In a mass the grown-ups were a real threat, bigger and heavier than the kids, and diseased. Grown-ups were rarely organized enough to plan any real strategy, though, and for the most part they came lumbering out in a pack from the side. Then the best thing to do was run.

Anything to avoid a fight.

Dogs were different, however. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

“Are they coming our way?” said Freak, scratching his stubbly head.

“Think so,” said Ollie, his slingshot creaking.

“Let them,” said Achilleus. “I’m ready.”

“It gets more dangerous every time we come out,” said Arran.

“Tell me about it,” said Deke, nervously twisting his sledgehammer in his hand.

Then the first of the dogs appeared, a skinny mongrel with one eye. It bowled out into the street, fell over, wriggled on the ground, then lay on its back in surrender. A second dog was hard on its tail, a dirty pit bull. It had evidently been chasing the mongrel, because it came at him with teeth bared and hackles raised.

There was an almost comical moment when the two dogs realized that they had an audience. They both did a double take and looked at the boys in surprise. The rest of the pack came into view at almost the same time, howling and barking.

They skidded to a halt and a couple of them knocked into the pit bull, who turned and snapped at them.

The little mongrel saw its moment and scurried off. The pit bull stood there, sniffing the air. The other dogs were a mismatched mob, with missing fur and diseased eyes caked with pus. Some were limping, some wounded. One sat down in the road and vigorously scratched its ear, until another dog bit it and it scampered away.

The pit bull strutted forward, growling, then it started to bark at the boys, and the rest of the pack joined in. Instantly the street was filled with their racket.

“Will they attack, do you think?” asked Freak.

“Depends how hungry they are,” said Arran.

“They look pretty hungry to me,” said Deke, and he gripped his sledgehammer tighter.

“Try and scare them off,” said Arran, and the boys now made a racket of their own, yelling and screaming and waving their arms. Some of the dogs backed off, but the bolder ones were soon inching closer.

The big pit bull shook his head and nosed ahead, his claws scratching on the asphalt.

“Take him out,” said Arran. “He’s the boss. Maybe the others will get the message.”

Ollie loosed his shot. The steel ball hit the dog squarely in the forehead, his legs crumpled, and he went down without a sound. The other dogs sniffed him, and one or two set up howling. Then a big German shepherd ran from the back of the pack, leading three other hounds with him. Achilleus went down on one knee, and as the dog pounced, he stuck him through the chest with his spear. The followers veered off to the side, and Ollie hit one more with a steel ball, breaking its leg. It yelped and turned tail, dragging its leg behind.