by Simon Mayo
Four hundred metres away, behind the fence in Armchair Corner, Ant, Mattie, Max and Amos crowded around the phone, trying to identify the strutters.
‘There’s Blakely!’ cried Ant. ‘They got him! Poor man . . .’
‘And the Pearsons,’ added Amos. ‘Plus loads from our coach . . .’ The camera caught dejected faces and a two-fingered salute from Jeffrey Blakely.
‘Maybe we’ll see Dan and Gina,’ whispered Mattie to Ant.
She put her arm round him and pulled him close.
The second transporter was emptying now.
‘We all know what’s about to happen, don’t we?’ muttered Amos. On screen, they saw Grey glancing from the strutters to the reporter. ‘He’s waiting, isn’t he?’ said Amos. ‘He knows exactly who’s left.’
And then Daisy appeared, wrists tied together, face covered in bruises.
‘Oh, Daisy, what have they done to you?’ whispered Ant.
She was followed by Jimmy, who had to be helped down the step by a PO.
‘He can barely walk,’ said Amos.
Despite the drones, they all stood up and peered hesitantly over the fence. They were just in time to see the subdued figures of their friends disappearing through the prison doors.
From Ant’s phone they heard Grey’s voice conclude the interview. ‘There will of course have to be a re-strapping for all those who escaped. This will be done in public, as part of our next Correction. Thank you for coming, Victoria.’
They had seen enough.
‘Time to go,’ said Ant. ‘And those drones are looking busy.’ One had positioned itself above the prison tower, the other three had started patrolling the security fence. The van pulled away just as one appeared at the end of Armchair Corner.
The mood in the van was grim.
‘A public re-strapping?’ said Amos, now in the front passenger seat. ‘How barbaric can you get?’
‘Has that ever been done before?’ asked Max.
‘No,’ said Ant from the back. ‘That’s just Grey’s sadistic twist. Re-strapping, yes – particularly in the early days when some straps just got ripped off. It’s a pretty horrible experience . . .’
They drove out of Bodmin, back towards the woods.
‘You said we were going to cause trouble,’ Mattie said to Amos. ‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Because now might be good,’ added Max.
‘Yes, yes, yes, but what with?’ said Amos. ‘Look at us. We’re four kids. What can we do against all of them?’
‘Well, we can do something or we can do nothing,’ said Ant.
‘But our “something” will get us caught and re-strapped,’ said Amos. ‘We need help. That’s the truth. We need help.’
‘That would be great,’ said Max. ‘Of course we need help. Who did you have in mind?’ Ant could tell he was struggling to keep the scepticism out of his voice.
‘The Cloverwells would help.’ Amos spoke boldly, his words hanging in the van.
Ant and Mattie exchanged astonished glances. ‘You’d bring the gangs in, Amos? Are you totally mental? You’d ask the most vicious London gang down here to help us? You do know they made up all that stuff about Mattie, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do. I know all that,’ he said. ‘But it might work. The way I see it, we can fail on our own or we can succeed – maybe – with the gangs. They’re probably here already anyway – we’d just have to ask. But if you’re squeamish—’
Max banged the steering wheel angrily. ‘Squeamish? I’m not squeamish about them, I’m disgusted. You would seriously get the people responsible for the riot that maybe killed our parents . . . you’d ask them to help . . . here?’
Amos turned to face Max, his face flushed. ‘If it meant getting inside that prison and releasing anyone we can, then yes, I would. What is your plan? Go on, use that expensive education of yours and tell me.’ He leaned over till his face was centimetres from Max’s. ‘If we don’t bring in the Clovers, how do we get Daisy and Jimmy out?’
‘But why would they help us?’ said Max, staring at the road. ‘And what do you even know about them anyway?’
‘Oh, he knows lots,’ said Ant. ‘Don’t you, Amos?’ Now it was her turn to lean forward; their heads were nearly touching. ‘You and your family always were pretty tight with the criminals. On the take for years. Your mum was the gangs’ favourite copper, wasn’t she?’
Mattie’s urgent, ‘Back off, Abi!’ came too late. Amos’s forehead suddenly crashed into Ant’s, and she fell back.
Max and Mattie both started yelling; Max brought the van to a screeching halt. He jumped out, ran round to the passenger side and hauled Amos out of his seat, throwing him onto the ground. Checking for passers-by, he opened the back door.
‘Is she OK, Mattie?’ he shouted.
Ant eased herself out of the van, holding her head. Her fingers and forehead were bloody and she winced. Mattie jumped out behind her. ‘You shouldn’t have said that, Abi,’ he said.
‘Maybe,’ she muttered as she walked over to the prone Amos. ‘Hey, Max, I can fight my own battles here.’ She reached out to pull Amos to his feet but he shook his head. Kept his hands on the ground.
‘You deserved that.’
‘OK, maybe I did,’ said Ant, ‘but we need to decide this now. If we tell the Cloverwells – or any gang – where we are, it’ll end badly for us—’
‘Might end badly for you,’ interrupted Amos, ‘but then, you started the riot.’
‘Shut up, Amos,’ said Mattie. ‘You know that’s not fair.’
‘Enough,’ said Max. ‘Let’s vote. If you want to call in the gangs, raise your hand.’
‘This is a sham,’ muttered Amos. ‘You know it.’
‘And if you think working with murderers, thieves and traffickers is like committing suicide,’ continued Max, ‘raise your hand.’ He looked around. ‘Three to one. You lost, Amos. Now get in the van and let’s work out what to do.’
Amos didn’t move. ‘No thanks.’
‘You what?’ said Ant.
‘I’m fine. You left me before, you can leave me again. I’ll find my own way back. You go and make your little plans. Which will fail. See you later.’
They stood staring at him for a few seconds, then Ant shrugged. ‘OK, see you later.’
They climbed into the van, slamming the doors behind them.
‘Are we really leaving him?’ asked Mattie.
‘Sure looks like it,’ said Max, and headed back onto the road.
‘This isn’t good,’ said Mattie. No one said anything. ‘Do you think he’ll come back?’
Max nodded. ‘Once he’s cooled off, yes.’
‘Once he’s stopped being an idiot,’ said Ant.
Back in the wood, they sat around the van eating dry cornflakes. Henry offered them some jam to go with them, but they declined. It was late in the afternoon before Amos appeared, walking slowly towards the wood. Hands in pockets, head down, he headed straight for the van. No words, no eye contact; he climbed in and slammed the door behind him.
‘Still mad then?’ said Ant.
‘My guess is that if he could think of anywhere else to go, he would have gone,’ said Max. ‘For now, we’re all he’s got.’
‘He looked very red,’ said Mattie. ‘Maybe he was just lying in the road all this time.’
‘Maybe he’s embarrassed at being such a dork,’ said Ant, standing up. ‘I need a phone signal. Henry said it was better by the river. Gonna check the Bug sites.’
She pushed her way through the bracken and nettles towards the sound of the river. While waiting for Amos they had decided to ask the site users for help. Who knew how many supporters were out there? Maybe Bodmin was home to many other Henrys. If they were saying no to the gangs, maybe they could form their own?
The woods ran all the way down to the river. It was fast-running, swollen by last night’s storm, and Ant sat on the bank, legs in the water, while she began the logon. Henry was right about the signal,
but it was weak and the connection was slow.
The water felt thrillingly cold, and suddenly Ant felt filthy. Her shower in their old house seemed like weeks ago, and her skin was encrusted with sweat and grime. Swiftly glancing around, she put down her phone, stripped off and plunged into the river. Ant gasped as the freezing water hit her, losing her footing on the slippery soil bed. Submerged briefly, she regained her balance and struck out for the opposite bank, reaching it in a few strokes. Her whole body felt electrified with the cold and she paused there as she caught her breath.
With only her head above the water, the loudest sound was the churning, bubbling river. But now there was something else. Ant was increasingly aware of a humming, whining noise that seemed to be all around her. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, she took a breath and sank deeper below the surface. Her first thought was bees or wasps, but then, with a feeling of dread in her stomach, she realized she knew exactly what it was.
A drone.
Frantically she looked around. Guessing that it was following the river, she stayed as low in the water as she could, glancing first downstream, then up.
She missed it at first, her eyes adjusting to the bright, sparkling water, but then it moved and she had it. Thirty metres away – a small, black, four-rotor machine hovering a metre above the river. She recognized the model, and she recognized the high-def camera on top of its shell too. Ant thought it unlikely that she’d been spotted but she couldn’t be sure. She took a deep breath, then disappeared below the surface of the water. She had no idea how long she could hold her breath, but she had to stay under until the drone passed. Her hands held onto to some submerged tree roots as she floated below the surface.
Please God, keep the boys away, she thought. For loads of reasons . . .
Ant’s eyes were open, straining against the current and the dazzling brightness, but there was no doubting the drone when it came. The water acted as a fractured magnifying glass. She was numb with cold, but Ant shivered anyway as the giant bug-like apparition came into view. Her lungs were already bursting when the drone stopped right above her. Ant could see the four eddies caused by its rotors and watched as they moved through 360 degrees.
Move on. Go away. Please go away.
Ant knew she had only seconds left before her lungs gave out. Still the drone didn’t move. What was it looking at?
It must have seen a path in the woods. Or Mattie. Oh God.
Lights beginning to pop in her eyes, she realized she couldn’t hold on any longer. With as much control as she could muster from her aching, trembling arms, she let herself rise a few centimetres. Head back, her mouth broke the surface. She gulped in lungfuls of air and, still clinging on to the roots, held her position long enough to eyeball the drone. Gold solar panels, black plastic shell, no microphone. Its camera, set on the central hub, was moving but aimed away from her, into the woods. It was within arm’s reach, and she was briefly tempted to pull it down – but that really would give the game away.
Then, just as she started to sink again, Ant saw what the drone had seen. Her phone. Her clothes. And, clearly protruding from her pocket, the strap-key. She cursed herself silently. She hadn’t thought to hide them – why would she? Now whoever had sent the drone had all the evidence they needed. It couldn’t be worse.
Slowly she pulled herself back under.
How can I warn the others when I can’t shout out?
With the new oxygen, her head was buzzing. She couldn’t risk luring them into danger, but somehow she had to let them know. If the drone now found her route through the woods, she knew she’d have to take her chances.
And then it moved on. Surprised, Ant watched it continue its journey downriver. She resisted the overwhelming urge to strike out immediately for the other bank; the river ran straight for twenty metres and the camera could be pointing anywhere.
OK. Enough. En, de, twa, kat.
She resurfaced. The drone was gone. She was across the river in seconds. She grabbed her clothes and phone, then ran, dressed and shouted all at once.
‘Drone! Drone! Drone!’ she yelled as she crashed along the path. Henry emerged from his container looking puzzled, but she ran straight past him. ‘Drone on the river!’ Mattie and Max were on their feet as she burst into the clearing. ‘It came along the river. It knows we’re here! We should get out now!’
‘But how—?’ began Max.
‘It doesn’t matter. Van. Now.’
Henry had appeared, a large stick in his hand. ‘You’re too late, I’m afraid. If it saw you, then it’ll be finding a way in now. There are little paths—’
And suddenly the drone was there. Hovering at around two metres, it was approaching the van from the far side.
‘To me!’ shouted Henry. ‘Trust me!’ He turned and ran. Ant, Mattie and Max followed. He stood next to his container, ushering them inside. ‘Climb in! As far as you can!’
‘What’s he doing?’ asked Mattie, sliding over an old armchair.
‘I think we’re bait,’ said Max.
They stood as far back in the container as the accumulated rubbish would allow. Within seconds the drone was framed in the container’s open doorway.
It dipped almost to ground level to see where its prey had gone.
‘It’s too dark in here for it to see us,’ said Ant.
‘Can it hear?’ asked Mattie.
‘Don’t think so. Couldn’t see a mic.’
‘Where’s Amos?’
‘Good question,’ said Max.
The drone edged closer. They could hear the rotors and the hum of its engine. The camera lens stared straight at them. They could read the drone’s logo – STAMPER 1.0 – arranged around the hub’s gold panels.
‘Oh, I get it,’ said Max – just as Henry appeared, smashing his stick into the drone. It hit the ground, and before it could recover, Henry picked it up, threw it into the container and slammed the door shut. The sudden darkness seemed total, but as their eyes adjusted, they noticed a few tiny beams of light, presumably where corrosion had begun to eat away at the metal.
‘It’s solar powered,’ shouted Max, his words bouncing off the walls. ‘We can kill it here.’
Henry was banging on the side. ‘Just cover the lens while it’s dark! It’s not hard!’
They could hear it, the whine of the motors still trying to get it flying.
‘We can’t wait for the batteries to die,’ said Ant. Arms stretched in front of her, she felt her way forward. Her hands found what felt like one of Henry’s disgusting blankets. She picked it up, pushing aside any thoughts of where it had been.
‘Does the drone have weapons?’ whispered Mattie.
‘Too small,’ said Max.
Led by the sound and its flashing green light, Ant inched her way forward till it was centimetres away. She removed her phone and, holding it in her left hand, pressed a key. The screen lit.
In the pitch-black container, it revealed everything – Max and Mattie wide-eyed at the back, lines of graffiti on the walls, and a Stamper 1.0 drone at her feet. In that instant she saw the drone’s camera respond to her phone light, spinning in its hub. Ant resisted the urge to stamp it to bits and dropped the blanket. It covered the drone completely, and after a few feeble attempts at taking off, the whirring stopped.
Ant banged on the wall. ‘All sorted, Henry. Door open please – it stinks in here.’
The container flooded with light as he opened the door. Max peered under the blanket and disconnected the drone’s power source; its pulsing light died instantly.
‘And we need to start running again,’ he said. ‘Whoever sent that drone knows where we are. We’ll have visitors soon enough.’
My favourite things RIGHT NOW:
Killing drones!
Henry’s cool container hut.
Henry’s old vinyl records.
They all knew it was Amos. The timing was just too much of a coincidence. Henry pulled the door open and they hurried out of the container.
‘He called his gang friends anyway!’ shouted Max as they burst into the clearing, before braking rapidly.
‘You have to be kidding . . .’ said Ant.
Their van was leaning precariously at the foot of a tree, its front wheels deeply enmeshed in the tangle of roots. The driver’s door was open, the van empty. Running to the edge of the wood, they saw Amos disappearing in the direction of the main road.
‘Amos!’ shouted Max, but he was gone.
‘Great, just great,’ said Ant bitterly, kicking the nearest tree.
‘Why did he run away?’ asked Mattie.
‘I think he’s scared,’ said Max. ‘Called in his gang friends, then, when the drone appeared, he panicked.’
‘Or he was trying to escape with the van. And crashed because he can’t drive. And he’s still an idiot.’
They went back to find Henry waiting for them. ‘You didn’t see it, did you?’ he said.
‘See what?’ asked Max.
‘In the container. And outside the container actually.’
‘We were a little busy with the drone,’ said Ant.
‘Of course,’ said Henry. ‘So come. I know you’ll want to go, but you have to see this first.’
‘We should be trying to get the van out, Henry, to be honest. Someone will have been piloting that drone . . .’ said Max. ‘Thanks for the help, by the way . . .’
Henry shook his head. ‘It’s not that.’ He stared at Ant. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’
‘OK, let’s make this quick,’ said Max irritably.
They followed Henry towards his container, then stopped dead in their tracks. The outside walls were covered in numbers and letters.
‘That’s Brian’s code . . .’ gasped Max.
‘We told him,’ said Mattie. ‘He does crosswords.’
Ant ran inside and looked around. ‘I thought this was graffiti, but it’s not, is it?’