The Kennels, Chapter 6

6.

Dry lips. Tang of blood. Occlusion in his brain. Eyes will only open a glitch. The world is blurred and there is a gravestone on his forehead, or a hammer. Feels the back of his head. A burning hammer struck and a dry crust that must be blood. If somebody tries to hurt me now, I’m helpless, I’m done for, I can’t lift a finger. His throat is so dry he feels an acute pierce when he attempts to swallow. He slowly rises up to a sitting position and experiments with opening his eyes wider. Where am I. Stench of dog and stale dog food. And mud. The kennels. He feels the ground around him. A little clang when he bangs something with his fingernails. A metal water bowl. He feels like a blind man, wets up his fingers, licks them, then wets them up again, rubs his eyes. He drinks. He freshens up his face, his throbbing forehead. He opens his eyes. There is an evening dim, warm light. He is a muddy yard surrounded by a low concrete wall, crowned with a tall metal grid. He is leaning against a wooden box with a blooming dog flap in it. He really doesn’t want to turn his head around –the fear of the pain he might feel paralyses him- so he slowly crawls to his knees and turns his whole body around, to get a look behind him. The door to the passageway between the cells is secured with a heavy chain and padlock. He feels like shouting “if this is a joke it isn’t funny” but it dawns on him as clear as day that this in no joke and that the situation is critical. He has been assaulted, knocked out and locked up in a fucking dog cell. He is a prisoner, and that padlock is big enough to dispel any suggestions of humour.

‘Oil! Anyone!’ he screeches, his throat still feeling like sandpaper, his heart pounding, his stomach burning. ‘Hello!’

Nothing. The usual disturbing noiselessness of the kennels.

‘Hello! Somebody!’ The second screech is even screechier.

Shouting makes his headache wake up and throb with fury. He can’t keep up anymore. He leans to one side and ends up with his face on the mud. It’s cold and it feels good.

It feels like ages of lying there, unable to move or keep his eyes open. Then he hears the padlock and chain and opens his eyes temptingly. It’s nigh time and it’s dark, the only light is the residual clarity created by the stadium lights at the entrance of the kennels, fifty yards away. He makes out a silhouette approaching him, then the feel of a firm grip on his shoulder and a shake.

‘Are you awake, Mr. Everton?’ It’s a woman’s voice. Tom struggles to focus. ‘Get up. Hold onto me. Hold onto me Mr. Everton. That’s it, good lad. Push up now, hold on. We’re walking.’

Tom leans heavily on the woman, stronger than she looks, and is half-carried half-dragged along the passageway between the cells, through the metal shed and into the long flat house. He is taken to the lavatory and sat down on the toilet, where the woman has already set out a sink full of warm water and a couple of cloths. She cleans his wound and his face and gives him tablets. Tom shrugs off them

‘Paracetamol, Mr. Everton.’ She says.

He takes them. She sounds reassuring.

‘What’s going on?’ Tom takes the second cloth and rubs his face and his eyes. It’s soothing.

‘They found you in the forest. They know you know. You need to get out of here before they come back and tell the government what’s going on! This has to stop!’ She has stopped washing him and instead is standing there rubbing his hands together in anguish.

‘What is going on? What needs to stop?’

‘The flowers! The meat flowers in the forest! All those puppies coming out of nowhere! I thought you’d understand better than me. What kind of a scientist are you anyway?’

‘An engineer.’

‘An engineer? But you said you worked at the hospital!’

‘I said I had done work for a hospital.’

She went pale.

‘So you don’t know what is going on?’

‘No more than you.’ Tom got slowly on his feet. ‘Where is my stuff?’

‘They took it all.’

‘My camcorder?’

‘Your camera, your mobile, everything. They went to get rid of it. Then they wanted to get rid of you! They think you are a scientist and that you’re going to tell the whole world about this place and those things in the forest! You need to go now.’

‘You told miss Alastair how to find me, didn’t you? You told her I’d be interested.’

‘I thought you were a scientist!’ she moaned. ‘I thought you’d be able to stop all this! And now what!’ She was in despair. ‘You need to go now. I’m sorry about getting you in this mess. Leave, now! They’ll be back soon!’

‘I’m going to the police, lady.’

‘Try if you want. They have never believed me or given a toss about dogs being impregnated with spores! Now, leave, please!’

Tom took the blanket she offered and accepted to be lead to a back exit. He found himself facing the muddy fields again and wondering if he’d manage to find his way in the dark. Hell, would his car be there? His knees were wobbly and his head still throbbed. Still he crossed the field, arrived to a fence and recognised the crossroad. He had to walk southwards half a mile.

He heard a car behind him. A flash of instinct told him to duck. The big tank-like muddy Jeep he used to park next to when he left his dog at the kennels. The owner and the guy in the black paste glasses where in it. They went passed where he was with a roar of thunder. Tom was glad to have ducked and believed he hadn’t been found out.

He stumbled and limped the half a mile towards his car, driven by sheer terror. He believed they were capable of everything the woman had said. His car was there, thank god. Would he be able to drive. His heart was pounding like explosions in a deep mine and his stomach burning with fear as he drove past the kennels’ gate. He breathed deeply when he reached the main road. At the first lay-by he had to stop, step out of the car and vomit. They would have killed me, he thought, blinded with fear. He had jumped into that situation merrily, without a real clue of what was at stake and what might be the consequences. He realised these men would not just let him off that easily. He wasn’t safe. He did not know what to do. He ha had gotten himself in deep shit. To think that just a few hours ago he had felt exhilarated and happy. What an idiot he had been. What was done was done. But what now?