K-9 by Rohan Gavin Page B

butterflies, held in place by sharp, rusted hooks. A few bluebottles still buzzed greedily around the unfortunate victims’ carcasses. Darkus had read about the rituals of game hunting, and this was, without doubt, a ‘hanging room’. It was unclear whether these poor four-legged souls were trophies or game for the purposes of eating – or perhaps the hunter didn’t distinguish between the two.
    Darkus thought his stomach had evacuated itself, but he felt another involuntary heave as he rapidly surveyed the contents of the room, mentally accounting for the various foxes, rabbits, terriers and what appeared to be the skins of some much larger dogs: one a golden retriever and one a red setter. Darkus controlled his retches, pulled out his phone and committed the gruesome gallery to his photo album, the flash repeatedly catching the vacant, staring eyes (those fortunate enough to still have them), trapped for ever in the terrifying moment of their untimely demise. Darkus backed out of the foul room, nearly tripping over himself as he went.
    He stared at the ground for a moment, steadying his nerves and trying to settle his stomach, until he heard something even more chilling: it was his father’s voice, crying out in obvious and uncharacteristic fear.
    ‘Help – ! Somebody – !’ Knightley’s voice echoed across the woods.
    Darkus spun around, feeling the adrenalin surge through his body, setting the catastrophiser to hyper-alert but leaving his limbs as heavy as lead.
    ‘Please – !!’ his father shouted.
    Darkus instantly traced the source of the noise to the narrow opening in the clearing that led to the path at the base of Parliament Hill.
    ‘Dad!!’ he shouted back, as he raced away from the lodge, across the muddy ground and burst through the thorny bushes on to the path. ‘Dad? Where are you?!’
    Darkus craned his neck left and right, but the path was empty, as was the entire park. Then he heard a scuffling noise and looked up, seeing his father just over a hundred metres away, at the top of Parliament Hill, locked in a life-and-death struggle with a massively built male figure. The figure had Knightley in a stranglehold and was trying to wrestle him to the ground. Despite his opponent’s obvious physical advantage, Knightley was still upright, using a series of moves to deflect his opponent’s power to the left and right.
    Darkus looked around, helpless, then put his fingers to his lips and let out a loud wolf whistle. A second later, Wilbur exploded through a set of bushes behind him and with unspoken purpose they set off up the hill to Knightley’s aid.
    The image of the fighting silhouettes blurred as Darkus sprinted up the incline, over the uneven ground, feeling the blood running from his head to his feet. His lungs burned and his eyes struggled to focus, creating the illusion that the two figures locked in combat were one amorphous shape. Wilbur was already a good way ahead, leaping over bluffs and homing in on them.
    Suddenly, the grappling figures toppled behind the skyline of the hill, out of sight.
    ‘Dad!!’ Darkus called out, barely able to breathe.
    Wilbur darted over the horizon next, vanishing behind it as well. Then there was a deafening silence. Darkus only heard the noise of his own chest hyperventilating. The catastrophiser was clattering, in bits. He stumbled the last few metres to the summit of the hill and looked over the edge.
    The massive figure was gone. Strangely, there was no obvious cover in sight, but still, the figure had completely disappeared. The hill extended down on all sides, with London waking up far in the distance. Darkus saw his father laid out on the grass, motionless.
    He ran to where Wilbur was earnestly licking Knightley’s face, which was frozen in a look of terror, his eyes wide.
    ‘Dad . . . ?’ Darkus shook him, trying to get some reaction – any reaction.
    Wilbur withdrew and sat still, looking around, guarding them. Darkus took his