‘Are you going to eat me?’ said Ella, and the creature’s face twisted a little, exposing his teeth, as if he was trying to smile. He shook his head, then pulled something out of his pocket and offered it to her.
It was a cold potato in its jacket. She sniffed it then bit into it greedily, only now realizing how hungry she was. She gobbled it down and swallowed it, feeling it nudge its way slowly down her dry throat. Afterwards Scarface offered her some water from a plastic bottle. She drank half of it and immediately felt a million times better. Scarface then took off his Nike bag and turned round, still squatting in front of her, and indicated with a jerk of his chin that she should climb on to his back. She hesitated a moment, then thought, What the hell, and clambered on. He gripped her legs with his elbows and straightened up, carrying his Nike bag in front of him. His body felt warm, but didn’t smell as bad as most grown-ups. Ella rested her head on his shoulder and as they jogged along she gradually drifted off to sleep.
She was jolted awake a little while later and found that Scarface had stopped. He was standing among some trees in a wood, watching something – Ella couldn’t see what – and after a while he relaxed and started walking again. As he did so, Ella spotted movement around them. Animals were approaching, like ghosts in the dark. Ella felt a moment’s fear and panic, but was calmed when she saw that Scarface wasn’t bothered. He just walked on. Ella could see now that the animals were dogs. They didn’t growl or anything, just sniffed around Scarface. Sniffed at his legs and bag, then trotted off back into the darkness under the trees.
Scarface moved a bit faster now and soon they were out of the wood and in a wide-open space. There was another smaller clump of trees ahead and a cluster of buildings half hidden among them. As they got nearer, Ella saw that it was a farm of some sort. Scarface stopped to let her down. Her legs felt stiff and weak and she had to stamp her feet to get everything working properly. She was just about to walk to the farm entrance when Scarface grabbed her and held her back, then indicated with his open palms that she should go carefully and stay behind him.
He walked on very cautiously now. There was a road going through the trees to a gate, and beyond it was a farmyard with large, mostly modern-looking buildings and an older farmhouse in the middle, the sort you saw in picture books, except the windows were all dark and the top half was black from fire. Ella noticed that part of the roof had collapsed as well. As they neared the gate, Scarface pointed to a low wire that was stretched out across the road. He stepped over it carefully and Ella did the same. A few paces further on there was another wire, this one higher up, that they had to duck under. When they got to the gate, Scarface didn’t open it, but climbed over it instead. Ella could smell animals and animal poo. It wasn’t a bad smell. Not like the rotten stink of grown-ups. Still Scarface was going carefully, pointing out to Ella all sorts of traps and obstacles. He then skirted round the farmyard into some bushes at the side.
Ella held back, not sure what he was doing, and that was when she noticed the things hanging in the trees and bushes all around. Skulls and bones, and weird bits of animals, birds’ wings, foxes’ tails, claws and teeth and ribs, all sort of tied together with wires into weird shapes. Like warnings. Ella didn’t like it. She went to find Scarface and found him huddled over an animal trap. There was a dead rabbit stuck in it and he freed it, then held it up and waved it at her triumphantly, his face pulled into its horrible, tooth-bared grin,
Ella wasn’t quite sure what she thought about the dead rabbit. It had been a long time since she’d tasted fresh meat, but she supposed it would make a good breakfast. Better than a cold potato.
Scarface stuffed the rabbit into one of the pockets in his big loose coat. It was made of some sort of waxy material that had felt uncomfortable when she’d rested her head on it. She realized now that all his clothes were good; he had on boots and black combat trousers with more bulging pockets. Two knives hung at his belt, plus a longer weapon, like a sword with a wide, hooked blade. He was a little bit muddy, but, if it wasn’t for his mutilated, deformed features, he would have looked like an ordinary farmer out to trim his hedges, or maybe a gamekeeper or a poacher, like the ones Ella used to read about in her Roald Dahl books. She certainly hadn’t seen a grown-up dressed in normal clothes for months. They mostly wore rags and filthy bits and pieces that they never changed.
Scarface checked some more traps around the edge of the farm and then led her, not over to the main farmhouse, but to the side door of a big barn built out of metal. There was a complicated series of locks and traps around the door that he patiently worked his way through, which gave Ella a chance to look at his hands. They were as mangled as his face, and he had at least one finger missing. Eventually he got the door open and they went inside.
The first thing that Ella noticed was that half of the roof was missing; she could see the open sky and stars far above. The next thing she noticed was that Scarface had made a camp down at the covered end, with a bed up on a platform. It was quite neat and tidy, with various other bits of furniture, and even pictures hanging on the walls.
Scarface took the rabbit out of his pocket and hung it up next to a couple more dead animals, another rabbit and a squirrel. Ella wondered if he ate squirrels and whether she’d be able to if he offered her one.
All she wanted to do now was sleep, though. He took her over to the platform and pointed at the bed. She was too tired to do anything but curl up in it under a pile of sleeping bags.
She slept well, untroubled by any nightmares, but woke up in the early morning, screaming at the light.
4
For the next few days Ella felt like she’d gone mad, as if a demon or something had taken over her body and she was like a tiny pilot sitting inside her head, watching what was happening. Her body was acting without her telling it to. First there was the screaming. It felt like there was a massive weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her; she was gasping for breath, and as she tried to breathe she screamed, her body shaking in the bed, soaking wet from sweat. Mad. Hours spent just screaming. It reminded her of an episode of The Simpsons where Homer can’t stop screaming and he doesn’t know why. Turns out it’s to do with a dead body.
Just one.
What did he have to worry about?
There were nasty dark thoughts hiding at the edges of her brain. She was making herself not think about them, but a part of her, a hidden part, must be looking …
And screaming.
In the end she was too exhausted to scream any more and fell into a feverish half-world, not awake and not asleep, only dimly aware of what was happening around her, the coming and going of Scarface as he brought food and water. She didn’t always know what it was she was eating, but most of it was warm and always made her feel a little better.
Except when she was sick. How many times did that happen? She wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure of anything. Her body was carrying on without her. Nights came and went; days came and went. Some days it rained; other days it was sunny. Eventually a numbness came on her and at last one morning she was able to sit up. Weak, a little fuzzy in the head, a little shaky.
Scarface was sitting on the edge of the platform with his back to her. There was a light drizzle hanging in the air and the day felt grey and misty, not all there.
She needed a wee and she thought of Monkey-Boy, back at the hotel, too scared to get out of bed. He was just a memory now. She couldn’t let him be real.
‘I need the toilet,’ she said and Scarface turned. It was a shock to see his face in the light. His skin was sort of ripped and folded over, shiny in places, rough and chopped up in others. His lips were fat on one side, like sausages, but missing on the other, so that they didn’t close properly and she could see his teeth. He had an ear missing, but hadn’t lost any hair. One of his eyes was cloudy and red, weeping, the other stared at her, clear and brown and perfect.
He nodded, standing up, and Ella got out of bed, walking stiffly on wobbly legs. She follo
wed him across the barn to where there was a bright blue chemical toilet sitting in the corner. It was plastic and had a door in the front, a bit like the Tardis. She opened the door and went inside and she remembered it now. The harsh smell. She’d been here before. She must have come when she was crazy. She sat down and tried not to think about anything.
She couldn’t stop herself thinking about the creature’s face, though. It was so horrible. She wondered if it hurt. Face-ache. That’s what her dad used to call her when he was teasing her. ‘Come on, Face-Ache, finish your breakfast …’
When she came out, Scarface was ready with some food for her. A bowl of porridge. He’d gone to the trouble of laying a place for her at a table with three unmatching wooden chairs. As she ate, she looked over to where the dead animals had been hanging; the rabbits and the squirrel were gone, but a duck was strung up there now, its neck broken.
When she’d eaten the porridge, Scarface gave her a hard-boiled egg in its shell, which Ella cracked and peeled off in one go. He watched her as she ate, like her mum used to.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said. ‘It’s embarrassing.’
Scarface shrugged and wandered off, made himself busy cleaning some animal traps. Ella properly looked at the barn for the first time. Scarface had collected lots of stuff, odd bits of furniture, garden ornaments and statues, a shop dummy dressed in camouflage gear, some bicycles, parts of engines and machinery, garden tools and weapons. There were pictures and mirrors, and even a stuffed boar’s head, fixed to the wall, and stacks of wood, boxes filled with junk. She noticed that there were even some shelves of books.
She didn’t understand it. Grown-ups weren’t supposed to read books and ride bikes. They were no better than dumb animals. Maybe this one had somehow avoided the disease, in which case why was he so chewed up and rotten-looking?
When she’d finished eating, she went over to the shelves and looked at the books. They were a mixed bunch; most of them she’d never heard of, but there was one she did recognize. The Twits by Roald Dahl. She took it off the shelf and flicked through the pages. It was so familiar, like meeting an old friend. She wondered what had happened to all her old books, back there in her house in Holloway. Were they all still where she’d left them? She hadn’t thought to take any with her when she’d moved into Waitrose with the other kids. And there wasn’t a day when she wished she hadn’t left them behind. It had been so boring living there with nothing to do all day.
No. Best not to remember any of that. Best not to picture her old room that she’d shared with Sam. Poor Sam. Her big brother – even if he was only little. Taken by the grown-ups. Gone forever. She mustn’t think about him.
Ella put the book back on the shelf and looked up at the grey sky, the fine rain falling through the roof. Why did Scarface live in here and not in the house? It must get very cold. And damp. She remembered how the bricks of the farmhouse were black from fire. Maybe it wasn’t safe in there?
And here? Was this going to be her life now? Stuck here with this – what did the kids back at the museum call them? – sicko. Stuck here with this sicko. Nothing had been right since Sam had been taken and they’d left Holloway. She still thought of it as home.
‘What are we going to do today?’ she asked, then saw that he’d picked up a short pole with a clubbed end studded with nails and jagged bits of metal. For a second she thought he meant to attack her with it, but instead he walked over and gave it to her, then went to the door they’d come in by. It was well protected, with bars and bolts and a steel post jammed at an angle, the bottom end wedged against a concrete block set into the floor.
‘What do you expect me to do with this?’ Ella asked as he started to remove everything so that they could get out. ‘I’m too small to fight and it’s really heavy.’
Scarface ignored her, but when she propped it against the wall he patiently picked it up and gave it back to her.
Ella thought it best not to argue any more.
Eventually Scarface was able to open the door and they went outside. Ella looked round the farmyard. There were three more barns of different sizes and in the middle the half-burned farmhouse, looking dark and miserable.
Scarface took Ella over to one of the other barns. The door here also had all sorts of locks and things on it and she had to wait while he sorted them out. She looked at the club he’d given her. Didn’t think she could ever hit anyone with it, but had to admit she felt a bit better holding on to it.
Once Scarface got the door open they went inside. There was a strong smell that clawed at the back of her throat, like old stale wee, and there was a dry, dusty feel to the air, and the sound of something humming and buzzing, as if there was a huge crowd of people inside the barn. They went through a small entrance area and into a much larger space. Ella was amazed to see a great pen full of hundreds of chickens all running around clucking. She laughed. This was crazy.
Scarface went over to a big bin and scooped out a shovelful of grain that he threw at the chickens, who squawked and clucked even louder and started pecking at it like mad things. She was amazed that he would use food to feed chickens. That meant there must be lots of it here. A whole farm full of stored-up food. No wonder he had so many locks and traps about the place. He handed the shovel to Ella and she copied him, hurling more grain at the chickens and still laughing. There was a line of henhouses down one side and Scarface showed Ella the warm eggs sitting in straw under lift-up wooden flaps. She helped him collect them and carefully put the eggs into a bucket.
It was just like Maeve had said the countryside would be – farms and animals and food and lots of friendly kids to play with
Except it wasn’t really, was it? Because Maeve had missed out the part about having your head chewed off by a grown-up. And Ella wasn’t skipping round a sunny farm with a jolly farmer. She was trudging about the place with a nasty spiked club in the rain with this weird sicko, old Face-Ache.
Life was never like the stories in books, was it?
They took the eggs back to the main barn and Scarface let Ella carry them. They were putting them away in a tin box when Scarface suddenly stopped and straightened up, listening, sniffing the air. Ella listened too. She could just hear the faint tinkling of a bell in the distance. Scarface let out his breath and scratched his armpit. He looked at Ella, as if deciding something, then passed her the club that she had put down to stack the eggs. He walked to the door and started unlocking it.
What was going on now?
Ella pulled her gold necklace out of her jumper and rolled the gold beads between her fingers. She’d got the necklace in the Victoria and Albert Museum, next door to the Natural History Museum. Chose it out of all the ones in the display cases. It had gold beads and the head of a man with a beard dangling off the bottom. It was the head of Achelous apparently. Some sort of Greek god. The name had reminded her of Achilleus, who was a great fighter.
If only Achilleus had come with them when they’d left the museum. He’d have protected her and Monkey-Boy. He was their champion. If he knew she was here he’d come charging out of London with his spear and kill everyone.
But he didn’t know, though, did he? And all she had was Face-Ache and this necklace.
Ella prayed to Achelous to look after her.
5
When they went back outside, Ella saw that there was something tangled in the wires on the other side of the farm gate. Some large animal. The wires must be connected to a bell, as a warning. She could hear it ringing, off in the bushes. As they walked closer, though, she saw that it wasn’t an animal, it was a grown-up, a mother. And she was still alive. Struggling feebly. Ringing the bell. Ting-a-ling-a-ling.
They climbed over the gate, ducked under the high wire and Scarface went to inspect his prey.
Ella held back. Shaking slightly.
The mother was quite a large woman and most of her hair was missing, apart from a few long, trailing, greasy strands. She was wearing what looked like a filth
y nightie and had bare legs and feet. Her skin looked all white with purple blotches and lumpy yellow growths.
She was hanging off a long pole with spikes fixed all along it, some of which were stuck in her back.
The wire must be a tripwire.
Sam used to have one he’d got from the Science Museum. It made an alarm go off if you trod on it. He sometimes used to put it in the bedroom doorway.
This tripwire was different. It obviously made this long, bendy pole fly out from the bushes. Ella remembered arriving here the other night. Stepping over the wire, not knowing what would happen if she touched it …
She imagined that pole springing out, whacking into her, those spikes going into her skin, her body.
The mother was impaled on it. She was wriggling, trying to get free, not understanding what was holding her there. Blood was dripping into a pool beneath her. Her mouth and eyes were twisting and going narrow then wide, like she was trying to make faces, chewing the air, bending her neck. Scarface sighed through his nose, took a knife from his belt and lifted her chin.
Ella turned away as he put the blade to her throat.
Why was it always like this? You had something nice like the chickens then something horrid like this trapped mother. Nice then horrid. Nice then horrid. And always the horrid thing was a hundred times worse than the nice thing.
Ella sat on a tree stump and waited for Scarface to finish what he was doing. Finally she heard the thud of the mother’s body hitting the ground and the sound of her being dragged away. Ella couldn’t help turning back to watch. Scarface had the mother by the ankles and was pulling her along through the field next to the road. Ella followed them at a distance.
There was a harsh croak from above and she looked up to see a whole flock of crows circling above them, black marks against the grey sky.
Scarface got to the middle of the overgrown field and stopped, let go of the mother’s puffy legs. Ella stopped too, not wanting to go any closer. She could see a clump of white sticks. Scarface left the mother there, rubbed his hands together, wiped them on his combat trousers and then came back over to Ella.
The Hunted Page 3