He was surprised how difficult he found it making his way up the path accompanied by Mitchell’s smell when every part of him just wanted to run.
It was also pretty weird knocking on a door, like a normal person. And in daylight too.
He waited; he could hear someone moving around inside the house but no one came to the door. He knocked again a bit harder. He looked around. This was not much of a place to live, nobody to help you, nobody to be friends with, and of course no one to spy on you. And no one to report you to the Purity, or the police, for harbouring a criminal.
From what he could tell the person inside the house had stopped moving. He turned back to face the door. He didn’t want to make a fuss and he certainly didn’t want to scare her. But he really did need to speak with her.
‘Mrs Lomax, I need to talk to you.’
As far as he could tell there was nobody else in the area, but you never knew what tech they might be pointing in your direction; mind you, if they were doing that they already knew that someone who didn’t have a riffy was standing outside her door. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, whatever that meant.
‘Look, Mrs Lomax, I need to talk to you because I got a message from your son.’ There was a sudden movement inside the house. Dog wondered whether he’d said the wrong thing. ‘I’ve met him. He sent me to give you a message. He’s alive, he’s fine and with friends.’
Dog slumped down in the doorway. He preferred that because he was not quite so visible. Maybe he should have gone to the back door. He sniffed.
There had been someone else with Mitchell. Not Yates but someone he didn’t recognise at all. He wore perfume and, if Dog was any judge, it was a proper one and that meant expensive.
There was movement inside the house again, someone getting closer to the door. She wasn’t moving fast, just cautiously. Of course he wasn’t visible in the glass anymore. She might have thought he’d gone, and he really didn’t want to surprise her.
‘Hello, Mrs Lomax,’ he said being careful not to raise his voice. The movement inside the house came to an abrupt halt. ‘I know you can hear me. And I know you’re just the other side of the door because I can hear you. I can hear the way Jason can smell.’
There was no movement from behind the door, and he just sat there for a while. He could hear her breathing; there was something wrong with her.
‘Who are you?’
‘Well now, that’s actually a really interesting question,’ said Dog. ‘Jason told me you’ve been hiding him ever since he was born because he’s different. I’m different too.’
There was another pause. ‘You’ve seen him? He didn’t come home last night or the night before.’
‘Yeah, he’s all right. Look, do we have to do this through the door? Somebody might go past and wonder why I’m sitting here, and I don’t like being out in the open in the same way that he doesn’t.’
Eventually she unlocked the door and let him in.
Chapter 6
Chloe
Chloe lay face down in her bed. She had pummelled her punch bag until she was completely exhausted, and the hunger gnawed at her. She had tried to block out the sounds from the rest of the house using chewed up bits of paper shoved in her ears. It made no difference. She could hear everything.
And not only in this house, in the houses either side she could hear the people moving around and talking—although thankfully their words were sufficiently indistinct that she couldn’t follow them. But it wasn’t just the hearing: she knew where they were in relation to herself, and she felt like she was going crazy. And then she wondered if that’s what it was like for a freak, a freak like her. Did their senses become so twisted and confused they simply couldn’t take it anymore?
She shook her head, rubbing her nose in the wet patch on her pillow, made damp from tears. She knew that wasn’t what happened. Freaks went insane because the virus got into their brain, that’s why some of them lasted longer than others. Sometimes they died quickly because the modification to their body was simply fatal. Sometimes they simply went mad without any other physical sign. And sometimes they just went mad because something grew inside their head.
It just didn’t make any sense. When had she become infected? When would they be coming for her?
Mum and Dad didn’t believe it. If they had, they would have reported her—wouldn’t they? That confused her as well. Dad was in the FreakWatch and he wasn’t talking to her as if he thought she was a freak, but they hadn’t said anything. What did that mean?
And she’d had a check-up in the hospital. Nobody had suggested any problem, and there was no indication she was infected. If she was having physical changes she must have been infected ages ago and it would have shown up in the tests. It must be something else, it had to be. But what?
She could hear everything. And her body weight was a fraction of what it ought to be. And she was always hungry. And there were two lumps in her back.
So she was back at square one. She had all the symptoms of being infected with S.I.D, and nobody thought she was. She had no idea whether she was supposed to feel happy or sad about that. All she felt was confusion.
Chloe woke from her doze at the sound of someone approaching the front door. Two people, a man and a woman from the footsteps. They knocked.
‘Oh, who’s at the door at this time?’ said her mother.
Chloe was a little surprised that her mother hadn’t realised there was somebody at the door until the knock. She had to remind herself she was the weird one here.
Her father made a noncommittal grunting noise and then said, ‘Better not be one of those news reporters, or that bloody teacher.’
She heard him stomping out of the kitchen along the hall. It wasn’t so much that she heard him moving, more that she could visualise his exact position as he got up from his chair, pushing it back, moving around the table, going through the door and then along the passage.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Colin, and Chardonnay,’ came the voice from the other side of the door.
If Chloe hadn’t already had her eyes shut she would have closed them in disgust. The stalwarts of FreakWatch.
Colin Thackery, the man who thought that Mrs Wilberforce down the road was harbouring a freak, or might possibly be one herself, just because she spied on his little trips to number 15. He thinks nobody notices, but everybody knows.
And Ms Chardonnay Jones-Willis, who liked to be the centre of attention for the sake of it. Chloe wondered if she possessed a single brain cell inside her bleach-blonde head.
Except, of course, Chloe was well aware that Ms Jones-Willis (never married) did actually have an opinion on one thing: a poorly disguised dislike of people possessing a dark skin tone, or people with a slightly tinted skin tone, or people with eyes of a slightly different shape to your typical Anglo-Saxon; in fact a dislike of anybody who didn’t conform to her personal ideal of genetic purity. That list of intolerance included Chloe and her parents, but freaks were the worst offenders, and she was allowed to express her hatred of those without let or hindrance.
Her father let them in, of course, and escorted the two of them through into the sitting room. He had taken their coats, hung them up in the hall, and asked his wife to make everybody a nice cuppa. It was all so very British. It was all, Chloe thought, so very false.
Finally, everybody was settled in their chair with the finest crockery and tea so pale it would suit even Chardonnay’s standards, and all the pleasantries had been done with while Chloe became very bored.
‘So, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ said her father, though Chloe somehow doubted there was any pleasure to be had. Her father did not like people visiting unannounced.
Chloe could imagine Ms Jones-Willis looking pointedly at her companion, willing him to do all the talking.
‘You must be feeling a bit of strain,’ said Colin as his opening gambit. ‘I mean to say, this whole thing with Chloe being attacked, the police and the rep
orters, you must have an awful lot on your plate.’
‘An awful lot,’ said Chardonnay.
Chloe muttered to herself, ‘Is there an echo in here?’
‘It’s not been easy,’ said her father. ‘But we manage, keep our chin up.’
‘Of course, of course, and you’re doing a splendid job, Mike.’
‘Splendid.’
Chloe thought it was lucky for Chardonnay that Chloe herself was not in the room at this moment, because she had a strong desire to slap the woman. Mind you, she’d had exactly the same desire every single time she met her. Chardonnay was one of those people that insisted on treating children, regardless of age, as some sort of unintelligent two-year-old. She spoke in a baby, sing-song way and attempted bribery with the promise of sweets—that never materialised.
‘Yes, we’re doing okay,’ said her father. ‘And I appreciate your concern. I still don’t quite understand why you’re here?’
‘We just wanted you to understand that if you need any help at all, we are here for you.’
‘Here for you.’
Chloe was incredulous; could the woman not actually hear herself?
‘Well, thank you again. I appreciate it. Thank you for dropping by.’ Her father seemed to be completely nonplussed; Chloe could tell that they didn’t look like they were going to move any time soon, sitting back as they were holding their cups and saucers. She pushed herself up on the bed and shook her head a little. How could she possibly know that they were sitting back in their chairs holding their cups and saucers?
‘Overactive imagination,’ she muttered to herself.
She said it, but she knew she was right.
‘So,’ said Colin, ‘if you would like somebody else to take over the meeting, perhaps hold it in somebody else’s house, then obviously we’d be happy to do that.’
Chloe waited for the echo, but in this case it didn’t come. She was quite disappointed; it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
‘I am quite happy to continue to host the meeting, after all I am the chairman and I have some responsibilities,’ said her father.
‘But of course, I was only saying.’
‘Only saying.’
Her father got to his feet in a rush, she heard him plonk his cup and saucer down on the table. ‘Well, like I said, I’m very grateful for your concern and really appreciate your offer of assistance, but, as I say, at the present time I do feel able to continue to host the meeting. So that’s what we’ll do.’
‘Of course, your daughter—’
If Chardonnay had been about to echo Colin’s words she was interrupted and drowned out. ‘Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this,’ said her father, with barely restrained fury. ‘If you think you can force me to resign my position with your innuendo and petty schemes, you’ve got another thing coming.’ Chloe heard him storm out the front room to the coat hooks and then return to the door. ‘Well, I am afraid I’m a little bit busy right now so we’ll have to cut this meeting short. It’s been lovely to see you, but I’m sure you want to be on your way. Right now!’
Chloe grinned and silently applauded her dad. Perhaps he wasn’t taken in by these puffed-up whatevers. And she was very happy with the way he had defended her, even though he was probably wrong.
Chapter 7
Chloe
She had not left her room the entire day, except to visit the bathroom, and she made sure that no one heard. Her mother had come to the door twice asking her if she wanted something to eat, or a drink.
She hadn’t, well not the first time. Second time she had, but was not going to let her mother dictate her actions. She was sulking and she was an adult, almost. Damned if she wouldn’t manage a full-grown adult sulk.
The world outside got dark about five, and the pressure from her stomach finally persuaded her to act. She still refused to go downstairs; if she did that her parents would have won.
But she could go out of the window.
Her bedroom, the smallest one in the house, had its window at the back. There weren’t any drones now. If the remaining reporters had them they weren’t running them constantly. Besides, with her new improved hearing, she could easily tell if one was near.
She added a big jumper and a jacket, then changed into her boots. Shoes were particularly expensive nowadays and in short supply. But there was a cobbler nearby in Didsbury who tanned his own leather. He had a couple of apprentices because, when all was said and done, people would always need shoes. It was a safe profession.
There were moves by the government to get rid of the old child labour laws and make school compulsory only up to age thirteen. Pure sciences were being discouraged and practical skills given priority.
Chloe didn’t care about that since she had her own path mapped out.
She stopped with her left boot only half-tied.
She used to have her path mapped out. Only a week ago, the Purity was the way she wanted to go. But things had changed. Despite Miss Kepple, Chloe was not sure whether the Purity would even want her now. Even if her physical problems were entirely normal and treatable. Even if the hospital had declared her free of the virus.
She focused her attention back on her bootlace. She could feel the lightness in herself now. She had not tried to weigh herself again, she was almost scared of what she would find, and yet as far as she could see she looked normal enough. She had never developed much up top and her training had always kept her trim.
Her stomach reminded her it needed feeding.
The window opened on a catch that hinged on the right. Cold air poured in. The grass looked a long way away, but she was used to falling and absorbing the energy by rolling. And she was so much lighter. Still, she had a lifetime of knowing that big falls would hurt; it was a hard instinct to overcome.
She didn’t want to let all the warmth out—her parents might investigate the draught—so she planned to close the window behind her, but if the latch wasn’t on she could probably get it open again. Assuming she could climb back up.
She retrieved a small torch she kept in her desk drawer and shone it on the wall outside her window. There was a ledge. Pocketing the torch, she swung one leg out and then squirmed her way over until her foot found the support. Holding tight to the window frame she put her weight on it and lifted her other leg out. Her flexibility was another benefit of training.
Taking care not to make a noise, she moved sideways and pushed the window shut. Now she was clinging precariously to the outside of the house. Fingers clamped on the tiles that stuck out from the frame and overhung the wall slightly. She bent her legs and jumped backwards.
The sense of weightlessness overtook her and, without any volition, she gave a little squeal. The ground was coming up fast, but even closer was the washing line. She had forgotten and not seen it in the black.
She tucked into a ball and felt her body turn. She straightened and plummeted to the ground, feeling the washing line tug across her coat and flick her chin. Her feet met the ground. She bent her legs automatically.
And came to a stop crouching in the garden. She put her hands down on to the wet grass and dirt. She didn’t need to roll, but she was aware she had done a three-hundred-and-sixty degree turn in the air. As if she were diving into the public swimming pool from a high board. Not that she ever had; she didn’t do that sort of thing. To be honest, she had always been a bit afraid of heights.
Chloe of a week ago could not have done what she just did.
The light was on in the kitchen and she could see the shadow of her mother moving around behind the blind. She realised they would know she had left the house if they checked her riffy—parents had the right to track their children. But if they did not think she had left the house, they wouldn’t check.
She ran to the end of the garden and in an easy jump scaled the fence to land in the alley at the back. She set off at a run. She was surprised at how easy it was. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark and she managed to avoid the wo
rst of the bumps and ruts. She was able to dodge the dustbins.
A dog barked as she passed one house, but it was just a warning not an attack. She surprised more than one cat as she ran.
She got to the end of the alley, which ran parallel to her street, and came out on to a main road. There were some lights here but she kept to the shadows, still running. She felt as if she could run forever, even in these boots, because she was so full of energy.
And it was so good to be out, away from all the pressures. Away from her parents, away from the reporters, and away from the Purity and the strange Miss Kepple. As she moved she found it comfortable to let out a little noise on each breath. Somehow the running made the pain in her back ease as well.
This was what she needed; this was what she had always needed.
She had no idea where she was going, her body still demanded food, and every now and again she noticed a rat or a mouse lurking in a corner. And every time she got the idea that she might eat them—before her mind took over and rejected it. She chose not to ask herself how she could even see them.
Clearly she really was too hungry right now, if she was thinking about eating vermin.
Then she smelled it. It was beautiful. She realised she had covered at least a mile and a half because she was in the north part of what used to be Burnage. And there was a traditional chip shop. The owners claimed it was the only real chip shop left in Manchester—which was a convenient way of negating the others. But whatever the truth, the place had a reputation.
Ashley had been to their restaurant, of course, and said she had had a piece of cod with chips and vinegar. She had claimed it was the best thing she had ever tasted. It cost, though.
Well, Chloe had money on her personal account, and the smell was heavenly.
She followed her nose. The smell led her up a side road, and across three gardens. She didn’t care. She could see well enough and leapt each hedge and fence as if she were a deer. She landed finally in front of a line of shops. The smell was overpowering and light poured from the single open frontage.
Kymiera Page 24