When the Sky Falls

by Phil Earle

  But just as his mind turned to the most gruesome way to die, there came a lifeline. As out of the shadows lurched the most unlikely of saviours.

  Out of the shadows, came Adonis.

  45

  Joseph cried.

  Huge, racking sobs, made up of too many emotions.

  Fear, of course: there was no cage door for him to exit through or lock any more, but more relief. Relief that his friend was alive!

  But with that recognition came more fear. What would Adonis do now he was free? Would he run? Hurt others? Hurt him, even?

  Joseph pulled again at the slab on his leg, but it wouldn’t give an inch, not even when he ignored every jolt of pain in his head and heaved with everything he had left.

  ‘MOVE!’ he begged the stone. ‘Please!’

  It was no good, though he battled futilely on, while Adonis moved closer, his steps still slow. Joseph watched him with concern: a deep gash by Adonis’s temple was bleeding heavily. He seemed disorientated, dizzy, even.

  ‘Adonis!’ he cried. ‘I’m stuck. Can’t move.’ He didn’t expect help, but he needed his friend to know. ‘Are you all right? You’re bleeding!’

  The ape staggered closer, only pausing to wipe blood away as it reached his eye, and despite his wounds he climbed piles of rocks that would’ve had Joseph stumbling. When he reached Joseph, whose eyes were wide at the power and magnificence of his friend, he sat. By Joseph’s side.

  But the ape didn’t look in Joseph’s direction, not even for a second. Instead, he stared beyond him, head turning slowly from side to side.

  Joseph tried to follow his gaze, to make out what Adonis was looking at, but there was nothing but flames, kissing and smothering every piece of wood they came into contact with.

  That didn’t stop Adonis looking, though, and the longer it went on, head swinging left to right like searchlights sweeping for bombers, Joseph started to realise what was happening.

  Adonis was playing sentry. Keeping Joseph safe.

  Tears stung his eyes. He was overwhelmed by this act of care and love. All his life, Adonis had been held captive, but when his moment for freedom had come, he hadn’t bolted. He hadn’t left Joseph. He’d stood guard instead.

  ‘Thank you,’ Joseph wept, ‘thank you, thank you, thank you.’

  Suddenly he felt a movement beside him, as Adonis shifted his weight, his eyes lingering on Joseph’s face before moving down his body, stopping as he reached his leg.

  ‘That rock –’ Joseph pointed at it – ‘it’s trapped my leg. I can’t move it.’

  He had no idea what Adonis could really, truly understand, but he didn’t believe it was a coincidence that with the greatest of ease, Adonis flicked the slab away, as if it were a mere pebble.

  As the slab rattled to the ground, Joseph felt a shriek in his knee. He wanted to cry again, and did, though not just in pain or relief, but now in gratitude too.

  Their eyes locked for a second time, and Joseph saw a softening in the ape’s face that was undeniable, however unlikely it seemed. If they did share a moment, and there would be many in the future who would refute it, it passed in a flash, as a new shriek filled the night.

  The change in Adonis was immediate, every muscle in his frame tensing as he thrust his weight forward, front arms landing on the other side of Joseph’s body, building a barrier between the boy and whatever was out there.

  There was a new urgency to him: on high alert, his eyes scanned the surroundings, but nothing moved, nothing stirred, only the flames.

  Until, from nowhere, loped a four-legged shadow, forcing Adonis to stride over Joseph, putting himself entirely between the threat and the boy lying injured.

  Joseph was scared to look but couldn’t help himself, eyes straining until he could make out a skeletal wolf, tongue lolling from its mouth, realising that it was the prospect of him that was making it salivate.

  But Joseph had nothing to worry about, as in front of him, Adonis rose majestically onto his back legs, using every inch of his bulk to dominate the landscape, letting loose a roar that rolled all the way to the heavens.

  The ape was a king. There was no other word for it. Joseph watched for the wolf’s response, but there was no retreat. In fact, Adonis’s call merely summoned a second wolf from the shadows; equally stupid, but equally famished.

  Joseph felt any kind of stand-off could never end well for the wolves, yet all he could do was watch Adonis take another pace forward and repeat his instructions, deafening the sky as he did so.

  Still the wolves didn’t retreat. Instead they split up, one stalking left, one right, dividing Adonis’s focus, making it impossible for him to cover every route to the boy.

  Joseph felt his heart quicken, ignoring the pain in his body as he started another search for the rifle, though this time, with different targets in mind.

  The wolves moved quickly, their bodies close to the ground, so close that they appeared to almost slither over the debris. Adonis moved left and then right, barking and yowling warning after warning, all of which were ignored.

  Joseph was panicking now, so much so that he tried to stand. But it was a fruitless attempt, pain in too many places made it impossible, and he was forced to watch as Adonis made a decisive move to the wolf on the left who had edged the closest. His speed was mesmorising, made even more so by his size.

  Joseph gasped as Adonis bounded into the shadows. The fight was brief, but he took no delight in seeing the first wolf throw itself at Adonis in the darkness, nor in seeing it fall to the ground seconds later, not just defeated, but broken, dead.

  Joseph’s attention turned to its mate, who, seeing an unbroken path between it and dinnertime, was now tearing towards Joseph, jaws wide, eyes ecstatic.

  This was it. He was exposed. Powerless. Even Adonis couldn’t save him now.

  46

  Joseph didn’t see what happened. His eyes were closed, hidden beneath his arms. But he heard it: a single crack, like thunder.

  There was a second crack, then a howl and a thump, and the wind seemed to change direction. Joseph opened his eyes in shock to see, mere yards from him, a mass of fur, bone and blood, as the second wolf lay dead.

  But how? thought Joseph. Was it a rifle he’d heard? And he winced against the flames, trying to see.

  A voice came first, faintly.

  ‘Over here!’ he heard, though he couldn’t be sure, as the voice had to fight against the noise of everything else.

  He saw a man, just inside the gates, rifle still tucked beneath his chin. Joseph gasped, his instinct to shout and wave stopped by the sound of Adonis from the shadows.

  He heard the sound of debris beneath the ape’s feet but doubted the man would be able to either hear or see him too. And what if he did? How could Joseph possibly calmly warn him that there was a gorilla on the loose, but that there was nothing to fear? That the ape had saved him just moments before?

  Matters got worse as a second figure appeared at the gate, then a third: footsteps echoing, voices slicing through the air.

  ‘There’s a boy!’ the first man yelled over his shoulder as he advanced. ‘Look, over there!’

  Joseph’s eyes focused on the leader, a man wearing an air-raid warden’s helmet. An older man, perhaps. Not that it mattered. If Adonis spotted him and saw him as a threat, the result would be the same, regardless of age.

  ‘Can you see him? There!’ The warden called over his shoulder again, and for the first time Joseph could make out the others clearly, see the rifles slung over their shoulders. He looked to his left and heard Adonis’s soft, laboured grunting, though he was hard to see in the darkness. How long did Joseph have until the ape made himself visible? How long until the men saw him and panicked, reaching for their rifles?

  He had to find a way to communicate to them without alerting Adonis, but how he could do that was a my
stery. He waved his hands in front of him, mouthing silently at them to stop. But why would they take any notice? How on earth could they make the leap to realising that moving any closer put them in the gravest of danger?

  ‘It’s all right!’ the warden shouted, stumbling. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll get you out of here, lad. The danger has passed!’

  But this of course, was simply not true, and he, and the other men recognised this only seconds later, as Adonis announced himself for the first time, bounding from the darkness.

  He did not howl or yell first, though. That was Joseph, as he bellowed out a warning for the men to put down the guns that were being swung towards the ape.

  The men didn’t listen. How could they, when every sense they had was fixed on the huge ape galloping forwards, barking its hellish intent?

  The effect was instantaneous. The first warden fell backwards, causing the soldiers behind him to teeter too, like drunks at closing time.

  ‘Get BACK!’ Joseph yelled from his knees. His hands waved wildly. ‘Go now! Get back... PLEASE!’

  But his words did not reach them. They could hear and see only danger.

  What Joseph alone knew, as he faced the men, was that Adonis wasn’t running at them, he was running to him, to protect him, just as he had with the wolves.

  The greatest tragedy was that the men didn’t know that. How could they? Whoever would’ve believed such a thing?

  The first bullet sounded. Louder to Joseph’s ears than any bomb that had landed that night.

  He couldn’t follow its path, but he heard a crack as it embedded itself deep inside the wall of Adonis’s enclosure behind him.

  Adonis heard it too, arriving beside Joseph at exactly the same time, rearing on two legs, muzzle aimed skywards as he bellowed again. They would not take the boy; he would not let them. This was his kingdom.

  He was a fearsome sight, and even from a distance, Joseph could see the horror written on the men’s faces.

  Joseph watched in slow motion as the rifles quivered in their terrified grasps, and saw single eyes close against a backdrop of flames, and no matter how loudly he yelled or how many times he yelled it, it was never going to be enough. The soldiers saw their truth, and they unloaded on it.

  Joseph reared up too, echoing the stance of Adonis beside him. He made himself big, as big as he could, trying to get in front of the ape. He would take a bullet, take all of them, if it would just stop them from hitting his friend.

  But he was not big enough, and Adonis made himself impossible to miss.

  Joseph heard the first bullet enter the ape. A thud: a sickening, echoless thud to the left arm, followed by a second, and a third tearing at the top of his right thigh and shoulder.

  Adonis howled in pain and fury. How dare they? Who were they to do this to him? Joseph felt the same, screaming in the soldiers’ direction, imploring them to stop. And for a brief while, they did, rifles dropping as they reloaded.

  Joseph screamed. He needed a miracle, an intervention from God, and as the first marksman lifted his rifle once more, it seemed like someone was listening.

  A final figure had arrived, stage left: running down the gunman and swiping his barrel skywards, just as he fired. The bullet arced blindly into the night.

  The soldier reacted angrily, spinning to confront the newcomer, rifle now raised as a club, but when he was faced by a bedraggled middle-aged woman, anger was replaced by confusion.

  ‘Don’t shoot!’ Mrs F yelled at the two soldiers out of her reach. ‘You’ll hit the boy!’

  Whether that was her one true worry didn’t matter, as it was already too late.

  The bullets were away, racing each other, competing for maximum damage.

  Both hit Adonis in the chest with such ferocity that they burrowed deep within him, tearing at his flesh, ripping his right lung apart.

  He staggered backwards, wracked with pain, but still raging at their audacity. He fell to his knees, then saw the boy terrified in front of him, which drove him skywards one last time.

  And there he stood, against a hellish backdrop, the most powerful beast in his kingdom. He would not go down until he had to, until his body told him no more, until that one last bullet struck him.

  Mrs F was powerless to stop it. She had done everything she could to keep Adonis safe, everything, but she couldn’t stop the final shot from firing.

  She ran fast, faster than any woman her age should, regardless of what she had drunk earlier in the evening, but it could never be fast enough to intercept the bullet. By the time she reached them, Adonis was already on his back, blood matting his fur and filling his lungs.

  Joseph was draped over him, cheek pressed hard against his belly, tears mixing with the ape’s blood.

  ‘Give me your hands!’ she yelled at him, but he didn’t move. ‘Joseph. Please, your hands.’ She pulled him into a crouch, thrusting his palms down upon the jagged hole in Adonis’s chest. ‘Now, press, do you hear me? Press hard and don’t stop until I tell you otherwise.’

  Joseph did as he was told, not believing that this was happening. Any of it. He pressed with every bit of strength he had left, but no matter how much pressure he applied, the blood still came, seeping through the cracks between his fingers, pooling until he could barely see them.

  ‘It’s not working, Mrs F, do something. Please!’

  Mrs F had been trying to stem the other wounds, and she shouted over her shoulder to the men, imploring them for help, for dressings, whatever they could find.

  But the soldiers didn’t want to get too close, not out of fear at what they’d see, but at the possibility that Adonis would rise and seek his revenge.

  ‘Find me a vet, then. NOW!’

  ‘You’ll be lucky. Anyone who knows their way round a body is already down the hospital,’ one of them replied. ‘The city’s burning, in case you hadn’t noticed. They don’t have time for an animal.’

  ‘Then get out of my zoo!’ Mrs F thundered. ‘NOW.’

  This saw the men stumble backwards and away. They’d seen enough crazy animals without getting close to another.

  ‘Mrs F, it’s not working,’ Joseph cried again, feeling utterly powerless and afraid. ‘You’ve got to do something. Help me. Help him.’

  She lifted her hands from Adonis. She didn’t want to, but she had no choice. She needed to remove her cardigan and rip it into strips.

  ‘Here,’ she thrust some material into his hands. ‘Ball it up and press down hard. Stem the bleeding. DO NOT STOP PRESSING.’

  He didn’t. He daren’t. He pressed, and pushed, and he listened. Adonis’s eyes were open but lolling backwards, pupils disappearing to the top of his head. He was breathing, chest rising and falling, but without any great rhythm, and with less and less conviction.

  And then, it happened.

  Joseph saw it.

  The strip of cream wool in his hand, which had fought as hard as him, gave up: a crimson bloom flowering from the middle outwards, until every last fibre had blossomed, and it glowed, like it was the height of summer. Adonis’s chest rose once more, and fell just as gently, but there it stayed. Still. Defeated.

  ‘Don’t die on me, Adonis,’ Joseph sobbed angrily, incredulous at what he was seeing. ‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me. Not you, too.’

  He couldn’t believe it. Whatever he had once felt about the animal, he had thought him indestructible, carved from stone. To see him like this, reduced to such an undignified death, it turned him inside out.

  ‘You’ve got to get someone, Mrs F. Fetch someone, anyone. Please.’

  Mrs F was standing now, on the other side of her beloved ape. But she didn’t move, not a single step. Nor did she shout.

  ‘He’s dead, Joseph,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing more you can do, nothing I can do either. He’s gone.’

 
He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want a single word of it to be true. But if he knew one thing about the woman beside him, it was that she would only tell him the truth. There would be no more lies between them. Not any more.

  For as long as he could remember, Joseph had felt abandoned. And for too long, it had caused him such pain that he’d turned it into anger, which he carried secretly on his own.

  But tonight, with the body of Adonis lying lifeless between them, he chose to do things differently, and threw himself into the arms of Mrs F with such force that he nearly took her off her feet.

  And from the moment he felt her arms envelop him, he knew that he was safe. Finally, finally, Joseph allowed himself to let go.

  He cried. Without hesitation or fear of being pushed away. And as the woman hugged him, he realised he was crying for everything. For Adonis, and the shell of the zoo he left behind, but also for his mother and his father.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Mrs F said gently in his ear. ‘You cry. Cry as much as you want. I promise, I won’t try and stop you.’

  So Joseph did exactly that. He pushed himself further against her, head burrowed into her shoulder, tears mixing with hers as she pulled him closer still.

  ‘That’s it,’ she whispered. ‘That’s it, son.’

  They didn’t move for what felt like an age, and together, amongst the dancing flames, they both cried: for what they had lost, for who they had lost, but most importantly, for what they had finally found.

  The End

  Afterword

  The moment when a story presents itself is always special, so it’s no surprise to say that I remember exactly where I was when Joseph’s and Adonis’s tale first took hold of me. I was sitting in a campsite in France, on a hot late afternoon, with a friend who I love very much. Let’s say this friend was called Pete (because that was his name).

  As we sat, Pete told me a story about his dad during the Second World War. Unable to fight because of poor health, his dad was part of Manchester’s home guard and had been given a very specific job. Every time the air-raid siren sounded, his dad had to pick up a rifle and run to Manchester Zoo. Once there, he had to sit outside the lion’s cage, his rifle trained on the animal. Why? Because if the bombers destroyed the cage and the lion ran free, then his dad’s mission was to shoot the animal before it went on the rampage.