Piers Torday - The Last Wild

All I can feel is my dry throat, my glued-together lips.

The girl puts the bottle back down.

We sit, staring at each other over the gun, neither of us daring to blink first –

Then I look away — and lunge suddenly for her bottle of water –

But she is too quick for me, snatching it out of reach.

‘No! Tell me what you want first, and then you can have a sip.’ She drums her wellies on the floor and the gun jumps. As do I, pointing to my dry lips and gums, waving my hands across one another for ‘No’. She stares at me, not understanding, until eventually a light dawns in her eyes.

‘You can’t talk? Well, you can’t be very good as a kidnapper if you can’t talk! How do you issue your orders?’

There’s a silent stand-off, broken only by the sound of Sidney, now curled up in her lap, purring softly. I feel the General bristling for action in my pocket.

‘OK,’ says the girl, like she’s answering a question I haven’t asked. ‘Let’s try this another way.’ Rummaging about in the sea of junk around us, she shoves a battered rectangular box across the floor to me. I wonder what weird or rotting specimen lies inside.

‘Go on! Open it!’

I rest the box on my knees and prise the lid off. But there’s nothing rotting inside — just a folded board, which opens out into a series of differently coloured and labelled squares. There are some racks and a drawstring bag.

I just look at her.

‘Well, go on, Kidnapper! You must play, don’t you?’

Confused, I empty the bag into the box, and a jumble of lettered tiles falls out.

The girl jabs at the board with her foot. ‘Tell me your name at least, and I’ll give you a sip of water.’

Beginning to understand, I stick my hand into the pile. Scrabbling around, I grab a fistful of letters, find the ones I need and lay them out on the board.

The girl peers over her knees at the tiles. I’m keeping an eye on the gun.

‘That’s only ten points, Kidnapper, and you haven’t even got a double word score.’

I shrug and hold my hand out for the water. She pauses, and then passes it over. I unscrew the lid and take a long, long gulp. Possibly the best gulp I’ve ever had in my life.

‘I don’t even know where you’re from, Kester the Kidnapper. You could be anybody . You know you’re not allowed through here.’ She glances out of the window behind. ‘They tried to make us leave. But it’s our family home, you see. And has been for gen-er-ations.’ She pronounces the word slowly, like she’s still getting used to saying it right. ‘The last time they came, we hid in the attic.’

*Don’t remind me,* says Sidney, with a cough that rattles her skinny body like a massive electric shock. *She put me in a suitcase so they wouldn’t hear anything. Me — in a suitcase! Can you imagine?*

I can. It sounds like quite a good idea.

‘Well, go on!’ says the girl, nearly taking my eye out with the end of the gun. ‘Tell me where you’re from, Kidnapper.’ Her eyes never leave me for a second while I rummage among the tiles –

She cranes her head to read and sniffs. ‘The Facto school? It’s certainly high-scoring.’ She edgily eyes the gun, still resting on her knees and pointed at me. ‘You must definitely be dangerous if you’ve escaped from there.’ A glance at the board again and then back at me, dead in the eye. ‘I’m going to ask you this one more time and the answer had better be good. Why are you out here in the Zone?’

Taking a deep breath, I start to spell out a number of words across the board, moving and rearranging tiles till my story is told.

‘I hope you’re sticking to the rules. It won’t work unless you stick to the rules.’

I take a last look at my attempt, and swivel the game around so she can see. The girl studies it closely for a moment, and then looks up and shakes her head.

‘That is the stupidest story I ever heard. Talking animals? I’m not that gullible, you know. Even if they could talk, which they can’t, there’s none left. Sidney’s the last one left in the whole world, which is why she’s so precious. And you’re not precious, you’re just a dirty little boy.’

She stands up and points the gun, which is twice her size, right up my nose.

‘Now, tell me the truth about why you’re here. Or get out of my house.’

I can’t go back out there. I need a doctor. There’s no way to convince her, unless –

*Sidney!* I force the words out. *Sidney — you have to help me.*

The cat stretches and, eyelids half lowered, looks down her nose at me. *And pray why, exactly? I’m not just any cat, you see. I, my dear, am a prize-winning cat. Once upon a time I was Best in Show, Best in Section, Best Groomed—*

*Sidney!* I’m actually shaking with frustration. *None of that matters any more. Don’t you understand? I’ve come from the Ring of Trees.*

At this, Sidney leaps on to her front, hackles raised. The girl’s eyes dart between us, unsure what is going on.

*Impossible! That place doesn’t even exist. It was only ever a rumour.*

*It’s true. Ask the General.*

*Who?*

I point to the cockroach, who is now perched on the table above, idly nibbling at the edge of a dead fern in a scrapbook but listening with deadly attention.

*It is true, Cat. The last wild live there, with a great stag as their Wildness. We summoned this boy to help us find a cure for the plague.*

Sidney snorts. *Even if you expect me to believe this bug, what do you want me to do about it?*

*Tell …* I realize I still don’t know the girl’s name.

*You may call her Polly,* purrs the cat.

*Tell Polly I’m not a kidnapper. Explain how I can talk to animals, and that I need her help.*

Sidney is racked by more coughs. *How can I explain anything to her? She can’t talk to animals — thankfully. I’d never hear the end of it if she could — can you imagine?*

*Just prove to her that I can! Move pieces around on the board. Spell it out!*

Her red eyes oozing a little, the cat looks down at the board and sniffs. *Just because I win prizes doesn’t mean I do tricks, you know.* I’m about to throw the whole box of letters over her head, when she gives a flick of her tail and trots up on to the board.

*All right, all right, my dear. Keep your fur on.*

As coolly as if she had been playing the game with us all morning, Sidney starts to push the letters around with her paws. She moves a couple of tiles, stops and then adds a couple more, before stepping back to examine her efforts.

I look down, and shake my head. *Very helpful,* I say.

‘Those words aren’t in the dictionary,’ says Polly.

The cat has written:

*Well, it’s the truth, my dear. Like it or not,* says Sidney. *That’s cat spelling, anyhow.*

*Go on, Sidney. Please. Tell her.*

Sidney sighs. She swipes her paw across the board, scattering all the other pieces, and starts again, clawing more tiles out of the cardboard box, placing them in catspelt order, until the board is full.

As Polly reads what the cat has written, she looks no longer flushed with anger but white. Like she’s seen a ghost. ‘You’ve got the red-eye?’

Finally. Feverish and exhausted, I can only just nod.

‘You’re absolutely sure? Your animals have given you the virus? The same one as Sidney?’