This is a concept and first draft for a lengthy piece of fiction. I plan to write about the last 31 days of a young man's life who contracts the rabies virus. I would love an opinion on the piece and concept, I am hopelessly out of practice so nitpicks-critiques are all welcome
edit: more characterization
33 Days
“He’s just playing.” I said as the pup sprung off its hind paws and snapped its gob close to my arm. I reached out and batted his golden head.
“He has followed us for a mile how will he know his way home?” Kate whined.
A shadow flashed by and collided with the golden pup. The dark new dog flashed its white teeth, like glass shards, clutching the neck scruff of the pup, which it flipped and folded in deaths grip. Kate’s lungs seemed useless; her mouth opened but she didn’t scream. With vision blurred and chest weak, I let fly a hard kick, landing with a hallow thud but undistracted it continued the maul. I grabbed its hind legs, and even though my hands were shaking, managed to rip it away.
I caught it before it went back in to finish the job. Snarling and jolting as though possessed. I wrapped my arms under its matted sandy body and pulled the heavy mutt off its paws. The pup whimpered, still reeling; it was a mess of bones, fur, blood and sand. The viscous dog struggled; every limb still snapped and jolted, its neck contorted. I could barely control my hands, but managed to hold fast; there was no way I was going to give this mutt enough slack to nip me.
I leaned back, drew a hard breath and hurled it over high chain temporary fencing, which parted the beach and a construction site. With a thud and a yelp it hit the earth and guilt struck me; it hopped on three paws it’s fourth retracted, but after only a moment it unknotted itself and was snarling again then barking.
I could barely hear my thoughts over Kate’s heaving breath and cursing. She crossed her arms, rubbed her shoulders and her gaze broke from the dog to me.
“What the hell was that?”
“I think it was a pit bull?” I hadn’t seen a pit bull before and part of me knew it wasn’t, “I think maybe we should find this one’s owners?”
“Good idea she replied,” then cursed a little more.
Weakness set in as the adrenalin subsided. I scooped the motionless dog up and it felt as though I was holding thick wet rope, a bloody wet rope. I tightly closed my left fist ignoring the aching in my thumb. We marched back along the beach casting about the shoreline until we found a resort with beach access then I carried the dog in. A middle-aged Thai woman focussed on us as we walked into the light of an outdoor bar. Her eyes grew wide with shock then shined with tears and her jaw fell, mouth open.
“Beh-ki?” She said with her eyes fixed on the dog. Guilt punched me in the gut.
In frantic Thai she called to someone behind the bar and a short Thai man with a catfish moustache came towards us. He mimed at me to place the dog in his arms and I obliged. He said in broken English
“This is my dog, wha’ happen?” Again guilt came over me as I thought of the other injured dog. I tried to break down the incident in plain English. I felt their suspicious eyes scrutinizing my every word for a sign of foul play. Eventually the couple resigned to the story they had deduced from the few words they understood - the dog after all was wasted and in clear need of attention. The language barrier may well have afforded them the details but for now, they would tend to the bloody pet, I grew tiresome so we left.
I knew Kate didn’t care much for Thailand. She didn’t have an appetite for the sleaze of the clustered cities, I guess neither did I, and rural Thailand was nice at first but hardly compared to Vietnam. This beach seemed to be the only piece of Thai soil that was without the swarm of prostitutes or hustlers and opportunists. Our last few nights on Koh Samui beach was a real shot in the arm; I was exhausted from damn bus rides and train trips and tomorrow I had one short bus ride and a long flight and I would be home.
When we arrived back at the motel the bunks had been made and the clothes were scooped of the floor and stacked on the bags. My laptop was still open beside the bunk. I noticed three tabs on Skype, all three calls from my father earlier that evening - I fell into a wicker chair and checked the time on my Malaysian ‘Rollex’ 1am in BC the old fool would surely be asleep by now . I could feel sleep waiting, growing more impatient, so I closed the lid down and began getting ready for bed. Perhaps still a little shaken, Kate took her time, showering for what seemed like an hour. I knew her; she didn’t like it that way with anyone. But, we had been friends since our primary years and on our travels we had paid each other a service; she would care for our documents and accommodation and I would keep her safe in some otherwise dangerous countries.
I showered and cleaned my thumb, first with soap then with alcohol rub. Earlier that day, Kate and I had dived off a pier at the other end of the beach. Climbing back up an old steel ladder I slipped and a particularly rusted rung opened my left thumb but the bleeding had slowed, the wound still wept.
When I finished scrubbing my teeth, Kate’s head was cocked over one elbow, reading her crime novel on the bottom bunk. Her thick wet auburn hair tucked behind one ear and wrapped under her neck. She had outgrown her freckles and her fare skin had tanned since we arrived in Asia. This was our last night and what a way to end our trip, a long 90 degree day on the beach, fresh juice, swimming, and Pad-Thai. I climbed on my bunk and before I dosed off she softly spoke.
“Alarm set for 4am?”
“yep yep all set, ‘night.”
32 Days
I let out a sigh as I approached the awful Canadian customs but this time it went fast. We reached arrivals to find the Littles, Kate’s parents, stood smiling and waving. Just outside the automatic doors, I could see Phil in his most typical form; holding a coffee and harping into a mobile phone. He wore a navy blue suit with thin lapels, a thick red tie over a white shirt and slick black square toe shoe, white collar by anyone’s standards.
Suitcase in tow, Kate paced towards her parent’s waiting arms. They were nice, small town folk; I had a lot of time for them. I followed close by, reached out and shook her father’s hand. He had his grey hair combed back tight and his neat white beard moved when he spoke.
“Welcome home guys!”
My brother spotted me and casually strolled toward us. He carried a smug air about him, a sly high-rise confidence, but I knew him better than that. He still talked into the blue tooth device clipped around his ear but he wrapped it up as he came close.
“Alright I better let you go. I will be back at the office in an hour or so.” Phil grinned and stretched out his hand. “Rocky – how did they let you through customs you Mexican looking bastard.” Phil exhibited his trademark no-holds-barred sense of humour and I quickly realised what he was talking about; over the last month, my stubble had become a beard, I was tanned dark and my hair had grown scraggy and thick.
“Thanks for coming Phil.”
“And little Katie, you’re all grown up.” He hugged Kate and shook her father’s hand.
Next, it was good-bye. I squeezed Kate; I wanted her to know we were still close.
She did her best to make it awkward on our travels together; I was actually looking forward to a little alone time. A week earlier in Hong Kong we left our backpackers and snuck into a four star western-style hotel. I had been nervous but Kate took the lead and we quickly found the pool. It was one of those deep turquoise pools in a dark room with lights under the surface giving the water a translucent glow. We swam for a while and I was beginning to feel tired and still uneasy about the prospect of being caught stealing a swim. We were talking and laughing about people we went to grade school with. Then Kate swam close to me, too close. I felt myself moving away but she grabbed my hands and when she tried to kiss me, I couldn’t help but turn away. What was she thinking? Things had only become a little less awkward since then but we had brushed it aside and I could see she was doing her best to take it back.
I never was one for the hustle-bustle of airports and I was ready to get out of there so I loosened my arms, moved back and Kate kissed my cheek. We decided to meet up later that week for a ‘debrief’ as Kate put it and a coffee.
Phil’s late model BMW’s lights flashed as we approached. He paid the parking and raced out onto the motorway.
“So how was the trip little bro?”
“It was amazing, I forgot how cold Canada gets!”
“Yeah it is just starting to get cold now.”
My brother speed along the motorway and blasted rock music and he let the engine rev up around 5000 between gear changes. Eventually he reached over turned the dial down to a level he probably considered mild and gave me his most serious look accompanied by his most serious voice.
“So I’ll drop you off at my apartment, most of your stuff is still there but I think you should give Dad a call.”
“Yeah I will,” my face felt hot, I always got the feeling he and Dad talked about me. Refusing to get pulled into a talk about the old man I pushed the conversation forward. “So how is work?”
To my surprise Phil wasn’t complaining about his job. He usually talked about the pressure of being junior partner but all he seemed to talk about was golf with the other partners. He segued from his career to mine.
“So are you going back to work?” He glanced over and again did his best to put on a serious face. His face had aged in the last couple of years and he looked much older than his thirty years. He was still lean and his combed hair flattened against the roof of the car.
“I’ve still got a couple of weeks of leave left so I might focus on getting ready for the season.”
“Well you know you are more than welcome to stay at mine and if its permanent we can go back to the same arrangement as before just make sure you call dad.”
We sped into the city and I spared a thought for poor Kate who by now would be rolling over the plains on her way to Chilliwack an hour east of the Vancouver.
Phil opened his window swiped the key card and parked in the underground car park of his apartment building. We took the elevator to the 51st floor and he led me to the apartment.
Inside I found nothing had changed yet the apartment wasn’t quite as idyllic as I had remembered it, it almost felt sterile and cold. In one corner facing the sliding glass million-dollar view was a treadmill and in the other was a long modern combination of stainless steel and leather fashioned into a sofa. The walls had a frameless canvas print by some obscure artist I had never heard of and on the other mounted was a 64” silky LED Television with only an inch or so of depth. Leaving my dusty old chucks by the door I stepped out over seal grey carpet. I lugged my suitcase into the study and sat on the bed, I had a mild headache and when the blender started up it got a little worse.
“You want a protein shake?”
“No thanks.” I called.
“I’ve got to get back to the office, make yourself at home, there is food in the fridge.”
“Thanks Phil.”
Something felt off; I stared out over the city. I could see the roofs of most of the other high-rise residential blocks, I thought about Dad at home on the farm. I will call him later. Back to the boring city life for now.
