by Sharon Sant
Xavier remained motionless, gazing around him at the incredible sight.
‘Well?’ The woman seemed to be losing her patience.
‘Which one do I use?’
‘The woman shrugged. ‘Whichever you want.’
Xavier stepped forward and reached for the receiver of the nearest telephone. He picked it up and held to his ear, then put it down again. He picked up another handset on a phone near to the first. Again, he held it to his ear, and then placed the receiver back down into its cradle. ‘Which one works?’
‘They all do, of course,’ the old woman snapped.
‘Well, maybe you have a problem on the line then… there’s no dialling tone.’ Xavier was beginning to wonder which one of them was going mad.
The old lady stepped forward and took the receiver herself. ‘Hello, operator?’ get me the mainland.’ She handed the phone to Xavier. ‘You’re straight through. Hurry up now.’
Xavier put the phone to his ear, but there was still nothing. If his situation hadn’t been so dire, he would have laughed out loud. ‘But there’s no one there.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course there is, I just spoke to the operator. Do you want to use the phone or not?’
Xavier was busy thinking of a reply when they both jumped as a knock came at the front door.
‘Oh really! Who is it now?’ The old woman seemed to forget Xavier and bustled away to answer the door, leaving him surrounded by defunct phones and not quite sure of his own sanity.
Standing alone and uneasy in the strange room, Xavier heard snippets of conversation from the front of the house. Something made him take notice and his heart seemed to stop. He darted for the window, relieved to see that the opening was wide.
Xavier knew he had lingered too long at the old woman’s house with nothing to show for it. There was only one option left open to him now, he would have to take Elijah’s bike and risk the bridge onto the mainland to somehow contact his dad, and hope that his heart hadn’t hardened against them for good. More carelessly than he had done before, he made his way through the woods, back towards the camp, back towards the place that every molecule of his being screamed for him to run from.
It seemed that the search for them had diffused over the island so that the concentration of manpower was smaller around the camp than it had been earlier. Xavier reasoned that they were calling door to door, investigating other escape routes, assuming that their quarry had got further away than they actually had. Xavier’s close call at the old lady’s house seemed to confirm his theory. Even so, it still took him a good thirty minutes to approach the spot where the bike had been hidden by Elijah; too many times he had to duck back behind rambling vegetation or crumbling walls for fear of being seen.
Getting the bike away was even more difficult. Because it was so close to the camp, he could not just get on and ride, he would have been seen for sure. The only thing to do was to crawl and drag the bike on its side, inch by inch through the undergrowth, so slowly that anyone scanning the landscape would not detect movement. It was frustrating and time consuming. Xavier bit back the urge to scream with impatience and concentrated on his task. And even then, when he was finally under the cover of the woods again, it was impossible to negotiate the dense undergrowth on a bike. Xavier pushed it along, cursing under his breath as it snagged on tree roots and fallen branches, now struggling to see in the fading daylight. In his mind, always, was the image of Sadie and Elijah, huddled together in a hollowed out old tree, waiting for him. He could go back and tell Elijah the plan, but there was no time.
After what seemed like hours, Xavier saw the lights of the bridge appear gradually over the horizon, tiny, like the first sparks of a fire, then growing as he drew nearer. He stopped and hid himself, waiting for the moment. He imagined the men on the bridge at the old toll booth, with their orders to bring him back, not to let him get away under any circumstances – how far would they go to stop him getting off the island? He could not let himself dwell on the possibilities. Minutes passed, he stayed hidden, watching and listening, not daring to make the break that he knew would have to come soon.
Xavier spent longer than he had wanted to watching the bridge from the undergrowth. The right moment never seemed to come. The one thing he felt would help him was the fact that the camp guards would be looking for three of them, not one alone, and he was just weighing up the possibility of a full frontal attack when the diversion he had been hoping for came in the form of the sound of a car engine. Two spots of light drew closer over the bridge and then stopped as the driver spoke to the small group of men at the booth. Xavier banked on his theory and, without another thought, mounted the bike and bombed out from the darkness towards the bridge. Suddenly feeling wild, he picked up speed, calling a terse, ‘Evening,’ in the deepest voice he could manage as he approached.
The ruse was a dismal failure, a moment’s hesitation and then a roar signalled that the chase was on. Xavier did not look back, but pedalled as fast as he could, knowing that his life and the lives of others depended on it.
Heavy footsteps and shouts filled the night air. The lights on the bridge flickered unreliably, some not working at all, throwing eerie shadows onto the road. The wind whipped into Xavier’s face and he found himself wanting to laugh, elated by the knowledge that he was escaping. He heard the men fall behind, barking instructions for a vehicle, to be found. Then the bike hit something in the road and Xavier was thrown off. He lay on the ground, fighting for breath, unable to move, and a face leered above him.
Rough hands lifted him up and Xavier, still winded, was quickly overpowered. Somewhere, in the periphery of his vision, Xavier noticed another figure, striding towards them from the direction of the car.
One of the guards gave a respectful salute. ‘Good evening, Mr Braithwaite.’
Braithwaite raised his eyebrows as he cast a glance in the direction of the scuffle.
‘All under control sir,’ the guard simpered. ‘Runners don’t run far here.’
Braithwaite nodded curtly. ‘I’ll leave you to clear the mess. Make sure it’s done properly.’ He returned to the car, met by his chauffer, who gave a smart click of his heels before opening the door. The guards held Xavier as they watched Braithwaite’s car glide towards the camp. Every pore of the man’s being had seeped arrogance. His cold eyes and imperious swagger would have made Xavier instinctively detest him on sight, even without the knowledge of what he was responsible for. So, this was the all powerful Braithwaite?
Xavier’s thoughts were interrupted by a punch to his kidneys that sent him sprawling.
‘You’ll be very sorry when we’ve finished with you. Where are your little mates?’
Xavier pulled himself round to face them. He hadn’t the breath to answer. Instead he stuck two fingers up. The guard kicked him in the guts for his ingenuity. Xavier thought his head would implode with the lack of air.
‘Don’t matter,’ the guard sneered. They won’t get far. We always bring ‘em back, one way or another.’
‘Let’s get this one back. Got a prod?’
Xavier, still gasping, stiffened, ready for the shock.
‘Yeah, but this way is more fun…’
Xavier saw the shadow of the boot race towards his face, and no more.
Thirty-Three: Amnesia
‘I bet he’s in the cooler again.’ Francois kicked off his shoes. They tumbled across the caravan floor, landing in an untidy heap by the kitchenette.
‘But, where is Sadie?’ Jimmy’s voice raised an octave. ‘She didn’t come back either.’
Francois shrugged as he poured a glass of water. He leaned on the kitchenette counter and looked at Jimmy with a wry smile. ‘Maybe she’s not quite as keen on you as you are on her.’
Jimmy ignored the jibe. ‘I’m telling you, something’s happened to them.’
‘What are we supposed to do? Perhaps they’re both in the cooler. She’s as mental as he is.’
‘Have you forgotten what X
avier told us?’
‘He’s always made a big deal out of things. I bet it’s nothing. After all, we’re talking about the guy who ran away from home and slummed it with you over a stupid argument…’ Francois saw Jimmy’s wounded expression, ‘no offence,’ he added quickly.
Jimmy slumped onto a chair, waving away the afterthought. ‘So did you.’
‘I saved your skin… and look where that got me.’
‘We could have sorted it. We got along just fine before.’
Francois laughed. ‘Sure you did. Where do you think all your food was coming from?’
Jimmy examined his fingernails, unwilling to admit that this new fact was a complete surprise to him.
Francois took his water and sat on the opposite row of seats. ‘Jimmy, they’ll turn up. They’ve either gone off investigating, or they’ve got caught somewhere they shouldn’t be and they’re in the cooler. Both of them are big enough and ugly enough to take care of themselves –’
‘I hope so; Sadie isn’t as tough as she looks.’
‘Any minute now Xavier will turn up here feeling sorry for himself because he got in trouble again, and Sadie will be with him – you’ll see.’
As if to support Francois’ claim, the caravan door burst open. But it wasn’t Xavier.
‘Francois!’ Adam panted. ‘You’re wanted right away in the office!’
Francois dumped his glass and grabbed his shoes. ‘See, I told you, Jimmy. Xavier’s been up to something and I’ve got to go and clear his mess up.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ Adam interrupted, ‘I just heard one of the guards saying that they didn’t know where he was. There was an almighty row going on in there when they sent me off to get you. And there’s been a breakout, didn’t you hear the sirens?’
‘I heard something… I didn’t realise it was an escape.’
‘The whole camp’s been talking about it.’
‘If he has done something that stupid I’ll kill him.’ Francois stamped on a trainer and pulled the lace tight.
‘I don’t know if it was him. But it’s funny that they want you now.’
‘Want me to come?’ Jimmy got up.
‘No, Jim. You try and find Rosa, let her know what’s happening.’
‘See you later.’ Jimmy shouted behind him as he leapt down the van steps and began a sprint towards the girls’ caravans.
Francois followed him out. ‘No need to come with me, Adam,’ he called behind him, ‘In fact, I’d rather you stayed here in case Jimmy and Rosa come back.’ Adam watched from the doorway as Francois jogged out into the night.
Francois arrived at the outer door of the administration block and knocked. He was ushered down a corridor to an office, where he was left alone. From within he heard raised voices. He knocked and, without waiting for a reply, turned the handle.
As he entered, every voice immediately hushed and every face turned to him. Almost backed against the wall was the heavily made-up secretary that had registered them on arrival at the camp. By her side, also half-cowering from an angry figure that seemed to loom over them, was a guard. The man turned to see who had entered the room, but before he could speak, Francois was grabbed from behind.
The smell of rose perfume drifted into his senses, a flashback from his childhood. He turned round sharply. ‘Mum!’
Isobel’s breath came in gasping sobs. She didn’t speak, but held Francois in a tight hug until they were interrupted by the terse voice of Pierre Bettencourt.
‘Francois, where’s Xavier?’
‘Dad…’ Francois swallowed back tears. ‘I don’t know.’
With the distraction, the secretary had, once more. Her voice regained some of its usual brusque manner. She turned to Francois.
‘That boy was told to fetch you both.’
‘Xavier hasn’t come back from the workshop. He’s been missing for ages…’ Francois narrowed his eyes, ‘Adam said there was a breakout today.’
Pierre stepped forwards and opened his mouth. The woman put a hand up to stop him. ‘If you would just calm down, Dr Bettencourt, I could make some enquiries.’
Pierre loomed over the desk, his face inches from hers. ‘Then do so,’ he growled. ‘I want my son and I want him here now.’
‘Wait here, please.’ The woman sidled out from behind the desk, beckoning the guard as she went. ‘You there, with me.’
The Bettencourts were left alone. They looked at each other as they listened to footsteps and mumbled conversation fade down the corridor.
‘Sorry, Dad.’
Pierre put a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It’s my fault though… I should have looked after Xavier –’
‘Xavier won’t be looked after, that’s the trouble with him,’ Isobel interrupted.
Francois tried to return her smile. The conversation died. He went over to the window and leaned on the sill, staring out at the poorly lit grounds. He was distracted by the sound of the office door opening. The secretary appeared; a flabby smile stretched her encrusted make-up.
‘Good news, Dr Bettencourt. Very good news indeed,’ she said. ‘Your son was not one of the escapees. It seems he had an accident and fell on his face. He’s been in the hospital block. He is being brought here directly and you can take him home.’
Moments later, Xavier was led in, the left side of his face swollen and crusted with dry blood and his eye almost shut. He looked at his family, assembled in front of him, in a state of confusion.
‘Mum... Dad? What…’
Pierre cleared the length of the room in a couple of steps and held him by the shoulders. ‘Xavier, my God, what happened to you?’
Xavier stared at him. ‘I don’t know,’ he began slowly, ‘I think I must have fallen over…’
‘That’s right, Xavier. You fell over.’ The secretary’s smile became wider.
Isobel narrowed her eyes at the woman as she moved to put a protective arm around Xavier.
Pierre rounded on the camp staff. ‘And this is how you treat injured children, is it?’ he thundered. ‘You haven’t even cleaned his wounds. He’s a mess!’
‘Dad. Can we go home? I feel sick.’ Xavier’s voice was small. The weakness in it brought Pierre to his senses and reminded him of the immediate task in hand. He motioned for Isobel and Francois to leave and, supporting Xavier, followed them.
Before he closed the office door behind him he turned to the secretary. ‘Tell your Maxwell Braithwaite,’ the woman winced at the name as though he had stabbed her with a hot needle, ‘oh yes,’ Pierre continued, ‘I know he’s the big cheese around here. And you can tell him that he hasn’t heard the last of this!’
Thirty-Four: An Unknown Destination
There was no way Elijah could run anywhere with Sadie out cold. He listened, with his heart thudding, to the rustle and crunch of footsteps, the howls of the dogs and rude shouts as the guards infiltrated the woods, and could only wait for them to be found, as he knew they must be. Xavier had been gone for what seemed like hours. Elijah was now convinced that he had been caught too.
Elijah took to tapping Sadie’s face with the palm of his hand, every now and again, in bid to bring her round. Though she moaned and shifted slightly, she refused to open her eyes. The colder night air began to bite. He felt it creep under his skin, chilling his bones. In a perverse way, it would almost be a relief to be found. The cold and the darkness, coupled with the agonising suspense, the dread of every sound, was almost more than he could bear.
And when the torchlight finally flooded their hiding place, blinding him, he quietly offered himself with no thoughts of escape. He felt bad about Sadie, she hadn’t had a choice. But even if she had, what escape was there? He was done with running.
Elijah’s unconditional surrender meant he was spared the rough treatment handed out to Xavier. He was escorted back, covered by the ever threatening prod, but was relatively unharmed. Sadie was unceremoniously slung over the shoulder of a part
icularly large guard and carried back alongside them. Elijah heard her whimper and hoped she wouldn’t wake just yet. To find herself in such a predicament would terrify her. Elijah wondered how far the camp authorities were really prepared to go to keep the secret that they had stumbled on. Was Xavier overreacting? Surely things weren’t as they seemed. These thoughts raced around his head until they neared the camp, and his anxiety increased now that the reality of their future was right in front of him. To his immense surprise, he was led past the entrance gates to a small parking area just outside. He was shoved towards a van and the door slid open.
‘In.’
Elijah obeyed and climbed into the side door of the van. There were no seats. He huddled on the floor in a small space next to a stack of wooden boxes. Sadie was dumped in beside him. He reached over for her head, turning her carefully so he could rest it in the crook of his arm. The door of the van was closed and locked but they didn’t move. He listened in the dark to Sadie’s breathing and the voices of the guards filtered by the metal skin of the vehicle. He could make out some of the hushed conversation. Something about the other one being let go... Braithwaite had gone mad about it… told them to round up any accomplices… starting on some project. The other one let go. Was that Xavier? But why would they let him go? It didn’t make any sense. None of this did. Then the voices lowered and Elijah couldn’t tell what was being said. There was raucous laughter. A flashback, to a time, not so long ago, when he had heard laughter like that and was helpless, just like now. Was he always destined to be a victim?
Elijah cupped and blew into his free hand to warm it. He checked on Sadie. There was no change. He thought about Sky and Rowan, but especially Sky. He tried to hope Sky wasn’t missing him, because that was what he thought he was supposed to do. He hoped Sky was missing him, even though he thought he shouldn’t. Perhaps he would never see her again and she’d never know what had happened to him. What was going to happen to him? He propped Sadie on a stack of tarpaulin sheets and tried to prise open a box, but they were screwed shut. He stared into the darkness. Another interminable wait. It was worse than being in the woods. At least then he knew what was coming.