But just the knowledge of the price on their heads.
Of how dangerous they were.
Particularly for Kirsty to be around.
It unsettled him deeply.
“I think we should get off this road,” Noah said.
He stopped. Didn’t even realise he’d spoken until the words came out his mouth.
Kirsty looked back.
Iqrah looked back.
Both of them frowned.
“What?”
Noah’s heart pounded. “Something… something isn’t right here. I can feel it.”
Kirsty shook her head. “What do you mean you can—”
“I just know something isn’t right, okay?”
“Okay,” Kirsty said. “Okay. If you say so, Nostradamus. But we’re gonna have to keep moving through here to get off the road anyway. Unless you…”
Noah didn’t hear another word.
He heard a gunshot.
And then he heard a yelp.
He didn’t hear anything else.
Didn’t see anything else.
Only in front of him.
Only Bruno.
Standing there one second. Ears raised. Head tilting.
And then a bullet slammed into his leg, and he let out an almighty whine.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Noah watched Bruno hit the ground with a yelp, and his entire world stood still.
Blood oozed out of his back leg. He tried to scramble back to his feet but just kept on falling back down, hitting the ground. He whined. Let out little cries of pain; cries that he wanted Noah to take away. The way he looked at him with those big, innocent eyes just filled Noah with guilt that he couldn’t do more. That he couldn’t act.
“Noah!”
He looked around. Saw Kirsty staring at him with those big wide eyes. She had Iqrah behind her. Both of them staring off into the distance, over Noah’s shoulder, over to where those gunshots had come from.
Noah turned around, and he saw them right away.
Four of them. Armed with rifles. Pointing them at Noah, at Kirsty, at Iqrah.
Society.
His first instinct was to lean into anger. To sink into that void that he felt resurfacing within him again.
But the more he leaned into it, the more he sank into that urge for destruction, the more his head ached, the more blood he tasted at the back of his throat, and the more he realised he wasn’t strong enough.
Which meant he had to try something else.
He had to get away.
He wanted to stand his ground. He wanted to fight. Especially after what they’d done to Bruno. His dog. His only dog left. His companion, who he’d saved from neglect, all those years ago. His friend.
He wanted to fucking gut them for what they’d done.
But then he heard Bruno whine again, and he realised there was nothing he could do but run right now.
“Get off the road!” Noah shouted.
He turned around. Ran over to Bruno’s side.
Bruno didn’t look in a good way. Panting. Tongue dangling out. Still wagging his tail, even though his body was shaking, even though he was in pain.
Blood trickling from his leg.
“Hey, lad,” Noah said, stroking his head. “Hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m—”
A bullet whooshed past.
So close to Noah’s body.
And then more gunshots fired out, over towards Kirsty and Iqrah, who were a way down the road now.
He looked up at them. Heart racing.
The way they stared at him, sympathy in their eyes, defeat in their eyes.
“Noah, quick,” Kirsty said. “It’s… it’s too late. I’m sorry, but it’s too late. We need to go.”
He felt that lump in his throat. Looked down at Bruno, lying there, wagging his tail. Bullets kept on sweeping over him, past him, towards Kirsty—she was the target, that much was clear. They wouldn’t risk shooting him or Iqrah. At least, that’s what he thought, anyway.
Unless something was different.
Unless something had changed.
He stared down at Bruno, and he prepared to do the hardest thing. Say goodbye to his friend. To his companion.
But then he felt resistance inside.
He looked up at Kirsty. At Iqrah.
“Go,” he said.
Iqrah narrowed her eyes. “Noah?”
“Both of you need to get away from here. You need to get to Morecambe. Get yourselves to safety.”
Kirsty shook her head. Bullets kept on peppering her way. “But—”
“No time for ‘buts’,” he said. “I’ve got this. Me and Bruno stay right here. Go. Now!”
He saw the hesitation.
He saw the resistance and the reluctance.
And then he saw Kirsty mouth something—something he couldn’t decipher from this distance—but something that looked like “I’m sorry.”
And then they turned around and ran off into the distance.
Noah looked down at Bruno. Stroked his shaking head. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
He took a deep breath.
And then he stood up and lifted the knife to his throat.
The Society guards stopped in their tracks.
Kept their rifles pointed right at him.
“Not another move,” Noah said.
The guards stayed there. Rifles pointed. Totally still. Like this was one they didn’t predict.
The guy leading the way—muscular, well built—shook his head. “No bullshit now, Noah. Your time’s up, and you know it.”
“No,” Noah said, smiling. “See, that’s not true. It’s your time that’s up here if I cut my throat.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“You want to try that? Want to risk it? Really?”
The guards held their ground. Then Noah saw the leader lowering his rifle. Reaching for something on top of it.
Something Noah knew already switched between bullet and sedative.
“Touch that switch, and I’ll do it too.”
“What—”
“Not another fucking move,” Noah said.
The guards stood their ground. Wind raced down the streets. Clouds crept over, blocked the stifling sun.
And Noah could only stand there, knife to his neck, Bruno whimpering for help behind him.
“Noah,” the guard said, his voice shaking now. And then he reached up. Grabbed his mask. Pulled it away.
The guy behind the mask wasn’t as Noah expected exactly. He didn’t look… nasty. He didn’t look all that mean. Ginger guy. Pale face. Looked just like an ordinary bloke.
“Look,” he said. “I’m Colin. I know… I know these fucking masks are dehumanising—”
“What’s dehumanising is what you just did to my dog.”
“You need to see the bigger picture. We’re getting desperate here. The whole damned country—the whole fucking damned
