Marco grabbed the front of his sweatshirt.

‘You stay with us,’ he said. ‘You’ve been given an order. We stick together. We’re a group and we have to follow orders. OK?’

The boy gulped and nodded his head, taking strength from Marco’s military attitude.

‘I’m OK,’ he said. ‘I’m OK. We’ll stick together. I won’t let you down.’

‘Good boy,’ said Marco. ‘Now let’s look in the other rooms. And be careful. We don’t know where the fat father is, where he might come from, and we don’t know if he’s alone or not. He might have some other friends about the place.’

‘Yeah,’ said Felix, sniggering. ‘He might have invited some kids over for tea.’

35

DogNut’s group had come to the end of the line. The sitting-room with the old TVs and computers and the sagging sofa where the Collector slept. At first DogNut thought he wasn’t there. He could see no sign of him and there was a great mound of grubby newspapers on the sofa where his body should have been.

He absentmindedly read one of the headlines.

‘Floods devastate York.’

Those were different days.

But as he looked at the writing he realized that the papers were gently rising and falling.

‘He’s under there,’ he said. ‘Under the newspapers.’

‘We should just put a match to him,’ said Ryan, pushing into the cramped space behind DogNut and Jackson. ‘End of.’

‘End of all of us,’ DogNut snapped. ‘I told you – no fire. We’d never get out in time.’

‘OK, so what do we do then?’ said Paul, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. He raised his knife, shaking sweat everywhere as his hand juddered in the fetid air.

‘What do you reckon?’ asked Courtney. ‘Could we stab him through that lot? All do it together. Might have some chance of hitting his heart, or his liver, or something.’

‘His fat gut more like,’ said DogNut.

‘I’m gonna stab him,’ said Paul, and DogNut held him back.

‘Chances are you won’t kill him, just vex him. His fat’s like a suit of armour.’

‘I don’t care if I make him angry,’ said Paul. ‘He killed my sister.’

‘Fair enough. We do got to make him angry, I guess,’ said DogNut. ‘Only enough so’s he chases us outside, though. Once he’s out on the street we can deal with him properly.’

‘I’m gonna do it,’ said Paul, who didn’t seem to be listening. ‘I’m gonna stab him.’

‘Then you’d better hurry,’ said Jackson. ‘I think he’s waking up. I told you we should have kept the noise down.’

Indeed, the mountain of newspaper was beginning to rise, and as it did so sheets slid off it like drifts of snow from a melting roof. The next thing they knew Paul had run forward with a terrible scream and stabbed down double-fisted with his knife at the rising bulk. His hands smacked into the paper and the knife stuck fast. Then a great meaty paw reached out from under the papers and took hold of Paul’s arm. It jerked him to the floor and he yelped as his face slammed into the black and sticky carpet. The Collector still had hold of him, and, as Paul tried to twist free, Jackson stepped forward and slashed at the sicko’s arm with the point of her spear, then kicked it with a heavy brown work boot. There was a grunt from under the newspapers and the Collector loosened his grip. Jackson kicked his arm again and the Collector finally let go of Paul who scrabbled away, slipping on the greasy carpet. He careered into the table holding up the biggest television and it crashed down on top of him.

Now the Collector erupted upwards, throwing off the rest of the paper. All except for a few sheets that were pinned to his gut by Paul’s knife like notes on a corkboard. There was a filthy rag stuffed into the hole in his side where Felix had stabbed him last night. The skin round the wound was purple and smeared with pus. He glared at the fallen television, appalled at what he was seeing, and then hissed and lunged at Paul, but Jackson deftly nipped in and jabbed her spear at his neck, just below the ear, in a quick in-and-out movement. DogNut was satisfied to see a spurt of blood pump out.

The Collector could be hurt after all.

DogNut yelled at him, to attract his attention, and slowly the huge father turned and lumbered towards the other kids. Paul seized the moment and picked up a broken table leg. He staggered to his feet and started to pummel the Collector on the back. The Collector barely seemed to notice; without looking round he swung one arm and smashed Paul across the room where he hit the wall with a wet slap. He slid to the ground, stunned.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ DogNut shouted. Ryan’s hunter was already gone. Ryan and Jackson didn’t budge.

‘You get Paul,’ said Jackson. ‘We’ll distract him.’

Now Jackson and Ryan both slashed their weapons at the father, but there wasn’t the space to do any real damage. DogNut moved in and pulled Paul to his feet. He was groggy and confused so DogNut had to physically drag him into the maze.

‘Run!’ he bellowed.

They were all scared, panting, gasping, blundering through the maze as the Collector came after them. They could hear his feet thudding on the floorboards, hear him snorting and wheezing.

Paul was dazed, barely able to walk, let alone run. He was holding DogNut back.

‘For God’s sake,’ DogNut snapped. ‘Get your act together, man.’

Paul managed to pick up speed as his head cleared and at last they reached the stairs and went clattering up them.

‘Everybody out!’ DogNut howled as he neared the top. ‘He’s on the move!’

They burst from the cellar entrance just as Courtney came down the stairs from above and they all collided. It was a miracle that nobody was hurt because they all had their weapons at the ready. They quickly sorted themselves out and made for the front door. As the hallway had been made so narrow by the stacks of newspaper, it created a bottleneck. In the confusion and panic they were getting in each other’s way.

Paul was fully alert now, but had a crazy, feverish look about him. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and shook DogNut.

‘Where’s Olivia?’ he cried. ‘Has anyone found her?’

‘Get outside,’ said DogNut. ‘We’ll sort it.’

‘Where is she? Where’s my little sister?’

‘She’s dead, Paul. Now get your arse out of here.’

‘Where’s her body? How d’you know she’s dead?’

‘You think she could live in here? We’ll all be dead if we don’t move it.’

Jammed in the hallway, the two of them were preventing anyone else from leaving the building. The trapped kids were yelling and shoving. They could feel the walls vibrating as the Collector clumped up the stairs.

‘We’ll come back for her body!’ DogNut shouted. ‘But please shift, Paul.’

Courtney screamed as the Collector emerged from the top of the stairs, his yellow eyes staring, drool spilling from his open mouth, blood bubbling from the wound in his neck. He smelt of shit and decay and death. The light from the open front door fell on him and as Paul got a proper look at him he became paralysed with fear.

DogNut made a quick decision. He punched Paul hard in the belly, and, as he doubled over in agony, he hoisted him on to his shoulders in one swift movement. He then staggered towards the door and out of the house, the rest of the kids following in a frenzied bundle. He made it into the centre of the road where Robbie’s gang was waiting, not quite sure how he was able to carry Paul’s weight, coasting on adrenalin and fear and a crazy kind of strength. Then he collapsed to his knees and dropped Paul on the tarmac.

‘What happened to him?’ Robbie asked, frowning. ‘Did the sicko get him?’

‘No,’ said DogNut, fighting for breath. ‘I did. Had to hit him.’

‘You hit him? What do you mean?’

‘Never mind all that,’ DogNut gasped. ‘I hope you lot are ready because there is one very angry fat man about to come out of there.’