The Fox, the Hound and the Virus

The Captive

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Chapter Twelve

The Captive

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Will had stopped struggling. His fur was slick in places, drool from the hound's mouth leaking into his coat as they travelled down some densely covered bush trail. The fox was limp, tail hanging as he was carried. The hound kept up a consistent hard trot, the sounds of the fight long gone in the silence of the forest. It was difficult to say how far they had come.

This trail wasn't one Will recognised from their map. It was little more than a thin knife cut, likely made by a deer or other meandering animal. Every now and again, Will became aware that the hound wasn't alone. Other infected flittered in behind them, joining their alpha as the hound led the way.

Will was still terrified. He had no idea what was about to happen to him. Through his own pounding heart and stuttering lungs, he could distantly recognise how bizarre this was. If the hound was going to eat him, surely it could just eat him anywhere. Why was he being carried? Will had never been so damn scared in his whole life.

Not even back on that first day when he and Zoe had run away together. They had watched the news, heard the rumours, seen the smoke. It was Zoe who decided they should go before shit really hit the fan. She had been there beside him. Her scent had always been a source of comfort. At least she was safe back at the trucks.

Will hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to her.

His heart ached and he whined, a wounded gutted sound that made the hound pause. Will quivered all over. He was frozen with terror as the hound lowered him to the ground. He couldn't collect his limbs enough to move. He just stayed flat, trembling as the hound carefully sniffed him all over. It was like the huge male was checking him for injuries. Apparently satisfied that he had none, the hound picked him up again.

His tiny window for escape had vanished before Will had even been able to muster the courage to move.

The sun had completely set before they broke through the trees to a little farmstead, not entirely different from the one they had left. The smell of sheep was old but still quite strong. They travelled past several massive sheds, the scent of wool and machine oil reaching Will's sensitive nose. Eyes peered at them from the darkness and Will realized that this pack was a lot bigger than they had thought.

The hound headed straight for the house. No one stopped them. The door was open, and the hound went inside, his thick claws clicking against the timber floor. They went down a corridor and into a room with a bed. There was a window, but it had been boarded up. The hound dropped him on the mattress. Will waited, shaking. His muscles ached from just how hard and how long he had been trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the hound only stood there.

It huffed. A large nose poked at Will's side. The fox's ears flattened to its skull, and he growled weakly. Unperturbed, the hound prodded at him again. Will swiped at that nose with a paw. A low warning growl rippled from the hound's chest. Will shrank back, tail bristling. Those dark eyes watched him. There was something of the man in the inquisitive face.

Will looked once towards the still open door, weighing his options. His ears flicked back and forth, listening. He could hear the subtle sound of footsteps. He was sure the other infected were just outside the house. Even if he somehow made it past the hound, he wouldn't get much further. But why was he here at all?

He jumped as the hound licked at the fur on the back of his neck. Again, Will had to fight the fox's instincts to bite, knowing that ingesting the hound's blood would mean a painful death or worse. He wiggled backwards, away from the other. He was stunned by once again feeling rather than hearing a single word.