Vurt

by Jeff Noon

  The dogs were howling from the top of the stairs, and when I turned I saw Das Uberdog pulling the knife out of his torn face. He peeled his gums back, away from the long teeth, displaying his wound.

  I stepped over the body of Doordog, and joined Mandy at the bottom. She was standing with legs apart, my gun in both hands, just like she’d done, no doubt, in countless Bloodvurts. At the top of the stairs I could see the dogs scuffling about in panic, banging into the walls, their half-cut brains struggling with the messages. Behind them Bridget and Twinkle were standing. Twinkle had Karli by her side. Robodog looked okay, a bit wobbly, some blood on its fur.

  ‘You hurt, Uber?’ called Bridget, from the landing.

  He didn’t answer, didn’t even look around, just put one paw down on the next step.

  Mandy had the gun well aimed, but I could see her shaking some.

  Uber brought another paw down, another step, holding the knife in his right hand. It had his blood on it, and more of the stuff was flowing down from his ragged lips.

  ‘One more step, dogbreath,’ said Mandy, ‘and it’s the big kennel.’

  Uber raised his paw, staring her straight in the eye. He could see the sweat on her face, and the shake in her arms.

  He started to bring down the paw.

  ‘She’ll do it, Uber,’ shouted Bridget. ‘I know her.’ And then, more slowly, ‘These are my friends.’

  He stopped then, looked back up the stairs towards his lover, his fine and sleepy-eyed shadowgirl lover. And I wonder what thoughts she had found there, inside that dog man?

  ‘Uber…that’s enough.’ Bridget speaking. No. Not speaking. Just thinking. I was tuned into them, the woman and the dog, and all the things that had gone on between them.

  I think she was the purest thing he’d ever known.

  And when he turned back to us, you could see that something had changed, something had clouded over in those deep eyes that had run with the dogs, whilst also contemplating the works of John Donne.

  He stepped back to a higher level.

  I guess the poetry made it through, this time.

  ‘You coming on down, Twinkle?’ I shouted.

  ‘Karli’s hurt,’ she cried.

  ‘Karli’s done good. She’s a real Stash Rider. Just like you, kidder.’

  Bridget nodded when Twinkle looked at her. So the young kid came down the stairs, followed by the robodog. And Das Uber stepped aside, to let her pass.

  Just like a man should do.

  Twinkle came into my arms. There were tears on her face. I wiped them with my filthy hands.

  It was all I had.

  I looked up the stairs, past Das Uber, to where Bridget was holding onto the dogs. The look in her eyes told me a story. You know that one, about giving up something good, for the sake of something else. And then finding no way back? And maybe you don’t want to go back anyway?

  Yeah, I guess so.

  For what I’ve lost, and for what I’ve taken, a part of this story is for you, Bridget. Wherever you are.

  I still didn’t have a clue where the Beetle was, except that the lights were starting to fade again, but I suddenly thought; We’re going to do this! We’re getting away with it! ‘You’re going home, Big Thing,’ I said, making Twinkle laugh.

  Mandy tucked the gun into the back of her jeans and then opened the front door. She went through, taking Twinkle with her, and the Karli Dog. I followed, the Thing on my back. He was squirming around on there, like he knew he was going home. Like he knew that we were going out there, into the dark of Claremont, to where the ice-cream van lay waiting.

  But there was another car parked close by, a black and white job; another one just down the road. Cop cars. A beam of light came whirling into position, trapping us there. Shadowbeam! Full intensity. Inpho flickering over my face, searching for clues. Clues of fear.

  Shecop Murdoch was waiting for us, over by a streetlamp, gun in hand. Takshaka Shadowcop was flooding out from the roof of one of the police cars, and he was smiling that smoky smile, as he transmitted.

  DO NOT MOVE. YOU ARE UNDER ARREST.

  ‘I guess we got you, Scribble?’ Murdoch said.

  Some other cops, real-life ones, four of them, stepped out of cars.

  ‘I guess so,’ I answered.

  FLARE

  ‘That’s okay, officers. We’ve got this one.’

  At Murdoch’s word the four cops backed off a little, leaning against their cars, like this was some kind of easy squeeze.

  I was standing in the doorway of the doghouse, my hands tight around Twinkle’s shoulders and chest. Karli was snarling at the shadowcop, but keeping it under control. Mandy was in front of us, out in the rain some, so that I could see that her hair was getting a sheen on it. Behind me the Turdsville door was still open, but I couldn’t chance a move, not with Takshaka beaming me. The deal was knife-edge.

  ‘Shame about Tristan,’ Murdoch said.

  Her hair was drenched to the bone. She looked like a near-death drowning, and the intense look of purpose on her dog-ripped face was starting to tell me something.

  ‘Is it?’ I answered.

  ‘Yeah. Died during custody.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ I said, but my heart was falling fast, into despair, and I felt the world slip to one side slightly, like maybe the rain was falling sideways.

  ‘Found him this morning,’ Murdoch was saying. ‘Hung himself, from the window bars. I’m thinking that maybe he couldn’t take it.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’ I was stalling, keeping it going, waiting for a moment to come, some kind of loose moment.

  Some things take a life to arrive, and a part of this story’s for you, Tristan.

  ‘Where’s the tough guy, just now?’ Murdoch asked.

  Good fucking question!

  ‘Who’s that?’ I replied.

  Seeing colours…

  ‘The Beetle?’

  ‘You killed him, Murdoch. That Mandel finished him.’

  ‘He got one of ours.’

  Murdoch’s voice was hard and cold when she spoke, and I was getting the story now, what was going down here, and why she was keeping the dumb cops back.

  Shecop had gone into personal mode.

  I think she was waiting for a move from us, a legit reason to blow.

  Colours playing on the edge of my vision.

  MURDOCH! I’M GETTING A GUN ON LINE. HE’S CARRYING!

  His beams were playing over me, trying to find that lost gun. He seemed to be ill at ease in the night air, as though his real home was the Takshaka Vurt, and this was just rain-soaked boring life.

  You just made a big mistake, Shadowfuck, leaving Mandy in the shade…

  ‘You want to use it, Scribble?’ Murdoch said.

  …and not bothering about the house corner…

  ‘I couldn’t beat you, Murdoch,’ I replied, playing it out. ‘You’re the best.’

  …where the colours were playing.

  I caught a glimpse of movement, as Mandy pulled the gun from the back of her jeans, keeping it hidden behind her back.

  Be careful, soldier. Just one bullet left in there.

  Murdoch smiled. And then somebody called her name.

  ‘Murdoch!’

  The Beetle’s voice! Full of colours.

  The shecop turned her head, just a fraction, that’s all it takes, over towards the side of the building. We all turned then, to see the Beetle in his glory, walking out from the side alley, bathed in a rainbow.

  Karli started howling.

  The Beetle was naked. His body was a blaze of shapes, ever-changing. Beetle was no longer flesh. The fractals had taken possession, moving in swirls and arabesques through every part of him. He was the Shining Man, the walking firework. The darkness fused and popped all around as he moved, through a halo of fire, and the rain turned into sparks when it hit his skin. Best of all; the Beetle was walking with that loose-limbed Stash Rider cool that I never did master.

  Flare. My man had
flare.

  ‘Murdoch!’ he shouted again, the words coming in colours. ‘Leave them alone!’ The fleshcops made a clumsy move, away from their vehicles, reaching for gun comfort, shocked and blinded. One of them tried to grab Beetle. Bad move, buddy! Just one touch and that cop was sizzling. He went through all the colours before dropping to the pavement. Cop sure left a beautiful corpse. In the confusion I pulled Twinkle backwards, towards the open door. She had Karli by the lead, and that robodog wasn’t keen on missing the action.

  ‘Get in the house, kid,’ I whispered, hard. ‘I mean it!’ I dragged her back, with the dog, getting myself between them and the trouble. I wanted Twinkle and the dog together, in case it all went wrong.

  Murdoch saw the Beetle coming towards her and swung her gun around, shouting to the other cops; ‘Keep it simple, people!’ Only Shaka kept his beams aligned, moving from me to Mandy.

  MURDOCH! IT’S NOT SCRIBBLE! HE’S NOT GOT THE GUN!

  ‘What?’ Now Murdoch was looking well nervous, not knowing where to look.

  IT’S NOT SCRIBBLE! Takshaka going wild, firing his beams everywhere. One of those beams, a red-hot one, caught the Beetle in the chest. The shining man just took the heat on board, loving it, until his colours shone like snake-diamonds.

  One of the other fleshcops got it together, lost it, went for panic mode, starting firing. The Beetle didn’t even jerk from the impact. Pieces of his body flew apart from the force of the bullet, colours raging. Beetle just carried straight on…

  Oh Bee.

  …carried straight on, as more cops opened fire. He was almost on Murdoch now and she was firing at him as well. He caught the round full on, and his body was blown apart, splintering into a shower of fractals. And the colours were draining from my life. Into the spaces. The Beetle’s voice coming through.

  My name written in a cloud of sparks in the night air, in the Manchester night air. And then falling away to nowhere, where the angels live.

  IT’S THE GIRL! Takshaka had focused on Mandy.

  Murdoch started to turn again towards us, bringing the gun around, but Mandy was already out there, on the edge of nothing, watching the Beetle losing the race, and she was calling out Beetle’s name as she…

  Save something!

  I stumbled backwards, heading for the doghouse door.

  …as she pulled the gun around, activating.

  Noise and flame.

  A bullet tracing out a path of fire.

  And as I was falling back, under the weight of the Thing, into the hallway, I saw Murdoch’s body catch that flame bullet, full on, in the heart’s place.

  Suck on that, bitchcop!

  Murdoch screaming, and then the explosion of gunfire, as the cops took Mandy. Her body was blown back, blood and flesh exploding, all across the walls, as she bounced against the bottom stairs, coming to rest at our feet. I had Twinkle and Karli pressed up tight against the wall. Twinkle was crying for Mandy, and the dog was yelping. The Thing was still fixed to my back, wriggling around, calling my name out loud. And then I was kicking the door shut, bullets punching back holes in the wood.

  A rain of splinters, hard as glass.

  I was hitting home the door bolt, but already the guns were letting up.

  I was down flat on the floor by now, the Thing cushioning me, Twinkle alongside, and Karli. Mandy in my arms, getting crushed.

  No use.

  Still didn’t bring her back.

  For Mandy and the Beetle, Stash Riders, a part of this for you.

  The firing stopped, and Shaka’s transmission came through, loud and angry, almost human.

  WE HAVE YOU. JUST COME OUT CLEAN. NO OTHER WAY OUT.

  Dogs howling from the stairs above.

  Das Uberdog and Bridget were standing on the landing above, surrounded by wailing halfdogs. The full pack had gathered, making a vicious gang. Bridget was calling me to come up.

  ‘Is this where it ends, Mister Scribble?’ Twinkle asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ I answered.

  ‘We’re the Stash Riders, is that right?’

  I turned my eyes to that face of tears.

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Out on the edge, loving it.’

  COME OUT CLEAN.

  Or come out dirty.

  THERE IS NO OTHER WAY. NO OTHER WAY.

  Wanna bet?

  They gave us maybe two seconds to consider, before putting one single bullet through, high up on the door, like a warning.

  Twinkle screamed out.

  ‘Don’t let it scare you, Twink,’ I whispered.

  ‘I’m not scared, Mister Scribble,’ she answered. ‘Don’t you get it yet?’

  I looked her deep in those strong eyes.

  ‘Keep screaming, kidder,’ I said.

  Twinkle screamed like a wounded child, like Cinders in a climax love scene.

  LET’S MAKE IT EASY.

  ‘Let up, Shaka!’ I shouted. ‘We’ve got a young kid in here. That cunt just wounded her!’

  SORRY ABOUT THAT, SCRIBBLE. WE’VE GOT SOME SAD COPS OUT HERE. JUST LOST ONE OF OUR BEST. GOT NO PROBLEM WITH THE YOUNG GIRL. SEND HER OUT. WE GET HER TO HOSPITAL. YOU WANT TO DO THAT?

  ‘I can’t trust you on that,’ I shouted back.

  WHY EVER NOT?

  Because the world’s on your side, not on mine.

  I let him wait five seconds, before answering; ‘Okay, Shaka! I’m sending the kid out. Go easy. No tricks.’

  WE WILL. WE WILL.

  ‘She’s in a bad way.’

  TAKE YOUR TIME.

  That was all I needed.

  I ran up the stairs, dragging the Twinkle along behind me. Past Das Uberdog, who had his charges in hand, waiting for the call up. Those mad dogs were howling at his fingertips, baying for blood.

  Cop blood.

  Worst enemy. Best meat.

  ‘Take those cops out, Das!’ Bridget shouted.

  And as I passed, Das Uber was already leading the dogs down, towards the front door. Karli was looking at the pack, as they descended. Robodog had a yearning look in her eyes. ‘You wanna go with them, Karli?’ asked Twinkle.

  Karli leapt for the chance, heading down the stairs after Das Uberdog.

  Police were expecting a young kid to come out. But they were getting a pack of cop-eaters.

  I wonder how they coped with that?

  ‘You got another way out, Brid?’

  She smiled at me. And then gave me the answer.

  Shadowgirl didn’t even have to open her mouth.

  DEATH FOR LIFE

  We were running through a soft mud. Didn’t even want to think about it; smelt like the world gone bad. Couldn’t see too well, just pushing on, ankle deep, retching. The Twinkle in front. Pictures on the stone walls as we passed, painted in shit.

  Just caught glimpses.

  Dogs fucking women. Men fucking dogs. Half and half split babies being born, all wreathed in the foul miasma that rose from the mud.

  Das Uberdog’s face glowing in the darkness from the wall ahead.

  Those painted eyes fixing me, demanding belief, so that I couldn’t move. Dogshit leaking into my shoes, Twinkle turning around to urge me on. ‘You like it down here, Mister Scribble?’

  No! No, I don’t!

  ‘So stay here then!’

  The young girl pushing on through the shit.

  Oh my god!

  ‘Wait for me, Twinkle!’

  Bridget had led us to this cellar, down from a pantry door set in the kitchen’s wall. ‘They most probably got cops out the back, Scribble,’ she’d said.

  ‘We’ll deal with that.’

  Staying pure. Featherless. Through a hole in the wall, into this dog toilet.

  And there was a cop waiting for us.

  He was floating face down in the slow tide.

  A cop in dogshit, drowning.

  That’s one I’ll keep with me.

  And sparks of colours coming from the fuse-box as we passed, Beetle’s colours. Did good, my man.


  I was wading after Twinkle, heading for the light ahead, the soft glow of streetlamps shining through the swung-back doors set in the cellar’s roof. Following Twinkle up the steps, faint glints of the Beetle’s colours shining from the doors’ sprung locks. We emerged into a garden, overgrown with tall weeds. And a dump of maybe fifty-five full to the brim binbags waiting for collection.

  I guess the Council gave up on this house years ago.

  The smell was sweet and high, but beautiful, free from Turdsville. From the front of the house I could hear the sound of dogs barking, people screaming.

  I hope that you dogmen took some cops out that day, and that some of you are still running free.

  An open gate in the back wall led onto a small street. Don’t ask me its name. It’s enough that we took it. There was a small road ahead of us, away from the trouble. It led onto Parkfield Street, and we were struggling down it, running with the pain. The Thing was weighing heavy on me. Twinkle racing ahead.

  I knew these little back streets fairly well because they were clustered at the back of the Rusholme Gardens flat. We took a left, and then a right, onto Heald Place. Down that, out onto Platt Lane. The park just over the road from us. The streets were still full up of Asian kids, and there were lights and noise coming from the park, the deep rhythms of Bhangradog songs.

  No cops.

  We made it across the road alright, the Asians looking at me funny, but I was used to that. Into the Platt Fields. The trees were swaying in a slow winding dance to the beat, brushed by waves of noise from the sound systems up ahead. Even the rain was caught up in the pulse of Bhangra; it blew into my face until I was soaked and the Thing was taking in the moisture, until he felt like a thick lump of sponge on my back, weighted like a pig. I was almost collapsing under him but I kept it going, making for the dancing kids ahead. ‘You alright, Big Thing?’ I asked. He gave me some answer back, along some Vurt wave; all I caught here and there were scattered words; my name, my sister’s name, mixed in with the gibberish. He was alive, that’s all that matters.

  I had the Thing. I had the yellow feather.

  All I needed was a quiet and private space, and time enough to take them both. But first some distance, between ourselves and any stray cops. So I headed into the Bhangra crowd. It must have been getting on for midnight now, but those kids were still dancing. The system was draped under rain sheets, but the rain didn’t put the dancers off; this was their night of the year. They were high on Eid, and young Asian life pulsed through them.