‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I am sorry. He was a very fine lizard. Well, if you would like to –’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Mrs Hutchison quickly, grabbing Mario’s arm with surprisingly strong fingers. ‘He died yesterday, but today he’s … moving again.’
‘Then is not dead!’ said Mario brightly. ‘Wonderful news! The consultation fee is –’
‘But he is dead!’ said Mrs Hutchison, and Mario noticed for the first time how raw she looked – how pale her lips were, and how pink the whites of her eyes. ‘He died yesterday afternoon, and I know he was dead last night because I was taking some memorial photographs of him in his favourite costumes – then this morning he was moving. Not opening his eyes, but, well … moving. Is it just nerves?’
‘Could be, could be,’ said Mario, lifting the little tail. ‘Have you tried drinking herbal tea?’
‘Not my nerves! His! The nerves in his body, or –’
‘Well,’ said Mario, ‘is not like headless chicken, you know. Lizard is dead – it looks dead. Maybe you could leave him here today. I keep very close eye on him.’
She nodded, lifted the crate on to the counter.
‘It’s so upsetting,’ she said. ‘I was just getting myself accustomed to … I mean he never even wore the Charlie Chaplin costume. It took so long to knit the little moustache, and –’
‘Leave him with me,’ said Mario, leading her out by the shoulder. ‘I will see what is what and I will let you know. Perhaps he is in coma? I will check to see if big lizards can go into comas.’
‘Do you think that’s what it is?’ said Mrs Hutchison, nodding tearfully.
‘I have no idea,’ said Mario, blinking in the sunshine as the bell chimed her exit. ‘I will investigate. Goodbye for now.’
The wind from the closing door dislodged one of the notices and he bent to retrieve it. He had difficulty finding space for the pin: the noticeboard – normally a few tacked pamphlets for pet food – was covered in handwritten notes. And every scribbled message was about a different missing cat.
The door opened again.
‘As soon as I can, Mrs Hutchie, I promise – oh –’
‘It’s my parakeet,’ said a tear-stained man in an overall.
Mario looked over the man’s shoulder and saw a queue of people clutching cages and crates.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘One moment, my people – I must examine this animal first. Please come into waiting area and I will be only a moment.’
The crowd gathered in the small space, and Mario took the iguana into the surgery.
‘So many dead pets, Mr Snuggles,’ he said, gently nudging the lizard’s tail as he carried it through to the surgery. ‘And you are one of them, I’m afraid. As dead as our friend Mr Barkley, and he is –’
He froze in the doorway.
The trolley was empty, the rubber sheet crumpled on the floor.
Barkley was gone.
Mario crouched to follow the trail of wet pawprints, and the crate began to swing in his hand.
36
Truck
‘That was far too close,’ said Arkle, gripping the headrest with trembling hands. ‘Did you see him running? Did you see his eyes?’
‘Yes,’ said Hadley quietly. ‘I feel like I can still see them. Like when you look at the sun.’
They thought about Barnaby’s eyes, and shuddered.
‘How do you know how to drive?’ said Sep.
‘My dad taught me,’ said Lamb. ‘I worked the combine when I was ten. You’re expected to muck in on a farm. And it’s lucky I can drive,’ she added, glaring at Arkle in the rearview mirror. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten it was your smoking that got us hauled in by Tench this morning.’
‘Let it go, Lambert.’
‘Doesn’t everyone on the island know this is your dad’s truck?’ said Sep, before Lamb could respond.
‘They just wave at the truck,’ said Lamb. ‘They don’t really see inside.’
Sep saw how much of her mother’s look she had now. From his angle it looked like Mrs Lambert herself was driving.
They were already on the forest’s narrow road of chipped stone, tyre tracks gouged into their surface like the grooves on an old chair. The road was an avenue of hanging branches filled with sounds: bird calls and rustling wind, the bleating of hidden goats and the chirps of squirrels that ran in liquid hops through the branches. The pickup smelled of mushrooms and farts.
‘What have you all brought to sacrifice?’ Sep asked.
‘I’ve got the Troll Doll pen I wrote my diary with,’ said Hadley. ‘It’s as close as I could get to the same thing.’
‘I brought this alarm clock,’ said Mack. ‘It stopped working today anyway.’
Arkle held up the plastic bag. ‘Vomit-bugs. You all saw it.’
‘I got another teddy at Lamb’s house,’ said Sep.
‘Lamb?’ said Hadley.
‘I’ve brought something,’ Lamb growled, shifting the scarf on her wrist.
They drove in silence for a moment, watching the trees flashing by and thinking about what they were going to do.
‘I’d love to drive a combine harvester,’ Mack said wistfully, jaw muscles bulging like golf balls as he chewed his bubblegum. ‘I used to have a tractor when I was little. You could sit on it and push yourself round the garden.’
‘Jesus, Golden Boy, that’s a fascinating story. I bet it would make a brilliant film. Please,’ Arkle sat back and stroked his chin, ‘tell me more about your favourite childhood toys.’
‘Shut up.’
‘No!’ shouted Arkle, slapping his arm. ‘I just spewed up giant insects! And we all saw Sep’s teddy running about in bloody daylight! This shit is getting too real; stop talking about your damn tractor!’
‘I thought we’d got Barnaby with the stones when we drove away,’ said Hadley.
It seemed to Sep, but he knew it couldn’t be, that she’d shifted closer to him than the back seat demanded.
They were nearly at the end of the track. The trees had emptied, and the world was quiet and still.
‘But he sat straight back up – he’s a zombie teddy,’ said Arkle. ‘We’d need to remove the head or destroy the brain. Actually –’ he screwed up his face – ‘he doesn’t have a brain. Holy shit, how do we kill him?’
‘Same way I’ll kill whoever broke those damn rules and is too scared to admit it,’ said Lamb. ‘Rip. Him. Apart.’
‘That’ll probably do it,’ said Arkle approvingly. ‘Anyone feel like admitting to it now?’
‘No!’ said Sep. ‘Why does it even have to be one of us? Couldn’t someone else have found the box and taken the stuff out? Wouldn’t that be just as bad for us?’
‘Maybe,’ said Lamb reluctantly. She jumped on the brakes, then started to back up, feeding the huge wheel through her hands.
‘So we’re all innocent,’ said Arkle, looking relieved. ‘Here, you need to put these on.’
He handed out squares of tinfoil.
‘Seriously?’ said Lamb. She screwed her foil into a ball and bounced it off Arkle’s forehead. ‘Piss off.’
‘I’m probably not going to wear this, Darren,’ said Hadley.
Sep handed the foil back to Arkle.
‘Yeah, I don’t think it’s going to make any difference,’ he said. ‘I think we can rule the comet out now, don’t you?’
‘But –’ Arkle began.
Mack took the pink blob of gum from his mouth and wrapped it in the foil.
‘Are you all right?’ said Sep.
Mack blinked.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘why?’
‘Just … I don’t know why you’re not freaking out. So much weird shit is happening, it seems like the box is trying to hurt us. And you’re next. Why aren’t you worried?’
Mack looked at him a moment without expression, then smiled.
‘I am, I am. I guess I’m just hungry too.’
Lamb killed the ignition with a jerk of the keys, and
the big truck shuddered to a halt.
Sep realized in the silence how companionable the engine had been, how safe a sound of civilization and home. Without it they were suddenly cut adrift, miles from anyone in the great ocean of the forest, all help beyond even their wildest cries.
And heading straight for the sacrifice box.
He wiped the grime from his window.
‘Is this near the gamekeeper’s hut?’
‘Yup,’ said Lamb, pointing. ‘Roxburgh. He lives up there, along the side of the ravine.’
‘That thing freaks me out,’ said Arkle. ‘Remember that Scout troop who fell into it and ate each other?’
‘That was a stupid rumour, numbnuts. But it is dangerous, and so’s Roxburgh. We need to watch out for him – the box is on his land.’
Hadley leaned across Sep, pressing her weight on his arm.
‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘He’s mean and weird. He’s been in prison.’
‘How d’you know that?’
‘The birds. On his hands – they’re swallow tattoos. That’s what they mean.’
‘Prison’s not like a youth club,’ said Arkle. ‘They don’t stamp your hand so you can get back in. You need to, like, steal some more bread. Or kill again. Here,’ he added, fishing in his pocket, ‘I forgot to tell you guys – The Pube had a memo in his briefcase that said Roxburgh was the one who found old Magpie after the attack.’
‘Mrs Maguire knows Roxburgh?’ said Lamb.
‘Apparently. But I reckon it was him who attacked her in the first place.’
‘Why d’you have to say that?’ said Mack.
They stepped into the afternoon heat, the truck clinking as it cooled, the midday sun shrinking their shadows to discs at their feet. Arkle switched on the Geiger counter, which began to tick slowly.
‘What’s it doing?’ said Mack, wiping his brow.
‘I don’t have a bloody clue,’ said Arkle, scrunching his tinfoil hat into a ball. ‘Ask Sep.’
‘Why’d you even bring that thing?’ said Lamb. ‘It’s not going to help us.’
Arkle tapped the dial with his knuckle.
‘You never know,’ he said.
They went into the forest, leaving the light behind.
‘Was it this hot before?’ said Sep after a few minutes, his jeans already green from the constant mildew. ‘Everything feels tight. It hurts to move.’
Arkle took off his jacket, his bare arms impossibly pale. The Geiger counter’s metronome tick was steady and slow, and he rapped his knuckle on the dial again.
‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
‘You’re so unfit,’ said Lamb, glowing with sweat.
‘Yeah, this is what pre-season is for,’ said Mack.
‘Good advertising,’ said Arkle. ‘Football practice: hang out with assholes, go running, and get tired.’
‘Are you calling me an asshole?’ said Mack.
Arkle, leaning on a tree trunk freckled with lichen and moss, thought for a moment.
‘I think I am, yeah,’ he said, swapping the Geiger counter to his other hand. ‘Jesus, would you look at my trainers?’
‘Who cares about your stupid L.A. Gear –’
‘Stupid new L.A. Gear,’ said Arkle. ‘And Mrs Arkle’s mum will care. I should have worn my crappy old trainers, like the bold Sep.’
‘These are my best shoes,’ said Sep.
Arkle grinned.
‘I know, dude. Here, what you make of that diary, Mack-stick? Another boost for the old ego, eh?’
‘Shut up,’ said Hadley, her eyes flicking to Sep as Mack blushed.
Sep, peering through the sprawl of mud and leaf, tried to keep his face still, listening to the rasp and snick of creatures in the scrub. The woods were lumped by stones and roots, puddles reeking with summer’s hot stink, and the air zipped with insects. He scratched his deaf ear. Its swollen tubes – and the rotten tooth they led to – felt fine again, and he thought of how far away Barnaby must be after Lamb had driven so quickly for so long.
‘We’re nearly there,’ said Hadley, waving her hands as she walked through a spider’s web. ‘Urgh, I don’t – I don’t feel well.’
‘Do you need a rest?’ said Sep.
She shook her head, then strode on, back purposefully straight.
‘What’s the Geiger counter doing?’ said Sep.
‘Hurting my damn shoulder,’ said Arkle.
‘But what’s the reading?’
Arkle peered at the dial.
‘I’ve got no idea,’ he said.
Sep leaned over.
‘0.15.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It’s normal.’
‘But I thought we were being rained on by Soviet warheads?’
‘I told you,’ said Sep. He tapped the glass, watched the needle settle into the same spot. His tooth had begun to hurt again, and he bit down hard. ‘It’s the box. We don’t need this.’
Arkle looked around.
‘Let’s catch up,’ he said, and they jogged forward to join the others.
They were standing at the top of the paddock, looking down the alley of trees at the box. The body of a swallow hung from a branch like a uvula, and everywhere there were flies, numberless and loud and black.
‘Oh, God,’ said Hadley.
Arkle hugged his Geiger counter and carrier bag tightly, half turning back the way they’d come. Sep could feel the box pulling from the clearing’s centre, like a whirlpool’s spinning point.
‘It really stinks,’ said Lamb. Her voice was soft, and she tugged at her mum’s headscarf.
‘We should hold hands,’ said Hadley. ‘Just like before. We’ll go in the same order, then join hands and say the rules.’
‘I’m not holding Mack’s hand,’ said Arkle. ‘It’s in his pants most of the day.’
The clearing was a riot of flesh and rot. Small mammal bones were scattered between the lumps of grass, and the ground was sticky with their decay.
‘Oh my God,’ said Sep. He looked at a pile of skulls, grinning up at him through torn fur. Textbook images of sockets and jaws flashed in his mind, and he swallowed.
‘These are cats,’ he said.
‘Cats?’ said Lamb, her voice breaking. ‘Oh, shit, you think Jones is one of them?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hadley, touching Lamb’s hand for a second.
Sep saw Lamb’s profile as she bit her lip: hawk-like and strong. Her mother’s face, more so than ever in the clearing’s sallow light.
‘The lid’s off,’ she said, voice trembling. ‘I told you someone had broken the rules!’
‘Oh, God,’ said Hadley, swallowing as though she might be sick. ‘Oh, God.’
Sep saw something plastic on the ground and picked it up.
‘Why’s there a mixtape here?’ he said.
‘What?’ hissed Lamb, looking over. ‘Whose is that?’
Sep wiped the label with his thumb, but the handwriting was smudged with rain and mud. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter now. Let’s just get this done.’
He stepped between a decaying gull and what might have been a mouse. A bone crunched beneath his feet – and he felt the attention of the place shift towards him.
There was a fluttering overhead and they all looked up.
‘Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit …’ said Arkle.
Three crows shone like dark blossom, their feathers prisms of purple and blue. They were watching the box.
‘Ready?’ said Sep. He heard the sound, the deaf-ear sound, but it was smothered – like breath held in anticipation. He looked at the clearing’s shadowy edge. ‘Hurry up!’
Hadley and Mack stood beside him, Hadley’s weary head almost rolling on her shoulders. They peered into the sacrifice box.
It was empty, the original sacrifices gone. Now only roots fell hungrily inside, their surfaces pink and sticky, like torn skin. The box’s stone was thick with flies, and Sep felt the prey instinct tremble inside his heart.
‘Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit …’ said Arkle.
Sep followed his stare and found a squirrel – its head split neatly in two, its brains bulging like a purple walnut – moving its skinless jaw. And with each flex of the rotten flesh came a matching spasm in his rotting tooth.
‘How is that happening?’ said Arkle. ‘Sep? Is that photosynthesis?’
The squirrel’s stomach was torn open, its guts trailing behind it in little bags of yellow and brown.
Sep bit down and turned away. The noise was growing louder.
‘We need to do it now!’ said Hadley. She threw in her Troll Doll pen and grabbed Sep’s hand. ‘Lamb!’ she shouted.
Lamb stared into the box, her eyes burning with tears.
‘There was a look my mum used to get, when she was annoyed. It used to wind me up, but now … I miss it so much. To see it just one more time –’
Hadley looked at Sep, who shook his head.
‘What are you doing, Lamb?’
‘Her eyes were closed when I got there, and she never opened them again. I just want her to see me, once. That’s all! To see me … and know I’m with her.’
She tore the headscarf from her wrist and dropped it inside.
‘Oh my God,’ said Hadley. ‘Lamb, your scarf –’
‘I’ve given it everything I have!’ Lamb shouted back, choking back a sob and grabbing her hand. ‘Darren, go!’
Arkle looked between them.
‘But –’
‘Do it!’
He upended the plastic bag, dropping the dragonflies inside. Sep tossed Chewbacca into the darkness, then Mack threw in the alarm clock and stood back.
The wind rose, whipping round them and throwing their hair about as they looked into the dark pit of the box, their sacrifices swallowed by the shadows.
This isn’t going to work, thought Sep.
‘Now say the words!’ said Hadley.
Sep looked at them and wondered how it had come to this, how they had come to this place – balanced together on the edge of chaos.
Lamb nodded, and they spoke together.
‘Never come to the box alone.’
Sep felt Hadley’s fingers in his.
‘Never open it after dark.’
The Sacrifice Box Page 16