CH 3 - Atomic Dog
With no choice but to trust Pickles, the group finds a place to settle down for the night.
The latest addition to the party left Meike deeply conflicted. They wanted to hug him and give him all the pets, but they didn’t want to end up like Anniken, either. Her hand was half-wrapped in her jacket, concealing the open wound. And quietly sobbing, not from the pain, but her missing finger tip, which Meike suspected was somewhere in the dog’s lower intestine by this point. They’d searched for a good ten minutes before he urged them on.
He glanced back at them, and Meike fought back the impulse to “d’aww”.
“You kittens got a name?”
“I’m Meike,” they said, when the dog pulled his lips from his teeth. How could something so cute be so mean?
“What about you, whitey?”
“Go fuck yourself,” she spat.
He turned back to the road and took off on a light trot, claws clicking against the brick road. “Whitey it is, then!”
Meike jogged after him. “I thought dogs couldn’t see certain colors.” They knew enough to know dogs weren’t color blind, just limited.
“And until today, you didn’t know we could talk, either! Some of us, anyway.”
So there was hope of meeting a genuine good boy, after all. “Is that axe real, or just for show?”
“It’s not for chopping firewood, I’ll tell you that.”
Anniken tugged on Meike’s hoodie. “Why are you chatting that damn thing up? Did you see what he did to my hand?”
“It’ll be fine,” they said. “We’ll patch it up at the village.” Meike had no way of knowing that for sure, but knew they didn’t want to be alone in the dark, either.
“And you trust it?” She pointed at the dog with her good hand.
“I have a name,” he said. “It’s Pickles. Pickles Barkenshire Jr. Don’t call me a ‘thing’ or an ‘it,’ and I won’t call you a bitch.”
“Fuck you.”
Meike stepped between her and the dog. “This wouldn’t have happened if you asked before petting him.”
She grumbled an apology, and the group continued on. Pickles insisted they hurry before it got too dark out, and they had no doubt he would ditch them at the first sign of trouble.
“Also, how do you know English?”
“English? Is that what you call your dialect?”
“No, it’s a language. One of the biggest in the world,” Anniken said, rolling her eyes.
“Never heard of it,” he huffed. “Maybe you come from some secluded part of Glasend, kitten. But here, we speak Glaes, the bastardized tongue of the common folk.”
“Look, dog—”
“Pickles.”
“Pickles, will you be a good boy and help us out?”
He stopped and pawed at his muzzle. “You got money?”
“What do you need with money? You don’t even have thumbs.”
Meike nudged her in the side. “I have $80 in cash on me, but I don’t think my card is useful here.”
“You’re gonna want coin. Gold, silver, copper…not for me, but yourselves.” He waved a paw in the air. “I can show you to an inn, but you’re on your own after that.”
“What about you,” Meike said. “Where are you going?”
“Worry about yourself, kid.”
He led them to a large stone building with a thatched roof; a structure right out of a medieval movie set. Bundles of straw littered the area in front of a small barn, and odd “street lamps’’ flanked the entrance to the inn. They tapped one of them while waiting for Pickles to summon the innkeeper.
“Kerosene lanterns…” Dismay was quietly building within them. And the windows, as far as they could see, were similarly lit. No electricity, phones, or wifi.
“Watch yourself,” an old lady said, squinting at them from the dimly lit doorway.
Meike wanted to slink off and make themself scarce, but Anniken kept a firm hand on their hoodie, ready to gag them if necessary.
“We need a room for the night,” Anniken said. “Two, if you can spare them.”
The innkeeper eyed them up and down, no doubt curious about the strange attire of the two guests. Or just questioning what they’d gotten themself into. She herself wore a faded brown dress and dirty apron, her hair pulled back into a tight bun and covered by a white cap.
Contrast that with Anniken and Meike’s colorful jackets, jeans, and sneakers, and they looked like a pair of clueless tourists.
“And do you have a shower or something?” Anniken combed a leaf and clump of soil from her hair. “I had a…very unfortunate accident.”
“I don’t think they have that here,” Meike hissed. Unless the oil lamps were just an aesthetic choice, Anniken was out of luck.
“I don’t know what this ‘shower’ is, but we could boil some water for you. It’ll be extra, I’m afraid.”
“I’m sorry, what?” She looked at Pickles. “She’s joking, right?”
“They don’t have running water,” they whispered, right as the innkeeper was responding.
“Take it or leave it. This isn’t the royal palace, princess.”
They tugged on her arm. “What are you gonna do?” Never mind the bath; they didn’t have proper money.
“Fine. But I also hope you can understand that we are three travelers down on our luck, and won’t be able to pay for the night—”
The innkeeper was fast, and would’ve shut the door on them had Pickles not stopped it with a paw.
Anniken mouthed a “thank you” to the dog and braced her foot against the door. “You aren’t seriously going to us out in the dark, are you? What if we’re attacked by bandits?”
“No money, no service,” she said, and struggled to push against their combined forces.
“What if we promised to do some work for you,” Meike offered.
“No deal!”
“What’s your damage, lady,” Anniken said, and pressed her weight into the door. One good kick and the old woman would go flying.
“I’ll cry for help if you don’t back off,” she snarled. “I’ve got a sleeping knight upstairs. Don’t think he’s not afraid to set you upstarts straight.”
Pickles whined and flattened his belly against the ground, staring at her with imploring eyes.
“…Oh, you poor dear. I do hate to see small dogs sleeping like hogs.” She bared her teeth at Anniken. “You and your friend can stay in the barn if you’re so insistent. But I’ll make sure your little doggie is taken care of.” That last sentence came out sickeningly sweet.
“No deal,” Anniken said, but stumbled back as Pickles withdrew his paw and darted inside with a series of excited yips. “Wait!” The door slammed shut, and she fell upon it, banging her fists and cursing the innkeeper in what Meike understood to be German. Meike had to drag her off.
“That flea-bitten mutt just threw us under the bus! Bastard!”
“Forget him,” they said. “What about us?” They were tired, hungry, and already missing the mundane comfort of toilet paper.
The barn wasn’t Meike’s ideal resting place. There were three horses, a cow, and two pigs on the bottom floor. The only viable sleeping spot was the hayloft, a pile of moldy hay pushed back into a corner.
Not even Anniken had the energy to march outside and pick a fight with the manager. After allowing herself a few whispered obscenities, she curled up on a dry pile of hay. Meike followed shortly, having swept the barn for any other signs of life.
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Sienna Eggler
