‘Relax, would you? I found a map, in the library – here.’ Boyd took a piece of paper out of the bag and handed it to Fitz. It had been folded and unfolded so many times, it almost felt like it was made of cloth.
Boyd lifted the hatch and the damp smell that had always been part of the identity of the old school room suddenly got a lot worse. Now they knew where it came from.
‘You found a map? What are we, the Goonies? I don’t like this, Boyd, I don’t like this at all. Let’s find another way.’
Boyd pulled two head torches from the bag and handed one to Fitz. He took the map back and put it in his back pocket. ‘Okay, like what?’ he said, coldly.
‘Oh, I don’t know; you’ll think of something, anything! But let’s give this a miss, eh?’
Boyd put the thin bag on his back, dropped onto his chest and flicked his torch on; he was ready to go. ‘If you’re staying here, just tell me now and I’ll go on my own.’
Fitz thought about how good it had felt to be somewhere he shouldn’t be, how much he’d enjoyed seeing that stupid piano move from its corner. He thought about how school was always about doing the right thing, doing what you were told and never breaking the rules. Then he felt that buzz of excitement in his belly again. ‘What the hell; I never really fancied going to college anyway.’
‘That’s the spirit.’ Boyd lowered himself into the tunnel without another word and wriggled into place like a snake.
Fitz put his head torch on, flicked the switch and then followed him in. The tunnel was taller than he expected; they could both crawl on their hands and knees and once you blocked out the smell, it wasn’t so bad. ‘It’s not like I could let you go alone, is it?’ Fitz said. ‘After all, what are friends for.’
Boyd stopped dead, his torchlight bounced up the side wall of the tunnel as he bent his head around, trying to turn to face Fitz. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, Fitz: I need you, okay? But we’re not friends. I don’t have friends, got it?’
Fitz didn’t know what to say. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he replied softly, his voice now completely empty of any excitement.
‘Now stop talking. I need to concentrate.’
While Boyd began to pull himself forwards again, Fitz remained still. He suddenly felt once more like this was all a huge mistake. He watched as Boyd’s torchlight faded as he headed deeper into the tunnel. Fitz just stayed there in the dark, not sure what he wanted to do. It was too late to go back now, he decided, so he began to shuffle along the tunnel, trying as hard as he could to ignore how foolish Boyd had made him feel.
He soon realised that crawling on your hands and knees on concrete really hurts. The floor of the tunnel wasn’t flat; it was knobbly and covered with loose bits of stone and goodness knew what else, and it wasn’t long before his knees were burning in agony. ‘Boyd, one second, hang on,’ Fitz said, in a loud whisper. ‘I think I’ve ripped through the knees in my trousers.’
Boyd stopped. ‘Yeah, I think mine tore open after the first minute. Let’s keep going and we can get you some plasters later.’
‘How can you be so cool and calm about this? God knows what we’re crawling through.’
‘I’m not,’ Boyd replied. ‘This my worst nightmare.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. I’m claustrophobic; I can’t stand being in enclosed spaces.’
‘Right. Whose plan was this, again?’ Fitz asked.
‘You’re always sarcastic, aren’t you, Fitz? Why is that?’
‘My mum says it’s a defence mechanism, which basically means I use sarcasm to protect myself from idiots.’
‘Interesting. I quite like it.’
‘Really? Most people find it really irritating.’
‘No, I think it’s clever, it makes me laugh. Anyone who has a problem with it probably can’t deal with you being smarter than them.’
‘I’d never thought of it like that,’ Fitz said, happy with the compliment. Boyd started moving again; Fitz followed.
He was just getting into a rhythm when something squished and crunched under his hand. He quickly pulled his hand away from the floor in panic. Fitz tried to shift his weight onto his right side as he shone his torchlight at his left palm. All he could see was black slime and what looked like fur. He recoiled in horror. ‘Oh, god! Boyd, quick!’
Fitz panicked, tried to scramble backwards and lost his balance. Desperate not to put his left hand back down, he fell forwards. ‘Boyd!’ he shrieked, before his face slapped down onto the tunnel floor. Whatever it was his hand had found was now all over his cheek, neck and shoulder. ‘Oh man! It’s all over me. I’m going to hurl!’
Boyd shuffled back and turned around to face Fitz, the light from his head torch bobbing around, searching for the danger. ‘Fitz!’ he said in a whispered shout. ‘What’s the problem?’
Fitz had managed to lift himself up and was on his knees, his head bent over his chest. The smell was horrendous and now that thing was all over him. He felt like he wanted to burn his clothes and have someone hose him down. When he replied, he stuttered through quick, panicked breaths. ‘Something proper gross, all over me, my hand.’
Boyd removed his head torch and pointed it at Fitz. He had slick, black goo on his cheek and over the shoulder of his school jumper. Boyd looked down at the floor of the tunnel. ‘Fitz, I need you to promise me you’re going to keep cool about this, okay? And promise me you won’t throw up in here.’
Fitz opened his eyes and looked at Boyd in a state of panic. ‘Just tell me,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘You seem to have found a squirrel. The good news is, it’s, like, really dead. The bad news is,’ Boyd paused. ‘Well, the bad news is, it’s really dead. Which is why it’s smells like that and it’s not exactly solid.’
Fitz took a moment; his blinking became rapid. ‘You’re telling me I’ve squashed a squirrel? I’m covered in squirrel guts and stuff?’ he asked, desperately trying to remain calm.
‘Exactly. It’s just squirrel guts and stuff. That’s all.’
‘Oh, “that’s all”, he says.’ Fitz lifted his head to look at Boyd; it cracked on the roof of the tunnel, making a ‘thunk’ sound. ‘Of course, THAT’S going to happen, because my life is perfect.’ Fitz cursed his luck.
Boyd stopped at the sound Fitz’s head made on the top of the tunnel. He looked up and tapped above Fitz’s head with his knuckle. Another ‘thunk’. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the map. ‘Oh, you little beauty,’ he said, smiling.
‘I have just covered myself in the festering insides of a decomposing rodent and you shake it off like I’ve got some broccoli in my teeth – marvellous. You really are a special kind of maniac, aren’t you, Boyd?’
‘Fitz, wait.’
‘You’re a magnet for this kind of thing, I can tell.’
‘Fitz.’
‘What have I opened myself up to? I should have seen the signs and stayed well away but no, not me. I’m my own worst enemy,’ he said, getting himself really worked up now.
Boyd dropped his torch, and with his face illuminated by Fitz’s beam he smiled and affectionately slapped his hands on both cheeks. ‘Fitz, you little beauty!’ He held up the map in front of his face. ‘We’re here!’ Boyd said excitedly. ‘We’re directly under the Prov’s office! Time to get your game-face on!’
Safe and Sound
Doz was feeling much better about himself now. The incident at lunchtime with Boyd had made him so angry but he would have his chance to get revenge; he always got his chance. Anyway, Boyd was a nobody. He had no friends, none of the girls seemed to like him and none of the teachers did either. He was always miserable and a total weirdo, so who cared what he did? And all the idiot had achieved at lunchtime was to make an enemy of Jason Doswell, which was never a smart move.
Doz had spent about five minutes being angry with himself after Boyd walked away. He’d told Strakes that Boyd had been really lucky to knock him over like that, that he was off-balance at the time and it ha
d made it look like Boyd was strong, but he wasn’t; not really. The only reason he hadn’t followed Boyd and taught him a lesson was because he didn’t want to get taken off prefect duty on Parents’ Evening – he couldn’t risk that. Boyd’s punishment would have to wait and that meant that Doz could take his time and dream up something special for the weirdo, something that would really sting. But right now, he had a job to do and it was the most important job in the school. It showed everyone just how much power he had and it more than made up for Boyd’s little lunchtime show. Doz settled down on the chair outside the Prov’s office with the key in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other.
Boyd knew that there would be complications getting into the Prov’s office. There wasn’t a rug or a carpet to worry about; nor did the headmaster have a lock on the hatch in the floor. In fact, as Boyd had sat in the office the week before, being punished for arriving for his French lesson through the window via the tree outside, he could barely notice the join in the beautifully varnished floor. But there was one problem. On top of the hatch, sitting in a wooden stand, was the Prov’s pride and joy: his treasured acoustic guitar.
Boyd had made a mental note of the exact position of the instrument and decided that by gently opening the hatch just enough to slide his hand through, he could grab the guitar by the neck and lift it off the stand. He would then be able to push the hatch all the way open, the stand would slide off and he could climb out. In the worst case, the empty stand would maybe knock against the wall, but he was sure it wouldn’t be loud enough for anyone outside to hear.
Boyd had handed Fitz a pack of lemon-fresh wet wipes from the rucksack and, although they hadn’t got rid of the stains from his uniform, at least he smelt a lot better and he no longer had any dead squirrel on his face. He’d then used a piece of wood he’d found in the tunnel to scoop the carcass out of the way and flick it further down the crawl space before settling under the hatch into the Prov’s office. ‘Right, you ready?’ he looked at Fitz.
‘As I’ll ever be.’
Fitz had taken off his head torch and positioned it at the ceiling. They could see where the concrete ended and the thick wood of the hatch began. Boyd pushed gently with the fingertips of his left hand at the top edge of the hatch and had his right hand ready to grab the guitar. Nothing happened. He relaxed, took a deep breath and tried again. Nothing, it wasn’t budging.
‘What is it?’ Fitz asked.
‘It’s fine, it’s just being stubborn, that’s all.’
‘Gently does it, though, eh?’
Boyd stopped and looked at Fitz.
‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘I think it’s been varnished shut; I’ve just got to give it a bit more welly.’
Doz was on his phone, flicking through the latest Instagram posts by Chelsea Football Club, thinking about how he could definitely play football as a job if he wanted to, when he heard the door at the end of the corridor open. He felt a rush of blood at the thought of some unsuspecting little Year Seven walking straight into his web of jurisdiction. Not a soul in the school was supposed to be here except him, and whoever this fool was, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But when he heard the thunderous nature of the footsteps and the long strides, his heart sank; this wasn’t some young kid he could intimidate; it was the Prov, and that meant something was wrong.
‘Doswell!’ the headmaster’s voice boomed, his Liverpudlian accent ringing as it bounced around the hallway.
Doz was out of his seat, on his feet and walking towards the sound in less than a second. ‘Yessir? What can I do for you, Mr Providence?’
The tall, wide teacher came into view. He was a physically imposing man of around 50 years old. He liked order; he commanded respect without ever demanding it and because of that, even people like Doz got a hollow feeling in the pit of their stomach when they felt they’d let him down.
He stopped when he reached his star prefect and put his hands on his hips. His usual white shirt and red tie were joined by a tweed jacket for Parents’ Evening. ‘What is the point in my providing you with a communication device, if you don’t switch it on?’ Doz looked confused for a second. ‘It’s called a walkie-talkie, Jason. The talkie part seems to be eluding you, sunshine.’
Doz immediately looked down at the radio he had clipped to his belt. ‘Oh no. Oh sir, I’m so sorry!’
‘That’s alright,’ the big headmaster said, cracking a smile. ‘As it happens, it’s good to get away from all those parents for five minutes.’
‘Did you need something from the office, sir?’
‘Yes, I wanted to show the head of governors some plans I’ve been working on.’
‘I can get them, sir.’
‘It’s fine. Relax. I’m here now.’
‘But sir, it’s my job,’ Doz said, desperate to make up for his mistake with the walkie-talkie.
‘Jason, just sit and chill out. I’m sure I can go into my office and find some paperwork without the need for your oversight.’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’ He chuckled and sat.
The Prov put his own key in the lock. ‘If anything suddenly jumps out at me, you’ll be right here though, yes?’ He smiled and turned the key.
Boyd put the flat of his hand on the hatch and gave it a proper shove this time. It creaked as it gave way and popped upwards. Just as it did, he heard the door to the Prov’s office open. Boyd stopped dead and held his breath. He couldn’t let the hatch drop back down in case it made a noise, so he rested it on his head and looked out through the tiny gap he had created. It had to be a prefect coming in, probably looking for something the Prov had asked for.
‘In the meantime, Jason, turn the walkie-talkie on, for goodness sake.’
Boyd heard the voice and, beneath the desk, through the legs of a chair, he saw a pair of size-eleven, brown suede shoes step over the threshold and into the office. It wasn’t a prefect, it was the headmaster. Boyd suddenly felt sick.
‘Boyd! What’s the hold up?’ Fitz asked.
Boyd couldn’t move his head; he was using it to stop the hatch from falling, so he reached down with his hand and put it over Fitz’s mouth. Fitz moved to grab Boyd’s hand but before he could, Boyd used his left hand to grab Fitz’s head torch and twisted it, turning the light off. They were plunged into darkness for a moment, until the light from the tiny gap in the hatch started to seep through and their eyes adjusted. Boyd put his index finger over his lips, then pointed upwards to let Fitz know someone was in the office. The hatch was in the left corner of the room, directly in front of the back wall. The remainder of the back wall was taken up with cupboards and the Prov’s desk sat in front of them.
Boyd slowly turned his head back around in time to see the Prov slip around the far corner of his desk and move towards the cupboards. He opened one of the doors and bent down to look inside. Now the Prov’s chair was the only thing between Boyd and his headmaster as he was in the middle of breaking into his office.
The Prov was rifling through papers, clearly not able to find what he was looking for.
‘Come on, what did I do with it?’ he said to himself. He shuffled his feet closer to the cupboard and crouched down properly, onto his haunches. All the headmaster would have to do was gently nudge the chair out of the way and he would see that the hatch was no longer flush against the floor. There was nothing Boyd could do but stay as still as possible, make absolutely no noise – and pray.
‘Ha! I see you!’ the headmaster shouted.
Boyd tensed. Oh god. Please. No.
‘You thought you could hide from me, did you?’ The Prov’s voice cut through Boyd’s senses. His whole body suddenly went cold, as if he had been submerged in ice. He felt his legs began to twitch beneath him, every single part of him was screaming like mad to scamper back down the tunnel. But, just then, he saw the Prov slap a folder against his open palm.
‘Gotcha!’ he said, victoriously. Then the big shoes shuffled backwards, the cupboard door slammed shut and the Prov made
his way back to the office door. He was still talking to himself as he went. ‘The governors are going to love this,’ he said cheerfully.
Boyd waited until the key turned in the lock, then he released a long breath as he moved swiftly and precisely. He pushed the hatch, reached through and grabbed the guitar by the neck. He lifted and twisted it so the hatch didn’t make contact with the fat, wooden body of the instrument. He had already got away with too much today; he wasn’t sure how much more luck he had left in the bank.
He pushed himself up and out of the hatch. The guitar stand slid back and gently clunked against the wooden skirting board. Boyd stopped for a moment and waited to see if there was any reaction to the sound from outside the room; nothing. He pulled the stand free and then let the hatch rest against the wall. Releasing the stand, he rested the guitar safely back in its rightful place. Next, he pulled the rucksack off his back and took out a bunch of what looked like plastic freezer bags; they were blue with elastic around the top. Grabbing one, he put the rest on the floor in front of him. One by one, he brought his feet out of the tunnel and stretched the elasticated blue bag over his shoes. Then he took off his jumper, turned it inside out and put it on the wooden floor next to the hatch.
Fitz watched every move carefully before Boyd gestured for him to follow his actions, but the smaller boy waved him away. ‘Yep, I’ve got it,’ he whispered, grabbing two elasticated bags and bringing himself up out of the darkness. ‘Don’t waste time talking to me; find the safe and prep the area.’
Boyd smiled and nodded. He walked over to the cupboard and carefully opened the nearest door. Bingo, right first time. ‘Got it,’ he said. He opened the bag and took out a tool belt from the school workshop.
Fitz was out of the tunnel now and was taking his jumper off. The wet, sticky patch where the squirrel guts and brains had seeped into the fabric wiping over his face as he pulled the jumper over his head. ‘Ah man!’ he said, a little too loudly.
Operation Hurricane: The Evan Boyd Adventures #1 Page 4