Piggies (5 page)

He ate what he could of the apple, and part of another, and then he stuffed more under-ripe apples into his pockets.

Near to the top of the embankment he listened. Hearing no trains, he crossed the track and scrambled down the far side into the shade of the woods again.

~

The woods were different, here, to how he remembered them. He began to realise that they must extend much farther to the north and west in this strange world. No wonder the so-called ‘ferals’ could hide themselves out here.

He walked, stopping often to listen, but all he ever heard were the sounds of the woods, and the distant roar of the occasional train.

It was a long day, and despite the apples in his pocket and the occasional clean-looking puddle of water, his hunger and thirst grew.

It was stupid to think that he could find the ferals like this. Even if they really existed they would be well hidden. He might as well just call out at the top of his voice, asking them to come and get him.

But what alternative did he have?

He walked on, listening and looking for any signs that might indicate the presence of the ferals.

He stopped, late in the afternoon, tired and dispirited. He was thirsty again, and his stomach burnt with the sharp pains of indigestion, brought on by unripe apples or bad water or probably a combination of both. He did not know what to do, or where to go.

He realised that he had a stark choice: stay here in the woods and possibly starve to death or return to Kirby to whatever fate Doctor Macreedie and his kind might have in store for him.

He did not know which was the better option.

6 The Wild Ones

It proved to be another uncomfortable night.

He found a tree with roots that spread wide at the base of its trunk, forming a hollow. At first it was comfortable to sit on a layer of the previous year’s fallen leaves with his back against the trunk. Soon the hardness of the ground and the tree made themselves felt, as they had the night before, and Ben had to keep shifting, trying to find a position that was just a little less uncomfortable than the others.

As darkness crept furtively through the woods, Ben started to drift off to sleep, waking occasionally with an abrupt judder of his body and a racing of his heart.

At first, when he heard the voices, he was convinced it was still a dream.

His exhaustion had finally triumphed and he’d been dozing. And dreaming. In his dream he had been laid out on a hard stone bench in an operating theatre. Harsh lights shone down on him and his arms and legs were strapped tightly to the bench.

He could hear people talking, but could see no-one.

And then a face loomed, close to his own: Doctor Macreedie, his mouth and nose hidden behind a surgical mask, his operating gown stained red like a butcher’s apron.

“It’s okay,” he said, in the dream. “I’m a doctor. We just need to take a sample for a few tests.”

At that point in the dream, Ben was able to shift his head and look down at his own naked body. Coils of plastic tubing, red with his own blood, were attached all over his body with strips of surgical tape, and even then Doctor Macreedie drove another needle into Ben’s belly, attaching another tube: transparent at first and then coloured a sharp crimson from within.

“It’s okay,” Doctor Macreedie kept saying. “It’s okay.”

And all around, others mumbled and chanted, their words impossible to make out. Words bouncing around inside Ben’s head.

He opened his eyes. He could see the dark branches above him, silhouetted against the starlit sky.

He could still hear the voices, the words.

No! It wasn’t the dream: it was people talking, somewhere nearby in the woods.

Suddenly, Ben was scared. What if the voices belonged to vampires, looking for victims? Maybe they were searching for
him
– alerted by Doctor Macreedie and Sergeant Adams that there was a feral on the loose.

But the voices could belong to ferals. This was a chance he couldn’t allow himself to miss.

He climbed quietly to his feet.

Silence, then a gentle laugh, more low voices.

There were two of them, Ben guessed. They might be following one of the many tracks that criss-crossed the woods, but they could easily be following another, secret, route.

Ben stared in the direction of the voices.

Should he confront them, or should he try to follow them?

He would have to get closer, whatever he decided to do. Perhaps if he was closer he would be able to make out what they were saying. Then it might be easier to decide.

He crept through the woods, treading as carefully as he could in the darkness. It was hard to move fast and stay quiet at the same time.

They were moving more quickly than Ben. Getting ahead of him.

He kept going, not daring to move any faster in case they heard him.

And then he realised that they hadn’t spoken for some time.

He stopped.

He couldn’t hear any sounds of them walking through the woods. No voices. Not even in the distance. Had they moved so quickly that they had left him far behind?

A sudden sound of footsteps nearby.

A voice: “Following us, eh?”

Someone grabbed a handful of Ben’s hair and pulled his head back so that his face was tipped up, his throat exposed. He started to cry out, but a gloved hand smothered his mouth, trapping the sound.

He felt a hard line against his throat. The blade of a knife.

The voice again, closer now: “One false move and I slice you. Okay? Maybe I’ll slice you in any case. Give your kind something to feed on.” He chuckled.

For a few seconds rough hands searched him, patting down his body, going through his pockets.

All Ben could see were the trees and the stars and part of the gloved hand clamped over his face.

“Come on, Robby,” said the man who was holding Ben. “You kill it and the place’ll be swarming with them.”

“Not if we dump it some place else. You mind it doesn’t bite your hand.”

Instantly, the grip on Ben’s face eased a little. “I–” he gasped, but he couldn’t say anything more.

There was a pause, then the man called Robby who appeared to be the leader spoke again. “You should know not to come stalking us out here.”

“I–” Ben tried to speak again. The grip on his face eased, and suddenly he could speak. “I’m not one of them,” he gasped. “I’m not a vampire.”

“A
what
? What are you talking about?”

Still, with his head pulled back by a fistful of hair, all Ben could see were the stars and trees.

He tried to think. In a world where blood-sucking was normal maybe they didn’t need a special label: the townfolk weren’t “vampires”, they were just
people
.

“I don’t suck blood,” Ben croaked, struggling to speak with his head pulled back. “I’m a feral. You’ve got to believe me!”

The gloved hand changed its grip and pulled Ben’s mouth open wide.

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” said the man who was holding Ben.

“I don’t know,” said Robby. “It could be a trick. Just because he doesn’t have the teeth for it, it doesn’t mean he’s not a beast. He talks like them and he uses their word for us: he calls us ‘ferals’.”

“I called you that because I’ve just escaped from them and that’s the word they used.”

“So what are you doing out here in the middle of the night, then?”

“I don’t belong here. This isn’t my world. I don’t know why I’m here, but where I come from there’s no such thing as...” He stopped and then started again, trying to explain. “I came to the woods because they said that what they called ‘ferals’ had been sighted here and I thought it was my only chance.”

The grip on Ben’s hair eased and he was allowed to straighten.

There was a short man standing in front of him: Robby. He had long blond hair and he was wearing a dark coat and what looked like jeans. There were bulging bags nearby. The man saw Ben looking at them. “Been foraging in town,” he explained. Then he added, “That’s a fancy story you tell. But what makes you think you can just walk in here like this? Do you think we’re stupid? Listen, kid. My big friend here is going to let you go and we’re going to point you in the right direction. You keep walking until you get to Kirby and you forget you ever came here, right?”

“But–”

“I should have sliced you right away,” said Robby. “A lot easier all round.”

The second man released Ben and moved round to gather up the bags. He was tall and heavily built and he didn’t want to meet Ben’s look.

“They had me trapped in a room,” said Ben. “A doctor and a policeman. They wanted to keep me so they could drink my blood. If I go back...”

The short man pointed back through the woods. “That way,” he said. “Seven miles to town.”

“They’ll kill him,” said the tall man. “And they won’t do it quickly,” he added.

“I should have knifed him straight away,” said Robby softly. “Come on, then. But you walk in front of me, kid. I want to watch your every move.”

7 The People of the Woods

They walked until the sky was greying over with the first light of dawn.

The taller of the two scavengers, Zeb, led the way, setting a fast pace – deliberately, Ben suspected.

Ben fell several times, stumbling over roots and unexpected bumps in the ground. Each time he fell, Robby poked him with a booted foot, and told him to get up and walk.

After a time, the frequent twists and turns had made Ben lose all sense of direction and it was as much as he could do simply to keep up with the ferals. He guessed that they must be taking him on a roundabout and difficult route to their camp: a route so devious that he would lose his bearings and would never be able to remember it.

And then they were suddenly there: the encampment was all around them.

The narrow track they had been following had reached a dense barrier of holly. Ben thought the path just stopped, but ahead of him Zeb slipped through a parting in the dark green wall.

Ben followed him through the gap.

They emerged in a clearing. The open sky and the early morning light made it a little less gloomy than it had been in the woods, but still it took several seconds for Ben’s eyes to adjust.

At first it looked pretty much like any other of the many clearings in Weeley Woods. Young trees forced their way up through tangled heaps of brambles and honeysuckle. There was running water: a stream, out of sight in the undergrowth.

Then he began to make out the regular shapes of buildings. There were shelters scattered throughout the clearing. The brambles and honeysuckle had been trained to grow over them, disguising them from onlookers.

Ben could hear hens somewhere, but he couldn’t see where.

Robby pushed him in the back. “Get moving, kid.”

At the centre of the clearing there was a grassy area that was free of brambles and shelters. Zeb and Ben waited there while Robby went to one of the nearby shelters.

Ben watched as the short blond man leaned into the doorway and spoke to whoever was inside. Seconds later, he backed away and a taller man emerged.

The man had shoulder-length black hair and a full beard that was flecked with grey. He was wearing loose brown trousers and a kind of cape wrapped around his shoulders. He walked across the clearing, staring at Ben.

Without comment, he reached round to the back of Ben’s head and grabbed a handful of hair. Tipping Ben’s head back, the man stared into his open mouth.

“Where are you from?” he asked in a deep voice. “What are you doing here?”

The man released Ben’s head. Ben straightened. He swallowed, his throat dry. “I... I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know what happened, but I don’t belong here. I escaped from Kirby. They had me locked up.”

The man grunted. His dark brown eyes never left Ben’s face. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

Other people were emerging from the shelters now. They must have heard the voices and realised that something unusual was happening.

“The doctor in Kirby said there had been some sightings of ... of normal people ... here in the woods. I didn’t know where else to go.”

The man turned on Robby and Zeb, suddenly. “Why did you bring him here?” he barked.

Robby raised his hands defensively. “We caught him following us,” he said. “Didn’t know what trouble he might cause us, roaming about in the woods like that.”

“What else could we do, Alik?” asked Zeb softly. “Send him back to the beasts?”

Ben looked across at Zeb, grateful that at least one of these people was prepared to give him a chance.

“Quite right, Zeb,” said another voice. Everyone turned to see who had spoken. A stocky, grey-haired man stood in a gap in the undergrowth. He looked very ordinary, but there was a confidence in his words that made everybody pay attention.

“What would you have done, Alik? Send the boy back to provide wild blood for the beasts?”

Alik shook his head, slowly. “I wouldn’t have put myself in that position,” he said. He turned to Robby and Zeb again. “You’re getting sloppy,” he told them. “Bringing trouble into the community like this. Any mistake you make out there could be all it takes to lead the beasts right here. You’d better tighten up, you hear?”

~

The community hall was an impressive construction. It was built from corrugated steel, bent over to form a semi-circular tunnel that must have been five metres high and twenty or thirty metres long. The whole thing was so well disguised with ivy and brambles that even close up Ben hadn’t realised how large the building was.

“This place used to be a farm,” said the older man. His name was Walter and he turned out to be Zeb’s father. It was clear that he was some kind of leader in this community. “The place was abandoned years ago. It seems appropriate to have taken it over and turned it to good use.”

Inside, the hall was gloomy and the air smelt of human bodies. There were maybe thirty people in there, and everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at Ben.

Walter waved a hand towards the far end of the hall. “It goes right back under the trees,” he explained. “We pipe water in from the brook and in the winter the families tend to move in here to share the warmth. The building has smoke traps in the chimneys, you see, so the beasts can’t see the smoke from our fires.” Ben could smell cooking from the far end of the building and suddenly he felt sick with hunger.

In a louder voice, Walter said to all the onlookers, “This is Ben. He’s my guest.” He turned to Ben, again. “I expect you’ll be hungry?”

Soon, they were out in a small clearing in the early morning sun. Ben was tucking in to a bowl of some kind of corn porridge, made from grain harvested at night from local fields. He’d already eaten two boiled eggs.

Walter watched Ben eat for a short time, then he said, “Okay, Ben. We’ve given you food and protection. Now it’s your turn to pay us.”

Ben stopped eating, chilled by the man’s words. He remembered breakfast with Doctor Macreedie, and the eager, hungry look on the man’s face.

But Walter was smiling. “You must repay us with your story,” he said. “A stranger, lost in the woods: you must have quite a tale to tell.”

They listened as he recounted what had happened. Even Alik and Robby came to sit with them and listen.

When he told them about the doctor, he saw the looks of shock on the listeners’ faces. “He wanted to keep me locked up in his house,” Ben said. “He wanted to keep me for his family. He didn’t really seem to see me as a person at all: I was some kind of animal.”

“You were different,” said Alik, smirking. “Exotic. I bet he couldn’t believe his luck! He’ll be cursing you now.”

“Family is important to the beasts,” said Walter. “The doctor would have shared you with his ‘blood kin’, as they call them. You were lucky to escape when you did. Once they’ve started...”

“The place where you come from,” said a young woman with red hair and a scarred face. “What’s it like, again?”

“It’s ...
safe
,” said Ben. “You don’t have to hide out in woods. People live in towns and cities and there’s no such thing as ... as what you call the ‘beasts’. Except in stories about beasts we call ‘vampires’. Only, the vampires in stories are different. They only come out at night, and they’re frightened of crosses and garlic...”

“All just stories,” said Alik, dismissively. “If only the beasts were so easy to frighten!”

“It’s like stepping into a mirror and out of the other side,” said Ben. “Things are so familiar here, but some things have been turned inside out. I’ve lived in a town called Kirby for the last six years, but not
this
Kirby.”

When he looked up, he saw a vaguely disappointed look on Walter’s face, as if he didn’t believe Ben’s story.

“It’s true,” said Ben. He had hoped these woodland people would be able to help him understand. He had hoped they might even know how to get him back to his own world.

But they didn’t believe him.

For the first time he started to accept that there may be no way back.

Walter was nodding. “You clearly believe that it’s true,” he said. “Let’s leave it at that.”

“It’s like the children’s stories,” said the red-haired woman. “Stories of worlds where things are different.”

“Only stories,” said Alik harshly, his tone ending all discussion.