Norman darted between rows of plants, casting shrivelled fruits into a threadbare sack, his boots squelching in waterlogged mud. Nearby, Lucian and Allison filled their own bags. He worked at a feverish pace, pausing often to listen and look over his shoulders, hunched low to the ground.
The field in which they stood had long ago belonged to people who had enjoyed extra gardening and a steady supply of surplus greens. Quaint little plots, sectioned off in neat squares. The occasional dilapidated shed still protruded from the ground, sometimes adorned with a wisp of shredded tarpaulin.
When a sharp crack rang out, he instinctively crouched lower to the ground, turning on his heels to look for its source. He could see Allie and Lucian’s knees through the fronds, but little else.
Sweat immediately began to form in large rivulets upon his skin, smearing the dirt on his arms and hands, falling past his brow and stinging his eyes. His fingers dug deep channels into the stinking mud as he began to crawl forwards.
Within four feet, the leaves parted before him to reveal a dark shape, amorphous and bristling. Norman flinched, pushing off from the ground in a moment of blind panic. He collapsed back into a tangle of decomposing creepers, spluttering and kicking for purchase.
Before he could cry out, a snort filled the air, one that made him freeze in place. He ceased flailing immediately and rolled forth onto his haunches.
Staggering to his feet, he stared down at the pink back of the fattest pig he’d ever seen. Its underbelly was covered with a thick paste of rotten plant matter and its nose twitched without pause in the morning sun, hanging from which were tendrils of rotten aubergine.
After considering him for a moment, it stepped forwards and nudged his legs with its snout. Norman put out his hand and patted its head awkwardly, glancing to the adjacent row of strawberry bushes as Lucian and Allie emerged from hiding.
Lucian crashed through the undergrowth, studying the pig. “We shouldn’t have come out today,” he said.
“It’s just a pig.”
“Look how close it got before we realised. People would kill us without a break in their step to get at this food.”
“How is that different from any other day?”
Lucian shook his head. “That’s not the point.” He paused for a while, looking towards where the open gate swung in the wind. It backed immediately onto a main road. “We should leave,” he muttered.
Allison turned to Norman out of what was clearly a knee-jerk reaction. She was awaiting not Lucian’s word, but his.
A sliver of annoyance festered in his gut. In the past, those looks had come but once in a blue moon. Now, it seemed they waited for him around every corner.
With a grunt that wasn’t quite devoid of chagrin, he nodded. A squall of shame lapped at his conscience, but Allie seemed satisfied, and to be rid of her demanding gaze was reward enough.
They made to leave, but before they could do so, a thought occurred to Norman. By the manner in which they turned back to face the pig in step with him, he guessed the very same had occurred to them.
The hog stared back at them with benign friendliness, apparently mistaking their attention for reciprocity.
But, as their stares endured, and Norman was sure that his gaze had become a leer of craving—or madness—something too changed on the pig’s face. If it could have been smiling then, under their combined gaze, that smile would have faltered.