Mercy

The fog was a dirty blanket over the city, and only the occasional snarling and howling of the demented hounds punctured the oppressive atmosphere. London was an unpredictable soup of terror, and Lambey moved amongst the ruin like a shadow. The chemical attacks of 2043 had scarred his body, but those same thick scabs dulled his mind and kept him sane.

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The plastic suit, heavy boots, and gas mask were stifling. Lambey had his bow and as many arrows as he could carry. There was a pack of hounds close by and for a moment, he wished he knew what a real dog was like. He’d seen pictures of friendly pooches with shiny eyes and wet noses, but the misshapen caricatures that roamed his city were the devil’s pets. The chemicals had changed the animals and hounds were the worse – well, in London anyway. Lambey hadn’t been anywhere else.

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His stomach growled. It was getting harder to find food. Cannibalism was commonplace, but Lambey refused to partake in the grizzled flesh of his own kind. He never sought company either. It was safer to be alone.

As Lambey rounded a corner, the snarling intensified. He was close to a large pack. Peering through the green veil, he counted five. Two quick steps forward and then, Lambey crouched. Bow and arrow ready. The hound’s attention was on a person—back against the wall. Small and thin – a whisper of a girl. Just a spear. You won’t last long, Lambey thought.

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The hound at the back was a mangy looking animal; ribs protruding through blackened, burnt skin. The arrow hit just to the left of its spinal cord and it crumbled like a rag. Its blood drew the attention of the others, and they descended in a frenzy upon the carcass.

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The girl began to run, skirting the outside of the pack. Her footsteps were like gunshots, held close in the walls of the fog. You’re too loud, Lambey thought, and here they come. Yellow teeth snapping. Sinuous limbs bounding. Biting her heels. Lambey watched as she fell – long hair streaming like a cape.

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He took a shot. If he missed, he’d kill her—but that would be a mercy. The hounds liked to play with their food. Thud. One of the beasts collapsed onto the concrete as his arrow hit its mark. Right in the forehead, Lambey thought. I’m getting better at this. He took down another and then, the melee became too hectic for precision.

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The scent of death distracted the remaining hounds, and the girl was back on her feet, running. You won’t make it, Lambey thought.

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He turned and sprinted to his shed. It wasn’t far, and he was fast. So was the girl. She was right behind him and then, the hounds. Fumbling with the latch, he held the door open. Lambey harboured no desire to listen to prolonged screams outside his sanctum.

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A strong hound with flared nostrils and a face smeared with blood, advanced. She stumbled, but Lambey reached out to grab her slender wrist. They lurched into his darkness.

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The hounds pawed and bit at the metal, but they’d give up soon. Energy was precious. Lambey removed his mask and lit a candle. ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said, turning to see blackened, chemical burnt skin and pale, watery eyes. She wasn’t pretty, but nor was Lambey.

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The girl thrust a hand into her coat, pulled out a small packet of rice, and smiled.