Strays
Dogs may never disobey the masters; that is the first law.
Smasher remembered when they’d taught it to him after he’d endured the gene
splicing procedure; it hadn’t seemed like such a hard rule to follow at the
time. Dashing across the street while avoiding the yellow pools of light
created by the cast iron streetlights he remembered a time when everything
seemed so much simpler. He leapt at the wall using his enhanced strength to get
one sneaker on it then somersaulted over the electric fence and onto the grounds.
Smasher landed noisily in the mud around the wall but was up
and moving before the nearest dog warrior could respond. He ran at full speed
over the wet lawn, the water soaking his jean legs to the ankle. He made it
onto the stairs fronting the pool before he encountered the first guard. The
dog warrior only had time enough to turn his yellow eyes on a dark blur that
struck him on the side of the head before losing consciousness.
Smasher grabbed the dog warrior before he could make a
sound, wrinkling his nose at his pungent scent and dragged him some distance
until he could find a store room to toss him in. He got a handhold on a pipe
connected to the rain gutters and climbed up the walls until he reached the
roof. After that he padded silently over the tiles until he found the right
balcony. He dropped down onto it hearing soft moans coming from inside.
Smasher pulled a gun from his jeans’ waistband and screwed
on a silencer he took from his pocket. As quietly as possible he slid the
balcony doors open and walked through pushing aside the thin white curtains
that hid the interior room. Smasher raised his gun taking in the sight of the
woman weakly trying to crawl across the carpet with a man standing shirtless
above her a bloody whip in his hands.
The man in front of Smasher had been on the cover of Time
magazine three times and was one of the most recognizable figures in the whole
country. He was a man Smasher had learnt to see for the monster he was and
looking at him now with his face crazed and drool dripping from his lips he
wondered if his beloved constituents could accept this hidden side of Senator
Cal Rodham.
Cal turned when a breeze that blew past the open balcony
doors brushed across his naked chest. His eyes widened when he saw Smasher, his
mouth working to form the words to deny the phantom that stood fearlessly in
his room.
‘You…’ Cal finally managed to say.
Smasher considered all the things he’d imagined he’d say to
this man, the years he’d spent relearning to walk and talk and function. He
touched a finger to the long scar that ran over his missing eye and realized
that no words would ever change what had happened. The price he’d already paid
for getting in this man’s way, for trying to prevent the torture of a warrior
he’d respected had been high. Cal had had him beaten to within an inch of his
life and Roper had still died anyway.
‘What are you planning to do with that gun you dumb mutt?’
Cal asked regaining his composure.
He knew the law as well as Smasher; no dog could ever disobey
their master. ‘Go on, put it down dog. Right now.’
Smasher regarded his old master and then glanced down at the
woman on the carpet, her black hair falling over her sweat soaked brow, and
bloody wounds crisscrossing her back. Smasher lifted his head, his vision
narrowing to a spot right between Cal’s ribs and pulled the trigger. The gun
spat out two bullets that spun the Cal around and dropped him to the floor
where he lay still and quite dead.
‘I have no masters,’ Smasher said to the room.
He knew he should leave but then he saw the tears sparkling
in the woman’s eyes. Smasher put away his gun and reached down, picking the
woman up in his arms. Walking out on the balcony he could see dark clouds
converging around the white crescent moon and took it as a good omen.
‘You’re going to have to be quiet if I’m going to get us out
of here,’ he told the woman.
Her back was on fire but she stuck her hand in her mouth to
stifle any further cries of pain.
A dog may never disobey its master but not every dog has a
master to call his own, we call such dogs strays.
