“Shh, shh, it’s OK,” Leanne soothed, bouncing Immy up and down in her arms. She paced back and forth in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the window for any sign of Marshall and Daniel coming back.
Moira - who’d told Leanne only the menfolk had to address her as ‘Ms Hoon’, and insisted she call her by her first name - was in the garden, bent down low to peer beneath the hedge that separated her from the garden next door.
“Bertie?” she called, sounding deeply annoyed. “Where are you, you little bugger?”
Immy struggled in Leanne’s grip. She’d stopped wailing, but her bottom lip was turned out and her breathing was coming in shaky sobs that suggested another outburst was waiting in the wings.
“It’s OK. It’s OK, they won’t be long,” Leanne whispered. Immy blinked both eyes independently and snuffled through her button nose. Leanne smiled down at her. “I’m going to look after you, I promise. I’m going to keep you safe, no matter what.”
The door flew open and Moira bustled in, stomping her boots on the mat. “I don’t know where he could have got to,” she announced. The boom of her voice brought Immy to tears again, and Leanne went back to rocking and bouncing the baby to try to keep her calm.
“Any sign of Martin and Daniel yet?” Leanne asked.
“Not yet. Shouldn’t be long,” Moira said. She rubbed Immy’s head, but that just served to make her scream even louder. “Bless. Are her parents dead?” she asked, brusquely. The suddenness of the question caught Leanne by surprise.
“Um, her mum is. I don’t know about her dad.”
“Right. And what about yours?” Moira asked.
Leanne frowned. “What?”
“Your parents,” said Moira. “Are they dead?”
“No. I don’t… They’re on holiday. In Spain,” Leanne said.
Moira nodded. “Didn’t hear anything about Spain before the telly went down. Did you see Tom Frost on Channel 4? Some bugger caved his head in right there on set. Cameras rolling, the works. Anyway, nothing about Spain. Problems in France, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if it were happening there, too.”
She caught the expression on Leanne’s face, and gave her an almost robotic pat on the back. “Um, there there. I’m sure they’ll be in good shape. Nothing to worry about.”
Leanne did her best to smile and turned back to the window. A small grey shape stood on the grass, looking back at her. “There’s the dog,” Leanne said.
Moira glanced out of the window. “Aha! Keep an eye in case he darts off when I open the door,” she instructed, then she strode across the kitchen, pulled the door open and marched outside.
“There you are, Bertie,” she said. The little dog cocked its head as she approached, its eyes glassy behind its dark fringe. As Moira drew closer, the dog growled somewhere at the back of its throat. Moira scowled. “Don’t you get ratty with me, my boy,” she warned him. “Or I’ll send you packing straight back to the kennels.”
Bending, Moira reached to pick the little dog up. Bertie snapped at her fingers, gums drawn back over his stubby white teeth. Moira pulled her hand free and looked at it. Blood rushed to a scrape just below her knuckles. She cursed below her breath, then pressed a crumpled tissue against the wound. “Right, that’s quite enough of that,” Moira said. “You are a bad dog, and you know I don’t use that term willy-nilly. I think you need to…”
Her voice trailed off when she spotted another dog watching her from further across the garden. This one was bigger than Bertie, part German Shepherd, part something else. Moira vaguely recalled seeing it arrive at the kennels a week or so previously, but knew nothing about it beyond that.
“Well, hello there,” she said, but she stopped talking when the dog’s snout wrinkled up, showing teeth that were far larger and more intimidating than anything Bertie had to offer.
From over on her left, Moira heard another growl. She turned, slowly. A golden retriever was hunched on the grass, its brown eyes fixed on her, its mouth hanging open. Tendrils of drool hung down from its jaws. The fur on the back of its neck bunched together and stood on end.
Moira gave a nod. “So, it’s like that, is it?” she muttered. Keeping an eye on the animals, she began to backtrack towards the door. She had barely begun her retreat when the dogs moved as if on some secret cue. They launched themselves across the grass, snapping and barking. Moira stumbled for the kitchen door, which opened as she approached. She fell inside and kicked her way across the linoleum.
Turning, she caught a glimpse of the German Shepherd preparing to leap, before the door was slammed closed. Leanne hurriedly turned the key as all three dogs began howling and barking and scraping against the wood.
“It’s OK, I don’t think they can work handles,” Moira pointed out, getting awkwardly to her feet.
“Not taking any chances,” said Leanne. She finished locking the door, then went back to rocking Immy. “What the Hell was wrong with them? What happened?”
Moira shook her head. “My guess is the same thing that happened to all those people on the television, and all those people you saw in Glasgow.” She opened a cabinet, pulled out a bottle of red wine, then twisted the cap. “But what that might actually be, I have no idea.”
“Oh no, no, not now,” Leanne groaned. Moira had placed two glasses on the counter and was sloshing wine into them.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, looking up.
Leanne nodded out through the window. There, creeping up the single-track road towards the house, was the car that Martin and Daniel had set off in.
“They’re back,” Leanne said. “And they’re going to walk straight into the dogs. We need to warn them!”
“That’s one approach, certainly,” said Moira. She picked up one of the glasses, raised it in a toast, then tipped the whole lot down her throat. Then, after wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she picked up her shotgun. “But I tend to employ a more hands-on approach, myself.”
“…”
The darkness shifted behind Amy’s eyes.
“…dead?”
“Check.”
“You check.”
Everything hurt. She knew she should open her eyes, but it felt like that would require a lot more effort than she was willing to commit right now. Going back to sleep seemed like a far more sensible option.
Something poked her in the face.
“…the Hell are you doing?”
“Checking she’s alive. I don’t think she is.”
“I don’t think that’s the standard checking someone’s alive technique.”
“Oh yeah?”
Something poked her in the face again. Amy made a noise she hoped would demonstrate her annoyance.
“She moved. She’s alive!”
“Face poking. Works every time.”
Amy forced one eye to open, swiveled it around to look at the inside of the car, then closed it again.
When she opened it a second time, she saw two guys leaning in through the hole where the windshield had been. One of them looked worried, while the other grinned from ear to ear.
“Wh-who are you?” she croaked. “What happened?”
“I’m Jaden, this is Col,” said the grinner. “I’m afraid we might have sort of hit you with our train.”
“Oh.” Amy frowned. It hurt substantially more than it should. “Train?”
“Yes! We have our own train. We’re extremely wealthy,” Jaden said.
“We stole it,” said Col.
“He has his version of events, I have mine,” Jaden said, his smile never fading.
A concerned-looking face appeared at another window. “You OK, honey?” asked a short black woman with even shorter hair. “I am so sorry I hit you. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I feel terrible.”
“Don’t feel so hot myself,” Amy groaned. She unclipped her belt and held a hand up to Jaden and Col. “Help me out.”
“I’m not sure you should move,” said Col. “You might have hurt your back.”
“Well I’m not staying here,” Amy said. She nodded at her hand, then gritted her teeth as Jaden took hold of her wrist. “OK, pull.”
Jaden pulled. Amy screamed.
“Stop, stop, stop!”
“What is it? Is it your back?” asked Col. “It’s your back, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to move crash victims. I knew it.”
“It’s not my back,” Amy said. “It’s my leg. It’s stuck.”
“How stuck are we talking?” Amanda asked. She craned down to peer into the car, but Amy’s legs were hidden behind a wall of crumpled metal.
Amy twisted, her face contorting with effort. “I think I can… wriggle it out. Just give me a minute.”
They stood watching her try to wrestle her leg out from under the dash. “I feel like we should be waving pom-poms in support or something,” Jaden said. “Come on, car lady, she’s our gal, if she can’t do it…” Jaden’s smile flickered. “I can’t think of a rhyme for the end of that.”
“Where’s Mike?” asked Col, glancing around. “Did he get off the train?”
“I think so,” said Amanda. “He’ll be checking the place out. Making sure everything’s safe.”
“I’d feel a lot safer if he gave us our guns back,” Jaden said.
“I wouldn’t,” his mom replied.
Amy let out a yelp of pain as her leg jerked free of the wreckage. She held her hand out to Jaden again. “Try now.”
With a grunt, Jaden managed to pull Amy out through the windshield. He dragged her until she was out from under the hood, then let her arms drop. Amy lay flat on her back on the road, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
“What’s happening?” she managed between gasps. “Everyone’s gone nuts.”
“We’ll explain on the train,” said Amanda. “Help her up and let’s get her aboard.”
Jaden and Col both leaned down and caught Amy under the arms. “What’s your name?” Col asked.
“Amy.”
“OK, Amy. You ready?” Col said.
Amy nodded. Col turned to Jaden. “OK, on three. One, two, three.”
As they started to lift, there was a sudden hiss from the train’s wheels. Metal creaked. All eyes went to the closest carriage, just as it began to roll forwards along the track.
“What the fuck…?” Jaden spat, releasing his grip and straightening up. Amy yelped in pain as she fell back to the ground. “He’s taking the train,” Jaden realized. “He’s taking the damn train!”
“Mike!” Amanda shouted. “Mike, what are you doing?”
Jaden and Col broke into a sprint, running alongside the train as it picked up speed. Col reached up and hammered a fist against the side. “Stop! Mike! You can’t just leave us here. Stop!”
The train continued to accelerate and swept ahead along the tracks. Jaden stopped running and bent double, his hands on his thighs. Col ran on for a few more seconds, before stumbling to a stop. They stood in silence, watching as the train clattered around a bend and vanished out of sight.
“You know,” said Jaden, once the train had disappeared into the darkness. “I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that Mike is something of an asshole.”
Martin Marshall turned into the driveway, pulled on the brake, then screamed as a Golden Retriever exploded just off to the right of the car, spattering the window in speckles of red.
“What the fuck was that?” Marshall yelped, jerking his body away from the glass.
Daniel leaned over from the passenger seat and peered past him. Out in the garden, Moira was swinging around with a shotgun, just as a German Shepherd hurled itself through the air towards her.
Boom
! Fire spat from the end of the barrel and the dog changed direction, mid-flight. “Jesus Christ! What’s she doing?” Marshall cried.
“Shooting those dogs,” said Daniel.
“I can see that! By why’s she doing it?”
“How should I know?” asked Daniel. “I’m seeing the same thing you are!”
They watched the pensioner step over the trembling remains of the German Shepherd. Moira spun her shotgun around and slammed the butt down on the dog’s head. The
crack
made Marshall throw up in his mouth, just a little, and he grimaced as he swallowed it back down.
“She’s lost it,” he whispered. “She’s completely fucking lost it!” He crunched the gearstick into reverse, but Daniel stopped him.
“Wait. Look at the little one,” he said, pointing out through the blood-streaked glass at a small grey Scotty dog that was scampering across the grass towards Moira. Its mouth was drawn up in a snarl, the fur on its back all standing on end. “It looks really angry.”
“So would I be!” said Marshall. “She’s just killed all his mates. I’d be fucking furious.”
“No, but look at it,” Daniel urged.
Marshall ducked left and right, trying to get a clear view of the dog through the hundreds of red blobs that were now dribbling down the outside of the glass. Sure enough, the mutt didn’t just look angry, it looked full-blown, foaming-at-the-mouth deranged.
It made a lunge for Moira, its teeth bared all the way past the gums. Like a striking cobra, she bent and snatched the dog from the air, her fingers bunched up on the scruff of its neck. Flipping it over, she caught both its front legs in one hand and both back legs in another. Daniel and Marshall both drew back in horror as she violently forced the legs apart, bending the dog’s back until—
Snap
.
The dog stopped fighting. Moira let the limp body fall onto the grass, then wiped her hands on the front of her cardigan. She turned to the car and smiled, then beckoned for Marshall and Daniel to come out.
“You’re OK. It’s safe now,” she said. “In you come. I’ve got the kettle on.”
With a final glance around the garden, Ms Hoon trudged back into the house, leaving the door open. Daniel and Martin sat perfectly still, staring at the door. A wisp of golden fur floated towards the windshield, then got itself stuck in a splodge of blood. Daniel swallowed, then smiled weakly at Marshall.
“After you,” he urged.
“Gee, thanks,” Marshall muttered. He opened the door, stepped out, then almost screamed again as a battered Ford came within spitting distance of knocking him over as it turned sharply into the driveway.
Daniel clambered out of the other door. They both stood watching as the driver’s door of the Ford flew open, and a hulking shape in a brown overcoat emerged.
“The fuck are you staring at me like that for?” demanded DCI Hoon. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”