For prompt 20: Caged
Thanks to Cym for looking it over! Any remaining mistakes are of course my own.
This was the hardest one for me to write, and I had to take more than one break. Researched the topic, then threw most of it out and decided that sometimes fiction is terrifying enough.
The cage had not been built with humans in mind. Alex sat hunched over his knees, wire grating digging into his bare arms. They had taken his shoes and jacket before throwing him inside, and his shivers intensified while the light waned.
Alex's cage was one in a row of thirty, more than half of them occupied by dogs. Neither of his new neighbours had been impressed when Alex had first invaded their territory. They had barked and snarled as two men had locked the cage behind him and tried to lunge at Alex through the grating.
The men had laughed while Alex tried to make himself as small as possible. One of them, a blonde guy barely out of his teens, clad in a black hoodie, hit the cages with a steel rod and drove the dogs into a frenzy.
Alex had been lucky the mesh size had been small enough that he had been left with only a few scratches because there had been no way to dodge their claws and fangs. It had taken hours for the dogs to calm down.
His left arm tingled, and Alex shifted to stretch his limb the extra five centimetres the cage would allow. His neighbour to the left β a beige pitbull with red-rimmed eyes and a large bite-scar on her face β growled in warning.
"Sorry," Alex whispered. There. He touched the lock through the grating. Sadly, the men had been smart enough to padlock the cage, and his two remaining gadgets had been lost together with his shoes.
He wasn't about to give up though. Alex mapped out the lock with his fingertips. It was a new lock, but of a standard over-the-counter-type that wouldn't have lasted half a minute if he had access to anything resembling a lock-pick. No such luck; The cage didn't even have a loose screw.
Alex was well and truly stuck.
|π‘|
Hoodie and his partner came back for Alex in the evening. They didn't bother to bind his hands, but Hoodie's pistol poking his lower back was a good enough incentive for Alex to let them guide him across the gravelled driveway and towards a large barn. Artificial light spilt out from under its slide doors, and the dull roar of voices became more distinct as they came closer.
Noise complaints were unlikely this far from civilisation, but Alex hoped some nosy grandmother would notice the light and call the cops on them.
Hoodie's partner knocked on the barn's side, and the doors slid open, revealing a large crowd gathered around a square pit. They parted reluctantly for their small entourage. Alex's eyes watered at the thick cloud of tobacco coming from a bald man with tattoos encircling his head, enjoying a cigar. The man noticed and blew his next puff of smoke into Alex's face with a smirk.
Alex stumbled, coughing. Splinters and old nails scratched his palms as he caught his balance on the wooden barrier around the pit. Hoodie's grip tightened on his shoulders and forced him back up.
"Welcome brothers!" a large man bellowed from the back of the room. He raised his arms as if to embrace the crowd and they stilled. Their anticipation felt more clogging than the sharp smell of stale beer and sweat.
The man had a large, grey-sprinkled beard, and wore a washed-out blue t-shirt with a snarling pitbull. Alex recognised the satisfied glint in the man's dark eyes and droned out the rest of the speech.
Instead, he inspected the pit; each side was roughly the length of six steps with the wooden barriers reaching his waist. Two straight white lines, like stop lines at a traffic light, had been painted at each end of the concrete floor. The sight left him with a bad taste.
A change in the crowd alerted Alex to pay attention to Greybeard again.
"β¦ to have caught a rat," Greybeard finished with a sneer and gestured to Alex. The crowd booed.
"Should we show him what we do with rats?"
Alex gritted his teeth as the cheering threatened to permanently damage his hearing. Forget the dogs in the cages; these people were the true monsters baying for blood.
The men pushed Alex into the pit. He could have easily jumped the barriers, but the eager crowd and several armed guards strategically placed around the pit made it clear there would be no easy escape.
The whole thing reminded Alex of the bull-fighting ring in Spain, only smaller and much less professional. This crowd did not cheer him on though, and they would not be satisfied if he left unharmed.
Alex expected Greybeard to shoot him in a form of public execution.
The alternative was much worse.
Two burly men led two equally large dogs into the pit. They looked like a cross between a brown mastiff and a tiger, with dark stripe-like patterns on their backs. They didn't bark or growl, but their eyes fixated on Alex and he got the distinct feeling of being labelled as prey. The stiff wagging of their tails betrayed their eagerness.
"Poor Tucker and Tyson haven't eaten today." Greybeard grinned. His fangs looked as sharp as his dogs'. "How about we feed them?"
The crowd cheered in response. Alex didn't dare to take his eyes off the dogs, but he could practically smell the blood-lust rising in the air.
"This won't last long," Alex shouted. The crowd quieted down, listening, though the mutters sounded displeased.
Greybeard didn't look impressed. "Shut up."
Alex gestured to the crowd. "You want entertainment, right?"
Greybeard scoffed. "You're hardly the main attraction." He waved for someone outside the ring, but Alex ignored him again; he had the crowd's attention. As long as they wanted to listen, Greybeard wouldn't harm him.
"You want a fight?" Alex shouted at the crowd. The mutters became more positive. "You want blood?"
He could see the fire in the eyes of the people in the first rows. Yes, they wanted blood. That was what they had come here to see; animals tearing each other to pieces, like the men wanted to do to their enemies, but couldn't.
"You want a real fight?" Alex asked. A man in the back shouted his approval. Others followed his example. "Then let me give you one!"
The crowd cheered. The dark look on Greybeard's face filled Alex with satisfaction. A small victory; but everything counted.
"You're not a competitorβ." Greybeard looked around when he was met with protests. He had lost the approval of the crowd. He gritted his teeth. "β¦ but in the name of sportsmanship."
Greybeard tossed something small and metallic at Alex's feet. Alex kept his eyes on the dogs as he bend down to pick it up. A small pocket knife, the blade barely the size of his little finger. Not much of a weapon.
The crowd laughed and cheered in approval. Money changed hands as people bet on how long he would last.
Alex fingered the blade and swallowed with difficulty. His mouth had dried out.
The handlers bend down, ready to release the dogs. Greybeard raised an arm and the crowd quieted down and collectively leaned forwards; getting as close to the promise of blood as possible.
Greybeard let his arm fall, and the dogs surged forward.
Alex tried to move away but there was nowhere to dodge. Time seemed to slow as their silent, gaping maws drew closer, slaver encrusted fangs glinting in the strip light.
He twisted right and elbowed one dog sharply in the head, altering its course mid-lunge and driving it away.
Teeth sunk into his left arm, and Alex screamed. He tried in vain to yank his limb back from the second dog, but it kept its yaw locked in place. Its dark eyes bored into him, and for a moment Alex saw Greybeard staring triumphantly back.
Alex lashed out with his good arm. Somehow, he had kept hold of the knife, and the hilt now stuck out from the dog's throat.
The move cost him. A weight slammed into his back, and Alex lost his grip on the blade as he fell. He had forgotten the first dog.
His left arm got wrenched around, still trapped in the dead dog's maw, and his head smacked into the boards surrounding the arena, leaving him dazed.
Hot air brushed his neck, and Alex instinctively twisted and tried to protect his throat with his good arm. He hit the dog on its nose, and the animal snorted in surprise, glancing back at the handlers β safely back behind the barriers β as if to ask for help.
Alex used the distraction to drag himself back against the barrier. His arm throbbed in time with his rapid heartbeat, but it was free. Death must have loosened the dog's grip.
He didn't dare look at the damage. Later.
He reached out blindly, fingers brushing against warm and sticky fur before finally landing on the handle of the knife. His mind blanked as he yanked it out.
The handlers were shouting at the remaining dog and pointing in Alex's direction. He didn't understand their words, everything sounded like he was under water. The dog turned back, teeth bared in challenge, though its eyes look unsure, confused. Scared?
Alex ignored it. Ignored everything. He crouched down, knife ready, and this time it was him who lunged first.
The dog shuddered and collapsed silently at Alex's feet.
He was barely aware of hands grabbing his shoulders and forcing him out of the pit. Pain shot up his right arm, but it felt distant; as if the pain wasn't his own. He had somehow lost the knife again.
When had he gotten outside?
The picture of the two dogs β their slumped forms lying small and forgotten amid the roaring crowd β stayed with him even after they had locked him back up in the cage.
|π‘|
Alex couldn't remove the blood from his hands. It persisted under his nails and around the cuticles as a fine red line. For hours he scratched futilely as it dried and flaked. His irritated skin split and added new blood to the mix and still, he didn't stop.
His ears rang, yet his mind stayed blissfully blank, only focused on the insistent urge to scratch scratch scratch at his hands.
Once again, he had expected to be killed, and once again they had surprised him by letting him live. He wasn't sure this was better.
Sweat dampened his ripped t-shirt, yet chills ran up his spine and he couldn't stop shaking. Had he not been so numb, he was sure his arm would have hurt. As it was, the limb hung useless at his side, until he nearly forgot it existed.
He needed to get out. Staying wasn't an option. If they didn't kill him, the cage would. Alex shifted to lean against the grating, and something pricked him in the side. Oh.
It required a little more wriggling around, but he found his pocket and the small rusty nail inside. He had completely forgotten his fake stumble before the arena. Former Alex had had a plan. He needed to be Former Alex for a while. Just until he was safeβ.
Later.
After a few minutes of intense work of first bending the nail into shape and then wiggling it around in the lock, a soft click announced his freedom. It felt nearly anticlimactic after being trapped for so long.
His heart sped up, though in fear rather than anticipation. Like he was losing something by stepping outside his prison.
Alex shook his head. He could examine that later, right now he was Former Alex who knew how to act. He wriggled out through the opening, which turned out to be a lot harder than getting thrown inside.
The dog to his right gave a whine as Alex pushed the gate open with his feet. Alex gave the dog a considering look, then glanced back at the old fire alarm across the hall.
How was the response time this far outside the city?
π‘ π‘ π‘
Sixteen minutes, as it turned out. At the time when the first fire engine rolled up the driveway, the remaining goons at the farm were too busy chasing their dogs around to notice Alex sneaking out to speak with the team, who at that time had already deduced that 1) there was no fire in sight, and 2) it was probably best to barricade the driveway and get the police involved.
Ten minutes after that and the driveway was fully lit up by blue blinking lights, and Alex watched from the front seat of the fire engine as the police lead out one angry handcuffed guy from the building after another. One of the firefighters had handed Alex a plastic cup with coffee, and while he refused to let the black sludge get anywhere near his mouth, it felt nice to hold and get a little bit of extra warmth in his hands.
Alex had given the police the short version of what had happened β omitting any mention of the pit β and had then made himself scarce before they could notice the brown crust on his t-shirt wasn't dirt. At least he had gotten his jacket back or it would have been impossible to hide his bite wound. Someone should probably take a look, to give him a rabies shot if nothing else. A problem for later.
The police had left him alone for now, but they wouldn't remain busy with the Greybeard and his goons forever. He would need to give a proper statement at the station, and hopefully, MI6 would back his cover story of getting kidnapped, so the whole case could be tied up as neatly as they liked.
If Alex was lucky, he could already be home with Jack tonight.
Gravel crunched outside as another police car left the driveway, taking the last thug with them. His coffee had gone cold. Alex emptied the cup into the bushes before leaving it on the dashboard and sneaking back across the gravel to where the dogs were still being loaded into transport boxes by three shelter workers.
One of the workers looked up as Alex shuffled closer; a middle-aged woman with 'Lora' written on a name tag on her uniform. Her red curls reminded him a little of an older version of Jack. Lora smiled at him, then went back to making sure all the dogs got a bit of water before the drive. She didn't seem surprised to see a child at the site, and Alex vaguely remembered the workers had arrived while he was giving the officer his statement. She must have overheard them.
Alex hovered by her side, unsure of what to say. Lora kept working and let him take the time he needed to gather his thoughts.
"What will happen to them now?" Alex finally asked, looking at the dogs. He feared he already knew the answer, but he needed to be sure. Lora's grim expression confirmed his suspicions.
Lora gave him a long, considering look before nodding to herself. "Right now, the dogs are evidence and will be kept safe at a shelter until the ones responsible can be tried."
She paused and went to the next cage. The dog inside squeezed itself into a corner when she opened the door and watched her warily as she filled its bowl. It made no move to touch the water even after she had closed the door and walked to the next cage.
Lora sighed. "We'll have an expert come and determine if any of the dogs are legal breeds and whether it would be possible to rehabilitate them into new homes."
Alex glanced around at the dogs visible from where he stood. Their eyes looked either dull and resigned or crazed with fear and rage; their bodies thin enough to count the ribs. One dog had a bleeding gash on its head from where its left ear had been bitten clean off.
He recognized the veterans by the scars crisscrossing their skin; trophies of the countless battles fought and survived but never truly won. Alex felt a strange sense of kinship with them.
"Is that even possible?" he asked.
Lora gave him a sad smile. "Sometimes."
Alex looked away, eyes burning. He jumped when a hand gripped his shoulder.
"The important thing is we got them out," Lora said. Not all of them, his mind whispered. "Whatever else happens, these dogs will never be forced to fight again, and with the people responsible behind bars, no new dogs will have to suffer similar abuse."
"At least here," Alex said grimly. He wanted to be optimistic, but he had seen too much to not know that while they had closed this establishment, there were ten others they would never find.
Lora shook her head. "Thinking like that will do you no good. We might not be able to save every abused animal out there, but we did save these, and they need our help now. Just because you can't save the whole world, does not mean you shouldn't save what parts you can."
Alex frowned, though not in disagreement. His thoughts were still back in the pit with the two dogs. Was it bad that he felt more guilty taking their lives, than when he had killed Grief? Nile? Or the countless other people who had done their best to kill him since his uncle died? True, this had been in self-defence as well, but in some way, he felt that by fighting back in the pit he had become part of the abuse.
Lora must have understood where his thoughts had gone, at least partially, because she straightened from the cage and went over to squeeze his shoulder.
"Why don't you take a walk around the premise and look at the cages? Every dog in there is one you saved today. You did a good job, Alex. If you can't be proud of yourself, at least take the time to be happy for them."
Alex took a deep breath and nodded. He did as Lora suggested and walked around, visiting every cage as they were loaded onto vans and cars.
Surprisingly, seeing the dogs' terrified and abused faces didn't fill him with the same despair as the first time. He still felt sadness and anger towards Greybeard and his goons, but the rush of feelings was accompanied by relief.
Lora was right: He might not have been able to prevent these dogs from being abused, and there might be a lot more dogs in the world he couldn't help, but he had made a difference here.
He might be able to feel happy for the dogs that had been saved, even though he doubted he could ever be entirely rid of the guilt.
Alex completed his round as the first cars drove away with the dogs. He had made a decision.
He couldn't let go of these dogs quite yet; he still felt he had a responsibility, though he knew he couldn't help them in the same way a professional like Lora could.
MI6 still held the key to his funds, but Alex needed to do something. Do more.
Lora greeted him with a smile when he arrived back.
"You worked at the shelter, right?" Alex asked.
She nodded.
"Do you need any volunteers?"
Lora's smile widened.
Themes: claustrophobia, animal abuse/cruelty, animal death, dogfighting, non-graphic injuries (bite wound).
