by Gemma Malley
The first time his dad had beaten him had been because of the Lexus. Devil had been four, had been so excited because he’d been allowed to go to church in it, sitting in the back seat like a grown up, like his father. And he hadn’t wanted to ruin it, hadn’t wanted to risk being ejected, so when he’d got the urge to pee, he hadn’t said anything, had held it in, had waited. But he hadn’t banked on his father getting a phone call, getting angry, shouting down the phone for what felt like hours until Devil couldn’t hold it in any more, until he’d pissed himself right there on the leather seat.
And years later, when his dad had finally agreed to let him in the car again, it had been in the Lexus that his father had delivered his private sermons, the lessons that Devil remembered to this day, that gave him his identity, that gave him purpose. ‘Son, there are two kinds of people in this world – the haves, and the have-nots. The leaders and the followers. The brave and the weak. The winners and the losers. The people in my church, they’re the losers. They need me. They need to be told how to tie their shoes, when to eat, when to shit and when to pray. That’s what I give them, son. That’s why they give me their money. I give them direction. I give them what they need. And that’s why I have this car. I deserve it. Not God. Me. God doesn’t do anything for anyone, that’s the truth. And you can sit in here with me, you can enjoy the ride, but it’s not your car, it’s mine. If you want a car like this for yourself, then you need to be one of the haves, one of the winners. Do you understand?’
Devil had been ten the first time he’d heard that little speech, his father’s deep Nigerian accent beating into his soul. And he’d heard him. He’d heard him loud and clear.
‘So then,’ his father had said, smiling. ‘That’s our little secret, eh boy? I have a lot to teach you, son. And you have a lot to learn. You listen to me and I will teach you. But you breathe a word of what I say to anyone else, and you will know pain like no other. Do I make myself clear?’
Devil had nodded, just as he nodded every time his father said exactly the same thing. But true to his word, he didn’t tell anyone, and eventually his father stopped the threats; stuck instead to the lessons. But he always returned to the car. ‘Cars maketh the man’ was one of his favourite catchphrases.
It was the day after his father had delivered the lesson for the forty-second time that the police had come and taken the car, taken the house. They’d wanted to take his father too, but he’d already gone in the night, to one of his other homes, one of his other lives.
And a few days later, when Devil and his family were ‘relocated’ to the estate, he had realised that his father had been right about everything. He was always ahead of everyone else. That’s what you had to be in life: ahead of everyone else, in the driving seat, not held back by anything or anyone. They never found his dad or the money; it had gone with him to wherever he’d escaped to. Turned out the house was rented; turned out the car was on HP. Turned out even his mother’s marriage certificate wasn’t real.
Devil sat forward. All that was in the past now. All that was irrelevant. I-re-le-vant. This week’s word. Meant that it didn’t mean nothing. It reassured him. Nothing meant nothing. Leona used to mean something, but she wasn’t there no more with her little voice chatting away in the background, those dolls she used to carry around everywhere she went. She was gone.
And Devil told himself it was a good thing. She’d been his weak spot. He’d have done anything to protect Leona, kill anyone who came close to her. And look where that had got them. You couldn’t kill an accident. You could only blame the person who left the window open. You could only walk away and promise yourself that you’d never care about anyone again ever in your whole life because it hurt too bad, because it made you feel like your insides were going to explode.
He took a deep breath. ‘So where are we going?’ he asked.
The man turned round to look at him. He smiled. ‘Let’s not spoil the mystery shall we, Devil?’
Devil’s eyes narrowed. ‘And how do you know my name?’
‘Oh I know a lot of things about you, Devil,’ the man said, turning back to face the front as the men either side of him forced him back against the seat. ‘But let’s not worry about that now, shall we? I like to listen to music when I drive, if it’s all the same with you. And we’re nearly there. You’ll get the answers you want soon enough. My name is Thomas, by the way. It’s good to meet you finally.’
Devil opened his mouth to speak but changed his mind. There was no point. He knew that. So instead, he said nothing as Thomas pressed a button and the car was filled with loud music. Whatever this guy wanted, he’d turn it to his advantage. That’s what it was to be strong. That’s what it was to become a winner.
18
Raffy stormed towards the centre of the Settlement, not sure where he was going, but seething with anger, resentment and frustration. Because she just didn’t get it. It was fine for her; coming here, embracing everything. Everyone loved Evie. Everyone had always loved Evie and everyone always would. People were drawn to her, people wanted to be around her. People like Neil. Like Lucas. Like everyone.
And they all wanted to take her away from him. From Raffy. Raffy, who no one liked, who no one loved. His own mother had barely looked him in the eye for most of his life and his brother had kept a watchful eye in case he stepped out of line. In the City, people had always regarded him with suspicion and whispered when he walked past. And he didn’t care, had never cared. But that was only because he’d had Evie.
He knew he was being irrational. He knew he shouldn’t have been spying on her. But she was too trusting; she didn’t see people for who they really were. She needed Raffy to protect her. It hadn’t been that long ago they’d been running for their lives; he couldn’t just switch that off, not like Evie could.
He pushed past a table. He was in the centre of the Settlement now, where little tables and chairs had been set out for people to talk, play card games or enjoy a drink of beer made by some of the farmers. Most of the farmers came here two or three evenings a week, to blow off steam, to relax, to talk. And although Raffy had been invited many times, he had never been; having spent the day away from Evie he had always wanted to rush back to her, to be with her, to have her all to himself. And anyway, he wasn’t interested in beer; he had tried it once and it tasted vile. Now, looking around, he decided that perhaps a beer wouldn’t be such a bad idea; perhaps a beer was just what he needed.
As he was about to sit down, Simon, a farmer who had taken Raffy under his wing and become something of a mentor to him, came over. ‘Raffy! You’ve come at last!’ He grinned. ‘I knew you’d be tempted eventually. Come on, join us.’
Raffy looked at the group – there were ten or so of them, all men he worked with, all men he liked. He nodded and walked over with Simon, and immediately a tankard was placed in front of him.
He took a sip, but Simon shook his head. ‘If you drink, you drink like a man,’ he said with a wink. Raffy lifted the tankard again and downed it, nearly choking on the musty liquid as it went down his throat, reminding him of the swamps by the City gate that had flooded his mouth and nose when he and Evie had escaped.
‘That’s more like it,’ Simon said cheerily, pouring him another. ‘So where’s that lovely girl of yours? Left her at home have you?’
Raffy stared at him angrily, then forced himself to nod. Simon didn’t mean anything by it, he knew that. He was a kindly man, thickset, large-boned; a man whose strength had astounded Raffy when he’d seen him on the field, a man whose face was always crumpled into a grin, the lines around his eyes etched from smiling. His wife, Marion, was half his size but equally cheerful; they had five children who could often be seen running around the Settlement causing mayhem, their father smiling benignly and only getting angry if their behaviour veered towards being rude or thoughtless.
‘She’s reading,’ he said, not meeting Simon’s eyes. It wasn’t a lie – at least it might not be – but it wasn’t the
truth either.
‘Reading,’ Simon nodded thoughtfully. Then he shrugged. ‘Never had much time for books myself. But it’s a noble way to spend an evening. Unlike us, eh, gentlemen?’
The men laughed and drank more beer; Raffy could feel his head becoming woozy as the alcohol took its effect, felt himself smiling and laughing even though nothing particularly funny was being said. Perhaps he should have done this before, he found himself thinking. Perhaps he should have come out with these men instead of staying at home watching Evie, or pacing around waiting for her to return.
But the moment he entertained that thought, he felt the familiar clench in his stomach as he pictured her, alone and vulnerable. He imagined Neil or some other man dropping in to say hello, imagined them looking at her, thinking that they were worthy of her, thinking that the smile she gave them meant something, meant anything …
He closed his eyes, and all he could see was the look of anger on Evie’s face when she’d discovered him spying on her. He’d never seen her look at him like that, so furious, so disappointed.
He stood up. ‘I have to go,’ he said, pushing the table and causing several drinks to spill.
Simon looked at him strangely. ‘Easy, Raffy. What’s the rush?’
‘I have to go,’ Raffy insisted. ‘I have to get back to Evie.’
‘I’m sure she’s okay,’ Simon said, his voice gentle but firm. ‘I’m sure she won’t mind if you have a drink or two.’
‘She won’t mind,’ Raffy said. ‘But I do. I need to get back to her. I need to …’ He pushed his chair back, staggering away from the table. He could hear Simon calling after him but he didn’t turn back. He had to get to Evie. He had to apologise. Had to make her see why he’d been watching her, make her understand that he was only doing it for her. Because he loved her. Because he needed her. Because she needed him.
And then he stopped. Right in front of him was the man who had caused all this, the man whose fault it was that Evie was angry.
‘Neil.’ He propped himself up on the table that the teacher was sitting at. ‘Neil. Enjoying a beer, are we?’
Neil was sitting with a small group of men and women with earnest faces. They all stopped talking and looked up at Raffy. Neil smiled. ‘Raffy,’ he said warmly. ‘How nice to see you. Are you well?’
Raffy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well? No, not really. But don’t you worry about me. You don’t usually worry about me, do you Neil?’
Neil frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Raffy, is something the matter?’
Raffy gripped the table. Then he leant down so that his face was just inches from Neil’s. ‘You leave Evie alone, do you hear me?’ he snarled. ‘You stay away from her. Or you’ll regret it.’
Neil didn’t flinch. ‘If by “stay away”, you mean “cease teaching”, I’m afraid I can’t do that, Raffy. So long as Evie wants to learn and gets something out of our discussions then I am at her disposal. Just as I am at anyone else’s disposal. Yours, if you’d be interested. I could—’
But before he could finish, Raffy had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and forced him to the floor, knocking his chair over in the process. Then he was on top of Neil, hitting him, shaking him, shouting at him, until several other men grabbed him, pulled him off, held him back.
Raffy didn’t know how long he was restrained, shouting at Neil, his legs kicking out furiously. But he did notice things going quiet all of a sudden; did notice the atmosphere change as someone walked towards him.
‘Let him go,’ he heard Benjamin say, his voice quiet but firm. ‘Raffy, come with me, please. I think we need to have a little chat, don’t you?’
19
The ride was bumpy; not because of the car, Linus was keen to point out, but because of the roads. Or rather, the lack of roads. ‘This beast was not made to drive off-road,’ he told Lucas, stroking the steering wheel appreciatively. ‘Rocks she can handle, but not craters and cracks like this. She’s meant for a more civilised place.’
Lucas looked at him quizzically. ‘So the old world was civilised?’ he asked.
Linus shrugged. ‘Some of it was very uncivilised,’ he said. ‘But it had its moments. And it had roads. Lovely, long, smooth roads.’
Lucas digested this as they flew over boulders and rocks, then turned to look out of the window. The landscape was desolate, just as he’d been told it would be; there were no green fields or pastures to be seen, no evidence of farming or production or houses. It was as though the City had nothing to do with its surrounding landscape; as though it existed in its own micro-environment, the large high wall keeping not only people out, but also the rest of the world too.
As Lucas watched the world speed by he realised how little he knew of the land outside the City walls, of the people who lived there. He had spent his formative years believing everything he’d been told about the Evils who roamed outside the City walls, about the death and destruction that they would invoke given half a chance. He had believed that humans were capable of such extreme evil that only by removing their amygdalas could they be safe, from each other, from themselves.
And then his father had told him the truth, had explained, patiently but hurriedly, that things were not as he’d thought, that the Brother had lied to his people, that Lucas had to be brave, had to make him a promise, had to be stronger than he ever thought possible.
Lucas had done as he’d asked; he had learnt how to navigate the System, had learnt how to ensure that the Brother noticed him, trusted him; he had given his father up as a traitor, and he had allowed his brother to grow up hating him. And all the time, he’d taken comfort from the fact that he knew, that he understood what was really going on.
But here, now, driving through landscape he’d never set eyes on before, Lucas realised he knew nothing.
‘People live here?’ he asked eventually.
Linus shook his head. ‘Not here. No water here. City’s seen to that. But there are places that are more habitable. The settlement where your brother is, for instance.’
Lucas held his breath.
‘They’re in the North,’ Linus continued conversationally. ‘About three hundred miles away.’
‘Right,’ Lucas said, trying to keep his voice level. ‘I see.’
‘Nice girl, that Evie,’ Linus observed.
Lucas looked at him sharply, but Linus was staring straight ahead at the road, his expression giving nothing away. ‘You want to hear some music?’ Linus asked.
Lucas didn’t say anything; Linus reached into a pocket on the side of the car door and brought out a thin metal disk which he inserted into a slot near the steering wheel. Moments later the car was full of loud, jangling music that caught Lucas by surprise; he lurched backwards, causing Linus to laugh out loud.
‘Now this,’ he said, a grin on his face, ‘is the way to travel. This is what I like to remember about the bad old days.’
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove; Lucas sat back, letting the strange sounds wash over him. A beat, a jangling tune that somehow made him want to smile, made him want to jump up and dance.
‘Yeah, the bad old days, they had their moments,’ Linus said. Then he took his eyes off the road and turned to look at Lucas. ‘You know, truth was, they weren’t the bad old days at all. Not really. The Horrors weren’t good, but before that? It was better than now, that’s for sure.’
Lucas opened his mouth to respond, then changed his mind. The music was too loud, the car too jumpy; he couldn’t think properly, and anyway, there was no point asking Linus to elaborate. Linus would drip information to him as he saw fit, in his usual frustrating way. To ask questions would just be to engage in his irritating game. Far better just to nod.
And so they drove, darkness descending as they sped through the landscape until Lucas felt his eyelids grow heavy, until they wouldn’t stay open any more, until sleep enveloped him.
And then, with a start, he woke up and groaned. ‘Stop the car. I’m going to be sick,’ he said,
leaning forward and clutching at the door handle.
Linus laughed. ‘Got yourself some motion sickness there,’ he said. ‘It’ll pass. Go back to sleep.’
Lucas closed his eyes then opened them again quickly when he realised it made things ten times worse. ‘It isn’t passing. Please stop,’ he begged, clutching his stomach.
‘Soon,’ Linus said reassuringly. ‘In about five minutes.’
‘You’d better not be lying,’ Lucas asked miserably. ‘Because if you don’t stop very soon I’m going to throw up all over your precious car …’
‘See those lights?’ Linus cut in, as though Lucas wasn’t even talking. Lucas looked into the darkness, straining his eyes. He hadn’t noticed any lights; had seen only black around the car as it trundled over the bumps and stones. He’d been wondering how Linus could have any idea where he was going, whether in fact Linus was taking him on a magical mystery tour that would lead only to yet another of his enigmatic smiles. But now, as he peered out of the window, he realised that Linus was right, that there were lights in the distance. Dim, tiny, but there.
‘What is it? Another camp? Another city?’
Linus pulled a face; Lucas groaned inwardly and not just because of his lurching stomach. Trying to get information out of Linus was like conversing with a two-year-old. He sometimes wondered why his father had put so much faith in someone who was so incapable of normal conversation, who seemed to take great delight in making others feel foolish, out of step. He knew the only solution was to ignore Linus, to ask nothing of him, but he couldn’t do that, partly because he wanted to know more, and party because talking was the only way of taking his mind off this terrible motion sickness.
‘Well?’ he asked, miserably, feeling like death, feeling even more humiliated by the fact that he felt so terrible. Lucas didn’t do weakness; he did strength, he did silence, he protected, he fought. But now he had been floored by a vehicle and there was nothing he could do about it. ‘Tell me. Is it the place that’s disappeared from the map? Is this the Informers’ camp?’