The Wild Huntsboys by Martin Stewart

The Wild Huntsboys by Martin Stewart

Author:Martin Stewart [Stewart, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2021-03-09T00:00:00+00:00


PART TWO

The appearance of the Wild Hunt is most common during times of war and is believed to foretell tragedy or suffering. Legend says that the Huntsmen wear frightening masks and that though each has his own particular strength—in bravery, resourcefulness, or cunning—it is only through their powers combined that they succeed in the Hunt for their eternal quarry.

The Wild Hunt in Popular Mythology, Chabon Lurtz

26

The scrapyard was quiet and still. Smashed cars and buses were stacked around them, the jagged steel of hoods and grills jutting like broken bones. Luka ran his hand along a silver Mercedes.

“This used to be such a fancy car. Now it’s just bits of junk.”

“Everything’s just a bunch of parts stuck together, Rake,” whispered Hazel. “When you think about it, you’re just a bag of organs wrapped in meat.”

“Fragile meat,” added Jem.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Luka. “Right, what should we—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” whispered Hazel. He lifted the Longitudinal Isolator. “We’ve not brought this stuff for nothing, have we? There’re security guards in here. With dogs.” He pointed the isolator’s pen into the darkness ahead of them and closed his eyes.

“Anything?” said Luka.

Hazel nodded.

“What?”

“You saying ‘anything’ and ‘what.’”

Luka punched his arm. “I mean any—”

“I know, I know. There’s a guard up there. Hundred yards away. Keep behind me.”

The other Huntsboys nodded, then followed him into the darkness. Luka felt the remnants of ruined machines under the soles of his feet: pistons and springs and seat belts, dropped by the crane’s jaws like bitten-off spaghetti.

“The guard is coming this way,” Hazel whispered. “I think.”

“You think?” said Max.

“Yeah. Hang on.” Hazel rummaged in the duffel bag. “It was definitely in here.”

Luka peered over his shoulder. “What was?”

“My visualizer. Aha!” He pulled a small, black leaf-blower-shaped thing from the bag and clicked it on.

“What does that do?” said Max.

“Look.” A small screen on the thing’s handle hummed into life, glowing with a mass of bright blobs.

“I still don’t get it,” whispered Max.

“Me neither,” said Luka.

“Oh. Well, this is us, and that little dot”— Hazel tracked a pinprick of bright blue with his fingertip—“is the security guard. And that’s his dog.”

They watched the little dots glide across the screen.

“So it’s like Pac-Man?” said Luka.

“No, it is not like . . .” Hazel paused. “It’s a bit like Pac-Man, I suppose, yeah.”

“Doesn’t that moving light mean that the guard is coming this way?” said Jem.

“Yes!” hissed Hazel, pleased. “See, Jem gets it—they’re coming right at us!”

“Right,” said Luka. “Shouldn’t we run away, then?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Hazel, as they heard the first crunch of footsteps. “Wait!” he added, going to one of his pockets. “The dog—”

“What now?” whispered Luka, feeling the beginnings of panic as the footsteps drew closer. “Anti-dog technology?”

“Sort of,” said Hazel, waggling a sausage at him. Max stifled a laugh.

Hugo licked his lips and sat obediently.

“Did you get that from my fridge?”

“It’s our fridge, Rake.” Hazel stuffed the sausage in the eye socket of a missing headlamp in the closest car.

Crouching, his heart beating so hard it felt like



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