Blue crumbled and fell apart as Connor moved him, rib bones detaching, leg bones coming loose, bits of insect-eaten fur detaching and drifting around like dust motes in the torchlight. Bit by bit, Connor laid the pieces of the dead dog beside the open tomb.

‘Hiya, kids,’ said a male voice behind them in the darkness.

Then something smacked Connor hard behind the ear and the torch fell. Blackness and light merged into a kaleidoscope and he pitched forward across the skeleton in the grave like a lover. He heard Aysha scream, and then there was nothing.

159

159

Connor was coming back to himself, inch by inch. His head hurt. He could hear someone crying. He opened his eyes and he was in a room. It was a dump of a room. Old beer cans all over the place, big dogs roaming around, threadbare sofas and enough dirt on the floor to plant an acre of spuds. The smell in here was ripe, fetid.

What happened?

For a long moment he couldn’t even think straight. Then his eyes fell on Aysha, sitting hunched on a couch opposite, her face wet with tears. And he was sitting on another one. Christ, there were probably fleas in here, the dogs were scratching, wandering around, slobbering everywhere.

‘Connor? Oh God, I thought they’d killed you!’ Aysha burst out.

Connor tried to sit up straighter, tried to focus. His head was one screaming, writhing mass of pain. His shirt collar was damp; someone had hit him, and he was bleeding. One of the dogs, an ugly black-and-white bruiser, sniffed his leg and he feebly booted it away. He could hear voices, talking in another room.

Then a door opened and in came a squat, massive bear of a man, grey-bearded and mean-eyed. He had a small pursed mouth and a stare that could freeze hot water. His eyes fastened on Connor sitting there. Then on Aysha.

‘So here’s the kids,’ he said. ‘The girl I ain’t seen before. But you, you’re Fearless Flynn’s boy,’ he said. ‘You’re Connor. Looks like we meet again.’

It was Jeb Cleaver.

I’m a dead man, thought Connor.

160

160

Coming in behind Jeb was a smaller, older version from the same shallow end of the gene pool. Also bearded, wearing boots – and carrying Connor’s own pickaxe.

Bill came over to Connor and looked down at him. ‘Shauna Flynn’s boy, right?’ He grinned with blackened teeth at Aysha. ‘And the girl too.’ He reached down, grabbed Aysha’s arm and hauled her to her feet. ‘Her we’ll save for later,’ he said, leering at her.

‘No! Christ, let go of me!’ she screamed. ‘Connor—’

‘Shut up! We’re going,’ said the older Cleaver, and dragged her from the room. The dogs followed.

‘Now I’m going to break you up,’ said Jeb as the door closed after his dad and Aysha. Jeb gave Connor a broad smile. ‘Piece by piece.’