Tooth and Claw

by Stephen Moore

  He knew about the runners, with Dart at their head, posted at the exit of the great sewer outflow on the riverside. Knew they were listening for the call. And knew that when it came they would quickly begin the charge to bring down Dread Booga.

  Every now and again paws would pat-a-pat lightly through the sewers. Cats passing information on to cats, each sentry walking only as far as the next and then back to its own watch. And so news travelled down the line, until it arrived at Treacle.

  Treacle, it seemed, knew everything. So, he sat, and he worried, and he waited for the call.

  But there was no call. Not yet . . .

  Kim pulled with his teeth at the tats of hair in his old greying coat. He grumbled about his poor stomach, relieved himself with a fart and felt much better for it . . . Ki-ya licked clean the already clean fur of his short front leg . . . Treacle scratched his ear and worried . . . And Bryna?

  Bryna sat—

  No, Bryna stood up, suddenly anxious, at the sound of heavy footfall. She listened. Two feet . . . two feet moving towards her, unworried at the noise they made . . . But not that close. Not in her street. How far away? How far?

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  A brilliant sliver of white light burst across the sky with each explosion, faded instantly away and was gone. Behind it an echo bounced angrily off the walls of the buildings and rumbled away down through the streets towards the river. Murder, murder, it seemed to roar!

  Dread Booga moved slowly towards the body of its victim, an odd gurgling sound – almost a sigh of relief – escaping from the side of its mouth as it took each deliberate step.

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  Dead already. Not dead enough.

  Close by a dog looked on. Stunned, frozen with fear, he could not move. Could not make his call. He had seen the killing made. Was watching the Booga still as it moved clumsily down the street towards him. But where was his bark to make his call? Far below the ground echoes of thunder were still grumbling through the drains. The noise filled the dog’s head, ran shivering through his poor useless frozen body, killing the cat over and over again.

  “Here!” He yowled at last, forcing the words from his stricken lungs. “Bloody well here! The Booga’s bloody well here! In Monk Street. MONK STREET! You get that? You get that, you crazy cats—?”

  Crack! Crack! Crack!

  And then, suddenly, there was running. Perhaps paws started moving even before the dog died, before the first catcalls from the sewers, the crack of thunder stunning them into action. And if at first it was senseless stumblings, blind panic without direction or thought, when Treacle cried out “Monk Street”, it became a charge.

  First it was the runners, lead by Dart. Calling the others out, pulling them out of their hiding-places even, with nips and bites or cries of encouragement. Dogs and cats piled into the empty streets. From doorways and rooftop perches. From the branches of trees and the insides of dustbins. From the hilltop and from the riverside. Out they poured, more and more again. And they headed in one direction.

  The Booga stood over the body of the dog, its second victim of the day, and it was puzzled. It had been a strange animal; just standing there barking its head off. Yowling into the gutters. Almost asking to be killed, mad beggar. Well, Dread Booga had obliged.

  At the bottom of Monk Street a dog and a cat suddenly ran out into the middle of the road. Of these two animals no names are known to remember them by. They were simply a dog and a cat. A dog and a cat running together, side by side, charging the Booga down.

  They did not get within thirty strides of Dread Booga before its thunder brought them to the ground. Stilled their run forever. Left them lying side by side in death, as their last moments had been spent in life. But as they fell, more animals turned into the street. Seven – eight – nine, together. Then more, and more still. Running hard, forgetting all fear. Willing themselves on as they answered the call.

  The Booga snarled, as inside its injured head it felt the first tug of fear. “Troo farr ap eeeee—” It squealed out loud. And the foulness of that squeal was almost enough to stop them in their stride. Almost, but not quite. This time it would take the thunder to do that.

  More and more animals then.

  Ki-ya appeared with Shelley and Tibbs, making their attack from a side street. Then came Yip-yap among a pack of dogs ten strong. Behind them, and closing fast, were an even larger, mixed group of animals who had joined in with Dart’s mad run from the riverside.

  Still the Booga squealed. “Raith kun, I sa!” Thunder roared, and no dog or cat came within striking distance before they fell.

  “Don’t bunch up!” yelled Ki-ya. “Spread out. Spread yourselves out! Don’t make yourselves such easy targets.”

  And when, somewhere among the attack, Kim heard Ki-ya’s cries he howled in his turn, “On, dogs! On, cats! Harder! Faster!”

  Another dog, another cat fell dead.

  As Ki-ya approached the Booga from the side, Kim came at it from the front.

  Then Shelley stumbled, his life flowing out of him. No pain. Just time for one clear thought of his mate and their kits, and then the final darkness.

  Ki-ya was very close now. His ears ran with blood, hearing dulled to a rumble by the roaring of the thunder. But his teeth weren’t dulled. At last he was close enough to strike. The Booga plucked a streak of fire right out of the sky, and hurled it. The death of a dog at Ki-ya’s side gave him his chance. He leapt. His anger, his frustration, his pain, all went into that leap. As he flew he sensed the Booga’s fear; smelled it like a foul scent clinging to its flimsy body. Smelled something else too . . . its madness.

  The blows Ki-ya landed were not decisive. The creature was already turning to find its next victim as he made contact. Ki-ya snapped his teeth closed around what he hoped was an ear, and at the same time, felt the claws of his good front paw rake the leathery skin of its face. Then he felt himself thrown roughly aside. Tossed, with a strange curse, to the ground. Again thunder began its evil roar, its reek filled the air.

  Kim lunged forward then, but not at the Booga’s face, at its supporting leg. He gained a hold and bit deep, only to be kicked violently. Kicked again, until he was forced to let go. Then Yip-yap was there, playing copy-cat. He clamped his jaws tightly around the same leg, tearing the skin to the bone. Held on. Wouldn’t let go.

  The crack crackle of lightning, the deep rolling growls of thunder barely covered the sound of the Booga’s agonising squeals, or Yip-yap’s final yowl . . .

  Bryna had heard the very first roar of thunder. Smelled its foul stench. Had stood stricken and confused, unable to move until a voice startled her into action. “Come on, cat, didn’t you hear Treacle’s call? You can’t skulk about here, while Bryna herself’s getting killed for you!”

  “But I’m, but I’m—”

  A cat ran past her. It had white paws; she remembered that much because, as it ran, she ran after it and its white paws kicked up and down in her face.

  With almost every step more animals joined them. First cats, and then dogs too. Together they were swept eagerly along.

  The sounds of thunder began to come more quickly to them. More direct. No longer echoed through the drains or bounced off the walls of buildings. Beckoning them on almost, daring them to come closer.

  And suddenly, there was Dread Booga. Dread Booga moving awkwardly towards them. Not them towards it. Its surprise not theirs. Thunder roared again and White-paws fell in front of her. It all happened too quickly. No time to think.

  The animals around Bryna seemed to be dissolving away as the thunder roared and roared, as the sky lit up with fire and lashed down upon them. The more animals there were the more powerfully the Booga struck out. Some – a lot – fell instantly dead, some crawled away to die alone. Others simply fled, scared for their lives.

  And then she saw that the Booga was limping. Limping badly. Its leg bloodied and torn. And as it lumbered forward it dragged something along the ground with it, like
a dirty rag. Like . . . a dog.

  “Yip-yap?” Even in death his jaws were still closed tightly around the Booga’s leg.

  A streak of lightning tore open the sky again.

  Bryna stopped running. Close by there was an alleyway. A certain dead-end. She began to slink slowly backwards into its darkness. She did not move out of fear, was not running away. She retreated quite deliberately. And in the darkness she stood still. Waited. The Booga was getting near, bringing itself to her.

  But how could she finish it? How could she possibly bring down Dread Booga? She suddenly felt so small, so very small and useless. And the creature seemed so huge, so powerful and dangerous.

  Her head began to ache. Shadows were falling, clouding her mind. Filling her head with images of the dead, faces she did not want to see.

  “Oh no, not now. Please, not now. You’re all dead,” she cried out in desperation. “All dead and ghosts! And I need help. Real help.”

  But there was only the dead.

  Grundle was the very first at her side, snarling and spitting; the tiny bird on his back frantically beating its wings, cack-cackering noisily. Behind him came Beacon. And then Dexter, beautiful Dexter, and Fat Blossom . . .

  “Lodger – is-is that really you?” And it was Lodger.

  The Booga came on. Almost there now. Almost there. It raised its clawed fingers.

  Bryna’s gasp of surprise was met by another noise. A raw squeal, and not made by any animal in pain.

  Suddenly there was a new fear about the creature. Something Bryna had never smelled before.

  “But . . . Then you can see them, too?” said Bryna. “You can see the ghosts—” The Booga’s eyes stood wide open, glaring white in its terror, staring right through her to something else. Bryna followed its gaze. Behind Beacon surely there was Maxwell, Crumpet with her kits, Brindle and a pair of black toms. And behind Lodger there was White-paws, and Yip-yap and great Khan. More and more were joining them all the time. The dead. The dead, killed by the Booga that very day.

  Suddenly Bryna’s ghosts were moving forward. Beginning to attack, together—

  Thunder roared again. Just once. That was all the time Dread Booga had left to it. No victim fell. But there was a searing flash of light, a blinding light. Bryna tried to see through it, but she could not. Its brilliance filled her eyes, filled her head too, and did not fade away. And with the light there was pain. Her pain. But not her pain, somehow. Distant and detached.

  Around her there were the noises of a fight. A desperate, desperate struggle. The horrid death struggle of some poor demented creature, as it thrashed mindlessly about, as it tried in vain to save itself. Thankfully, the light inside Bryna’s head began to fade, turning first to thin pricks of icy grey and then to deepest, silent black.

  Bryna knew no more . . .

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Endings and Beginnings

  Bryna never opened her eyes again. Was she dead? No, not dead. Although at first she was sure she must be. There was no pain, only a strange sickening numbness, and it was dark. At least, it was dark on the outside of her head, where her eyes should have been showing her the world. And inside her head? Well, inside her head it wasn’t dark at all. That surprised her; just how light it really was inside her head, when outside it was so very dark.

  And her ghosts were still sitting there, sitting quietly around her. That was another surprise; it seems you don’t really need eyes to see ghosts.

  Bryna stretched out her legs, cautiously tested them on the ground before fumbling her way to her feet. She tried to feel her way forwards, to take a few steps, but blind she could not tell where she was walking; whichever way she turned her path seemed to be blocked by the bodies of the dead.

  As her senses sharpened she took a deep breath. There were still real smells to smell; not coming from the inside of her head, but from the streets. The mixed-up scents of dogs and cats . . . the sweet smell of their freshly spilled blood. She lifted her ears, tried to follow the flight of a bird as it gave its panic cry far above her. Then she heard the gentle sounds of the river and she turned her head that way.

  Wherever she stumbled her ghosts followed after her. But they did not try to guide her, their work was done. To survive, she had to learn the ways of her new, dark world on her own . . .

  Ki-ya, Kim, Dart and Treacle found Bryna between them; at the bottom of some overgrown back garden, sniffing blindly for food at a long-dried-out old dustbin. They had searched endlessly for her most of that day, most of that night too; had almost given up hope.

  Earlier they had come across the body of the creature . . . Dread Booga. Curled up in death it looked so fragile, so timid even. And small; hardly bigger than a large dog. They could not make out what had brought about its death. One of its thin legs was cut to the bone where Yip-yap had planted his teeth, and the gnarled skin on the side of its pale grey face was slashed where Ki-ya had clawed his mark. But where was the death wound? Apart from the old scar on its head there were no other wounds at all. Nothing that might have killed it.

  But they knew little of the ways of ghosts or creatures of spirit, and now, with Bryna found, they did not want to think too much about the Booga’s death. Dread Booga was dead, Bryna was alive, and that was enough for them.

  Silently – for somehow this was not the time for words – they led her out of that garden, and began to work their way slowly down through the dark empty streets, towards the riverside. They walked together, dog and cats side by side as equals. And they walked upon the roads, out in the open. Unhurried. Unthreatened. Free.

  The pale golden cracks of dawn began to show through the weight of solid black cloud. All across the town it touched the very tips of the rooftops, caught upon the leaves of the trees, sprinkled its light upon the river. Lifting their hearts, heralding the beginning of a new day . . .

  A Note from Crossroad Press

  We hope you enjoyed this eBook and will seek out other books published by Crossroad Press. We strive to make our eBooks as free of errors as possible, but on occasion some make it into the final product. If you spot any errors, please contact us at publisher@crossroadpress.com and notify us of what you found. We’ll make the necessary corrections and republish the book. We’ll also ensure you get the updated version of the eBook.

  If you’d like to be notified of new Crossroad Press titles when they are published, please send an email to publisher@crossroadpress.com and ask to be added to our mailing list.

  Thank you for your assistance and your support of the authors published by Crossroad Press.