Murdoch saw the Beetle coming towards her and swung her gun around, shouting to the other cops; "Keep it simple, people!" Only Shaka kept his beams aligned, moving from me to Mandy.
MURDOCH! IT'S NOT SCRIBBLE! HE'S NOT GOT THE GUN!
"What?" Now Murdoch was looking well nervous, not knowing where to look.
IT'S NOT SCRIBBLE! Takshaka going wild, firing his beams everywhere. One of those beams, a red-hot one, caught the Beetle in the chest. The shining man just took the heat on board, loving it, until his colours shone like snake-diamonds.
One of the other fleshcops got it together, lost it, went for panic mode, starting firing. The Beetle didn't even jerk from the impact. Pieces of his body flew apart from the force of the bullet, colours raging. Beetle just carried straight on…
Oh Bee.
…carried straight on, as more cops opened fire. He was almost on Murdoch now and she was firing at him as well. He caught the round full on, and his body was blown apart, splintering into a shower of fractals. And the colours were draining from my life. Into the spaces. The Beetle's voice coming through.
My name written in a cloud of sparks in the night air, in the Manchester night air. And then falling away to nowhere, where the angels live.
IT'S THE GIRL! Takshaka had focused on Mandy.
Murdoch started to turn again towards us, bringing the gun around, but Mandy was already out there, on the edge of nothing, watching the Beetle losing the race, and she was calling out Beetle's name as she…
Save something!
I stumbled backwards, heading for the doghouse door.
…as she pulled the gun around, activating.
Noise and flame.
A bullet tracing out a path of fire.
And as I was falling back, under the weight of the Thing, into the hallway, I saw Murdoch's body catch that flame bullet, full on, in the heart's place.
Suck on that, bitchcop!
Murdoch screaming, and then the explosion of gunfire, as the cops took Mandy. Her body was blown back, blood and flesh exploding, all across the walls, as she bounced against the bottom stairs, coming to rest at our feet. I had Twinkle and Karli pressed up tight against the wall. Twinkle was crying for Mandy, and the dog was yelping. The Thing was still fixed to my back, wriggling around, calling my name out loud. And then I was kicking the door shut, bullets punching back holes in the wood.
A rain of splinters, hard as glass.
I was hitting home the door bolt, but already the guns were letting up.
I was down flat on the floor by now, the Thing cushioning me, Twinkle alongside, and Karli. Mandy in my arms, getting crushed. No use.
Still didn't bring her back.
For Mandy and the Beetle, Stash Riders, a part of this for you.
The firing stopped, and Shaka's transmission came through, loud and angry, almost human.
WE HAVE YOU. JUST COME OUT CLEAN. NO OTHER WAY OUT.
Dogs howling from the stairs above.
Das Uberdog and Bridget were standing on the landing above, surrounded by wailing halfdogs. The full pack had gathered, making a vicious gang. Bridget was calling me to come up.
"Is this where it ends, Mister Scribble?" Twinkle asked.
"Not yet," I answered.
"We're the Stash Riders, is that right?"
I turned my eyes to that face of tears.
"That's right," I said. "Out on the edge, loving it."
Or come out dirty.
Wanna bet?
They gave us maybe two seconds to consider, before putting one single bullet through, high up on the door, like a warning.
Twinkle screamed out.
"Don't let it scare you, Twink," I whispered.
"I'm not scared, Mister Scribble," she answered. "Don't you get it yet?"
I looked her deep in those strong eyes.
"Keep screaming, kidder," I said.
Twinkle screamed like a wounded child, like Cinders in a climax love scene.
"Let up, Shaka!" I shouted. "We've got a young kid inhere. That cunt just wounded her!"
SORRY ABOUT THAT, SCRIBBLE. WE'VE GOT SOME SAD COPS OUT HERE. JUST LOST ONE OF OUR BEST. GOT NO PROBLEM WITH THE YOUNG GIRL. SEND HER OUT. WE GET HER TO HOSPITAL. YOU WANT TO DO THAT?
"I can't trust you on that," I shouted back.
WHY EVER NOT?
Because the world's on your side, not on mine.
I let him wait five seconds, before answering; "Okay, Shaka! I'm sending the kid out. Go easy. No tricks."
"She's in a bad way."
That was all I needed.
I ran up the stairs, dragging the Twinkle along behind me. Past Das Uberdog, who had his charges in hand, waiting for the call up. Those mad dogs were howling at his fingertips, baying for blood.
Cop blood.
Worst enemy. Best meat.
"Take those cops out, Das!" Bridget shouted.
And as I passed, Das Uber was already leading the dogs down, towards the front door. Karli was looking at the pack, as they descended. Robodog had a yearning look in her eyes. "You wanna go with them, Karli?" asked Twinkle.
Karli leapt for the chance, heading down the stairs after Das Uberdog.
Police were expecting a young kid to come out. But they were getting a pack of cop-eaters.
I wonder how they coped with that?
"You got another way out, Brid?"
She smiled at me. And then gave me the answer.
Shadowgirl didn't even have to open her mouth.
We were running through a soft mud. Didn't even want to think about it; smelt like the world gone bad. Couldn't see too well, just pushing on, ankle deep, retching. The Twinkle in front. Pictures on the stone walls as we passed, painted in shit.
Just caught glimpses.
Dogs fucking women. Men fucking dogs. Half and half split babies being born, all wreathed in the foul miasma that rose from the mud.
Das Uberdog's face glowing in the darkness from the wall ahead.
Those painted eyes fixing me, demanding belief, so that I couldn't move. Dogshit leaking into my shoes, Twinkle turning around to urge me on. "You like it down here, Mister Scribble?"
No! No, I don't!
"So stay here then!"
The young girl pushing on through the shit.
Oh my god!
"Wait for me, Twinkle!"
Bridget had led us to this cellar, down from a pantry door set in the kitchen's wall. "They most probably got cops out the back, Scribble," she'd said.
"We'll deal with that."
Staying pure. Featherless. Through a hole in the wall, into this dog toilet.
And there was a cop waiting for us.
He was floating face down in the slow tide.
A cop in dogshit, drowning.
That's one I'll keep with me.
And sparks of colours coming from the fuse-box as we passed, Beetle's colours. Did good, my man.
I was wading after Twinkle, heading for the light ahead, the soft glow of streetlamps shining through the swung-back doors set in the cellar's roof. Following Twinkle up the steps, faint glints of the Beetle's colours shining from the doors' sprung locks. We emerged into a garden, overgrown with tall weeds. And a dump of maybe fifty-five full to the brim binbags waiting for collection.
I guess the Council gave up on this house years ago.
The smell was sweet and high, but beautiful, free from Turdsville. From the front of the house I could hear the sound of dogs barking, people screaming.
I hope that you dogmen took some cops out that day, and that some of you are still running free.
An open gate in the back wall led onto a small street. Don't ask me its name. It's enough that we took it. There was a small road ahead of us, away from the trouble. It led onto Parkfield Street, and we were struggling down it, running with the pain. The Thing was weighing heavy on me. Twinkle racing ahead. I knew these little back streets fairly well because they were clustered at the back of the Rusholme Gardens flat. We took a left, and then a right, onto Heald Place. Down that, out onto Platt Lane. The park just over the road from us. The streets were still full up of Asian kids, and there were lights and noise coming from the park, the deep rhythms of Bhangradog songs.