August 1996
I pulled my GEV into the parking lot of the mall within minutes of receiving the call. It was looking good for a solo run, but just as I sprang the door open Big Geoff turned up in the Deathmobile. I waited - it was only polite - while he got out to join me. With him was the new kid - couldn't remember his name, and the two of them together looked hard. Geoff was six foot ten inches of muscle and attitude; the kid just two inches shorter, mean and stupid. A match made in Heaven. I noted that Geoff was using a disabled parking space for his wagon. There'd be no trouble; the Hunter's Permit would see to that. Besides, apart from the rubberneckers everybody else had cleared out.
"So, Twinkle, we work together again, yes?" Geoff irritated me with the dumb name. I didn't let it show, just nodded, even when I caught the kid smirking. "What do we have here?"
"Just got here myself. I think that's the manager waiting over there by the doors."
"Shall we enquire of him then, before any more of our colleagues turn up?" He was speaking to my back. I wanted the bounty as high as possible - ammunition costs money - and didn't feel like sharing in a free-for-all.
The manager was a dumpy guy, sweaty and nervous, trying to hide it behind outrage.
"About time you showed up! The call went out ages ago. What do I pay my insurance for when you guys..."
"The call went out seven minutes ago, and if you've got a problem with our response time, I suggest you take it up with my associate." Geoff grinned on cue, and Big Mouth deflated real quick. "What's going on?"
"Hairies, Deadheads, what d'you think? I called you out to go shopping?"
I grabbed the fool's jacket and pulled him up close, nose to nose. "How many?" I asked, quietly. The last little bit of defiance slid out of his eyes while he choked on his own spit. "And where are they?"
"Seven Hairies, at least six Deadheads, no Fangs that we could see."
I turned him loose. Seemed it was lucky Geoff had turned up after all.
"We sealed each shop in turn, checking on the monitors. We're fairly sure they're all in the central plaza, ground floor."
Fairly sure wasn't really good enough - we didn't want a safari here - but it was going to have to do. I couldn't see the mall's security personnel, which probably meant they'd done the smart thing and locked themselves in.
"Get these doors opened," said Geoff. We all checked weapons while the manager spoke into his lapel mike. I filled the empty chambers in my revolvers; Geoff chambered rounds into his automatics. I noted the kid - John, I now remembered, though he preferred Jack - had some serious firepower, an Uzi copy. He had a lot to learn; rounds for that baby cost twice as much as what Geoff and I were using.
Eventually the doors slid back.
I took the left and Geoff strolled off to the right. Jack gave the manager a little shove as he went past and ambled through the doors. Reckless as well as stupid. Luckily for him there wasn't a Hairy nearby, and we got in unnoticed. I felt more than heard the doors slide shut behind us. We were locked in with the nightmares. I stuck close to the shuttered shops, just as Geoff did, automatically cutting off approaches. Jack stayed in the open, exposed, asking for trouble. There were faint growls reaching us and they all seemed to be coming from the plaza, but you couldn't always tell; acoustics in these places can be weird.
I hung back one shop's length while Geoff and Jack forged on ahead. I scanned around with a mini-lens, checking especially the escalators and other hiding-places. The Deadheads were clustered around Woolworths, chewing on the grille in front of some mannikins. They didn't look too rotten, which meant they'd still be quite quick, worth a bit of caution. If the security-count was right, they were all there. The Hairies were fighting each other in the plaza café, snarling and shaggy. I only counted five. Bad news.
Then it all went quiet.
The Hairies had seen Jack, and the Deadheads had spotted Geoff. I pocketed the mini-lens and slid up behind Jack. Geoff I wouldn't have to worry about - he'd been in this game at least as long as me. The Deadheads started to shamble forward, making that odd moaning noise that spoke of unholy hunger. The clothes they'd been buried in were tattered and scruffy, and they all looked blue, as if with cold.
The Hairies watched and formed their little pack, six I now saw: one had been hidden under the wrestling bodies. Geoff walked towards the Hairies, sighting casually. He took out two standing close together - both male and suited - with textbook headshots. They fell to the ground just as their brains were coating the four behind.
The first of the Hairies started his run forward. Jack had been distracted by Geoff's marksmanship, but caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and fired a burst, the clattering explosions echoing noisily through the mall, the bullets stitching wounds across the Hairy's chest. It fell back, but was on its feet again in less than a second. Jack stood there, looking a little stunned, and I had to put it down with a headshot. I got it through the right eye, and the exit wound was a quarter of its skull and brain. Geoff's laugh came to me tinged with adrenalin, and I glanced in his direction to glimpse him watching us. Seems he was watching out for Jack, too. I nodded to his right, at a Deadhead that was nearly on top of him. He turned and caught it round the throat, slammed it into the grille covering Marks & Spencer and turned the back of its head into a wet red smear on the window with a shot up through its chin.
As if this were some sort of signal, all hell broke loose. The five Hairies in sight came rushing at us in a long, ground-eating run, snapping at the air and howling. Jack dropped to his knee and opened up on the pack. More by luck than judgement he got in a couple of headshots, but didn't even slow the other three. Geoff sprinted in behind and took one down, sending its face toward Jack in a mist. I'd taken the time to sight properly, choose my shot and fire. The top of a Hairy's head disappeared, and a piece of bone like a skullcap span backward. The fifth Hairy crashed into Jack, pinning his Uzi copy uselessly between their bodies. It lunged for his neck with its deformed jaws, and Jack barely got an arm up in time. I'd seen the three Deadheads coming, and ran back to where Geoff had been. I was hearing Jack scream, but couldn't afford the lack of concentration. Either Geoff would look out for him, or we'd lose another Hunter. No big deal. In this job you just don't make long-term plans.
As I'd thought, the Deadheads were fast - but not fast enough to dodge a bullet. I'm not bragging, but I was bloody cool, firing three shots left to right and hitting all three targets. I wasn't sure at first, because the middle one stayed on its feet longer than the other two: then it toppled and saved me wasting a round.
"Hold its head up," Geoff said behind me. I turned to see Jack, still on the floor, digging his thumbs into the Hairy's windpipe and pushing its head up, while the Hairy took swipes at him with its paws. Then Jack got the heel of his hand under the creature's chin and shoved. Almost immediately its head exploded into gory fur as Geoff's shot ploughed into it, spattering down onto Jack, covering his face and chest. He heaved the carcass off himself and rolled upright, pushing himself to his feet, smearing brains over his face while trying to wipe it with his sleeve.
For a moment there was nothing but silence and the red sight of carnage; but something was prickling me. What with Geoff being so tall and me so small and skinny, it was natural that my gaze should be slightly angled up when looking at him. Just as well it was, otherwise I wouldn't have seen the missing Hairy dropping from a hanging garden bowl just above Geoff.
"Deck!" I shouted. Geoff fell straight down, responding with the trust we'd built up over several team kills, but Jack was still wiping at his eyes, totally missing the danger he was in. I was trying to sight on the Hairy, but it was moving uncannily fast, scooting over Geoff and rushing for Jack. It took a swing and raked three lines across Jack's cheek, leaving two flaps of hanging skin and dislodging a tooth.
It was then I finally saw something in the kid that made me think he just might live a while: he didn't give in to the pain and shock, but surprisingly calmly and swiftly grabbed the Hairy's outstretched arm by the wrist, turned and flung it away from him. It tumbled across the floor, my gunsight following, and I got it just as it was scrambling to its feet.
Jack was holding his face together with his left hand, Geoff was lying on his belly, propping his head up on his hands, a huge grin on his huge face. I dropped my empty pistol back into its holster and filled my hand with its twin, loaded for rock and roll. Didn't need it: turned out the manager's count had been accurate.
Not a bad call, as calls go. Six bullets, six kills. Three Deadheads (still damn proud of those shots) and three Hairies would be plenty bounty. Geoff got three Deadheads and two Hairies and owed me. He wouldn't like that, but he knew how to be grateful. Jack got his two lucky Hairy kills, and hopefully had learned a few lessons. He also got himself some scar tissue, just to remind him next time he felt like playing Hot Dog. Still, I had a feeling he'd be OK in the long run.
Just goes to show you how wrong I can be on occasion.
We went out to the usual cheers, and there were a few thrilled gasps when the crowd caught sight of the kid's face. Jack managed half a grin while Geoff led him back to his GEV. I clambered into mine, slapping aside the autograph books that were shoved in my face. I could see through my windshield that Jack was signing some, even though Geoff was trying to pull him inside to get him to the hospital. I called in to HQ and ordered up a disposal squad. On the dash readout I saw Geoff confirm kills. That would keep the money straight.
I decided to cruise on home and shut off the radio. If anybody else went Hairy today, someone else would have to handle it. On the way back to my apartment I caught a newscast about an assault on the Wall. Thirty or so Hairies had come across the wasteland outside the City. Most of them were taken out by the minefield, and the rest were picked off by Hunter sentries. Wall duty carries a nice minimum pay, and a tour every now and then is compulsory, but mostly it's left to crippled ex-Hunters who can't hack it in the City anymore. I'd done a stint two months back, and frankly I was amazed we were still here. There'd been no maintenance done on the wall since it was built back when the Accident happened. It's just lucky for us that the Hairies are so stupid - I'd taken down a few wearing guns, but the disease seems to make them forget about things like that - but if those bastards ever got organised, this City wouldn't stand any more chance than a shit in a fly-factory.
Probably look about the same, too.
The Accident happened just as I dropped out of school. Ten years later the details were still hazy. What was known is that the organism is a mutagen, similar to a retrovirus; that it affects primates; and that it is airborne. Where it came from is still (officially) a mystery, but there's a strong suspicion that it may have originated somewhere in Nevada. It didn't take long to cover most of the Northern Hemisphere, and its effects soon became apparent.
In full-blown cases the victim goes Hairy, which is to say becomes bestial in nature, grows sharp teeth and claws and lots of body hair, and develops a taste for human flesh and blood. Some individuals stop transforming about half-way; these are Fangs, but the only real difference is that they aren't as hairy as Hairies. The most bizarre property of the mutagen, however, is that it is able to affect the recently-dead, re-animating them but not mutating them. These are the Deadheads. All these terms were coined after the first year, when names like werewolf, vampire and zombie had proved to induce too much hysteria.
The Hunters, funnily enough, were already in existence as a covert organisation - though no Government ever disclosed why they'd been formed. They came out of the closet and on to the streets within a year. I joined up for all the wrong reasons, along with a bunch of other psychopaths who liked guns. Thankfully all the creatures are vulnerable to a bullet through the head (not much else, though!), decapitation and fire.
Well, the situation got worse and worse until it was decided that the only thing that could be done was to wall-off the cities. Many towns and villages had been completely lost to the monsters, and the land between was overrun. The cities were connected up with zoom-tubes underground, and the wastelands were left to the Hairies. Most construction jobs were pretty haphazard - more barricade than wall - some sections stronger than others. Hunters patrolled the City in GEVs like mine, or manned the Wall against the few attacks the Hairies mounted. These were unco-ordinated affairs that usually led to slaughter and retreat: nobody knew what spurred them. We gave up trying to understand the creatures years ago. Supposedly we were still looking for a cure, but not with much hope.
We were all infected.
You could go Hairy anytime. So could your lover, your father, your best friend. Hunters, too. No-one was immune. So the World turned a little nasty, what with monsters everywhere and potential monsters everywhere else. What was left of civilisation was a sham. Over the years, the Hairies came to outnumber the humans, and the land was conquered. They moved into the Southern Hemisphere and chomped their way through the undeveloped countries. With most of the farming land cut off, food became a problem; and with that, disease. Everything turned inwards, concentrating on City life, and frontiers stopped at the Wall. Instead of pulling together, the human race fell apart. Now we are all waiting to die.
There are those who would say I'm exaggerating, but I keep my eyes on things. My critics would claim that the situation has stabilised, and point out that communication and travel is still possible. They're right - but hardly anyone uses the facilities available. These days, people find what they think is a relatively secure home and stay there. Birth-rates have dropped alarmingly: Life is cheap and Death is free. And even though placed in a new perspective, humanity still has all its old problems: prejudice, crime, poverty, corruption, homelessness, AIDS, SIDS, hunger, murder... you name it. All our vices reign. So who's exaggerating?
Me, I buy bullets. I shoot straight and I live well. The straighter I shoot, the longer I live. And if I ever feel myself going Hairy - not that it's proved you can feel it, but if - then I'll blow my brains out.
I only went down to Hunters' HQ because I was bored. I'd gone three days without so much as seeing a Hairy, let alone getting a kill. I'd offed a Deadhead in the middle of the street that morning, but quite honestly I could have left it to the drivers. The only reason I didn't was that it'd be asking for a crash or two.
The briefing said that the mutagen was having one of its periodic lulls. Unfortunately (or fortunately if it's your livelihood) no-one knew how long it would last. The good news was that those of us who stayed on patrol would have our fuel subsidised. Better than nothing.
I slid on down to the restaurant more for coffee than food, and that's when I caught sight of Jack again. His scars had healed well and I knew he'd be real popular with the ladies from now on. It was his business how he told the story of how he came by them. He seemed a little more thoughtful sitting there - but what do I know? He may have been daydreaming. Light came back on in his eyes when he spied me, and he casually waved me over. I walked through a dotted sea of black leather - it's not a uniform, just practical; more protection against claws and teeth. I wondered what Jack wanted. He virtually worshipped Big Geoff, and I wasn't the type he hung around with. Too serious, apparently. As I was making it to the table there were a few choruses of "Hey, Twinkle!" and "Yo, Twinkle!" and the like. My middle finger hoisted itself up, and I felt myself saying "Spin", but it was automatic. I could see now that the kid looked nervous.
"Problem?" I asked, expecting that Jack'd done a lot of thinking while standing in front of mirrors. He didn't quite look scared, but something was bugging him, making him look more like a kid than ever before.
"Uh, not really, I, uh, wanted to ask you something..." I took my shades off and prompted him with my eyes. "Is it true that... that is... oh, uh, why do they call you Twinkle?" Not the question that he wanted to ask, but I played along.
"Short for Twinkletoes." He looked blank. "First time out, I got myself into some trouble. There'd been a fire in a theatre, lots of smoke inhalation victims. They all went Deadhead. I was cocky; most of the Deadheads I'd ever seen were real slow, but these were fresh and fast. I caught the squeal and waded in with my pistols, and at first it was fish-in-a-barrel time: but they kept coming." I remembered it well, and part of my spine went cold. "I didn't have time to reload and no other Hunters had turned up. Pretty soon I was surrounded."
"What did you do?" The kid's voice was quiet, awed.
"Martial arts, that's what I did. Small guy like me, without the muscle of Big Geoff, has to have an edge. By the time help arrived I was spinning and kicking, punching and twisting and chopping. Lots of footwork. The guys got me out of there but started ragging me about dancing with the dead and stuff. Someone started calling me Twinkletoes, it stuck, got shortened. Now I'm Twinkle."
"Were you frightened? When they were all around you, the Deadheads?"
"Shitless, which is just as well in leathers." Jack nodded and even managed a small grin. I wondered if he'd come to the point now.
"What's your real name?"
"David." Damn, I'd had to think.
"OK, David. I, uh, what I wanted to ask you..." And just then, Big Geoff walked in and made it all plain.
"Twinkle!" He plodded over to the table. "Hey, Twinkle, what you doing sitting here drinking coffee with the virgin?"
So that was it. I should have guessed. Always happens when things are slow. Geoff plonked himself down next to Jack and slid an arm across his shoulders. Grinned at me. I looked at the kid. He'd gone back to that not-exactly-scared look, but I could see he wasn't sure if everything was on the level, if the stories he'd heard were true.
"Gonna pop his cherry good tonight!" chortled Geoff.
"Is he serious?" the kid asked quite calmly.
"About wrestling Hairy?" Jack nodded. "He's serious," I sighed.
"Outside?"
"Of course, outside!" If there could have been any more teeth in Geoff's mouth, he would have been Jaws.
"Have you done this, David?"
"Yes." I didn't bother to tell him I'd only done it once, and that was years ago. There'd be no point. Now that he knew some of the Hunters went into the wastelands to wrestle Hairies unarmed, there'd be no stopping him from going. He was looking thoughtful, but not doubtful. I knew he'd go.
"OK Geoff, I'll do it." Jack sounded sure, but I wondered if his heart was falling down inside his chest just like mine was. I turned to Geoff.
"You're going out tonight?" He nodded. "How many?"
"Just me and the kid. Unless..."
Damned if I know what made me say it. It would have been bad to let them go on their own; looking out for Jack; boredom; deathwish. I just didn't know, but I said it anyway: "I'll be there."
We drove to the Wall in my GEV, arriving just after sundown and checking in with the sentries. Old Paul was on, looking grizzled and ratty, the loose sleeve where his arm used to be flapping free. Jack looked surprised and was just about to blurt out something, but I caught his eye and stifled him with a glance. Paul led us up to the ramparts where he and his buddies did most of their shooting, just as we all did when on compulsory Wall duty. I'd done my tours here, but I was thinking back to my first -and only- wrestle. It wasn't like tonight. Twelve of us had gone out when I'd lost my cherry. Of course, I know now what a stupid ritual it is, but back then I was younger, just like Jack. In many ways it's no different than most male bonding and dominance play - the dare and the transgression - but it is deadlier. Potentially. In theory, so long as you take reasonable precautions, there's not that much danger, and there's an undeniable thrill in going up against a Hairy unarmed, but you know how it is. Accidents happen. People get killed (or rather, lost, since they're not officially dead), maybe only maimed.
Geoff had obviously told Paul why we were there, since he dropped the rope ladder over the Wall without bothering to make small talk. Jack was still casting those nervous glances at Paul's sleeve, and I could see him becoming jittery. I sidled over for a word.
"Scared?" I watched him debate lying, but then he smiled a tiny sick grin and nodded once in assent. I could have told him that he could back out at any time, that he didn't have to do this, but it wouldn't have done any good. "So was I: nothing to be ashamed of." That sounded like bullshit even to me, so I carried on, "You did pretty well in the mall that time, held one off, threw another. I don't think you have anything to worry about." Don't know if that reassured him any. It was time to go down into the wastelands.
Paul kept watch for us while we made our descent, outward for Hairies, inward for officials. The Wall is only ten metres high, I mean, it's not like the Hairies are going to be building siege machines or anything, but it seems a hell of a lot longer going down with your face to the brick and your back to monsterland. By the time we were on the ground we were all pumping adrenalin like crazy and breathing hard. I took a glance at Jack, and I knew right away that this was his first glimpse of the nightmare.
The minefield is covered in what at first appear to be twisted sick plants. It's only when you take a closer look that you can see they're limbs and body parts. The outer perimeter is razor wire, and there are pieces hanging off of this, too, dried and rotted, ugly and surreal. Paul called down that the mines were off, and we crossed the ground quickly. We threw a tarp over the wire, crossed and dragged it after us, leaving it on the ground. The Hairies were too stupid to use it. Then we set off at a brisk walk, looking for a small group of well-fed-looking Hairies. That's precaution number one: never take on a hungry Hairy. We passed a couple of groups that looked like hunting packs and kept a low profile. Luckily, whatever the mutagen did, it didn't enhance their senses to animal equivalents. In the end it took us just over an hour to find a likely bunch.
It was on one of those strips of land that separate two suburban towns and lets them pretend that they have their own identity, instead of being part of the same anonymous sprawling disk that surrounds all cities. Or, at least, used to. Visibility was good, there was a strong full moon and the air these days is less hazy. The night was quite warm with a puffy breeze that occasionally brought the scent of dead meat. We followed it to find a small pack of five Hairies chowing down on a Deadhead. It was twitching feebly, animated by the mutagen that had resurrected it, but was rapidly running out of bits to twitch. We waited until feeding time was over and even munched some rations ourselves. Eventually the Hairies started howling at one another and they began to wrestle, just like the ones in the mall. Then we stepped forward and made ourselves known to them.
The Hairies stopped rolling around and gave us a long hard look, bared their teeth and started growling low and dangerous. Jack had developed a sheen of sweat. It's one thing to face these things down in civilised surroundings, something else to spit in their eyes on their own ground. All of a sudden I was sick and tired, and I wanted the night done with. I dropped my gunbelt quite deliberately at Jack's feet and strolled icily forward, keeping my eyes on the Hairy I'd chosen for my dancing-partner. Damned if I know what goes on in what passes for their brains, but they seem to understand this type of behaviour. The other four backed off and they, Jack and Geoff formed a ragged circle around us.
I wasn't scared, but I think I should have been. The Hairy crouched there, slightly hunched, softly growling, almost purring. I felt the savage grin on my face, but was oddly detached from it, just so dead inside. I realised I'd been feeling like this for over a year, and I nearly lost everything to the hesitation that put in me. The Hairy sprang before I was fully ready, and it was pure reflex that saved my life. I dropped right down on my back, coiling my legs up and lashing out without thinking. I caught it just well enough to flip it over my head, but not well enough to gain any distance. I'm too small for a close-quarters fight; I need room to manoeuvre, to plan: so I did the only thing I could under the circumstances, span around on my back like I was bopping to some old-time hip-hop and kicked the sucker right in the jaw. There was a satisfying crunch and a muted howl, and over the top I was just about aware of Geoff nudging Jack and saying "Twinkletoes."
Then I was angry. At my stupid nickname, at my dumbness for being there, at Geoff for being an asshole, at Jack for needing my help, and at the Hairy for being so fucking ugly. I got to my feet by rolling upright, full of a righteous fury, face to face with Hairy, and I understood the feeling that pulled Hunters back out here time and time again. I chopped the Hairy across the throat, kicked it in its ribcage and stomped a knee-joint. It staggered back in pain, confused. I hit it again. And again. Then I was at it with snapkicks, gouges, chops and punches; slapping its jagged muzzle, elbowing it in the stomach and face; finally I grabbed its head and snapped its neck with a sharp twist, feeling the crack of vertebrae rather than hearing the sound.
I dropped the limp body at my feet, slowly walked back to Jack and Geoff, slowly and deliberately buckled up my gunbelt, then relaxed.
Jack looked impressed, Geoff bored. The four Hairies shuffled aimlessly, unconcerned. They were always like this when they were fed - no loyalty for fallen comrades, they were just another source of food. They weren't afraid of us; it seemed that they viewed us as being in some manner just like them, not a threat per se. They started to show a little more interest when Big Geoff took off his jacket.
He really is big. His muscles are like a deformity - bulging, rippling, as if he had some subcutaneous disease. His feet are huge. Funny what you notice at times like these. Jack held Geoff's jacket for him, clearly in awe of the giant, even though he wasn't exactly tiny himself. Geoff picked up the carcase of the Hairy I'd killed and threw it off to one side. The other four had started forward, perhaps thinking that Geoff was trying to steal their food, but stopped when he turned to face them. My hand had been tight around the butt of my gun. Geoff sized them up, chose the biggest (but of course) and gestured it forward. It came.
It wasn't even a fight. The Hairy was about six and a half feet, but stooped and looked slightly pathetic next to Geoff. He just taunted it into pointless runs at him while he dodged and smacked it hard a couple of times. When he was ready he let it get close, jumped behind in a subtle and delicate move, and grabbed the back of its neck. He kicked it behind the knees, and it fell. Geoff lowered himself gently to one knee and stretched the creature's back across his other leg. He shifted his grip slightly, so that he was holding it by the throat with one hand and using his other arm like a bar across the beast's pelvis. Then, slowly and maliciously -he would say methodically- he broke the Hairy's back.
When Geoff stood, he lifted the entire corpse off the ground with the hand he still had wrapped around its neck, shook it at the three remaining, then tossed the body contemptuously aside. He came and took his jacket from Jack.
"Your turn, virgin," he said, nastily.
Jack darted a look at me and I shrugged. After this display, how could anyone lack confidence? With any luck we'd be back in the City before the bars shut. Jack, of course, followed Geoff's lead and took his jacket off. He was kind enough to let me hold it. I tried not to laugh. On the killing ground he naturally chose the largest of the three Hairies, standing there quite cocky while it loped forward. It wasn't as big as Geoff's, but larger then I would have felt comfortable tackling, six four or five. It went in for a bit of growling, circling at first, throwing in the odd feint. Jack stayed quite still, other than to keep it in sight. Silly, I suppose, but I was proud of him.
When the Hairy came for him he was calm, ready. He punched it hard in the side of the head and followed up with a chop to the back of its neck. That was a mistake: he hurt his hand. Everybody thinks they know how to chop, but without training and technique you can break bones. While he was shaking his hand the Hairy got in a good swipe, and without the protection offered by Jack's jacket, raked four lines across his chest. Jack lost it, the shock of pain dulling him, and the Hairy was on him. I started forward, gun half-drawn (precaution number 2, make sure there's back-up), but Geoff stopped me.
Jack fell backwards, trying to copy my move. He didn't make it, but at least got his legs between his body and the beast. Jack is big, and uncoiling those legs got the monster off him, but he was slow getting to his feet and the Hairy lunged in quick and got its jaws around Jack's left wrist. Jack howled, primal, pained. In something close to panic he slapped at the Hairy's head, grabbed a palmfull of ear and stuck his thumb in the creature's eye. It jumped back with a scream of pain and this time it was too slow. Jack waded in, full of fury, and started punching the monster out, blow after blow raining down on its head, the kid's arms like pistons pumping those fists forward.
Beaten to a pulp is a phrase hard to imagine, sickening to watch. I'm not sure when Jack started enjoying it, but he did. He could have taken the Hairy out any time after the first thirty seconds, but he kept on hitting it, hurting it, punishing it. When the poor shaggy ex-man finally gave up, it lay on its back and exposed its throat. I wanted the time to be astonished, but Jack finally went for the kill. He stomped on its head until the skull cracked, all the demons which drove Jack channelled into that leg which just kept on slamming down and down.
He didn't stop until the Hairy was squishy: then he stood there, breathing hard until something like normalcy returned. He staggered a bit coming back to us and I had to hold his jacket for him so that he could get his trembling arms back in the sleeves.
His wounds weren't too bad, shallow, no stitches necessary. I patted him on the back and under my palm I could feel him shaking.
"You did good," I said, more to break the silence than anything else.
"Yeah," drawled Geoff, "Maybe one day you be good enough to take on a real Hairy." I felt the kid stiffen
"What are you saying? What do I have to do..." Jack was on the edge of tears, angry and hurt. I cut in quick.
"Just tell him to piss off, Jack. No-one can say you aren't a man. You took your Hairy and you took him well, there are no prizes and no trophies. There's no-one in the City could give you anything but admiration." I gave Geoff one of my dangerous stares and said: "Isn't that right, Geoff?"
"Yeah, sure." He took the hint. Then he spoiled it by saying under his breath as he turned away, "Was small though."
I couldn't have stopped what happened then. Either the kid would have to fight Big Geoff, or he would have to fight a larger Hairy. I guess it says something about Geoff that the kid went for the latter option. Jack glared at the last two Hairies - hunkered down over the one with the broken neck - and spat disgustedly. They wouldn't do. I tried to hold the kid back, shouted at Geoff for an apology, everything. No go. Jack stalked off into the night looking for new prey. I was so angry that I took out my gun and shot the two feeding beasts. Stupid waste of ammunition, no way I could get those two confirmed as kills, and that made me angrier still.
"Stay here!" I ordered Geoff. I knew he would do as I said. I followed Jack and clipped a mini-lens into place.
I could see him clearly, and he already had forty metres on me. I was hurrying to catch up when he broke into a run. Obviously he had seen something, a Hairy, but I had problems of my own. Three Hairies were cutting across between us. I could either waste some more expensive ammo or wait for them to pass. Maybe things would have been different if I hadn't waited, but I doubt it. I tell myself that a lot. Believe it too.
By the time I caught sight of Jack again, he'd found his Hairy.
I was a good seventy metres away, and maybe that saved my life, but I saw everything through my mini-lens. The beast was huge. Seven foot three or four. Not stooped, but erect, proud, defiant. Very pronounced muzzle. Hairy. The kid was facing it down, he had guts right up to the end. I know, I saw them hit the ground in less than a minute.
Jack had taken off his jacket, and I swear I heard the beast laugh. Then he faced the monster with fists bunched. It wasn't a contest. The creature took a step forward, grabbed Jack's throat with lightning speed and lifted all six foot eight of him off the ground. Jack's legs were kicking ineffectively until the Hairy sank its teeth into the side of his neck and bit. It tore out his throat and Jack's blood poured down, soaking into his shirt. Then it held the corpse out, still off the wasteland, reached a paw in just below the ribcage and tore down. I must have imagined the plop of Jack's steaming intestines hitting the earth.
I wasn't frightened. Strange, but I wasn't. I didn't even get scared when I saw the enormous pack of Hairies around the big one rear up and give out a long sustained ululating cry. Nor even when they bowed down to the beast. No; it was what I saw over the next minute, through my mini-lens, that got my sweat pouring and my feet running. I must've been making some noise, because when I cast a glance over my shoulder, the thing had seen me. I had about a minute's head start. I prayed it was enough. Then I thought about Geoff.
I slowed as I came back to where I'd left him. He was whistling.
"Jack's dead," was all I said.
"Really?" Not a trace of regret. Made me feel better about what I was doing.
"Yeah. Big Hairy. I'm getting back to the City."
"How big?"
"Plenty big; too big for me. I'm going."
"How big?" he asked again, and I knew I had him.
"Seven four. Motherfucker big."
Geoff just laughed. "Well you run on back home then, Twinkle. But don't bother pulling up the ladder, I'll be right behind you just as soon as I take care of the big bad scary monster."
"If anybody can, you can," I told him, already making tracks. When I was sure his back was turned I started running. I hoped he'd slow the beast down. Give you some idea of the rush I was in; I left my favourite jacket draped over the razor wire and ran across the minefield without bothering to wait for Paul to turn it off. When I got to the top of the wall I was shaking. I pulled the ladder up; I knew Geoff wouldn't be needing it.
"The others?" Old Paul asked.
"Dead. Big Hairy," I said. Big Hairy is a tale the Hunters tell. It means no chance.
"More trouble, maybe?" Paul was just angling for bounty.
"There's a pack coming this way," I said. "Didn't count them." I didn't add that there were too many to count. Just got down off the Wall while Paul went to wake up the other cripples.
Perhaps I'm heartless. Maybe I should have told someone, but I really didn't think it would have made any difference. I'd have ended up just as dead as everybody else. So I went home, packed light, used some antique equipment to transfer my funds to the next City, and caught a zoom tube West just before midnight. Just in time, as it turned out. It's general practice to shut off the tube during an attack. It came at twelve precisely.
The City fell around 3am.
I was surprised by how quickly it happened, but maybe in the long run it was a mercy to the citizens. In my new home I read about how well co-ordinated the attack was, but that didn't surprise me. Not after what I saw in that long minute in the wastelands. When the Hairies bowed in front of the big one. When its body writhed and contorted and cracked and twisted. When I saw it change back into a man.
Bullets cost money. First thing I'm going to do is buy me some silver ones.
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