Hyenas

by Michael Sellars

  They went through the gap and made their way over to the opposite side of the office. There was something depressing about the step-and-repeat uniformity of the rows of desks; keyboards, monitors, telephones and in-trays all identically positioned. The desks' occupants had battled against conformity with pot plants, framed photographs, toys and ornaments, but all to little effect. As they neared the windows, they could see Birkenhead on the far side of the river. Sluggish smoke trailed from a few buildings here and there, creating an illusion of snug domesticity. The illusion was undermined by the remains of an EasyJet fuselage, one ragged wing still attached, drifting downriver. Seagulls swirled about the aeroplane’s remains, swooping in and out of the carcass; Jay didn’t want to think about what they might be feeding on in there. Further inland, the towers and chimneys of the oil refineries and chemical plants at Ellesmere Port were smokeless. Jay wondered if some automated safety mechanisms had kicked in after the Jolt, shutting everything down, or whether it was just a matter of time before they roared and turned the sky black.

  They edged closer to the window and looked down. They saw the others immediately, standing round a bench, across the road from the Liver Buildings. There were a few stuffed bin bags on the bench and two large bottles of water, the kind that, turned upside-down, sat on top of office water dispensers.

  “Where's Phil?” said Ellen.

  Jay saw that she was right. There was Dave, stocky and somehow aggressive even when motionless. There was Joe, afro silvered with snow. There was Simon, his pale dreadlocks a little embarrassing next to Joe’s authentic afro. And there was Kavi, his turban spattered with blood. But no Phil.

  “Maybe he didn't make it,” said Jay. “Like Brian.”

  “Looks like,” said Ellen. “Jesus.” Then, “What the hell's that?”

  Ellen was pointing to a yellow DHL van, seemingly abandoned less than ten yards from the bench. Jay couldn't see anything else of note.

  “Footprints,” said Ellen. “Around the van.”

  Jay had seen them but not registered, not understood their potential significance. He widened his eyes like someone trying to stay awake whilst watching a late film. He knew he had to be on the ball. He told himself this was the endgame. Success or failure would depend on little details, like the footprints round the van, the footprints that should have set off alarm bells.

  “Maybe it was Dave and the rest of them who left the footprints,” said Ellen. “Maybe they were checking the van out, seeing if there was anything useful in there.”

  “It's Pepper,” said Jay. “Him and his militia. They're either in the van or pressed up against the other side of it, where we can't see them.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “If we'd got here first, would we be standing out in the open by a bench as if we were just killing time?”

  “No. We'd stay out of sight. We'd hide until the others turned up. Fuck.”

  “It's Pepper. In the van or behind it.”

  “So. What now?”

  “Give me the gun.”

  Ellen handed him the rifle.

  “What's the plan?” she said.

  “You go down there. You tell the others to follow you. Not to argue. You know it's a trap. You know what's going on. They just have to trust you. Tell them you've got it covered. As soon as you start moving, Pepper will make his move. That's when I start shooting. I keep Pepper pinned down. You and the others get to the boat and wait for me there.”

  “Jesus. And how are you going to get to the boat? How are you even going to get out of this fucking building? Pepper will see where the shots are coming from and he'll come after you.”

  Jay shrugged.

  “Just wait for me at the boat,” he said. “Give it, I don't know, thirty minutes, then, you know, splice the main brace or whatever it is you're supposed to do.”

  “And what about the hyenas? It won't be long before they start coming out of that tunnel.”

  Jay shrugged again.

  “I don't know, Ellen.” He grinned like a nauseas drunk. “I just don't know. But I can't leave them down there. I can't because...”

  “Because Dempsey wouldn't have left them down there.”

  He nodded, opening his backpack.

  “Something like that, yes. I just think it’s time I stepped up to the plate, you know? For once in my fucking life.”

  Ellen shook her head. “How many times have you had to say the words ‘I can’t read’ to complete fucking strangers, Jay? How many times?”

  Jay shrugged. “I don’t know. Hundreds.”

  “Well, every time you managed to get that sickening little phrase past your lips, you were stepping up to the plate. Every fucking time, Jay. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Jay managed a smile but felt suddenly close to tears.

  Ellen stared hard into his eyes.

  “What?” said Jay. He took out the sailing book.

  “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, you don't have to. I wouldn't.”

  “But you've got Lily to think about. I'd be just trying to save my own skinny little arse.” He handed the book to Ellen.

  Ellen carried on staring hard but took the book.

  “I don't really know you from Adam, but I can't imagine you've done much wrong in your life, Jay. Not bad-wrong at least. I'm pretty sure you've fucked up on any number of occasions. Because you do have something of the air of a fuck-up about you.” She grinned. “But nothing to go to confession over.”

  The grin dropped away.

  “I had a brother, Jay. He was eight years old. We were in the cinema on Edge Lane, watching some Disney flick, talking animals and the like, when the Thing happened. When I came to, he was gone and those bastard things were everywhere. I found him in McDonalds, a couple of hours later. Except it wasn’t him, it was one of those things. A hyena, a zombie, a mouth-breather. He was chewing something, blood was running from his mouth, and he had a clump of hair grasped in one hand; it still had a chunk of scalp attached to it. He snarled at me, my little brother, and there was nothing of him there. There was just this fucking animal.

  “I ran, Jay. I got scared, got scared for the baby, got scared for me, mostly for me, and I ran. I just ran.”

  She turned away and walked through the gap between the filing cabinets, then through the door and out of sight.

  Jay took a couple of steps forward, as if to go after her then stopped because he had no idea what he would say, what he could say. He didn't even know what to think, what to feel.

  He looked at the rifle and thought for a second that maybe he understood the attraction of the military life. It wasn't so much a craving for adventure, action and violence as a longing for simplicity. There was us and there was them, this side of the gun and that, safety and danger, life and death. Everything else was trivial. Of course, he knew none of that was true and that soldiers were as distracted and troubled, as dissatisfied as everyone else.

  Jay opened the window five inches and there was a click as some mechanism prevented it from opening further. He wondered if it was some kind of anti-suicide lock, designed to prevent employees driven mad by the uniformity of their environment and, doubtless, the uniformity of their days, from throwing themselves down to the pavement below. There would be enough of a gap to poke the barrel of the gun through and angle it toward the DHL van.

  He took off his pack and dropped it onto the nearest desk. There was an unopened can of Dandelion and Burdock on the desk, in between a pair of portable speakers. He picked up the can, cracked it open, took a couple of sips and smiled. The taste of childhood. He walked back over to the window. There was no sign of Ellen. The others carried on milling about. They didn't really look as if they were killing time at all. Their movements were stiff and anxious. They knew that if they tried to make a break for it the bullets would start flying and there was no real cover and they would probably die. He hoped Ellen could cut through their fear. He thought of how the Book Club had treated her in the office on
Hanover Street and he realised that, to a man, they had respected and loved her.

  They'd listen. He was certain of it. They had to.

  He finished his drink, dropped the can into a wire mesh wastepaper basket and got into position. He trained the rifle on the front of the vehicle, glad that it wasn’t his trigger finger that was bandaged up. That's where Pepper's militiamen would come from once they saw Ellen; that was the most direct angle of attack between the van and the others. With the gun pointing at the van, he turned his attention to the bench and Dave, Joe, Simon and Kavi. He knew they'd react as soon as they saw Ellen. They'd probably try to warn her. When they did, he'd get ready to start shooting.

  And then Dave moved a couple of feet from the others, toward the Liver Building, his hands held palms out at waist height, making a pushing gesture. Jay couldn't see Ellen yet but he knew she had arrived. He turned his attention to the van, looking down the barrel of the gun, training the sight on the far corner of the bonnet. He wouldn't be able to watch Ellen or the others now; he had to focus all his attention on keeping the militia pinned down.

  Pepper stepped out first, pistol in hand. Through the open window, Jay heard him shout something but couldn't make out what exactly. Two more militia appeared behind Pepper, assault rifles at the ready.

  Jay pulled the trigger.

  A white flower bloomed from the centre of the bonnet, a good foot and a half from where Jay had actually been aiming. As the flower disintegrated, Pepper and his men froze, not entirely sure what had just happened.

  Jay pulled the trigger again.

  A second flower, this one closer to the edge of the bonnet, bloomed and shattered in the same instant, showering Pepper with snow. This time, the sergeant and his men seemed to understand precisely what was happening and darted back behind the van.

  Jay took a quick glance over at the bench. There was no sign of Ellen and the Book Club. He wondered where they'd gone, why they weren't running toward Princes Parade, then realised that would put them in Pepper's line of fire. They must have gone back onto Bath Street; that would take them parallel to the Parade and they could just drop in when they were nearer the Alexandra Tower.

  He returned his attention to the van again. One of Pepper's men was peering from the back of the vehicle, just the side of his face visible. Jay aimed at the ground close to the rear passenger side tyre and pulled the trigger. The bullet kicked up snow about two feet from its intended target but it was enough to send the militiaman back into hiding.

  Half a minute passed with no activity and Jay knew that they were conferring, putting a plan together. Then, two militiamen stepped out, one from either end of the van and fired randomly up at the Liver Building. Without thinking, or even aiming, Jay fired back, the bullet striking the side of the van close to the rear. The militiamen scuttled back behind the van. They knew where he was now; they'd seen the muzzle-flare.

  Only a couple of seconds delay this time and the militiaman at the front of the van appeared once more. Jay took aim near the militiaman's feet but before he could even think to pull the trigger he stepped back behind the van. As he was stepping from view, his counterpart at the back of the van leapt out and immediately began firing. Bullets struck the heavy blocks of the Liver Building creating a series of brittle squeals and then the next window along from where Jay was standing shattered.

  Jay was about to return fire when the militiaman moved back behind the van. At the same time his front-of-van comrade stepped back into view and began firing. More brittle squeals filled the air. A third militiaman appeared from the front of the van and ran toward the Liver Building. Jay, too panicked to take aim, fired three shots in the general direction of the van, kicking up plumes of snow from the roof that did nothing to deter the returning fire. Another militiaman broke from the cover of the van and made a dash for the Liver Building, then Pepper did likewise. Jay was training his sights on the ground at Pepper's feet when a bullet shattered his window and he was showered with broken glass. He staggered back, tripped on the wastepaper bin, into which he'd dropped the dandelion and burdock can, and fell onto his backside.

  For a few seconds, he wasn't sure if he'd been shot. He scanned his body, arms and legs, looking for bullet wounds. Everything seemed intact. He stood up, shards of glass falling from his shoulders and head, chiming on the pale blue carpet tiles.

  “Lucky,” he said. “Fucking lucky, Jay.”

  He put on his pack and ran over to the west side of the building and looked out of a window for any sign of Ellen and the others on Bath Street but they'd done the sensible thing and gone to ground rather than try to make it to the boat in a single leg. He wondered if they'd dipped into the Crown Plaza Hotel. That made sense: plenty of hiding places and they could probably exit on the far side of the building, closer to the boat and out of the militia's line of sight. They might even be able to stock up on the supplies they’d left at the bench. There was no sign of Pepper or his men, which meant they were too close to the building to be seen or had already gained access.

  Jay was wondering how the hell he was going to get out unseen (shooting his way out was a non-starter), when he noticed the hyenas spilling out of the docks exit of the Queensway Tunnel. They continued across the road, twenty or more of them, heading directly for the Liver Building. There were gun shots from somewhere near the base of the building and two, three, four of the hyenas fell, but the pack was undeterred. More shots. More hyenas fell. But still they came, as even more of them emerged from the blackness of the tunnel.

  Jay headed back through the reception and out into the corridor. He made his way to the stairs he and Ellen had climbed. The sound of shouts and boots below stopped him dead. He wasn't going to get out that way without a fight, a fight he couldn't conceivably win. He ran to the far end of the corridor. Another door opened up onto an identical stairway. Jay took two steps down, then stopped. Shouts and boots here, too.

  “Shit. Organised little bastards.”

  He went back down the corridor and into the office, making for the centre and turning on the spot until he saw a fire door on the east side of the building. There were more gunshots — from inside or out, it was impossible to tell. He hoped to God the militia and hyenas would keep each other busy long enough for him to just slip out like he was escaping a dull party.

  He was almost at the fire exit when a bulky silhouette filled the translucent square of wire-glass in the door. The handle began to turn.

  Jay dropped to the ground and scuttled under the nearest desk, turning into a sitting position and pulling his legs in as far as he could, knees right under his chin. He heard the door open, followed by two heavy footsteps.

  “Garvey,” said Pepper.

  Chapter 25

  Jay held his breath, told himself his heartbeat couldn't be heard outside of his own head.

  Pepper marched across the office, his booted feet passing right by Jay. There was a crunch of glass and Jay realised Pepper was checking over by the broken window, looking for Jay's wounded or lifeless body.

  “No blood, Garvey. You're in here somewhere, hiding. Aren't you tired of hiding, Garvey?”

  Two gunshots filled the office, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood.

  “Come on, Garvey. You've survived this long. We could use someone like you. Forget about the boat. We'll find it, burn it. You're going nowhere.”

  Footsteps getting closer. No more than a few yards away now.

  “Garvey?”

  Silence.

  A crackle of static.

  “Any sign of him on the stairs, Lloyd?”

  Laced with interference, the reply came back, “No sir. Lot of fucking jokers, though. Fuck! Fucking... shit... past us, sir. Fuck.”

  Jay could hear gunfire in muddled stereo, over Pepper's walkie-talkie and from the building's lower storeys. Then the transmission died.

  “Lloyd? Lloyd? Bollocks. Come on, Garvey, everything's going to shite, so let's get this over with,
eh?”

  Jay ignored the request. Then he noticed a tuft of white fluff on the floor next to the tip of his left foot. It was a scrap of stuffing from his coat, the stuffing that had been dragged out by the hyena in Waterstones. He smiled. He'd been hiding under a table then, too. The smile vanished. It wasn't funny. It wasn't fucking funny. After everything that had happened today, here he was skulking under a desk, just as scared and useless as he'd been at the start of the day. And this wasn't even a hyena; it was just a bloke, some chancer, who'd probably been one of Liverpool's unwanted and unusable before the Jolt had turned everything inside out.

  The heavy footsteps came closer.

  “Garvey? I'll be honest with you. I don't want to put a bullet in your head — I could have shot you before, on Lord Street, but I didn't — but if you don't come out on the count of five, I swear to God, I'll shoot you in the gut and watch you die.”

  The footsteps came closer.

  Then Pepper's booted feet stepped into view.

  “Come on out, Garvey.”

  For a second, Jay thought that Pepper was addressing him directly, that he knew where he was hiding, but then he started turning on the spot and said, “Garvey? For Christ's sake, lad.”

  Jay heard the sound of a door being flung open on the far side of the office.

  Pepper's feet turned toward the reception.

  A hyena cackled.

  “Fuck!”

  A gunshot.

  The hyena shrieked laughter.

  Pepper started moving away from Jay, toward the reception and the hyena.

  Another gunshot.

  Jay crawled out from under the desk and stood.

  Pepper, his back to Jay, was standing a few yards away, pistol held in two hands. The hyena, a shaggy ape of a thing who would have been intimidating prior to the Jolt, was running across the banks of desks, scattering pens and paper and personal effects, stooped, intuitively presenting as small a target as possible. It was about ten yards away and closing fast.