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Clay met us at the door of Hartigan’s without any sign of a fuss. I introduced Jack, and he took a moment to chew it over, leaning back against the splintered doorframe, sizing the guy up in a measured stare. It wasn’t like Clay to do anything in a hurry, and he hated being bustled, so we waited. Mel withdrew a smoke, stashing the pack back in her belt before anyone could leech one, and ignited with a flick of the chrome pistol – Jack, who’d probably called a spade a spade and assumed Mel was playing with an actual gun, grinned appreciatively, if sheepishly, but refrained from speaking. In part, this was down to my earlier warning – until Nancy gives the nod, any new blood who speaks before spoken to is due for a whipping. Mostly, though, I fancy he still felt shy around Mel, by whom he’d been fairly awestruck back in The Box. Clay’s six-ten frame may have also been a factor.

After three solid drags, Mel asked what we’d missed at home. She addressed this out into the road – Clay and she had barely looked at each other since the Dormund Street fiasco – but after a further moment’s consideration, he gave a brief report:

Amy Lin, warrior priestess of the bay, had rolled in with her personal guards, polished off a bottle of spirit, almost come to blows with Beck (a fight I’d pay to see, by all means), and headed off towards the tunnels. No hint of when she’d be coming back through, apparently. But then, there never was.

Beck, thus cheated out of his knuckle-dusting, had headed up to his room to work off some steam. This left the bar empty, which suited temporary tender Corky just fine; he’d been itching to play about on the run-down piano since we hauled it in, but bashful chap that he was, refused to favour any of us with a tune. In fact, this had turned into a game of sorts for the peevish Beck, who would take it upon himself to wait on the stairs, just out of sight, and leap in just as Corky sat down and flexed his fingers. I rather fancied that I wasn’t the only one disappointed by Amy Lin’s retreat.

Meanwhile, up in the eaves, Nancy and Jess had been working through expenses for the latest batch of equipment. Jess had a good head for numbers, and was careful to sort out any convoluted equations herself, thus sparing Nancy the usual self-frustrated angst that came with any job involving paperwork. Apparently, our intrepid captain had been in reasonably high spirits that afternoon – though this from Clay, who was never at the receiving end of Nancy’s wrath – which boded well for our update from The Box, as well as introducing Jack.

Clay himself had apparently repaired the damage from when the last Feral had stalked in. This was good news for Mel, who’d grown sick of complaining that anyone could climb up through the ceiling into her room. Also, a hole looming over the bar didn’t do much for the Hartigan aesthetic, it must be said.

To his credit, Jack seemed to take all this information in his stride. Not knowing any of these people, I’d half-expected him to grow bored and return to ogling Mel, but he stuck it out, and even widened his eyes at all the right moments. There was a chance that he might even manage to meet Nancy without pissing him off – something, to my mind, that only Clay had managed thus far.

“So, what now?” asked Mel, flicking her smoke out into the breeze and turning back to face us. “What’s Nancy’s plan?”

Clay shrugged and pushed the door open, ushering us inside. Due to their exclusive intimacy, the rest of us often assumed that Clay would be aware of Nancy’s plans. As he always reminded us, however, Nancy was a private man with private thoughts, and even a proportionally-proud prick like Clay’s didn’t grant total access to the boss’s inner monologue.

By the time we stepped inside, Corky had apparently heard our voices and scampered back behind the bar, from where he flashed us a pearly grin as he began pouring measures.

“What-ho, chaps, glad you’re back. You look like you could use a stiff one, if you ask me. Never fear, old Corky’s got just the ticket right here.” He brandished the bottle suggestively. “Found this knocking about downstairs in a crate marked ‘Danger’, figured I’d find out for myself, and by God, I’m glad I did, ha! Gather round, gather round – first one’s on the house.”

“We are the house, fool.” Apparently, this observation wouldn’t stop Mel from shimmying onto a stool, drawing Jack’s attention from her bust to her rear in one smooth motion. “Stop showing off, and let me taste.” She raised the glass to her mouth with a jerk, throwing back the liquor without hesitation, before slamming it back down with a melodic gasp. Corky’s grin widened.

“That good, eh?”

Clay headed for the stairs, ignoring Corky’s protests and the proffered drink, which Mel quickly snatched up. I figured he was going to fetch Nancy, so I told Jack to take a seat and moseyed up beside Mel, who’d graciously saved me a glass. Corky glanced my way, and his gaze immediately fixed on my eye.

“I say, that’s rather impressive! What blighter took a pot shot at you, then?”

“A lion,” I said, as dignified as I could. Beside me, Mel snorted loudly.

“A lion, he says! The boy talks big, Corky, but don’t believe it; it was a cub, at best.”

“Were we fighting children?” I cried, outraged. “No, I don’t think we were. Those were real men, and all mean bastards after the change. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my eye.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered; I’d have sworn you were blind, anyway.”

Corky tried his hardest not to look amused, focusing his attention on tidying up the counter and pouring her another drink. Having suffered enough abuse, I gave a last scowl at Mel – who’d already lost interest – and ducked into the bathroom behind the stairs.

Even under the dim light, I could see why it had drawn Corky’s attention: a ragged line ran diagonally down, pretty much bisecting the eye, with a shade of rusty maroon I’d only encountered before on my kneecaps as a clumsy child. Willing up my imagination, I tried seeing it as a potential point of attraction, but it wouldn’t stick. On someone like Beck or Clay, perhaps, there could be some rugged appeal in a scar like this; on me, it looked faintly ridiculous, like a bad costume. A shame, I thought, turning my head to the right, so that the scar was hidden from the reflection. I wasn’t ever bad looking, before, not really.

The door startled me as it creaked open, but it was only Jack, who seemed equally relieved to see me, rather than someone intimidating.

“Don’t mind me,” he called, heading straight past to the one good urinal. “Go on admiring yourself. Someone has to.”

“Be a waste otherwise,” I retorted, still unsure about how much cheek I’d tolerate. He was, after all, barely an urban scrub. “Surprised you didn’t jump Mel when I left.”

“What?” The sound of a steady stream rose from his direction. “I mean, yeah, I’m totally game, but… she’d probably eat me alive.”

“Best keep a safe distance,” I agreed, fumbling with the tap. “Her last man needed stitches.”

“Really?” He zipped and approached me, taking the second sink. “What happened?”

“Went down on him, he called the wrong name, so she clamped hard. Almost took his cock off in one.”

“Argh!” He flinched, rubbing his hands more vigorously under the water. “You serious?”

“You don’t believe me?”

He glanced over at me, clearly thinking it over, before hissing through his teeth.

“Shit. That’s brutal.”

I dithered over telling him the rest – that Mel had apparently whipped out a needle and thread and sewn the guy up herself, before sending him out into the night. No sense in kicking the boy while he was down. I decided to change tack.

“What do you reckon, then? To all this?”

“It’s weird,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought it’d be all beat up, and just you and Mel. I didn’t realise you’d have a whole… family.”

I laughed at that. Family, huh? That might have been how Nancy saw it – Clay and him the parents, and the rest of us an unruly mob of children, constantly screwing up and looking for praise. Still, it wasn’t unheard of for strangers to group up like this, in order to cling to safety. Tribes lived longer against the Ferals, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, Mel and I wouldn’t last by ourselves. How long were you on your own?”

“Not sure.” He thought for a second, then shrugged. “Probably a couple of weeks. I had some supplies, so I just holed up. Still, when you guys came, I… I thought I’d risk it. You didn’t seem like… like…”

He faltered, unsure how to put words to what he’d seen. I didn’t blame him. My first time coming up against a Feral, I’m pretty sure I pissed my pants and ran the other way. Since then, I’d learnt to read the change in movement, the shift to instinct, and had found means of fending off would-be predators and aggressors. That wasn’t enough, though, my face being Exhibit A of the constant danger: I’d let my guard down, and been clawed back to reality.

Back in The Box, I remember Jack had simply frozen up. There was no question of running – he could barely move – and the creature already had his scent, so hiding was also impossible. Without thinking, I’d sprung into action, shoving over a stack of palettes and ducking back behind a sheet of iron. The Feral – a fully-grown lion, whatever Mel says – had taken notice, but unfortunately wouldn’t be lured away from its prey, who was pressed up against the side of a skip. Cursing, I’d grabbed a long rod and emerged, staying low to the ground, and out of sight. The bastard could probably smell me already, but it was fixed on Jack – God knows what was going through his mind, at that moment. Was his life already flashing? Quite probably. How was he supposed to say that now, though?

“There’s all kinds of hell out there,” I told him, grabbing his shoulder and steering him towards the door. “Now, you’ve got to deal with what’s in here.”

I was surprised to see Mel and Corky had disappeared, until a familiar clicking drew my attention to the far booth. Nancy had emerged from upstairs, setting himself up with a view of the whole bar, and installing Clay in a seat beside him. Man, that guy looked unnatural sitting down, still head and shoulders above the razor-thin Nancy. On the table was a plain sheet of notepaper, looking oddly lonely, and Nancy’s right hand clutched a ballpoint pen, thumb resting lightly on top. Behind his glasses, Nancy could have been looking anywhere, but I could feel his gaze all the way up my spine. Beside me, Jack shivered; he felt it, too.

Click. Click.

“So.”

Click. Click.

_ _ “This the scrub?”

“Yeah. Picked him up two days ago, penned in by -”

“A-cha-cha, not so fast. Bring him here. Let me get a look at him.”

I nudged Jack, and he automatically began heading over, with me following close behind. His expression was set in neutral, but there must have been all sorts flying through his mind. He got about five steps away before Nancy held up a hand.

“That’ll do. Now then…”

He removed his shades, and Jack gasped – perfectly natural, in my opinion. Eyes aren’t supposed to be yellow, and they’re certainly not supposed to glow. The first time I saw them, I couldn’t bring myself to look away. They weren’t that big, but they completely dominated Nancy’s face, locking in anyone stupid enough to make eye contact. Jack shivered again, and I sympathised as I desperately looked anywhere else. Clay, of course, had his eyes closed, but sat rigidly upright, so no-one could mistake him for a sleeping giant.

Click. Click.

_ _ “Hmm.”

Click. Click.

_ _ “Where’d he come from?”

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but immediately Nancy pounced.

“I wasn’t talking to you, boy! You just stay hushed up. You,” – I felt his eyes move onto me – “where’s the scrub from?”

“We found him in The Box. Not sure how long he’d been there before we arrived.”

“Hmm.” His eyes slid back onto Jack, and I almost sighed with relief. “Funny place for a scrub, that. Lucky you found him in one piece.” He turned to Clay now, and even without a word, the big man’s eyes snapped open. “What do you reckon?”

“Pretty lucky, yeah. Doesn’t seem like anything got to him.”

“True enough,” said Nancy, considering. “Always hard to tell, of course, before they change. No visible sign, anyway. Not like you!” His head snapped to me, and caught in the headlights, I gulped. “Fucking tool. Got you good and proper, didn’t it?”

I nodded, trying not to notice Clay staring straight at me as well.

“I was careless.”

“Ha!” The laugh came out in one note, like a rasping bark, as Nancy replaced his glasses, shrouding his luminous eyes once again. “Careless is right. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were the scrub here. Not that long ago you were, if I recall. Maybe old habits die hard.” To his left, Clay coughed lightly, which seemed to make Nancy relax. “Pah, you’re not on trial. You got patched up right?”

I nodded again, and this time he met it with a satisfied nod of his own.

Click. Click.

_ _ “Well, then. Guess we just got to deal with this young pup. What’s your name, boy?”

Click. Click.

_ _ Jack seemed hesitant – was that his cue to speak?

Click. Click.

Clay leant in.

“Don’t make him repeat himself.”

“Jack,” he stuttered, shaken out of silence. “My name’s Jack.”

Click. Click.

_ _ “Go clean up, get your head down for a bit. You’re safe under this roof for now. Show him where to go”

This last being addressed to me, I didn’t hang about. Setting off towards the stairs, I could hear Jack’s hurried footsteps behind me, as well as the continued clicking of Nancy’s pen. As predicted, Jack had emerged unscathed from Nancy’s scrutiny – much as he had from the Feral encounter before. He was even smiling!

“Stick close,” I muttered, rounding the banister at the top. “This place can be a bit of a maze.”

I wasn’t exaggerating. On my first visit to Hartigan’s, I’d have sworn the place just kept going up and up and up. As it was, the place only had four stories, one of those being a converted loft, but with crooked hallways and half stairs dotted about, each floor felt more like two pressed together, pinched between finger and thumb. The infrequent lighting didn’t help, either; during the day, a window at either side of each hall cast a dusty sunbeam path, but after dark, only a couple of better-days bulbs gave out a feeble glow. Once, as we passed Jess’s room, Jack caught his foot on a floorboard and stumbled, but managed to right himself with a hand against the wall. That was when he noticed the picture.

“Whoa, who’s that?”

I smirked to myself, glancing at the portrait.

“Laura Hartigan.”

It wasn’t any wonder Jack had taken notice; the woman had a natural glamour about her, with her dark features and porcelain skin. Her face, though slender, carried an effortless command in the expression – a woman who knew her mind, without a doubt.

“Was this place hers?”

“Maybe, at one point. I never asked Nancy what happened to her.”

“Did Nancy know her? Were they… was she…?”

I laughed, resuming my ascent up the stairs.

“She was his sister.”

He didn’t take long to catch me up.

“His sister? You serious?”

I didn’t answer straight away. As we reached the third floor, I nudged open the first door and drew back into the hall.

“Here you are. This is yours.”

Jack seemed to come over all cautious, poking his head inside rather than heading straight in. Truthfully, there wasn’t much to see: a single bed, pushed up against one wall under a small window, with a chest of drawers and mirror on the opposing side. Though it was hardly a large room – you’d have struggled to fit much more in the way of furniture inside – the sparseness of it gave it a cold, empty feeling. Apparently, this didn’t bother Jack, who sauntered in and sunk onto the edge of the bed, still glancing about. I guess after The Box, anyone would be pretty easy to please.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m up top,” I said, unsure whether I should give Jack some space to settle. “Since Mel and I head out quite a bit, it made sense to give us the furthest rooms.”

“So it’s not a power thing? No throne in the attic, or anything?”

Originally, that had been my expectation as well. It was easy to picture Nancy as the tyrant, looking down from on high, but he’d apparently been dead-set against this from day one. From his point of view, he took on a leadership role because people needed a figure to rally round. He knew what was waiting out there, and despite his short temper, he always made plans with a rational efficiency beyond most of us. That, and he owned the bar, so the master bedroom on the second floor was always going to be his.

“No. Apparently, this place filled from the ground up.”

“So you were the… scrub before me, then?”

“Something like that.”

He nodded thoughtfully, but his face became ever more sheepish.

“What’s a scrub?”

I sighed – how was I going to explain this? Nancy’s strange internal language had become pretty commonplace for us, but with outsiders being rare, it never came up.

“A scrub’s someone who doesn’t know anything. Not like an idiot,” I quickly added, noting the look he gave me, “more like someone who’s new to all this. Someone fresh.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure I’d explained it very well, but Jack seemed satisfied for now. “So that’s me, then.”

“I guess so. We did pluck you out of the middle of The Box, after all.”

“The Box?”

“Sorry, it’s… um… the area within the big fence? Used to be a yard for the warehouse.”

“Oh, yeah. I was staying in there.”

“Damn.” I shook my head, smiling. “You’re the luckiest scrub ever.”

“What’s the big deal? Yeah, I was on my own, but -”

“No, no, it’s not that.” I rested my back against the doorframe, stuffing my hands into my pockets to stop them telling the story for me. “Originally, that used to be where they’d trap Ferals. The gate still drew across, and the wire on top stopped anything climbing over. Once the beasts were inside, it didn’t matter that it was open to the sky; it really was like shoving animals into a box. No way out… or so people thought.”

“What happened?” He was leaning forward now, and I could feel myself getting buoyed along on his interest. Not long before the hands would start.

“Back then, they’d only seen land animals: cats, dogs, the occasional cow. Even the most dangerous Ferals - your lions, wolves, bears – they were easy to trap. Thanks to the iron plating, they couldn’t tear through, you see? The only hard part was luring them in there.”

“Sounds pretty simple to me.”

“I bet it does. It clearly did to them – once something works, you don’t start looking for ways to change it. They just didn’t react fast enough.”

“Come on, tell me! React to what?”

I felt my hands starting to slip out of my pockets. Damn it, why couldn’t I keep still when I told stories?

“Wings.”

“Wings? You mean -?”

“Evolution’s supposed to happen over a long time. Sure, The Box wasn’t going to work forever, but I don’t think they expected it to fail in a matter of weeks. One of the Ferals – more like inmates, at that point – clearly mutated beyond what people could imagine. Nancy says it was some kind of bird of prey, like a hawk or something.”

“Nancy was there?”

“Of course. This was back when things were just starting, before you or I came into it. Anyway, this thing just took off into the sky, whoosh, and that was that. Game over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Jack, you’ve seen one of these things up close. You really think you’d stand a chance fighting it off?” He sniffed.

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, right. The point is no-one does, and honestly, no-one ever has done. That’s what The Box was for: trap them inside and leave them to kill each other or starve.”

“Ugh, that sounds… I don’t know…”

“I know. It was the best people could come up with, they were forced into it. But once that stopped working – once these things wouldn’t stay trapped – well, that’s when people knew they’d lost. They gave up on The Box, and since then, it’s become just another regular hunting ground.”

“Hey, hold on, you stopped that lion-thing though, right? What if we -?”

“Did you hit your head or something?” I indicated my face. “I was lucky to get out with my life! Or did you forget what happened? Yeah, I managed to get a cheap shot with that pole, while Mel grabbed you and got you to the buggy, but I didn’t exactly take it down. If we’d stuck around another minute, that thing would have finished us.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m just saying… there has to be a way.”

I decided to wrap things up, before Jack got himself too excited. With Mel around, it had been easy enough to keep him distracted, but on my own, I didn’t fancy my chances. I dropped the smile, and forced myself to look serious.

“If you think of something, let us know. Until then, we’re on borrowed time, all of us.”

Thankfully, he didn’t follow me out of the room, and I was able to retreat down the hall to the ladder outside Mel’s room. As I approached, I heard her call out from inside:

“That you, Blank?”

As it was, I was feeling pretty run down, and just wanted to crash, so I didn’t answer. No doubt she heard me climbing up, but I didn’t worry about it – inside Hartigan’s, Mel and I didn’t spend too much time together. That was probably a consequence of being sent out as a pair, actually, where we were constantly around each other. Of all the others, however, I think I felt closest to her. She was straight and blunt, and easy to annoy, but once you learnt her ‘rules’, it never took too much effort to get on alright. Apparently, despite being new, I’d been chosen to start heading out with her because she refused to work with Beck, and Jess had been laid up with a broken leg. Corky, surprisingly, was never considered, although I couldn’t help grinning at the idea of him dashing about, cursing and whooping and slapping beasts with a freshly removed glove. If Mel ever resented having me for a partner, she kept it to herself.

Although I’d only been away for a few days, my bed tucked in the corner was a welcome sight. I could tell that someone had been in to clean up – Jess, maybe, when the insomnia had been bad – but apart from the dust-free surfaces, it didn’t look like anything had been touched. With a contented sigh, I flopped down onto the bed, limbs spread wide as I felt my body sink down into the mattress. Good to be back. Even Nancy had seemed pleased, though he’d obviously never come out and say so. Would it take long for Jack to settle? Probably. He didn’t seem all that fazed, really, but he’d only just arrived; plenty of time for the madness to set in.

***

We slowed to a halt once we’d put some distance between us and The Box, and I jumped out onto the dirt track, trying not to move my head around. My left hand was clamped down over my face.

_ “Did we lose it?” asked Jack, twisted round in the back seat to gaze out behind us._

_ “This piece of junk doesn’t exactly run like the wind,” said Mel, nevertheless patting her buggy affectionately. “If you can’t see that thing, it’s too far behind now.”_

_ Jack let out a sound of relief and turned back to face the front. That’s when he noticed me pacing about._

_ “Hey, what’s up with him? Did he…?”_

_ “Blank!” Like a shot, Mel was out of the buggy and had run round to catch me. “I’m sorry, I was too concerned with getting out of there. With any luck, we should still have time.”_

_ “Heh.” Even with a small laugh, I was forced to take a deep breath. Man, why was talking so hard, all of a sudden? “You did… a great job… partner.”_

_ “Don’t give me that, move your hand.”_

_ “But -”_

_ She didn’t wait for an excuse. Her hand was on my wrist before I could object, and she wrenched away my cover to take in the wound. From her soft moan, I could tell it was bad._

_ “Hey, you.” This to Jack, still in the buggy, looking on concerned. “What’s your name, boy?”_

_ “Jack.”_

_ “Jack, I’ll have to take care of this straight away. You need to do what I ask, without questions, right?”_

_ He nodded, awed into silence; whenever Mel took this tone, you didn’t argue._

_ “Run up the track ahead of us, see if you can find a big tree, standing alone. It’s pretty beaten up, but you should be able to make out the name ‘Murdoch’, carved into the trunk. If you lose sight of us, don’t keep going, come straight back here.”_

_ “Aren’t there… things… out there?”_

_ “Not here, we’re far enough from any dens. You’ll be safe. Get going!”_

“I’m on it!”

_ He scrambled out of the buggy, trying not to stare at my face – must have been hard, not every day you see a guy’s eye practically ripped from the socket – and took off up the track. Mel turned back to me, and lowered her voice._

_ “That’s the scrub out from under our feet. Now then, sit yourself down and don’t say a word, let me take a proper look. Oh fuck! That’s deep.”_

Like a lot of people who don’t curse often, the word sounded wrong coming from Mel. She didn’t pause, or stutter, but it was ejected from her mouth like a bullet; the sheer punch of it knocked any resistance out of me. I slumped against the buggy to prop myself up, and she bent down to peer into my face.

_ “Right, you stay right there, I’m just going to get the salve.” She shook her head. “Fuck.”_

_ She moved off to the left, and I heard her start digging around in the buggy. It was taking all my concentration to stop myself touching my eye, which was burning wet and thick against the socket, and occasionally allowing something to trickle to my cheek. Even without Mel’s reaction, I’d known it was pretty bad. The more I thought about it, the more I believed I could feel the infection spreading into my skull – no! Just my imagination. Don’t panic, I told myself. Don’t even think that. Mel’s getting the salve. Everything will be fine. You’re safe now._

_ “You’re a fool, boy,” she said, back down in front of me and clutching a small bottle in both hands. “What are you playing at, going toe-to-toe with a Feral, hmm? You trying to get yourself killed? No, don’t speak!” she cried, seeing me open my mouth. “I don’t need your excuses. You should know better by now.”_

_ The salve – I could never remember the name, some jumble of science and Latin – had been trusted to us by Nancy as a last line of defence. In the unlikely event of a physical confrontation with a Feral, we were to apply it immediately to any wounds and begin praying that we’d been quick enough. It didn’t deaden the pain, though. According to Nancy, any anaesthetic would interfere with the healing process, which could not be allowed to happen if one of us got struck. I’d only seen it being used once, when we’d come across a mother trying to heal her young son out by Sacrin. The boy had been screaming, voice hoarse with protests, limbs writing beneath his mother’s pinning hand. She’d probably known that she was too late; her eyes were frenzied, sweat running down her face as she continued to lather the salve into his shoulder. We’d moved on quickly, not wanting to intrude on such an awful scene, but it had stuck with me as an image of desperation. Now, I had to hope my luck was better than that boy’s._

_ “If this doesn’t work,” warned Mel, “You know I’ll have to go with Plan B.”_

_ From the first touch, I could feel my willpower being stretched. I’d never known the corrosive scorch of acid on skin, but could quickly find myself empathising with spillage victims. As Mel continued to apply the salve, covering a circle from my eyebrow to my cheekbone, I couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp, trying not to break down into a sobbing fit. Each flare sent a small shudder through me, which I restrained the best I could, to varying success. There was no doubt that Mel would strike if she got a bad impression of my recovery. The knife at her hip would be as ruthless as he was._

_ Dear God, let me come back from this._

_ Don’t let me die._

_ Don’t let me do something worse._

_ I’ve always tried to do the right thing._

_ Please, do the right thing by me._

_ Help me._

***

_ _

By the time I came back downstairs, night had set in, drawing in the stray groups passing through as well as the few regulars who hung around. Hartigan’s was never what you’d call packed – there was enough room for people to choose their own company, which often meant loners dotted about the edges of the room, larger groups preferring to take the tables in the centre. Upon spotting me, Corky called out a greeting from behind the bar, but an old-timer with an empty glass quickly demanded his attention, leaving me free to wander towards the back. I hardly recognised most of the people I passed, but that was often the way, with such a quick turnover of wanderers.

Standing near the door, Liz Duggan nodded curtly in my direction. As usual, she was swaddled in her father’s old trench-coat, and occasionally sipped at a measure of something amber. What did she drink, back when we were close? Whisky? It was too long ago for me to remember. Before the Ferals tore through town, the Duggans lived three doors down from us. Frank Duggan had occasionally come to visit my parents, and would always bring Liz along with him, so that we’d run off and let the adults have some peace. Of course, we’d drifted once we left home, and it was hard to reconnect when the town we’d known had fallen apart.

Over in the corner I could make out the vague shape of The Lovebirds, engaged in a fresh session of public affection. As far as I knew, no-one had learnt their names; no-one had ever pierced the bubble the two seemed to permanently live in. All anyone really needed to know was what to watch for if the hit had been put out: a horned heart, chalked in the road, meant they were on the prowl; a sad face in the middle with XX eyes meant the job was done. Seemed strange that people still wanted hitmen, with the constant threat of death all around. Still, whether you lauded their practice or not, the Lovebirds were worthy of respect.

At last, I reached the booth on the far side and slid into a seat. Startled, Jack looked up, but he quickly relaxed when he saw who was intruding.

“Did you get some rest?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of beer. Clearly, he had a better stomach than me; I wouldn’t have touched anything from the barrels out back. He definitely did look a bit better, though.

“Maybe a couple of hours. I dunno. I’m still getting used to it, I guess.”

“Seems like you’ve settled in alright,” I noted, gesturing to his drink. That got a quick grin.

“Yeah, well, beer was hard to get hold of. Do you guys seriously have enough for… for…?” He gestured around at the small crowd. “I mean, it’s great and all, but where does it come from?”

“Corky’s an idiot,” I explained, “but he’s pretty well connected. Apparently, there’s a black market along the coast, maybe once a month, and he’s always in the thick of it. According to Jess, before they found him, they were slowly working their way through the rations, holed up here at Hartigan’s.”

“He wasn’t here to begin with?”

“No, I don’t think so. This is all second-hand, though; I didn’t come till later. To begin with, I think it was Nancy, Clay and Jess. Beck and Mel joined up a bit after, then Jess snagged Corky from his coast hideout and he set up here.”

“Then you?”

“Then me. And then… well, then you, if you want it.”

“Huh? If I want it?”

“Sure. We’re not going to force you to stay here with us, Jack. It’d be good to have another person around, but this sort of living’s not for everyone.”

He shrugged again, polishing off the last of his beer.

“Where else am I gonna go? Back in The Box?”

“Haha, I wouldn’t recommend it.” I pointed to his glass. “Mine’s a rum, by the way.”

He took the hint and made his way towards the bar, slipping through slim cracks between people with a natural deftness. Maybe there would be a future here for him, after all. I was keen to know how he’d avoided detection for two weeks, all alone in the wilds, but I figured there was plenty of time for questions like that. Nancy would get the truth out of him.

As my eyes followed Jack, I caught sight of a small group near the bar. There were four of them, talking amongst themselves, drinks in hand; nothing untoward, as far as I could make out. However, their leader – and there was no mistaking this role – seemed familiar. I couldn’t place it, though. We had enough strangers pass through Hartigan’s that it was easy to forget a face, unless you had Corky’s godlike powers of recall, so I was sure that I hadn’t just noticed him in here before. Was this another patrol group? It seemed possible. Even through his thick leather jacket, it was clear that he took care of his physique, and despite his laidback posture, leaning against the bar, I could tell that he was also ready to spring into action at any time.

I must have been more obvious than I thought; he seemed to sense that he was being watched, and turned his head to face me. The nagging feeling deepened as I met his eyes, and I found myself hoping he’d come over, talk to me, explain, pull up closer, lean in… and then he turned back, and the moment left as soon as it had come. What the hell was that? Even at such a distance, it was like he’d hypnotised me or something. No wonder the other three seemed to be hanging on his every word, with a presence like that.

Luckily, I came round as I spotted Jack returning, drinks held high in triumph. He walked straight past the group I’d been watching without a second thought, and finally slid into the booth, planting the tumbler in front of me.

“Corky said enjoy it while it lasts, by the way. Apparently, he’s down to his last bottle. Popular drink, I guess.”

I grinned, clutching the glass and holding it aloft.

“Cheers to that!”

We clinked and sipped – Jack had stuck with beer, somehow – and for a moment, I could have almost forgotten that we’d practically been in hell the day before. Two pints down, Jack seemed a lot more at ease, turned in his seat with an arm draped over the back, gently smiling as he gazed around. Good to see Corky’s magic had done the trick.

“Why does Mel call you Blank?” I’d wondered when he was going to ask. “Bit of a weird nickname.”

“Officially,” I stressed, “the story goes that when they found me, half out of my mind with fear, I whipped out a gun from somewhere and fired off a shot at Nancy. Must have given him a bit of a fright, but only for a second. For whatever reason, the gun had only been loaded -”

“With blanks,” he cut in, nodding. “Gotcha.”

“It seems weird, but I’ve no idea why there weren’t actual bullets. I don’t even remember this happening, but Mel swears by it, and even Nancy’s admitted that I had balls to try firing on him.”

“Do you still have it? The gun?”

“Oh, no, that got confiscated when I came here. Guns are a valuable resource, even for someone like Corky.” I grimaced, pointing at my eye. “You think I’d have been swinging a pole if I had a gun on me?”

“True,” he laughed, “that would have been stupid. So Nancy keeps the weapons here?”

“None of us have ever found them.”

“Huh?”

“I guess Clay might know where they’re stashed, but Nancy’s secretive. He wouldn’t tell us something like that until we needed to know - and as far as he’s concerned, we don’t.”

“You were almost killed!”

His protest was so quick, so sincere, that I couldn’t help but laugh. Once again, I began to wonder where on Earth Jack had come from. Had he been with another group? A family? If death was still the worst thing he could imagine, if the sight of a Feral had shocked him so deeply, maybe not. But then what was he doing, all alone, fending for himself?

“That was my own fault. I can’t help playing the hero, when I see a kid in distress.”

“Hey! Is that supposed to be me?”

Mel had been quick to point out how little we knew. That was just her nature, though: suspicious until proven trustworthy. I guess I’d have ended up that way, too, if I’d almost been devoured by the love of my life. When I’d first joined up with Nancy’s crew, she’d kept a close eye on me, making sure I wasn’t an undercover killer waiting to strike with tooth and claw. At the time, I’d not even seen a Feral. To me, they’d been a sort of penny dreadful conspiracy; a face to the shadow of decay we could all feel creeping in around us. She’d always scowl at me when I rolled my eyes, or told everyone to ‘get a grip’. Well, I’d certainly ended up with yolk all over my face.

“How old are you, Jack? Nineteen, twenty?”

“I’m twenty-one, actually!”

“Wow, OK, big guy.”

As Jack opened his mouth to reply, a crash drew our attention to the other side of the bar. A large man had a woman pinned up against the wall, holding her by the throat. She squirmed about, trying to gain leverage with her knees, but he was in too close, so she could only bat at his shoulders with tight little fists. I could see Corky had already gone for the stairs – presumably to fetch Clay, who usually handled any scuffles that broke out – and the nearest drinkers had formed a sort of ring around the scene.

“Let me go, you fucker!”

She spat in his face, but the guy didn’t even flinch. His eyes were fixed on hers, and his lips were curled back in a snarl.

“You’re one of ‘em, ain’t you, bitch?”

Jack had already got to his feet, and I wasn’t far behind, trying to work through what to do in my head. Fights weren’t uncommon at Hartigan’s; load of people in a state of tension, frustrated and suspicious, it was a powder keg waiting for a light. However, Clay would usually be on hand to stop things escalating, and Beck had a loud enough voice to draw people’s attention and prevent panic. This time, it would be up to me and Jack, and I didn’t really fancy our chances.

“I seen you,” growled the aggressor, “skulkin’ round here, eyeing up your nex’ target. You pro’ly know the bastard that killed my wife.”

“Let me go!” she cried again, though it was clear he had no such intentions.

“Hey man, let’s just calm down, OK?”

I couldn’t believe it. While I’d been weighing up options, Jack had sallied forth, and actually had a hand on the guy’s shoulder. The man turned his head, just enough to take stock of Jack’s thin frame, then grunted and shrugged off his hand.

“Fuck off, kid.”

Apparently, Jack had exhausted what spine he could muster, as he stepped back hesitantly, clearly unsure what else he could do. There was no question of him winning in a fight, even if he had some master moves – the guy must have outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. I wouldn’t fare much better, but I figured I’d have to give it a shot, so I took a deep breath.

“Are you looking to get banned, sir?”

“Don’t care,” he replied, not even turning for me. “This psycho’s got this comin’. She’s gonna die.”

On the last word, he pulled her forward and slammed her back against the wall, forcing a harsh cry to escape her lips. Well, that was the negotiation over. I drew over to the bar, eyes scanning about for any feasible weapon – to my right, I could sense Jack doing the exact same thing. That was reassuring, at least; together, we’d actually stand half a chance against this bruiser. I snatched up an empty wine bottle from the counter, and turned to Jack, who was clutching a broom tightly between his hands.

“Are you serious?”

“You think I’ve ever done this before?”

From his wide eyes and shaking knees, I guessed not. Not that I was a dab hand, of course. Still, there was no time – a bottle and broom would have to do.

As we approached the guy, still half-throttling the woman against the wall, I caught sight of someone else stepping in through the crowd, and let out a short gasp.

It was the man from before, only his casual smile was gone, replaced with a calm fury that rippled beneath his face. The aura he was giving off was spectacular, even if it made me want to give him an extra wide berth. Incredible, how the guy choking a woman was suddenly the second scariest person in the room.

He reached out a hand and fastened his grip around the brute’s wrist, twisting sharply. The woman slid to the floor, where she immediately began gulping in lungfuls of air, gently massaging her neck. The big guy looked stunned, as if the woman had managed to fight him herself.

“What the fuck are you doin’? D’you know who she -?”

“Bradstock.”

He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t even move, but from his mouth, the name struck the larger man like a backhand to the face. Instantly, he dropped his gaze, and he started stammering.

“I-I couldn’t help it… she w-was… I-I had to-”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

The three members of his entourage headed over to the door, flinging it wide and waiting. Both men began making their way out – the big one still being led firmly by his wrist – before something seemed to occur to the leader, who stopped and turned to me.

“Are you the owner of this bar?”

I shook my head, unable to speak. All the rage had gone from his face, and I was now being met with a grim resignation. Somehow, from the way the big man – Bradstock, I guessed – had started trembling, it didn’t make me feel any braver.

“Well, when you see them, please pass on my apologies. This was an avoidable incident, and it wasn’t right that you were expected to try to deal with it.” Even from that distance, I saw his gaze move from my face to my eye, and he allowed himself a smile. “Though I suppose you can take care of yourself.”

Without waiting for a reply, he proceeded to drag Bradstock out of the bar, with the rest of the group following silently behind. The door swung shut with a creak and a bang. At this, the crowd shook themselves out of the silence and began muttering amongst themselves. Jack tapped me on the arm, and I turned to see Clay and Corky by the stairs looking nonplussed.

“You chaps took care of things, then?” asked Corky, not quite masking his bewilderment.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Jack, practically rolling his shoulders. “Me and Blank are enough to take on anyone causing trouble round here. We should become official security guards! You might be out of a job, Clay!”

At this, he leant forward and lightly jabbed Clay on the arm, instantly retracting his hand with an expression of pain; it was a point of widespread gossip that nothing on Earth was harder than Clay’s body. He didn’t even look down at Jack. Instead, he moved over to the wall, inspecting for any damage.

“Hmm, there’s a mark where he put her up. Hope that comes out.”

Rather than immediately worrying about the state of the building, Corky had offered his hand to the woman, still breathing hoarsely, and helped her up.

“Now then,” he said, his usual chirpiness brushed with a softer tint, “that was a bit of a to-do, wasn’t it, eh? Are you going to be alright?”

“Fine,” growled the woman, “just need a drink.”

“Well, that I can certainly help you with. If you’d like to step over to the bar with me, mademoiselle, I’m sure I can find you something to wash away the last of the nastiness.” He began to lead her away. “Now now, I insist… lean on me if you have to, that’s it, I don’t mind - quite the reverse, as it happens… steady there, just my left hand, innocent as they come, not an issue… mind the stool, that’s it…”

“Amazing,” grumbled Jack. “We just broke up a huge fight, and no-one gives a shit. Are you serious?”

Clay turned his body to face Jack. At this proximity, he towered over him, and Jack gulped slightly.

“Well done.”

“I say, Clay, old chap? Don’t suppose you could fetch another barrel from the store? We’ll be fresh out at this rate!”

Heeding the call from the bar, Clay glided through the maze of people and tables – incredible, with his size, how effortless it seemed – and headed out of the main door. Jack let out a sigh.

“Whew, thought he was going to throw me across the bar then!”

“It’d never happen,” I reassured him. “Clay hates violence. It’s one thing being the biggest guy in the room, and he knows how to use it to stop fights before they happen. But the last time he hit someone, we found him crying in the cellar.”

“Aww, poor guy!”

“Don’t get me wrong, though; I’d still rather be with him than against him.”

“Haha, yeah, same here.”

Eager now to get to my own space, I waved Jack off to the bar and slipped into the bathroom. Away from the crowd, I could feel the pace of my heart beating, and my breaths wouldn’t stop coming in short, sharp gasps. Was I still on an adrenaline kick? No, I thought, staring at my reflection to centre myself. Maybe if I’d actually ended up in a fight, I could excuse the shaking hands, the wide eyes. This, though, felt more like some sort of panic attack. Calm down, I told myself, gripping the edges of the sink. Relax.

After a few moments, the pressure began to lift, and I straightened up again. What had got me so rattled, all of a sudden? Had it really been the guy – Bradstock – on the verge of murder? What was it that he’d said?

You’re one of ‘em, ain’t you, bitch?

One of who, exactly? It was just a part of the world we were living in, all the small gangs and tribes, forming uneasy alliances and feuding over territory and resources. That was one of the reasons Hartigan’s had become so popular: it made for a solid neutral ground, where the world outside could be forgotten while a glass was still half-full. In fact, that was probably what had shaken me up, especially after my earlier brush with death. When people fought here, it was all low-level – a couple of punches in exchange for a spilt drink, or an inappropriate pass at someone’s partner. Bradstock’s grudge had sounded way more personal.

You’re one of ‘em, ain’t you, bitch?

For all that, though, the woman had actually seemed alright afterwards. Sure, she’d been a bit shaken, but that was hardly surprising. If Bradstock’s accusations had meant anything to her, she was one hell of an actress – not once had recognition or guilt crossed her face. So then, he was clearly just another crazy spat up by the world’s dregs. The attack hadn’t been personal at all.

No, that didn’t sit right. But why not?

It was his reaction, I reasoned, trying to avoid focusing my thoughts on the ‘leader’. When he’d been pulled off, told to stop, he’d instantly flipped over to a submissive stance. He’d known he was wrong. Do crazy people know they’re crazy? Maybe, but they might not regret their craziness. Bradstock definitely regretted his.

Throwing my hands up in defeat, I caught one last glimpse of my battle-worn eye as I left the bathroom. That scar would never fade.

I suppose you can take care of yourself.

What did that mean, exactly? Sure, I’d been in a couple of my own fights, and backed into a corner, I’d come out swinging. When he’d seen the scar, though, I could have sworn he’d known exactly where it came from. And if he did? Well, then he must have been at The Box – I’d never seen him before, and we’d been sat too far from his group in the bar for him to hear me and Jack talking about it. Was I completely out of touch, then? The Box was turning out to be something of a gathering point for humans, as opposed to the Ferals’ nest that I’d anticipated.

I made a mental note to bring this up with Mel when we next crossed paths. Apart from the two of us, I doubted any of the others headed out that way on patrols or gathering missions. At least one of us, if not both, had clearly missed a memo somewhere about the safety of that area.

But no! It wasn’t safe – look at my eye, for God’s sake! We’d fended off a fully-formed Feral in order to get Jack out of there.

As I emerged, Corky hailed me from the bar.

“Well now, you were in there for a fair old while. Don’t tell me you’ve got a problem in the old digestive bracket there?”

I tutted to myself, but moved over regardless. With Corky for company, there was no point coming over all introspective.

“Where’s your new friend?”

“Would you believe it – stayed for one drink, not a peep from her, then buggered off! An outrageous way to treat the Corker, if you ask me. I tell you, Blankety Blank, that’s the last time I hop in for a damsel in distress.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Anyhow, glad you’re back out. Wondered if you could see your way to doing a fellow a bit of a good turn, hmm?”

“What do you need?” I asked, trying not to look Corky in the eye. He had a habit of framing these questions delicately, before springing a monolith task upon the unlucky soul in his sights.

“Clay’s still not back with that barrel I asked for, and frankly, a chap can start to get concerned when a chum vanishes into the ether. He’s normally down and up lickety-spit, but no luck tonight, clearly. Could I ask you to chase after him, beckon the lug back in with a kind word?”

“So Clay’s gone missing, and you want me to go out after him?”

“That’s the ticket.”

“Alone?”

“Unless there’s a second one hiding behind you.”

“Wow, that’s really… considerate of you, Corky.”

“Now now, I’d go myself, but someone has to take care of the bar, don’tcha know? Have you ever maintained a bar straddled with topless, toothless hags, bent over backwards fetching jars and glasses and bottles and tankards and mugs? Ever seen the whites of a man’s eyes before he keels over dead on the varnished surface, begging you for some more time on this God-forsaken planet, as if you have some divine right to grant his request?” He gave me half a second to look stunned. “Just as I surmised earlier. You see? It all works out in the end – that’s how Corky sees the score. If you’re not back in five minutes, let me know and I’ll send another one after you.”

I decided to leave before Corky conned me out of any more of my time. Jack had clearly had a similar idea earlier, as I couldn’t make him out anywhere amongst the murmuring crowd. Possibly headed upstairs to bed, if he had any sense.

With the onset of darkness, it had grown quite cold outside. I’d lost track of the seasons a while back – climate didn’t seem to follow a set pattern anymore – and so I tended to dress with an all-weather theme in mind. Still, I was hugging my jacket pretty close as I rounded the corner of the building, on my way to the cellar trapdoor.

It was pretty quiet, too. My boots were crunching into the dirt, filling the air with a pleasant sound that accompanied me across the yard. A single lamp shone out overhead, bathing me and the ground in a warm yellow light that made everything look slightly older, slightly more blurred together, than you’d see in the sun.

Maybe that’s how I missed the stain at first, as I bent down to unlock the trapdoor. Pulling off the chain, I was confused at the report of stickiness my fingers sent up to my mind. Of course, it was at this point, with my senses spurred into action in pursuit of a puzzle, that I picked up the acrid stench from the area. I tried not to gag, but there’s only so much willpower you can exert on yourself when suddenly faced with that sort of thing.

A hand landed on my shoulder.

“What the f-?” I spun round, ready to bolt or break something, but stayed my hand at the sight of Clay’s face, looking unusually dismayed.

“You need to come with me. We should leave this until everyone can see it.”

I couldn’t help it. There are times when your body does something, and you immediately question what you were thinking – if, indeed, you were thinking anything at all. Turning back to peer beyond the trapdoor was definitely one such occasion.

“What… what happened?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice calm and measured despite his evident concern, “but there’s nothing we can do. Not now.”

“Have you… checked?”

He grabbed my other shoulder, twisted me round to fully face him.

“If there’s any life left in that man, I don’t envy him. If not, I have no desire to touch a fresh corpse. Come back inside, and I’ll get Nancy. He’ll decide what we ought to do.”

I nodded, and we set off at a fair pace towards the front door. If I’m honest, I hadn’t taken much convincing. Despite a slight pang of morbid curiosity, everything in me was screaming to get away, leave this to someone else, anyone else. It wasn’t like I was a stranger to death, but that man hadn’t just died; there were chunks of him scattered up the walls, and spatters of blood dotted around a wider area. He’d been torn limb from limb. Worse, even, was the idea that it was a fresh kill – whoever had done this was likely close at hand, and could have easily been scoping us out for a follow-up massacre.

Even with Clay at my side, I didn’t fancy my chances against whatever could do that to a man like Bradstock.