by Jem Tugwell
Ruth stiffened and said, ‘Ungrateful pig. Car… Immediate stop.’
‘Scanning for safe parking,’ the car said and kept moving.
‘Why hasn’t it stopped?’ Sully moaned.
Ruth shrugged, and the car kept going.
Sully lifted his head and stared out of the window. A helpless passenger in the car. He pulled at the door handle that had a small red light next to it, but the car said, ‘Error. Doors locked while vehicle is moving.’
Finally, the car began to slow and stopped. Sully pulled at the handle again, but car repeated its error message.
‘It’s not opening,’ Sully said.
‘It needs to park,’ said Ruth.
The car moved backwards, reversed into a small space on the side of the road, and stopped.
The light next to the handle went out and Sully grasped the door handle again and yanked the door open.
He jumped out of the car and felt like he had escaped a small, moving prison cell.
He could see Ruth’s ferocious finger and her mouthing the word ‘pig’ as her car slid away from him.
He held the game controller. Serge might still screw him, even if he finished the game within the rules.
For the first time, he wished he still had his own hand.
Chapter 43
Femi jogged alongside the B40 Glenedra Road. He had settled into a nice rhythm: run a mile, walk two, and his long stride was eating the tarmac. At first, he had jumped out of the road when he saw cars, but every time he had sprinted and dived for cover and then peered tentatively back at the cars to check if he had been seen, the people in the car were looking at a screen or their fingers waving in front of their faces. Everyone seemed to spend their time in a different world.
Now when he saw a car, he dropped into a stroll and waved at the car as it passed. No one acknowledged him. No one even seemed to notice him. Not even in the occasional sleepy village. Even so, he kept his left hand firmly in his pocket when people were in sight.
The grey clouds had kept their rain to themselves and lifted as the morning progressed. The rolling hills and greenery of the landscape was so different from South Africa that he sucked the view in and looked forward to each bend in the road unveiling a new vista.
He thought he was doing well. A little over forty-four miles in twenty hours. His plans for his brother and sister, and the purity of being outdoors fuelled him. He’d taken a few half-hour naps to recharge. He was going to push on and win the game. He could sleep later. The quicker he won, the quicker he was on a flight back home to his family.
The only bad news was the game controller’s display: ‘Game position – second’.
***
Now, Femi was past Lough Neagh and was walking through the elongated village of Moneynick, he scanned the hedgerow looking for a good place to stop for a short break. A mile or so later, he came to a small turning on the right. The narrow lane stretched off ahead of him, green moss down the centre, two black ribbons of tarmac on each side where car’s wheels rolled.
He turned off the land and side-stepped down a steep bank, careful not to get tangled in the long grass and brambles. He pushed through a small gap in the hedgerow and dropped down behind it.
The game controller told him he was still second and gave him his precise location.
He pulled a small bottle of water out and allowed himself one mouthful. He rolled the warm liquid around in his mouth, his tongue feeling the furry edges of his teeth. He hadn’t wanted to waste water cleaning his teeth or bathing, despite the dampness of his armpits.
He allowed himself five more minutes rest before pulling at his game controller’s fingers. 12:17, it told him.
Another finger pull and the display showed: ‘Distance to finish – 25 to 27 miles.’
Maybe eight or nine hours if he walked. It would be dark by the time he got there. He toggled the controller’s display and saw he was still second. Trouble was that it didn’t tell him how far behind he was. Or how close whoever was in third was behind him.
He’d run his last marathon in three and a half hours. The distance left was about the same.
If he upped his pace he could still win.
He jumped up and scrambled back up the bank and settled into a ground-eating jog.
Chapter 44
Clive and Ava were glued to the display wall in the PCU office as it showed Ruth’s car enter the outskirts of Edinburgh. Guessing and double guessing which iconic landmark was Sully’s final destination – Holyrood Park, the Scott Monument, the botanic gardens? Further on, the coast or the old Royal Yacht Britannia Museum. There were too many options.
They now had two cars behind Ruth’s, each with two local Uniforms in them.
‘Approaching Murrayfield Stadium,’ Isla, one of the Uniforms in the first car, said.
Clive and Ava obviously knew. They could see Ruth’s signal, but a long telephone call where no one said anything was too weird and awkward. Isla clearly thought so, and kept up a stream of unnecessary updates. Ava’s HUD was linked to the display wall so that they both could hear and talk.
‘Hold on,’ Isla said. ‘I can see him. He’s sitting up… He’s looking around.’
‘What else?’ Clive said.
‘Looks like he’s arguing with Ruth… Lots of angry hand waving.’
The line went quiet and they could hear Isla’s breathing, it was getting louder and faster.
‘OK! Something’s happening. The car’s lights are flashing. It’s doing an Immediate Stop.’
‘Shit,’ Clive shouted. They couldn’t afford to lose Sully, and if he got out now, he could run. Lots of gardens and hedges. Lots of places to hide. ‘Shit,’ Clive said again. He really needed to catch the others.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘If Sully gets out, get your uniforms back on and arrest him. Repeat. Arrest him. Do not let him get away. Confirm.’
‘Confirm,’ Isla said.
‘Tell the other car to do the same.’
‘Will do. What about Ruth?’
‘We can pick her up anytime. Just get Sully.’
Clive and Ava heard a male voice in the background relaying the instructions to the second car.
Ruth’s car slowed, turned left and pulled over.
‘What’s happening?’ Clive shouted.
‘Doors are opening… Sully is getting out. Repeat, he’s getting out.’
‘Get him!’
‘Car… Police Override… Stop!’ Isla said.
‘Car… Stop. Door locks will release when I am stationary,’ the car said.
‘Look out!’ Isla said.
Clive could hear frantic movements of police jackets being pulled on. The car door locks clunked and unlocked.
Clive listened, wishing he was there, but had to rely on little dots on a screen and sound to guess what was happening. The noise provided more details. The Uniforms clambering out. Fast and urgent zips being pulled up on police jackets.
‘Stop,’ Isla shouted.
Dots started to move on the display screen, and Clive heard panted breaths and footsteps as Isla started running.
Chapter 45
Sully stood under the tree where the car had stopped. It had pulled off the main road at the sign for an Episcopal Church and St George’s School.
Murrayfield Avenue the road sign said, and Sully smiled to himself. Murrayfield. He was close to the once-famous rugby ground. Home of bruising games of passion and courage. Now home to a pointless, non-contact charade of a game.
But his game mattered. Forbidden Island mattered to the hundreds of thousands following online. They would all see Sully, so close to winning. So close to glory. The first-ever winner of a game in the Forbidden Island would live in history. He imagined the adoration.
As long as Serge let him.
His smile disappeared. He shook the thought aside. He was a long way past the point where he had committed himself.
Trying to get back to visualising his triumph, he pulled his body
up straight, head high and proud.
‘The path to glory starts with the next step,’ he muttered.
He stepped into the road, causing a car to swerve to avoid him. He hadn’t heard it coming, but he did hear the clunk of the doors opening. He spun to look at the car. The two people getting out. Two people pulling on blue jackets. The word ‘Pol’ on one side of the jacket and ‘ice’ on the other. Fast hands on a zip and the jacket halves joining. The word ‘Police’ staring at him. Name tags visible: Isla Stewart and Gregor Patel.
Sully froze.
The two Uniforms seemed like opposites. The smaller woman won’t give me much of a race, Sully thought. The man was much bigger. Slower but stronger. He would have been at home on the pitch at Murrayfield in the old days. He held his arms wide apart. He looked bigger than the car.
If Sully ran towards them, he’d have to dodge and out run them both.
He turned to look up the hill.
‘Stop,’ the woman shouted.
Sully did the opposite.
He span away from the Uniforms and ran. Arms pumping, heading up the pavement.
There were too many trees and recycling centres on the pavement for speed, so he skipped across the small grass verge and onto the road.
He ran hard, following the road as it curved.
Shit, he thought as the road started to climb.
He was breathing harder now, but he couldn’t lose. He risked a glance over his shoulder.
‘Shit.’
The woman was much closer, her eyes focused. The man didn’t seem bothered. He was sauntering along the road, like he was on a gentle afternoon stroll. It looked like he was talking to someone.
Sully ducked his head and ran harder, faster. The air sucking noisily into his lungs.
Still the road rose, and Sully could feel his legs starting to complain.
Ahead he could see a side road. Maybe that way? he thought.
No.
A second car appeared at the mouth of the road and parked. Two more Uniforms got out.
Sully was trying to work out why they simply leant on the bonnet of their car instead of chasing him, when he heard a noise close behind him.
He glimpsed a blue shape and heard breathing. The woman.
I’ll let her get to me, overpower her and make a break for it, Sully thought.
A force like a fast-moving train smashed into Sully’s back and sent him flying towards the tarmac.
His hands stretched out to break his fall, but only did half the job. The game controller on his left arm didn’t bend and give. Instead, it acted like a pivot, keeping his left side high, pushing the full weight of his body onto his right arm. It bent, unable to take the load. Sully jerked his head left, trying to avoid his nose planting square into the road. He managed, but grunted as air was forced from his lungs. His right cheekbone smashed down and slid along the road.
He gasped, pain from his cheek screaming from the fall, but he couldn’t listen to it now.
Shake the woman off and get going, he thought.
He tried to move, but something held him. Incredibly strong. Sully tried twisting, turning. He couldn’t move. The big man had been too far behind to be holding him.
Sully jerked his head back and upwards, trying to smash something soft and vulnerable.
Nothing. Then a voice in his ear.
‘I’ve seen all the tricks,’ the woman said. ‘And from better than you.’
Sully tried to move again, but she held him effortlessly.
Then his arms started to move, but he wasn’t in control. He tensed his muscles, locking them solid, but his arms still moved.
He felt a handcuff lock on to his right wrist. No feeling on his left – only the clank of the handcuffs hitting the controller and a metallic click.
A hand on Sully’s collar and he started to rise. Again, not his muscles doing the work.
He stood in the middle of Murrayfield Avenue.
Defeated.
Game over.
His face was screaming from the impact with the road and his legs quivered from the running. Sully wished he hadn’t bottled out of asking Serge his main question – would he still get the BST hand if he got caught?
The hand on his collar turned him and he saw the male Uniform sauntering up the road.
He stopped in front of Sully. His face split into a huge, beaming smile.
‘Och, Isla,’ he said. ‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Got it all recorded for you. I’ll send you the video so you can watch it later.’
‘Thanks,’ Isla said.
Gregor turned and looked back down the hill towards the old stadium. ‘Like the old days?’
Isla’s breathing was shallow and controlled. ‘Much easier.’
Gregor turned back to Sully, leaned in and said. ‘That’s the most one-sided race ever. She used to play on the wing for Scotland. You never had a chance, but it was fun to watch.’
Sully heard clapping from behind him. He glanced around and saw the other two Uniforms still sitting on their car, applauding.
Isla, a modest smile on her face, took a bow.
‘You always were class, Isla,’ Gregor said. His big hand shoved Sully in the back. ‘Thanks again for the show,’ he said to Sully.
They headed down the hill.
Two big smiles, one broken face with streaming tears.
***
Sully sat in a small, depressing room. The floors and walls were all painted a dull grey. A light in the ceiling threw a harsh light into the room and cast a hard shadow. The mirrored wall bounced reflections around. He could smell paint, everything looked new.
He touched his cheek and winced. A doctor had cleaned it, dressed it and given him some pain killers, but it hadn’t helped.
Game over, Sully kept repeating in his head. Failure. A public failure. Everyone following the game would know.
Tears formed in his eyes, broke free of his lashes and started to roll. The ones on the right of his face, driven by gravity, headed south only to be absorbed by the dressing on his face. The ones on the left of his face carried on unhindered.
The door opened and the two Uniforms from the first car entered the room. The big, slow man and that woman.
‘Only a bit of gravel rash,’ Isla said. ‘Nothing to cry about.’ She dragged a chair back and sat down.
Gregor pulled a second chair back and dropped onto it. He made it look like a tiny child’s chair. ‘Normally, anyone in breach of the UK immigration code would be immediately deported,’ he said. ‘But instead of taking you to Glasgow airport, we’ve got two officers from Off-grid Crime flying up specially to meet you.’
Sully said nothing and stared at his hands in his lap. He left the tears to dry.
‘And they want whatever that is on your left wrist,’ Isla added.
Sully thought about brave defiance, thought about giving them the finger, but lifted his left hand and placed it on the table.
‘What is it?’ Isla asked.
Maybe they’ll be gentler on me if I help, he thought. He blinked to stop the tears starting again.
This wasn’t just game over. This was total surrender.
‘It’s a game controller,’ he said.
The Uniforms looked blank.
‘I’m in a game,’ Sully said. ‘One of the elite–’
Isla and Gregor’s snorted derision stopped him.
Sully straightened, aiming for some last-minute bluster, but his voice betrayed him. ‘It’s…’ Too meek, too quiet, he thought and stopped. He cleared his thoughts and tried again. ‘It shows me exactly where I am, and how far I’ve got left.’
Isla and Gregor leaned in to see the display built into the palm. Disbelief etched on their faces. Sully pulled at the fingers, a couple were scratched from the tarmac, but it all still worked.
‘Game position – first’ drew more snorts of derision from Isla and Gregor.
‘It still thinks you’re
in the game?’ Gregor asked.
Sully shrugged and pulled a different finger.
‘Distance to finish – 1.8 miles.’
So close.
‘Take it off,’ Isla ordered. She thrust her hand forward and waited. Her tone demanded compliance.
Sully grasped the game controller and pushed and twisted. It rotated as the universal mount released and the controller came away.
He handed it to Isla and watched her hand drop and her eyes widen as she took the controller’s weight.
Isla passed the hand to Gregor and he weighed it in a huge palm. His eyebrows raised as he shrugged and gave it back to Isla.
Isla and Gregor scraped their chairs back and stood. Sully dropped his eyes to the table.
He heard the clang of the door shutting and looked at where his left hand should have been.
Chapter 46
Clive and Ava had been lucky to squeeze onto the next flight from Heathrow to Edinburgh.
Their time in the air was less than half of the advertised flight time. ‘We’re not really early,’ Clive grumbled as they got into a taxi at the airport. ‘They pad the flight time, so the airline is never late. Never has to pay compensation.’
‘It’s good to be early,’ Ava said. Her tone squashed any comeback Clive might have and his eyes widened in shock. ‘What?’ Ava asked.
‘That told me.’
Ava looked worried she had gone too far, but the corners of Clive’s mouth rose. She laughed and told the taxi where they wanted to go.
The police facility in Haymarket was so new that the taxi’s map still showed the building as HM Revenue and Customs, but it informed them that the taxi journey was only sixteen minutes.
‘Boss,’ Ava said, breaking the long companionable silence and pointed out of the window.
Clive looked up from the notes he was reading on the car’s display screen and saw a road sign: ‘Murrayfield Avenue’. It looked quiet and peaceful now. No sign of the earlier excitement. Clive and Ava shared a smile. They had seen some unofficial footage and had both winced at the impact that sent Sully flying.
‘Great tackle,’ Ava said.