Blame

by Simon Mayo

  Max held his phone in his hand. ‘We should go on the Bug sites. Tell them what’s happened.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Ant said. ‘There might be other on-the-runs posting. How much should we say?’

  ‘I think it’s important—’ began Max.

  ‘I wasn’t actually asking you,’ she snapped.

  Amos leaned in. ‘And anyway, Max, honestly? We don’t care what you think. You say “we”, but you haven’t been in Spike, you haven’t had a strap stuck to your spine for years and you know nothing about us.’ He sat back, face like thunder.

  ‘That’s true,’ said Max. ‘Fair enough. But I’m here because you guys busted out.’ He pointed at Ant and Mattie. ‘And I would have been thrown in prison instead. And my parents are missing too. In case you’d forgotten.’

  There was a challenge in his voice, but Amos didn’t back down. He looked from Max to Ant and back again. ‘What is it with you guys?’ he said. ‘One of you always thinks you’re in charge. You’re some family . . .’

  ‘We’re not family,’ said Ant and Max together. Daisy and Jimmy smiled, Mattie looked away. Then everyone except Amos laughed.

  Jimmy said, ‘I think we should log on and tell everyone we got out. That we are still out and intend to stay out. Anyone object?’

  Everyone looked at Amos, who shrugged. ‘Sure. Why not?’

  Ant and Max both started the logon process. Max was in first. ‘There’s a post here saying there are record numbers of strutter transfers going on. All the strutters who were moved after the fire are being moved again. Plus strutters from other prisons.’

  ‘Where to?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Doesn’t say,’ he replied, ‘but all heading west. Parts of their routes have been posted. The transporters from around here all go along the Heath. If it’s accurate, that’s where you all escaped.’

  Apart from Ant’s typing, there was a thoughtful silence.

  ‘We could do something about that,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Daisy, sceptical.

  He shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Just saying. Depends what we want to do.’ He looked at the faces around the table. ‘Are we going to hide? Keep on running? Or do we . . . do something? Strike back in some way?’

  ‘You mean, attack a prison van?’ said Daisy, aghast. ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘Yeah, going back inside seems like a really stupid idea.’ Amos was dismissive.

  ‘Apparently they’re still using ordinary coaches,’ said Max. ‘There can’t be enough proper transporters to move everyone.’

  ‘Why would they be moving so many?’ queried Mattie.

  ‘How about this . . . ?’ said Max quietly. ‘We—’ He corrected himself. ‘You see a coach with strutters on – maybe you guys recognize some of them – and it is stopped at the lights. Do you walk past? Do you let it go? That’s the question.’

  ‘I’d let it go,’ said Amos. ‘We’d just get ourselves killed.’

  ‘Think I agree with Amos,’ said Daisy.

  ‘I like the attitude,’ said Ant, ‘but not if it means going straight back to Spike. Or wherever. Which is what we’d be doing.’ She returned to her screen. ‘OK, I’m in.’ She spoke as she typed. ‘We are escaped strutters from HMP London. We are safe for now, a few injuries. Any others out here?’ She looked up. ‘That OK?’ Everyone nodded. She hit ‘send’.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Wait and see,’ said Max. ‘Think you’ll be surprised.’

  ‘At four in the morning?’

  Max was right. Within seconds, messages appeared under Ant’s post. She held up the screen for everyone to see.

  Thrilling news! Stay safe.

  Go Brits! Best news in a terrible week.

  Wir sind in Deutschland begeistert.

  Mattie translated. ‘We are thrilled in Germany.’

  Was this your strap message? Brilliant! Not to blame! Nicht schuld!

  Attached to this post was a photo of a pile of discarded straps – the top one clearly marked with Not to Blame!

  ‘My God, that’s my writing,’ said Daisy. ‘Those are from the coach!’

  ‘Probably a close-up from a police photo,’ said Max. ‘I wonder if they knew what they were doing . . .’

  For the next half-hour they sat and watched as messages of support from all over the world filled the screen, many adding Not to Blame as a sign-off. Then a video was attached to a post and they all leaned in closer. The message on it said:

  This is out there now. God speed.

  ‘That’s the Heath!’ said Amos. The still showed a crowd of people filing out of one of the exits.

  Ant, suddenly nervous, hit the ‘play’ icon.

  It was footage from one of the police cameras; a timecode scrolled in the top left corner.

  ‘This is going to be us, isn’t it?’ said Mattie.

  Amos was first into view, and immediately a red box graphic surrounded his head and stayed with him as he walked. Daisy and Jimmy got the same treatment. Three red boxes moved towards the exit. Only Jimmy’s was still visible when Mattie and then Ant appeared. Immediately the film slowed. Mattie’s beanie hat and Ant’s baseball cap gave them some disguise but not enough. A digital zoom showed Ant turning to a woman next to her. Another zoom, closer still, Ant’s goose tattoos clearly visible as she spoke. A maximum close-up showed her mouth moving.

  ‘Not . . . to . . . blame,’ lip-read Daisy.

  The words had been written in crude graphics across the bottom – clearly a doctored version of the police original. When the video finished, they sat in silence.

  Eventually Jimmy said, ‘Staying hidden is going to be tough. Everyone knows us now. Max, can you drive?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Could you hire a van with that fake ID and debit card, Ant? Those drop-off car rental sites don’t ask too many questions. Ant?’

  Ant wasn’t listening. She had her hands over her mouth.

  ‘Ant, what’s the matter?’ said Jimmy, standing. She held up the screen again. Once more it was full of messages, but these were very different.

  Oh you poor things. So sad.

  Vicious bastards. Sympathies from Glasgow.

  What terrible news! We are all crying here.

  Stay hidden young ones. RIP.

  Ant’s heart was thumping in her chest, her hands shaking.

  ‘What do they mean, RIP?’ said Daisy, barely audible.

  Ant clicked through to a news site and dropped the phone on the table. Everyone could read the headline.

  TWELVE MORE RIOT DEATHS ANNOUNCED AT HMP LONDON

  And below:

  The deaths have been announced of twelve more prisoners held in the family annexe of HMP London, scene of one of the UK’s worst ever prison riots.

  The names that followed were in alphabetical order, but only five made an impression:

  Mishal Noon . . . Dan and Gina Norton . . . Sarah Raath . . . Ahmet Shah . . . all died as fire and vicious fighting swept through the prison.

  Mattie ran to his sister as howling and grief filled the kitchen. She held him tight while he sobbed uncontrollably. Ant’s eyes were wide but dry, her mouth open but mute. She felt as though she had shut down, her system unable to cope with what she’d read.

  She remembered Dan and Gina meeting her for the first time, Dan and Gina saying goodbye to Max, then Dan and Gina frantically waving her and Mattie away from their cell. She knew she should cry – everyone else was – but nothing came.

  Max embraced them both, tears streaming down his face. Daisy, Jimmy and Amos huddled together nearby.

  As the first wave of grief subsided, Ant’s numbness began to thaw. She pulled the strap-key out of her pocket and placed it on the table.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ she said, her voice tight with barely restrained fury. ‘Let’s go free some prisoners.’

  Day 1

  We owe you:

  tools from shed

  a window frame

  first-aid kit<
br />
  3 pizzas

  porridge oats

  bread

  tea

  wifi usage

  You owe us:

  Everything

  My favourite things RIGHT NOW:

  MAX!

  Our old house! I like M more than anyone else. Even if he shouted at A. In fact everyone is shouting and stressed. Found some of my old books and felt sad. D read them to me all the time.

  Hampstead Heath, London

  A sudden, surprise summer thunderstorm. The old coach was travelling more slowly than usual as the driver, a grey-haired retired PO, stared doggedly through the smeared windscreen. He cursed the wipers, which struggled to cope with the volume of rain; they, like him, had seen better days. The roads were slippery, the cloud was low and he was nervous. Called back into service in the aftermath of the riot, he wasn’t sure he was up to the job of long-distance prisoner transfer.

  He took the notoriously tight bend at The Spaniards at ten m.p.h. – any faster seemed reckless. A narrow, straight road lay ahead where the Heath opened up and ran down towards the city; by legend the haunt of many a seventeenth-century highwayman.

  The driver had just started to accelerate when he heard a sharp bang. The coach’s sudden drop and tilt to the left told him that it was the rear kerbside wheel; he braked and cursed at the same time. In his mirrors he saw three darting figures flit from the trees, cross the road and disappear behind the coach. His stomach lurched. This did not feel good. Some of his prisoners woke up and started shouting. The two POs on board told them to calm down, but they were up and pacing the aisle nevertheless.

  The driver was reaching for his radio when two figures jumped in front of the windscreen. He exclaimed loudly as he braked, then stared through the glass, the wipers still failing to keep the screen clear. What he could see – intermittently – looked like two boys – no, one girl and one boy – both glaring at him with the most ferocious faces he had ever seen. The boy had light brown skin, a pile of black hair and blue eyes that were on fire. The girl was terrifying: shaved head, the same wide, electric eyes, a tattooed neck that was visibly pulsing. The torrential rain lashed against them but they seemed oblivious to it; water ran in rivers down the girl’s face but her stare was unblinking. The driver wiped the windscreen with his sleeve and saw that the girl’s lips were parted. For one ridiculous moment he thought she was about to smile; then he realized she was about to attack.

  As the remaining tyres blew – Amos, Jimmy, Daisy and Max stabbing ferociously at the thick rubber – Ant leaped onto the kerb. ‘By me, now!’ she yelled, running halfway along the coach. In seconds the others had lined up behind her and she reached for the handle marked FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. She pulled hard, and a door panel popped unlocked, triggering the on-board alarm. Four pairs of hands yanked it open. Howling like banshees, Max and Daisy leaped in, Jimmy and Amos close behind. The two guards attacked with their batons but they were no defence against grief-fuelled rage. Max had one PO cuffed to a seat in seconds, blood oozing from a gash in his forehead. Jimmy and Amos had the other face down in the aisle, one of the prisoners getting in a well-aimed kick as he fell. There was cheering and foot-stamping from all around the vehicle.

  Ant ran up to the driver, grabbing the fallen PO’s baton as she went. ‘Cuff yourself to the wheel!’ she yelled, pointing the stick between the man’s terrified eyes. He didn’t need telling twice: he grabbed the handcuffs from his belt and fastened them around his wrist and then to the steering wheel. Ant took the keys from his belt. ‘Which one?’ she asked, and he pointed to a small black one. She unhooked it and threw it to Mattie. ‘OK, fast as you can! Be ready to run.’

  Ant climbed on a seat. ‘I have a strap-key!’ she yelled above the alarm. ‘We’ll release who we can!’ She registered the gasps, the shouts and the anxious glances through the windows, but she had a job to do. Jimmy and Max were unlocking handcuffs with the other liberated keys, and soon there was a queue forming in front of Ant.

  A father and daughter were first. ‘You can take off straps?’ The man was incredulous.

  ‘Most of them, yes,’ she said.

  His daughter, a fragile-looking girl of around fourteen, pulled up her T-shirt.

  Insert, twist, release.

  The strap fell away and the girl burst into tears. Her father cried out then laughed – his was off next. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ he whispered.

  ‘Where were they taking you?’ said Ant, kicking his strap away.

  ‘Bodmin, they said.’

  ‘Really? Why Bodmin?’

  The man was desperate to leave, but he owed this strange girl an answer.

  ‘Big new strutter jail,’ he said. ‘The old ones aren’t safe any more so they’re putting us all in one place.’

  ‘But not you,’ said Ant. ‘Not now.’ She smiled at the girl, who ran forward and kissed her.

  ‘That was from me too,’ said her father, and they left the coach.

  Seeing what had happened, the others surged forward – more than twenty strutters, each realizing that the police would be there in a matter of minutes. They crowded around Ant as she worked.

  ‘Faster! For God’s sake, speed up! Please!’

  ‘Do me next!’

  ‘Please help my son!’

  She ignored them. They had discussed it in the hire van (if you could call the sorrow- and anger-fuelled shouting a discussion). She would de-strap until they heard sirens. They wanted to strike back, to hurt the system that had just murdered their parents. Jimmy, Daisy, Max and Amos were outside keeping watch. She was working as fast as she could.

  Two women, then a man – free strutters – jumped down from the coach, running towards the sodden Heath. Next in the queue, a father pushing his son towards Ant.

  ‘Go on, son,’ he said encouragingly.

  ‘Turn round,’ said Ant.

  The boy, who couldn’t have been more than eight, lifted his shirt. She took one look and swallowed hard. She’d known this was likely to happen, just hoped it wouldn’t be like this.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘The key won’t fit. You have a different strap.’ She looked at the father. ‘Would you like me to try yours?’

  ‘What do you mean—?’ he began.

  ‘There isn’t time to explain. I can try yours if you like . . .’

  The boy pulled his father towards Ant. ‘Go on, Dad,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be fine. You should get out if you can.’

  But his father scooped him up, carrying him to the nearest seat. Ant heard him say, ‘No chance. I’d rather stay with you. It’ll be that new strap you had fitted, I reckon . . .’

  Then a cry from the road. ‘Drone coming up fast!’ Ant crouched low just as a blue pol-drone took up position high above them.

  Amos appeared on the steps. ‘We should go now!’

  ‘Are there sirens?’ she said.

  Insert, twist, release.

  ‘Forget the sirens, Ant! We’ll need all the time we can get!’ He sounded desperate, scared. Mattie appeared at his side and she knew he agreed.

  Insert, twist, release.

  ‘I’m nearly done!’ she called.

  But there never were sirens. The police arrived unannounced, three cars at high speed. They burned rubber as they braked twenty metres from the transporter, skidding to a halt on the wet road.

  ‘Cops!’ shrieked Daisy.

  ‘Ant, run!’ cried Jimmy.

  She glanced up at the remaining strutters. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and jumped. So did everyone else. Unable to resist the open doors, the strapped and the de-strapped all leaped from the coach. A few ran for the woods but many charged straight towards the police cars, splashing through the newly formed lakes of water. Six officers fought fifteen prisoners . . . The first pair to climb from their vehicle were surprised by the charge, stumbling in the wet, then falling and losing their tasers. With both stun guns now pointed at the fallen policemen, a stand-off quickly developed.

  T
he rain was getting heavier still, the whole Heath swathed in mist. The pol-drone was now nowhere to be seen.

  Ant had hesitated, torn between escape and joining in the fight.

  ‘Let’s go!’ said Max. ‘We can fight another day. Let’s get to the van!’

  ‘No!’ said Amos. ‘I’m not taking orders from you. I’m staying.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Jimmy, and they ran to join the prisoners.

  ‘Jimmy, you can’t!’ Ant shouted after him. She felt Mattie take one hand, Daisy the other.

  Max was desperate. ‘Ant, we have to escape now or it’ll be too late!’

  The two policemen looked up. Recognizing Ant, they broke the stalemate. Ignoring the shouted threats from the taser-armed prisoners, the policemen charged. Two dart-like electrodes fired; the policemen fell, stunned.

  But one shot was all the prisoners had. Each taser had to be reloaded and the prisoners had no ammunition left. The four standing officers, by contrast, had plenty, and they fired at will. Four prisoners collapsed. While two policemen reloaded, the other two drew their batons. Still the prisoners fought, but they were dropping in numbers.

  ‘Ant!’ cried Max again.

  ‘We can’t leave them, Max! We have to help!’

  But now the police had a clear shot at Ant. One officer dropped to his knee.

  ‘No!’ yelled Daisy, and ran across his line of fire. The dart hit her in the shoulder, and Ant saw her shudder, then crumple. She lay face down in the mud.

  ‘Daisy, no!’ She started to run towards her, but Max and Mattie pulled her back. Another policeman took aim; this time Jimmy launched himself at the officer. As they both fell to the ground, there was a muffled explosion. Both men lay still for a moment, then it was the policeman who got up. It was Jimmy who lay motionless.

  Ant cried out again, but Max had seen enough. He pushed her and Mattie away from the coach. Then the smell of pepper spray hit their nostrils, and they ran.

  ‘But we’ve left Amos!’ shouted Mattie.

  ‘Get to the van!’ said Ant.