If it had been up to Dawn she would have had the fucking dog put down, though she would be the first to admit she was biased. She hated the thing. “Guvnor”, Peter had called it. The thing stank to high Heaven, spent most of the day either barking or loudly scoffing away at its genitals or whining to be taken out for a walk. As annoying as the dog was, she never thought it aggressive. That changed last night when it bit Peter. It wasn’t a savage bite, little more than a nip but it did draw blood. If that wasn’t bad enough it had done the same to her right on the meat of her thumb. She was not happy with Peter’s method of discipline. A gentle tap to the dog’s nose with a rolled up newspaper. The dog skulked away into its bed under the table in the kitchen and then they had argued for hours. He kept saying Guvnor had just gotten a bit excited. She was convinced the old mutt was going senile and it would be a mercy to end its miserable life. In the end, she knew if she gave him an ultimatum she’d be out the door. Peter was not one to play with threats.
The worst of it was that Peter begged her to take the dog for its morning walk. He was ill, so he said. He did look a bit sickly, his skin was clammy and pallid. She wondered if he’d caught that flu that was all over the news. Persian Flu they called it, though it seemed most of its victims so far were in London and Hong Kong. Still, she worried, so many healthy people had died from it in just the last fortnight. There had even been riots yesterday in London and Manchester after the hospitals shut their doors, too many people were sick. It was a worry. Still, despite not feeling one hundred percent herself, she put the chain of Guvnor and took him for his morning walk.
The air was cold but the sun was out, trying its best to warm the place up. Even though it was quarter past eight, the streets were quite quiet. There was the occasional car driving by but not the usual rush hour jams. A few people were walking here and there, some of them coughing and sneezing but the pavements were not as busy as usual for this time on a Monday morning. Was it a Bank Holiday and she’d forgotten? She tried to recall but was sure it wasn’t. Perhaps the flu had spread to Glasgow, she’d need to be careful.
As she crossed the road she waved to Mr. Proctor, who was staring out the window of his shop. He didn’t respond, which was odd, but then again he looked grey and sweaty too. She decided she’d miss buying the morning paper on her way back home. Guvnor was desperate to get going, kept tugging at his lead, he was probably bursting for the toilet but she had to make sure he was in the park before she let him off. Turning off the main road, she heard an unusual noise, something like birds chirping and rubber squeaking. She looked to see where it was coming from and spotted, at the edge of some hedging, a group of rats, they were fighting with each other. It looked pretty brutal, there was a small pool of blood they scurried in and one had a large gash in its side. She gasped but moved on quickly, even though Guvnor seemed quite interested in the grim spectacle.
Over the railway bridge, she went, past the backs of the semi-detached homes. From one she could hear a couple having an argument. Both a man and a woman were shouting at each other, screaming in fact, but she could not make out what they were saying. In the small square of grass which was their back garden, a young lad with blond hair was banging his head violently against one of the iron washing poles. She felt sorry for the kid, remembering how she used to feel when her parents argued; as if it was her fault. She was about to say something when he turned and ran back into the house, he was also screaming with rage.
The park was desolate, which was strange. At this time there was usually at least a couple of joggers and dog walkers, kids going to school. As she headed down the grassy slope and in through the gates, she spotted, in the distance, three schoolkids by the fence of the river. One was holding a large tree branch and seemed to be chasing the other two. They sped off into the distance.
Guvnor began getting agitated so she let him off the lead and instantly he bolted towards the right-hand side, where all the bushes were and the small path she never went up. A year previously a woman her age had been found raped and murdered in that secluded area, she too had been walking her dog. Whoever killed her had smashed the dog’s skull in with one of the big stones that were used to separate the muddy earth from the path. They’d never caught the bastard so whenever Peter had guilted her to take to dog out, she’d avoid going that way. Guvnor, however, had different plans.
She cursed to herself and walked towards the sloping pathway. Guvnor vanished round the corner as she did and she called for him once, suspecting that the dog would likely ignore her. She was correct in her assumption, Guvnor made a beeline for the bushes and was gone. She could see the path he made as the bushes rustled, he was heading towards the old house and rock garden. That was fine, the place was maintained by the council and used by the parks department staff as a base of operations. Guvnor would likely be trying to get them to play with him.
About halfway towards the gate of the old house, Dawn suddenly felt a wave of nausea violently ripple through her. Dashing to the side of the slope she grabbed the old rusty fence and vomited. The puke was all wrong, it wasn’t that bitter acidity she was used to, it tasted burnt and like infection, if that had a taste. Worse than that, though she had eaten only cornflakes and milk for breakfast, it came out like she’d stuffed her face with pints of Guinness and black pudding. Whatever it was, she felt much better once it was out, but was getting pissed off at the whereabouts of that fucking dog.
“Guvnor!” she shouted. Ahead she saw the bushes rustle again and the small figure of the terrier scoot up and without looking back, zoom up to the gate and turn into the old house grounds. That was good, the little fucker couldn’t escape in there. She’d nab him, put him back on the leash and maybe give the shit a boot in the ribs for being so disobedient. “Guvnor!” she shouted again.
As she approached the house’s grounds she noticed a weird smell, like fireworks and rotten meat. It wasn’t going to stop her. Dawn walked through the gate and spotted a shovel, which she picked up. That dog was going to get it once and for all she decided. Peter could go fuck himself, if he wanted to start bleating about it, she’d introduce his face to the spade. There was still no sign of the dog but she spotted two burly council workers coming out of the bushes at the back of the grounds. Spotting her, they both headed her way. They better not try anything, or they’d be in for it.
One of them had a shaved head and a nose ring. As he approached he said, “Alright sweetheart?”
“Don’t call me that,” Dawn protested, she hated sexist pricks like him. “Have you seen my dog? A small terrier?”
“I have, he’s over here.” The guy said, pointing to the bushes they’d come from. His friend, slightly shorter with floppy brown hair smirked when he said it.
“Thanks,” Dawn said sarcastically and marched past them towards the location. She was aware they had turned and followed her but she didn’t care. Her attention was focused on getting the dog back on the lead. As she got to the bushes she realised the awful smell was coming from there, she pulled back the branches to uncover a pile of bodies, joggers, school-children, dog-walkers she recognised, atop them was Guvnor, with a ragged bloody hole in his head.
“Yeah, we’re sorry about that.” The skinhead said as he grabbed her by the shoulder.
“Keep… the fuck… away from me.” Dawn hissed, threatening him with the shovel.
“Whoah, take it easy hen, the dug wis sick, they aw were, we had to put them down.”
She was raging, the dog was hers to kill; if she couldn’t have it this fucking moron would do in its place. “You cunt!” she roared.
“Is that… did the dug bite you?” He said, spotting the gauze and plasters on her thumb.
Dawn didn’t answer, she was so angry she was finding it difficult to speak. Instead, she dashed forward with the shovel, ready to slice the bald fucker’s head off. He dodged out of the way and said “Derek!”
The other council worker was behind her, she’d forgotten about him, as she whirled she spotted the gun, the big heavy tube at the end was a silencer, she’d seen them in the movies. Oh, the fun she could have with…
Dawn dropped like a stone, not even hearing the quiet noise as the bullet and bone shards were driven through her brain. She dropped, twitching, blood pouring from her nose and mouth.
“Crying shame,” said Derek.
“I know man, but we’re paid to keep this from getting out of control. Check her pockets, we might find an address, if she and the dug were infected, she might not be the only one.”
“Fuck that, we were told to patrol the park. Help me drag her body on the pile, we can start burning them just now, maybe nip aff fur an early lunch?” Derek suggested.
“Sounds good to me.”.
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