laughing and running through disease-ridden subcontinent slums, but this… this was different. Even the most innocent and naive members of society knew how dire this situation was becoming. The boy shouldn’t have been on his own. Who was he with? Was he lost? Abandoned? Orphaned? He’d adopted the same safe, emotionless, and almost vacant gaze as everyone else, trying to separate himself from the rest of the world but unable to escape its close confines. Mark had no way of knowing if this kid was okay or if he was sick or… He forced himself to stop. He had to look away and block him out. He couldn’t afford to care.

This morning, before he’d left the hotel, Mark had argued with Kate. Neither of them had meant for it to happen, but once they’d started shouting, weeks of pent-up frustrations meant neither of them could stop. Kate was becoming increasingly claustrophobic in the hotel room, and the lack of privacy was driving her insane.

“What am I supposed to do?” he’d said to her. “Until things change, this is all we’ve got. There are no hospitals or clinics or-”

“So what happens when the baby comes?”

“We deal with it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know… we get some towels and water like they said and-”

“What towels? Where’s the water going to come from? Christ, Mark, I won’t even be able to wash the kid. We don’t have enough water to drink, let alone-”

“Calm down, Katie. You’re just-”

“Calm down! Jesus Christ, why should I? I’m fucking terrified, and you’re expecting me to give birth to our baby on the floor of a hotel room in front of my parents.”

“It’s months away yet. Four months. Think how much might change in another four months-”

“Think how much worse it might get.”

“Now you’re just being stupid.”

“I’m scared.”

“We’re all scared.”

“I’m scared about the baby.”

“Millions of women give birth every year, don’t they? And they used to manage before hospitals and-”

“It’s not that-”

“What, then?”

“I’m scared about what our baby might be. What if it’s not like us? What if it’s one of them and it…?”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m normal and you’re normal. Our baby will be normal, too.”

“But what if it isn’t? You don’t know that for sure, do you? No one knows why we’re like we are and why they’re different…”

She was right, of course, but he kept on trying to persuade her that everything would be okay, doing his best to keep up the bullshit and pretense because it was all he could do.

A sudden noise nearby diverted Mark’s attention back to the present. There was a disturbance deep in a crowd of people on the other side of the road. He couldn’t clearly see what was happening. It looked like a fight-someone had probably cracked under the strain of the impossible situation that they, and everyone else, found themselves in. The sudden, unexpected outpouring of long-suppressed emotions provoked a range of reactions from the other refugees nearby. Some ran. Some did all that they could do pretend it wasn’t happening. Others forgot where they were and all that they’d been through and responded with the most basic, natural of reactions and fought.

Mark didn’t give a damn what was happening or why. Taking full advantage of the situation and the distraction it caused, he shoved the door of the phone booth hard. When the lifeless man on the ground still didn’t react, he pushed the door again until there was a wide enough gap for him to squeeze his arm through. He grabbed the man’s grocery bag, shoved it inside his coat, and walked back toward the hotel.

JESUS, MY HEAD HURTS.

Where the hell am I? It’s dark, pitch black almost. I’m lying flat on my back on a narrow bed, naked but for a T-shirt and shorts. I try to move, but my ankles and wrists have been chained to the four corners of the metal bed frame. There’s no slack, and I can’t even lift my hands up off the mattress. The harder I try, the tighter the chains seem to get. I try to move my head, but there’s some kind of strap right across my forehead, keeping me down. When they come back I’ll kill the fucker that’s done this.

My eyes are getting used to the lack of light in here, but there’s not a lot to see. It’s a narrow, rectangular room with this bed against one wall and a chair opposite. There’s nothing on the walls except for a lopsided crucifix just to the side of the solid wooden door. Istretch my neck back as far as I can. There’s a small, boarded-up window behind me, the faintest crack of light showing around the edges.

How long have I been here? Have I just woken up, or have I been out cold for days? I feel myself starting to panic, and I make myself breathe slowly and work my way back through what I remember… the children at the school, traveling with Paul, the fighting at the hospital, the Unchanged in the streets who chased me down and drugged me… We were set up, and the bastards who did it must be the ones who brought me here. I pull on my chains again, but I still can’t move. I don’t understand this. It doesn’t make sense. If they really were Unchanged, why didn’t they just kill me? Why bring me here, wherever here is?

Someone screams. Can’t tell where the noise is coming from. Don’t know if they’re screaming for help or crying with pain. Is this a torture chamber? A place where sick, perverted Unchanged fuckers tie us up and make us suffer? Bastards could come in here any second and start on me and there’d be nothing I could do. Maybe they’re experimenting? Trying to find out what makes us better and stronger than them by cutting us up? How many others before they get to me? Is it my turn next?

Concentrate.

Calm.

Focus.

I think about killing to keep me strong. I think about all the Unchanged I’ve massacred over the months and how I’ve gotten rid of each one of them. I remember all the pointless lives I’ve ended and how easy it was and will be again.

Ellis.

Just for a second, from out of nowhere, I think about Ellis, and everything comes crashing down again. The chains feel tighter and the darkness closes in and I can’t move a fucking muscle. I’ve failed her. She’s out there on her own somewhere while I’m locked up here like a fucking animal. Every minute she’s alone out there increases the chance of her ending up like the kids in the school. I try to move again, pulling as hard as I can and thinking for a second that I can break the chains and get out of here, but nothing happens and the ties just get tighter. I feel like I’m in the line outside the cull site again, standing there and waiting to die. And there’s nothing I can do about it.