glad of the smoke, because it did something to hide the worst smells. Of bodies ripped open.
She went over to Scarface. He was lying where he’d fallen, on top of a pile of grown-ups. She felt him, shook him, put her ear to his mouth, listening for any breathing. Then she put her hand to his chest and she felt the tiniest flutter of a heartbeat, and worried that she was only feeling her own pulse. No. His chest was moving. He was just about alive. The back of his head was badly cut and his own blood was mixing with the blood he’d been splashed with.
Ella ran over to the cabinet where he kept his medicine supplies, tugged the door open, nearly pulling the cabinet off the wall. She found a roll of bandage, unrolled it and cut off a long strip. She tied it loosely round his head, hoping to stop the bleeding. Didn’t know what else to do.
Then she remembered Sonya and Louisa. They’d taken his keys. What were they doing? She went over to the door and peeped out, scared that they would see her and come back to hit her over the head as well.
There was a scorched black patch all round the edge of the barn and the smell of petrol hung in the air, mixed with a barbecue smell of roasted meat. There were more dead bodies out there, close to the building, most of them burned. There was another pile over by the fallen gate, but otherwise the farm looked deserted.
So where were the girls?
The chicken shed.
Obviously
.
That’s where they’d been sniffing around earlier. Trying to get in.
It had to be that.
Ella was just about to go after them when she saw a group of grown-ups come round the side of the farmhouse. So they hadn’t all left. She pulled the barn doors together, leaving a small crack to peep out through. Her whole body was trembling. She was cold and tired and hungry and terrified.
And alone.
A big mother broke away from the group and limped towards the barn. She had bare arms, huge breasts and a fat neck, fatter than her head. As she got close, she belched and a stream of thin brown liquid washed down her chin and spattered on to the ground. When she reached the doors, she began to snuffle at them.
Ella shrank back from her, and as she did so she became aware of a howling and a whining and a snarling. Something moved fast across the yard and knocked into the mother. It was the dogs. Scarface’s dogs had come back. There were no traps to stop them any more. They tore into the grown-ups, pulling them down and mauling them. Their growls and yelps sounded unreal, something from a horror film about aliens. Three fathers were trying to get away, dogs snapping at their legs, hanging on with bared teeth.
Ella closed the barn doors fully and slid the main bolt across. She listened to the sounds of the attack, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the doors. Glad she wasn’t out there. Her throat was painful and dry. She tried to swallow. She needed water.
And then she heard a noise behind her.
There was somebody moving about inside the barn. For a tiny moment she hoped it might be Scarface, that he wasn’t as badly wounded as she’d feared. But she knew in her heart it wasn’t him.
She opened her eyes and turned round.
It was a father. He had his back to Ella and was reversing towards her, dragging something across the floor. His back was wide and the remains of his shirt were stretched tight across it. Where his lumpy skin showed through the gaps it was black with dirt and grease.
Ella realized that the thing he was dragging was Scarface. The father had him by the ankles. Ella didn’t know what to do. Even though she had her club, she couldn’t fight this man. He was huge – to Ella he seemed to be a giant – and she was feeble. A little girl, Daniel had called her.
A useless little girl
. And he was right. Ella couldn’t hit hard enough to hurt a fly.
There were flies in here. They swarmed round the father and over the dead bodies. Their buzzing set her on edge.
She looked down at her club.
She went over to Scarface. He was lying where he’d fallen, on top of a pile of grown-ups. She felt him, shook him, put her ear to his mouth, listening for any breathing. Then she put her hand to his chest and she felt the tiniest flutter of a heartbeat, and worried that she was only feeling her own pulse. No. His chest was moving. He was just about alive. The back of his head was badly cut and his own blood was mixing with the blood he’d been splashed with.
Ella ran over to the cabinet where he kept his medicine supplies, tugged the door open, nearly pulling the cabinet off the wall. She found a roll of bandage, unrolled it and cut off a long strip. She tied it loosely round his head, hoping to stop the bleeding. Didn’t know what else to do.
Then she remembered Sonya and Louisa. They’d taken his keys. What were they doing? She went over to the door and peeped out, scared that they would see her and come back to hit her over the head as well.
There was a scorched black patch all round the edge of the barn and the smell of petrol hung in the air, mixed with a barbecue smell of roasted meat. There were more dead bodies out there, close to the building, most of them burned. There was another pile over by the fallen gate, but otherwise the farm looked deserted.
So where were the girls?
The chicken shed.
Obviously
.
That’s where they’d been sniffing around earlier. Trying to get in.
It had to be that.
Ella was just about to go after them when she saw a group of grown-ups come round the side of the farmhouse. So they hadn’t all left. She pulled the barn doors together, leaving a small crack to peep out through. Her whole body was trembling. She was cold and tired and hungry and terrified.
And alone.
A big mother broke away from the group and limped towards the barn. She had bare arms, huge breasts and a fat neck, fatter than her head. As she got close, she belched and a stream of thin brown liquid washed down her chin and spattered on to the ground. When she reached the doors, she began to snuffle at them.
Ella shrank back from her, and as she did so she became aware of a howling and a whining and a snarling. Something moved fast across the yard and knocked into the mother. It was the dogs. Scarface’s dogs had come back. There were no traps to stop them any more. They tore into the grown-ups, pulling them down and mauling them. Their growls and yelps sounded unreal, something from a horror film about aliens. Three fathers were trying to get away, dogs snapping at their legs, hanging on with bared teeth.
Ella closed the barn doors fully and slid the main bolt across. She listened to the sounds of the attack, closing her eyes and resting her forehead on the doors. Glad she wasn’t out there. Her throat was painful and dry. She tried to swallow. She needed water.
And then she heard a noise behind her.
There was somebody moving about inside the barn. For a tiny moment she hoped it might be Scarface, that he wasn’t as badly wounded as she’d feared. But she knew in her heart it wasn’t him.
She opened her eyes and turned round.
It was a father. He had his back to Ella and was reversing towards her, dragging something across the floor. His back was wide and the remains of his shirt were stretched tight across it. Where his lumpy skin showed through the gaps it was black with dirt and grease.
Ella realized that the thing he was dragging was Scarface. The father had him by the ankles. Ella didn’t know what to do. Even though she had her club, she couldn’t fight this man. He was huge – to Ella he seemed to be a giant – and she was feeble. A little girl, Daniel had called her.
A useless little girl
. And he was right. Ella couldn’t hit hard enough to hurt a fly.
There were flies in here. They swarmed round the father and over the dead bodies. Their buzzing set her on edge.
She looked down at her club.
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