One Dog and His Boy

18 The Dumper

Kevin Dawks was a kind man. One knew this because he was always helping people. He helped the manager of the supermarket in the town with the pile of rotting vegetables and plastic bags and oozing paint tins which wouldn’t go in the bins, and he helped the owner of the pub with the old telly and the bicycle his son had written off – and he helped the man in the garage with the oil cans and bottles of poisonous liquids which were cluttering up his shelves.

He helped them by taking these things away and finding a place for them. The places he found were some way out of towns and villages, in quiet parts of the countryside. It might be in a bluebell wood or a river valley or a freshly planted field. Kevin didn’t mind, as long as it wasn’t overlooked by anyone and he could tip out his load of filth without anybody seeing.

Of course, he charged quite a lot for this service. Being a dumper is a dangerous business, and he always had to look out for the police or busybodies who said that what he was doing was illegal and disgusting. And because he didn’t make as much money as he deserved to, he had other jobs. He stored things that had fallen off the back of lorries, like cartons of cigarettes and bits of jewellery, or tools that had been nicked and needed to be kept before being sold on – and he hid these in a lock-up shed on the edge of the moor.

The children had kept up a steady pace after they left the shepherd, and by early afternoon they were on a quiet country road leading up to the moors. Beside them, in a dip sheltered by birch trees, ran a crystal stream.

“My grandfather says you can drink from all the streams up here. The water comes off the Cheviots and it’s the cleanest in the country,” said Hal. “If you go on ahead I’ll just go down and fill my water bottle.”

“All right, but don’t be long,” said Pippa.

She went on with the other dogs, while Fleck and Hal scrambled down the steep sides of the little valley. It was a beautiful place. The bracken fronds were uncurling, bluebells flowered between the birches… they were magical, these sheltered dells.

Fleck had been running ahead, but now he came back to Hal and stopped in front of him, holding up a front paw.

“What’s the matter, Fleck?”

Fleck whimpered, and Hal saw a piece of rusty wire caught between his toes. Hal took it out, and it was then he noticed the smell.

It was a smell that seemed completely unreal in this lovely place. A vile sick-making stench of decay and rottenness.

Then he saw it: a pile of rubbish spilling down to the edge of the water. There was a torn mattress; half open tins of oil oozed on to the grass. A heap of rotting food burst out of a plastic bag, and an old sofa lay on its side, its rusty springs sticking up from the stained upholstery. Some of the refuse had been tipped into the stream itself; foetid bubbles of gas broke the surface of the water. A twisted electric fire was wedged against a boulder. A young birch sapling had fallen across the stream, broken by the weight of an iron bath.

And over everything, this unspeakable smell…

Hal hardly remembered how he got back up the bank. He was in a state of shock. Who could do this; who could turn this wonderful place into a hellhole? He was still getting his breath, tying up his shoelace at the edge of the road, when a pick-up drove past him, braked, and backed towards him.

Kevin had just finished dumping his load by the stream before Hal came, and had had a rest, dozing in his lorry, as people do when they have done a good morning’s work. He was setting off again, bound for his lock-up on the moor, when he saw a boy sitting on the side of the road. The boy had fair hair and was wearing a blue anorak – and for some reason he seemed familiar.

The hair began to rise on the back of Kevin’s neck. He braked and reached for the newspaper.

Yes, it was what he’d thought. He’d seen the advert when he was having his breakfast and now he peered at it again. This was the boy for whom they were offering twenty thousand pounds’ reward! He peered again but there was no mistaking it. Hardly able to believe his luck, he leant out of the window of the cab, and in his oiliest voice, he said:

“Want a lift?”

Hal shook his head.

“Thanks, but I’m with a friend. I’m just going to catch her up.”

Kevin grinned. The boy was obviously lying. There’d been no mention of a friend in the advert, but he’d go along with it.

“Well, I’m going that way. I’ll pick her up and give both of you a lift to the village. It’s not far. My name’s Kevin, by the way.”

Hal hesitated. But it was true he’d been longer than he intended. He’d trusted Mick and it had been all right. People in the north were known to be friendly.

“All right,” he said. “Thanks.”

He climbed into the cab and pulled Fleck in after him, but Fleck was behaving badly. As the engine revved up again he began to growl and show his teeth.

“Quiet, Fleck,” said Hal.

But Fleck, usually so obedient, took no notice. Hal was looking down, trying to soothe him, and at first he did not notice that the van had swerved sharply to the left, up a rutted track.

“Stop,” he said. “That’s not the way. We should be going straight on,” and as Kevin took no notice, he said loudly, “Where are you going?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” said Kevin. His voice was quite different now, harsh and ugly.

They drove uphill towards an isolated shed. But Fleck was going crazy. He jumped off Hal’s lap and tried to clamber on the steering wheel, all the time barking at the top of his voice.

“Shut up, you little tyke,” said Kevin. And he seized the dog by the scruff of his neck and threw him out of the window.

Hal screamed and tried to get out too, but Kevin put out one arm and held him in a grip of steel. He wasn’t going to let twenty thousand pounds get away.

While Fleck yowled in anguish on the path, the pick-up drove up to a stone hut with a corrugated iron roof, standing by itself on the edge of the moor. Pulling the struggling Hal out, Kevin dragged him to the door and pushed him in.

“Fleck!” screamed Hal.

Then the door was slammed shut, the bolts pushed across, and it was padlocked.

Kevin walked away, thoroughly pleased with himself. Now for a phone call to the number in the advertisement and then – twenty thousand pounds!

The wretched dog was still yowling and whining, trying to get to Hal in the shed. Kevin picked up a stone and threw it hard, and it hit the cur on the side. Then he took his mobile out of his pocket and went a little way up the hill to get a signal.

Fleck was absolutely beside himself, trying to reach Hal. The stone hadn’t drawn blood but it had bruised his shoulder. He could hear Hal’s voice inside, frantically shouting his name.

For a few minutes Fleck ran uselessly round and round the hut, trying to find a way in. Then quite suddenly, he took off and raced like the wind down the hill and along the road.

Pippa was getting annoyed. What on earth was Hal doing? It shouldn’t take so long to fill a water bottle. The dogs had been sitting round her obediently, waiting, but now they got to their feet and stared at the road, their noses twitching. Something was coming towards them – a white streak which, as they watched, turned into Fleck. But this was Fleck as no one had seen him. Not a wistful mongrel but a messenger bringing unspeakable news.

He raced up to the dogs, panting terribly, but he wouldn’t rest. He jumped up at them, he shoved his nose into their sides, all the time talking in frantic barks.

“Where’s Hal?” asked Pippa, her heart beginning to pound. “Where is he, Fleck?”

Fleck ran up to her, then back to the dogs. He started off up the road looking back over his shoulder but at first they did not follow. Then quite suddenly they understood, and a change came over these gentle domesticated pets. As one, they tore off up the track, with Fleck in the lead, and Pippa saw something which she was to remember all her life – the hunting pack, its blood up, closing in for the kill. Even Li-Chee, bouncing over the heather in the wake of the others, felt the blood of the grey wolf pounding in his veins. For wolves these dogs had been in the distant past, and wolves they had become again.

Kevin had made his phone call and, feeling very pleased with himself, he stretched out on the grass. The boy was still hammering on the door but he’d get tired of it soon enough. There was nothing to do now except wait till he could hand him over.

And then, all the things he had promised himself – a new lorry, the deposit on a little bungalow, a trip to Las Vegas. That snooty girl in the checkout would go out with him fast enough when he was loaded, thought Kevin, going off into a doze.

He woke to find two huge paws on his chest and an enormous pair of jaws, with a row of terrifying teeth, salivating into his face.

Then he felt both his legs being worried and bitten, his trousers ripped, as Francine took one leg and Honey the other.

“Stop!” screamed Kevin in agony. “Let go. Let go!”

And now Li-Chee, who had not been able to keep up with the others, came panting up, leaped on to Kevin’s stomach, disappeared under Otto’s chest and fastened his needle-sharp teeth on Kevin’s nose.

This was too much. Kevin struggled to his feet and in a welter of furious dogs, he staggered towards his van. Managing to shake off the Peke, blood pouring from his nose, he reached for the door handle.

But now it was Fleck’s turn. Before Kevin could open the door, the Tottenham terrier raced up to him, sprang up – and bit him savagely in the behind.

And Kevin stumbled, fell forward on to the foot plate, and passed out.

It was there that Pippa found him, and after that everything went very quickly. Hal’s thumps from inside the hut grew louder. Pippa ran up to the door and saw the padlock. Searching the lout’s trousers, she found the key. Within minutes Hal was free and trying to calm his ecstatic dog, while Pippa relocked the door.

“We’ll have to go up on to the moors,” she said when she heard what had happened. “We can’t risk the road now. While the sun’s up we ought to be able to navigate all right. It’s practically due east to the coast.”

They set off up the hill, the dogs still excitedly circling them. The going was hard over the rough ground but they did not dare to slow down till they were sure that Kevin was not following them. After a couple of hours the children were exhausted.

“I’m going to get my breath back,” said Pippa when they came to a patch of grass and scrub on which a few juniper bushes grew.

She flopped down and Hal sat down beside her.

“Here, Fleck,” he said, feeling in his pocket. “You can have your flannel for a bit. I reckon you’ve earned it.”

Fleck mouthed the flannel and wagged a polite tail. But just then the dogs heard something interesting in the bushes and in a flash all five of them were off in pursuit.

“Was it a hare?” asked Hal.

Pippa shrugged. “I didn’t see. But they must be very hungry. Maybe they’ll catch something they can eat. They’ll be back in a minute.”

Pippa was right. The dogs returned presently. Whatever it was had been too fast for them. But when Hal patted Fleck he saw that Fleck had lost his flannel.

“Where is it?” he asked his dog. “Where’s your flannel?”

Fleck looked down at the ground, then up at Hal, ran back a few paces and returned, while Hal looked at him, worried. Was there going to be a fuss? Up to now he had guarded his flannel with his life.

But after a moment Fleck sat down and began contentedly to lick his paws. It didn’t matter any longer where his flannel was. When he bit Kevin, Fleck had tasted buttock blood, and a dog who has done that has moved a long, long way from flannels.