A-sac was desperately in need of sleep and decided to slip behind one of the metal sheets, out of the way of Melloon, and get a proper rest. He found a comfortable spot and almost immediately dropped off.
He was woken by a noise like the world exploding and his head rang, hideously in tune with the vibrating metal sheet. Just above his head, a new hole had appeared in the steel plate, frayed outwards. The hole was quite round.
Shaken, he staggered away from the place, his head still clanging, unable to orientate himself properly. There was a second, distant explosion a few moments later and the metal plate rang again, this time not so loud. Another hole was visible. From somewhere on the havnot, on the back of Melloon, came the acrid smell which normally followed gunfire. It was an odour the knowledge of which is deeply buried in the racial consciousness of all foxes, and though A-sac had not experienced it before, he knew instinctively that this was the smell his father had warned him about. He knew that there were men in the region which must be avoided at all costs. Judging by the denseness of the odours from the gun, A-sac realised it was a very large weapon. A-sac could have pushed his head through the hole in the metal sheet, without touching the sides. Who on earth, he wondered, would they hunt with such a giant gun? Were there creatures in the world with skins as thick as metal planks? If so, they must have been the size of houses.
He walked to the fence around the perimeter of the area and just as he found a hole in it, the giant gun boomed again. The ground shook and the chainlink fence rattled. A-sac slipped through the hole, skipped under some unrolled barbed wire, and found himself on a road. For a while he travelled on the tarmac, but when a vehicle whipped by him, missing him by a hair, he took to the ditch. He had no idea where he was going, but guessed that it was in the direction of the face since he was travelling west. He was still on the wrong side of the river, but that was not so important as getting away from the thunderous gunfire.
To the south of the road lay the river itself, and to the north, the marshes, and soon the road swept round and over a hard on the river mud with a ford in the middle.
The tide was coming in and A-sac knew that if he did not get across soon, he would either have to walk on the bridge or wait twelve hours for the ebb again. The bridge, he guessed, was a long way off and there were few places to hide for a sleep. He felt ragged and worn, his head was still buzzing and his stomach churning. He had one thought in mind now, to destroy the giant hound. After that he could return to his parents in the scrapyard.
He walked over the hard, splashed through the cold water, and up on to the other side. The road sloped up to a gap in the dyke but A-sac ignored this to travel along the edge of the river. The tide kept pace with him, swirling in, filling the deeper indentations in the mud first of all, then assuming a more placid face but still steadily moving and rising.
When he reached a certain point, he cut inland, crossing a short stretch of havnot to the edge of town. It was here a rabbit panicked and ran through the corn stubble and A-sac gave chase. Despite his feeling of ill health, the fox overtook the rabbit and was soon appeasing his hunger. After that his legs felt more steady and he was able to continue the journey without feeling as if he was about to keel over at any time.
There was a long row of sweet chestnut trees just before the face and A-sac climbed one of these to the consternation of a squirrel who jumped from branch to branch, squeaking, ‘Posso fare qualcosa per Lei? Posso fare qualcosa per Lei? Torni fra uno giorni, eh?’
A-sac took no notice of the grey squirrel but lay on a large bough until the meal of rabbit had settled a little in his stomach.
Just when he was ready to move, some children came to play around the base of the trees. The squirrel was able to skip from one chestnut tree to the other since the top branches were almost touching, but A-sac was trapped until they went away. Then he climbed down and entered the face through an alley. He found himself in a quiet residential area where only one or two houses had been occupied, the rest were still being built though almost finished. The street was still caked with builder’s mud and there were empty cement bags lying in the gutter. The front gardens of the houses, even the inhabited ones, were like badly ploughed fields.
A-sac followed the crescent-shaped street round to a better road, hoping to find a familiar landmark. He stayed close to buildings, as his mother had taught him, and tried to blend in with his surroundings. Eventually he came to the centre of the new town, which though not yet completely inhabited was more established that the fringes. More than half the shops in the main square were now open for business and there were quite a few people hurrying through the precincts.
A-sac dropped back down an unfamiliar alley. It was only when he reached the end that he could see it was blocked by a high wall: he was in a cul-de-sac. He turned to brave the peopled streets once again, only to find the other end of the alley also blocked. This time the barrier was animate: a huge dog.
The monstrous creature moved forward, crouching low, fangs bared to the gums.
A voice in A-sac’s head cried, ‘This is the one!’
A-sac waited, and when the giant beast was within attacking distance, the little fox said, ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
The dog paused and looked confused.
A-sac sprang for the throat of his enemy. The ferociousness of his attack took his opponent completely by surprise.
Since they had heard nothing for several days, Camio decided to reconnoitre the area. Mitz and O-ha were asleep so he left the earth quietly and worked his way through the elaborate system of tunnels that the foxes had discovered under the mountain of scrap. Here and there were open pockets, like caverns, but for the most part the channels were narrow enough only to allow passage to creatures the size of cats or foxes. On reaching the edge, Camio spent a long time just waiting and listening, sniffing the air, making absolutely certain that no danger lay behind the immediate surrounds of the scrapyard. One or two pigeons fluttered down on to the roof-tops around him, and of course there were sparrows bickering and battling everywhere, but not much other movement. There were few humans about since it was early morning and not many had risen from their beds.
He went cautiously out into the face and found the streets remarkably clear of other animals. That could have meant that Sabre had been caught by his owners, but quietly and without any fuss, so that no one knew he had gone. Or it could have meant that he was still out there somewhere and all the other creatures were still in hiding. There were one or two cats around but it was no use asking them. Even if they spoke fox they would not necessarily tell him the truth. They were great ones for posing enigmas too, giving convoluted or ambiguous answers and leaving the recipient to try to work it out.
Camio did try one dog, a nervous terrier, smaller than himself, and received the answer, ‘O horror! O horror!’, and then the dog ran away, leaving him more puzzled than he had been before. He guessed that the ridgeback was just as terrible to smaller dogs as he was to foxes, and that the question had stirred fear in the terrier’s heart.
Someone had left a black rubbish bag outside the door and Camio tore this open to find some scraps inside. If he could feed himself out here there would be more for the other two back at the yard.
When the sun was beginning to climb the wall of the sky and more people were in the streets, Camio felt it was either time to return to the earth or find another way of searching the area. He was crouched by a rose bush in a garden when he heard a sound with which he was reasonably familiar. It was the deliberate ringing of a bell, accompanied by a gruff barking. A vehicle was moving slowly along the road: an open truck with junk in the back.
Camio waited until the truck was alongside the garden in which he was hiding and then he ran out and jumped into the back. There he found some old coats which he crept underneath. There were many smells wafting from the junk which he knew would mask his own scent, so that he could travel the streets in safety. However, it meant that he himself could not u
se his nose and he had to rely on his poor eyesight to scan the streets for signs of the ridgeback.
From time to time the vehicle stopped and something was tossed into the back. The swarthy human that was in charge of the truck only dropped the tailgate and began moving the junk around when someone had given him a large item. By that time Camio had toured several streets and realised that he was getting nowhere. He left the pile of rags and jumped down into the street. A human mouth dropped open and some barking ensued but Camio knew he would not be attacked by the man. He trotted off down an alley.
After a fruitless period of time, Camio began to make his way back to the earth. He was naturally still very cautious and as he got closer to home he was aware of a figure at the end of a street. He recognised her scent instantly. It was Mitz. He walked up to her.
‘What are you doing out?’ he cried.
‘I was worried about you. I woke up from being asleep and O-ha had gone too. I got lonely.’
‘Your mother’s probably still in the scrapyard, looking for a cache of food. Come on, let’s get back. That dog…’ suddenly, as if his words had conjured his enemy into being, he caught the whiff of a scent. He saw Mitz stiffen and realised she had it too.
‘He’s around here somewhere,’ she whispered.
The two foxes melted away, off the street, into the shadows. They were about two roads from the scrapyard. Camio led the way behind an old fence, by some vegetable allotments. They worked their way through the grasses to a hole in the fence, some thirty yards from where they had first met. Camio peered out through the hole, sniffing the air. It still had that faint scent of the ridgeback.
‘We’d better make a dash for it,’ he told Mitz. ‘You go first. Head for that narrow street over there and follow it through to the scrapyard. You have two corners to pass. Don’t look down the sidestreets. Don’t worry about what’s behind the corners. Just run for all you’re worth. I’ll be right behind you.’
She did as she was told, streaking over the main road. Camio was right behind her. They reached the first corner without incident. It was when they passed the second that they knew he was behind them.
A car came around the corner and passed between the two foxes.
Hit the dog! thought Camio. Please hit the dog!
But his prayers went unanswered because a moment later a yell came from just behind him.
‘I know you foxes. I know both of you.’ His strong body odour was in the air. ‘You’re dead! I’m going to gut you, one at a time – rip open your bellies and let the insides out.’
‘Keep running!’ shouted Camio.
The dog was trying to frighten them. A scared animal will often freeze in its tracks. Camio’s body was tingling with fear. He could almost feel the hot breath of the beast on his hindquarters. His head was jangling with the terror of being torn limb from limb.
‘You – know – you’re dead, fox. You can – feel my teeth at your – throat. Blood spurting – over the ground. Windpipe bubbling, gasping – gasping for that – that final breath…’
The sound of feet on the road. An elderly human stood like a statue, shopping bag in hand, gawping. Two human children on wheeled boards, unaware of the drama, had their eyes on their task. Mitz almost bowled one over as she ran between them. There were squeals in the foxes’ wake.
None of this had slowed the ridgeback.
‘This – is – it – fox. Time. Time to die.’
The dog was right. A few more steps and he would have one of them. It was obvious to Camio that they were not going to make the scrapyard in time. One of them would be caught. He wondered whether to turn and face the dog now, but as always there was a faint hope in his chest that something might turn up, something might …
Suddenly, a blur of brown and white flashed behind the running fox. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a huge mound of hair; his nose snatched at the smell of a strange dog; his ears captured the double sounds of heavy breathing. What was this?
Camio heard the angry shout, ‘Out of the way! Out of the way you stupid …’
The foxes kept going, but just before the yard Camio glanced over his shoulder. What he saw pulled him up short. Mitz had stopped to get her breath too. Both foxes were on taut nerves, had muscles like tight springs, ready for instant release, the leap into the junk and the safety of its labyrinth of tunnels.
Standing in the middle of the street, barring the ridgeback’s path, was another giant dog. This second dog was slightly smaller than the hound from the Unplace, but more solid looking.
‘It’s Betsy,’ said Mitz in excitement. ‘You know, that dog I told you about? And there’s the man!’
‘You stupid bitch!’ screamed the ridgehound, his anger making the hair on his back bristle. ‘They’ll get away. What are you? A fox-lover? Fox-lover bitch?’
A human stepped on to the street. He moved towards the ridgeback who was still screaming at Betsy. The St Bernard stayed where she was, looking bulky and immovable. The foxes heard her say, ‘I’m waiting for an insult. I am a bitch, though I suppose you’ve seen so few of us in your time you don’t recognise one. Never been with one of us I suppose? Can’t imagine any of us wanting you.’
‘So that’s it,’ snarled Sabre, ‘a frustrated bitch in season. I’ll gut you …’
Betsy glanced behind at Camio and Mitz, and then, turning back, nodded.
‘I see. I am sorry to hear that.’
‘You will be. You will be.’
But by this time the man was closing in on the ridgeback. He held a stick in front of him like a bar, one hand on each end of it. He held it horizontally, as if offering the middle of it for the hound to bite. Camio had seen this method of keeping a dog at bay back home and it always worked. Humans familiar with animal ways, like this man, knew that using a stick like a club does not work on a hound. Dogs can avoid the swings, and duck underneath. However, a dog has certain predictable ways, especially in an attack mode. They go for the part of their victim which is closest to them, in this case the stick extended like a bar, regardless. They see the figure as a whole, not as individual parts, and the stick is as much part of the man as his arm or leg. In savaging the stick the dog believes he is biting the man.
Sabre leapt forward and gripped the thick pole in his massive jaws, tearing at it. Bits of chewed wood fell to the ground.
The man barked: a firm clear bark. Camio could hear the confidence, the absolute lack of fear in that voice. It was a stern command and a warning. The command was repeated. Sabre stopped attacking the pole.
No doubt coming to his senses and realising his crime: that if he actually inflicted a serious wound on this human, he was in danger of taking a one-way trip to the man in the white coat. The sentence would be death.
The ridgeback ran off, away from the scene.
Betsy scratched behind her ear, with her hind leg, a sure sign to Camio that she had been scared. Dogs were like foxes in that respect and nervousness came out in some casual activity afterwards, like fussing over one’s fleas. He wanted to go up and thank the bitch for helping them escape, but it was an unnatural action and in the end he nosed Mitz towards the scrap and followed her in.
She said, ‘Good old Betsy. Did you see that? She’s got courage that dog.’
‘She’s very brave,’ agreed Camio.
‘They were following me,’ said Mitz proudly. ‘They were tracking me by my collar. Now you see why I didn’t want you to gnaw it off?’
‘Indeed I do,’ said Camio, gravely.
O-ha was waiting for them, back in the earth, frantic about the fact that Mitz was missing. She gave her daughter a scolding, after which there was a cooling-off period for all concerned. Then they recounted the story to her.
Reports came to them later, of another fox killed in the face just a few hours earlier, though the newsbearers were not certain whether the big dog had been responsible for this or whether it was just another road death. It was true that many more foxes lost their
lives to traffic on the roads than were killed by dogs – even dedicated fox murderers like Sabre – but somehow the thought of a giant beast systematically hunting them down in their own parish was much more terrible. It seemed that nowhere was safe: not even one’s own earth. And while the hound was running loose, no real hunting could be done, nor gathering of discarded human fodder outside restaurants. It was too dangerous to be out on the streets at any hour of the day or night. So caches near to the earth were used and then marked when empty. Stores were beginning to run out.
‘We’ll give them one more day to catch him,’ said Camio, ‘and then I have to go out again, to hunt. I’m sick of being trapped in this place. Today was a bad experience but we’ve got to learn to live again, to evade danger rather than sit here hiding from it.’
O-ha said, ‘Hasn’t today taught you anything?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘today has taught me to be more cautious. Today I ran when I should have sneaked, over the roof-tops, under the fences. I’ll be more careful in future.’
She nodded. ‘You’re right, I suppose. We can’t stay in here forever.’
Mitz said nothing.
Later that day she had a strange experience which she recognised because of her mother’s tales. A fox came to the earth, standing off from it, and had remained there for some time, waiting. Mitz first thought of waking her mother who was asleep at the time, then changed her mind. O-ha would have wanted to go with the fox-spirit. Mitz knew her brother was dead and that the creature with the pure white flame over its head was waiting to lead someone to the corpse. She also knew that her mother would want to see her cub have his last rites, would die in the attempt to make that possible.
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