Pecking Order, page 28
All around him heads were cocked to one side. A mass of beady eyes keenly regarded him.
He sighed deeply and his own eyes filled with water as they began to shut. But before his lids fully closed his tears twinkled for an instant in the dim light shining down from above. Several hedgekens saw something glisten and they raced forwards, provoking a general rush. As Eric's brain slipped from consciousness, he was faintly aware of a frantic pecking at his face.
After a couple of minutes Rubble heard a retching sound above the agitated clucking coming from the cages all around him. Ignoring his own pain, he rolled back on his side, then raised himself on to all fours. With his head pounding, he crawled back around the corner. The girl lay in a foetal position, head in a pool of watery sick, shoulders convulsing with each cough.
Scooping her up in his arms, he turned sideways and then carefully carried her along the narrow aisle and out of the shed. Knees getting weaker with every step, he made his way up the farm driveway and toward the front gate. Ahead, he could see two figures shining torches into the Polo parked on the other side of the barrier. Beyond that, blue lights flashed in the grounds of Mr Wicks' house.
Seeing movement, one of the policemen directed his torch across the top of the gate, picking out the slowly approaching blood-soaked figure with the limp body of a woman cradled in his arms. 'Jesus Christ,’ he murmured. ‘It looks like we'll need another ambulance.'
Acknowledgements
A variety of people were kind enough to help me with this book. My thanks go, in no order of preference, to –
Ruth Alty for teaching me how to administer an injection.
Hugh Coe for his insights into the politics of a university department.
Heather Pickett from Compassion in World Farming for providing me with so much information on battery farming.
Ruth Larsen MRCVS for her explanation of the veterinary drug used for putting animals to sleep.
Guy Rhodes for sharing his intimate knowledge of fowl husbandry.
The Cheshire farmer who unwittingly took me on a guided tour of his battery farm.
Background to the story
Large parts of this novel came from when, as a teenager, I got a job on a battery farm one summer. Now, I’ve had many crappy jobs during my life: but this was by far the worst. By lunchtime I’d had enough and walked out. I may not have got paid, but I was one sickening experience all the richer.
That morning’s events obviously stuck with me and, many years later, came in very useful when I started pondering an article I had read. It described how, if people believe the authority of the state is behind them, they are prepared to perpetrate the most cruel and sadistic acts on their fellow humans. (Think of recent cases of American prison staff torturing inmates in Iraqi prisons.)
I’d seen some very cruel and sadistic people working at the battery farm – and I realised it would make a great location for someone who needed to recruit a killer.
All sorts of other ideas gradually wove themselves into the plot – including the precariousness of so many people’s jobs in corporate Britain, care of the elderly and voluntary euthanasia. (Plus the potential link between all three issues.)
But it is the character from the battery farm, plucked from his mind-numbing job and duped into believing he’s on a covert mission for the state, who carries the story forward to its dark and violent ending.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chris Simms, Pecking Order
