Dog Blood Part 9

The voice from the darkness scares the s.h.i.+t out of me. I can only move my eyes, and all I see is nothing whichever way I look. Did I imagine it? My heart's thumping in my chest like I've run ten miles. I try to move, but I'm still held tight. Someone's next to me. I can hear their footsteps and their breathing. Can't see them, but I know they're close. I feel them brush against my hand, and my whole body stiffens. The door opens inward a fraction, just enough to let a narrow wedge of dull yellow light trickle into the room.

"Didn't mean to startle you," the deep male voice continues in an African-sounding accent. "I've been watching you for a while. Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

The man stops speaking and stands over me. I can see his short but broad frame outlined by the light from outside. Is he waiting for a response? He'll be waiting a long time 'cause I'm not speaking to anyone until I know who and what they are and why I'm here.

What's he doing now? He crouches down, and I can hear him messing with something on the floor beside the bed.

"You might want to close your eyes. I've got a lamp here."

I try to keep my eyes wide open, but they shut involuntarily when he strikes a match and lights a bright gas lamp. I force myself to open them again, ignoring the pain, desperate to see as much of my surroundings as possible after what feels like hours and hours of darkness. The brilliant bright light burns my eyes, and all I can see is the mantle of the lamp, glowing white-hot. The roar of the burning gas jet fills the room, incredibly loud after so much silence.

The intense glare of the light begins to fade as my eyes get used to the brightness. The man puts the lamp on a chair opposite the bed. He turns back around, and I get my first proper look at his face. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d is Unchanged. Can't help but react. I try to lunge forward, the chains still holding me down. I arch my back and try to break free, but I can hardly move. He shuffles back into the corner of the room, too scared to get too close. Need to kill him. Need to get rid of him, but I can't. Losing control. All I can do is spit. The spittle hits the wall and starts to drip down. Mouth's too dry to make any more ...

"Finished?" he asks. b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I relax my aching muscles, feeling searing, agonizing pain in my shoulders, wrists, legs, and neck. Can't stand being this close to one of the Unchanged and not trying to kill him. My guts are in knots. Can't think straight. Can't move. Can't do anything. Need to kill him, but it's physically impossible. b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Haven't even got enough strength to spit again.

The dark-skinned Unchanged man picks the lamp up off the chair again, then puts it on the floor and sits down. I manage to turn my head to the side slightly, and I stare at him. Won't take my eyes off the f.u.c.ker. I'd kill him in a heartbeat if it wasn't for these chains. Five-five, five-six at the most, he's overweight-as round as he is tall. The whites of his eyes are bright and clear. I imagine them bulging as I wrap these chains around his neck and pull them tight ...

"Take it easy," he says. "Calm yourself down."

He's unarmed. He's sitting casually in the chair, and he's grinning at me with a look in his dark, staring eyes that's cold and evil. His legs are apart, arms uncrossed, palms open and facing upward. Textbook body language. Does he think I'm stupid? f.u.c.ker's doing all he can to try to seem open and nonconfrontational, but I don't buy it. Inside he's terrified, scared s.h.i.+tless because he knows what I'll do to him when I get free. Can't stand being this close to him, breathing the same air ...

"Bet you've got more than a few questions to ask," he says. He's right, I have a hundred questions ready. He knows I won't ask any, but he still waits for me to speak. Wish he was close enough to kill. If I just had one hand free I'd have wrapped these chains around his throat and garrotted him before he'd known what was happening. If I could I'd smash his head into the wall, or burn him with the lamp or break the gla.s.s and grind it into his face or ...

"My name's Joseph Mallon," he says, his heavily accented voice sounding composed, calm, and unhurried. "I'll be working with you while you're here."

Working with me? What the h.e.l.l's he talking about?

"You were lucky to get away from the hospital by all accounts," he continues. "Now that says to me you were either incredibly lucky or very smart. I'm hoping it's the latter. You look like you've lasted well out there. You're in good shape."

Does he want to kill me or f.u.c.k me?

"I'll tell you what I know about you, just to get us started."

He pauses, and in the gap between his words I almost forget myself and speak. But at the last second I remember what he is and I stay silent, feeling my body tensing up again.

"I've been through your stuff," he says. "It's all safe, by the way. I know your name's Danny McCoyne. It's funny how we still carry things like wallets around. I guess it's just habit, isn't it? Even someone like you, someone who's so desperate not to be anything like the person he was before, you still had your wallet kicking around at the bottom of your bag. Couldn't bring yourself to get rid of it, eh? You've got no use for it, but there it was, full of useless banknotes, credit cards you'll never use again, pictures of your family. Lovely-looking kids, by the way."

At the mention of my family I automatically try to move and pull against my chains again. He grins. That was exactly what he wanted. I curse myself for being so transparent.

"That touched a nerve, didn't it?!" he laughs, looking pleased with himself. "Might explain why a big, hard man like you is carrying a doll and a kid's clothing around in his bag. Were you looking for someone?"

I look away, deliberately breaking eye contact and staring up at the ceiling. Undeterred, Mallon gets up and leans over me. I arch my back again, trying to get closer and freak the f.u.c.ker out, but this time he stands his ground. The light s.h.i.+ning up from the lamp on the floor casts strange shadows over his foul face. He grins and leans closer, staying just out of reach. I can almost feel his breath on me.

"Just relax. You're going nowhere, Danny McCoyne."

There's a noise outside that distracts him, the dull, m.u.f.fled thump and rumble of a distant explosion. Mallon walks to the window and pulls the board away slightly to look outside. He doesn't say anything about what he sees, but the fact that he's able to look outside and I can't reminds me again that I don't even know where I am. I don't know where this place is. Add to that the fact that I don't know how long I was unconscious for ... Jesus, I could be anywhere.

"Questions," Mallon suddenly announces, carefully replacing the board, then sitting down again. "If you're not going to talk to me, let me see if I can hazard a guess at some of the questions you're too proud to ask. We'll start with the basics, shall we? Who am I? Where are you? What are you doing here? How come you're still alive? How long will you stay alive? What are we going to do to you? Tell me, Danny, am I on the right lines?"

He's right, and I need to know all of that and more, but I still won't answer. I can't answer. Won't even look at him. I clench my fists, tense my muscles and grind my teeth, and stare up at the ceiling, doing all I can not to give him the satisfaction of a response. He shakes his head and sucks his teeth. If I stay quiet for long enough, maybe he'll tell me anyway? b.a.s.t.a.r.d seems to like the sound of his own voice.

"Not going to talk to me at all this evening?"

Don't react. He wants you to react. He's trying to antagonize you.

"You know I can keep you here as long as I like, don't you?"

Ignore him.

"I'm thinking you're uncomfortable lying there like that. If I leave you all night it's going to get pretty b.l.o.o.d.y painful."

He won't undo these chains whatever I do. More bulls.h.i.+t.

"And you're gonna get mighty hungry. How long's it been since you've eaten? A day? Longer? And water, too ... your throat must be burning."

f.u.c.ker's playing mind games. Don't bite.

He waits. Watching me. Trying to outpsych me.

"Danny McCoyne," he sighs, voice full of mock disappointment, picking up the lamp and leaning closer, "you need to spend some time thinking about your predicament. You've lost all control, suns.h.i.+ne. What happens to you now is totally up to me."

He stares down at me for a moment longer. I meet his gaze, determined not to be the one who'll crack. After a few seconds that feel like minutes, he stands up straight and moves back toward the door.

"Well, I'm not wasting any more time on you tonight. I'm hungry. We've got good supplies here, better than most. Going to fetch myself something to drink and some food, then get some sleep. It's been good talking to you."

With that he leaves, taking the lamp with him. He pulls the door shut with a loud thud, then locks it. I hear his footsteps walking away, then silence. The quiet is deafening and is interrupted only by the fading sound of a far-off helicopter or plane and the steady drip of the water in the corner.

The room is pitch black, no light at all. The kind of dark your eyes won't ever get used to.

Who the h.e.l.l is Joseph Mallon? Is he on his own here? Just a lone crackpot trying to make a stand, or is he part of something bigger?

My gut begins to rumble with hunger again, and the itch by my right knee returns. Wish I could scratch it. That's all it'd take, just a few seconds scratching, then it would go. Feels like someone's digging a nail into my flesh.

19.

I HEAR A SCREAM in the darkness, but I can't tell whether it's coming from somewhere inside this building or outside. In the smothering darkness everything has lost its form and definition. I have no concept of time or how long I've been here. I tried counting the drips, but my tired brain can't keep track, and now the noise each drip makes is like a hammer blow to the head. I can't stay still, but I can't move either. Every time I pull on my chains they seem to tighten even more. in the darkness, but I can't tell whether it's coming from somewhere inside this building or outside. In the smothering darkness everything has lost its form and definition. I have no concept of time or how long I've been here. I tried counting the drips, but my tired brain can't keep track, and now the noise each drip makes is like a hammer blow to the head. I can't stay still, but I can't move either. Every time I pull on my chains they seem to tighten even more.

I don't know how long it's been since I last drank anything, but my bladder's been filling steadily. I won't shout out and put myself at the mercy of Joseph Mallon or any other Unchanged sc.u.m here. That's what he wants. He's trying to get me to break under pressure by starving me and keeping me chained up and in the dark. I'm better than him. I won't let him get to me. But at the same time I can't stop my body from doing what it's supposed to. I p.i.s.sed myself a while back. What else could I do? It was either that or shout for Mallon. Now I'm soaked with strong-smelling urine. It was warm, but my bare legs are freezing now, and I stink. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d has reduced me to this, but I won't let him beat me.

My body aches. My legs and arms are numb. Never thought it could hurt so much to stay still for so long. Just wish I could get up and walk around. And G.o.d, I'm so f.u.c.king hungry. My empty stomach keeps cramping so bad it feels like it's turning itself inside out. Don't know what I'm going to do when I need to s.h.i.+t. Not even going to think about it until it happens. Have to try to keep myself distracted, but it's impossible when I can't see or hear anything and when I can't move and when I don't know where I am or how long I'm going to be here ...

Stop.

Focus.

This is what he wants. He's trying to push me over the edge. It won't work. I won't let it work.

Leg's itching again. Worse than before.

Helicopter. Long way off ...

How long before you go crazy in the dark? A kid at school-long, long time ago-said it was just hours if there's absolutely no light at all. Pointless thinking about time, because I don't know how long I've been lying here. Part of me is starting to wish Joseph Mallon would come back just to break the monotony. Never thought I'd actually look forward to seeing one of the Unchanged, but staring at that evil piece of s.h.i.+t's face would be better than lying here staring at nothing, just thinking. Don't like being able to think like this. Makes me question things I've known all along are right. Makes me start to doubt myself. Makes me think stupid, crazy thoughts about Ellis-how close I might have got to her and how far I am from her now. I was within a couple of miles of Lizzie's sister's house, and now I could be anywhere.

What's my little girl doing? Is she fighting? Is she already dead? Is she in another room in this building? Is she in the room next door? What if Mallon doesn't come back? What if I've f.u.c.ked up and blown my chance with him? What if he leaves me here to starve to death, strapped to a p.i.s.s-soaked bed?

What a f.u.c.king failure. All that noise and fighting and bulls.h.i.+t-four months of it-and I've let myself get beaten by an unfit, overweight Unchanged who looks like he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. He can't be the only one running this place. There were at least four out on the street when they got me, and none of them were as fat and out of shape as Mallon.

Thinking about the street makes me think about the hospital and how I criticized Paul for running headfirst into a one-sided fight that I thought was a setup. At least he went out fighting. For all I know he might still be out there while I'm stuck here ...

I'm starting to get scared.

The dripping noise is getting louder and faster.

Thought I felt something moving on the bed.

Thought I saw a flash of light.

Am I hallucinating now?

Am I going out of my f.u.c.king mind? Going crazy in the dark? Need to keep focused, so I try to remember Ellis's face. But the harder I concentrate, the less I see. I'm scared I'll forget what she looks like. The face I see now isn't her, it's a combination of the faces of the feral kids we found in the school this morning ... or yesterday morning ... or whenever the h.e.l.l that was.

Leg hurts.

Just want to scratch that f.u.c.king itch.

20.

THE DOOR FLIES OPEN, and Mallon barges into the room. He's carrying something with both hands and holding the light beneath it. The combination of searing light and dark shadows stops me from seeing anything. He doesn't look at me, must be focused on whatever it is he's going to do to me. He turns his back and puts something down on the chair; then he puts the lamp on the floor in the corner of the room.

What's that smell? Christ, it's beautiful. Smells like hot food ... some kind of soup, I think. But it can't be, can it? Can you imagine a smell? Is this another trick my tired mind's playing on me? Mallon turns around and moves closer. He's left a tray on the chair. There's a bowl on it with steam snaking up, and next to it is a plastic bottle full of water. My stomach starts to growl and churn.

"You must be d.a.m.n hungry," he says, his deep voice filling the room. I stop myself answering with the words on the very tip of my tongue, remembering at the last second what he is and what his kind have done to people like me. "You look hungry. You must be starving."

He leans over me, and I instinctively strain against my chains to get to him. Maybe this time I'll reach him ...

My arms and legs hurt too much, and I quickly drop back down. b.a.s.t.a.r.d doesn't even flinch. He knows I'm not going anywhere.

"You smell of p.i.s.s," he says, laughing at me and shaking his head. "You're in a bad way, big man! Lost, all alone, chained up, and soaked with p.i.s.s!"

I can't help trying to lunge forward again, but the pain's intense, and this time I hardly move. He looks me in the eye and raises his hand. I screw my eyes shut and tense up, ready for him to hit me-but the pain doesn't come. I feel him tugging on the wide strap across my forehead. He loosens it slightly, then steps back. I still can't lift my head up, but at least I've got some side-to-side movement now. The freedom is bliss.

Mallon picks up the tray and sits down on the chair opposite. He sniffs the soup or stew or whatever it is, then takes a spoonful and holds it up to his lips. He stops just before he eats it.

"You want some of this?"

f.u.c.ker knows how much I want it. He's playing games with me again, and I have to resist. I won't give him the satisfaction of a response. Won't lower myself to speak to him. I watch his every move as he blows steam away, then takes a mouthful. He closes his eyes and shakes his head with pleasure, deliberately overdoing it for effect.

"Oh, that's good ... You know, Danny, it's getting harder and harder to find food like this these days. I'm betting it's been a long time since you've tasted anything as good as this soup."

He eats more. I want him to stop. Please don't eat it all Please don't eat it all ... ...

"It's chicken, you know. It's out of a can, of course, but man, you can still taste the meat. I don't even know if it really is meat, but oh, this is d.a.m.n fine soup."

He puts down the spoon and opens the bottle of water. My mouth and throat are dry. My tongue feels ten times its normal size, like it's too big for my mouth. He takes a huge swig of water, then gasps with overstated pleasure when he's done. My eyes are fixed on him, and he knows it. My stomach churns again.

He gets up and carries the tray over. I stare at the steam coming from the soup and watch it disappear into the air, trying to imagine what it tastes like. Can't remember the last time I ate hot food ...

"You can have this," he tells me, putting the tray down on my chest. I watch it going up and down with my fast, nervous breathing. I feel the heat from the soup on my body. "You can have all this and more; you just have to do one thing. You know what that is?"

I don't react. Don't know and I don't want to know. I don't have anything this sick f.u.c.ker could want. But if there is something, something I haven't thought about that matters, then I know he'll keep pus.h.i.+ng. And the longer I act dumb, the harder he'll have to push. If I stay silent long enough, he'll have to tell me something to keep this bulls.h.i.+t interrogation moving along. He clears his throat to speak again. Predictable b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"All you have to do, Danny," he says, leaning closer, "is talk to me. We don't even have to have a proper conversation. You can just tell me to f.u.c.k off if you like. All I want is to hear your voice. I just want you to respond to me..."

I won't do it. I'd rather starve. He waits, looking at me hopefully. Keep waiting, f.u.c.ker.

And he does.

"Seems strange to me," he eventually whispers after he's been watching for a couple of minutes, "that someone like you who's obviously so hungry and thirsty can't bring themselves to just do one small thing to get what they need so badly. No one else is going to know about it, Danny. No one's watching..."

Stay focused. I look up at the ceiling and count the cracks.

"You really are strange, strange people. If I had the time and inclination to wait and watch, I think you really would rather lie there until you die than drop your guard. Crazy behavior..."

He leans over me until his face is all I can see. I start to tense my body again, but he gently pushes me back down with one hand, and I know there's nothing I can do. I make eye contact and refuse to break it. I'll kill him when I get out of here. I'll rip his d.a.m.n body apart, smash his face into the wall ...

Mallon sighs. He shakes his head with feigned disappointment, then picks up the tray and puts it back on the chair. I stare at the bottle of water, still three-quarters full, and watch the few last wisps of steam rising up from the soup. He stands in the open doorway with the lamp.

"All you have to do is talk to me. Just say something ... anything..."

Another pause; then he shakes his head again and leaves. He slams and locks the door, and the room is plunged back into total darkness.

iv THE RAMIFICATIONS OF THE Hate were vast and incalculable. While the impact was predominantly felt by the surviving population-those remaining on both sides of the Change-its effects reached much, much further. Hate were vast and incalculable. While the impact was predominantly felt by the surviving population-those remaining on both sides of the Change-its effects reached much, much further.

The very nature of the division that had unequally split the human race in two had caused irreparable damage to every area of life where two people or more were expected to work together. Basic services had faltered and collapsed within a matter of days. There then followed a frantic, barely coordinated period of reprioritization as the remaining Unchanged resources were diverted to the maintenance of vital services and defense. Within weeks, however, even the most basic of public services had either fallen apart or been brought to its knees. A government of sorts (with a civilian mouthpiece but under military control) continued to try to coordinate what remained of the country's infrastructure. City and district councils either were dissolved or collapsed. All schools were closed. The hospitals and the health service couldn't cope. What was left of the police force and fire brigade were absorbed into the military.