The Pack by Tom Pow Read Free Book Online Page A

On it stood two others, their heads back, whooping. One of these wore a red blanket, which trailed on the ground behind him. The other began to point to an old man, scurrying up the opposite side of the street.
    â€œFaster! Faster!” he shouted. “Come on, Rudolph, you’re for the knacker’s yard, you.”
    Rudolph turned round. “Get stuffed, elf.”
    â€œCome on,” Santa screamed above them both, “he’s getting away!”
    The old man slipped and fell into the gutter.
    â€œGot you!” said Santa, as elf and the sled-pullers surrounded him. “Now, what you got for Black Fist’s Christmas?”
    The old man was pushing himself to his feet, when Rudolph put out a foot and sent him face down into the snow again. The children brayed.
    â€œRight, let the old boy up now,” said Santa. “He wants to show us what he’s got.”
    The old man rose slowly to his feet, then held his coat open, to show he had nothing for them.
    â€œPah!” said elf. “Disappointing, old man.” Then he reached for the old man’s belt and whipped it out. The old man’s trousers slipped down around his ankles. The children cackled and hooted and pointed.
    â€œCome on,” Bradley whispered, “let’s go now.”
    They edged along the bannered streets, pushing themselves into the shadows whenever they heard a whoop or saw a gang cross a road in the distance. The last of the Black Fist flags were ripped or crossed with red. Then the markings began to show they had entered the territory of Red Dog.
    And it was soon after these appeared that Hunger found her—Fearless—lying under a light covering of snow. She was already stiff and the cold had frozen up the head wound that had killed her. Her teeth were still bared with the rage with which she had thrown herself at Floris’s kidnappers. A reckless black ear fell across one of her eyes.
    Bradley reached out and eased the mouth flap down over her gleaming teeth and closed her bulging eyes. Fearless to the end. Hunger circled her, sniffing at her, a low whine singing in his throat. He lifted his head to the cold winter sun. Bradley knew what he was about to do and put his hands round his snout to quell the warring howl.
    â€œNo, Hunger, not now.”
    Hunger’s eyes, black as coal, were fixed on him. I want to be before those who did this.
    â€œI know, Hunger,” said Bradley. “But remember—Floris and Victor. We need to find them first.”
    Bradley lifted Fearless up and carried her into a derelict shell of a building. He could not bury her, so he covered her with rubble and bricks. Whatever happened to her carcass, she was always more than it was. And now she too was a story.
    â€œVictor,” Bradley said. Hunger turned from Fearless’s grave, back into the street. They had to move quickly, for Bradley knew that Victor’s tactics would be no different from Fearless’s. He too might already be lying up ahead under a snow shroud.
    *   *   *
    Hunger moved with purpose through the rest of that day’s afternoon, rarely lifting his nose from the snow. It dawned on Bradley that it was not simply the hunt that gave Hunger such sure intent, but deep knowledge of streets he had already mapped with his scent. For of course no Zone could contain his appetite for space. Deep within him, he carried the imprint of an endless forest. And Bradley wondered whether, like him, Hunger was tormented by the shards of distant memory—the slant of sunlight through the trees, the sharp tang of home.
    They passed five men fighting over a coat. Two of them took an interest in the black dog and the stranger. They let go of the tails of the coat, letting the other three fall, cursing, into the snow.
    â€œHey, sonny, where are you going, eh? Come here, come on here.”
    Hunger turned. His head was lowered, his hackles up, his teeth bared. Red Dog’s