Hyenas (20 page)

Jay got his bearings.

“This way,” he said, heading left. “River end.”

The doors opened onto a small reception area, with two
leather sofas facing a curved desk. A visitors' book was open on the desk; the
pages that were on display were only half filled with signatures. A row of
chest-high filing cabinets created a low wall between the reception and an
expansive open-planned office. A three-cabinet gap formed an entrance in the
middle of the wall.

They went through the gap and made their way over to
the opposite side of the office. There was something depressing about the step-and-repeat
uniformity of the rows of desks; keyboards, monitors, telephones and in-trays
all identically positioned. The desks' occupants had battled against conformity
with pot plants, framed photographs, toys and ornaments, but all to little
effect. As they neared the windows, they could see Birkenhead on the far side
of the river. Sluggish smoke trailed from a few buildings here and there,
creating an illusion of snug domesticity. The illusion was undermined by the
remains of an EasyJet fuselage, one ragged wing still attached, drifting
downriver. Seagulls swirled about the aeroplane’s remains, swooping in and out
of the carcass; Jay didn’t want to think about what they might be feeding on in
there. Further inland, the towers and chimneys of the oil refineries and
chemical plants at Ellesmere Port were smokeless. Jay wondered if some
automated safety mechanisms had kicked in after the Jolt, shutting everything
down, or whether it was just a matter of time before they roared and turned the
sky black.

They edged closer to the window and looked down. They
saw the others immediately, standing round a bench, across the road from the
Liver Buildings. There were a few stuffed bin bags on the bench and two large
bottles of water, the kind that, turned upside-down, sat on top of office water
dispensers.

“Where's Phil?” said Ellen.

Jay saw that she was right. There was Dave, stocky and
somehow aggressive even when motionless. There was Joe, afro silvered with
snow. There was Simon, his pale dreadlocks a little embarrassing next to Joe’s
authentic afro. And there was Kavi, his turban spattered with blood. But no
Phil.

“Maybe he didn't make it,” said Jay. “Like Brian.”

“Looks like,” said Ellen. “Jesus.” Then, “What the
hell's that?”

Ellen was pointing to a yellow DHL van, seemingly
abandoned less than ten yards from the bench. Jay couldn't see anything else of
note.

“Footprints,” said Ellen. “Around the van.”

Jay had seen them but not registered, not understood
their potential significance. He widened his eyes like someone trying to stay
awake whilst watching a late film. He knew he had to be on the ball. He told
himself this was the endgame. Success or failure would depend on little
details, like the footprints round the van, the footprints that should have set
off alarm bells.

“Maybe it was Dave and the rest of them who left the
footprints,” said Ellen. “Maybe they were checking the van out, seeing if there
was anything useful in there.”

“It's Pepper,” said Jay. “Him and his militia. They're
either in the van or pressed up against the other side of it, where we can't
see them.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“If we'd got here first, would we be standing out in
the open by a bench as if we were just killing time?”

“No. We'd stay out of sight. We'd hide until the
others turned up. Fuck.”

“It's Pepper. In the van or behind it.”

“So. What now?”

“Give me the gun.”

Ellen handed him the rifle.

“What's the plan?” she said.

“You go down there. You tell the others to follow you.
Not to argue. You know it's a trap. You know what's going on. They just have to
trust you. Tell them you've got it covered. As soon as you start moving, Pepper
will make his move. That's when I start shooting. I keep Pepper pinned down.
You and the others get to the boat and wait for me there.”

“Jesus. And how are you going to get to the boat? How
are you even going to get out of this fucking building? Pepper will see where
the shots are coming from and he'll come after you.”

Jay shrugged.

“Just wait for me at the boat,” he said. “Give it, I
don't know, thirty minutes, then, you know, splice the main brace or whatever
it is you're supposed to do.”

“And what about the hyenas? It won't be long before
they start coming out of that tunnel.”

Jay shrugged again.

“I don't know, Ellen.” He grinned like a nauseas
drunk. “I just don't know. But I can't leave them down there. I can't
because...”

“Because Dempsey wouldn't have left them down there.”

He nodded, opening his backpack.

“Something like that, yes. I just think it’s time I
stepped up to the plate, you know? For once in my fucking life.”

Ellen shook her head. “How many times have you had to
say the words ‘I can’t read’ to complete fucking strangers, Jay? How many
times?”

Jay shrugged. “I don’t know. Hundreds.”

“Well, every time you managed to get that sickening
little phrase past your lips, you were stepping up to the plate. Every fucking
time, Jay. Okay?”

“Okay.” Jay managed a smile but felt suddenly close to
tears.

Ellen stared hard into his eyes.

“What?” said Jay. He took out the sailing book.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you don't
have to. I wouldn't.”

“But you've got Lily to think about. I'd be just
trying to save my own skinny little arse.” He handed the book to Ellen.

Ellen carried on staring hard but took the book.

“I don't really know you from Adam, but I can't
imagine you've done much wrong in your life, Jay. Not bad-wrong at least. I'm
pretty sure you've fucked up on any number of occasions. Because you do have
something of the air of a fuck-up about you.” She grinned. “But nothing to go
to confession over.”

The grin dropped away.

“I had a brother, Jay. He was eight years old. We were
in the cinema on Edge Lane, watching some Disney flick, talking animals and the
like, when the Thing happened. When I came to, he was gone and those bastard
things were everywhere. I found him in McDonalds, a couple of hours later.
Except it wasn’t him, it was one of those things. A hyena, a zombie, a
mouth-breather. He was chewing something, blood was running from his mouth, and
he had a clump of hair grasped in one hand; it still had a chunk of scalp
attached to it. He snarled at me, my little brother, and there was nothing of
him there. There was just this fucking animal.

“I ran, Jay. I got scared, got scared for the baby,
got scared for me, mostly for me, and I ran. I just ran.”

She turned away and walked through the gap between the
filing cabinets, then through the door and out of sight.

Jay took a couple of steps forward, as if to go after
her then stopped because he had no idea what he would say, what he
could
say. He didn't even know what to think, what to feel.

He looked at the rifle and thought for a second that
maybe he understood the attraction of the military life. It wasn't so much a
craving for adventure, action and violence as a longing for simplicity. There
was us and there was them, this side of the gun and that, safety and danger,
life and death. Everything else was trivial. Of course, he knew none of that
was true and that soldiers were as distracted and troubled, as dissatisfied as
everyone else.

Jay opened the window five inches and there was a
click as some mechanism prevented it from opening further. He wondered if it
was some kind of anti-suicide lock, designed to prevent employees driven mad by
the uniformity of their environment and, doubtless, the uniformity of their
days, from throwing themselves down to the pavement below. There would be
enough of a gap to poke the barrel of the gun through and angle it toward the
DHL van.

He took off his pack and dropped it onto the nearest
desk. There was an unopened can of Dandelion and Burdock on the desk, in
between a pair of portable speakers. He picked up the can, cracked it open,
took a couple of sips and smiled. The taste of childhood. He walked back over
to the window. There was no sign of Ellen. The others carried on milling about.
They didn't really look as if they were killing time at all. Their movements
were stiff and anxious. They knew that if they tried to make a break for it the
bullets would start flying and there was no real cover and they would probably
die. He hoped Ellen could cut through their fear. He thought of how the Book
Club had treated her in the office on Hanover Street and he realised that, to a
man, they had respected and loved her.

They'd listen. He was certain of it. They had to.

He finished his drink, dropped the can into a wire
mesh wastepaper basket and got into position. He trained the rifle on the front
of the vehicle, glad that it wasn’t his trigger finger that was bandaged up.
That's where Pepper's militiamen would come from once they saw Ellen; that was
the most direct angle of attack between the van and the others. With the gun
pointing at the van, he turned his attention to the bench and Dave, Joe, Simon
and Kavi. He knew they'd react as soon as they saw Ellen. They'd probably try
to warn her. When they did, he'd get ready to start shooting.

And then Dave moved a couple of feet from the others,
toward the Liver Building, his hands held palms out at waist height, making a
pushing gesture. Jay couldn't see Ellen yet but he knew she had arrived. He
turned his attention to the van, looking down the barrel of the gun, training
the sight on the far corner of the bonnet. He wouldn't be able to watch Ellen
or the others now; he had to focus all his attention on keeping the militia
pinned down.

Pepper stepped out first, pistol in hand. Through the
open window, Jay heard him shout something but couldn't make out what exactly.
Two more militia appeared behind Pepper, assault rifles at the ready.

Jay pulled the trigger.

A white flower bloomed from the centre of the bonnet,
a good foot and a half from where Jay had actually been aiming. As the flower
disintegrated, Pepper and his men froze, not entirely sure what had just
happened.

Jay pulled the trigger again.

A second flower, this one closer to the edge of the
bonnet, bloomed and shattered in the same instant, showering Pepper with snow.
This time, the sergeant and his men seemed to understand precisely what was
happening and darted back behind the van.

Jay took a quick glance over at the bench. There was
no sign of Ellen and the Book Club. He wondered where they'd gone, why they
weren't running toward Princes Parade, then realised that would put them in
Pepper's line of fire. They must have gone back onto Bath Street; that would
take them parallel to the Parade and they could just drop in when they were
nearer the Alexandra Tower.

He returned his attention to the van again. One of
Pepper's men was peering from the back of the vehicle, just the side of his
face visible. Jay aimed at the ground close to the rear passenger side tyre and
pulled the trigger. The bullet kicked up snow about two feet from its intended
target but it was enough to send the militiaman back into hiding.

Half a minute passed with no activity and Jay knew
that they were conferring, putting a plan together. Then, two militiamen
stepped out, one from either end of the van and fired randomly up at the Liver
Building. Without thinking, or even aiming, Jay fired back, the bullet striking
the side of the van close to the rear. The militiamen scuttled back behind the
van. They knew where he was now; they'd seen the muzzle-flare.

Only a couple of seconds delay this time and the
militiaman at the front of the van appeared once more. Jay took aim near the
militiaman's feet but before he could even think to pull the trigger he stepped
back behind the van. As he was stepping from view, his counterpart at the back
of the van leapt out and immediately began firing. Bullets struck the heavy
blocks of the Liver Building creating a series of brittle squeals and then the
next window along from where Jay was standing shattered.

Jay was about to return fire when the militiaman moved
back behind the van. At the same time his front-of-van comrade stepped back
into view and began firing. More brittle squeals filled the air. A third
militiaman appeared from the front of the van and ran toward the Liver
Building. Jay, too panicked to take aim, fired three shots in the general
direction of the van, kicking up plumes of snow from the roof that did nothing
to deter the returning fire. Another militiaman broke from the cover of the van
and made a dash for the Liver Building, then Pepper did likewise. Jay was
training his sights on the ground at Pepper's feet when a bullet shattered his
window and he was showered with broken glass. He staggered back, tripped on the
wastepaper bin, into which he'd dropped the dandelion and burdock can, and fell
onto his backside.

For a few seconds, he wasn't sure if he'd been shot.
He scanned his body, arms and legs, looking for bullet wounds. Everything
seemed intact. He stood up, shards of glass falling from his shoulders and
head, chiming on the pale blue carpet tiles.