The homeless man stood with his back to them, his head down and arms in front of him as though he was looking at something in his hands. The dog sniffed at the bodies.
Seeing that the man wasn’t following, Kingsley stopped, turned around and approached him.
“Terry?” said Kingsley. “Are you okay, mate?”
Terry’s head moved to the side. Then slowly he turned and faced Kingsley. He said nothing, just raised his left arm and rolled down the sleeve of his thick green coat. On his pale wrist was a semi-circular red mark. It was hard to say for certain at a distance, but there was really only one thing it could be. Only one reason Terry would be showing them the mark.
It was a bite.
7.
The Greenwood Crescent development site was a few turns ahead and Eric had almost finished relating the details of his plan to Kingsley and the others. A read of his watch told him they had around eighteen minutes left before Mark carried through with his threat to kill Sammy, which was more than enough time to get there. That meant they could take a few extra minutes to prepare.
“You weren’t with us when we met Mark,” Eric said to Kingsley. “I told him you had gone off on your own. He won’t be expecting you to show up. So here’s what I’m thinking: you can sneak around the edge of the site and into one of the houses while I talk to Mark, then find a window where you can get a decent shot on them with the crossbow. I’ll need you to take out one of the other men when I’m about a metre away from Mark and Sammy.”
“What if the doors are locked? How will I get in?”
“None of the houses have doors or windows. At least they hadn’t been fitted on any of the buildings last time I was there, which was the day before we went camping.”
“But you don’t know a hundred percent,” Kingsley persisted.
“Not a hundred percent, no. I don’t know that you’ll definitely be able to get a clear shot on them, either. It’s all guesswork. But it’s what we’ve got.”
“So you’re gonna steal Sammy from right under their noses while I distract them. How?”
“They only have knives. I can disarm a guy with a knife; the issue is, as soon as he sees me making a move towards him all he has to do is jerk his hand and Sammy will be dead. There’s no way I can safely disarm him while he’s holding Sammy and watching me. ” Eric looked at his friend. “Which is why I need you to divert his attention. Can you do it?”
Kingsley sighed and nodded. “If Sammy’s life depends on it, you bet I fucking can.”
Terry’s dog, Archie, started to growl, his ears drawn back and head lowered. The rottweiler glared at a snapper that had emerged from an alley in front of them.
As Kingsley went forward to deal with the snapper, Eric glanced at Terry, who had been walking behind them. The man was silent, scraping at the pavement with his worn shoes as he shifted, ponderous. Eric wasn’t sure if he was still in mild shock or simply in the midst of deep rumination, asking himself the many questions people only thought to ask when they realised their death was imminent.
Although he hadn’t known him for long, Eric was bothered by the fact that Terry had suffered a bite while helping him. Now he felt like he owed the guy, but with Sammy to worry about first and Terry’s life expectancy severely shortened, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get the chance to repay him.
Clearing his throat, Eric spoke to him. “Terry… I want you to know I’m grateful for what you did back there. And I’m sorry you got bit. It could have happened to any of us. If there’s any way I can help you in the time you have left, just say.”
Terry blinked, his eyes glassy. After a moment, he dipped his head in a slow nod.
Appearing back at Eric’s side, Kingsley’s eyes flicked over the homeless man. “How are you feeling?” he asked him.
The amount of time Terry took to reply was an answer in itself.
“There’s this… numbness spreading out from the bite,” he said. “But that’s about it… I’m not afraid to die. I made my peace with the idea of death a long time ago. Before I ended up on the streets, I was in the Royal Marines, you know. I’ve hardly lived a cosy life.”
Archie sniffed his owner’s mangy tracksuit bottoms, then sat by his feet and gazed up at him. Terry lowered himself to one knee and stroked the dog, smiling a little as the animal licked his hands.
“I am afraid of turning, though,” he went on. “Of hurting, killing and not being able to stop myself. There’s too much suffering in this world already and I don’t want to add to it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Eric said. “We’ll put you down once you turn. If that’s what you want.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Terry stood, his gaze wandering to Kingsley, back to his dog, then to Kingsley again. He cleared his throat. “The woman – Emma, was it?” Kingsley nodded. “Emma said her uncle – no, her sister’s husband’s uncle – has a safe place. And you know where it is?” Another nod. “Will they look after my dog? I don’t want to leave him on his own. Otherwise, I think I’ll have to put him down and I don’t want to do that.”
“I’m sure they will,” Kingsley said, giving Archie a scratch behind the ears. “If not, I’ll take care of him.”
With the grim image of Sammy’s infected father feasting on the carcass of the family dog resurfacing in his mind, Eric thought, No. No more death. No more of my friends are going to die.
*
Two turns
