by Simon Mayo
‘This is a disaster,’ muttered Ant.
Twenty metres below, the turret opened, and the cannon fired a single shot before many hands reached in and pulled out the unfortunate driver. Ant turned Mattie’s head away.
Three men now fought to get into the cannon. The winner disappeared inside the smoking vehicle. Ant looked along the railings and saw three spectators transfixed by the battle.
She felt a tug on her lanyard. ‘Now!’ said Mattie. ‘Dan and Gina! We can do it!’
Maybe they could. Maybe this was their last chance . . .
They had only taken a few steps before water burst out of one of the barrels. In a few seconds it had found its range. The three watching strutters on level four took the brunt of the blast; they were torn from the railings and thrown against a cell wall with astonishing force. Before they had time to react, Mattie was hit, then Ant. Stung by a wall of water, they crashed in a heap at the foot of cell 46. Mattie clung onto his sister, dazed but still conscious, as the funfair-like hosing of strutters continued.
They crawled out of range, then, bedraggled and bruised, climbed up a couple of levels to the sixth.
Ant hated being thwarted. ‘We’ll try again, Mattie. Soon as the cannon’s stopped.’ They were still recovering when Jimmy Noon appeared at Ant’s shoulder. Eyes darting around, he spoke rapidly. ‘You OK? The cannon won’t get you here, but the cons have started climbing!’
Ant wiped her face. ‘We need to let everyone out. Looks like we’re going to need all the help we can get. If the screws can’t defend us, we’re going to have to do it ourselves. Eventually they’ll send in troops, but it seems it’s just us for now.’
‘You’re right. But we’ll need weapons,’ said Jimmy.
Ant nodded. ‘Then we’re going to have smash the place up a bit,’ she said.
The three of them started running from cell to cell. Ant did the releasing, Jimmy the explaining. Soon the sounds of breaking glass and splintering wood could be heard from every ’bin. They were joined by the Raaths and Amos Shah, and it was he who noticed that a group of rioters had peeled away from the main pack.
‘Watch them!’ shouted Jimmy. They were running in an arc around the levels, then veering sharp left. ‘Where are they heading?’
‘There’s the chapel,’ said Ant. ‘There’s the toilets. And . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘And the Holloway tunnel. I think the riot is about to get a whole lot bigger.’
The women of Holloway emerged into Spike with their governor walking on the end of a rope. With Jan Burridge a hostage, the Riot Squad had fallen back, unwilling to provoke the rioters further. There were just too many of them. Attacked head-on by the women and from the flank by the men, they were overwhelmed in minutes. They fired off some rubber bullets – one took out a man’s eye – but when they lost their guns, it was all over. Burridge was pushed forward, a trophy prisoner.
Gripping the railing on level six, Ant spotted Tess Clarke. The woman she had last seen chained to her bunk now aimed a shotgun straight into Burridge’s bloody face.
‘Ant, there’s two more levels up here.’ Mattie was tugging his sister away from the railing. ‘We need more on our side. Let’s get everyone out.’
Ant tore herself away and followed him to the steps. They ran past strutters armed with splintered planks of wood, pieces of glass and broken tiles. Inside the cells the destruction continued.
From the steps, they stared down the levels. Black smoke billowed from the many small fires that were beginning to find each other; with no one putting them out, the flames were catching and taking hold. Great curtains of smoke hung in the roof. Spike had been hot before; now, as they looked around at the chaos, the whole place shimmered with heat haze.
Jimmy had been right. The rioters – Ant guessed two hundred, maybe more – had taken over the ground level and had started to climb to the first. Ant, Mattie, Amos, Jimmy and the Raaths led the way to level seven, their breathing becoming laboured. She was about to start opening cells there when they heard a buzzing noise. She pulled up short; everyone froze. As they watched, all ten cabins hummed, then the doors popped open.
Strutters poured out, relieved and terrified in equal measure. Each was quickly briefed about the need for weapons, and the smashing began again.
Cries from above. Level eight had also released its prisoners; they appeared at the railings above them. Jimmy Noon and others ran up to explain what was happening.
‘How did that happen?’ asked Mattie.
Ant looked up at the security cameras. ‘Someone’s watching,’ she said. ‘Who knows what their game is, but for the moment they’re helping.’
‘But if they’re all open, Dan and Gina will be out!’ cried Mattie.
‘No, I think they’re still shut. Look.’ Ant pointed down at the rioters. ‘They’re still looking up at us. If the lower floors were open, they’d be looking at them.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘Maybe it’s safer that way. They would have come out straight into the arms of that mob.’
Mattie swallowed but said nothing.
‘Where’s the fire brigade?’ asked Jimmy. ‘Where are the police? Army – anyone? How can it be like this? Prisoners versus prisoners!’
Jeffrey Blakely appeared on the stairs. ‘Because this is how they want it, young man, don’t you see? This is being allowed to happen.’
‘Well, that’s certainly how it feels,’ said Ant.
Jimmy Noon looked at her. ‘We need to escape then,’ he said. ‘If we can beat this lot, we should keep running. We need to get out of here.’
Ant absent-mindedly felt for the strap-key. And her heart stopped. It wasn’t there. She plunged her hand deep into her pocket. Nothing. She only had one pocket it would fit into, but she tried all of them anyway. Nothing.
‘Lost something?’ said Jimmy.
Ant shook her head, but Mattie had understood in an instant. His eyes wide, he held up four fingers. He mouthed ‘fourth level’, and she knew he was right. The case must have fallen out when the water cannon blasted them against cell 46.
They looked at each other, horrified. Ever since Ant had stolen Grey’s strap-key, it had been the focus of all their escape plans. There was no point in breaking out if everyone knew where they were. Why go on the run if the strap was beaming their location to anyone with a tracking device? They needed it back.
She felt Mattie’s hand in hers and knew they had to do this together. There wasn’t time to protest; there wasn’t time to find a ‘safer’ place for him – Ant doubted one even existed. So they pushed their way down the steps, past terrified families moving in the opposite direction. Those who noticed Ant and Mattie looked aghast.
‘Wrong way, kid!’ yelled one. ‘They’re coming this way – turn round!’
Between the sixth and the fifth they came face to face with one of Gina’s ‘lunch’ friends. She was brandishing three rudimentary spears: splintered lengths of plywood, a broken tile tied to one, splintered glass to the others.
‘Ant, it’s bad down there,’ she said. ‘You want me to take Mattie?’
Ant ignored her, pushing past and pulling her brother closer. She heard the woman call after them, ‘OK, take one of these!’ Ant turned just in time to catch one of the spears. She nodded her thanks, then, holding it high above her head, forced her way down.
Level four was emptying. They both crouched like sprinters on the landing, Mattie tucked in behind Ant, the spear gripped in her hand. She took as deep a breath as her smoky lungs allowed. Find the key, free Dan and Gina. That’s all. We can do it.
They scanned the floor, then shifted their gaze to the nearest fan, twenty metres away. Black smoke was drifting up from below then dispersing but Ant and Mattie weren’t watching. They only had eyes for a silhouetted object that lay hidden under its base. If you were walking past you’d have missed it, but viewed from ground level there was no mistaking the outline of Grey’s strap-key case.
They glanced at each other, then, with no time f
or caution, sprinted for the fan.
Mattie dived first. ‘Got it!’ he shouted.
He pulled his hand out, fingers wrapped tightly around the case. He checked its contents – the key was safe. It looked like nothing at all, but now, everything was possible again.
‘Kle!’ he said, and slapped it in Ant’s hand. She shoved it as deep as her pocket would allow.
Mattie crawled over to the railings and briefly peered down. ‘Looks like they’re fighting on level one now. There’s too many of them, Abi!’
She clasped his shoulder. ‘OK. We’ll be quick then,’ she said. ‘And invisible.’
Alone on the stairs, they ran down to level three. Cells 30 to 39 . . . They knew the cell layout by heart, knew everyone still locked inside; as they crawled to the corner of cell 30, Ant looked along towards the cabin they had lived in for the last two years. She gasped and grabbed her brother’s shoulder: Gina and Dan were hammering on the window, trying to attract their attention. They were shouting too, but their words were lost, muffled by the cell walls and obliterated altogether by the fighting below. It took Ant and Mattie a second to realize what they meant, then they spun round together.
The rioters had climbed to level three. One had scrambled over the railings and was in the process of helping two more. Through the railings, Ant saw that one of the new arrivals was grinning. She recognized Treves in an instant, and her blood ran cold.
‘Go!’ yelled Ant. They ran past the staring faces of their distressed neighbours; the panic-stricken banging was all around but they kept on running.
They closed on cell 33. Framed in the window, Dan and Gina were waving frantically, imploring them to put some distance between them and their pursuers.
‘Do it, Ant!’ yelled Mattie. ‘Swipe them out!’
Ant glanced round. Treves was now climbing over the railings. ‘OK!’ she said, and they headed for the cell door.
She checked Treves again. He had one hand pointing straight at her, the other cupped around his mouth. Above the din she heard him yell, ‘She’s here! The girl is here!’
A volley of well-aimed missiles fell from above – chunks of a cell wall by the look of them – and crashed into Treves.
As he stumbled, Ant swiped the pass through the entry pad of cell 33.
The red light stayed red.
‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Open! Please God, open!’ She tried again. Twice, three times more. No clicks, no buzz. The door remained locked. Ant stabbed the card through faster and faster, each time with the same result. The red light stayed red.
‘Again!’ cried Mattie. ‘Try again!’
‘It’s dead,’ said Ant. ‘It finally stopped working.’ She held it up to the window, her face grim.
‘No!’ wailed Mattie. ‘It must work!’
Now Gina, face pressed up against the glass, was shouting. Her voice was indistinct but her meaning clear. ‘Go on!’ she was mouthing. ‘You. Must. Go.’ She pointed to the spirals.
Now Dan joined in. ‘We’ll be safe! Just run!’
Ant tore Mattie away. ‘Maybe they’re safer in there,’ she said as they hit the steps. She knew he didn’t believe her. She didn’t believe herself.
They had reached the fourth level before they looked back. There was no sign of Treves now, but they could see cons swarming to the railings like sailors to rigging.
‘We should join the rest of the crowd,’ said Ant, breathing deeply.
‘Then what?’ said Mattie.
‘Then we fight, Mattie. We have no choice!’
They joined a throng of strutters running up the spirals, screams and shouts echoing around them. On level seven Lena Durrow smiled quickly at Ant, then turned to reassure her children. The exodus continued. Level eight next.
With nothing above it save the prison’s metal roof, its cameras and its maze of pipes, it looked like the end of the line. A few prisoners liked it on the eighth and referred to their cell as a ‘ghetto penthouse’, but most found it too high and too hot.
Now it was rammed with all the strutters in Spike – the only ones missing were those still stuck in their cells on levels one, two and three. A few stood in huddles, unsure of what to do next; others issued panicky instructions and waited for someone to listen. But now the Shahs were getting things organized. The railings were lined with spotters crying, ‘Two here . . .’ ‘Three climbing round your side . . .’ Lena was applying makeshift bandages and splints.
Then came the droppers. Piles of ammunition were being passed along human chains. Jeffrey Blakely and Neil Osbourne sorted out the missiles. Anything would do – just so long as it could knock a rioter off the levels. Smashed furniture, broken windows, stolen cutlery, shoes, mugs and mirrors, all rained down as fast as those on level eight could find them. Jimmy Noon’s aim seemed to be truest, each throw accompanied by a volley of abuse aimed at the prisoner below.
The last cabin to be looted was cell 87. Ant, Mattie and Daisy were frantically kicking at a wardrobe. Eventually it collapsed under the combined assault and, armed with impromptu weapons, they ran to rejoin the battle.
Between cells 84 and 85 five rioters had, by sheer force of numbers, made it over the railings. They slashed and swiped, trying to keep the strutters at bay. Ant hurled a piece of wardrobe at the nearest man, hitting him in the stomach. As he doubled over, he was attacked with pieces of wood.
Now the strutters rushed the remaining rioters. As many left their posts to join in, a solitary figure climbed over the railing and into the gap between cells 86 and 87. Unseen, he produced a small gun. Until recently it had belonged to HMP London, part of the armoury of the water-cannon operator. Now it belonged to Day Treves. He checked the bullets and stepped out of the shadows. He took six paces towards the fight and shot Neil Osbourne in the head.
The gunshot stopped the fighting. Everyone turned. Some saw Osbourne’s body slump to the floor, the top of his head blown away; others had to be told. There was a convulsion of shock and anger, but before anyone moved, Treves grabbed Daisy. Arm tightly around her neck, he placed the gun to her head. Her mother screamed, and had to be restrained. He stepped backwards, pulling a terrified Daisy with him.
‘Well, well, I believe I have your attention!’ he bellowed. ‘Listen very carefully!’ There was still fighting below, but on level eight everything had stopped. ‘Trust me when I say I will do to this pretty little girl what I have just done to that ugly fat man. It really would be quite easy. Maybe I’ll just do it anyway!’ He pushed the barrel of the gun hard into Daisy’s temple and she cried out.
‘Do something, Abi!’ said Mattie, his voice a mere whisper. He wasn’t expecting a reply and he didn’t get one. Ant was scouring the floor for a weapon – something, anything to help Daisy.
Treves, his face stuck in a rictus grin, was enjoying himself. ‘I could shoot her. I could shoot anyone really.’ He pointed the gun at random. Some ducked, a few screamed. ‘But I only want to shoot one person. I think you know her. Shaved head. Goose tattoos. Bad attitude.’ Involuntarily, those around Ant turned to look at her. Treves followed their gaze. ‘And there she is! The girl who started this whole party! You do all know that she invaded happy Holloway and then peaceful Pentonville? Upset a lot of people, you know.’ As he spoke, more puzzled faces turned towards Ant.
‘You started this?’ said one strutter.
‘Don’t be so pathetic,’ spat Mattie.
The man backed off, but the glances continued.
‘I’ll trade this girl’ – Treves shook Daisy hard – ‘for the goose girl. In fact, if we can take her, we’ll all go away. And pretend none of this’ – he indicated all the chaos around him and laughed – ‘ever happened. Seriously. All this will stop. We just need her,’ and he pointed to Ant. ‘You can carry on fighting if you want. But just below, there’s a small army equipped with the finest weapons these prisons can offer. And trust me, they would love a piece of the action up here.’
Ant knew that many strutters would trade if th
ey had to. She hadn’t exactly gone out of her way to make friends in Spike – who would stand up for her now? If it was a choice between saving themselves and handing her over, Ant didn’t fancy her chances. She felt Mattie’s grip tighten.
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ he said.
‘I might have to,’ she muttered.
From below there was a shout of ‘Coming up!’ and Treves dragged Daisy over to the railings. His eyes dipped over the side.
‘Aha! A friend at last.’ He pointed the gun at the spotters and they backed away as a man hauled himself over the railing. Campbell, his face covered with blood and soot, jumped to the ground. Sporting a blood-stained bandana with a camera still stuck in its folds, he went to stand beside Day Treves.
Using his gun hand, Treves pointed through the crowd to Ant. ‘Either you come here now,’ he said, ‘or your friend here dies in five seconds. One . . .’
There was never any doubt in Ant’s mind: she would have to go. It was Mattie who was the issue.
‘Two . . .’
He solved it for her. ‘We are together. We are stuck like glue, remember?’
‘They just want me, Mattie . . .’
‘Three . . .’
‘Shut up, Abi, and walk.’
So hand in hand, Ant and Mattie headed through the crowd of strutters. Amos gave them a funny little salute as they passed.
‘And I never even got to four,’ said Treves. ‘Shame. I was quite looking forward to wasting this one.’ He kept his grip on Daisy as tight as ever.
Ant stopped. ‘Let her go!’ she shouted, her voice louder than she was expecting.
Campbell was twitching, edgy, excited. Eyes still fixed on Ant, he prised Treves’s hands off Daisy. She ran over to her mother and they embraced, sobbing. Campbell then took Treves’s gun, aimed it straight at Ant and flicked it upwards, beckoning her forward.
Ant and Mattie came to stand in front of him and Treves. A shout from the steps, and three women staggered through. Ant swore viciously as Tess Clarke and Grace Chang – both armed with knives – came over.