Vurt (27 page)

Sudden flash of me arriving back down in the real, the Thing pressed up on top of me, that sweet aroma rising from his skin.

Those dogs were eating the Thing! Bit by bit. Letting him regenerate between meals. And then cutting some more muscle off, taking that featherless flight into Vurt, direct to the flesh.

Something snapped just then. Something happened.

Not sure what. But during it I felt the cut of the breadknife on my arm, up just past the elbow. Didn't hurt. Even though I saw the red spurting onto my jacket sleeve.

The dogboy was howling as I picked him up.

Go take a flying fuck, dogshit!

Dogboy made a fat sound against the wallpaper, and then slid and crumpled. He lay there, broken, whimpering.

I went over to the Thing. My arm just starting to hurt now, but I managed the straps alright, cutting them with the breadknife. The Thing didn't move. Didn't even make a noise. He just lay there, weak-hearted. He'd lost a ton of weight over the lost weeks, eaten away; his alien metabolism battling hard against the cuttings, but not quite keeping up. I unwound the leads from the bed, and then wrapped them around his soft body a few times, making a harness. The Thing was muttering now, in that thick tongue of his. I tickled him on the stomach, where he liked it. Maybe it did some good. He was so thin I almost felt that I could carry him alone. So I slipped the leads around one shoulder, and then around the other, took a deep breath, and pulled him up.

I had him up there, aloft and free, his alien voice calling to me. Couldn't make out a word but it sounded like comfort anyway, like he was glad to be carried.

I walked back to the landing to fetch Twinkle and Karli.

Up the next flight to the top floor. Another two doors waiting. The floor had been cleaned recently, and it made a nice change, to be stepping lightly, free of the shit. I was covered enough already. A note pinned to the stairwell read "No dirty paws beyond this point. That includes you, Slobba!" It was written in Bridget's hand. Both doors were closed, but the one straight ahead had a flicker of blue light around the jamb. And the slightest hint of dog smell coming through, mixed in with flowers.

The Thing was weighing down on my shoulders.

I heard Dingo's latest love ballad -- Venus in Fur -- playing softly. And then the voice, "Is that you, Scribble?"

Bridget's voice from behind the door.

I had the Thing. I had Curious Yellow. I could have just ridden out
of there. Instead I went on through.

"How could you do this, Bridget?"

She raised her sleepy head from the bed to look at me. Her eyes were loaded with dreams, and a red flush coloured her usually pale flesh. She was lying on a ruffled

bed, wearing just a man's white shirt and a lace of shadow-smoke. The room was dark except for the play of light coming from the candle on the window ledge. It had an azure flame; the palest blue light gently shining over the room.

"The candle's there for you, Scribb," she said. "I knew you'd find me." "I guess it took me too long," I answered.

There was a man lying in the bed, covered by sheets. He had a handsome face on him, long brown hair; maybe just a trace of dog. One hand lovingly stroked Bridget's neck, whilst the other held open a book. I could see the title in gold, embossed, the sonnets of John Donne.

The bedroom looked clean and human in the candle's glow, full of the smell of flowers and incense. I guess this was more of Bridget's work; an attempt to mask the smell of dog. The flowers did a good job, but only just; the aroma of dog lingered like one of Dingo's bass notes.

And I got the picture of Bridget gardening this small human space, in the middle of Turdsville. What was that girl on? What was the motivation?

And why am I the last person to ask this?

Karli was on the bed with the young couple. She was trying to nudge the sheets back, getting her nose under there, her pink arse on display, raised up. Twinkle was sitting in an armchair, watching Karli's game.

I was watching all this from out on the landing, through the now wide-open door, with the breadknife still clutched, tight, in my right hand.

Bridget lit a cigarette in the blue shadows. "We've come to take you out of here," I said.

Bridget turned back to me, her mouth full of smoke, giving me that old-time sleepy smile. "Look at the Thing," I cried. "Look what they're doing to him!"

"Yeah?" she answered, her voice a slow drawl. "They've been eating him!"

"Eating who?"

I took a breath. "Bridget. . ."

"How's the Beetle these days, Scribble? He still pushing you around?" "Beetle's doing fine."

So what was I supposed to say? Beetle's on his last moments.

He desperately wants to see you again, before he dies of the colours, so why don't you just come easy?

Would that have worked?

And where the hell was that guy anyway?

"This is my friend, Uber," she said to the man beside her. "Scribble."

"Good morning, sir," his voice lightly dog-touched. "May I say how pleased I am to be in your company."

"Scribble, this is Uber," Bridget told me.

"How could you do this, Brid?" I cried. "Tell me!" Bridget turned her sleeping eyes full on to me, and in the blue light, they looked like jewels.

"Uber is so very good. He takes me places." "Yeah. To a dogshit hole like this."

Uber threw the blankets back.

Karli was thrown with them, but he caught her in his human hands as he rolled out of the bed. He was a strong, young man, and he lifted the dog without struggle. Karli didn't mind. That robobitch was in love! She let herself be tumbled over onto his lap.

Uber was a beautiful creature.

A perfect split, straight across the middle. Sometimes it happens like that, once in a thousand matings. He was human from the waist up, dog from the waist down. He placed his fur-covered legs down on the floor, sitting on the bed, with the Karli in his strong arms. She was nuzzling up close to him, licking his face with a pink tongue. Uber moved his head away from her, giving me a slow look.

"I have been so looking forward to this," he said, in that dark voice. "Bridget tells me stories about you. I must say, I do find them rather amusing. She has a high regard for you, sir."

I didn't answer.

The shadows changing on the candle's breath.

He held out a long fingered hand. Sharp claws pushed through the soft pads of each finger, and when he smiled, his teeth were pointed, tiny shards of dog lodged in the human. "What's wrong?" he said. "Won't you shake my hand, sir?" He could retract the claws at will, and he did so now, presenting a soft hand to me, but still I wasn't tempted. "Don't you like me, Scribble? After all, I'm the one who saved Bridget."

"Saved her from what?" I asked. "Why, from the pure life, of course." "I'm taking Bridget back," I said.

Uber turned his face to the candle. He closed his eyes slightly against the glare. "Ah yes," he said. "I was expecting this. Dingo warned me thus."

"It's going to happen."

"Put down the food please, sir." "I can't."

"Why's that?"

"I need the Thing."

"You call him a thing. That's shows little respect. Food is most precious, and should be treated accordingly."

"Fuck you."

Uber closed his eyes fully, for a moment, whilst stroking Karli on his lap. "This is a luscious robobitch," he said. "I thank you for bringing her to me." And as he spoke, he was moving his fingers between Karli's hindlegs. "Scribble?" said Twinkle, from her chair.

"Don't worry, kid," I told her. "It's under control."

"Is it, indeed?" said Uber. "Under control? Is it under control? Oh good. Whose control?" And each word came darker than the last, and more dog-like, like
he
was losing it, the human, and getting one serious rag on.

"I'm walking out of here," I said. "Don't push him, Scribb,'said Bridget

"I'm taking the Thing with me," I said. "You ready, Twink?"

"I'm ready," she answered. And then turned to the pet. "Karli!" she called.

Karli pricked up one ear towards Twinkle's voice, and then refolded it. "Come on, Karli!" Twinkle tried again. But I guess that dog was too happy.

"You coming too, Bridget?" I asked. She didn't even look at me.

Twinkle was on her feet, by my side.

Uber was stroking Karli on the neck, the underside, where she loved it the most.

He blew out the candle, even from that distance, with a dog's breath. When he turned back to me, his human face was split by a pure canine grin.

"Don't let me do this," Uber said, tightening still further. And at first Karli let it happen, thinking it a touch of love. But then feeling it for what it was; an act of torture. Uber's fingers were squeezing on the windpipe, and his claws were coming out, pricking tiny jewels of blood from Karli's neck. He had an expert's knack of finding the soft flesh between the plastic bones. Karli was whimpering now, struggling to get loose. Uber

parted his thick lips, showing those chiselled teeth. "I am Das Uberdog," he growled. "The world is my shitting place." And his eyes were wild, wild and free, as his claws tightened on the wet throat.

I made a struggling move, under the digging weight of the Thing, but Twinkle beat me to it. She launched herself forwards, hurling herself at Das Uber with all her young strength.

Uber bent a powerful dog-muscled leg in two, like a levered machine, so that Twinkle was pressed up against it, struggling to get Karli loose. Then Das Uber unflexed his leg, quickly and with a finely tuned force, that sent Twinkle screaming, backwards, to land at my feet.

"What is your reading of the situation, sir?" asked Das Uber. Blood from Karli's neck was leaking between his long human fingers.

"I think you smell like shit, "I said. "Thank you,"he replied.

So I turned around.

Twinkle was clutching at my legs, trying to stop rne, crying out, "Scribble!

Scribble! Don't leave us!"

But I just turned around, and walked away.

Some things ore more important than others, and if that makes me bad, then let it

stand.

I was heading back down the stairs, the weight of the Thing on my shoulders and

back, almost pulling me over.

Cold, like stone.

Twinkle was crying from above, but I was down on the first landing now, carrying the weight. Felt like I was carrying Desdemona herself. That's how I pictured it, the swap already made, just to get the blood pumping. Past the front room where the bitchgirl was licking herself to a frenzy. I could hear her whining from under the door.

Around the corner, along the corridor, towards the kitchen, where all three dog people were now down on the floor, rolling around, travelling some mutant Vurt, fuelled by the Thing's flesh.

Where was Mandy? Where was Twinkle? Where was the Beetle? Where was the Bridget? Why was I doing this alone?

And then Uber's howl, from the top storey. Sounded like a siren's cry, refused in love. The scrabbling of his dog claws on lino and floorboards. Me taking a lurching race for the last stairs, where the front door lay waiting, and the doordog was turning to see what all the howling was about.

Thing was, he was just a little bit busy.

Because Mandy was happily wrapped around him, one hand reaching down stroking him between his legs.

Thanks for the help, Mandy. Appreciate it.

But then I saw that her other hand was reaching for the coat hook, and I changed all that around.
Do it, girl! Do it!

I could hear the dogs getting close behind as I raced down, stumbling under the burden of the Thing, slipping on dogshit, making a slide of it, heading straight for the doordog. His eyes were so wide, felt like I was going to slide right on in there.

Something was grabbing at me from behind, pulling at the Thing on my back, dragging hard, so we were pulled up, and back, halfway down the stairs, lodged against the two walls. A strong, white, human hand reached around and grabbed my neck. My face was jerked back, and I was looking straight into the eyes of Das Uberdog. That's when the lights came on.

A scorching brilliance.

Every lamp shining down with a fierce radiance, dazzling in rainbows of colours.

Beetle! Was that your work, my man?

I heard dogs behind me howling in pain; sounded like a bad jerkout. But not Uber.

He took it, unblinking, and I felt his claws digging in at my throat.

I brought my right hand up, and backwards, in a sweeping arc, the breadknife lodged solid in my fingers.

Das Uber saw it coming, moved his face with a dog's jammed-up instinct, whip- fast, away from the blade's path.

Too slow, sucker!

The knife went in, hard against the flesh, somewhere on his left cheek, hit bone, slipped, cut through, into the jawline.

Blood on my face, Das Uber howling, me twisting the knife, hard!

I was free of the grip now, so I heaved the Thing back up, letting go of the knife, and started for the door again. The doordog had struggled free of Mandy. He was shielding his eyes from the glare with one forepaw, struggling up the stairs, his other paw flailing around in front of him.

That's when Mandy delivered. Delivered good.

Do it, girl!

First the flash of bright hot light, then the exploding air, the noise of it enough to

kill, then the howling scream of Doordog as he's thrown up the stairs by the force. He bangs against me, and then drops. In the centre of his back a black and ragged hole is burning. Flame bullet.

The dogs were howling from the top of the stairs, and when I turned I saw Das Uberdog pulling the knife out of his torn face. He peeled his gums back, away from the long teeth, displaying his wound.

I stepped over the body of Doordog, and joined Mandy at the bottom. She was standing with legs apart, my gun in both hands, just like she'd done, no doubt, in countless Bloodvurts. At the top of the stairs I could see the dogs scuffling about in panic, banging into the walls, their half-cut brains struggling with the messages. Behind them Bridget and Twinkle were standing. Twinkle had Karli by her side. Robodog looked okay, a bit wobbly, some blood on its fur.