The White Widow's Revenge

by Jacob Grey

  Some of the bank employees who’d been hiding in the back came through the door, shouldering the weight of huge canvas sacks with notes spilling out of the tops. They gazed at the bison and the panther in terrified astonishment.

  “Load up the van!” said Lugmann impatiently, waving his sledgehammer.

  The bank staff carried the sacks through the broken glass doors, down the bank’s steps and began to place them in the back of the van. They barely seemed to notice the hundreds of birds massed outside, and as soon as they had loaded the van, they ran off down the street.

  Mr Silk reappeared and Lugmann tossed him the van keys.

  “We’ll be out in a minute. I haven’t quite finished here,” Lugmann sneered.

  Tyra summoned the bison to her and patted its matted fur.

  “We’ve got what we came for, my friend,” said Mr Silk, a hand on Lugmann’s arm. “Almost three million, by my estimate.”

  Lugmann shook off the hand, and his cold eyes fell on Pip. “Yes, but my pet hasn’t eaten yet.”

  Caw tensed, ready to jump up. He could sense his crows outside, spreading their wings. Nothing would happen to Pip, not while Caw was still breathing …

  Mr Silk paused, removing his hat. He shot a look at Pip, who had begun to cry as the panther paced towards him. “Those weren’t our orders,” he said quietly.

  Lugmann and the moth feral eyeballed each other.

  Caw hesitated, his breath catching painfully. Orders? Who’s giving them orders?

  “I’m … reading between the lines,” said Lugmann. “Wait in the van, Silk. Unless you want to watch.”

  The moth feral replaced his hat and, without a backwards glance, he swept out of the bank.

  “You promised not to hurt Pip,” said Crumb.

  “No,” said Lugmann. “I promised he’d live. And he will. He can live with one leg, can’t he?”

  “You’ve got your money,” Caw growled. “Just go.”

  “Do it,” Tyra said, eyes gleaming.

  The panther opened its jaws wide.

  aw summoned his crows, driving them with all his willpower. As his birds shot into the air, he heard growling and a pack of wolves streaked past him.

  Caw’s heart soared. Racklen must be here!

  Two wolves leapt on to the snarling panther, raking it with their claws. Another sent Lugmann sprawling to the floor. The bison backed off in panic, as three more snapped and growled in its face.

  No, not wolves. They were too small and lithe. Their fur was sandy and pale, not grey.

  Coyotes.

  The panther rolled then lashed out with a paw, as it backed away across the stone floor.

  Tyra ran to Lugmann, but instead of helping him up, she grabbed the sledgehammer. She could barely lift it, and the crows swooped in, pecking at her wrist. She screamed and dropped the hammer, the head crunching into the floor. The crows’ claws snatched at her clothes, lifting her up and dropping her behind a teller’s counter with a thump. Pigeons joined the coyotes, and the massive bison bucked and crashed into furniture in its effort to escape.

  Mr Pickwick scrambled out of the way. Crumb swept Pip up in his arms as the panther spun and growled. It hurled a coyote across the bank as if it weighed nothing, and swatted another to the floor with a howl. But more wild dogs rushed in; so many that Caw lost count.

  The bison staggered behind the counter, emerging a moment later with a barely conscious Tyra, her collar clutched in its mouth. It dragged her down the steps as fast as it could.

  Lugmann was on his feet again and, with his panther shielding him from snarling coyotes, he ran out of the bank’s shattered front door. They stumbled into the back of the van and the doors closed.

  Caw rushed to the top of the steps, calling his crows to action. They swarmed the windshield as Mr Silk cranked the van into gear. It lurched forwards, crashing into a lamp-post, then veered across the wet street and smashed into a parked car, scattering glass across the road. The back doors swung open and several sacks spilt out. Lugmann hauled the doors closed and, with a screech of rubber, the van tore off down the street. Feathers and rolls of cash littered the ground.

  Mr Pickwick appeared at Caw’s side, clutching his bleeding arm, misery etched on his face. The bank was wrecked. Blood was spattered on the floor, mixed with clumps of fur and feathers. Chairs were smashed, and a clock hung askew on the wall. Around a dozen coyotes lay down and began to lick their wounds.

  “Where did they come from?” asked Caw.

  Crumb was still holding Pip, breathing heavily. He glanced around as a new voice spoke up.

  “Well, I thought you might need a hand.”

  Caw turned to see a man of about thirty skipping up the steps of the bank. He wore blue jeans and a pristine white T-shirt, with leather shoes and a leather jacket. His blond hair curled as it reached the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkled a pale blue. He smiled warmly, and the nearest bloodied coyote pushed its head against his leg.

  “Brave work, Vic,” he said. “All of you.”

  The coyotes let out a collective noise, halfway between a purr and a growl.

  “Fivetails!” said Crumb.

  “Who?” said Pip, clearly as bewildered as Caw.

  “Johnny Fivetails,” said the man, holding out a hand to the mouse feral.

  Pip looked at it, blinking.

  The man grinned then clapped him on the shoulder instead. “Still in shock, I guess. It was a hell of a fight.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Crumb. “How did you—”

  Sirens wailing in the distance cut him off.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Johnny Fivetails. “Right now, we need to leave.”

  Still reeling, Caw led the way to his house through the backstreets of Blackstone. The rain was falling hard, and he and Pip sheltered under the umbrella, while Crumb and the coyote feral followed behind. Crows and pigeons silently alighted on the buildings and the trees along the way at regular intervals. If there were any coyotes below, they were well hidden.

  Caw glanced back and saw Johnny looking about and smiling, despite the rain.

  “This place hasn’t changed much in eight years, has it?” he said.

  “Not really,” said Crumb. He looked a little confused. “I thought you’d left Blackstone for good?”

  “So did I,” said Johnny.

  Caw muttered to Pip, “So do you know him?”

  Pip shook his head. “I’ve heard of him though. The great Johnny Fivetails! Fought for us in the Dark Summer. No one’s seen him for ages.”

  Johnny must have overheard. “Never liked staying in one place,” he said. “Always been like that.”

  “So why are you back?” asked Crumb.

  Johnny grinned, revealing dazzling white teeth, and pointed at Caw. “Because of this guy.”

  “Me?” said Caw.

  “Your fame travels, kid,” said Johnny. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet the crow talker who went to the Land of the Dead and returned! The hero who defeated the Mother of Flies! Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you don’t really look like a tough guy. Mind you, neither did your mum.”

  The sudden mention of his mother caught Caw off guard. “You … you knew her?”

  “Sure!” said Johnny. “Bravest woman I ever met. Beautiful too, but I was only twenty at the time.” He blushed. “Sorry – you probably don’t need to hear that about your mum.”

  “It’s OK,” said Caw awkwardly. “Thank you, by the way – you saved us back at the bank.”

  “Lucky I showed up,” said Johnny. “Never met a bison feral before, but we showed her who’s boss, right?”

  “Right!” said Pip.

  Crumb looked less impressed. “So you were just passing by?”

  “Not quite,” said Johnny. “I’ve been in touch with Maddie. You know Maddie – the squirrel talker?”

  “Madeleine,” said Crumb, with a brisk nod. “Yes, I know her.”

  Caw sensed the temperature dip
, and he felt sorry for Crumb. When Caw had been helping the pigeon feral shift his meagre belongings from his old hideout back to Caw’s place, an old photo had fallen out. It showed teenage Madeleine and Crumb on a fairground ride, arms round each other.

  “Well,” Johnny carried on, clearly unaware, “she told me that there were some new ferals who don’t play by the rules. I heard something about a casino last night, and a bank raid today. I guessed it might be Pickwick’s place. Pretty fortunate, really.”

  Crumb nodded. He looked a little shaken.

  “Maddie – sorry, Madeleine –” continued Johnny, “is looking great. Finally out of that wheelchair – I’m so happy for her.”

  Caw saw Crumb wince again. Time to change the subject.

  “So are you staying in Blackstone?” he asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” said Johnny. “I’m not great with decisions, to be honest. Hey, is it true you can actually, y’know, turn into a crow?”

  Caw blushed.

  “It’s true!” said Pip.

  “That’s so awesome,” said Johnny. “You have to show me that trick.”

  Caw hadn’t even tried it since his battle with the Mother of Flies, but he sensed the power lurking within him. “Er … sure,” he said.

  “Where are you staying?” asked Crumb.

  “Some dump by the river,” Johnny replied. “The lift doesn’t work and it smells bad, but at least it’s out of this rain!” He smoothed strands of damp hair back from his face.

  They’d reached a crossroads. One route headed west towards Caw’s house, while another climbed towards the park in the north and the Strickhams’ place. Caw wondered how Lydia was. She was the first human friend he’d ever had – and the best – but he hadn’t seen her for over a fortnight. He missed having her around, smiling and cracking jokes. Lately it felt as though there wasn’t much to laugh about.

  “Actually, I’ll say goodbye here,” said Johnny. “Need to find some food for the pack.” He held out his hand to Caw. “An honour to meet you, crow talker. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

  Caw felt a little weird, but took it anyway.

  Johnny shook firmly, staring at Caw. “You look so much like her, you know?”

  Caw felt his cheeks reddening once more.

  “Come to Caw’s!” said Pip. “There’s loads of room with us.”

  Johnny put up his hands. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

  “I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t want—” began Crumb.

  “You must!” said Pip. “You just saved our lives.”

  “I guess that’s up to Caw,” said the coyote feral. “It’s his place, after all.”

  Crumb had fallen silent, but Caw thought Pip had a good point. And perhaps Johnny could tell him a bit more about his mother too.

  “You’d be welcome,” he said.

  Johnny shrugged. “That’s very kind of you, Caw. Is it the place your folks used to have? I think I even remember the way.” He pressed on ahead of them, whistling a happy tune.

  As they walked to the house, Caw thought about the bank heist. A bison … He hadn’t noticed one of those on the roof when the Mother of Flies was creating her new army. He wondered what else had been up there – what other horrors awaited them.

  And then he remembered something that Mr Silk had said.

  “Those weren’t our orders …” Caw muttered.

  “I’ve been wondering about that too,” said Crumb quietly. “It sounds like they have a new boss.”

  “One of the other convicts?” asked Caw.

  “Perhaps,” said Crumb, but he didn’t look convinced.

  Caw shuddered as another possibility came to him. “You don’t think the Mother of Flies—”

  “No way,” said Crumb quickly. “She’s in Blackstone Asylum. Her connection with the flies is broken. She’s no longer a threat.”

  Caw nodded. But somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

  The rain had let up by the time they reached the abandoned street where Caw lived. Johnny Fivetails walked by Caw’s side, marvelling at the dark empty houses.

  “This place has really gone downhill,” he said. He turned to Caw. “Sorry, man. It’s just a shock.”

  “It’s OK,” said Caw. “I like the privacy.”

  “The Dark Summer drove people out,” said Crumb pointedly.

  “I guess,” said Johnny.

  Caw suddenly felt embarrassed as they approached the overgrown front garden and boarded-up house. When Crumb and Pip had moved in a fortnight before, they’d been full of plans to give the place a fresh lick of paint and repair the windows. But fighting the escaped convicts had taken over from all of that.

  Caw saw a faint light coming from the dining-room window. The other ferals were already here.

  He led the way to the front door, and pushed it open.

  Several people were sitting round the dining-room table, and candles were lit across the room. There were familiar faces – like Ali the bee feral, Racklen the wolf talker, and the bat feral Chen – but strangers among them too. In the past couple of weeks, Mrs Strickham the fox feral had been gathering to their cause all the loyal ferals she could find. Some had refused, but most had agreed to join them, reasoning that they were stronger in numbers. Across the floor lay an assortment of dogs, and a few birds and lizards clung to the furniture.

  The room was heady with a potent mix of food smells. Some ferals were digging into takeaway cartons, while others had scavenged plates, bowls and any containers they could find from his kitchen.

  When Caw had agreed that the good ferals could use his house as a base, he hadn’t realised quite what Mrs Strickham had meant. But it was too late to go back on his word. It made sense to relocate here – their enemies might guess where they were, but at least no innocent people were living nearby. And Mrs Strickham couldn’t volunteer her own house. Caw knew that her husband, Lydia’s father, would never allow the ferals to use his family home for their war councils. Until a couple of weeks ago, the warden of Blackstone Prison hadn’t even known his wife was a feral, and from what Caw could gather, he wasn’t all that happy about it. If it wasn’t for her father, Lydia might be here with them now. She would have found a way to make Caw feel better about all this.

  The tall figure of Mrs Strickham strode over to them. She was dressed in dark jeans and brown leather boots, with a pale roll-neck jumper. Her long hair was tied back. “We heard what happened,” she said. “I’m glad you’re all OK.”

  “They got away with the money,” said Caw, lowering his eyes.

  Mrs Strickham touched his shoulder, and he looked up. “But everyone’s all right?” she asked.

  “I think so,” said Caw. “It could have been a lot worse …”

  Mrs Strickham’s eyes shifted away then went wide. A smile slowly lit up her face. “Johnny?” she said.

  “Vel!” cried Johnny Fivetails.

  Mrs Strickham flew past Caw and embraced the coyote feral. Caw had never seen her look so happy. There was a commotion as several others crowded round, taking it in turns to hug Johnny or shake his hand. Even Racklen, who rarely smiled, was beaming.

  Caw noticed Crumb was hanging back in the doorway. He didn’t like crowds either. All these people sitting on his furniture made Caw feel like a stranger in his own home. It was becoming hard to breathe in here.

  “So what happened?” asked Mrs Strickham, addressing Caw.

  He felt the room turn its attention on him. “Lugmann hit Pickwick’s bank,” he said unsteadily. “We tried to stop them, but they had the bison feral.”

  “And Mr Silk,” Johnny pitched in. “It was well planned.”

  Mrs Strickham nodded grimly. “I suspected the moth feral wasn’t gone for good.”

  “Mr Fivetails came to our rescue!” said Pip. “The bison was going to maul me!”

  Johnny shrugged modestly. “Thank the coyotes, not me,” he said.

  “Our enemies are getting bolder,” said Crumb
. “A bison in the city – it wouldn’t even have happened in the Dark Summer.” He lowered his voice. “We think there might be a new boss.”

  Velma Strickham’s eyes widened again, and she gestured to the wolf feral. “Racklen, Crumb, Johnny – we need to discuss this properly. Caw, do you want to get some food and join us?”

  The room filled with a hubbub as the other ferals began talking with each other and with their animals. A snake wound down the banister and butterflies fluttered around the lampshade. A Great Dane lay sprawled across the sofa, drooling on the carpet. Caw was beginning to feel dizzy.

  “I might go outside and get some fresh air first,” he said.

  Johnny looked a little surprised. “We could do with your input, Caw,” he said.

  A bright parrot flew past Caw’s face and sparks flashed across his vision.

  “Back in a minute,” muttered Caw, as his feet carried him towards the back door. He just needed to get away from all the noise. Crumb would say it better than he could anyway. He tripped over a snoozing fox, which bared its teeth at him.

  “Stop it, Morag,” said Mrs Strickham. “Sorry, Caw, she’s old and grumpy.”

  Caw stumbled into the kitchen, where a couple of lizards eyed him from the counter. Pip caught his arm.

  “Hey, Caw, let me show you something,” he said. “I’ve been practising my power.”

  “That’s great,” said Caw as the room spun around him. “But can it wait?”

  Pip lowered his eyes. “I guess so.”

  “Maybe later?” said Caw, feeling guilty as he grasped for the door handle. “I want to see, I promise.”

  “OK,” said Pip.

  Caw flung open the back door, and gulped in the cool garden air with relief. All those ferals inside needed somewhere to meet, but Caw felt a flash of annoyance at how they had made themselves at home. It was still his house, after all. He wondered if the arrangement was going to be permanent.

  You OK? asked Shimmer.

  Caw saw her perched on the kitchen windowsill, talons clinging to the edge of a broken plant pot.

  “I think so,” he said.

  Glum and Screech are up in the nest, said the crow. They got some egg-fried rice. I told them to save you some, but you know Screech …