London Eye: 1 (Toxic City)(16)

—CNN: Tragedy in London, 12:42 p.m. EST, July 28, 2019

Sparky crouched down low, a knife held in each hand, relying on the light from everyone else's torches to give him sight. Jack stood beside him to the left, but Sparky took a step forward, insisting that he be the first.

Jack had once seen his friend get into a fight with someone twice his age and a foot taller than him. The man had stormed in with fists waving and a shit-eating grin, catching Sparky one on the chin. Sparky had staggered back, ducked down, kicked him in the nuts, and when the guy fell over Sparky put the boot in. Thirty seconds later the man was out cold.

Sparky was not one to mess with, and he'd never been afraid of the sight of his own blood. Jack knew what Sparky's brother had become, and sometimes, like now, his friend actually scared him.

More shadows darted from the tunnel at the other end of the room. Torch lights flickered and bobbed after them, but the dogs possessed an almost supernatural ability to dodge into darkness.

The first hound emerged from behind a stone column and jumped at Sparky. Jack almost laughed: it was a King Charles Spaniel, its black and white coat smeared with mud, long ears flopping back as it leapt at his friend. But the laughter died in Jack's mouth when he saw the animal's teeth, its lips pulled back in a furious growl, and he realised how wild this dog had become. If anyone had ever stroked it with affection, the animal's memories of such moments were long forgotten.

Sparky stepped to the side and lashed out, but the dog snapped at his arm, catching his wrist with its sharp teeth. Sparky grunted and dropped a knife.

Jack took two steps and kicked the dog just as it landed on all fours. Distracted by the taste of Sparky's blood, it had not seen his foot coming, and his boot caught it beneath the jaw. Its head jerked up and back with a sickening crunch of teeth jamming shut.

Sparky knelt beside the dog and buried his remaining knife in its throat.

The animal squealed and howled, kicking its back legs, pinned to the ground by the blade. The sounds it made were piteous, and Jack glanced back at the others. He was pleased to see that Emily had her face buried in Jenna's shoulder.

“Look out!” Lucy-Anne shouted. She came toward him in a blur, and for a moment Jack was disorientated, his girlfriend's torch flashing across his eyes and blinding him to the shadows.

Something hit him in the hip. It was warm and wet, and he realised that was a dog's nose nuzzling at the fat of his waist, and beneath that was the warmth of blood as its teeth broke his skin and it tried to burrow inside. A dog is trying to eat me! he thought, and the idea jarred him from wherever he'd been. He brought the torch down and smacked it against the dog's head. The animal whined and ran, leaving Jack's hip still feeling wet.

“Pitbull,” Jenna said. “They were banned years ago.”

“Someone forgot to tell that one,” Lucy-Anne said. She was with him now, standing with her back to his so that together they could see all around. “Lucky. You must have caught it just right to drive it away, but it'll—”

“Lucky? My guts are pouring out and—”

“Don't be a wimp,” she said, her voice high with panic. “Just a scratch. Sparky?”

Sparky stood from the dog now lying dead at his feet, wiping his knife quickly on its coat. His face looked grey, eyes deep and dark. His right hand and wrist were black with blood. “Yeah.”

“Get your torch out,” Lucy-Anne said.

“Yeah.”

“Here they come!” Jenna shouted.

Light beams wavered and flashed, shadows danced, and within those shadows were the dogs. Jack could not count them, and in the chaos of the next couple of minutes he made no effort to do so. He simply fought. He kicked and punched, swung his torch, slashed out with his knife, edging close to Emily and keeping her at his back so that she was sandwiched between him and Jenna.

Rosemary seemed to drift in and out of the light, her arms and legs twisting and thrashing as she did her best to keep the dogs away from her flesh.

Jenna had started using her knapsack as a weapon, swinging it back and forth and—if a dog chose the moment between swings to come at her—kicking out with her heavy boots. Dogs yelped and growled, people roared and screamed, and Jack tried to stay focussed.

A flash of yellow to his left marked the third attack by a dog he thought was a Labrador, though it was ragged and thin. Its fur was streaked dark, its muzzle wet with blood. Jack hoped it was its own.

As the animal leaped, he ducked low and thrust up with the knife. The dog's paws scraped the side of his head and it howled. He felt a gush of warmth across his hand. Swinging his torch around, he was just in time to see the wounded animal dragging itself away between stone columns.