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狗冢是一个被报道的楼层,没有证据表明它确实存在。唯一能证明它存在的证据是几份日志,可能是也可能不是伪造的。这些日志不是由同一个人写的,而是收集了一些笔记、日记和其他在各关卡发现的材料。有一个很大的可能性是“一片狗藉”只是虚构的,是为了娱乐而写的,然而,也有一些信息与这种可能性相矛盾。

(日志是NSFW,请酌情阅读。)

日志 1

我醒了。此刻我还不知道,但这一天标志着我连续第四年生活在狗冢的一片“狗”藉中。我让自己从身下在蠕动、抽搐的狗肉地毯上爬起,站起身来,在清晨的阳光下伸展。我花了一些时间来学习如何在坚实的狗肉层上保持平衡,这层狗肉现在覆盖了每一寸坚实的地面,但现在我可以像在土壤或混凝土上一样轻松和快速地行走和奔跑。也许更快...

我猜测这里曾经是一座城市,虽然我不记得是哪一座。我的猜测只是因为那些巨大的狗柱突入天空,也许是古老的建筑,现在完全被犬类的生物物质填满和覆盖。我曾经爬过一次,把我的手指和脚趾深深地陷进狗墙里,以获得支撑力,经过几个小时的攀爬,我得到了一个令人难以置信的视野--毛发和眼睛,喘息的舌头和摇摆的尾巴,紧紧地拥抱着曾经荒芜的土地的轮廓,在一个单一的阿米巴块中延伸到眼睛所能看到的更远处。

但现在我不这么做了。现在我只是继续我的一天。我徒步走到花园,那里的狗盆栽从狗场的地面上长出了奇怪的形状,我伸手从摇摆的、有活力的树枝上摘下胎儿的小狗果实。我咬着多汁的果肉,汁液顺着我的下巴滴下来,被地肉重新吸收,并陶醉在这咸味中。我很渴,所以我一直走,直到找到一个母狗山丘,在那里我吸吮乳头,直到我喝完了奶。有时,我看到周围有其他人类,他们和我一样适应了狗的环境,但我几乎不理睬他们,什么也不说。毕竟,有什么可说的呢?现在的世界已经不同了--我们以前的话还有什么意义?

自由放养的狗现在越来越少见了,而我看到的那些狗似乎和我一样迷失,一样消极。它们也在吃草,小心翼翼地踩着起伏的、流血的狗窝,朦胧地承认我和彼此。在遥远的天空中,在遥远的地平线上,我有时会看到巨大的形体在航行、爬行或起伏,我在想,在这个新世界里,正常的、单一的、可移动的狗是否已经像我一样被淘汰了。

日志 2

我试图探索下面一次。在狗的下面。在毛发、耳朵和吠叫的下面。这很难,而且需要很多计划与步骤--我必须徒手毁掉其中一棵狗树,扯掉作为树枝的扭曲的、数码长的公共刺,用肌腱和皮肤把它们绑在一起。但很快我就有了工具--干草叉、矛、铁锹。我选了一个狗窝看起来比较浅的地方,开始工作。

当我的矛第一次打破水面时,血就开始喷涌而出,几个小时都没有停止。但我学会了无视令人作呕的挤压声,抵御气味,只是不断地深入,用矛撬出体型和体质一个比一个奇怪的狗,有两个头的狗,有人类手的狗,后腿可能有蠕动的触手的狗。

最终,我来到了狗的尽头。或者说是狗以外的某些东西的开始。一片五颜六色、错落有致的毛皮,在任何方向上都延伸到我可以挖掘的范围。我很难刺穿它,它几乎不流血,而且我费九牛二虎之力也只能勉强剥开皮肤,露出下面一层条纹状的灰色肌肉。当我看着它时,它开始颤抖,摇晃着我周围的狗物质,我意识到狗的景象正开始自我再生,向我靠拢,把我封在里面--所以我逃离了,重新爬上了光照处。

日志 3

溪水温暖地淌过小狗口中的黑色皮革般的边缘。唾液水汹涌澎湃,它们从神情急切的小狗们不断扇动的舌头的溪床中流淌出来。

摸一摸岸边的石头,就会发现断奶狗的尖锐乳牙,投向长在唾液和岸边的一束束癞皮杂草。

溪流的“头部”被一个个金黄色的毛皮堆分割开来。就像一块软垫巨石上镶嵌着一只巨大的金色眼睛,转动着看过往的人。如果眼睛看到你,水面就会冒出泡沫。舌头拍打着紧张的爱的问候,发出潺潺的笑声。

日志 4

狗冢。————我们就是这么称呼它的。我是说,我们这些聚合的人类。我们围坐在篝火旁,烹饪我们从狗树上采集的小动物。我们唯一的易燃物是到处生长的刺鼻的毛发。它影响了所有的感官,但它很快就烹饪好了饭菜。唯一的食物来源是狗树和母狗山丘。一些愚蠢透顶的人挖到了肉,虽然收获很大,但许多那种人都没有回来,因为狗肉在他们头上重新生长,把他们困在潮湿的地面上。原始的工具是用骨头和皮革铸造的,如铲子、刀子和衣服。从我有记忆以来,我一直生活在这里。在我们狗肉人之前的时代似乎有点微弱的印象,但它不能填饱我们的肚子,纠缠于它有什么用?我是我们部落的抄写员。我的名字是多克。我曾经有一个真实的名字,但我不记得了。我把我们所有的发现和知识记录在我的皮页上,用狗血作为墨水。曾几何时,我们有更多的人。部落开始时有多达60人。现在,我们的人数少到只有20人。我们的领袖是基夫。他指示我们寻找食物,建造住所,并带来火。但他滥用权力,娶了五个妻子,吃的东西超过了他一个人的份额,但那些反对他的人在夜里会被处死。这是地狱般的生活,但没有其他选择,没有指导,我们会死在这里,所以我们必须臣服在他的领导之下。

我担心我的生命。菲克今天在我们所有人面前被基夫杀死了。他拒绝继续挖肉,所以这个怪物徒手将他打死,以示他不会容忍拒绝工作的行为。我也不能再忍受这种情况了。菲克甚至不是一个成年人————他再不可能成为超过17岁的人类。这使我们的人数减少到18人。有基夫,他的五个妻子,我,以及剩下的11个挖掘者和采集者。其他人暗地里对我说,我应该替代成为领导者。我猜是因为他们认为我有所有的纪录,因为我是抄写员。但其实只有时间才能证明。

我是在黎明时分被其中一个挖掘者叫醒的,他是加尔。他告诉我,今晚将是个好日子。其他人有个计划。他们想让我在宴会上宣布我是新领袖。当基夫因愤怒而分心时,他们打算从后面刺杀他。我告诉加尔,我接受他的计划,今晚将协助他们。————我把自己搞成什么样子了?

他们都该死。我告诉基夫我打算取代他。他站了起来,怒发冲冠。我等待着那怪物的被刺杀然后死亡。但加尔从头到尾都没去刺杀基夫;相反,他的刀刺进了我。加尔一直都是基夫的间谍。他们把我拖到远离花园的地方,把我绑在一棵瘦骨嶙峋的狗树上。他说,痛快直接的死亡不适合我,我将在死亡的阳光下被折磨掉。我在这里只能勉强拿到我的日记。我想这就是我的结局。

当恶魔般的阳光在天空中径直照下时,热度变得难以忍受。我看到地平线上的人影。他们不是人类;他们是来吃人类留下的东西的猎犬。我以为它们要吃我。相反,它们却去吃那些把我固定住的沾满鲜血的肉棍。我获得了自由。我跪在猎狗面前,深情地看着它的眼睛。我告诉它们,我知道在哪里可以把它们的肚子填得满满的。它叫了一声,我想这是在确认。我站了起来,我们出发去吃荤了。

当我们回到定居点时,他们正沉浸在狗肉盛宴之中。我走近了,目光中充满了死亡与绝望。基夫惊愕失色,怒火中烧!挖掘者和采集者很快开始保护他;我猜他又贿赂了他们。我吹了个口哨,猎狗们穿过毛皮溜到我身边。我们像一道闪电一样出击。我的拳头砸在基夫的脸上,就在我的猎犬扑向他最亲密的卫兵时。虽然我身体虚弱,但我的速度相当快。我顺了一把铲子,趁着基夫神志不清的时候迅速把它埋进他的肚子里。那气味令人作呕,正如我对他们这样的人所期望的那样。猎狗们很快就把事情解决得一干二净。当然,我也帮了忙。无人生还。我确保了我对加尔的报复。到最后,猎狗们已经吃得很饱了。我慢慢地埋葬了每一具尸体。我把这本书留在他们的坟墓上,希望能有理解它的人找到它。如果你找到了,请注意这些话。犬神知道一切,并且严格但公平。她在该公正的地方就会义不容辞地公正。

日志 5

在狗冢中我就养了一只狗。他叫卡尔,总是依傍在我身边。当我快饿死的时候,他给我送来了狗粮。当我渴得要死的时候,他用嘴叼着牛奶给我喝。有一天,他的脚卡在一个口中,我无法把他弄出来,所以我只能看着口子把他吞下去。

几年后,当我回去时,卡尔就在那里,但他伸了个懒腰,我去抚摸他,只是那不是他,他咬着我,不肯松口。

我在想:人是不是也可以成为狗冢中的一分子?

我好想卡尔。

日志 6

在新的真理中,所有的人都是一体的。狗妈妈的庞大程度超乎想象,需要许多人保持舒适和清洁。然而,我们选择的人并不是没有回报的。在她巨大的智慧中,族长给予我们所需要的一切。我们从她巨大的乳头中获得丰盛的食物,这与其他任何食物都不同。它使我们这些卡尼斯托德人精神振奋,得到滋养,并使我们得到的甚至超乎我们的需求。不过,寻找新工人的时间很快就到了。我们中的许多人正在蜕变,很快我们就会加入到伟大狗冢的荣耀光辉中。我们与其他人是如此的不同,因为他们只在鹅卵石树林中来回踱步,而我们中的许多人已经有了厚厚的外套,老劳伦斯已经开始用四肢行走了。很快,我们将摆脱凡尘,成为狗妈妈的一部分...... 我们的...母亲...

Log Seven

"I think we knew the war had been lost the day the General committed suicide. The masses of flesh and fur just spread, like waves across the cities. We found out that whatever it was, it was drinking the oceans and eating anything it came across. Airstrikes, tanks, bombs, it only slowed it down! We were living on borrowed time. It was...unstoppable. I don't think it was until later that we noticed all the dogs were gone. And then at night, the howling...It was just too much." The former soldier's face streamed with involuntary tears as he remembered the events. He sat there, wallowing in his own emotions, telling his story to a skeleton he found. "My unit...completely wiped out...I saw those tentacles, and those mouths...they tore them to shreds. I ran away, even when they called for help...IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" The dogtree shifted slightly. The many eyes growing around directed their gaze towards the psychopathic man. "YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! YOU KILLED MY FRIENDS, MY FAMILY, GODDAMN EVERYONE!" He ran and stabbed one of the eyes with a bone fragment. A howling noise emerged and a nearby dogtree swatted him several yards. He broke a few ribs when he hit the "ground". He coughed a bit of blood, but got back up and charged again. This time he ran towards one of the open mouths around and kicked several of its teeth out. It bit his foot in response, costing him a toe or two. He was so full of adrenaline he was incapable of registering any kind of pain.

He beat and tore and bit at the flesh with his bare hands until he was knee deep in blood and gore. One of the tubes he tore spilled some sort of digestive fluid all over him. It burned, but he had to go on. He dug and dug with his bare hands until the ground started to close above him. He kept digging until he found them- the heart and brain. He laughed at his fortune of finding both of them so close to each other. He jammed his hands deep into grey matter, disturbing the contents and slowly losing oxygen in his tunnel of meat. He gasped, and clawed at the heart. Tearing it out of place, he collapsed and blacked out. He awoke to many tentacles burying themselves in his body. One hit his spinal cord, and fused with his brainstem. A flood of thought hit him all at once, as he suddenly became one with the Dogscape. More tentacles connected themselves to his vital organs, as he became assimilated. He saw through every eye in the lands, and he felt every single nerve on the planet. The healing factor continued tearing him apart, but adding new pathways and connections. It wasn't long until he was entirely consumed. His memories faded away as his brain was reorganized into replacing the one he had destroyed.

Log Eight

It’s been three years and two weeks now since I met another human being. I know because I’ve cut a small notch in my left leg for every day, one in my left arm for every week, and one in my right arm for every year. Admittedly not the most effective way of keeping track of time, but when I started, I figured I’d be dead or this would be over before it really mattered.

Like I said I haven't met any other people for a while but I figured I would write this anyways just in case as a warning to others that might be out there.

I ran into something terrible today. Well, the whole dogscape is terrible but I mean MORE terrible. I think even among the dogscape it's some sort of crazy abomination, since the feral dogs and the ground-mouths didn't seem too fond of it either. And that screaming is not something I ever hope to hear again. But that's not the beginning. I’m sorry about this, the blood I’m using doesn't really come off the paper and I can't waste any by throwing it away and not even thinking about talking to other people for years has made me sort of bad at thinking in a straight line. But I’ll try. Let me just start over at the beginning.

The day started normally. It was my weekly gathering day so I left my tent (by the way I left the tent at the foot of the pillar of dogs in the direction of the setting sun if you want it but you probably won’t because the skin has probably gone bad by now) to collect the dogfruits I would need for the week and to fill a bag or two with milk. But when I got to the place where there should have been teats there was just a bloody mess where someone had dug deep into the flesh of the dogscape. I didn't really think much of it at first just that I would need to go looking for a new source of milk.

Then I saw it.

I thought it was another person at first. If I had stopped to really look first I wouldn't have had any problems and I wouldn't be writing this right now I guess. I started shouting to get its attention and I did get its attention because it turned to me and then I realized that I had made a huge mistake.

Thinking back the really long arms and the twisty body probably should have been my first clue. But I didn’t really see that anything was wrong until it turned towards me and I saw what I thought was a head was just a featureless lump of flesh. Its arms unfolded outwards each arm ending in two canine legs and the human face on its chest opened its mouth and started screaming. I figured it was bad news then and made a mad dash for the nearest pillar of dogs but it kept running after me and it was much faster. Somehow I managed to make it and I started scrambling to climb out of its reach. I didn’t get very far before there was a sharp pain in my leg and I looked down and saw that it had bitten me with one of the many canine mouths along the arm things. I screamed as it pulled me down but that didn't do much and I probably would have died right then if it weren’t for what happened next.

Out of nowhere a mouth I didn’t even seen when I started climbing the dog pillar bit down on it and then one in the ground and they started chewing at it but that didn’t really seem to hurt it but it let go all the same. I ran away as fast as I could but I could hear that screaming long after I was out of sight. I didn’t sleep that night.

Just before nightfall tonight I felt like I had to make sure the dogscape had killed it and went to the pillar, but I saw no trace of it. But the notebook I tore this paper from was there and I took that.

So now here I am. I am not going to stay around here any longer after I finish this but finding this notebook made me think maybe there are other people and if so maybe I should warn them about things like this.

So if you are reading this good luck.

Oh also I am moving in the direction of the rising sun so if you can read this you are probably another person so if you go that direction maybe we can meet up and be a little better off than we were?

Log Nine

Tics are the only things that seem to like this place.

They're everywhere. During the evenings I can see massive clouds of the bastards flitting across the matted surface, making the flesh of the Dogscape quiver as they drink their fill. Sometimes candid legs of various size and deformity burst through the surface to scratch at them. It doesn't work. All the dogscape gains are vast stretches of scar marks, which the fleas feed upon.

Sometimes I rest on the side of a large outgrowth and only realize it's a monstrous tic. They latch on to one of the Deep Arteries of the Dogflesh and endlessly leech of the new world's lifeblood.

I saw a man once. It was hot that day. I was making my way for a dogpillar and saw him in the distance. He wasn't moving and as I approached I saw why. He was covered in tics. Not a single spot on him was clear. What little clothes remained on him were stretched over the fuckers There was no wind, so all you heard was the faint scuttling of their tiny legs scratching against their ludicrously swelled bodies. He must've heard me, because he opened his mouth and tried to say something. His voice was raspy, and his mouth was red, but he did manage to say one word.

Itch.

Log Ten

Today is the 5th day of the 12th month of the 654th year. Ours is the final generation. After us, the dogscape will be all that is left and all remaining men will either absorb into mother dog or perish from this swiftly dying world.

I have only a vague memory of my mother. Whether she was killed, stolen, or absorbed, I can't say. Really, no one is quite sure what happened to the women. Slowly but surely, they've disappeared, often vanishing in the night without any warning and leaving no trace. Women are the only thing of any value in this world anymore; and the primary purpose of the tribe is to protect the group's claim to a woman, who is used for the benefit of all the members

Our tribe's woman was taken several months ago. The first month, we mourned her. She may have been a captive in many ways, but many of us could not help but become attached to her. The second, some of the men began engaging in homosexual activities with one another out of desperation. I'm sure that I was not the only one who realized that there was little meaning to our continued companionship and that soon the tribe would disband. This is the third month since she was taken and it's all falling apart. First the elder was killed over a dispute; it was really just a confirmation that the unity of the tribe no longer existed, no longer had any reason to exist without the tribe's woman. And so, we began to drift apart.

I know what will come next. When tribes dissipate, the members, alone and confused, come to depend on the mother dog for sex in much the same way they do for food, warmth, and shelter. Mother dog's sex organs dot the landscape like diseased watering molehills in the dogflesh. The men find a sex organ to claim for their own and spend their days thrusting into it. Often, they find entrances near dog trees, fucking when they're desirous and eating the fetuses when they're hungry. They have no reason ever to move from their mound. In this way, men forget the world around them and become obsessed with mother dog; now not only a mother, but a lover too; it is their everything. It is common to see skeletons, either bare or being picked apart by dogs, their pelvises still pressing into a dog mound, surrounded by the still-reeking stench of their own filth.

Today is the 27th day of the 12th month of the 654th year. As I had predicted, the former members of my tribe have slowly but surely fallen into a degenerate lives as mound humpers. The desperate scum have forgotten their own humanity. Sickening. I vow never to fall into that disgusting state. And so I will walk this lonely, depraved dogscape searching. It can't end this way, with all humanity uselessly masturbating itself into extinction. So I continue, knowing I may end up hopeless utterly defeated by the dogscape.

Today is the 2nd day of the 4th month of the 663rd year. I found a woman. Standing, as if waiting for me, under a dog tree, her mouth dyed red with the blood from a dog fetus. At one time, I would have been puzzled to see a woman standing alone and unafraid. But I haven't come upon a tribe in years and incredibly rarely does one come across a man who is not mesmerized with a dog mound. I suppose this must have been the biggest surprise to her; to have found a man who has not yet become a slave to mother dog.

In any case, it's important not to take chances. So I grabbed her, forced her down, and fucked her right there. Then I tied her down to the dogtree with a length of dogflesh rope so that she couldn't run.

Today is the 7th day of the 8th month of the 663rd year. My woman is pregnant. I have watched over her, protected her from the wild mongrels that still roamed the dogscape. When the swarms of ticks came, I covered her in a hide. I wonder if we the only ones left on this planet who are still human?

Today is the 5th day of the 1st month of the 664th year. My child was born today. My woman squeezed my hand, breathing hard, pushing. After some time, the child came. A healthy normal female infant. I saw that all my struggles hadn't been in vain, that our race did have a future. And I realized that I was crying. I held the child briefly, and then set it down to reach for my blade to cut the umbilical cord.

No sooner had I set the girl down than a furry tendril shot out from the dogtree. With a whack, it wrapped quick around the umbilical cord, gripped it tight. As the dog tree sunk into the ground before me, I hacked at the vine. But it could not be cut. Next I went for the umbilical cord tearing with all my strength to save my girl; but the vine had melded with it, and converted it into the same strong substance. And so I could only watch in horror as the dog tree disappeared into Mother Dog, dragging my woman and daughter with it. I dug after them, ripped the dogflesh open enough to watch as the mutated dogs of the upper layers tear at the child's face.

There is no hope for the human race. The dogscape will not tolerate disloyalty any longer. And so, I commit myself to this dog mound, to become truly one with mother dog. What a damned fool I was forever thinking I could beat this world.

Log Eleven

Galactic Calendar: Year 100 Day 1

We have arrived at the closest star system from our previous home. Our world was ravaged by war and we continued through space as nomads. We have searched for a hospitable world, and find this one to be to our liking.

We had received signals from this planet that date back at least 700 of its rotations around their star. If they are anything like us, then generations surely have changed here.

As we approached, I am puzzled, for the planet appears much different than our records indicate. The planet is a brown color, not blue, and it appears to be alive in its own right.

We will send a team down and investigate

Our ship reached orbit around the planet's singular moon. There we gave the crew a final review of the information we knew about the people of this world. Our main source of communication we have received was in the form of signals they called "television." Our understanding of the language will no doubt appear primitive to the dwellers below.

Though personally, I feel that something is odd. We had lost all communications from this world recently. The captain assumes it was because of their switching to a higher technology. They always talked about their newest technology which looked more and more like a race that could enter that of other space-faring peoples.

I am to go down with the rest of the team by the next day on the planet. Though I watch the now-brown world and feel that something is wrong...terribly wrong.

Log Twelve

I don't know how many days it's been since I saw the last human. It's hard for the remaining survivors of the DogScape, women have all gone and only a handful of men remain. But as I said it's been days since I saw the last one. I wondered the furry field's looking for a teat patch when I stumbled across something both very horrifying yet wonderful at the same time.

I looked down at what appeared to be a patch of both male and female reproductive dog organs. I stared fascinated as they endlessly paired with each other. I knew I should have looked away but I just couldn't. After a while of watching them breed endlessly they seemed to stop. It appeared that they finally sensed me. I almost felt bad for bad for interrupting so I started to walk away but I felt something grab a hold of my leg. I looked down to see a mutated dog paw holding tightly to my pant leg. I tried to pull my leg from its grasp but it held on. Then to my horror it started pulling me to the middle of the organ patch. I franticly began to fight to get loose, for I knew what it wanted. More dog paws sprouted up and began pulling me. I knew I didn't stand a chance. I knew that I would be joined with Dog Mother in the end, so I silently accepted my fate. At least I would die happy.

Log Thirteen

While archaic, tribal worship of the Dogmother, in all its visible and fleshy glory, is the most common form of "religion" in the barbaric Dogscape, there does exist another mythology. One practiced only in distant, isolated pockets, and by a few of the older survivors. The exact details change from tribe to tribe, year to year. But the basics never change. It is the legend of the Beginning of the Dogscape, the genesis of the world we know. It tells of a time when humans were plentiful, and walked upon ground that wasn't alive.

There is a god. Or a demon perhaps. A dog that lived amongst the humans was even accepted and provided for by a human family. But it was no ordinary dog. This beast lived for over 50 years, while canines of the time rarely lasted more than a decade. It was greatly powerful, more in control of its owner family than they were of it. They say, it went out at night and hunted human prey, bringing back large collections of bones as trophies to its home. But the humans tried to ignore it, convince themselves that it wasn't a problem.

Soon though, as the Origin Dog reached a century of age, it became increasingly powerful and unlike others. More strange disappearances and even attacks during the day. Vehicles were found with deep bite marks through metal, and homes were burrowed into from below.

The government of the time, many times more powerful than any chieftain of today, captured the hellhound. They performed experiments, tried to understand where it channeled its energy from. Progress was good; it looked as though even the secret to immortality could be gained from this dog! But accidents occur. The Betrayer, as they call her, who worked at the government facility, felt sympathy for the GodDog. She released him, and concurrently, the all-consuming hell that is Dogscape.

The enraged beast no longer held any sympathy for humanity. As it thrashed recklessly through the lab, mutated samples adhered to its flesh, growing like a cancer. Soon, what would become Dogscape was spreading like wildfire, its maw gnashing at everything that moved, its hide spreading over soil, stone, and sea.

What is the name of this horrible demon? It varies, but they all come from a similar etymological origin, I believe. I've taken down names from all over the world, Armad, Me'arm, Aduke.

And yet, the DogMother is most certainly feminine. Well, it is said that The Betrayer was in fact, the first human assimilated into the Dogscape.

Log Fourteen

It's cold here. Jets of moist breathe dot the landscape amid undulating hills. There are no proper dog trees, only short piles of huddling dog limbs. Teats are few and far between, and when I find one I must work to coax the milk into a skin bladder.

I move across the hills, my feet numb through the shoes I have fashioned. I move in the direction that seems easiest, a subtle and mangy slope that I only just noticed was guiding my path in a general downhill fashion. Where there is fur it is thick and rancid with matted oil. I don't know why The Mother does what it does, but all of her fruits have their uses. I hack at a fur clump, separating it from the flesh below. There is only a little blood from a grazed skin tag. I fold and shape the waxy fur onto the insulating hairy coverings on my body. The dogflesh rumbles beneath me in a more than disconcerting way. It has been doing that for the past several weeks, more so the further I have traveled. It is getting colder.

I can hear only the wind now, tearing across The Mother. The howls, warbling and mournful, have stopped. The sharp barks and yips no longer form a background cacophony. I huddle into my coverings, and shoulder ahead. I have no path to follow but forward.

The ground feels harder here. The gentle give of the dogland has ceased, giving way to a dull sound absorbing thud of matted fur. I slipped yesterday on what seemed to be a lake of solid piss. It was not reabsorbing into The Mother. My own shivering seems to syncopate with the occasional rumbles of The Mother. Her flesh no longer seems like a living being, but I know that deep within her the blood flows. It is so cold here.

I continue forward every day. The ground slopes more, and I struggle to sleep in a forgiving skin fold. There is no purpose but to move forward now. One foot in front of the other. It has been dark for as long as I can remember. How long will this night last?

The air is dry. The land is mostly featureless and hard as I walk. The wind blows clumps of brittle hair across my face, and they hurt. A soft pop, a subtle blue flash, and then they blow past me. My hands are deep within my coverings. They are numb, and if I expose them to ward off the shocks then the cold will take them from me. I have already lost three toes. I can no longer feel that foot. I no longer bother to light fires in the deep crooks where I sleep, but the last I saw of that foot it was black and swollen. It felt like it was burning.

My travel is slow. I have heard soft subtle tapping sounds, but when I investigate I find only dog claws moving against the ground. The rumbles have continued, and with them now come subtle rending sounds, like a mouth chewing on a bone. When the sounds intensify I move faster. I don't know what causes them, but I do not think it is The Mother.

I have not found any teats in a long time. I am thirsty, and my skin bladder is almost empty. I would kill my own parents for a fresh puppy fetus. I passed a small pile of humans, almost buried in billowing dried fur. They were dead and dessicated. They looked like they were strong when they lived. I keep moving. There is only the road ahead of me. I do not know what it leads to.

The ground shifted beneath my feet, and I pissed in fear. Not a mouth, but a great hard chasm of flesh and bone had torn open beneath me. A stinking humid burst of air bellowed out, then hung in a cold cloud around me. On my ass, I peered into the gloomy hole that had nearly swallowed me, but it was now still. I sat and contemplated it, breathing heavily, and thought of my empty skin bladders.

Slowly, I could hear sounds several dozen feet below me start to play and echo in the cleft. A soft slapping. Then a gurgle. I don't know how, but I knew that this was my chance for sustenance. I slid into the meaty maw. I climbed down a shorn slab of giant ribs, still red and moist, and finally landed on the steaming dark floor of the hole. It writhed beneath my feet. I felt around, not knowing what I was looking for, when my hands fell upon a thumping tube set into the meat wall. An artery. I grabbed it, pulling at connective flesh, and then bit at it. The blood shot out in spurts, and I drank my fill. I was covered in viscera. I struggled to fill my skin bladders. The cleft shuddered around me, and I knew I must leave it immediately. The walls were starting to hang tendrils of meat, feelers, to heal this damaged canyon. I exhausted myself climbing out, and nearly fell back in as I crested the edge of the crack, out into the cold night. The dog flesh slowly mended behind me as I panted on the hard ground. Before I left it, I considered it, and cataloged it. A stretch mark. The Mother was still growing.

I am so weak, and it is so cold. My filled bladders of blood are gone, and the gray dogscape stretches before me. I must make it to my goal, but I do not know what my goal is. I have walked for what seems like months in the darkness. I climb down a huge mass of frigid dog flesh. It is like a great heap of small dogs, a pile of dog heads and legs, a mound of tails and torsos. It is cold and lifeless. A slow, low creaking can be heard deep within it. I grip an ear and lower myself to the bottom of the wall of dog. And my foot lands on something else. I gasp, then get caught in a fit of coughing. I don't know what I am standing on, but it is not The Mother. I feel queasy, nauseous. What could possibly be not The Mother? It's frigid and hard, but I scrape at it and bits of dandery coldness come up off of it. I hold them close to my face and my breath turns the stuff to water. I try to eat a handful of it, but it is so cold that it robs me of almost all of my remaining energy. The moisture trickles down my throat. It is good. I look behind me at the dog wall, with its exposed frozen bones and happy looking faces, then ahead of me at the featureless dark. I am too far gone to turn back now. I continue walking for hours, then sleep, then I walk more. My footsteps are leaden.

Finally, ahead of me, I see light. I make my way towards it, slowly, over the course of several hours. It is a beacon to me now. A bright glowing steady fire. As I approach I see that the guiding light stands on a pole before a series of low dark structures. They are like solid walls of bone, but not. They are not of dogflesh. The billowing hair and cold dandery water pile against the sides. I know that this is what I was destined for. At one end, near the light, is a dark panel set into the wall. On it are markings placed their by some person's hand, but I do not know what they say. "AIS-1" and "ENTRANCE". I shoulder against the panel, but it barely shudders. I try again, and again. I am renewed with purpose by the discovery of this place, but I am weak from my travel. I lean my back to the panel and slide down it, exhausted. My back catches against a low bar set into the panel, pushes it down, and then clicks. The panel gives way and I fall into the darkness within.

I am in a small dark, dry cave. It is alien to me. The wind blows debris and fur into the room with me. I look around. Strange dark masses seem to leer at me. There are soft white skins hanging on the wall, and more of the unusual markings everywhere. "Procedure List:" and "KEEP CLOSED" and "Warning" and "Wear Radio At All Times". A bright red cylinder with yellow stripes is inside a small box. I reach for it but my hands scramble against a clear covering across the entrance to the box. I look at my hands now. They are purple, and I can not feel them anymore. Another panel is on the opposite wall, like the one I had opened. I move towards it feebly. I am so cold. I pull on the handle set into the panel, but it does not move. A small red light flashes above it. I pull harder, but it does not move. I pull again, jumping, but lose my balance, and lurch to the ground. I smack my head with a dull thud. The cold is blowing in fiercely from the opening behind me. I scrape against the hard panel, but it will not move. More markings adorn it. "Close Outer Door First". I do not understand them. I sit against the panel. My vision is blurry, and a trickle of my own blood seeps across my eye. I go to sleep there, leaning against the dark doorway. I sleep and do not wake up.

Epilogue

"My name is Charles Mountel, of Arctic Ice Station one. The abomination is not here, it is too cold. Tigger and I are the last survivors. We are 14 nautical miles South of the North Pole, directly North of Vancouver. Triangulate our position based on this radio signal. This message will repeat in five minutes."

The radio broadcast the message again, as it had thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of times. A cold, dead, desiccated body sat huddled before the radio systems in a chair. At its feet lay the curled, dead body of a mutt.

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