by Phil Gilvin
He shrugged. ‘It’s okay. I just thought it’d be easier. But it looks like you’re all right with the Don.’
‘The man with the big coat and the big words?’
Jack grinned. ‘That’s him.’
‘And the other man, with the knife and the tatty hair – Acker?’
Jack looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice still further. ‘Yeah. He’s a bit of a nutter. But he’s not afraid of anythin’ – he’s the only one who’ll do the dirty work. When it needs doing.’
‘He – he kills people?’
‘Only if he has to. Like the Don says, we got to keep ourselves secret, like. Nick a bit here, pinch a bit there – don’t attract too much attention. We keep moving, see. We’ll push on from here soon. You could come with us.’
Clara nearly smiled. ‘I don’t think I’d fit, really.’
‘None of us fit,’ said Jack, staring outside again. The rain had stopped, and the daylight was growing. ‘We’re all misfits here. That’s what the Don says.’
‘Misfits?’
‘Yeah. Take me, for instance. Born by the sea, I was. Course, I’m a Natural. We lived in this old estate where half the houses was empty, on account of plagues and that. Dad used to try and grow things, did a bit of fishing. Like most folks, he was in the smuggling, and pinchin’ stuff from the farms inland. Then one day the Repsegs came and broke the place up. Me Uncle Lew, stupid old git, he tried to talk ’em out of it. As if Repsegs ever listened to reason. And when they started smashing things up and setting fire to the place, he got mad and went for one of ’em. So they beat him up and threw him in the river. Drownded.
‘Me mam had to hold Dad back. I can still hear her crying – “Bill, Bill, what’ll we do if you go away?” So he came with us, and we walked. Walked fer miles, till we came to the New Forest. We had to go north from there, on account of security. Ever bin there?’
‘No,’ said Clara. ‘I’ve never been further than London.’
‘Well, the place is crawling with guards, to stop folk stealing the wood. So we carried on north, and then one day Dad left us. Said he couldn’t stand it no more, and just walked off. That was a few years ago. And the winter before last, me mam snuffed it. Caught something, or just wasted away. I dunno. Couldn’t get a doctor.’
Clara didn’t know what to say. Jack had found something interesting in the dirt. After a minute he looked up with a grimace. ‘Have to live by me wits, I do. Met this lot down near Goodwood, ‘bout a year ago. Then me and a few lads went to London for a bit, but place is stiff with Repsegs. Thought I’d better come back to the Scrapers.’
‘The Scrapers!’ said Clara, hardly able to keep her voice down.
Jack gave a smile. ‘Yeah – funny name, innit? It’s ’cause we have to scrape a living, see.’
‘Because you have to scrape a living? That’s why you’re called the Scrapers?’
‘Yeah. What about it?’
Clara shook her head.
‘What?’ said Jack. ‘I know it’s not clever. It’s only a name, though. Nothing wrong with it.’
‘No,’ said Clara, ‘you don’t understand. It’s just that – people say that you scrape the flesh off your victims. They say that’s why you’re called the Scrapers.’
‘Where’d you hear that, then?’
Clara shrugged. ‘Everywhere. People on the post coach. James – our – that is, my family.’ She cast a quick glance at Jack. ‘You don’t scrape people’s flesh off, do you?’
Jack grinned. ‘Not us. Not even Acker. He likes killing, o’ course. But he’s not that mad.’
‘I think everyone’s mad nowadays,’ said Clara. She thought of the hysterical note in Grana’s voice yesterday morning, of Sophia’s crazy idea that somehow being a Natural was all right, of Harriet Butcher’s sentimental attachment to a stupid school. Mad, all of them. ‘D’you like it with the Scrapers?’ she said.
‘It’s a life. It’s a bit like a family. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. You said you had a family?’
Clara shook her head. ‘Not anymore,’ she said.
She woke to the sound of voices. The first thing she saw was Jack Pike, slumped on his side next to her. ‘Hey,’ she hissed. ‘Jack.’
He prised his eyelids open and stared at her; then he jumped up, rubbing his eyes and swallowing.
‘People are getting up,’ whispered Clara. ‘Thought I’d better wake you.’
Jack ran a hand through his hair. ‘Thanks,’ he said thickly. ‘It’s getting dark. You, er, been asleep too?’
‘I’ve only just woken up.’
Jack nodded.
A dark woman opened one of the barn doors, admitting a wash of fresh air and disturbing the flies that had been congregating during the warm day. ‘It ain’t raining,’ she said.
‘Are we moving on now?’ asked Clara, shrugging off her blanket.
Jack shook his head. ‘Not till it’s properly dark. Just packing up. Get your things together.’
‘I haven’t got any,’ said Clara.
‘Oh,’ said Jack, ‘yeah. Uh-oh,’ he added, nodding. ‘Here’s Catwall.’
An ancient, brown-skinned woman with a stoop and silver hair was hobbling towards them. A tarnished pair of spectacles dangled around her neck on a piece of string, and as she approached, she perched them on her nose. She stopped inches away from Clara, who caught a powerful odour of tobacco.
‘You are the girl they found, are you?’ said the woman.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Clara, wrinkling her nose.
The old woman didn’t notice. ‘They tell me you are a Natural, on the run.’ She reached out and pinched Clara’s upper arm. ‘You do not have much strength in you, I think.’
‘This is Catwall,’ put in Jack, raising his eyebrows and nodding at Clara.
‘My name’s Clara.’
Catwall inclined her head towards Jack. ‘Do not interrupt,’ she snapped. ‘Now, child, tell me. Are you committed to the Revolution?’
‘Don’t be stupid, you old witch,’ came a voice. Ma emerged from the deepening shadows, a tattered travelling-cloak fastened over her shoulder. Acker and the Don were with her. ‘She probably don’t know nothing about the bloody Revolution, do you, love?’
‘No,’ said Clara, truthfully.
Catwall placed a claw on Clara’s shoulder, but she was glaring at Ma, and her voice quivered. ‘Listen to me. If ever we are going to live in peace,’ she said, ‘we need to get enough of us together, to learn how to defend ourselves. Then we can find others – others who think like us. Together we will be strong, and then we can strike back. It will be guerrilla war, and it will be long and hard. But the Republic cannot keep up with this cloning, you see? Eventually they will die out. Then we will be ready.’ She turned back to Clara. ‘Are you with us, child?’
‘Well,’ said Clara, wondering what all that had meant, ‘I suppose – that is …’
Acker was studying his knife, as usual. ‘Look,’ he sneered. ‘She knows about us, and she’s a spy.’
‘He’s only joking, love,’ said Ma, glaring at Acker.
Catwall pointed at Clara. ‘If she is not for the Revolution, then she is against it. And if she is against us, she cannot come with us.’
‘We can’t just leave her here, all alone,’ said Ma.
‘Spy,’ said Acker.
‘Come, come,’ boomed the Don, his pudgy cheeks squeezing into a smile. ‘We are brothers and sisters here. I shall pronounce.’
‘Yeah, go on, Don,’ said Acker. ‘Pronounce.’
The big man stepped forward and fixed Clara with his tiny eyes. She tried to meet his gaze, but it was like looking into an abyss. ‘We cannot let her go,’ said the Don. ‘But,’ he added, before anyone could speak, ‘we can let her come with us. If she proves useful, she may stay. If she does not, we shall drop her somewhere safe. If she proves dangerous, then we can make her safe – in a manner of your choosing, my dear Acker.’
Acker gave a mock bow.
Ma and Catwall both started talking at once, but the Don held up a fat hand. ‘I have spoken,’ he said, and turned away. Acker grinned again, and winked at Ma.
‘The Revolution, child,’ said Catwall. ‘It is our only hope.’
She’d heard other things called “our only hope”, before.
They set off into the darkness, walking stealthily in ones and twos. Voices were subdued, words few. The clouds were disappearing and the moon shone low as, following a path choked with brambles and ferns, they reached the woods beyond Haslemere. Clara found herself walking with Ma behind a huge, broad-shouldered woman who toted a large canvas bag of clanking tools. Then something heavy thudded through the undergrowth, almost brushing Clara’s leg. ‘Oh!’ she cried. ‘What’s that?’
‘That feller?’ said Ma. ‘Probably just a badger, out for his walk. There’s plenty of them in the woods. It won’t be a deer – not round here, anyway. More’s the pity.’
They walked on in silence for a minute, and all Clara could hear was the shuffle of the Scrapers’ feet over the soft soil.
‘Ma?’ she said at last.
‘Mm?’
‘You know you were talking about the Underground before? With the Don, and Catwall, and Acker?’
Ma glanced at her. ‘Yes?’
Clara took a breath. ‘I – I’ve met them. Some of them, anyhow.’
‘Watch out for that branch.’ Ma held it back for Clara. ‘You’ve met them? Met the Underground?’
Clara looked behind, to see if anyone was listening. ‘They captured me.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was in London, trying to get back to my – my family. The authorities had found out I was a Natural, and the Repsegs were after me. And I hid, and it was one of the old underground railway places, and these women grabbed me and pulled me inside. They took me down hundreds of stairs. It was really, really dark. This is like daylight compared to that. And I was scared they were going to kill me.’
‘I should think you were.’
Clara looked at Ma, but the other’s eyes were hidden. ‘Anyhow, it doesn’t matter about that. It’s just – they had a camp there, on the – the platform, it was called. And they talked about fighting with other Underground people.’
Ma sighed. ‘I’d heard something like that. Wasn’t sure I believed it, though. To be honest, Clara, we don’t know too much about ’em.’
‘Well, they sell steel and petrol to the Republic, and they–’ Clara couldn’t suppress a shudder as she remembered ‘–they do deals with the Repsegs.’
‘They never do! Are you sure?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s what I saw. But what I mean is, it doesn’t look like they’re planning any revolutions at all. I think they’re more like the Scrapers – they’re too busy staying alive to do anything else.’
Now it was Ma’s turn to look behind. She spoke low, bending a little to Clara’s ear. ‘Clara, do me a favour.’
‘What?’ said Clara, surprised.
‘Don’t tell no-one else about this.’
‘I’ve already told Jack. What’s wrong? I thought you should know.’
‘Well, tell Jack to keep quiet about it, too.’
‘Yes, but why?’
Ma put a hand on Clara’s shoulder. Clara tried not to shrink away. ‘You’re telling me the Underground are no use,’ said Ma. ‘There never is going to be a revolution, is there? But us in the Scrapers – all we’ve got is our dreams, Clara. That’s all that keeps us alive.’
‘But you’ve got each other as well, haven’t you? At least you have friends.’
Ma sighed. ‘I hope so. I hope so. But promise me – just don’t take their dreams away.’
‘I promise,’ said Clara, wondering if she understood what Ma meant. They walked on again, until Clara said, ‘Thanks for taking me in.’
Ma chuckled. ‘Oh, you’re all right, love. You look like you can earn your keep.’
Clara paused to push a bramble out of the way. ‘What about you? Have you been with the Scrapers long?’
Ma shrugged. ‘Seems like forever.’
For a moment Clara thought she wasn’t going to say any more, but then she went on: ‘Everyone here’s got a story to tell, you’ll work that out. In my case, it was my sister. She went in for cloning, but it failed. Then she had to sign a promise to hush it all up. She complained. Then they came for her, but I got her away in time – put her on a boat to France. After that, I thought I’d better run for it myself.’
‘Her cloning failed?’
‘Yeah, fails a lot. Stillborn, mostly. Sometimes they’re born alive, but there’s something wrong, and they die. All them little ’uns …’
Clara thought of Emily Bradley, whose cloning had failed, and whose family had mysteriously disappeared.
The Scrapers pressed on through the night, pausing for water at a brook that ran in a dark valley. Jack had been detailed to watch Clara and make sure she caused no trouble. For her part, Clara was beginning to feel cold, and she hugged her cloak around her as they started off again. Acker was just ahead of them, and Jack noticed that Clara was dropping back.
‘You mustn’t mind Acker,’ said Jack. ‘He’s all right. He’s saved us once or twice.’
‘If you say so,’ said Clara, suppressing a shiver. She cried out as she tripped over a tree-root. ‘How can anyone see in this dark?’
Jack snorted. ‘You’ll get used to it. There’s half a moon, and a few stars tonight – it’ll do. It’s worse if it’s cloudy. We got a few dark lanterns, but they’re not much use. Don’t want to make ’em too bright.’
‘You can’t see your feet, you can’t see the trees,’ said Clara. ‘You can’t even see each other’s faces.’
‘Well,’ said Jack with a snigger, ‘there’s a few faces around here that you don’t want to see much of.’
Clara laughed. ‘But do you know what, Jack? I’ve seen your face before.’
‘You never have.’
‘I’ve remembered now,’ said Clara, slapping at her arm to get rid of a mosquito. ‘In May, just after the last storm surge. I found a boy in the yard, at the Academy. It was you.’
‘Don’t know what you mean,’ said Jack.
‘In London. You were climbing over the gates. They’re blue, about eight feet high.’
‘What are?’
‘The gates. You climbed over them. I remember thinking how small and helpless you looked. You had a loaf. Then you actually climbed over the gates.’
‘Never.’
‘I’m sure it was you.’
‘Anyhow, if you’d seen someone stealin’, you’d have turned ’em in.’
‘I don’t know. You were just a boy, I suppose.’
‘Big place you lived in, then.’
Clara tried to make out Jack’s features in the gloom. ‘It was a school,’ she said.
‘I thought you didn’t sound common. You’ve been to some posh school. No wonder you can’t stand us.’
‘I didn’t say that,’ growled Clara.
‘Shh,’ hissed Ma, from close behind them.
‘Well, stuck-up or not,’ went on Jack in a lower voice, ‘it’s your turn now. You’re going to have to do some stealing.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Clara. ‘I can’t steal anything.’
‘I said, you’re going to have to.’
‘You’re serious? But – but I can’t. Why don’t you – I mean, can’t we just buy things?’
In the darkness, Jack turned on her. ‘What with, hey? Are you thick? If we don’t steal, we starve. Everyone here goes stealing. An’ if you don’t do your bit, you don’t get nothing.’
Clara had no idea how to steal anything, from anyone. It was criminal, it was what men did, it was what rioters did. Was it what Naturals did, too? ‘I can’t–’ she said.
‘Someone’ll show yer how,’ said Jack. ‘And I’ll bet it’ll be me,’ he added with a sigh.
Ma hushed them again.
He was right. They came to
a copse-crested hill outlined against the stars, where the lingering smell of wood smoke told them of nearby hearths. Under the eaves of the wood, the Don held a whispered council. A tall woman, who seemed to know the village, had just finished describing its layout: the farms, the mill, the larger houses. The Don drew himself up. ‘Edna, Sal – follow Rosie and get the chickens. Do not forget your sacks. Acker, I suggest you see if you can purloin some fresh meat. Ma, take two girls up to the old manor. Go carefully near the pond, in case there are geese.’
Catwall raised a hand. ‘Someone should get lamp oil,’ she said. ‘We are running low.’
‘The rest of you,’ went on the Don, ‘see what you can get. Go quietly. And this time, Mr Tesley, watch out for dogs.’ He raised his arm, and Clara was astonished to see a pale light issuing from something on his wrist. ‘You have,’ he continued as the light went out, ‘forty-five minutes before we move on. Go forth, and good luck.’
‘What about her ladyship?’ put in Acker, nodding at Clara.
‘Oh, my dear boy,’ said the Don, taking a swig from his flask. ‘Fear not. She can go with Mr Pike–’ here Jack tutted ‘–and if she initiates a fracas, you may, as you so colourfully express it, stick them. Both.’
Acker grinned at Jack, who grabbed Clara’s arm and marched her away. ‘Off his rocker,’ muttered Jack when they were out of earshot. ‘Now keep close behind, like, and don’t make a noise.’
‘I don’t want to do this, Jack,’ said Clara in a small voice.
Jack turned. ‘You heard what the Don said, didn’t yer? You screw this up, and we’re both for it. Now come on.’
Clara suppressed a shudder and hurried after Jack, trying at the same time to see where he was heading and, in the declining moonlight, to watch her own feet on the uneven path. After Jack had taken just a few turns among the village streets, Clara was hopelessly lost. Jack, on the other hand, had no doubts. Stopping outside a stout cottage, he beckoned her close. ‘This one,’ he whispered, and Clara could feel his breath on her ear. ‘It’s got a clear run back to the road. Stay on the grass. There’s a window open. Just there, see?’
Clara didn’t, but Jack was off again, tiptoeing across the tidy lawn towards the side of the house, where a small awning window was propped open. With the help of the stone ledge, Jack scrambled up and wriggled through, using his arms to take his weight as his balance shifted. Once in, he carefully opened the casement for Clara, who had been watching open-mouthed. Looking fearfully behind, she struggled up onto the window ledge. Then, half-crouching, she tried to use the window like a doorway. It was a squeeze, and her back dragged against the frame; in front of her, two upturned mugs stood on a draining-board. She began to overbalance, but managed to jump to the floor and keep upright, her heart pounding.