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August 4. Night.

The moon rose high in a cloudless sky, now almost completely full.

The night was full of noises. Far down in the dark of the valley, a pheasant hawked in alarm, sounding like a tin can scrape on rough stone. Far up on the heathery moor a grouse croaked. Up on the slope-side, some small thing, maybe a weasel, dislodged a small stone and sent a trickle of gravel down in a whispery hiss. The stream murmured. The fire, now hot and red, crackled and sparked.

Billy Harrison sobbed. The pitiful sound of it, hardly muffled at all by the canvas of the tent, tore at them. It was the sound of utter despair and dejection and it was the sound of pain.

Corky sat silent, staring at the flames of the fire his eyes glinting and reflecting the flickering red. He had not said a word for hours. He had the same faraway look that Billy had in his own eyes earlier that day, the mesmerised glazed stare of someone who has recognised the closeness of his own end. They had all seen Corky's end when their captor had squeezed on the trigger, but the gun hadn't roared and bucked. The gun's firing pin had slammed down on the empty chamber with a solid crack. Corky had fallen to the ground as if all the nerves in his body had failed, as if all his sinews had been cut.

Now it was night and the moon was up and the sounds of the valley were overlaid with the sound of a boy's crying.

The knife was over in the gloom beside the boulders where it had landed. It would do them no good now anyway.

Corky had lain there, still as death, arms spread-eagled for nearly a minute and they had all stood there immobile, just looking at him. None of them had been brave enough to move to help him.

"It's empty," Doug was thinking. Despite the fact that Corky was down on the ground, he knew he wasn't dead. All he could think about was the fact that the gun had been empty all this time. Since the morning when Danny had gone clambering up the slope and he himself had managed to get a hand to the second cartridge and send it flipping into the pool, he could not remember the man reloading. He'd assumed the lunatic had jammed another two shells into the breech, but he must have forgotten. If he'd done that, then Corky would still be lying there, but the rocks behind them would be painted red with the insides of his head. Sudden relief made his legs feel boneless.

The man had slowly lowered the gun and looked down at Corky, almost curiously, as if surprised that the gun hadn't fired, as if only mildly astonished that the boy's head hadn't been blown right off his shoulders. The mad anger that had been in his eyes was now replaced by a mad incredulity. He had stood there, possibly contemplating his next move and the three of them had stood around him, all of them wanting to run, none of them daring to, even though they knew the gun wasn't loaded. Water dripped down the man's legs. The word Joyce stood out clearly on the side of his brawny biceps. Finally he turned his head and gave a little shrug, as if that was this scene over and his interest in it was done. He crossed to the stream, went down to the shallow part where Billy was crouched on low, flat stone, pale and shivering, and took him by the hand.

Corky's eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled down so that the white crescents disappeared. He gave a little start, like somebody just coming awake and raised his head dopily, as if unaware of his surroundings. He shook himself, making his eyes focus, remembered where he was and jerked up, spinning as he did, to get to his knees.

"Take it easy," Danny hissed at him, getting a hand to his arm. Tom stepped forward to help him to his feet. Corky's face was slack and pale. He turned to Tom, as if he didn't recognise him either, swung round to Danny, but he didn't look at him., he looked through him, his gaze fixed on something in the faraway distance.

"Corky?" Danny asked. Tom was slapping his friend's knuckles, the way people were supposed to do with folk who'd fainted. Corky didn't seem to notice.

"You okay? Hey?"

Very slowly, Corky nodded, but it was almost automatic. Billy came up, led by the hand, his height and robust build still slight by comparison to the man. He was shivering visibly and droplets of water dripped from his elbows and from his chin. His hair was sleek and plastered to his head and goosebumps had risen all over his skin. He seemed entirely unaware that he was completely naked. The man pointed at Doug and Danny, then flicked his hand to include the other two.

"Fire," he said. "Get it going." He pulled Billy over to the where his clothes were lying and told him to get dressed. Billy did so without a word. He did not look at any of them, not then. It was as if he had become isolated, by the depths of his fear, by the fact that somehow the man had singled him out specially, no matter what he'd done to the others. The man pulled on his shirt and denims, jammed his feet in the old boots and then slung his coat around Billy and made him sit down.

The others had backed off, Tom pulling Corky as they went, down to the pile of logs they'd dragged up the previous day and began hauling them up to the circle of stones. Corky moved slowly, as if he'd not come entirely awake. The embers had cooled to grey ash, but Phil Corcoran's stolen Ronson lighter was still in the burlap bag and they used that to light the bundles of dry bracken to get the fire started. The twigs caught quickly and soon the flames had spread to the thicker branches, wavering bright, casting a glow around the clearing and once again sending trails of sparks into the sky. They dragged more logs up from the pile while the man heated the last tin of oxtail soup.

By this time, Doug was faint with hunger and it may have been that which made him go to his own rucksack and take out the bag of potatoes they'd swiped from the field. There were still a few left. He risked close proximity to the crazy man, edging close to the fire, holding one arm across his face to shield it from the heat of the blaze, while he stuffed the big early potatoes in to the ashes by the side of the stones. The man finished his soup in silence, dipping the now-stale bread into it and wolfing it down like an animal. He offered some to Billy, but got no response at all. The others sat down, closer to the tent, waiting for what would happen next and the valley got darker as night begam to fall. After a while, half an hour, maybe a bit more, the stranger stood up and used one of the branches to scrape the potatoes from the fire. He rolled the largest one clear of the others and trundled it closer to where he sat. Doug didn't wait. He took that as tacit permission and used a twig to get the rest free, leaving little trails of ash as he manoeuvred them back from the heat. They had to wait a while until they were cold enough to handle. They were black and carbonised on the outside. They were still a bit solid and uncooked in the centres, but to Dougie and Danny and Tom, those three baked potatoes were the best food they could remember. Corky ate his slowly and in complete silence. He was still distant, his mind far away, or so it seemed. Danny wondered if maybe he'd cracked, and he knew that if the crazy stranger had pointed the gun up to his eye and pulled the trigger, he'd have shit himself, pissed his pants and then cracked. The pain of the birdshot at more than a hundred yards had been bad enough.

They ate and despite everything, they felt better for it. There were three potatoes left in the trail of ashes and the man took the other two. He thrust one at Billy, told him to eat, and finally Billy took it. The others watched him slowly consume it, black skin and all, until it was done.

An another half hour of silence stretched on while the shadows lengthened up towards them and finally darkened everything except for the circle around the fire. Eventually the man stood up and stretched, yawned loudly and looked up at the sky. The moon was still unrisen. Over by the corner of the tent was the roll of fencing wire and the twine that had been used to loop them together the previous night. Now the man took the thin wire and began to unravel it.

"You're welcome to stay the night," he said to Doug, and his voice sounded so normal, so ordinary, that it startled them.

Danny almost blurted out the instant reply that sprung to his lips: "No, it's okay. We'd better be going now."

He said nothing because the man simply took a hold of Doug's shoulder and pushed him backwards, herding them all across to the wall where they'd sat in the heat of the day after Danny's failed escape attempt. He made them sit down again then fastened a loop of wire around a thick root that coiled from a crevice in the rock. Very quickly and expertly he slipped another around Doug's neck, quickly twisting it until it was tight, then braided it before he repeated the motion with Tom, then Danny and finally a silent and slow-moving Corky. The loose end he whipped around the trunk of another gnarled hawthorn stump, leaving them hobbled together, separated only by braided strands of wire. The nooses were tight enough to prevent real movement, but not biting like the garrotte that had almost taken Billy's head off earlier in the day. The knife was well out of reach and even if they could have got to it, the old blade couldn't have cut through the metal wire. They were caught, like rabbits in a snare. If they moved, they'd choke and strangle.

After more of a while, the moon finally rose over the high edge. The man with the twitchy eyes was facing it this time, sitting on the tent-side of the fire, on one of the flat stones. Billy was close by, like a pet, but unleashed. There was no need of a tether when the man had some sort of mental noose that had already roped him and bound him.

"Almost there, Conboy," he said. "Down in the valley again."

They all listened, because there was nothing else to do.

"What's that? Oh yes. You can sit there smiling if you like, but they'll be back again. Yellow godless vermin. Not long now, but we'll be waiting. Nowhere else to go."

He laughed again and Doug shuddered because the laugh just sounded mad. "Flies got you Conboy, but you still smile on through, because you know, don't you? You can see through."

He giggled and Danny felt a cough tickle in his throat and he tried to breathe with his mouth wide open to prevent it. The stranger was gone again, gone to wherever Conboy was, and he did out want to attract attention. The moonlight glinted off the gun barrels again.

"Dung fly. Dung fly! Conboy. I hear them again." He raised the gun up in an expectant, protective way, peering into the far on the far side of the stream. The conversation went on like that for a long time while the moon crossed the stretch of sky that hung over the valley. Every now and again, they'd hear the strange cry: Dung fly. None of them knew what it meant. Danny expected the man to fire into the shadows, because he knew he couldn't have many shells left and if they had any chance at all, they'd have to take it. It was just the second day since the man had stepped across the stream while he and Billy were fishing, but he knew now, with a desperate certainly, that there would not be a third night. He was not sure they'd even survive this one, though despite everything, the wire holding nooses around their necks were actually a good sign, but they'd be dead by the time the full moon climbed into the sky.

The man's rumbling voice tailed off into a guttural, incomprehensible jabber which became a muttering and then a silence for a while. Doug had dozed off and Tom snuggled against Danny for warmth. Corky's eyes were open. Danny could see them if he squirmed round to look. They reflected the firelight and hardly blinked at all and Danny quailed at the thought that Corky might have lost his marbles and be unable to think, unable to act when they had to. Corky was the one who could think on his feet and the one who could lead them when they needed to be led.

"You okay?" he asked very quietly, nudging his friend. Corky never blinked, but he did nod slowly. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, he turned round, taking his eyes off the man.

"Don't you worry about me, Danny boy. Get some sleep if you can." Relief surged. Corky hadn't gone crazy. He'd looked death straight in the eye, the bravest thing any of them had ever seen and by rights he should be dead. He'd maybe just taken a while to come to grips with that idea.

A half an hour passed and the flames were beginning to die down a little. Doug was snoring very softly, his big buck teeth catching the light. Tom was still jammed against Danny's side when the man got up and without ceremony, lifted Billy by the collar. Billy, who was almost asleep, whimpered in sudden fright, but the man ignored it. He hefted the gun in his other hand and crossed over to the tent, dragging Billy behind him through the ashes beside the stones. With not a word, he bent and went into the tent, pulled the boy behind him. The flap slipped down and closed.

"What's he doing?" Tom asked. He had woken with a start, digging an elbow into Danny's back and the sudden flare of pain had almost brought a blurting yell that was only just swallowed back.

Billy whimpered again. The tent was just along dark oblong against the deeper dark of the hollow. Only the front was visible. There was a knock and a vibration as something jarred against the upright pole. The man said something low, and Billy wailed. It was just a soft sound, but it was a wail. None of them had heard him make that sound before.

"What is it?" Tom wanted to know. He was pulling against the wire and it gave his voice a strange, tight quality that would otherwise have been funny and now just sounded strangled.

"Just take it off," the man said, now quite clear.

"Dirty bastard," Doug hissed. "He's touching him."

They couldn't know that for sure. Billy made that little childlike noise again, the way a kid will when it's forced to do something it doesn't want to do. It reminded Tom of his little sister Maureen. She hadn't liked the taste of the medicine and she'd shaken her head, moaning like that, trying to let it dribble out of her mouth. He jerked against the wire, suddenly tense and shaking.

"He's touching him," Doug repeated. He's a dirty bastard!" In the light of the fire his face was twisted into a snarl that managed to convey disgust, anger and horror. They all knew that anyway, from what had happened to Mole Hopkirk, from the awful damage whispered in the classrooms and street corners, not quite fully understood by boys just on the cusp of comprehension.

The man said something else, almost in a whisper, almost wheedling and Billy began to cry. It was soft enough, but it was a desolate sound. Doug made a little growling sound in the back of his throat, probably unaware that he made any noise at all. There was nothing any of them could do. The wire held them by their necks, like tethered animals.

"What for?" Danny asked stupidly. He knew, albeit vaguely, about queers, the kind of people who wanted to touch boys and stick their dicks in their backsides although he didn't quite understand why they would want to do so.

"Because he's a fuckin' dirty homeo bastard," Doug grated.

Over in the tent the sounds stopped and Doug froze. Corky had his head cocked to the side, just listening, sitting completely motionless. Tom was trembling quite violently now, though the night wasn't cold. Danny's back was throbbing again and the skin felt tight and strained, as if it might suddenly split into cracks and fissures.

"No," Billy said in a small, pleading voice, not at all like his robust, bragging cockiness that aggravated all of them most of the time.

"It's all right." Soothing, strangely more frightening than ever.

"No but..." Billy's voice rising in panic.

"Shut up boy." There was a thud which could have been a fist on a face, or a head hitting turf. Billy grunted, much the same way Doug had done when he'd been knocked to the ground by the gun butt He cried out and the man snarled something incomprehensible. Fabric ripped. At first Danny thought it was the scrape of a zip unfastened violently, then he saw the pale hand gripping the fabric of the tent at the ragged edge where he'd cut the canvas to crawl through. The canvas ripped further and the opening yawned blackly before the hand was suddenly whipped away and the two edges sprung back together again.

Billy screamed. Corky jerked forward and was pulled back, gasping, hands up to protect his neck.

"Jesus," he gasped.

The man grunted, a sound like a beast in the dark and Billy screamed again, high and girlish and sharp as glass, a dreadful sound that cut into the still air. The man grunted again, deep and hoarse, a guttural wordless groan of effort.

"He's killing him," Tom cried, voice on the verge of cracking into tears.

"Bastard," Doug said. He was quivering like a bowstring, his long arms out in front of him, hands curled into impotent, bony fists.

Billy could cry all he wanted. He could scream for help and screech and howl, but nobody would hear him. Up here, this far from town, nothing could be heard. Here in the cleft of the valley so far up beyond the Barwoods, the clatter of the trains, or the clanking of the steam hammer down at Castlebank shipyard, or the screech of hot metal in the old forge, none of the noises of town penetrated this far. The screams of a hurt boy wouldn't carry much into the dark of the trees before it was smothered by the shadows and the leaves. From a few hundred yards down in the forest, it would just sound like an injured fox.

The sounds he made were dreadful, harsh and frantic, cutting right into the others, punctuated only by the mindless sounds of the man in the shadow of the tent.

"Stop it!" Tom whinnied. "Stop it stop it stop it!" he had his eyes tight closed and his hands up at his ears, knuckled right into them to cut out the awful sounds. Gentle Tom who hadn't wanted this adventure, who had wanted to stay at home and try to get by, and find some accommodation with his aching loss. He'd stood and put his hand on Corky's shoulder on the night everything was blowing apart and had somehow managed to keep the bonds from breaking, but he could not cope with any more of this. Tears were squeezing out between screwed up lids and catching the red of the fire and the white of the moon. For that moment, he had lost his fear for himself. He just wanted Billy to stop crying and to stop hurting.

The grunting sound was coming faster and Danny could visualise the old boar at McFall's farm, a great heavy brute with mean eyes and slanted teeth that could cut through an ash sapling in one snap. Other farmers would put it to their sows and half the time it would try to hook them with its tusks, gouging thin slashes up their flanks. Then it would mount them quickly and it would grunt and snort, dribbling snot from it's snout and saliva from its oddly grinning jaws. Danny had seen it get ready, with its long spiral dick punching in and out, twisting like a vicious corkscrew. In his mind's eye, he imagined the crazy man on top of Billy, just like the pig and despite having seen the crazy stranger's penis swing like a club, he imagined the corkscrew boring in to flesh and blood, ripping and rending. He shivered and his own sphincter puckered and tightened of its own volition.

Billy screamed again and the grunts and porcine snorts were coming faster. The noise was getting louder too. Danny wanted to shut it out and began to raise his own hands up when he felt a tug on the wire, hard enough to pull it firmly against the skin of his neck. He twisted round, wincing against the sudden flare between his shoulderblades and stopped dead.

Corky had arched his neck out of the loop, pushing so far forward that the fencing wire was biting into the skin just inside the collar of his shirt. Danny could see the white line where the wire was dug right in. Corky's body was twisted and his hands were pulling at the wire to let him get his jaw down to the braided piece that connected him to Danny. His face was screwed up into a grimace of concentration that looked like pain and was pain as far as Danny could tell. His teeth were flashing in the moonlight.

The tug came again, a metallic thrumming sound that sent a vibration across the wire to Danny's own neck. Danny had to twist almost as uncomfortably to see what was going on and even then it took several seconds for it to dawn on him.

Corky was trying to gnaw through the wire.

Danny could hear the grind of teeth on metal, a dreadful scraping sound that was like fingernails on a blackboard, chalk on glass. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in unison. Corky's eyes were closed and his teeth were gritted on the wire and he was working the metal back and forth, desperately trying to chew his way through the tough steel. The sight of it made Danny quail. It was as much animal as the grunting pig sounds from inside the tent, and the awful mindless screech of pain from Billy.

It was like a rabbit caught in a snare, or a fox caught in a gin trap. They could gnaw their way through their own foot, biting through fur and skin and gristle and bone to get free, no matter what the cost. Danny could hear the thrumming of the wire every time Corky's teeth slipped off the thin brain and the jarring clash of his teeth as they ground together.

If Corky was desperate enough to try to gnaw his way through the wire, then he must be really frantic, Danny realised. The thought of such desperation brought a sudden surge of black fear that swamped him to numbed stillness.

Tom was shuddering now, making little jerky movements while he cried silently. Doug was snuffling and rocking back and forth to the extent that the wire noose would let him. Danny sat still and thought about what Corky was doing and what the man was doing and he wished he could close his eyes and make it all go away. A deadly, lethargic tiredness was dragging over him, brought on by the brutal attack of freezing terror. For a moment the sounds faded down to hardly anything and the light of the fire diminished. All he could feel, for a while, was the thrumming of the wire as Corky tried to bite his way free.

After a while all the sounds stopped. Corky slumped back, exhausted with the effort. His neck audibly creaked and he moved his shoulders up and down to get the cramp out of them.

Billy started to sob. The loud and frenzied pain-scream had faded now to a shuddering, liquid moan inside the tent, a desolate, lost sob of profound despair and hurt that was as bad as the shrill cry of pain. The man spoke, now soothing again, that creepy, oily sound they'd heard before the dreadful grunting. Doug was still rocking, like an animal in a cage, needing to move.

The tent rustled. Some scuffling sounds followed and the man came out again and went towards the fire. He was naked from the waist up. His skin glowed red in the firelight and he looked up, like some primitive savage, at the moon now half-way across the black sky. Danny expected him to howl at it, but he said nothing at all. He looked at the moon for a long while, then ambled across to the lower rocks, opened his trousers and sent out a crescent of piss that glittered in the moonlight. After a while he came back towards the tent. He stopped close by and looked over at them.

"Peaceful night," he said, quite solemnly, with no hint of a grin or a mad smile. He bent down and went back into the tent.

Billy was sobbing softly. The night noises, silenced by his screams, had started up again in the trees and on the moor where the curlew piped its lonely notes. The night wore on and the fire began to fade as Billy's snuffling tapered to silence. The moon crossed further and the fire-glare died to a warm glow, dopplering down through the levels of red while the logs settled as they turned to ash.

After a while Tom snuggled back into Danny's side again and Doug crouched with his head rested in his hands, dozing lightly. Corky arched his neck again, pulling at the wire, and started to gnaw once more.

"You'll never get through it," Danny whispered.

"No such thing as never," Corky pulled back from the wire, breathing heavily with the effort. His opened and closed his mouth several times, easing the straining muscles.

"Not in one night," Danny said. "You'll need a week. Can't you reach the knife."

Corky shook his head. "No. It's too far. And we don't have a week. We've got to get out of here. He's hurt us all, but I think he'll get worse. He's waiting for something."

"What?"

"Christ knows," Corky said. "Full moon or something. He's a bloody vampire or a werewolf. He's off his head."

"But you'll never get through that tonight," Danny said, unhelpfully.

"You got a better idea?" Corky's hiss sounded hard and angry.

Danny shook his head. Corky's eyes gleamed, almost ferociously. "Me neither. Wish I had. I should have stabbed him today. I could have. I could maybe have hit him with it. Stuck it in his throat if I'd thrown it."

"You can't throw for peanuts," Danny said and a strange, panicky little laugh tried to bubble up inside him. "You're as bad as Phil."

"Thought you were a goner today Dan, honest to God." Corky changed the subject, giving Danny a quick and almost desperate grin. "Scared me to death when you came off that slope. Thought you were dead for sure. I couldn't believe it when you hit the water, and then I couldn't believe it even more when you weren't plugged full of lead."

"Me too," Danny agreed. In his mind the world still whirled as he fell. On his back, the pain pulsed, not hot, but steady and warm.

"And I thought I was dead today. Jesus, I really did."

"Me too," Danny repeated. "Scared the shite out of me."

"I never knew it wasn't loaded. It was all happening. He was drowning Billy and I just got angry and I couldn't stop myself and then when he pointed the gun at me, I don't know what happened. I just stayed angry and I wasn't going to let him know I was scared."

"Weren't you? I was really shitting myself."

"Honest to god Danny, I don't remember. I was looking him in his eye and right up the end of that gun with the other and I heard it go off. Like boom. It hit eyebone and I thought it had fired and that was it. I just fell down dead. I couldn't believe it when I opened my eyes and saw Doug's over there. The sun was shining through his ears and it was kind of funny looking. I must have fainted I suppose. I never fainted before. It's not all that bad."

He paused for a moment, looked up at the moon, then turned to Danny.

"It was Doug that saved me. If it wasn't for him, I'd be a goner, or you would be. If he hadn't got that other cartridge and slung it in the water, you'd have had both barrels, or I'd have had it in the head. That took guts, real guts."

Danny was picturing Corky snatching up the knife to challenge the crazy man, sweeping it in front of him as he approached, not flinching at all. He was thinking about the look in his eye as the gun barrel trailed up to the other one, unblinking, not giving an inch.

"Not as much as you," he said vehemently. "I hope I never see anything like that as long as I live. I couldn't even speak, I was so scared. Weren't you frightened?"

"Course I was, but it was really weird. I thought that was it for me. I really did, and I went all sort of cold, like numb, you know? Everything was really slow. His eyes were twitching away, and I thought, 'This is it Corky' and you'll never believe it, but you know Cuchullain. The hero? I thought about him and what he'd do, and I thought I'm not going to let him see I'm feart."

"You really thought that?"

"I think so. But maybe I dreamed it when I fell down. I just remember looking into his eye and everything was frozen cold. But I know something now."

"What's that?"

"If I get out of here, I'm never going to be scared of anything again in my life. Not Phil, not my old man. Nobody and nothing. If I can beat him, I can beat anything."

"Hells flaming bells, Corky," Danny said, feeling the mad ripple of laughter trying to erupt again, "I never thought you were scared of anybody anyway."

"Shows you what a good actor I am, don't it?"

He smiled quickly, suddenly boyish for that one moment, then he arched his neck to get his teeth to the wire. He started to gnaw again, making that awful grinding sound. After a while he had to lean back and take a break from the exertion.

"Dan," he said, easing his jaw once more, and panting heavily. "I didn't mean just me. Getting out of here, that is. We'll make it, honest we will. Bet you any money. You and me, we got a miracle, so we did. We're still alive when the both of us should be dead, so I know for sure we'll get another chance."

He looked over again, and any boyish grin was gone. "But it has to be tonight, because he won't give us another chance after this."