Dragged down through a filthy house to a dark basement, Dodger barked and snarled in defiance. Ahead of him, he could see Francis trembling, clearly terrified. Dodger himself was scared, but he refused to show any weakness to these brutes. More than anything, he just wanted to get Francis out of this- as the leader he never should have let the newcomer wander into danger in the first place. He blinked to adjust to the darkness and tried to take in his surroundings; the basement had several small cages stacked up against a wall, most of which containing a single dog. The noise and the smells from the frightened dogs was near overwhelming. Before he could take it in, he found himself looking on, helpless, as Francis was shoved into another cage. Dodger gave the deepest, most dangerous growl he could muster, but it made no difference. In a blur, he found himself thrown into a wire cage, perched above another and tucked against a cold grey wall.
"Dodger? Dodger, are you there?" a voice came faintly through the din of dogs howling.
Before he could answer, the door was slammed closed and Dodger and the others were plunged into darkness. He felt a cold feeling as he couldn't stop himself from wondering when he'd next see sunlight. Pulling himself together, he called out to Francis. "I'm here. I'll get us outta here, don't you worry about it." He heard an anxious whine come from Francis' direction. "Try and get some sleep, relax if you can. I'll sort it."
"It's you? Dodger?" came another voice, this one from the cage directly below Dodger.
Dodger's fur prickled in recognition. "Scout! What're you doin' banged up in here?"
"Same thing as you, couldn't get away quick enough, I guess," said Scout. "Do you really think you can get us out of here, or is that just your inflated head talking?"
Dodger growled. He'd never been too keen on Scout, and to hear his voice now made him think with a pang of Rita- she'd have been hoping to see him over on Coney Island. Would she be waiting, upset, for him or would she just put it down to more of his weird behaviour? Whether he liked Scout or not, Dodger wouldn't have wanted him in this situation. If he was mounting an escape, he couldn't in good conscience leave him there, not if he could help it. "I'll do it. If it kills me, I'll do it."
Scout was quiet for a moment, apparently preventing himself from trying to pick a fight with Dodger. "Is Rita safe?" he finally asked.
"She wasn't with us when we got caught," Dodger replied, "she's fine." He wondered how long it would take for her to miss them, for Tito and Einstein to miss them. It wasn't unusual for Dodger to stay out overnight, but Francis… surely they'd be worried when he didn't come home. Dodger gave a soft whine. How could it have only been a day since he'd seriously considered walking out on them? Now, he'd give anything to be back at the barge, playfully bashing Tito round the place, flirting with Rita… just being home.
Scout gave a sigh. "I'm scared, I'm scared, Dodger," he whimpered. "These people are insane. They don't think nothing about sitting back and watching as a dog is torn apart. They're evil. They're gonna kill us all."
"Who are these people?" Dodger growled, feeling a chill go up his spine. What were they going to do to him- and to Francis?
A voice from Dodger's side replied, a tiredness seemingly dragging it down. "They fight us. Not us exactly, they fight fighting dogs. Our job is to act as bait, punch bags for them to practice on," he said. "They'll use you until you drop. You've never experienced anything like it… you'll find this basement doesn't seem so bad once you see the other option."
Scout started whimpering in fear, setting off several dogs around them.
"Cool it, Scout, that's not helpin'," Dodger said, trying to cover up his own terror. He could fight, but against a trained killer? He didn't rate his chances, and poor Francis would have no hope at all.
The dog to the side spoke again. "Dodger, is it? I'm sorry, you've got a friend in here. If you can, try and detach. It breaks you down seeing dogs going to their deaths, I can't imagine what it will do to you if it's a pal."
Dodger felt as though he was going to be sick. The image of Francis, sprawled in the dirt, a monstrous dog tearing at his quivering form swirled in his mind. How had he let him get into so much danger?
"I'm getting him out," Dodger said, though his voice lacked his usual confidence.
"You're not," said the dog. "You're in a cage in a basement. They open the doors only to feed us, and they are not lettin' you go anywhere. I'm sorry, but this is it."
In the dark, caged in and surrounded by the stench and sound of panicky dogs, Dodger tried to get his head around the situation. Some vaguely remembered words of warning floated through his mind, 'dogs in their prime just vanishing without a trace… make sure you keep your wits about you. Storm had been right on this one, and now both Dodger and Francis had stumbled into a waking nightmare. Dodger's eyes flickered around the room; there was just the one door up the stairs and a small window as potential escape routes. The cages were cheap and seemed flimsy; he didn't imagine it would be too hard to break into them from the outside, if only he could get out of his own first. If the cages were opened for food to be given, Dodger would just have to take the opportunity and make an escape. He could do it, he was sure he could do it. There was no other option, he simply had to get out.
"Get some sleep," said the dog, "There's nothing much else to do, keeping your strength up is the best you can hope for right now."
Dodger lay down. How he'd manage to go to sleep when he was somewhere so alien, so full of fear, he had no idea, but the dog was right, but there was little else to do. He closed his eyes, imagining he was home in bed, his family all around him. How could he miss them so much already?
At the barge that night, the absence of two members of the family had not gone unnoticed. No one was particularly alarmed by Dodger's not coming home, but it was completely out of character for Francis.
"It's not fair!" Tito was complaining, "Why is Dodger taking Frankie out to have some fun, but not me?"
Einstein, cheerful as usual, wagged his tail. "It's nice that Frankie settling in and being happy, he's one of us now."
The idea that Francis had joined Dodger in his late night antics was laughable to Rita, but she said nothing. There was no point in getting anyone else worried, not yet. She was certain that something wasn't right; Francis was almost always the first home each afternoon, and it was now late at night, everyone ready for bed. He was still new to a life on the streets, and relatively naïve. It wouldn't take much for him to get himself into trouble, and they had all been warned that something bad had been happening to street dogs in recent weeks. Rita felt a chill as her father's words came back to her. She should have done more… she knew that he was still learning and therefore vulnerable. Why hadn't she stayed closer to him? They were friends now, it wouldn't have been a hardship. She'd just put a higher priority on spending time with her father- putting her own needs before her family's. Dodger had been wrong about her; she wasn't remotely cut out to be a leader. Dodger, where are you? If Francis was in trouble, the mutt wouldn't have left him… was Dodger in trouble as well? He knew his stuff, Rita knew that, but he'd not been quite right for ages… what if he'd been taken at a moment of weakness? He'd been acting strangely, offering her his role of leader. Could he have been considering simply walking away from them? Was that what had happened, and Francis' disappearance was something unrelated? Eventually, tiredness took over, and Rita couldn't stay awake fretting any longer. She drifted off into a troubled sleep.
It was early when Rita woke the next morning, the sky still dark. Hopefully, she looked over to Dodger's bed, but it was empty and clearly hadn't been slept in. She glanced around, and her heart sank as she saw that Francis hadn't come home either. Poor Francis had spent a whole night out in the city, surely he'd be frightened? All Rita could do was hope that Dodger was with him, keeping them both safe. She felt sick, her stomach feeling like it was doing flips. How much longer could they leave it before they started to search? Certain that something was wrong, Rita made up her mind to get Tito and Einstein searching with her that day. Dodger might be fine, but Francis wouldn't survive out there on his own for long. Rita got to her feet and headed upstairs, sitting on the deck as the cool morning breeze played with her fur. Wistfully, she looked out to the city, which was slowly coming alive as the rising sun added colour to its streets. Dodger, she thought, Dodge, come home. Please, come home.
Dodger was also awake early, though it was difficult to keep track of day or night in such a dark room. Every now and then he'd hear whimpering and crying from the dogs around him, but mainly there was just quiet. He'd never been confined like this and he hated the feeling. There was no room to move, no room to do anything. He fidgeted, trying again and again to get comfortable, but he simply couldn't.
"You'll get used to it," came the voice from his side. The dog spoke with a sigh, obviously a longer term survivor of this dreadful place. "I didn't introduce myself earlier," he said, "They call me Scrap."
"Pleased to meet ya, Scrap," said Dodger, "pity 'bout the circumstances. You been banged up here long?"
Scrap groaned. "Too long," he said, "I've been beaten more times than most, but they never seem to quite finish me off. I lost an eye a month or so back, that was probably the worst time."
Dodger swore under his breath. What sort of a chance would Francis have against a brute who'd tear another dog's eye out?
"The worst is Brutus, he's their most prized fighter," said Scrap, before adding quietly, "and my father. I was something of a disappointment so the humans make use of me this way. Human word is law to dogs like Brutus, they put no value on canine life. It's sick, you can hardly call them dogs at all."
Dodger growled; suddenly his mother looked like a saint. He couldn't fathom how a dog could become so twisted, this Brutus must be seriously unhinged. "We've got to get out of here," he said.
"You can try," said Scrap, relenting. "I'll believe it can be done when I see it, but if I can help, I will. I've seen too many dogs taken to fight, never to return. My brother was one of them. I don't think it was Brutus who killed him, but the others are almost as bad."
"How many are there?" asked Dodger, disgusted.
"I'm not sure exactly. At least four- that's how many I've been pitted against personally, but things may have changed since I was last used. My mother was a fighter too, but she was killed. One of them is my brother, one is my sister, and the other I've been in with is a bitch the human bought to breed from. She's a monster as well, you should see the jaw on her. They live out in the yard, away from us bait dogs. The humans will tie us up out there to get the fighters ramped up and wanting blood, and then a few days later one or more of them will be allowed a crack at us." Scrap growled. "If I wasn't so useless I'd love to be able to hit back, hurt them like they hurt us. But I probably won't last another round with one of those psychos, I'm spent."
Dodger felt a great wave of sympathy for poor Scrap. The young dog known nothing but this miserable basement except for brief outings to be brutally savaged by his own family. Dodger wanted to get him out, maybe even to take him home. Scrap had to be made of stern stuff if he was still going after all he'd been put through, perhaps he'd make a useful addition to the gang. As soon as the thought had come to Dodger, he felt a horrible longing, wishing he was with his family now.
Scrap continued. "It's not their fault anyway, they were normal dogs like you and me once. It's what humans can do, making evil beasts outta innocent dogs. It's those humans I'd most like to take a piece outta."
Just then, one of 'those humans' burst through the door and put on the light. Immediately Dodger tried to catch a glimpse of where Francis was, but the position of his cage prevented this. He then glanced to his side to where Scrap was lying. With a jolt, he realised the extent of the bait dog's scars; not only did Scrap have an eye missing, but with his mouth open it was clear that a large piece had been bitten away from his tongue. The effect was almost grotesque, and the sight filled Dodger with a seething anger for the humans who'd done this. He snarled in fury as the man passed his cage.
"Shut it!" roared the man, and he slammed his fist against Dodger's cage, leaving it quivering. If any of the dogs had been asleep, they certainly weren't now. The human continued talking, more to himself than anything else, though he would periodically hurl abuse at the dogs when the mood took him.
Dodger watched, his lip curled in a silent snarl. This wasn't a human like Fagin, it was something else, a monster. He could only keep an eye on the human when he was directly in front of his or Scrap's cages, but still managed to work out that he was preparing to feed the dogs. This could be my best chance to get out, he thought. He readied himself, preparing his muscles for a leap forward when the door was opened.
Finally, the door opened, and Dodger flung himself forward. A heavy blow hit his head, the hard metal bowl coming down on it hard, and the meagre kibble offering flew everywhere.
"Get back in there, fleabag!" the man shouted, smashing the door against Dodger's head for good measure.
Thrown back into his cage, Dodger barked ferociously in protest, but before he could make a second attempt, he was shut in once more. Overwhelmed with frustration and fear, he slammed himself recklessly in front of the cage while the human laughed cruelly.
"Stop it, Dodger!" Scout called, having been woken. "Don't hurt yourself, it'll get you killed later."
"Are you all right, Dodger?" Francis asked, his lofty voice coming through the frantic barking.
Panting, Dodger tried to get a hold of himself. "I'm… I'm fine, Francis. Just hang in there, you're gonna be fine." He didn't believe it, and knowing what he did now, he was more scared than ever. This place was nothing like he could have even imagined- that dogs could wind up so sick in the head just to make money for their humans turned Dodger's stomach. Shaking with rage and terror, he couldn't even bring himself to look at the pieces of kibble now scattered around his cage.
Scrap whined. "I'm sorry, I really am. Just don't let them break you," he said, "once they break you, there's no hope."