The first hound emerged from behind a stone column and jumped at Sparky. Jack almost laughed: it was a King Charles Spaniel, its black and white coat smeared with mud, long ears flopping back as it leapt at his friend. But the laughter died in Jack's mouth when he saw the animal's teeth, its lips pulled back in a furious growl, and he realised how wild this dog had become. If anyone had ever stroked it with affection, the animal's memories of such moments were long forgotten.
Sparky stepped to the side and lashed out, but the dog snapped at his arm, catching his wrist with its sharp teeth. Sparky grunted and dropped a knife.
Jack took two steps and kicked the dog just as it landed on all fours. Distracted by the taste of Sparky's blood, it had not seen his foot coming, and his boot caught it beneath the jaw. Its head jerked up and back with a sickening crunch of teeth jamming shut.
Sparky knelt beside the dog and buried his remaining knife in its throat.
The animal squealed and howled, kicking its back legs, pinned to the ground by the blade. The sounds it made were piteous, and Jack glanced back at the others. He was pleased to see that Emily had her face buried in Jenna's shoulder.
“Look out!” Lucy-Anne shouted. She came toward him in a blur, and for a moment Jack was disorientated, his girlfriend's torch flashing across his eyes and blinding him to the shadows.
Something hit him in the hip. It was warm and wet, and he realised that was a dog's nose nuzzling at the fat of his waist, and beneath that was the warmth of blood as its teeth broke his skin and it tried to burrow inside. A dog is trying to eat me! he thought, and the idea jarred him from wherever he'd been. He brought the torch down and smacked it against the dog's head. The animal whined and ran, leaving Jack's hip still feeling wet.
“Pitbull,” Jenna said. “They were banned years ago.”
“Someone forgot to tell that one,” Lucy-Anne said. She was with him now, standing with her back to his so that together they could see all around. “Lucky. You must have caught it just right to drive it away, but it'll-”
“Lucky? My guts are pouring out and-”
“Don't be a wimp,” she said, her voice high with panic. “Just a scratch. Sparky?”
Sparky stood from the dog now lying dead at his feet, wiping his knife quickly on its coat. His face looked grey, eyes deep and dark. His right hand and wrist were black with blood. “Yeah.”
“Get your torch out,” Lucy-Anne said.
“Yeah.”
“Here they come!” Jenna shouted.
Light beams wavered and flashed, shadows danced, and within those shadows were the dogs. Jack could not count them, and in the chaos of the next couple of minutes he made no effort to do so. He simply fought. He kicked and punched, swung his torch, slashed out with his knife, edging close to Emily and keeping her at his back so that she was sandwiched between him and Jenna.
Rosemary seemed to drift in and out of the light, her arms and legs twisting and thrashing as she did her best to keep the dogs away from her flesh.
Jenna had started using her knapsack as a weapon, swinging it back and forth and-if a dog chose the moment between swings to come at her-kicking out with her heavy boots. Dogs yelped and growled, people roared and screamed, and Jack tried to stay focussed.
A flash of yellow to his left marked the third attack by a dog he thought was a Labrador, though it was ragged and thin. Its fur was streaked dark, its muzzle wet with blood. Jack hoped it was its own.
As the animal leaped, he ducked low and thrust up with the knife. The dog's paws scraped the side of his head and it howled. He felt a gush of warmth across his hand. Swinging his torch around, he was just in time to see the wounded animal dragging itself away between stone columns.
He looked around at the others. Sparky was fighting the pitbull, using his feet and knees to keep it away from him as he slashed out with his knife. His right hand was hanging by his side now, and blood had darkened his jeans. The dog was mad, foaming at the mouth, growling, scrabbling at Sparky's legs with its claws and gnashing its teeth. For every wound the boy put in its body, it gave him one back.
Behind Jack, Jenna still had Emily. His sister seemed unhurt, though she was looking around with unbridled terror. He hoped she did not try to run. Jenna hefted her backpack, caught Jack's eyes, smiled.
Lucy-Anne had picked up Sparky's dropped knife and was kneeling on the ground, stabbing repeatedly at a meaty mess that had once been a dog. For an instant Jack thought it was the King Charles Spaniel that Sparky had brought down, but then he saw that this animal was larger, its legs black and brown. She stabbed, slashed, hacked, and though the creature was obviously dead, her rage seemed to be growing.
“Jenna,” Jack said, glancing back at his sister and friend.
Yet again, Jenna seemed to read his mind. She glanced past Jack at Lucy-Anne. “Go,” she said. “I've got Emily.”
Keeping an eye out for the injured Labrador, Jack hurried across to Lucy-Anne. As he drew close she span around and crouched, bloody knife in one hand, the other held out for balance. And for a moment shorter than a blink, he thought she was going to come at him. Her eyes were white pools in a face smeared with blood, her teeth bared, and she reminded him of one of their crazed attackers.
“It's dead,” Jack said. A waving torch beam played across the corpse at Lucy-Anne's feet. Steam rose.
Lucy-Anne's eyes closed slightly, her lips softened over her teeth, and she stood.
“Watch out!” Emily called.
A yellow blur erupted from the shadows and struck Lucy-Anne from behind. She went down, eyes widening in surprise now rather than fury, and dropped Sparky's knife. Jack actually heard the wind knocked from her as she hit the ground, the Labrador falling on top of her.
He went to help, but not fast enough. The dog bit into the back of Lucy-Anne's neck, jaw working as it tried to penetrate skin, flesh and gristle. It shook its head, and as Jack thrust his knife between its ribs Lucy-Anne shrieked, a terrible sound that turned wet.
“Lucy-Anne!”
Sparky appeared by his side, kicking at the dog even as Jack stabbed it again. It died with a violent shudder. Sparky heaved it off, and Jack had to use his knife to prise its jaws apart, away from Lucy-Anne's neck. Someone kept their torch played on her, and Jack wished he could not see so much detail.
“The other one?” he asked.
“Dead,” Sparky said. “All four, dead. Let's just hope there are no more.”
“This is the same pack,” Rosemary said.
Sparky surged upright, and from the corner of his eye Jack was aware of a flash of movement, a growl of anger. “You led us down into this!” Sparky said. He grabbed Rosemary by her coat's collar and almost lifted her, pushing her back against one of the stone columns. “We followed you down here, and all the time you knew what could be waiting for us!”
“I was afraid you wouldn't come!”
Lucy-Anne was moaning before him, Emily was crying, face pressed into Jenna's neck, and now Sparky was about to beat on the old woman. Jack knew they did not need this at all.
“Sparky!” he shouted. His friend turned. “I need you here. We're through it, but we're all hurt.”
Sparky let go and came slowly to Jack's side. He was looking down at Lucy-Anne. There was so much blood.
“I'll help her first,” Rosemary said. “Then you, Sparky. Then Jack. I think Jenna and Emily are unhurt, so-”
“You're not laying your pissing hands on me!” Sparky said. “No way! Bloody witch.”
Lucy-Anne groaned again, trying to roll over onto her back. She raised one hand and clawed at Jack's boot, her fingers hooking into a lace. He felt her pull as she tried to sit up, but he leaned forward and eased her back down, whispering to her, telling her everything was going to be all right.
“She needs you now,” he said, looking up at Rosemary.