The Hunted (10 page)

‘No, Mum, no, it’s me, it’s Ella …!’

But her mother wasn’t listening. She was chasing Ella, fingernails like claws, trying to scratch her eyes out.

‘Mum, no, please …!’

Ella woke with a start to the smell of smoke and blood. Feeling stiff. Sitting scrunched up, her head against a wall. For a moment not sure where she was, trying to throw off the last of the dream, still jittery, trying to convince herself it hadn’t happened. But what
had
happened? Where was she?

And then it came back to her in a sudden, painful rush that jolted her fully awake.

The toilet. The barn. The battle.

She leant forward and peered out through the hole in the door.

It was morning. The sun was up. Just. There was a haze of smoke drifting in the air. Otherwise the barn was still. The concrete floor was covered in bodies, like a thick, dark carpet. Whether there were any children’s bodies among them Ella couldn’t tell.

She listened hard. It was quiet. The sound of the grown-ups, that breaking wave, that humming, hissing, swarming noise, had gone. The army must have moved on.

Did that mean …?

Was she alone?

She waited and waited, too scared to open the door. She didn’t know what she’d find. She couldn’t bear the thought of being the only one still alive. She’d rather have died.

And then she saw a movement. Something was rising from the pile of corpses, a body. She held her breath. It seemed to uncurl, like the speeded-up film of a plant growing, pushing up like a shoot from this mound of dead flesh. Whoever it was was covered in blood, black and sticky with it. It was twisted and misshapen, broken, but somehow still moving around.

It was Scarface.

Ella let out her breath and was just about to shout out to him when she saw another movement. Two people were coming down the ladder from the roof.

They got to the bottom and came slowly across the barn towards Scarface, said something to him. Ella couldn’t hear through the door. He shook his head slowly. Ella could see that he held his two knives in his hands. They were dark red. Louisa said something else and Scarface shook his head again. And then Ella gasped as Louisa hit him round the back of the head with her club. He fell face first to the ground. Sonya and Louisa went to his body and started searching it. Then Sonya gave a shout of triumph, straightened up. She was holding Scarface’s big bunch of keys.

They hurried over to the main doors and went out into the early morning sunlight.

Ella carefully lifted the lock of the door and slowly eased it open. She stuck her head out and checked that it
was OK. Worried that she’d see the girls. Worried that she’d see grown-ups. Living ones. There were more dead ones in here than she could have imagined. They were lying on top of each other everywhere she looked. In some places three deep. She was glad of the smoke, because it did something to hide the worst smells. Of bodies ripped open.

She went over to Scarface. He was lying where he’d fallen, on top of a pile of grown-ups. She felt him, shook him, put her ear to his mouth, listening for any breathing. Then she put her hand to his chest and she felt the tiniest flutter of a heartbeat, and worried that she was only feeling her own pulse. No. His chest was moving. He was just about alive. The back of his head was badly cut and his own blood was mixing with the blood he’d been splashed with.

Ella ran over to the cabinet where he kept his medicine supplies, tugged the door open, nearly pulling the cabinet off the wall. She found a roll of bandage, unrolled it and cut off a long strip. She tied it loosely round his head, hoping to stop the bleeding. Didn’t know what else to do.

Then she remembered Sonya and Louisa. They’d taken his keys. What were they doing? She went over to the door and peeped out, scared that they would see her and come back to hit her over the head as well.

There was a scorched black patch all round the edge of the barn and the smell of petrol hung in the air, mixed with a barbecue smell of roasted meat. There were more dead bodies out there, close to the building, most of them burned. There was another pile over by the fallen gate, but otherwise the farm looked deserted.

So where were the girls?

The chicken shed.
Obviously
.

That’s where they’d been sniffing around earlier. Trying to get in.

It had to be that.

Ella was just about to go after them when she saw a group of grown-ups come round the side of the farmhouse. So they hadn’t all left. She pulled the barn doors together, leaving a small crack to peep out through. Her whole body was trembling. She was cold and tired and hungry and terrified.

And alone.

A big mother broke away from the group and limped towards the barn. She had bare arms, huge breasts and a fat neck, fatter than her head. As she got close, she belched and a stream of thin brown liquid washed down her chin and spattered on to the ground. When she reached the doors, she began to snuffle at them.

Ella shrank back from her, and as she did so she became aware of a howling and a whining and a snarling. Something moved fast across the yard and knocked into the mother. It was the dogs. Scarface’s dogs had come back. There were no traps to stop them any more. They tore into the grown-ups, pulling them down and mauling them. Their growls and yelps sounded unreal, something from a horror film about aliens. Three fathers were trying to get away, dogs snapping at their legs, hanging on with bared teeth.

Ella closed the barn doors fully and slid the main bolt across. She listened to the sounds of the attack, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the doors. Glad she wasn’t out there. Her throat was painful and dry. She tried to swallow. She needed water.

And then she heard a noise behind her.

There was somebody moving about inside the barn. For a tiny moment she hoped it might be Scarface, that he wasn’t as badly wounded as she’d feared. But she knew in her heart it wasn’t him.

She opened her eyes and turned round.

It was a father. He had his back to Ella and was reversing towards her, dragging something across the floor. His back was wide and the remains of his shirt were stretched tight across it. Where his lumpy skin showed through the gaps it was black with dirt and grease.

Ella realized that the thing he was dragging was Scarface. The father had him by the ankles. Ella didn’t know what to do. Even though she had her club, she couldn’t fight this man. He was huge – to Ella he seemed to be a giant – and she was feeble. A little girl, Daniel had called her.
A useless little girl
. And he was right. Ella couldn’t hit hard enough to hurt a fly.

There were flies in here. They swarmed round the father and over the dead bodies. Their buzzing set her on edge.

She looked down at her club. It was shaking so much in her sweaty hands it looked like it was attached to a motor. She put a finger to one of the bits of metal that were stuck in it. It was sharp. If she hit the father in a soft place she might hurt him. She couldn’t kill him with it, but she might slow him down, maybe make him let go of Scarface, give him a chance to escape.

It was that or watch him drag Scarface off somewhere to be eaten in private and then wait for him to come back and start on her. Where could she hit him, though, that would do enough damage?

The father was getting closer and closer. She could hear him grunting with the effort. His long legs stiff and awkward as he shuffled backwards, kicking arms and legs out of his way with his heels. And then Ella had an idea and, before she could talk herself out of it, she ran at the father and swung the club with all her strength at the backs of his knees. Ella let go of it and it stuck there, the spikes digging into him.

He gave a girlish cry and crumpled to the floor, letting go of Scarface. Ella was breathing so hard it hurt her chest. She was crying. But she’d done it. The father was down …

He rolled on to his front, leaving the club behind, pushed himself up on to his hands like someone doing exercises and stared at Ella. He didn’t look angry or in pain, he just looked as if there was something he needed to do and nothing was going to stop him. He began to move, pulling himself along on his arms, eyes fixed on Ella. She went over to the door and started to open it when she saw the huge head of a dog sticking its nose in the crack and snuffling like the mother had done earlier. She slammed the door shut as it started to bark.

Still the father was coming, hauling himself through the blood and the slime on the concrete floor, his face a mess of boils and sores. Much nearer now. Ella backed away from him. He was making a sort of brushing sound as the air came out through his blocked nose. His eyes all the while staring at Ella with that clear, serious look.

Unable to see what was behind her, Ella tripped and stumbled, went dancing back and crashed into an iron support pillar. She slid down on to her bottom, too surprised to feel any pain. And still the father came on,
one hand forward, then the other, dragging himself over the dead bodies.

Ella looked around for something to defend herself with and saw Daniel’s head sitting on the floor. It was as if he was looking at her. His lips had shrunk back from his teeth so that he was smiling, laughing even. Laughing at the useless little girl who thought she could hurt a grown-up.

Ella closed her eyes. She’d finally had enough. There was nothing left in her. She gave a little laugh. There wasn’t even any fear left in her. It had all been used up. Let him come. Let him do what he was going to do and then it would all be over. Maybe she’d see Sam in heaven. That would be nice.

The bang was so loud it left Ella’s ears ringing. She wondered if the father had hit her. But she didn’t feel anything. And there had been a flash behind her eyelids. She forced them open, forced herself to look. The father was lying on his side, blood leaking out of him.

He’d been shot.

‘Scarface?’ she said, looking around.

‘No,’ said a voice, very close, almost at her side, and she saw Harry sitting propped up against the wall of the barn, holding Scarface’s shotgun. Ella crawled over to him, too weak to stand.

‘Harry?’

‘He gave me the gun.’ Harry’s face was white, spotted with blood.

‘Your friend,’ he went on. ‘There were only two shells left. I was saving the last one. It’s done now.’

‘Oh, Harry,’ said Ella. She couldn’t think what else to say.

Harry nodded over to where Scarface was lying.

‘He tried to save me,’ he said. ‘He’s all right, you know.’

‘No, he’s hurt.’

‘
He’s hurt
… Idiot. I mean he’s an all-right guy. All night he stood over me. Fighting them off. I couldn’t move. Some of the bastards got to me. The girls ran away. Went up the ladder. I don’t blame them. There was just too many of the bastards. And some of them, they could climb. Yeah. Couldn’t believe that. Never seen it before. They tried to get up the ladder. Your friend, he pulled them down.’

Harry grunted in pain and his eyelids flickered. Ella tried to focus on the boy, not what had happened to him. She stared into his eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the rest of him. She had caught a glimpse, though, just enough to see that his legs were missing.

‘Are
you
all right, Harry?’ she asked and immediately felt stupid. Of course he wasn’t all right.

‘
Are you all right, Harry?
’ he replied in his slightly sneery way. He couldn’t help himself.

‘You’re bleeding a lot.’

‘
You’re bleeding a lot
.’ His voice was feeble.

‘I hope you don’t die, but I don’t know what to do.’

‘
I don’t know what to do …
’ Harry paused, looked like he was going to cry. ‘Just hold my hand,’ he said.

Ella held his hand. It felt cold and was trembling. After a while it stopped trembling and Harry smiled.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you weren’t hurt.’

‘That was a good shot, Harry. You fixed that bloody father all right.’

‘
Fixed that bloody father
… Didn’t I just? BOOM!’ Harry laughed.

‘I think that was the last one,’ said Ella. ‘The grown-ups have all gone.’

‘
The grown-ups have all gone
,’ said Harry. This time not in a sneery way, but in a happy way, like it was a good thing. Which it was.

‘They’re someone else’s problem now,’ he added, and then he closed his eyes and didn’t say anything else, and his hand went stiff and Ella knew he was dead without having to check.

Harry was all right in the end.

She made her way across the barn. Not looking. Not looking. Too many bodies. Wanting to be sick. Wondering how she was even still moving. She found Scarface sprawled on his back, arms flung wide. His bandage had come off and there was a thin trail of blood where the father had dragged him. She pressed her ear to his chest like she’d done before. And, like before, she heard a faint beating. She put her hands on either side of his damp head and shook him. His face looked worse than ever. Like an old toy the dogs had left behind. Mangled and chewed out of shape. He was a thing. But he was an
alive
thing.

And he was all Ella had.

‘Come on,’ she said, shaking him harder. ‘You’re not dead. You can’t just lie there. You’re too big for me to move. We have to get away from here. I need you to look after me. You’re only an ugly old grown-up, an ugly old thing, but you looked after me before and you have to do it again. I’ll look after you, I’ll help make you well, we’ll look after each other – how about that? You need to wake up, though, you need to listen to me: I won’t let you die. I can’t have anyone else die, even if you are just a freak, a sicko, one of them, even if you can’t talk and you’re no
use as a friend. You’re just an ugly old hunter, a munter, a face-ache, but you’re
my
hunter. You’re
my
Face-Ache.’

A tear rolled down her face and fell on to Scarface, and she sniffed and wiped her nose. She hit his chest with her fists.

‘I don’t even know if you can hear me, but if you
can
hear me you can understand me, and if you could talk I don’t know what you’d say. I don’t know you, I don’t know who you are, so what would you say to me? You’d probably tell me to shut up and not be such a little girl. Well, I don’t mind what you think. I wouldn’t mind whatever you said as long as you’d just wake up and help me. Wake up, Face-Ache! Wake up!’