The Hunted by Charlie Higson Page A

It was shaking so much in her sweaty hands it looked like it was attached to a motor. She put a finger to one of the bits of metal that were stuck in it. It was sharp. If she hit the father in a soft place she might hurt him. She couldn’t kill him with it, but she might slow him down, maybe make him let go of Scarface, give him a chance to escape.
    It was that or watch him drag Scarface off somewhere to be eaten in private and then wait for him to come back and start on her. Where could she hit him, though, that would do enough damage?
    The father was getting closer and closer. She could hear him grunting with the effort. His long legs stiff and awkward as he shuffled backwards, kicking arms and legs out of his way with his heels. And then Ella had an idea and, before she could talk herself out of it, she ran at the father and swung the club with all her strength at the backs of his knees. Ella let go of it and it stuck there, the spikes digging into him.
    He gave a girlish cry and crumpled to the floor, letting go of Scarface. Ella was breathing so hard it hurt her chest. She was crying. But she’d done it. The father was down …
    He rolled on to his front, leaving the club behind, pushed himself up on to his hands like someone doing exercises and stared at Ella. He didn’t look angry or in pain, he just looked as if there was something he needed to do and nothing was going to stop him. He began to move, pulling himself along on his arms, eyes fixed on Ella. She went over to the door and started to open it when she saw the huge head of a dog sticking its nose in the crack and snuffling like the mother had done earlier. She slammed the door shut as it started to bark.
    Still the father was coming, hauling himself through the blood and the slime on the concrete floor, his face a mess of boils and sores. Much nearer now. Ella backed away from him. He was making a sort of brushing sound as the air came out through his blocked nose. His eyes all the while staring at Ella with that clear, serious look.
    Unable to see what was behind her, Ella tripped and stumbled, went dancing back and crashed into an iron support pillar. She slid down on to her bottom, too surprised to feel any pain. And still the father came on,one hand forward, then the other, dragging himself over the dead bodies.
    Ella looked around for something to defend herself with and saw Daniel’s head sitting on the floor. It was as if he was looking at her. His lips had shrunk back from his teeth so that he was smiling, laughing even. Laughing at the useless little girl who thought she could hurt a grown-up.
    Ella closed her eyes. She’d finally had enough. There was nothing left in her. She gave a little laugh. There wasn’t even any fear left in her. It had all been used up. Let him come. Let him do what he was going to do and then it would all be over. Maybe she’d see Sam in heaven. That would be nice.
    The bang was so loud it left Ella’s ears ringing. She wondered if the father had hit her. But she didn’t feel anything. And there had been a flash behind her eyelids. She forced them open, forced herself to look. The father was lying on his side, blood leaking out of him.
    He’d been shot.
    ‘Scarface?’ she said, looking around.
    ‘No,’ said a voice, very close, almost at her side, and she saw Harry sitting propped up against the wall of the barn, holding Scarface’s shotgun. Ella crawled over to him, too weak to stand.
    ‘Harry?’
    ‘He gave me the gun.’ Harry’s face was white, spotted with blood.
    ‘Your friend,’ he went on. ‘There were only two shells left. I was saving the last one. It’s done now.’
    ‘Oh, Harry,’ said Ella. She couldn’t think what else to say.
    Harry nodded over to where Scarface was lying.
    ‘He tried to save me,’ he said. ‘He’s all right, you know.’
    ‘No, he’s hurt.’
    ‘
He’s hurt
… Idiot. I mean he’s an all-right guy. All night he stood over me. Fighting them off. I couldn’t