Dog

  They flopped down in the sunshine, and lay dazed and aching, unable to believe their good luck. They were on a gentle slope, and a valley spread before them, so green and lovely nobody could speak. They lay there, panting, gazing at the sheer beauty of the world.

  “What now?” said Buster.

  “We rest,” replied Moonlight. “We curl up together and lick our wounds.”

  “We need something to eat,” said the lurcher. “We’re all starving.”

  Most of the other animals were nodding. Some had stretched out, exhausted, and one or two had fallen asleep. The dachshund was on its back, paws in the air.

  Spider, however, was silent and alert.

  He had never been as thirsty or sore, and he hadn’t drunk water for days. Somehow, though, he could feel his strength returning—and with it came that terrible restlessness. He couldn’t stay still.

  Buster padded close and butted him.

  “You did well, pal,” she said. “You’re quick-thinking for a pet.”

  Spider shivered, and flipped his ears back.

  “It won’t go away, Buster,” he said. “It’s worse now. Worse than ever.”

  “What is?”

  “The need to be found. I can’t rest, you see—I need to be moving.”

  The flea pinched him gently. “You’re getting hot again,” it said. “What are you thinking now? What do you want?”

  Spider lowered his head and lifted it again.

  “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I just want to go on. I can’t stay with you guys—you know I can’t.”

  “Darling, wait,” said Moonlight. “This is a good place. We’ll find a stream and have a wash, and—”

  “You don’t understand,” said Spider. “I don’t care about washing. I don’t care about food. I’m just as lost as I was, and a lost dog cannot find peace. Ever.”

  He walked forward, wincing at the pain in his pads.

  Buster nodded and growled.

  “I feel the same,” she said quietly. “That’s something we have in common, buddy. We’re both being looked for by people that care. Why? Because we’re needed. We’re both loved, I guess. Remind me: what’s the name of your master?”

  “Tom,” said Spider, and once again the word was like a bolt of electricity. He closed his eyes, and the fur on his back rose up.

  “My man’s called Spike,” said Buster. “It’s the only word I can spell—it’s tattooed across his knuckles. Both hands!” The pit bull shook her head. “He’ll be going crazy without me.”

  “Tom came out to that village,” replied Spider. “He must have done, Buster. He pinned that poster to the lamp post, because he’s trying to find me. So it’s even more urgent now: I have to get home. And I’m sorry—because I know it’s selfish—but this really is goodbye.”

  “Don’t say that,” whispered Moonlight, but the dog was staring ahead.

  In the distance, a train made its way through the valley, and Spider thought of the long trek ahead. He flexed his left paw and then his right. He would find water at some point. All he knew was that he had to start at once.

  “You’re not going alone,” said Buster.

  “No,” said the flea. “I’m not leaving you. I’m in this for the duration.”

  “Oh, please!” cried Spider. “You mustn’t follow me. I’ll get lost again—I’m bound to—and it could take a lifetime!”

  “Stop arguing, pal,” said the pit bull. “We’re a team now, and that’s all there is to it. We’ll find your boy, and when you’re safely back home together, I’ll find my boss. Who’s looking for you, cat?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m free, darling. Free as a bird.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Moonlight put her cheek against Spider’s and nipped his ear. The other animals looked on in respectful silence.

  “You know, Spider,” she said, “I shouldn’t have come between you and that little boy. You want to find him, and I understand that now. He’s probably forgotten you, because boys are heartless creatures, but—”

  “He’s hunting for me, Moonlight. I just told you.”

  “Ah, you’re so loyal. You always will be, with a heart like yours. We’re the same, aren’t we? Mad, emotional things, guided always by love.”

  Spider closed his eyes and swallowed. “I’m not sure we’re the same, you and me,” he said. “All I know is that Tom needs me, more than ever. The last time I saw him he was hurt, and he’s still hurting. I abandoned him, and… something’s very wrong.”

  “Is he in danger?” asked Buster. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes. I think he is.”

  Even as he said it, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, and he felt cold all over. He had never before felt such a strong premonition of impending doom, and he found his tail was trembling.

  “Lead on,” said Buster. “Are you with us, cat? You’ve come this far, so you’d better make your mind up.”

  Moonlight shook her head, then—suddenly—nodded it.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “I think I should.”

  Just then they heard the sound of a motor. Somewhere in the distance, a moped was puttering along a lane. They heard it stop and start again, and a tiny yellow crash helmet came briefly into view before it disappeared into the far-off trees. The noise of the engine died, and was replaced by birdsong.

  Tom was having the time of his life.

  The gears on the moped changed automatically, and though he’d told himself to go carefully, he was soon bowling along happily as the wind whipped through his clothes. The fuel tank was full, and so far nobody had flagged him down to accuse him of being the selfish thief he knew he’d become. Nobody had even glanced at him.

  He had ridden round the neighbouring streets first, just to build his confidence. Then he got down to his actual mission: following the main road out of town, all the way to Tayler’s house. He would check every centimetre of tarmac, and prove the boy a liar. Then he would find his beloved dog.

  He passed the railway station, then his school. He waved two fingers at the gates, and sailed on round the back of the church to a large roundabout. It was still swirling with rush-hour traffic, and he was unsettled by the impatience of the cars and trucks that surrounded him. They pushed past and roared into a river of fumes and metal. A break came at last, and he eased himself into it. Half a minute later he was on a slip road, which launched him on to the dual carriageway.

  He accelerated hard, but found that even when his motor was screaming—and the dial said thirty-two miles an hour—he was painfully slow compared to everything else. He tried to tuck himself into the left, but there were so many drain covers and bits of old tyre that he was forced to pull out towards the centre of his lane. Vehicles surged past him, and sometimes he had to wrestle with the steering just to keep straight. A particularly huge lorry came by, and he felt his machine veering forward, wobbling into its slipstream. “McKinley’s” was emblazoned on its rear, over two cartoon puppies that eagerly devoured a bowl of rich, tender meat. The picture urged him on, as the car behind blasted its horn.

  After forty-five minutes, he did the return journey. He passed the sad remains of a badger and a pheasant, but there were absolutely no dead dogs. Tom started to laugh: if he ever saw Tayler again, he would have his revenge. If it came to a fight, Tom suddenly knew who’d win, and realized that he’d been timid for too long—he’d been feeling sorry for himself, and it was now time to take control.

  His confidence soared, and he set off with renewed energy to scour the countryside.

  Meanwhile, Spider, Buster and Moonlight had cut across the fields and come to the railway line. The flea was on Spider’s nose. They had said sad farewells to the other animals, and a brisk trot had brought them to two sets of tracks.

  A whistle sounded in the distance, and Moonlight put her paw on the nearest rail.

  “Something’s coming,” she said.

&nbs
p; “Then we ought to stand well back,” said Buster. “A pal of mine had a fight with a train, and it didn’t end too well. I say we let it pass and follow.”

  “Why don’t we just catch it?” asked the flea.

  “How?” asked the pit bull.

  “This is an uphill section, so the train might be going slowly. If you guys run fast, we could jump aboard.”

  Spider nodded. “That’s a good idea. If it’s going to the town, we get there faster. If we’re going the wrong way, we’ll just stay hidden and it’ll take us back.”

  “Clever,” said Moonlight.

  Buster got to her feet. “Here she comes,” she said. “Just watch out for the wheels…”

  The train laboured into view, belching diesel. The tracks hummed under its weight and there was an ominous clattering. It was a long freight train, and that meant a seemingly endless line of low wagons, each carrying a square container. They trundled by, one after the other, and the animals scampered beside them. They could hardly believe their luck: the very last section was a flat wooden deck, perfect for a soft landing.

  Buster jumped first, and though she stumbled, she steadied herself and sat down safely. Moonlight and Spider followed, and anchored themselves against her chest. Minutes later, they were skimming along with the wind in their fur.

  “Our luck’s changing,” said the flea softly. “I feel confident.”

  “I’ve been lucky all my life,” said Spider. “I just didn’t see it.”

  “So we’re looking for the school again, yes?”

  “That’s my plan. We’ll just walk those streets and keep our eyes open.”

  He shivered again.

  “What?” asked Moonlight. “Are you sick?”

  “I’m hot,” said Spider. “I’m thinking about Tom, and I can almost see him. He’ll be in a classroom right now, with all his friends. He doesn’t know I’m on his trail.”

  “You’re getting closer all the time,” said Buster, butting him gently.

  “What’s that ahead? I can see flashing lights.”

  “We’re slowing down,” said Moonlight.

  Buster growled and walked to the edge of the wagon. The train lurched and whistled.

  “You’re right,” she said. “It’s a level crossing, and there’s that motorbike again.”

  Spider stood up.

  He was shivering violently now, and his hackles were up. His paws were itching, too, and he didn’t know why.

  The barriers were coming closer, and he could see several vehicles waiting to pass. Sure enough, the moped they had noticed was at the front, and its rider was staring straight at Spider, open-mouthed. As the dog drew level, their eyes met and locked together.

  “This is going to sound silly,” whimpered Spider, as he sailed past. “In fact, it’s going to sound crazy, but that man back there… that boy on the bike…”

  “What about him?” asked Buster. “Sit down, pal—you’re going to fall over.”

  “I don’t think I can. I’m trying, but I can’t.”

  Spider trotted to the very edge of the wagon and gazed at the receding figure. It was definitely a boy, and when the barriers came up, he threw the bike to the ground, and walked right on to the tracks. He stood between the rails, absolutely still—and as he pulled off his helmet, Spider felt a curious jolt in his heart. He tried to bark, but all that emerged was a strangled croak.

  “Darling,” said Moonlight, “I swear you’ve caught a chill. When I get you home—”

  “I don’t believe it,” whispered Spider, ignoring the cat. “Buster, you’re going to think I’m making this up, but look at him now. Look…”

  The dog found his voice at last, and started to howl.

  “What is it?” barked Buster. “Hush now! What’s wrong? Talk to me!”

  “I don’t know,” cried Spider. “I don’t know!”

  “OK, keep calm. Trust your instincts, pal—that’s what they’re for.”

  “But it couldn’t be,” moaned Spider. He howled again and twisted round in a circle. “It couldn’t be him, could it? The bike belongs to Phil, so Tom wouldn’t be using it.”

  “I’m not following this at all,” said the flea. “You said Tom’s at school today.”

  “He is! Or he should be…”

  At last, Spider sat down, but he was still shaking.

  “I’m seeing things,” he said. “Maybe I’m having hallucinations—I do need to eat—but that boy looked just like my master. Same eyes, same nose, same everything. I’m going mad…”

  *

  Tom was also gazing into the distance in total disbelief.

  He’d ridden through several villages, combing their streets. He had continued out to the pet-food factory, and he’d sat by its gates wondering what to do next. His fuel tank was low, so he needed a garage. The problem was obvious, though: he could hardly expect his dog to materialize from thin air and leap on to the road. How could he conduct a careful, thorough search?

  He had to keep going, so he opened the throttle and zipped down a quiet country lane. When he came to the level crossing, the lights had just started to flash. He accelerated hard, but the barriers were coming down as he got to them, and he had to stamp on his brake.

  A bright blue sports car was waiting on the other side of the line, and its driver heard the screech of tyres. The roof was down, and the man peered at him with disapproval. Tom saw him whisper something to his passenger, who produced a tiny pair of binoculars, the sunlight flashing on the lenses. As the freight train rumbled past, Tom was glad of its length: it meant he was invisible, and he wondered about turning round and riding off the way he’d come. He was still undecided as the last wagon trundled into view.

  That’s when he saw three creatures in the middle of the train: a cat, a mutilated pit bull, and—like a vision—a black and white puppy with too-long legs and floppy ears. They sailed by like statues, and as he watched, the black and white dog came to life and walked to the very edge, gazing into his eyes.

  Tom knew the look, and he knew the walk. He knew the tail as it gave a single, hesitant wag. He knew the gentle tilt of the head, which revealed that special tooth. It was the dog he’d missed so much, and to see him rolling past left him short of breath. The terrible thing was that he knew it was impossible, which meant he was having visions borne of sheer desperation. He watched the mirage as it shrank to almost nothing. Then he clambered off the bike as the barriers rose and ran on to the tracks.

  The dog was howling. Tom yanked off his helmet and gazed: there was a volley of sharp, desolate barks as the train slipped away. The dog was still in view – and was its tail wagging harder? Was that one last, distant cry?

  The boy’s legs were jelly, and there were tears in his eyes. His vision was blurred, and as the train gathered speed the animal became a mere speck, getting smaller every second.

  “Oh, please,” he said softly.

  Tom was brought back to reality by a soft toot. A Mini was inching round him, with a bemused-looking driver at the wheel. He stepped out of its way and ran back to his bike. As he did so, he heard a male voice, sharp and serious, and he knew he was in trouble. The sports car was blocking his path, and the couple inside were glaring at him.

  “Excuse me, young man,” said the driver. “How old are you?”

  “I’d say twelve at the most,” hissed the woman next to him. “He’s a schoolboy, Guy. Whose bike is that?”

  “I don’t think it’s yours, is it?” said the man. “Call the police, Helen.”

  “I’m twenty-one,” said Tom.

  “Oh, really?” said the woman nastily. “What year were you born?”

  “I’m… not sure. Ages ago.”

  “You came down that hill like a maniac,” said the man. He was opening his door. “You’re from the estate, aren’t you?”

  “He won’t be insured,” hissed his wife. “Where’s the pen, dear? I’ll get the licence number.”

  Tom hauled the moped back on to its wheels,
but it was far heavier than he’d expected, and he had the helmet on his arm.

  The driver was following him.

  “No you don’t!” he said loudly. “It’s other road users I’m thinking of, so give me those keys.”

  “Guy, be careful. He could have a knife.”

  “Don’t ignore me!” cried the driver. “Do as you’re told!”

  The bike’s engine was still running. Tom could hear it chugging away and knew he had half a second at the most to make up his mind. He discarded the helmet and leapt astride the saddle, opening the throttle just as the man lunged for him. He forced the handlebars round, and the machine rose up on its rear wheel before careering forward. He crashed down on to the train tracks, accelerating even harder as he bounced over the sleepers.

  The couple were left gawping in astonishment, for Tom was off down the railway line itself, in pursuit of the disappearing train. He could hardly see it any more, but it hadn’t been going fast. Surely he could catch it? He was doing forty-one kilometres, forty-two…

  He cleared the summit of a hill and the train track sloped downwards. His speed rose to fifty and he could hear a drum roll as his tyres raced between the rails. His hair was flying, and the wind was cold in his eyes. In the distance—yes!—he could see the last wagon still, and he knew beyond all doubt that the dog on board was Spider. He also knew that all misunderstandings could be put right if only he could reach him.

  He clung to the machine, shouting Spider’s name. The freight train was veering slowly to the right, and it was slowing down just as he was speeding up—in another minute he would catch it.