Prologue GRATIS

The three men drove away from the city at two in the morning.

They were in an old blue Saab, listening to Triana on the radio. They looked out at the graffiti on the walls, at the yellow lights, at the white lines. The road was empty.

For a while they were quiet. Then:

“Did you bring the guns?” asked the driver. Fer was dark, fifty years old, with a strong local accent. His tattoos were home-made.

The second man was younger. One of his eyes was always almost closed - the result of a bar fight. “Of course.” He was holding a long bag and his name was Kiké.

They drove along the ring road to the motorway, which was empty. Nobody spoke as they went quickly up past Cordoba prison and over the Guadalquivir which lay in the darkness like a green serpent.

“Cops,” said the third man, Juanma, watching a Guardia Civil car pass by on the other side of the motorway. He was the brother of the driver, a year younger. He had a small backpack full of tools and a can of beer between his legs.

“Calm down, Juanma, joder,” Fer said. “Stop worrying. They’re not interested in us. They’re probably going to a puti club.”

The other men laughed. But Fer was right: the police did not come back. There was nobody on the road.

After forty minutes they turned off the motorway and drove through a quiet, sleeping town. Kiké took a rifle out of his long bag and began checking it. It was an old-fashioned Mauser his father had used in the civil war. Juanma had a torch and was making sure it worked.

“This is it,” said Fer.  He turned off the car lights.

They drove a short distance up a hill and then sat waiting for their eyes to adjust to the night. There was some light from the moon and stars but all was dark and quiet. Slowly they heard the sound of insects and nocturnal birds. Even the silence seemed to make a noise.

“OK,” Fer said. “Let’s go.”

For fifteen minutes they drove very slowly uphill, along bad roads, getting higher into the hills. There were signs and fences along the road – ‘No Hunting’, ‘Private Property’.

Juanma took out a tool for cutting the fence. He ran his finger against the blade and a line of blood opened on his skin. He held up his finger and laughed and the other two smiled.

“Asshole.”

Juanma sucked his own blood. “Delicious!”

After a few minutes Fer drove the car into some trees and the three men covered it with branches and leaves.

“Get to work, Juanma,” said Fer, who began to load his own rifle.

Juanma knelt and cut a hole in the fence and the men went through the hole one by one.

“Quiet,” said Fer - the leader. “Total silence.”

Slowly they moved uphill. The trees were thick. It was dark and dry. Their feet snapped small pieces of wood. Sometimes invisible animals ran away. Up in the trees, eyes stared down at them. Owls hooted.

“The animals will be by the river,” said Kiké, pointing. “It’s down there.”

“How far?” asked Fer.

“Twenty minutes.”

Fer nodded. “All right. Walk behind me. Stay in line. I don’t want them to know how many of us there are.”

They walked in silence. Sometimes they saw other hills in the moonlight. No towns. No people. Only nature.

Finally they came to some open land. The rocks and stones were grey in the dark, like boys’ knees in school trousers.

Kiké said: “The river is just beyond that big stone there. We can climb down. The animals will be drinking. They won’t see us coming.”

“Shh!” Juanma had heard something.

“What?”

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

They all looked up. Around them were black trees. Above them, stars.

The silence was loud with insects.

And then, the howl of a wolf.

The men pulled their guns up and looked through the sights.

“There,” said Fer. He was kneeling, looking through the crosshairs of his gun. “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” asked Juanma.

“Wolves…” Fer noticed the eyes now. So many eyes. Wild animal eyes. Shining. Shining in a way that was not natural. Yellow, like lizards’ eyes - bright with sickness.

“How many…?” asked Kiké.

“Three. No, four. Shit! Five…” Fer looked at them. He was very pale. “This is not good…”

Kiké looked into the sights.

Twelve shining yellow eyes were running towards him. Small black dots in the centre. Hypnotising.

Now all the men could hear the wolves approaching.

They looked into the darkness and little by little the eyes appeared.

They lifted their guns. They prayed. They shot.