11.3
Solomon moved slowly down the corridor, his eyes scanning the floor and walls for a makeshift weapon.
There was nothing.
The corridor seemed to go on forever, building the suspense as the growls of the dogs gradually grew louder.
Narrow stone walls eventually opened out into a cavern, which was sufficiently illuminated to reveal a small cage with a big Alsatian crammed inside.
The dog was looking up towards him, hackles raised, lips pulled back over its teeth.
The way the ribs poked through the skin on its sides told him that this was one very hungry dog indeed.
‘Shit,’ Solomon said.
A distorted, echoing voice startled the shit out of him when it suddenly declared, ‘Your goal is simple. Reach the end of the City of Dogs and your life shall be your reward.’
Solomon looked around for the source of the sound, which seemed to have further pissed off the dog.
It was full on barking at him now.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Solomon said, knowing he had no option but to go down the small ladder into the cavern which housed the dog and who knew what else.
*
Before he’d set foot on the ladder, Solomon had looked over as much as he could of the cavern.
He could see nothing other than the dog cage and the bare rock.
The far end was darkness and he took this to mean that this was the way out. If, indeed, there was a way out.
A heady cocktail of wet dogs, rotting flesh and dog shit assaulted his airwaves. He retched and spat on the wet, mossy cavern floor then descended the ladder.
He got off the ladder tentatively, his entire body ready to spring into an attack against the dog.
As he edged closer, he noticed that the cage was shut.
‘But for how fucking long?’ he muttered.
The dog bared its teeth at him.
Up close he could see the hunger and desperation in its eyes.
‘It’s ok, boy,’ he said.
He’d had dogs on the farm, big Dobermans that had been savage with burglars and intruders – one of his dogs had almost taken off the postman’s hand – but as gentle as babes with him.
He’d also had three huge wolves which had been like children to him.
No such luck in this case.
His proximity further enraged the dog.
He passed it cautiously, turned so he was facing it if it did come out of the cage, but it remained in its tiny prison.
Its growls slowly faded into the distance as he reached the other end of the cavern.
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The door there was metal, heavy set, no chance – even for a man of Solomon’s bulk and strength – in hell of lifting it or busting through it. He tried anyway, and found out that this theory was correct.
He scanned around.
There was a button on the wall, with ‘PRESS ME!’ scrawled above it in luminous green paint.
He scowled.
Something about this just wasn’t right.
He edged around, scouring every inch of the room for an alternative.
The only other switch was inside the cage containing the dog, which was now barking loud enough to echo around the cavern.
But this, of course, was the only answer.
There was no way in hell he could reach into the dog’s cage to press the button and keep his arm intact.
He could potentially pull one of the steaks off his arm and throw this to the dog, but he would still be cutting it fine.
The dog would much prefer the banquet on his arm over one measly offering.
He sighed.
Took a deep breath.
Pressed the button on the wall.
*
As he’d suspected, the button did not open the big metal gate.
Instead, a klaxon by the door began to sound and an orange light began to flash every five seconds or so.
In the enclosed space the sound was nauseating.
The dog seemed to agree with him; barking loud enough to make itself heard over the klaxon.
As he neared the cage, he noticed the door was still shut.
He began to hope it was going to remain so, but as he neared, the lock clanged open.
The dog shoved its way out and began barrelling towards him.
*
The poor bugger’s just hungry, he tried to tell himself.
It means you no harm.
It just wants the meat on your skin.
Still, he found this did nothing to curb his fear when it came darting towards him.
It moved with a nightmarish speed and before he knew it, the fucking thing had clamped its teeth down on the steak on his right forearm and was greedily tearing it off.
The pain was like nothing he had felt at that point in his life – the popping of his left eye by Wayne Cross’ branding iron would, of course, take the trophy in days to come – as the dog’s powerful jaws wrenched the barbed staple free.
There was a dent in his forearm big enough for him to stick his finger end into.
Blood raced down his forearm.
The dog seemed to sense that something was up and turned to him, eager to taste his actual flesh.
Scowling, he threw a hard kick at its head.
‘Sorry, boy,’ he said.
It got up, rage in its eyes.
He whistled and threw the steak it had pulled off his arm to the side.
It didn’t follow it, but its head did turn for a second, giving him chance to dart into the cage.
He’d been in the cage for barely a second before the dog began slamming its head into the bars. But, for now, luck was on his side: the cage door opened outwards, so the dog’s efforts served only to push the door shut over and over.
Its gnashing jaws poked through the bars, desperate for the bloody meat attached to his person.
His hands pulled the gate shut tight, making sure it didn’t come in.
‘Me and my fucking mouth,’ he lamented as the dog just missed snapping part of his foot away.
*
He pressed the button in the cage and another klaxon went off.
Though he regretted doing it, he managed to slam a fist into the top of the dog’s head and knock it to the ground.
‘Sorry, boy,’ he said, stroking the top of its head as its heaving breaths slowed and sleep claimed the animal. ‘I know it’s not your fault.’
When he got there, the roller shutter door to the next room was raised a little.
He had barely time to get under it before it slammed down behind him.
This time, there was no foreplay; the pale pitbulls – mutated horrifically by the nuclear fallout – were out of their cages, running for him.
*
Run or fight, Solomon, he thought to himself.
Fuck this.
He ran, just evading the snapping jaws of one of the dogs.
The second almost got him too, lunging over the back of its companion to get to him.
The split second of elation he felt vanished when he realised they were already on his tail.
Think, Solomon, he thought.
These things are fucking hungry.
You’re covered in meat.
You’re gonna have to take some of it off.
He ran a bit further, startled by how fast the dogs had moved.
Their barking assailed his ears, seeming to corrode away his self-belief.
They’ll catch you and they’re gonna rip the flesh from your bones, he thought, beginning to panic.
Stop it.
The cavern narrowed into a small tunnel roughly two feet across and he reluctantly realised this was going to be the only way to go.
He moved himself in.
The dogs were startlingly close now. He could smell their fetid breath.
There seemed only one option for him now.
He pressed his back into the wall and set his feet against the other wall.
He pushed hard with his legs and propelled himself up until he was above the dogs.
They leapt up at him, one of them managing to get high enough to tear off a chunk from the steak dangling from his right calf.
He cursed. It had been close, but could have been worse.
The dogs waited below, seeming to sense that already his legs were blazing with the effort and that he would soon fall victim to gravity’s cruel inevitability.