by Tom Hoyle
Adam and Megan stood with Leo, Asa and Rachel as part of a larger group that was going from their school. Asa’s parents had volunteered to accompany them. They had the air of having once been cool, unlike Adam’s mum and dad. Jake Taylor and his friends had gone down earlier to “get things started.”
The eleven o’clock train was already in the platform when the announcement came. “The train at platform thirteen is the Rock Harvest special . . .” The rest was lost in a cheer and a rumble as hundreds of feet poured in that direction.
It was standing room only in the cars. In Coach E, Adam was enjoying the opportunity to be very close to Megan, who was writing her initials, M.E.J., in steam on the window. But as Adam’s thoughts began to spin faster and faster, Leo’s face appeared right next to his.
“Phew, that bog stinks,” Leo said. “Someone must have left a turd on the floor.”
The train was about to pull away when a boy with a scar leaped into the last car, Coach M. Those by the door resisted, but he was determined.
“Hold it, mate, we’re full in here,” said a large Australian.
“I am staying on this train,” said the seventeen-year-old, staring fiercely at the Aussie until he turned away.
Also in Coach B was a group of four children. Oddly for their age, they weren’t accompanied by an adult. No one noticed; they were just kids going to the festival. Four tickets out of seventy thousand.
They had been told two days before that they were going.
12
TWO DAYS EARLIER: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 24, 2013
In what had once been a grand drawing room, Coron stood in front of children sitting on long wooden benches. Behind them, their arms behind their backs, were three other adults.
“Children, life is full of choices. Sitting still is a choice; running around is a choice. It is a choice to eat potatoes rather than stones. And it is my responsibility to teach you to make the right choice.”
Coron beckoned for a girl to come forward.
“Viper has served well. She has done what is right in the eyes of the Master. He told me that she deserves great reward.”
Viper stepped forward. She had dark blue eyes and freckles on her nose. Memories of her service—helping in two important deaths—made her proud. Viper knew nothing of life outside The People: her father had been one of Coron’s first recruits, and she had grown up in the Old School House.
Coron continued. “Here taking a life would be a terrible thing. But vermin are different. Even we can kill rats.”
The children listened obediently.
“Viper has helped to rid the world of two disgusting creatures. And she has been chosen for an even greater task: to kill the remaining and most dangerous rat. One that carries infection and disease.”
The girl bit her bottom lip and smiled.
Coron turned to the other side of the room. “Cobra, come here.” Cobra’s height and athletic figure made him a natural leader among the children. His unusual combination of brown eyes and blond hair were widely admired.
“Cobra will also go and help kill this rat. Cobra, I trust you.”
The slightest hint of pleasure passed across Cobra’s face.
Coron continued, “Two others will join them. Asp and Python, stand up.” One girl and one boy stood. “You also have this exciting honor. But be wary: this rat has razors for claws: they can spring out and cut you open. And his entire body is full of burning poison. I know that you will stamp on him. Stamp on him and bury him in the ground.”
All four bowed slightly.
Viper and Cobra returned to their places. Asp and Python sat down.
“But not everyone always makes the right choice. If you put your hand into a wild animal’s cage, we would slap you as a warning, to protect you.”
He paused.
“Adder, stand up and come here.”
A boy of about eleven stepped forward. At age eight he had been found in a shopping center, trying to keep warm, escaping from parents who neglected him. His memories of that time were beginning to fade. He knew that things were better for him, and leaving The People was simply not an option. Only one person had left, and everyone hated him. No one else had gone, though one or two had tried.
“Adder has been to the Far Fence without permission. Not even adults would do such a thing. And you know why we stay away? Because of the scum that may grab you and turn your brain into stinking filth.” Coron’s face was tight and his teeth ground together.
Adder faced the ground.
“So Adder will be punished. One day he may have the honor of meeting the Master himself, for I can see that Adder has learned much already. But today is a lesson. A punishment.”
Coron grabbed a fistful of the boy’s hair. “I have decided that he will spend twelve hours in Dorm Thirteen.”
The boy considered pleading. His lips moved and he made a ticking sound in the back of his throat. Inside he was screaming.
Three or four dreadful seconds hung in the room. It was unusual for a child to be sent up to Dorm Thirteen.
In the instant before he was going to be sent away, Adder finally spoke in one quick burst. “Please-I-am-sorry-anything- but-that.”
Coron looked at Viper and smiled. “Very well.”
Viper smiled back. On the other side of the room, Cobra also smiled. He knew exactly what was going to happen next.
“Very well,” said Coron. “Twenty-four hours in Dorm Thirteen. And if you speak again it will be two days.”
Even adults struggled with two days in Dorm Thirteen. Few could endure three or four days. And those who stayed in Dorm Thirteen for a week always went mad.
Down the corridor in the Old School House was what could have been a police incident room.
Thirteen pictures circled the walls: the thirteen boys who had been born to single parents in London within an hour of the new millennium. Boys who could be the Imposter. Four were recent pictures of thirteen-year-olds; others were of younger boys. The youngest wore short trousers and was holding a yo-yo.
Twelve of the pictures had a neat red line drawn through them.
The thirteenth picture was of the one boy who remained alive: Adam Grant. The one who had escaped on millennium night and then gone missing. The Master had confirmed that he was the one. The Imposter.
Seven people stood in front of a display board. Labeled pictures of Adam and his parents and friends were stapled to it; a schedule of his movements was linked to other material by pins and cord. A recent addition was a floor plan of Adam’s house, his bedroom shaded in red. Though neither Adam nor his parents had ever seen his birth certificate, a copy was pinned next to an adoption letter.
Many hundreds of hours of detective work had been invested in this project.
On the right-hand side of the board was information about Rock Harvest. A finger tapped the words The Hill of Sacrifice on a map. “He will be taken here,” said a middle-aged woman. “This is where Adam will be killed.”
part two
13
THE WEEKEND OF SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2013
From the air Rock Harvest looked like an organized colony of busy insects, but on the ground it had the color and variety of a carnival. Nearly 70,000 people were crammed onto the site midway between London and Birmingham.
After a short burst of activity setting up camp, and experimenting whether it was possible for Adam, Asa and Leo to fit into a two-man tent, the group strode off toward the music. Asa’s parents ambled away, their cool reputation withering fast.
In front of the main stage, a swarm of people bounced up and down waving their arms. Deep beats thundered from the distant band. Leo was sent out as a probe to see how far forward it was possible to get, but soon returned shaking his head and looking harassed.
Rachel suggested drinks.
“Yeah, what do you want?” said Asa, putting his arm around her shoulder.
Rachel was used to such attention. She used her thumb to pull his jeans down slightly
at the back. “It depends what you’re offering.”
Asa had wanted to get out of his league, but now that he was suddenly there, he was flustered.
“Er, a can of Coke?”
Megan said that there was someone good on the second stage, so they headed there, past short lines for funfair rides and longer ones for bathrooms, not seeing anyone they knew.
Here they could get near the front, just. The group was a new one called Test Tube Kids: they were at the rock end of disco music, ideal for Adam, whose body seemed to have a gymnast’s flexibility, Megan noticed. Megan loved the dancing and found the experience thrilling but confusing—the noise, music and lights meant that she couldn’t concentrate on any one thing. “Keep away from anything that you don’t like the look of,” her parents had said. She pushed the warning from her mind.
Rachel was dancing with about five or six boys, including a couple who looked over sixteen. She was remarkable, arching her body back and then moving her shoulders forward, and sometimes resting her hands on boys’ shoulders. Asa had to prance around ever more athletically to keep her attention.
Leo’s legs and arms did not seem to move with any reference to one another. He looked like an alien whose sucker-pad limbs kept slipping apart. Amused pity from a couple of fifteen-year-old girls was misread by him as genuine interest.
It was then that the band moved their hands above their heads, a circular space opened up and several hundred people started moving in the same anticlockwise direction, round and round.
“Yes!” said Asa. “Mosh pit!”
All five in their group were caught up in the movement, though Megan, Rachel and Leo soon pushed their way to the side, panting heavily and sweating.
“Sick,” they agreed, trying to catch sight of the other two.
Adam and Asa were swept along by the excitement and whirlpool movement. They were the youngest there, so older teenagers shouted encouragement, but after a minute or two they wanted to escape. All of a sudden they found it hard to keep their footing and were elbowed once or twice. Then Asa fell. People did try to avoid Adam as he leaned down to help, but momentum carried some into his back. He was nudged forward, then spun away from Asa.
He couldn’t get back. It was as if bodies were being sent to knock him down. They came too fast. Nudge. Prod. Bump. Adam let out a string of swear words.
There was a sharper jolt, and Adam tripped and twisted to the ground, trying to grab hold of people around him. A boot scuffed the back of his head, and he raised his hands to shield his face; then a foot jabbed into his ribs; there was a lot of pressure on his upper leg—“Get off me!”—and then he couldn’t distinguish the smacks and pokes that came like wasp stings.
“Stop! Help!”
He was wrapped in indistinct loud noises and could see nothing but hundreds of blurred legs. Sooner or later someone was going to stand on his head.
Words tumbled out of him: “Help-me-someone-help-me- now-get-off-help-me-now!”
Then he felt himself being lifted up, firmly; hands were under each shoulder. A couple of dancers had grabbed him, one on either side, and pulled him to safety, which was actually only a few feet away.
“Are you okay?” they asked, leaning toward Adam. They were about fifteen or sixteen. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, thanks, mate,” he said, trying to look as if the experience had been expected and entertaining.
Asa arrived, having also been rescued by two slightly older dancers.
Megan, Rachel and Leo ran over. “You should not have been in there!” shouted Leo.
“It was brilliant,” said Asa.
“Come on,” said the oldest rescuer. “Let’s get you away from here.”
The group, now nine in total, wound their way past those who were still dancing and slumped on the muddy ground next to a popcorn and cotton candy stall.
“I could do with something to eat,” said Rachel. She was looking at the oldest boy, who was all blond hair and muscles. She thought he looked like Alex Pettyfer. Rachel, a goddess to most boys, had Alex Pettyfer as her god.
One of the two girls spoke to Adam. “You really should stay out of that stuff until you’re a bit older, but you’re a sick dancer.” Adam was flattered. He looked into the girl’s deep blue eyes—eyes the same color as Megan’s, but much more grown-up somehow.
“Thanks. Can I buy you all a drink, as a thank-you for getting me out of there?” suggested Adam.
The group ended up spending the rest of Saturday evening together, and by 11:00 p.m. on Saturday it was as if they had all been friends for years. By Sunday evening they were like family.
The action was wilder on Sunday, with everyone trying to make the most of the last evening. There were so many people that although the site was less than a mile from end to end, it was impossible to find anyone else, especially as there was no cell phone reception.
The blond boy was called Keenan, which he said meant “fair-headed” in Irish. The pretty girl was Cassie: “I don’t know where that comes from, but it probably means clever and sexy,” she said in a way that made Adam and Asa look at one another and Megan roll her eyes. The other two were named Harry and Sofia.
After checking in with Asa’s parents at exactly the agreed time—a ploy to make sure that they were allowed to stay out until the music stopped at midnight—the group split up. Leo was talked into visiting the DJ tent with the other two newcomers. An exhausted Asa said that he was keen to dance in front of the main stage with Rachel. Harry and Sofia also drifted off. So Adam and Megan were left alone with Keenan and Cassie.
Year eleven seemed an exotic and distant land for Adam and Megan, who were in year nine. Adam had already started to flick his hair back in the same way as Keenan; Megan had a hushed conversation with Cassie about kissing.
Adam and Megan never considered that they were in terrible danger. They thought that Keenan and Cassie were ordinary kids.
They never saw a seventeen-year-old boy with a long scar on his neck watching them.
10:15 p.m.
“How about going on the rides before they close?” said Keenan. “You can still hear the main stage from there.”
There were three main rides, none of which had long lines. The Frisbee was certainly the most exciting, but Megan and Cassie weren’t keen. “If I puke up there, it’ll go on people down here,” said Cassie. There was also one called Starship, in which riders were spun around while pressed against a circular wall. But they chose Tornado, the gentlest, which allowed all four of them to go on together.
10:30 p.m.
They whirled and twisted and pressed together, whooping and screaming, dizzy with spinning and laughter. Lights and sound twirled around them. Adam had one arm around Megan—amazing Megan—and one arm round Cassie, who was soft to touch and very pretty.
He stepped off the ride feeling happier than ever and pulled Megan over, briefly hugging her. “That was great, wasn’t it?”
For a second—what a second—she had both arms around him, hugging him back. “Yes, it was.”
“How about going back to our tent to chill out?” said Keenan. “Come on, you’ve got an hour.”
10:55 p.m.
The tent was big enough for four. “This is where Harry and I sleep,” said Keenan. Harry seemed friendly enough, but he wasn’t an imposing and impressive character like Keenan. “Cassie and Sofia are next door.” Keenan pulled out a large brown bottle. “How about something to get the party going? Just a swig?”
Megan was not keen. Her parents nearly hadn’t let her go to the festival at all. “Don’t drink. And stay away from anything that looks like drugs,” they had warned her, over and over.
Cassie said that she would have some; Adam also. He felt very daring and several years older than he was. Megan agreed to a drop, which resulted in three-quarters of a plastic cup. They all sat with cider in front of them.
“Come on then,” said Keenan. And he drank first. “How about truth or dare?”
Adam and Megan smiled and gave mock groans, then nodded.
11:25 p.m.
This had to be the last go, because all four had spotted the time on Keenan’s alarm clock. Adam was determined to go for dare again, hoping that he would have to kiss Megan.
Keenan had a different idea. “You have to run down to the first-aid tent, with your T-shirt off, shouting, ‘I love Megan, I love Megan.’ ”
Adam’s disappointment was lessened by the thought that this might still lead to a kiss later. “Okay,” he said as he pulled off his top. He quickly leaped outside, bolstered by cider, so not as shy as he would normally have been in front of those returning to their tents.
“I love Megan! I love Megan!”
He jumped over ropes and between tents, even cupping his hands to his mouth, racing all the way there. Done it. He began to head back, still yelling. “I love Megan! I love—”
Then he stopped. Between him and Keenan’s tent was the teenager from the park. For a few seconds they faced one another like gunslingers about to draw weapons.
“No!” Adam felt drained and cold inside. He had to get back. Keenan looked tough; he would help.
Unable to head straight there, and struggling to see clearly in the dark, he went down one row, where the path was slightly wider, and sprinted in what he thought was the right direction. He didn’t look to either side, just ran with all his strength until he finally spotted the brown and gray of Keenan’s tent. Sighing with relief, Adam fell breathlessly inside.
11:35 p.m.
A hand immediately grabbed his throat and he was pushed harshly to the ground. Knees on his back. His legs pinned down.
Then a voice: “Truth or dare?” It was Keenan.