*Weasels!*
*No, badgers.* The General is beginning to sound genuinely cross with me. Like I’m meant to be an encyclopedia.
The badgers join the red-brown line, and at first some of the deer skid and stumble away, as if they’re scared of them — but the badgers don’t attack, they just snuffle along the shore, perhaps looking for food that isn’t there.
Now it’s not just them either. The whole shoreline as far as I can see is starting to fill up with animals. There are large white rabbits hopping towards us from the other end of the lake. *Hares, actually,* the General chips in before I can even say anything.
Up in the sky, other birds join the pigeons. The biggest, with their wings blocking out the sun as they fly past it, must be golden eagles, I reckon — even I know that much. There are also some noisy birds which I think are seagulls, as well as some funny-looking blue and grey crows and some little fat birds which look like brown tennis balls. I even see what looks like a bat dangling from a tree, but I can’t be sure.
Nearer to the ground, there are butterflies, bees and dragonflies buzzing over the reeds in the water. A line of reddish ants marches out from under a log. This whole place, which a moment ago seemed dead and empty, has become as busy and as noisy as the Yard at feeding time.
A badger says to another, *It will never hold, it’s unnatural* — and I wonder what it is.
More and more animals keep joining the crowd. There are goats with twisting horns, scruffy-looking cats that are definitely bigger than any pet I ever saw, and I think I might have even spotted a snake with a zigzag pattern winding its way between the mass of legs and tails. But they all have one thing in common.
They’re alive.
Living animals, right in front of me, and not a red eye to be seen.
I look at my watch. The screen is cracked and smeared with mud from the tunnel, but it still works. Hiding behind my boulder, I take as many pictures as I can of all the different creatures. Dad is never going to believe this. I only stop pointing and clicking when I feel the pigeons gathering behind me, cooing crossly.
*You have to tell me properly now,* I say to them. *What is this place?*
*You are in the last place we have left,* says an old voice.
That didn’t sound like the pigeons, or the General. It sounded more like my grandad.
*No human has been here since we first discovered it. You are the first.*
I turn around to see a deer much bigger than any of the others.
*Our stag,* whispers the General.
A stag. I had heard of them, but to see a real one, right in front of me — enormous, dark brown, twice the height of any other animal here, with wide horns, jabbing and curving in all different directions. He takes a few steps towards me and all the other creatures part to make way for him, like he’s the king.
He lowers his head. I flinch back against the rock, trying not to breathe or touch him. But he doesn’t gore me. He sniffs me. He sniffs my hair and face and hands, all over, inhaling every inch. When he next speaks, his voice is soft.
*This old stag humbly asks for your forgiveness, but I am the one who summoned you here. I sent the pigeons to help the cockroach.*
*I don’t understand — why? I mean, how are you even still —* But I can’t say the word. It sounds wrong.
The stag raises himself to his full height once more. It’s hard to read his face. I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning.
*Alive? Look around you, man-child. Tell me what you see.*
*A lake, a load of animals —* I swallow, not daring to look him in the eye. The next words come out in a whisper. *Animals that should be dead.*
He makes a noise at the back of his throat, part cough, part chuckle, and looks out over the crowd.
*Yes, we should be. But we are not. At least, not yet.* He tosses his head towards the forest we just flew over, the horns catching the sun. His words are strange and old-fashioned, almost like he’s speaking a different language.
*I am the Wildness, and these creatures are my wild. The last such gathering of animals left alive. Once we roamed far and wide for many strides all over this island — until your sickness came and destroyed so many. The creatures you see before you are the last who remain, each sent by their kind to form this wild and keep their blood alive, in response to my call. I led us as far north as the ground went, and found this hide-all — a Ring of Trees, free from humans and disease. It is all we have left. We are the last. The last wild.* He pauses, and must see the expression on my face. *You are surprised, I think, to hear me call it your sickness?*
Right now that’s the least of my worries. *I’m surprised you brought me here. I thought the birds were going to take me home.*
*Fear not — we do not expect you to stay here. Even if you desired so, we would not permit it. No, the reason I have had you brought to us will soon be plain to see.* He looks down at the ground. *We thought we had found safety here, we thought we were protected — but we were wrong.*
I get a bad feeling in the bottom of my stomach, and step back.
The stag bellows deep from his chest. A barking roar, which sounds half like he’s in pain, half like he’s super-angry. This close up, it’s definitely deafening. His teeth are all cracked and worn down, with scraps of twig stuck between them.
In response to his bark there’s a kerfuffle of barging and pushing among the crowd of animals, as they make way for some new arrivals. Another deer, a badger, a goat and a scruffy black bird with huge wings dragging along the ground line up in front of the stag, their heads bowed — like they’re embarrassed about something. I hadn’t noticed these ones before; it’s like they were hiding at the back of the crowd, out of sight. He stalks up to them, touches each one of them gently with his snout and turns back to me.
*Two moons ago, a fierce wind blew in what we feared the most.*
I don’t want to know. I don’t want to look.
*You have nothing to fear. Please — come.*
I put my sleeve over my nose and mouth, and edge round to the other side of the rock. I don’t want to go any closer, and I don’t need to. I’m not my dad, I’m no vet, but even I can see from here that these animals are not well. They aren’t hanging their heads in shame, they’re hanging their heads because they’re weak and exhausted. I thought the first deer I saw looked a bit skinny, but these poor things have fur and feathers coming out in great clumps. The skin underneath looks yellow and flaky, bones pressing against it.
*Look closer still,* commands the stag in his craggy voice. *You cannot catch it from looking.* Still barely daring to breathe, I go a few steps nearer. As I do, they all look up — the deer, the badger, the goat and the bedraggled black bird. I stop dead in my tracks as I see their eyes.
The eyes that are all red — bright red and burning with light.
Chapter 10
*Our name for it is berry-eye,* says the stag. *The berry eyes are themselves the final mark before a great heat savages them from within. These ones do not have long. The plague moves from beast to beast with the greatest of ease. No water, no leaf, no amount of rest can bring relief.*