CHAPTER TWENTY

LEAVING THE FIEFDOM

 

 

IT HAD BEEN their home for generations, and now it was deserted.

Every member of the Zoo Pack left Old Zoo. Some emerged at Deutsche Oper, some at Wittenbergplatz and some at Zoologischer Garten itself. But they all left the familiar tunnels that made up their fiefdom at the end of the sentry rotation. They’d had only scant hours to prepare, and were ordered only to take what they could carry and still be able to scrap.

Two Aux did not return from sentry duty.

The very young and very old were parcelled out among the newly called pups, and all were kept at the centres of the three groups, for their own safety. They were not allowed to stay in family groups for the safety of the Pack.

If sacrifices had to made, if there was to be collateral damage, it would go easier on all of them.

Injuries among the Aux had been very light recently. Sentries didn’t come back injured from their duties. They simply didn’t come back at all.

The least able Aux were among the oldest, slowed down by long-healed injuries. They were arthritic, and rheumatic. It didn’t matter. All big groups move slowly.

Ezra Pound led the group emerging from Zoologischer Garten, insisting that if he was going to abandon his fiefdom he would at least do it with some dignity.

Oscar so Wild took a group through Wittenberg. He had a large proportion of the youngest Aux, since the route along Track Two was partially blocked and required agility.

Robert Browning led the Deutsche Oper group. He saw it as a good omen, even though he was separated from Dorothy Barker. Mates never scrapped together. Loyalties must never be divided.

This had played on Ezra Pound’s mind when he had ordered the evacuation. He had decided that the best way, the only way to ensure Robert Browning’s loyalty, was to flatter him by making him the leader of a group. Then he had given him Ben Gun. The pup was a liability and would get Robert Browning into trouble. Then he could be rid of both of them, if need be.

He kept the tale-teller in his own group, and the Hearer, too. He was Alpha dog. The tale-teller would hold too much power away from Ezra Pound. He was too clever, and the Alpha dog knew it.

Dorothy Barker and Evelyn War he sent with Oscar so Wild. He trusted the beta dog. He had not got the bone to challenge his leader. He had spoken up, but he had kept some respect.

Ezra Pound knew that it was safer to repay that respect than to embarrass the Aux by putting him under the leadership of another lieutenant. He also knew that no dam had ever influenced Wild, and these two wouldn’t either.

The Aux stepped outside into a world that many had not seen for a very long time, and some had never seen at all.

Everything was a haze of grey in the predawn, and the great buildings seemed to loom over them like vast, lumbering beasts. The Aux were too used to curving walls and low ceilings, narrow spaces and darkness. The straight lines and flat surfaces of the outside world confused and disturbed them.

The youngest looked around wide-eyed, or cried into the shoulders of the surrogate parents and siblings who accompanied them. The oldest shook or tried not to look at all, or they reminded themselves of when they had been scrappers, tougher and tough, and tried to find some courage.

As the sun began to rise and the grey landscape began to resolve into colour, there were more shocks and more wonder and fear. The pups began to grow curious, adapting more quickly than the ancients. The oldest began to see how fast the world was changing.

Half an hour into the long trek, Killian Hook, an old Aux in Robert Browning’s group, took a pelt from around his shoulders and handed it to the dam next to him. Then he took off his fur cap and gave it to a beta dog to replace his worn felt one. After that, his thick felt blanket came off. He handed it to a pup, who wrapped it around himself and the infant he was carrying. His head cloth came off next, but he let that rest around his wrinkled neck as he unfastened the front and cuffs of his jacket. Last of all, he took off his boots and handed them to another Aux.

He had been gradually working his way to the rear of the group, falling behind as he disrobed. No one tried to stop him, at first, but those around him began to watch him, baffled.

The ice was moaning and creaking, and sliding away under their feet, but the air was still full of the steam of their breath. It was still cold, too cold for an Aux to walk naked through Berlin.

A beta dog who had been a scrapper for only two or three seasons was the first to try to help the old male. He took hold of his jacket and tried to fasten it back around his chest, but Killian Hook batted his hands away and snarled at him.

When a dam asked him what he was doing, he simply looked at her with disdain. Everyone knew who he was, who he had been.

Killian Hook was famous among the veterans, famous for being a scrapper, for being a lieutenant. He could have been Alpha dog. He could have got the bone to challenge the last leader, but Ezra Pound had been younger, keener and more arrogant. The Aux had lost his chance, missed his moment.

Zoo Pack respected him, and no one in his group would tackle him further. Word of his strange behaviour got back to Robert Browning.

“Killian Hook, let the old scrapper be,” he said.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, those who had eyeshades put them on. The youngest didn’t have them, had never needed them.

The Aux of Zoo Pack lived their entire lives underground until they were called, until they were old enough to be useful. Many of the old Aux lacked eyeshades, too. Some pulled peaked caps low over their eyes and squinted, looking only at the ground beneath their feet. Others improvised with their head cloths, wrapping thin layers around their eyes. Some of the smallest infants, those being carried, were covered in blankets and bedding from around the shoulders of those carrying them.

The constant ping of dripping water was lost in the rumble and scrape of footfalls on ice.

One of the preparations that had been considered necessary was adapting boots to the wet surface of the ice. All footwear had been fitted with whatever was available to give them more grip; some had springs or washers threaded into their treads, others had chains wrapped around them, but all had been made safer than they would otherwise have been.

The city was big and quiet. All three groups made slow, steady progress using the broadest thoroughfares. There was ice debris everywhere, in great heaps against the buildings and in fallen shards, scattered by the force of impact right across the streets.

Many of the roofs had lost their coverings of ice. The threat of more falls from above had diminished since Robert Browning had been buried in ice only days before; nevertheless, the Aux looked and listened and had drills for staying safe when there was any threat of an ice fall.

The hard lines and edges of the newly exposed roofs looked alien to all the Aux, whether they were used to being outside or not, and the colours were extraordinary. The only building in the centre of Berlin that had remained exposed through the Time of Ice was the Kade building, with its orange roof. Now, everywhere they looked, there were orange roofs, and red brick walls were beginning to show, too.

The changing landscape made navigation difficult. The Aux traditionally used rat-runs through buildings or travelled along the narrowest streets and alleys. They used the tunnels as much as possible for long journeys, but it was no longer safe underground.

They were above ground in an increasingly alien city, using unfamiliar streets. Landmarks had to be checked and double-checked against the group leaders’ compasses. Progress was slow.

It was two hours before the three groups expected to come together.

Killian Hook could no longer walk in a straight line. He could hardly walk at all. He stumbled around aimlessly, but would not allow anyone to help him.

His speech was irritable and incoherent, and he would swing his fists wildly at any one who tried to help him. He would not be covered. His skin went from startling red to a bluish grey, and the muscle he had left after too many long years of retirement seemed to shrink in his skin. His only concession to the outside world was to use eyeshades.

Everyone knew that he was dying and no one could do anything about it.

Robert Browning hoped that they would meet up with Ezra Pound before Killian Hook finally collapsed. He hoped that the Alpha dog might command the old male to wrap himself back in his clothes, to take some sustenance, to die with some dignity. It was too late to save him. The cold would kill him. The Time of Ice would take one of its last victims.

Then Browning realised what Killian Hook was doing, and why. He understood it. There was a rightness in it.

The old male couldn’t fight Them and wouldn’t die a coward’s death or a fool’s death. He wouldn’t put another Aux scrapper’s life in danger defending a useless old Aux, either. He’d go now, on his own terms, one less mouth to feed, one less dependent to worry about.

Robert Browning slowed the group to Killian Hook’s pace, allowing the old scrapper some peace and privacy a few metres behind them.

When the old male fell to his knees, Browning went to him. He did not carry him, but he helped him to the shady side of the street. There was no fight left in the old Aux.

Browning propped Killian Hook up in the doorway of a building, making sure that he would not fall over when the time finally came. He sat down a few metres away from him and waited. He watched the curls of steam coming from the old scrapper’s nose and mouth.

The rest of the group kept at a distance. Ben Gun kept them entertained, talking to them about listening and scouting, giving them all a lesson, showing them how to cope outside. He made some of the beta dogs laugh and some of them shake their heads and scowl.

Robert Browning thought every soft wisp that left Killian Hook’s mouth was his final breath. Then, after several seconds, another would come, or his chest would heave a little or shudder, and the younger male would see a new stirring of life. He began to wonder whether he wanted it to be over more than Killian Hook did.

A minute passed without movement, and another minute, and another.

Killian Hook had been a great Aux. Tales would be told of his scrapping, if there was a tale-teller left in Berlin to tell them after the ice was gone. He should have died with a blade in his hand. A peaceful death was no death for an Aux who could have been Alpha, but peace was all he had.

Robert Browning stood and walked away.

“You, Patrick Bateman,” he said as he joined the group, “you know where to take Killian Hook underground. Do it fast.”

Patrick Bateman was the biggest Aux in Browning’s group and the strongest. He could manage the corpse alone. Time was short and staying in one place was dangerous, but Robert Browning would not leave Killian Hook outside.

The old Aux must go back where he belonged, back to the tunnels. They had passed a Track Fourteen station only minutes before they had stopped. Bateman turned back so that he would not have to carry the body past the group. He was gone for only fifteen minutes. He did not talk about where he had taken the old Aux or how he had left the body, and no one asked him.