Piers Torday - The Last Wild

He points the gun-crutch at one of the wild.

The quivering elderly hare.

‘The long eared rabbitty-thing. Very good. Are you sure?’

Polly doesn’t react.

‘I said, are you sure?’ repeats Skuldiss, jabbing her in the back of the legs.

She gives the tiniest nod.

‘Thank you, little one. Now look, how easy it is!’

There’s a bang, wisps of smoke in the wet air and then, with a short sigh as if he was only breathing out, the hare slumps over on to the ground, a dark dot oozing right between his eyes, his long ears splayed out on the ground. The first animal who came and answered my call in the forest. He thought I’d saved him.

Polly gives a choked scream, like it died in her throat.

‘One down, ninety-nine to go,’ says Skuldiss.

The others begin to panic, rabbits scrabbling in all directions, polecats attempting to squeeze under gates, pine martens scrambling over walls –

I try to move, but waves of pain flood my brain, pinning me to the ground.

Skuldiss raises his crutch again, carefully takes aim, so cool, so calm, like he was taking pot-shots at tin cans in a fairground — and there’s another bang.

My wild are disappearing before my very eyes.

I can’t talk to them — all I can hear is the firing guncrutch and Polly, sobbing.

I slump back down. It’s a nightmare and I can’t wake up.

Wet feathers and claws fluster next to me.

*Kester! You have to save them. Now! You have to.*

It’s no good. It’s over. Dad’s not here. I tried.

*Kester, you promised. You promised the stag. You have to save them.*

No. No. I’m just a boy. He’s a maniac. I haven’t got a gun, I can’t walk — I roll over away from them on to my side. I can just see a blur of white feathers out of the corner of my eye.

*I saved this from the stag. I promised it for you.*

The white pigeon still makes no sense. But this time he’s insistent.

*Yes, we saved from the stag. For you.*

And then he’s pressing something against my clenched hand.

Something sharp as a dagger. Something held in his beak .

It’s a curved piece of pointed bone, shot from a stag’s horn.

The pigeons must have picked it up off the road — and kept it all this time.

More shots echo round the Culdee Sack.

I think of the stag, lying in the wasteland. I think of everything he said to me. I look at the white pigeon pecking at my hand, at his funny orange eyes.

I clench the horn tight and slowly raise myself up, trying to breathe.

*Please hurry, Kester — please! You have to! Take it! Use it!*

Still gasping for breath, on my hands and knees, I look down through our gates, beyond Skuldiss and Polly.

*Wolf-Cub,* I shout — but the only sound I make is a hoarse croak.

I stagger to my feet, unable to stand up properly. Doubled over, I shake my head, trying to see straight.

*Wolf-Cub!* I shout again, louder this time.

*Wildness!* comes the reply that I can only just hear over the shooting and screaming.

*Your father looks like the man from the fish-road!* calls the wolf-cub. *And he is firing his stick at us! This is the worst cure in the world!*

*That’s because — he is the man from the fish-road!* I shout back.

*Then I shall tear out his eyes and his throat!* comes the growled reply. *I shall overcome my fear of his firestick!*

I’m not near enough yet.

*No — wait, Wolf-Cub! You are brave, you do not need to prove it now — wait for my command —*

It’s too late –

The wolf-cub leaps out between the animals skidding for cover, his grey body bounding across the road — towards Skuldiss and Polly –

Anyone else would run from a wolf leaping at their throat, but not Captain Skuldiss.

All he does is raise his crutch, just like that — as Wolf-Cub flies towards him, jaws bared to their max, and then I’m running too, forcing and sucking breath down through my stinging windpipe –

The wolf-cub and I lock eyes over Skuldiss’s shoulder –

I know he can read the signal in my eyes, but it’s too late –

He’s already jumping through the air, and I find I’m jumping too, the stag’s horn clutched in my outstretched hand, throwing myself at the Captain’s back, and he lurches to the left as I tackle him –

But as he falls under my weight, there’s a single shot — and an invisible hand slams the wolf-cub in the chest, hurling him to the ground.

Now it’s the turn of my eyes to go red. Not with a virus, but with rage.

Before he can pick himself up, I’m on top of Captain Skuldiss, I’ve got the stag horn in my hand, and I’m trying to stab him. I never knew it was possible to hate one person so much. But Skuldiss has his hand around my wrist, his grip is tight and strong, hurting me. He’s smiling. Water splashes in his eyes, I’m trying to stab him, and he’s smiling .

Polly runs over to Wolf-Cub, lying sprawled out on the hard tarmac, a dark puddle oozing out from a hole in his side.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asks. She speaks so quietly, I can only just hear her above the pitter-patter of the rain. She doesn’t talk to me, but into her chest, looking at Wolf-Cub’s head held in her hands as he shivers and coughs.

‘You aren’t going to let him kill all the animals, are you?’

I shake my head. I wish I could explain. Wish that my eyes could hold letters, that my face was a book.

Skuldiss squeezes my wrist tighter and tighter, trying to make me drop the stag horn, but he’s looking at something over my shoulder.

I turn to see his cullers running down the street towards us with their rubber suits and boots.

‘It’s over, childrens,’ Skuldiss says with a smug grin, as the cullers draw near. ‘Why bother for these nasty animals? It’s either your infectious beasties or the human souls in this here city. You have to choose. Who do you want to live?’

I look at Polly and at Wolf-Cub, at the houses surrounding us, houses I thought of whenever I imagined home, which now look so unfriendly, so silent. And I press the point of the horn hard against his skin, a white spot in a white throat pushing the blood away, pushing until –

‘Have you ever killed a man before, childrens?’ says Skuldiss, sounding strangled and strange. ‘I have. And the first time is always the hardest.’

His eyes stare up at me, as calm and murky as two stagnant ponds.

My hand shakes. My heart is about to burst out of my chest. I think of Sidney. I think of the stag, lying on his own in the wasteland, and of Wolf-Cub, not speaking now, not even murmuring, as Polly strokes his head. Of the old hare, of the dead and wounded lying around us.

But I can’t. I can’t do it.

If I thought me killing Captain Skuldiss would make things better –

Would make them all better –

Then I would, I really, really would –

But deep down, I know it won’t.

A crooked smile begins to creep over the white face pressed against the tarmac.

‘You can’t do it, can you, childrens? I knew it!’

Polly doesn’t say anything. The wild don’t say anything.

With a lurch, a hole seems to open in the pit of my stomach, and inside I feel like I’m falling, and falling — as I realize that the stag was right.

A great stag always faces his fate.

My shoulders sink, and I loosen my grip –

Skuldiss grabs the horn out of my hand and flings it against the wall of the house, where it clatters uselessly to the ground.

‘No, don’t!’ shouts Polly.

But it’s too late.

The cullers leap on me, pulling my arms tight behind my back, squashing my face into the road –

Polly is staring at us with her mouth hanging wide open, like she’s the one who can’t speak now.