Dog Blood by David Moody Page A

screw around,” he warns. “I’m serious.”
    “No, nothing.”
    “So now you’re just drifting without a purpose? Spending your time hiding behind the corpses of our people?”
    “I wasn’t hiding,” I snap quickly, annoyed by his tone. “We were just passing through.”
    “That’s what they all say.”
    Truth is, I have been as directionless as he’s implying-but now I’ve got a reason to keep moving.
    “Actually,” I announce, “I’m heading home.”
    “Home? Why the hell would you want to do that? What possible reason could you have for wanting any connection with your past life?”
    “I want to find my daughter.”
    He looks up, his interest suddenly piqued.
    “Why?”
    What do I tell him now? Have I made a mistake admitting I want to look for Ellis? Does he think I’m less of a man because of it? A weaker fighter? That I’m in league with the enemy even? Do I even know why I want to find Ellis? What am I hoping to achieve? Life with her could never be like it used to be again, so why am I bothering? As much as the thought of who and what I used to be now disgusts me, I wonder if that’s the real reason I want to be with her again. Maybe I’m just trying to bridge the gap between today and all that happened in the years before now. This uncomfortable silence seems to last forever. I open and close my mouth to speak, but no words come out. Then Preston speaks for me.
    “She’s like us, isn’t she?”

7
    PRESTON STARES AT ME intently. What the hell is he thinking? So he knows that Ellis is one of us, so what? Why should that make any difference to him? Whatever the reason, his tone has definitely changed. He’s suddenly more serious and direct. He left the van momentarily to speak to someone, then came back and pulled the door shut. It’s suffocatingly hot in here now.
    “Tell me about her, Danny.”
    I don’t like this. I’ll drip-feed him information and find out why he wants to know. Years of living in the old world have taken their toll, and my guard is up. Part of me can’t help wondering whether I’ve managed to stumble on the last remaining pedophile ring in existence. When I don’t answer he asks another question.
    “How old?”
    “Just turned five.”
    “And you think you know where she might be?”
    “Possibly,” I answer quickly. I can afford to give him some vague details. Even if I knew exactly where Ellis was, I could tell him anything. He doesn’t know anything about her. He doesn’t know what she looks like. Christ, I haven’t even told him her name.
    “She somewhere near here?”
    “Might be.”
    Preston leans over to the front seat and picks up a map, which he unfolds.
    “Show me.”
    “I’m not telling you anything until you tell me why you’re so interested in my daughter. What are you, some kind of pervert? A kiddie-fiddler?”
    His face remains impassive and serious. There’s not a flicker of emotion.
    “It’s not just your daughter we’re interested in,” he finally starts to explain. “Our belief is that children are key to our future. They’re important now, and they’ll be even more crucial when this war’s won.”
    “Go on.”
    “Have you ever seen a child fight? They’re fast, strong, agile… completely uninhibited. They’re not burdened with years and years of memories of the old way of things; all they know is now. They accept what they see and experience today, and they accept it without question. This is their normality.”
    What he says makes some kind of sense, but I don’t trust this guy. His slimy, slick way of speaking immediately gets my back up. He comes across like a politician, a subpar spin doctor. I know we’re both fighting on the same side, but how different are our aims and objectives?
    “You talk a lot, but you’re not actually saying anything. Why should I tell you anything about my little girl?”
    “Kids are true fighters, Danny, perfect fighters even. Brutes are strong and aggressive, but children are