Mary whimpered.
She nosed the ground, feeble whine slowly edging out of her throat. She scrabbled at the floor in desperation, unable to think, mind blank with the pain. It was eating her, ripping her apart from the inside. Her stomach heaved and flipped, savaged by spasms. Her tongue lolled. Fat and pink, it flopped through the air, as though trying to coax some oxygen in, some form of life. But life wanted nothing to do with her.
It wanted nothing to do with any of them anymore.
She remembered Tim making breakfast for her every morning, always her favourite, and never asking anything of her for it. She remembered loving him for that. They’d had their moments, no doubt – when he left for days on end and didn’t return, when he had company over and had to lock her away. She put his guests ‘off’ he said, they didn’t like her always staring. But that wasn’t often. Come what may, he would make her breakfast in the morning and she would rise to that delicious smell wafting on the air, mingling with his sharp aftershave.
It was the memory of that scent warming her now. He wasn’t far away, she could tell. Just beyond this door, even. He couldn’t bear to look at her, not like this. Mary understood. It wouldn’t be all that hard to deal with, if she weren’t so alone. Harsh breaths shook her thin body. She hacked and coughed and tried her best to stay calm, to no avail. How had it come to this, so quickly? Just the other day she was strolling through the park while Tim was at work, basking in the bright sun. Her friends were there – old Bob by his usual tree, eyes rheumy with age, great hulking body sunken in repose but no less intimidating for all that; Jenna was by the same patch of flowers she liked to tend, chatting to Gale in airy tones. It felt like it was just yesterday.
Bob was the first to go.
He didn’t turn up the next day. His absence left them all a little unsettled, but hearing about his death left them shattered. Some young pup had witnessed it that morning. He spoke with casual nonchalance about the ‘old bastard’ being found ‘stiff as a board’ with froth lining his mouth. It was awful. One by one the pups began to vanish as well and with each loss, the silence grew; the uncertainty. No one knew for sure, no one could actually say what they all thought was happening, but the fear began to consume them all. That they would be next, that it was contagious. Mary tried to keep talking to her friends, but after a while no one returned her calls and she was left with her own mournful echoes for company.
It didn’t take long for Tim to catch on. He knew the moment she didn’t get up for breakfast that something was wrong. His strong features creased in worry, he held her head in his hands, crooning soft strings of nonsense. He took her for a drive after that, for only the second time she could remember. She didn’t like cars. Wherever they were going, it didn’t take long. Tim’s frustration was obvious from the outset – slamming the door, staring at the queue in disbelief. There were lots of raised voices and banging on closed doors.
After a moment, Tim got back in the car. His body was tense. She nuzzled him in concern. He laid an arm on her absentmindedly but she could tell his mind was elsewhere. They went home. He had to carry her from the car, so great had the weakness become. The cramps followed soon after and her yelps became shrill. He was trembling as he held her. That was still clear to her, the frantic pumping of his heart against her heard, an opera in morse code. Darkness edged around her eyes, closing in on the grey world. Erasing it. Her limbs thrashed as the pain crested within. Her head bent back, her spine curled – the last thing Mary felt were Tim’s arms enfolding her.
