Текст книги "The Fear"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

31

‘What do you mean I stay outside?’ Robbie was furious. He’d had enough of DogNut trying to run the show. The two of them were toe to toe in the middle of the street outside the Collector’s house, virtually spitting into each other’s faces.

‘Cool it, blood,’ said DogNut. ‘We need someone who knows what they doing out here, yeah? Otherwise we flush him out and he gets away. And not just that. He ain’t the only sicko in London. You get me? Once we in there someone got to watch our backs. Once we start kicking up a fuss, making all noise and that, the locals is gonna know we here, and any hungry ones might just be a likkle bit curious. Whoever stays out here is gonna have the most important job, yeah? When the fat man comes out, they gonna have to take him down.’

Robbie’s shoulders dropped. He could see the truth in what DogNut was saying. But he hadn’t given up the fight.

‘So why don’t you stay out here, big man, and I go in?’

DogNut made an elaborate gesture towards the house, sweeping his arm wide and half bowing.

‘Be my guest, soldier. You know where to go when you get in there? Cos it’s gonna be dark. Is like a maze, he got it so full of stuff. You reckon you’ll know where to find him? Yeah? Cos, take it from me, you wouldn’t want to be ambushed by him, and, like, overwhelmed.’

‘Maybe …’

DogNut smiled and put an arm round Robbie, giving him a squeeze.

‘This is the best way, brother, believe me.’

‘OK. Forget it. But next time you talk to me before you start making any plans.’

‘Yeah, sorry. Was just me and Ryan got to talking.’

‘So who’s going in with you?’

‘There ain’t a lot of room to move in there, so I want to keep it small, yeah? We gonna send one crew up to the top in case he’s there, another lot can take the ground floor and I’m gonna take the main war party down into the cellar, where he sleeps.’

‘I’m sending a small crew round the back, to the garden,’ said Ryan. ‘Just in case he tries to get out that way.’

‘The kids going into the house need to be ones who’ve been in there before, though,’ said DogNut. ‘Marco and Felix are gonna take the kitchen. Courtney’s taking the crew up to the top. I’ll lead the party down to the cellar.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Paul, stepping forward.

‘For real?’ said DogNut.

Paul swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘Of course,’ he said, staring at the pavement. ‘She was my sister.’

‘OK, but we don’t need no hero act,’ said DogNut. ‘You stick with me and you do what I say.’

Paul nodded.

‘I’d better come along too,’ said Ryan. ‘And I’m bringing my best fighter. You’ll need us.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I say so.’ Ryan put an arm round DogNut. He smelt like an animal, what with all the leather and fur and bits of dead flesh hanging off him. That and the fact that he obviously hadn’t washed in about six months.

‘This is gonna be fun …’ Ryan’s face split into a wide smile, his long yellow teeth showing wolfishly.

‘OK?’ said DogNut, and Robbie reluctantly nodded. ‘So that’s me, Paul, Ryan, Ryan’s hunter and, if you want to make sure that your guys are in on it, I’ll take one more from the museum. Who d’you suggest? Someone who ain’t scared of nothing and can fight up close if they got to.’

‘Jackson.’ Robbie nodded towards a stocky kid wearing hoodie and jeans who had close-cropped hair and a face like a potato.

‘He good?’

‘She.’

‘She?’

‘Yeah.’ Robbie grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Jackson’s the hardest kid at the museum.’

He called Jackson over. She looked serious and slightly shy.

‘You happy to go inside with the main team and flush the sicko out?’ Robbie asked her and she shrugged.

‘Why not?’ She smiled now and her face softened and she instantly looked like a little girl.

‘How old are you, Jackson?’ DogNut asked.

‘Thirteen. Why? You think I can’t do this?’ Jackson stopped smiling.

‘Didn’t say nothing. Just asking.’

Jackson sniffed. Held DogNut’s gaze. Her eyes were grey and clear. She carried a short spear with a long, extremely sharp-looking head. She twirled it in her hand, like a bandleader with a baton. The tip zipping past a millimetre from DogNut’s nose.

He laughed and stepped back.

‘Save it for the man, soldier,’ he said, and then called the rest of his team together.

‘We’re going in,’ he shouted. ‘And, remember, the show ain’t over till the fat sicko croaks.’

32

Courtney groaned. She was back in the Collector’s house. The last place on earth she wanted to be. Her feet stuck to the squishy mashed layer of paper and food and excrement that lay on the floorboards, giving the effect of walking through wet mud. The stink of it, rising from the floor in wafts of damp heat, and seeping from the walls, nauseated her. She felt like she was inside the twisting wormholes of some giant sponge that had soaked up gallons of grease and sweat and slime that was all now slowly oozing out. The air seemed to be thicker in here. It clogged her nostrils and the back of her throat, making it hard to breathe. She was panting like a dog, hard and fast, unable to fill her lungs. Her pounding heart was pushing so hard she felt as if her skin might split, and sweat lay on her in a tight cloying sheet, like clingfilm, making her itch. She wanted to scratch herself all over. But she knew she must show no fear in front of the other kids – three of Ryan’s hunters and a fat boy from the museum. They were absolutely bricking themselves so she had to give them courage.

Just like dogs, the kids preferred to hunt in a large pack, and separated from Ryan, his hunters didn’t look so tough. These three stuck close behind Courtney and she reckoned if they did come across any sickos they’d be out of there in a flash. They were very different boys to the cocky, swaggering bunch who’d volunteered to come inside with her. Oh, they’d been warned about what to expect – they’d even laughed about it, boasted about what they were going to do, but as they’d forced the door open and walked into the hallway they’d fallen silent. The Collector had painstakingly rebuilt the towering piles of rotting newspaper and had spent some time jamming human bones into it.

The boys had grown pale and quiet. This was like nothing they’d ever experienced before. There was an alien atmosphere in the house. Alien and evil. Very little sunlight penetrated the building. It hadn’t been so obvious last night when it was dark outside, but the Collector had stacked stuff on all the window ledges, and the panes of glass were so thick with grime and dust that only a few spots of yellowish light showed here and there.

Courtney switched on her torch. It was a relief to be heading upstairs, away from what she knew waited in the basement, even though it brought back painful memories of when six of them had gone up last night and only five had come down. And there would be nothing worse than to be trapped up here again with these strangers, kids she didn’t know and couldn’t fully trust. A big part of her wished she could have stayed with DogNut.

Come on, girl, concentrate.

She may have got the soft option, but she still couldn’t be sure of what she might find up here. What if they stumbled across the mutilated body of Olivia? She’d seen the dead bodies of friends before, but none had been mucked about with the way the Collector had torn up those poor kids in the kitchen.

Up. Keep going up.

She hustled her gang, making her way to the very top of the house without stopping. They quickly arrived at the bedroom with the balcony where they’d had their fight with the Collector. There was much more light in here. The wide sliding glass doors along the back wall were largely clear and there was a big gap in the middle where they’d been smashed. Had that happened in the fight? She couldn’t remember. It had all happened so fast and she’d been in a blind panic.

Because of the broken windows the air in here was cooler and cleaner. With a strong sense of relief she went out on to the balcony and leant on the wall. A movement below caught her eye and she spotted another group of Ryan’s hunters climbing the wall into the garden. They stopped and looked up and then waved to her. Courtney felt reassured that she wasn’t alone.

It was nice on the balcony. Calm and peaceful. Normal. The gardens, though overgrown, looked like any other gardens, a complete contrast to the weird interior of the house.

She knew she couldn’t stay out here, though.

It wasn’t over.

She gulped in fresh air and spat to clear her throat. Turned back to the anxious faces of her little gang. They stood in a line, waiting for their orders.

‘Take a quick look round,’ she said, stepping back in through the broken windows. ‘See if there’s any signs of Olivia. I don’t reckon she’s likely to be up here, but we need to check. Then we’ll work our way down.’

‘And then what?’ asked the museum boy.

‘Then we get the hell out of here, kiddo.’

33

Paul was shaking so much it was almost funny. His whole body was vibrating, his teeth rattling in his skull. He was gripping his knife so tightly in his hand that his fingers were bone white and bloodless. Sweat ran down his arms, under his sleeves, and dripped on to the floor. He was staying next to DogNut, trying to show he was tough, and not fooling anyone. Jackson was a couple of paces behind them, then came Ryan’s hunter and finally Ryan himself, walking backwards, watching their rear. They were in the basement, slowly working their way through the maze. Jackson and DogNut both carried torches. The beams crawled over the paper walls and the soggy floor, occasionally touching on a bone, or a turd, or a scrap of hairy skin, only to skitter away like startled insects.

As they came to each corner, they stopped and DogNut would carefully peer round, trying not to touch the walls if he could help it.

‘This is some weird shit, man,’ muttered Ryan as they came into one of the little hollowed-out antechambers. This one was filled with old radios and tiny broken human skulls. Baby skulls by the look of them.

‘Ryan don’t like this one bit at all,’ he went on. ‘Should have listened to his mum and stayed at home.’

‘You believe me now, yeah?’ said DogNut. ‘I told you this wouldn’t be no primary-school outing, and you ain’t even seen the guy what built this house of horrors yet.’

‘Maybe we should all stop talking and go a little quieter?’ said Jackson, nudging past Paul to join DogNut at the front. ‘Let’s move on,’ she whispered. ‘The quicker we go, the quicker we get this over with.’

Jackson didn’t speak anything like the girls that DogNut had grown up with. She had an unexpectedly posh accent that didn’t go with the face and the attitude. What’s more, she was confident enough not to put on a voice, didn’t have to pretend that she was someone else. DogNut had spent his whole life trying to sound like the black kids on his estate. That was how you talked if you wanted to be cool. He admired Jackson, but she was alien to him and he didn’t really know what to make of her.

Before they moved forward, she shoved Paul back and put him between Ryan and his hunter.

‘You shouldn’t have come down here, Paul,’ she said softly. ‘You’re not up to this. Try to keep out of the way and not get into any trouble.’

‘But I want to kill him.’ Paul’s face was twisted with a mix of fear, pain and anger. Jackson stared at him.

‘Do you really think you could do that, Paul?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘When did you last kill someone?’

‘Never. But I can start now.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Jackson, and before Paul could say anything else she put a hand over his mouth.

‘Nobody’s going to judge you, Paul. Nobody’s going to think badly of you. Let us do it. You just try not to get hurt. That’s what Olivia would have wanted.’

‘I’m going to kill him,’ Paul repeated once Jackson had taken her hand away. ‘And you’re not going to stop me.’

‘OK. But for now stay back here – you’re slowing us down.’

Jackson returned to DogNut and the two of them led the way down the next stretch of passageway.

34

‘We mustn’t let Paul come in here.’

Marco was by the kitchen door, holding it shut. He and Felix had made sure that there was nothing living in the kitchen and had then quickly secured the room in case the Collector was nearby. They had three kids from the museum with them. Two of them looked like they were about to be sick. The third one was actually being sick. He was bent double, throwing up noisily into a bucket of slops. Marco thought it was funny that he had carefully used the bucket so as not to make any mess, when the room was already covered in filth of all kinds.

You had to see the funny side of things or you’d crack. The kitchen looked even worse this morning. The Collector had added to his vile collection of broken bodies around the table and used poor Olivia’s head as a centrepiece. It was almost unrecognizable, one side of it completely caved in. Marco hoped she’d died quickly.

‘Please,’ said one of the other boys. ‘Please let’s get out of here. I can’t stand it. It’s disgusting.’

‘In a minute,’ said Marco.

‘At least we don’t have to look no further,’ said Felix. ‘We know what’s happened to Olivia. Perhaps we should put it in a bag, or something?’

‘Put what in a bag?’ asked Marco.

‘The head,’ said Felix. ‘Olivia’s head.’

‘What for?’

‘I don’t know, to show the others. To show Paul.’

‘He don’t want to see that,’ said Marco incredulously. ‘Why would he want to see that?’

‘It’s proof, isn’t it?’

‘He don’t need proof. We just tell him we found her body.’

‘But we ain’t found her body!’ Felix protested. ‘Only her head.’

‘If you was her brother,’ said Marco, pointing at the table, ‘would you want to see that?’

‘No.’

‘Right.’

‘So what are we going to do with it?’ Felix asked. ‘Maybe we should bury it?’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Marco, with a cutting edge to his voice. ‘A tiny coffin with a head in it. That’ll be lovely.’

‘Marco …’

‘Felix!’ Marco interrupted him. ‘That thing on the table ain’t Olivia. Olivia’s gone and there ain’t nothing we can do about it.’

‘Please, please, please, let’s get out of here …’

Felix turned to the whimpering boy with the expression an adult might make to a baby and grabbed the face of one of the dead boys at the table. He worked the mouth so that it opened and closed like a ventriloquist’s dummy, making it speak.

‘Oh, diddums,’ he said in a grating, comedy voice. ‘Is this all too much for you?’

Then the dead boy’s lower jaw came away in his hand and a shower of rotting flesh and maggots dropped on to the table. Felix threw the jaw away and jumped back, laughing hysterically and wiping his hands on his trousers.

‘You’re sick,’ said the museum kid.

‘No, he’s sick,’ said Felix, pointing towards one of the boy’s friends, who was puking on the floor. He then shifted his attention to the jawless body at the table. ‘But I think this guy is the sickest,’ he said. ‘He really needs to see a doctor.’

‘You moron,’ said Marco. He was torn between laughing and screaming. He knew what Felix was doing. He was trying to avoid the pain and hurt and fear by making a joke of it. None of them could really face what was going on in their world, and they’d all developed their own ways of coping.

But Felix had gone too far. He was really freaking the museum kids out.

‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘Hide Olivia’s head so there’s no danger Paul might see it. Then we’ll search the other rooms on this floor, and please, Felix, don’t think it might be funny to tell Paul about the head. We keep shtum about that. All he needs to know is that we found her body.’

‘Yeah?’ said Felix with mock innocence. ‘Where is it?’

‘Shut it, Felix.’

‘You shut it.’

‘I can’t do it,’ said the museum boy. ‘I can’t stay in here any longer. I want to go outside.’ His face was wet with tears and he was shivering badly.

Marco grabbed the front of his sweatshirt.

‘You stay with us,’ he said. ‘You’ve been given an order. We stick together. We’re a group and we have to follow orders. OK?’

The boy gulped and nodded his head, taking strength from Marco’s military attitude.

‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘I’m OK. We’ll stick together. I won’t let you down.’

‘Good boy,’ said Marco. ‘Now let’s look in the other rooms. And be careful. We don’t know where the fat father is, where he might come from, and we don’t know if he’s alone or not. He might have some other friends about the place.’

‘Yeah,’ said Felix, sniggering. ‘He might have invited some kids over for tea.’

35

DogNut’s group had come to the end of the line. The sitting-room with the old TVs and computers and the sagging sofa where the Collector slept. At first DogNut thought he wasn’t there. He could see no sign of him and there was a great mound of grubby newspapers on the sofa where his body should have been.

He absentmindedly read one of the headlines.

‘Floods devastate York.’

Those were different days.

But as he looked at the writing he realized that the papers were gently rising and falling.

‘He’s under there,’ he said. ‘Under the newspapers.’

‘We should just put a match to him,’ said Ryan, pushing into the cramped space behind DogNut and Jackson. ‘End of.’

‘End of all of us,’ DogNut snapped. ‘I told you – no fire. We’d never get out in time.’

‘OK, so what do we do then?’ said Paul, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. He raised his knife, shaking sweat everywhere as his hand juddered in the fetid air.

‘What do you reckon?’ asked Courtney. ‘Could we stab him through that lot? All do it together. Might have some chance of hitting his heart, or his liver, or something.’

‘His fat gut more like,’ said DogNut.

‘I’m gonna stab him,’ said Paul, and DogNut held him back.

‘Chances are you won’t kill him, just vex him. His fat’s like a suit of armour.’

‘I don’t care if I make him angry,’ said Paul. ‘He killed my sister.’

‘Fair enough. We do got to make him angry, I guess,’ said DogNut. ‘Only enough so’s he chases us outside, though. Once he’s out on the street we can deal with him properly.’

‘I’m gonna do it,’ said Paul, who didn’t seem to be listening. ‘I’m gonna stab him.’

‘Then you’d better hurry,’ said Jackson. ‘I think he’s waking up. I told you we should have kept the noise down.’

Indeed, the mountain of newspaper was beginning to rise, and as it did so sheets slid off it like drifts of snow from a melting roof. The next thing they knew Paul had run forward with a terrible scream and stabbed down double-fisted with his knife at the rising bulk. His hands smacked into the paper and the knife stuck fast. Then a great meaty paw reached out from under the papers and took hold of Paul’s arm. It jerked him to the floor and he yelped as his face slammed into the black and sticky carpet. The Collector still had hold of him, and, as Paul tried to twist free, Jackson stepped forward and slashed at the sicko’s arm with the point of her spear, then kicked it with a heavy brown work boot. There was a grunt from under the newspapers and the Collector loosened his grip. Jackson kicked his arm again and the Collector finally let go of Paul who scrabbled away, slipping on the greasy carpet. He careered into the table holding up the biggest television and it crashed down on top of him.

Now the Collector erupted upwards, throwing off the rest of the paper. All except for a few sheets that were pinned to his gut by Paul’s knife like notes on a corkboard. There was a filthy rag stuffed into the hole in his side where Felix had stabbed him last night. The skin round the wound was purple and smeared with pus. He glared at the fallen television, appalled at what he was seeing, and then hissed and lunged at Paul, but Jackson deftly nipped in and jabbed her spear at his neck, just below the ear, in a quick in-and-out movement. DogNut was satisfied to see a spurt of blood pump out.

The Collector could be hurt after all.

DogNut yelled at him, to attract his attention, and slowly the huge father turned and lumbered towards the other kids. Paul seized the moment and picked up a broken table leg. He staggered to his feet and started to pummel the Collector on the back. The Collector barely seemed to notice; without looking round he swung one arm and smashed Paul across the room where he hit the wall with a wet slap. He slid to the ground, stunned.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ DogNut shouted. Ryan’s hunter was already gone. Ryan and Jackson didn’t budge.

‘You get Paul,’ said Jackson. ‘We’ll distract him.’

Now Jackson and Ryan both slashed their weapons at the father, but there wasn’t the space to do any real damage. DogNut moved in and pulled Paul to his feet. He was groggy and confused so DogNut had to physically drag him into the maze.

‘Run!’ he bellowed.

They were all scared, panting, gasping, blundering through the maze as the Collector came after them. They could hear his feet thudding on the floorboards, hear him snorting and wheezing.

Paul was dazed, barely able to walk, let alone run. He was holding DogNut back.

‘For God’s sake,’ DogNut snapped. ‘Get your act together, man.’

Paul managed to pick up speed as his head cleared and at last they reached the stairs and went clattering up them.

‘Everybody out!’ DogNut howled as he neared the top. ‘He’s on the move!’

They burst from the cellar entrance just as Courtney came down the stairs from above and they all collided. It was a miracle that nobody was hurt because they all had their weapons at the ready. They quickly sorted themselves out and made for the front door. As the hallway had been made so narrow by the stacks of newspaper, it created a bottleneck. In the confusion and panic they were getting in each other’s way.

Paul was fully alert now, but had a crazy, feverish look about him. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and shook DogNut.

‘Where’s Olivia?’ he cried. ‘Has anyone found her?’

‘Get outside,’ said DogNut. ‘We’ll sort it.’

‘Where is she? Where’s my little sister?’

‘She’s dead, Paul. Now get your arse out of here.’

‘Where’s her body? How d’you know she’s dead?’

‘You think she could live in here? We’ll all be dead if we don’t move it.’

Jammed in the hallway, the two of them were preventing anyone else from leaving the building. The trapped kids were yelling and shoving. They could feel the walls vibrating as the Collector clumped up the stairs.

‘We’ll come back for her body!’ DogNut shouted. ‘But please shift, Paul.’

Courtney screamed as the Collector emerged from the top of the stairs, his yellow eyes staring, drool spilling from his open mouth, blood bubbling from the wound in his neck. He smelt of shit and decay and death. The light from the open front door fell on him and as Paul got a proper look at him he became paralysed with fear.

DogNut made a quick decision. He punched Paul hard in the belly, and, as he doubled over in agony, he hoisted him on to his shoulders in one swift movement. He then staggered towards the door and out of the house, the rest of the kids following in a frenzied bundle. He made it into the centre of the road where Robbie’s gang was waiting, not quite sure how he was able to carry Paul’s weight, coasting on adrenalin and fear and a crazy kind of strength. Then he collapsed to his knees and dropped Paul on the tarmac.

‘What happened to him?’ Robbie asked, frowning. ‘Did the sicko get him?’

‘No,’ said DogNut, fighting for breath. ‘I did. Had to hit him.’

‘You hit him? What do you mean?’

‘Never mind all that,’ DogNut gasped. ‘I hope you lot are ready because there is one very angry fat man about to come out of there.’

The kids formed a long straggly line, tensed, weapons raised. The hunters’ dogs were at either end, tugging at their leads.

But for a minute nothing happened. The Collector didn’t appear.

Nobody moved. Nobody said anything until Courtney broke the silence.

‘He’s not coming out. No way am I going back in there again.’

She fell silent as a shudder passed through the waiting kids and one or two swore as the Collector’s great shape appeared in the doorway. He stood there, angry and confused, studying the kids, trying to work out who they were and what he was going to do.

He blinked five times, and then slowly, slowly, slowly he shrank back into the darkness of the house as if he was sinking into a bog. He became a vague dark shape in the hallway and then there was just blackness.

DogNut spat. Swore viciously. Was about to say something when a hideous racket started up – banging and shouting and clanking.

What now?

Smoke wafted from the house and the next moment the Collector came staggering out as if he’d been shoved from behind. He squealed as bright sunlight hit him and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. The sheets of newspaper were still incongruously pinned to his belly, like a napkin in a gimmicky restaurant. They flapped in the breeze.

Marco and Felix and the three museum boys now burst out of the front door, banging pots and pans together. Felix had a rolled-up newspaper that he’d set light to. He waved it at the sicko and the boys threw their pans at him. He tottered across the pavement. The fire, at least, seemed to frighten him and Marco was goading and prodding him with his spear, all the while yelling and screaming like a mad person.

The waiting kids now formed a circle round the sicko and began jabbing at him with their own weapons, and they, too, shouted, hurling obscenities at the huge father who tried to ward them off with his massive arms. Every now and then he would let out a long high-pitched wail and try to charge out of the circle, but every time he was driven back into the centre, the dogs snapping at him.

Sharp blades flashed and flickered at him, ripping his clothes. The newspaper was getting shredded. Patches of blood were appearing on his filthy, darkened skin.

‘Do him!’ someone shouted, and the kids laid into him with greater ferocity.

Paul went over to Felix and Marco.

‘Did you find her?’ he begged. ‘My sister. Where is she?’

‘Yeah, we found her,’ said Marco softly. ‘She’s dead, mate. I’m sorry. Weren’t nothing you could have done for her.’

‘I want her body.’

‘No you don’t,’ said Felix. ‘Leave her be.’

‘No …’

Paul made a move towards the house, and Felix and Marco held him back.

‘Leave her be!’ Felix repeated.

Paul fought his way free of them and turned on the Collector.

‘I’m going to kill him …’

Courtney stepped back from the circle of flailing kids. She couldn’t bear it any longer. The Collector was disgusting. He’d killed and mutilated God knows how many children, but to see him like this, a trapped animal, she couldn’t help but feel pity for him. She couldn’t watch as he was worn down by a thousand tiny cuts. The kids’ faces looked insane, drugged, worked up into a frenzy of bloodlust, every vile word they could think of spitting from their twisted lips.

This must have been what it was like to watch bear-baiting or a bullfight.

Hideous.

Still the cruel darting blades plunged into the father. Still the dogs’ teeth nipped at him. He was making a circle of blood in the road, stamping it into the ground with his bare feet as he kept up a horrible shrieking, crying sound. His strength was seeping away from him. He couldn’t last much longer. He fell first to his knees and then on to his side, and the kids just hacked and slashed at him and clubbed him and swore at him even more.

Finally he slumped forward, face down in the road.

The kids jeered, kicked him, battered him …

‘Stop it!’ Courtney screamed. ‘Stop it now.’

They stopped. Startled. Stood there panting and heaving, staring at the bloody mess on the ground, unable to quite believe what they had done.

Courtney went to the body. He was still just alive, still breathing. One yellow eye stared up at her, uncomprehending.

‘Can’t somebody just finish this?’ she said, and Paul rushed forward. He had got another knife from somewhere. He leant over the Collector and stabbed him repeatedly in the back, but it was no good; he wasn’t penetrating deeply enough to finish him off.

He was crying, his tears falling on to the bloody back of the Collector as his knife chopped and chopped and chopped. At last, DogNut and Robbie managed to pull him away and Jackson took his place.

‘I’ll do it,’ she said, and stepped on the Collector’s head, holding it still. She carefully placed the point of her spear in the same spot she had stabbed him before, just below the ear, but this time she was able to angle it towards his brain.

She pressed down with all her strength. His eye went wide, and then the life went out of it.

‘It’s done.’