Piers Torday - The Last Wild

Captain Skuldiss picks himself up, brushes the dust and mud off his jacket and straightens his tie — looking naked without his crutches, standing unsteadily, holding his hands out for balance. ‘Childrens, childrens, when will you ever learn? Don’t get involved in things you don’t understand.’

He laughs to himself, and then quickly bends right over. At first I think he’s lost his balance, but he is just pulling up his trouser leg. I get a glimpse of a scarred and mangled calf, and something else — pulled free from a strap with a flourish. A flash of steel — which now dances between his hands, catching the light. A short, flat spear. The kind you can attach to guns — or crutches.

A bayonet.

The animals shuffle back in alarm but I hold my head up, stare Skuldiss right in the face, and smile.

‘I don’t think I said anything funny. Would you like to explain the joke, boy-childrens?’ says Captain Skuldiss, twirling the bayonet.

I’m smiling because of the noise.

He stares at me smugly, like he’s just won the game.

Unluckily for him, in this game, the noise I can hear gives me the courage to hold up my head and stare Skuldiss right back in the eye.

Because there are giant hoofs pounding down the street towards us, hoofs that can only belong to one creature in the world.

Polly can hear it now as well, and she’s looking up at me, daring to give a half-smile. Then the other animals can hear it too, and they’re cheering, and Skuldiss has turned round, as have the cullers, but it’s too late –

A huge set of horns collides with the men in rubber suits, tossing them out of the way like they were rag dolls, barging straight through and skidding to a halt — snorting and pawing the ground — right in front of me.

His eyes are a fierce red. Sweat foams and drips from his flank, he heaves for breath and his horns are chipped and bent — but he is here. He came back for us.

He came back.

*The stag,* he says between gasping breaths, *saved himself for one last fight.*

Skuldiss just stares at him. He stares at the slumped bodies of the unconscious cullers. He has gone bone white.

The stag looks at the wolf-cub on the ground, a tiny light still flickering in his eyes.

*Did the man with his sticks do this?*

I nod. The stag stalks towards Captain Skuldiss, who crouches down, smiling his sharp-toothed smile.

‘Come on, you big lovely brute,’ he says, jabbing the air with his bayonet. ‘Let’s be having you.’

For the first and last time, the great stag, from the last wild, speaks to Captain Skuldiss. Speaks to him in a voice he will never, ever understand.

*Man, in the name of all those whom you have killed, prepare to meet your fate.*

Then he throws his head back and bellows so loud that the windows of all the smart houses shake.

And I do nothing to try and stop him as the stag charges at the man who tried to kill his wild, leaping clean off the ground, his horns lowered.

Then, like that, Captain Skuldiss is no longer standing, no longer speaking, no longer killing — and the stag has collapsed on the ground beside him, bloodied but alive, steam clouding out of his muzzle. The cullers still lie where he tossed them, breathing but not moving.

I look up at the sky.

The rain has finally stopped.

I crouch down by the deer. *When it started to rain, I thought that was the storm to end all storms, that you had —*

He shakes his bloodied head.

*No. Not yet. You will know that when it comes. But animals died here today. Animals will have died at the Ring. You must hurry!*

But where?

Around us, the sky begins to brighten up, turning grey-white behind the aerials on the roofs of the Culdee Sack. Everything smells fresh after the storm. In the distance, there are the noises of Premium waking up. I look at the wild, collapsed in a heap, stinking of damp fur. I’ve brought them here — but there’s no Dad, and there’s no cure.

We can’t go any further.

I run to Wolf-Cub, lying in the middle of the road.

He’s going cold. I kneel down and cradle his damp head on my lap, his tongue hanging out at a funny angle.

His eyes turn towards me, every word a massive effort. *I faced my fear, Wildness — did you see that?*

*Yes, you did, Wolf-Cub — you were very brave.*

*Was I the best …?* But he can’t finish the sentence. My hands freeze mid-air above him, waiting for a clear instruction from my brain.

*Is it always this cold in the city?* says Wolf-Cub.

I shake my head and hold him, trying to stop the blood, trying to stop everything .

*Keep your eyes open, Wolf-Cub,* I order. *Just keep them open.*

I look up at the grey sky and imagine crying out one question: ‘Dad, where are you? I’ve brought them here, to our home — where are you?’ But the only noise comes from the wolf-cub, his breath fading in and out. I hold him tight, hoping I might be able to stop the hot blood leaking away. I feel it spill over my T-shirt, my arms, my legs.

*Take my hand,* I say, smelling his warm fur and pressing my hand to his mouth, wanting him to bite it. Weakly he opens his jaws and closes them around my fingers, teeth barely pressing the skin.

He gave his life trying to protect me, to protect all of us.

*No, no, don’t go, please don’t go —*

Then Polly is shouting at me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her standing in our driveway, yelling, but I don’t listen. Instead I just hold the wolf-cub, his body going limp in my arms, his breath gurgling in his throat.

‘Kester, listen to me. I can hear a voice.’

I can’t even look at her.

She stomps over, squats down in front of me and grabs me by the shoulders, her voice low and deadly serious.

‘Kester! Why won’t you listen to me for once? I went inside your house. I heard a human voice. There’s someone else in there.’

Quickly I look around for the cockroach — but he’s already settling on my knee.

*General, you have to take charge now. You know where to find me if anyone comes —*

*Have no fear, I will keep a safe guard over this wild. Reporting for duty!*

He buzzes sharply over to the kerb and perches on the edge, overlooking the assembled wild lying exhausted in the road.

I carry the wolf-cub as carefully as I can up my drive and follow Polly through the open door, into the big hall with the shiny wooden floor. Wolf-Cub trails dark blood everywhere.

Polly is shouting, ‘Hello? Hello?’

Her voice echoes off the bare white walls, the walls that I know so well, but it doesn’t feel like home any more, it feels different.

We stop, both our hearts thumping away in the silence, trying to listen, listen for the other voice in the house.

Then — I hear it too — a hammering on a door, a muffled shout. I know exactly where to go, and hurry down the wide stairs at the end of the hall, that lead down to the basement, and to a solid, shut metal door.

The door to my dad’s lab.

Polly and I stop in front of the door. We exchange glances. The wolf-cub gives a tiny whistling mew.

The hammering continues from the other side of the door, but getting slower, like the person doing it is tired. I want to speak; I can feel the air bubbling in my throat, my lips and tongue trying to make a word –

The hammering stops. There’s a muffled cry from behind the door.

Polly looks at me nervously. ‘Who’s there?’ is all she says in reply.

Then I hear the voice too, behind the metal –