Abomination (The Pathfinders Book 1)

by Jane Dougherty

  “What was that?” her voice trembled. “A quake?”

  Like a chain of automatons, the girls’ repetitive movements barely broke rhythm. Kat’s shoulders twitched dismissively. “Maybe. Just a small one. We get them all the time. Don’t worry about it.” Her face lit up in an astonishing grin. “There’s nothing left to fall down anyway.”

  Carla grinned back. It was the first time she had seen one of the girls smile, really smile, because she found something amusing. She decided to advance a little further, try her luck, and asked a question that had been intriguing her.

  “Kat? Who are those two?” She motioned along the chain, to the two heads of bouncing dreadlocks, all that was visible of the pair in the slowly deepening hole around the cellar door.

  Kat followed her gaze. “Jah and Clyde.”

  “But they’re men. What are they doing working with the girls? I thought the men never did any of this menial stuff.”

  “They don’t. Jah and Clyde don’t count. They’re West Indians.”

  “So you’ve gone back to slavery as well?”

  Kat was about to give one of her tired sighs when she seemed to change her mind. Carla caught her breath. Kat was going to tell her something.

  “When the tribes were formed, it was like…an explosion.” Kat’s forehead wrinkled into a deep frown as she groped for the words. “As soon as things fell apart, when the real violence began, all the old animosities leaped out. First the gangs like in the old days.” Carla nodded. She had studied the gang phenomenon of the Paris suburbs in sociology class. “They split up along the same old lines—ethnic, religious, cultural. Arabs, Africans, West Indians, East Europeans, Turks, and everybody else, all gravitated to their own groups. There had always been gangs. Somebody had to run the drugs and prostitution and all that. But after the Abomination, there was no choice. All the men were forced to join one gang or another. Then they became the tribes, and they fought one another. The Matonge and the Kusha, the Africans and the Arabs, made an alliance, and they massacred the West Indian Tchôk. Jah and Clyde are the only two left. Ace said they could join us if they work. It means an extra couple of warriors.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Carla whistled. She looked at the sentries over the other side of the ruins of the pizza restaurant, watched the way they paced back and forth, their rifles pointing into the gloom of no man’s land. “And these other tribes, Matonge and whatnot—who have they got it in for now?”

  Kat gave one of her usual shrugs. “Everybody. Anybody. Us probably.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Carla!”

  Tully shouted in a panic, as if there was anywhere she could be hiding in the empty box of a back room. Their bags were placed neatly against the wall, the three chairs stacked next to them. The other meager furnishings were undisturbed. Nothing was out of place, except the severed digits and the discarded meat cleaver. Jeff jabbed at the scaly fingers with the toe of his boot.

  “Looks like…”

  “Rat man.” Jim finished his thought.

  Tully looked away from the bloody puddle, feeling queasy. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just, could it have…got Carla?”

  Jim shook his head. “Not after she walloped off half a hand and foot. It’s probably limped off to lick its wounds or die.”

  “So, where’s Carla?”

  “Gone after it?” Jeff suggested. “That’s what I’d do.”

  Matt snorted. “Sure you would. Like I’d take on the Burnt Man single handed.”

  “Why not?” Tully asked, curious. “He’s only human, isn’t he?”

  “Believe me. You don’t want to know that either.” Jim glared at Matt. Tully caught the look that passed between them and wondered what the two of them were keeping from him.

  “Okay, another time. Let’s just find Carla, can we? The thing might have gone to get its mum.”

  “You mean like Grendel?” Jim grinned.

  “Yeah, and Carla left her meat cleaver behind. Come on!”

  They followed the dark red splashes until they saw something moving up ahead. The gloom had deepened and they crept close before they could make out what it was. What they saw stopped them dead in their tracks and sent them backing away carefully, Tully having trouble fighting back the nausea. The movement was the undulating bodies of scores of rats as they stripped a carcass the size of a ten-year-old child.

  “Jesus,” Tully hissed through his teeth when the heaving mass was out of sight. “What the hell was that?”

  “Dead rat man, probably,” Jim said in a matter of fact tone. “I’d say Carla finished him off. The other stuff was ordinary rats. There must be thousands of them about, but as long as there are plenty of corpses, they leave us alone.”

  “Drax eat them too,” Jeff added. “That’s the one good thing about them. One day I’m going to catch myself a drac puppy and train it. I won’t have to worry about rats then.”

  “Course you won’t.” Matt nudged him playfully. “You won’t have to worry about anything at all. ’Cos it’ll have ripped your throat out for you before it’s weaned.”

  Jeff’s features took on a stubborn look. “Those two who came looking for what’s his name… Eblis? They were riding drax.”

  “You mean you’ve had visitors since your Burnt Man left?” Tully asked. “You’ll be telling me next that fairy story about the four scourges is true.”

  “Let’s find Carla first,” Jim said abruptly, turning back the way they had come. “We’ll head for the cafeteria, an’ I’ll tell you a story about rat men as we go.”

  “You’re not going to tell him about Pete, are you?” Matt asked, his eyebrows raised. “That’s horrible.”

  Jim shrugged. “Tell me about something Ace was involved in that isn’t.”

  * * * *

  A few years back

  Pete was nervous. He was fifteen years old and could barely remember a time when he had not been cold, hungry, dirty and scared. It was especially on nights like this that he was amazed to be still alive and not sure that he wanted to be, nights of guard duty when the

  others left him on his own while they played cards or generally pissed about, because he was the youngest and wouldn’t dare squeal on them. On nights like this, he listened to the savage place the world had become and wondered how long the band of misfits could hold the shopping mall against it.

  He thought he heard something unusual and peered into the gloom but could see nothing. He swung the muzzle of the rifle around and listened. Silence, except for the flapping of a loose metal panel in the distance and the moaning of the wind. He let out his breath cautiously. He heard the sound again, the same faint scuffling down the walkway, but closer this time. Pete wondered whether he ought to call out to Joe and the others, whether he feared the scuffling thing more than the wrath of Joe if he interrupted the card game.

  He swallowed hard and strained his eyes. Even so, the sudden movement as the shape lurched out of the shadows took him by surprise.

  “Hold it!” His voice was no louder than a squeak.

  “Shhhhh! It’s only me, Steve.”

  “Steve? Kill kicked you out ages ago. I thought you were…”

  There was a rough gasp that Pete took for laughter.

  “No, not dead. Not quite. No thanks to Kill, though, the bastard!”

  “Look, Steve, you’d better clear out of here. It’s Ace in charge now, and if he knows you’re back, there’ll be a manhunt, and this time—”

  “Just let me get something to eat first.”

  “I’m not allowed. You know that. There’s even less food than when you were… Go on, now, before I call the boys.” Pete was getting jittery. There was something in the tone of Steve’s voice that gave him gooseflesh. Something in the way he hung back, clinging to the wall, keeping to where the shadows lay deepest, convinced Pete he did not want to get any closer.

  “Please, Pete. Pleassssse,” the voice hissed. “For old times’ sake.”

  “I can
’t! Go on, get out or I’ll—”

  The shadows moved and a hair-covered face, the jaw too long and narrow, the forehead flattened above deep-set eyes, pushed up to Pete’s. Pete gasped in horror and backed up to the storeroom door.

  “You just squeak and I’ll be back for you, Pete. Me, or one of…the others. We’ll get you, Pete, one night when you’re out here on your own. You won’t like it, Pete. We get hungry, see? Anything’s good for us to eat. So, just open the door, only a few minutes and I’ll be on my way.”

  Pete gulped. Despite the cold, sweat trickled down his sides, and his throat was dry with fear. He nodded. Trying not to turn his back on the nightmare, he fumbled with the key in the lock. A hand with skinny fingers and long sharp nails pulled the door open, and Steve hopped rather than walked into the storeroom. Pete shrank back in horror as a scaly tail swished past his ankles and disappeared inside.

  * * * *

  “So, which one of you let the vermin in?”

  Ace was brutal, hard and unused to wielding power. Since the visit from the pair of lunatics who butchered the tribal chief Kill before riding off again on their giant mutant hounds, Ace had been in charge of the tribe. But he still had to win the tribesmen’s respect. Kill had been a wanker—they all agreed on that—and when it came to standing up to the riders, he had wet himself and bolted. He was no great loss as far as Ace was concerned, but as he was the one who’d put the finger on his chief, he was left with a slight image problem.

  Kill might have been a wanker, an arsehole and a right little toe rag, but the tribesmen had liked him, probably because he was just like them. If the nutters who did for Kill hadn’t given Ace the job of chief, the other tribesmen would probably have massacred him.

  “Rats didn’t have keys or hands last time I looked, so who opened the door and let ’em in? Jesus! I give you rifles to stop the thieving, and you decide to join the World Wildlife Fund! You think we have so much food stashed away you can share it with the rats?”

  Ace had developed a way of darting his gaze from one face to another, always with one or other of the tribesmen in his sights. It unsettled them, his thin, restless face, and the unblinking stare. They shifted their gaze, avoided his, shuffled out of his way. But he was the chief, the weird riders had said so, and given how they dealt with Kill, none of the tribesmen would dispute their choice. Respect was different, though. Respect had to be earned.

  “So? Who’s the animal lover?”

  Ace shot an angry look along the line of guards, searching for the telltale signs of panic that would give away the culprit. The men shuffled their feet, a couple of them clenched their teeth, but no one spoke up. Ace’s pale face grew almost bloodless and his lips pulled into a thin, angry line.

  “Your loyalty is touching. Okay, you want to play at Band of Brothers? Then you can go play together outside.”

  The four guards looked at one another.

  “I mean it! Go on. Fuck off! And you can leave those rifles. If the drax come sniffing, just show them a bit of brotherly love.”

  “Aw, Ace!” Joe, a heavy, red-faced boy blustered. “The rest of us didn’t do nothin’!”

  “So, who did do it?”

  “Him.” Joe pointed at the boy standing next to him.

  “I never!” Pete shouted, but already he was edging his way toward the door. Joe and the other two moved to block his path. “I didn’t mean to,” the boy was almost in tears, “but he made me. It was horrible… It was Steve.”

  “Steve?” Joe roared with laughter. “I bet Steve is horrible by now! Kill ran him out for thieving. He was drac meat—et an’ crapped out months ago, mate!”

  The boy turned on him. “You didn’t see, you stupid git! It was him, and you didn’t see what he looked like.”

  “Hold on,” Ace was intrigued, “are we talking about the same Steve? What’s he been living on all this time?”

  Pete shook his head. “He said they ate anything.”

  “They?”

  Pete swallowed hard. “There’s more like him, he said.” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, his eyes grew round with fear. “They look like rats.”

  “Yeah, so does Mac but we put up with him, don’t we?”

  “Mac ain’t got hair all over his face, though, does he? An’ a long snout, an’…an’…a tail!” Pete was sweating, his pale face sticky with fear. Joe frowned, finding it difficult to imagine. Ace, though, grinned as a way of spicing up the boredom of survival began to take shape in his head.

  “You mean like with a rat tail and big ears? And funny teeth?”

  Pete nodded, an expression of shock and disgust on his face.

  “It must have been tough,” Ace commiserated. “Horrible even, having to face that on your own. There won’t be a court martial, Pete. Just this once, I’ll turn a blind eye.”

  Pete stared, unable to believe his luck.

  “You’re too valuable to get rid of now. You’re our new rat man specialist.”

  Pete felt his flesh creep. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

  “We’re going to hunt out your new friends. And we’ll be needing some appropriate bait.”

  Pete swung his rifle like a bat into Joe’s chest and charged out into the corridor, straight into the two ferret twins.

  * * * *

  The present

  Tully’s face twisted into a grimace of disgust. “You mean Ace tried to catch rat men using a kid for bait?”

  “Didn’t just try,” Matt said.

  Tully felt sick. “He’s even more warped than I thought.”

  “He thought it was fun for a while,” Jim said. “A new way of entertaining the troops. But it didn’t last long. He couldn’t afford the bait.”

  “Not enough of us,” Matt added. “Too many of them. Rats are survivors.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jim stopped, his hand on the door handle, and turned to Tully. “Let me handle Flo, okay?”

  “Be my guest,” Tully said. “She’s not my type.”

  Matt sniggered. “Jim saw a pic of her boy once. Looked just like him. Well, he had blond hair anyway. Poor sod was serving in the Ukraine when the Abomination started.”

  “I’ve got the old battle ax eating out of my hand,” Jim said proudly.

  “Rather you than me,” Tully muttered.

  “Flo,” Jim shouted, “have you seen Carla?”

  Flo took her time, wiping her hands on a grimy hand towel and picking a few bits of thread from her sleeve. Ignoring their rising impatience, she just smiled irritatingly to herself. When, eventually she turned to face the young men who had barged into her kitchen, it was to ask in a bland tone of voice, “Why?”

  “We want to know where she is.” Tully felt like slapping her.

  “Busy.”

  “She’s okay, then?”

  Flo shrugged. “Who’d know?”

  Jim put on his most winning smile, and Tully had to stop himself snorting at the answering smile that cracked Flo’s hard features. Jim obviously had few scruples about exploiting the weaknesses of people he detested.

  “C’mon, Flo,” Jim said in a wheedling voice. “We just have to ask her a few questions. Warlord Thor here can’t find his bottle opener and he wonders if Carla pinched it.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Flo snarled. “She’s always rooting around in the drawers and boxes. I’ve had to stop her pocketing all kinds of useful things. Ace ought to give her a good whipping.”

  Jim put on a stern expression. “Think that answers your question, Thor. Where is she, Flo?”

  “Pizza place. You send her straight back here. When you’ve finished with her, o’ course,” she added with a nasty smirk.

  Tully kept out of it, didn’t trust himself not to give the hard-faced baggage a poke in the kisser. Turning his back deliberately, he marched out of the kitchen, followed by the others.

  Even at midday, the thick layer of ash and other windblown debris that covered the roof of the mall cast
a sinister gloom. The skeletons of chain stores lined their route. Broken glass and smashed shop fittings strewn across the walkways slowed them down.

  “Why does nobody ever clear this up?” Tully asked in exasperation as he slid on an unseen chunk of glass.

  “Funny you should ask,” Jim said, in his laconic drawl. “I’ve often wondered during these last five years, when the cleaning staff were going to turn up for work.”

  “Strike,” Matt said. “Pay and conditions.”

  “And bonuses for dealing with drac turds,” Jim added.

  “No, but,” Tully spluttered, “if you leave all this crap lying about to rot, you can’t be surprised if you get rats!”

  “Who’s surprised?” Jim raised his eyebrows. “Listen. It is Ace who’s in charge here, you know, not Batman. Ace doesn’t clean up anything that doesn’t put up a struggle. If he can’t kill it, slowly and painfully, it may as well not exist.”

  “Ssshhh! Quiet!” Jeff looked anxiously ahead. “Somebody’s coming.”

  They halted and listened in silence to the pattering of hurrying feet. Jim drew a knife. Jeff did the same. Despite the anxiety that had carved a hole in the pit of his stomach, Tully couldn’t help noticing the tremor of the boy’s hand and felt like ruffling his hair and telling him to beat it to a safe distance in the rear, but he knew Jeff wouldn’t thank him for it.

  “Rat men?” Tully asked in a whisper. The others shrugged. The footsteps came closer, two two-legs or one four-legs. There was the sound of glass skating across the walkway floor, followed by a dull thud.

  “Maledetto! Does nobody ever clear anything up in this pigs’ house?”

  Tully gasped, half laughing, half crying with relief and ran forward.

  “Carla!”

  Carla scrambled to her feet and threw herself into Tully’s arms as she would have done back in Paris, before everything changed. The feeling lasted a couple of seconds before Tully felt her recoil as if…as if she was still angry with him. But he refused to let go and after a half-hearted effort to pull away, he felt her relax. He bent his head into the familiar scent of her hair, her skin. They held one another close, oblivious of the others.