Piers Torday - The Last Wild

‘But what if someone sees us?’ she hisses at me.

Looking around one more time, and then counting to five, I give her the all-clear and she starts to run, back bent — just as another crowd of shadowy figures arrives. I signal at her to halt, which she does, right in the middle of the yard. She’s frozen, kneeling down, as if she was tying a shoelace.

The men and women stomp straight past her and into the shadows between the barns. Holding my breath, not daring to move a muscle, I count them, one by one, as they disappear into the darkness. Glancing back, I can see Polly actually shaking, but the people go on without even looking once in our direction.

All, that is, apart from the last one.

He stops for moment, swaying and wobbling, right in front of us. I can’t see his face; he’s just a crumpled-looking shadow, holding a shining bottle in his hand. He looks over towards Polly and stares at her. Then he rubs his eyes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and hiccups to himself. Looks at the bottle in his hand, shakes his head and chucks it over his shoulder — it lands with a muffled smash.

He scratches his head and stumbles off after the others.

Polly races across the ground towards me. We spread ourselves flat against the wall of the barn the outsiders disappeared into. Straining to listen, I can just hear distant voices, and music, and another sound too, one I don’t recognize. It doesn’t matter. These people took away my animals. These people will know where they are.

‘You’ve got to listen to me, Kester,’ Polly whispers fiercely. ‘I asked that woman to help us, but she made me answer all these questions while we were walking to the kombylarbester. I had to tell her what we were doing —’

Good. Then at least Ma knows how massive this is, that we aren’t just playing a kid’s game.

‘Even if you aren’t going to listen, Kester, I’m going to tell you. She asked me everything, and I told her, I had to. Everything, including what Captain Skuldiss said about you.’

A small warning light begins to glow in my head.

‘She asked me your name and I told her. Don’t you see? She knew who you were.’

The alarm light in my head begins to flash and spin.

‘Not just you. She knew who your dad was as well.’

I look at her for a moment. Then there is a familiar voice squeaking up from our feet.

*Finally! You don’t half get around, you two — can you try staying in one place next time?*

*Harvest Mouse!* I crouch down. I never thought I’d be so happy to see a mouse. She’s rubbing her whiskers with her front paws, and then rearing up on her back legs, and then falling down again, before shaking her tail to an imaginary beat inside her head.

*The Finding A Talking Human Again After An Extended Period Of Captivity Dance!* she exclaims proudly.

‘I forgot how small she is,’ Polly says, sounding a bit disappointed. I don’t know how big she expected a mouse to be. Well, no matter how small, or how many silly dances she makes up, I’m glad to have her here. Her tail flicks swiftly.

*Are you two going to stand there all evening, or do you want me to do my Dance of Hurrying Dawdling Children Along? We don’t have much time — follow me!*

The harvest mouse hurries into the barn, and we follow her in the shadows as she weaves quickly through a labyrinth of dark passageways, towards the sound of the chatter and the music.

*How did you escape?* I ask her.

*This old mouse can get in or out of anywhere. You must know that by now.*

She darts under a heavy steel door, which we push open and find ourselves in an alleyway between two barns. The voices and drums swell in our ears, and Polly tugs at my sleeve.

‘Look,’ she says. ‘The light.’

What light? I think, looking around at the shadows. Then, following her pointing finger, I see it. Not just any light — far down at the end of the alleyway, sliding long tentacles of shadow between the walls. And I realize what the other noise was.

A fire.

*I told you there was no time to be lost,* says the mouse, scurrying on down by the edge of the alley.

We walk out of the shadows and into a field. Not a huge plain of mud this time, but a patch of bumpy grass with rusting shards of farm equipment littered everywhere, tangled weeds underfoot. And right in the middle of it, burning a crater-sized hole around itself, a bonfire.

A bonfire as tall as Bodger — as tall as two Bodgers. Made out of logs, tractor tyres, planks, dented oil drums — anything to hand, a pyramid of flaming junk crackling and roaring into the sky, giving off showers of sparks.

We all hesitate for a second — hypnotized by the flames, the mouse’s tail flicking anxiously from side to side. We’re right at the back of a huge crowd gathered round the fire, a sea of backs and heads. In the glow at the front, I can recognize some faces from earlier, like the old lady who held the mouse — but I can’t see Ma or Bodger anywhere. There must be a hundred or more people. Thin, hungry faces, their cheekbones casting deep shadows, men, women and children of all ages — even a toddler stumbling around at the front, swaying to the pulse of the music.

This isn’t just a few outsiders. This feels like a whole country, having a country-sized party.

There’s a line of girls sat down at the front with drums between their knees, banging and slapping away, and a bearded man behind playing a pipe. Somewhere I can hear a guitar — and everyone slaps their thighs, occasionally singing along, though I can’t make out the words. I can feel the rhythm of the drums drive through my body. I pick the mouse up in my palm, and she can’t help but dance along too. The air is alive with talk and beats and anticipation, then the music and chatter fade away, and for a moment all I can hear is the crackling logs and the beating of our hearts. Only for a moment though, because then the drumming starts up again, and begins to get faster –

And faster and faster –

And faster –

Everyone looks around, as if they’re expecting something. Then, appearing out of the darkness, striding through the crowd, who scramble to make way for her, clapping and patting her on the back as they do –

It’s Ma.

Strong and fierce, her eyes bright with the flames, she walks right into the middle of the circle and claps her hands. The music and singing and yelling stop dead — just like that. For a minute, she walks all the way round the circle, in silence. Not saying a word, just looking at everyone.

We stand back, hidden by the shadows and the crowd.

Her lips are shining blood red in the light, and her hair is swept up tightly on her head. She also has something she didn’t have before — a huge knife, tucked into her belt, flashing with every step.

Ma smiles, reaches carefully into her pocket, and pulls out a cigar. In a single move she draws the knife and lops the tip off. The bearded pipe player offers her a smouldering branch pulled from the fire. She lights the cigar, takes a big puff and blows the smoke up into the sky.

Then she begins, walking as she talks.

‘First came the red-eye. We lost our beasts. Some lost pets. All the creatures that make up this countryside — our countryside. We lost our crops. We lost —’ she pauses, and jabs at the air with her cigar — ‘everything that we knew.’

People mutter, but she silences them with a wave of her hand and shoves the cigar back in the corner of her mouth.

‘And so came Facto. They promised to sort out the virus. To keep us safe, to feed us. They made promises.’ She lowers her voice, so we have to listen more closely to hear. ‘What do we make of those promises now?’

An angry mutter ripples around the crowd. She repeats her question — louder, crosser.