The Fallen (27 page)

‘First dogs, now cats,’ said Kamahl. ‘What next? Mutant killer mice?’

No one laughed.

‘What are they after?’ Jake asked.

‘Who cares?’ Mick replied. ‘Let’s get rid of them.’

‘What for?’

‘For fun.’

‘Fun?’

‘I don’t like them.’

‘If we don’t have to go outside let’s not go, yeah?’ said
Brandon. ‘We’re supposed to keep watch and wait here for the others to get back.’

Brandon was a bit nervous, careful, but you could always rely on him in a fight. Jake had a habit of being a bit crazy and rushing into things. Brandon and Kamahl used their brains a bit more.

‘We’ll check outside,’ said Mick. ‘See if any more grown-ups have got through the fence.’

‘Mick – if we don’t have to …’

‘We
do
have to, Brandon. We have to guard the rear, and that means we might have to walk the perimeter.’

‘Mick … They’re cats.’

But Mick wasn’t listening. They could stay here if they wanted. He couldn’t stand it any longer, being cooped up in here, like the waiting room for something horrible. He had to
do
something. Get out there. Kill a cat if that was what it took. And while he was out there it wouldn’t do any harm to check what was going on. If there was an army of grown-ups waiting for them, Blue would want to be warned. Jake, Kamahl and Brandon might look up to Mick, but Mick looked up to Blue. Blue had got them through everything. He was a good leader. He was Mick’s best friend.

Mick grabbed a spear and tugged the doors open, scattering the cats that were clawing at it. They squealed and screeched, regrouped and foamed about his ankles like a living carpet. He swiped at them and they parted, dodging out of the way, and then joining up into a solid mass again.

He cursed and started to chase them. Threw his spear at a big, one-eyed, mangy freak and missed by a mile. Went to pick his spear up. He turned back. Jake, Brandon and Kamahl were staring at him through the windows. Laughing and
shouting. Though he couldn’t hear anything. That made him even angrier. He was determined to catch the big cat now. He ran after it, trying to separate it from the others. Swiping with his spear, kicking, yelling a string of harsh swear words.

Every time he looked back his three friends were still laughing and enjoying the show.

He chased the pack of cats along the building to where the floor-to-ceiling glass wall curved round the corner, Brandon, Kamahl and Jake following him all the way.

Mick yelped and hopped as a hot, sharp pain stabbed into his Achilles tendon. He looked down – one of the cats had bitten him. Others were scratching at his trouser legs.

Bastards. He swung his spear. Connected with a cat and sent it flying, only for it to land on its feet and come back at him. And there was One-Eye, hissing at him, jaws wide.

He chucked the spear, saw it embed itself in the ground, went into a crouch, arms flailing, hands grasping. The cats were mewling and screaming at him, like little children.

He had One-Eye cornered.

‘Here, pussy, pussy … Bastard pussy …’

Threw out his hands. Lunged …

Got it! He had One-Eye by the loose skin on the back of its neck. He held it up like a trophy as it wriggled in his grasp, paws scrabbling at the air, legs kicking. He showed it to his three spectators, a look of triumph on his face. They were still laughing, but cheering now as well, clapping.

And then One-Eye wrenched its head round and bit deep into his hand. Mick roared, hurling the cat to one side where it landed harmlessly. He swore, shaking his hand.
Why had he been so stupid? All he’d done was get himself cut again. Now he’d be full of cat germs, bastard cat bacteria. He couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t let it live now. He ran after it. Tripped and fell.

Didn’t want to see what the other boys’ reaction would be to that. Could imagine it, though. This was turning into a comedy. Something off YouTube. Epic fails. He looked over to them. Ready to jeer.

They weren’t laughing any more, though. They looked scared, eyes wide, mouths shouting something at him.

What?

Jake was waving his arms frantically. Trying to get Mick’s attention.

What?

45

‘It’s from the bible.’ A kid stepped forward and knelt down by the door. One of Ollie’s missile crew, an African guy called Ebenezer, or some mad name like that.

‘Thought it might be,’ said Blue. ‘So what’s it mean?’

‘It’s from the Book of Revelations,’ said Ebenezer. ‘Nobody really knows what any of it means.’

‘
If anyone has insight let him calculate the number of the beast,
’ Ollie repeated. ‘Is it asking for a number to put in the lock?’

‘The number of the beast?’ said Achilleus. ‘Everyone knows the number of the beast, man.’ And he stuck his hand up in a heavy metal horn sign.

‘Six-six-six.’ He stuck his tongue out and went, ‘Blaaaaah!’

A couple of the kids tittered, and Paddy joined Achilleus, putting both hands up in a stiff-armed rock gesture.

‘We who are about to rock salute you!’ he said in a bad American accent.

‘So what do we do then?’ said Blue, ignoring him. ‘There are five numbers on the lock.’

‘Let’s try all sixes,’ said Ollie. ‘It’s the best guess we’ve got.’

‘Wait.’ Blue held him back.

‘What for?’

What for? If only he knew. It was like playing a new video game for the first time. You never knew what to expect when you opened a door. Usually died the first time you tried it.

Couldn’t stop playing now, though.

‘Nothing. You’re right. Go for it …’

46

Was it the smell that made him turn? The rank stink of rotting grown-ups? Or was it the sudden surge of fleeing cats, belting past him, over him, round him, and disappearing?

They’d come up on him from the gap between the office block and the warehouse building. Almost as many of them as there were cats. Moving quickly for grown-ups, despite being out in the sun. Older ones, knotted and hairless, deformed by swollen flesh, like they’d been pumped full of jelly. One mother had a head so eaten away there was virtually nothing left of it. Mick wondered how she was still walking around. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle. Desperate to get to his spear. Even as he went for it, though, he was thinking that maybe he should’ve just run.

Too late for that now.

He got to the spear and pulled it out of the ground. Looked back along the front of the building towards the doors. There were more of them there, coming from the other direction. If he wasn’t fast they’d cut off his route back to safety.

Then he saw Jake come charging out of the doors like the idiot he was.

‘No!’ Mick shouted. ‘Stay back. I’m all right!’

Brandon and Kamahl had waited inside, waving and pointing through the windows. Smart. That’s what he’d have done. No need to risk getting hurt when all he had to do was get to the doors …

He was still taking all this in when the world gave a sort of jolt and he went staggering sideways, head spinning. He struggled to make sense of what had happened and then realized something had hit him in the temple.

One of the grown-ups was carrying a half-brick. Mick put a hand to his throbbing scalp. More blood.

Jesus.

‘Mick!’ Jake was haring towards him.

Distracted by Jake and still dizzy from the first blow, Mick lost sight of the father with the brick, who hit him again. Mick staggered drunkenly, swinging the spear, and then Jake was there, pulling his arm.

‘Come on, Mick, get away from them.’

‘Bloody cats,’ said Mick, confused and disoriented.

‘Come on.’

Mick groaned as the pain pulsed in his head, shaking him back to reality. ‘You shouldn’t have come out,’ he said. ‘I can handle this.’

‘We have to get back inside!’

‘I’ll show them.’

Mick took a deep breath, getting it all back together, head clearing, drove his spear right through the chest bone of the father with the brick, twisted and yanked it free. Laughed. Stooped down to pick up the brick.

‘You want some?’ he shouted and the bulk of the grown-ups were on him. ‘You want to see what I can do with this?’

A mother came at him; he could only tell it was a mother
from the remains of the clothes she was wearing. Her face wasn’t a face any more, it was just one huge swollen boil, a featureless blister. He smashed the brick into the part where her nose should have been, cursed as he was sprayed with hot liquid. Saw that there was nothing left of her face; it had burst, exposing the skeletal bones beneath it. Somehow the mother kept upright, though, and her eyes were still intact, staring at him.

‘Go down,’ he screamed and hit her in the mouth with the brick, shattering her teeth. Kept going. Threw the brick at a father. Stuck another in the thigh with his spear.

‘There’s too many to fight.’ Jake was struggling in a clump of adults, working hard with his own spear.

‘Not for me, Jake. This is payback time.’ Like he was in some dumb action movie.

Mick went hard into the mob of grown-ups around Jake, keeping two hands on the shaft of his spear, wide apart, stabbing, butting with the blunt end, smashing the shaft into their stupid, bloated faces.

This was what he was good at.

Someone was by his side, fighting alongside him. He turned to smile, assuming it was Jake. It wasn’t. It was a short father with a bright red face.

‘Get lost,’ Mick snorted and shoved him aside. There was Jake, over by the wall of the warehouse, fighting off the pack of grown-ups, and now Mick saw that they all seemed to be carrying weapons of some sort, stones and sticks, bits of rusted metal.

‘Watch out!’

His fault if Jake got hurt. Had to help him. Shouldn’t be here. What was he doing? Shouldn’t have started this fight.

Jake went down with a small cry of pain, the grown-ups
on him, slashing and gouging. Mick kicked into them, pushing with his spear, careful not to stab Jake, who was in this mass of bodies somewhere.

No. Gone.

Where was he?

Jake?

Mick looked around, trying to find some sign of where his friend was. Gasped as something hit him in the neck. Felt a warm flow of blood down under his shirt.

Who did that?

A big father with one eye … Like the cat … Sharp teeth … Bits of jagged glass in each hand. Blood pouring down his forearms. Cutting himself as badly as he’d cut Mick.

Not allowed to stand. Not this one. A spear thrust to the belly. Out and back again and, as the father bent forward, a third jab into the back of the neck. Go down. Die.

So much blood.

Where was Jake?

Just grown-ups, everywhere, backing away from him, defeated, retreating. Cowards. Useless sick morons. Run.

Where was Jake?

Find Jake.

So much blood. He looked down. His clothes were wet. Couldn’t bear to touch the wound on his neck. Scared of what he’d find.

How come they were armed? They’d changed up. That wasn’t fair. Grown-ups didn’t use weapons. Too stupid. Stayed in the dark. Used teeth and fingernails, like animals. No better than cats.

Find Jake.

Still a press of grown-ups by the doors keeping Brandon
and Kamahl inside. Good, they were safe. Stay that way. Mick’s job was to keep everyone safe.

So where was Jake?