Thirteen

by Tom Hoyle

  Adam thought of the bloke chasing him, who surely wouldn’t be far away. “Stop messing about! There’s someone after me.”

  Adam could hear chuckling. Was that Harry?

  “Answer me—truth or dare?”

  Adam was suddenly desperate. “Let me go, you bastard.”

  Keenan, usually called Cobra, grabbed the side of Adam’s face and pulled the skin tight. “Truth or dare?” he insisted.

  “Truth?” said Adam.

  “You’re coming with us. Don’t make a sound, or your girlfriend will get hurt.”

  Megan? Where was she? Adam didn’t want her hurt. He had no choice. “Okay.”

  He was hauled upright, Harry on one arm and a girl he hadn’t seen before on the other.

  Why the hell were they doing this? He had no idea how their game had suddenly become twisted and scary.

  “And, just in case you were thinking of shouting for help, you’ll find that this really keeps the noise down,” said Keenan. He stuffed a handkerchief into Adam’s mouth. Though Adam could still breathe, it deadened any sound he tried to make.

  “This also keeps the noise down,” said Keenan, punching Adam in the face. Unable to move his arms, Adam couldn’t stop his eyes from watering.

  Keenan picked up a large leather-bound book and put it in a backpack.

  Adam was marched out of the tent, then back toward the trees. He knew that fields were beyond: he had seen them when they arrived. Were they going to beat him up? What had he done? Did this have something to do with Jake? Terrified that something would happen to Megan, Adam didn’t speak until they were well beyond the tents. Then his voice came out like a low siren through the handkerchief. “Why? Why?”

  He was ignored, and step by step the tents disappeared into the distance, until Adam was pushed between a gap in the fence and all was darkness.

  They kept walking.

  “What’s going on? What do you want?” Adam pleaded for answers.

  11:50 p.m.

  Keenan spoke. “Before you die, I’ll tell you what you are. You are filth, but you are dangerous. Born at midnight at the millennium, two thousand years after the previous Imposter, you—”

  “I wasn’t. I wasn’t,” Adam tried to say. But he was.

  “You would stop Lord Coron, who will cleanse this world, from taking his real place, perhaps with me at his side.”

  Coron? Cleanse the world? What was Keenan going on about? This was mad!

  Adam realized that these people were completely crazy. He was terrified and things didn’t make sense. They really were going to kill him! He struggled, throwing his body around, desperately trying to break free. Keenan put a hand on either side of Adam’s mouth and pressed in. Then he jabbed him hard with his fist. Adam’s world shrank to black, his face filled with pain.

  Adam was turned to face Harry.

  “Python, teach him to choose manners,” said Keenan.

  Python? Not Harry? Adam was confused. They were using different names. What the hell was going on?

  Harry, or Python, kneed Adam twice and then kicked him in the stomach. Adam coughed up something into the back of the handkerchief. His throat gurgled.

  Near the brow of the hill, at the far end of a field, they stopped.

  11:58 p.m.

  Keenan pulled the leather-bound book and a long knife from his backpack.

  Sofia smiled. “Go on.”

  “Yes, go on,” said Harry. “Say the words of sacrifice.”

  The knife didn’t glint. It was dark and solid.

  The handkerchief was pulled from Adam’s mouth. “I’ll do anything,” he burbled, panic making his brain spin like a wheel on ice. “Just don’t kill me. I promise, anything.”

  11:59 p.m.

  Keenan started. “Master, accept this sacrifice . . .”

  Something flashed past the rim of Adam’s vision and hit Sofia, who let out a small groan and fell to the ground. Suddenly the arm she had been holding was free.

  What . . . ?

  Then a figure in a dark top threw himself into the group. The knife left Keenan’s hands and twisted in the air before hitting the grass with a whisper.

  Adam and Harry stood frozen for an instant, then Adam snapped himself loose and dived for the knife.

  What happened next only took a second. Adam grabbed the knife, his mind blinded by panic and twisted by pain. In the same instant, Harry dived at him, drawing back his fist to punch. Adam could do nothing to stop him. Everything hung in slow motion for a moment, then sped up again.

  The knife went into Harry. Immediately—too late—Adam’s hand leaped away from the hilt. He knew what had happened before Harry even fell to the ground.

  He had killed him.

  Beside him, the older boy in the black top had Keenan pinned to the ground, while Sofia sat on the grass, moaning in pain and clutching her head.

  “Run,” said the older boy to Adam. “Run! And if you ever need me again, I will be where you and the girl went through the water.”

  Adam immediately set off toward the festival site, oblivious to the impression he would make with red stains on his hands.

  He didn’t look back.

  He had almost been killed.

  He was a killer.

  And he had left the knife—the knife with his fingerprints. Evidence of his guilt.

  All around him, the trees and grass murmured accusingly as he ran on: savage, killer, murderer.

  14

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 28, 2013

  Panic filled Adam’s chest, crawling and wriggling like maggots.

  I’ve just killed someone. Nothing will ever be the same again.

  Panic, confusion.

  Adam ran back to Keenan’s tent and tore in. Killer said the rising zip.

  No one was inside, just a battery-powered lamp dimly spreading orange light. The glow had seemed bright before, now it was sinister and pale.

  Should I get adults?

  No—I’ve just killed someone!

  Where is Megan?

  Think!

  Adam’s T-shirt was exactly where he had left it half an hour earlier. Half an hour. That’s all it had taken to change everything.

  What have I done?

  Then, clear drops of thought: Put your T-shirt on and search their stuff. But quick—they will be coming back.

  Adam frantically went through the tent. First he went to the small metallic suitcase between the sleeping mats, trying three or four times to force it open, anxious that time was slipping away, but it stayed resolutely locked. As if it would make any difference, he beat at it with his palms. Then he looked in and under sleeping bags—nothing.

  He swore several times, the words an empty expression of frustration and fear.

  He remembered the girls’ tent. Keenan had said it was the next one. He should have gone there straight away to find Megan. If only he could think.

  But he had killed someone. Killed!

  Grabbing the case, Adam dashed outside, wishing he had a flashlight or a weapon. A misty drizzle had started.

  I am a murderer echoed around his head.

  The nearest tent was in darkness, but there was movement and sound from inside. What should he do? The case would hurt if he whacked someone with it, but if he struck through the tent he might hit Megan. He would have to go in and swing the case like a club.

  He imagined himself killing again. Felt himself falling helplessly into a pit.

  Adam knelt down on the wet grass and put his hand on the bottom of the zip. There was a high-pitched muttering coming from inside, but the words were indistinct. He pulled the zip up a couple of inches. No padlock.

  Idiot! The lamp. Get the lamp.

  Idiotic killer.

  Adam snatched the lamp and returned, unzipping and entering the tent in one swift movement.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” A man and a woman sat up immediately, staring at Adam’s illuminated face. The man, in his early twenties, looked angry rather than awkwar
d. “You’re in the wrong bloody tent.” The woman was pulling up their sleeping bag to cover herself.

  Adam retreated without an apology. He didn’t care. “Meg?”

  He went to all the tents nearby. Some had people in them, some were empty. He started pulling at ropes and canvas, lost in his own frantic desperation. “Meg? Meg!”

  A loud and deep voice came back: “Will you shut up?” Then another voice: “Move on or I’m going to punch your lights out!”

  “Meg!”

  Then, in the distance, Megan’s voice saying, “Adam? Ad—”

  And the voice was cut off.

  She was near, just a row or two away.

  The music had now stopped, and here and there people were returning for the night. Adam ran down the rows, the rain heavier now, making the ground slippery. He noticed that the rain sliding from his hands onto the lamp had a red tinge. Proof of his crime.

  Suddenly, in the distance, he saw the backs of Megan and Cassie. Thank God. A little flame of awareness flickered in his mind: hide the case and prepare to fight. He threw the case between two tents and put the lamp in his right hand. It was the best weapon he had.

  The girls turned at that instant. “Adam, I’m so sorry,” Megan said, clearly upset. “They said that they were going to send you to me as part of the game. I’m really sorry. I knew it was a bad idea.”

  “Yes, a bad idea,” he said, looking at Cassie.

  “Adam, please forgive me. I was really worried when I realized you’d gone.” Megan was near to tears.

  “It seems that things didn’t work out,” said Cassie.

  Adam moved between the girls, pushing Megan slightly behind him, leaving a very faint red imprint on her top.

  The rain fell heavily.

  Walking toward Cassie, Adam growled, “Listen to me, you evil bitch.” He gripped the lamp. Cassie cast a large shadow against a nearby tent.

  “Adam, we really are sorry. It was stupid, stupid, and dumb,” interrupted Megan. She was properly crying, her face contorted and her shoulders moving erratically up and down. “Please can we go back now?”

  Cassie mimicked her: “Please can we go back now?”

  Megan still cried, soaked and alone, as Adam moved closer to Cassie.

  Adam spoke very deliberately, fear gone, anger composing him. “Cassie, or whatever your name is, I promise you that if you don’t go, I will make you.”

  A million drops of rain drummed off tents and hard earth.

  Cassie spoke equally slowly, but quietly, so not even Megan could hear: “If you have hurt Harry or anyone else, I will cause you so much pain that you will beg to die.”

  They stared at one another, bonded by hatred.

  Megan came to Adam’s side. “Please, please let’s go back now. I want to go home.”

  Cassie moved away, unsmiling. “I’m sure we’ll get to play truth or dare again sometime. . . .” Then she started to run.

  Megan stood next to Adam in the dark as he washed his hands under the outside tap near to their tents. Her eyes were red with emotion and sudden fatigue. “What happened? Why are you washing your hands? I don’t understand.” She looked thin in her wet jumper and jeans. “And what’s that?” she pointed at the case that Adam had retrieved.

  Fear and guilt coiled like two snakes in Adam’s mind. He started to shake.

  “Megan, I would normally tell you anything. But I never want to talk about what happened tonight.” He had never shouted at Megan before, ever, but he did now. There was real desperation in his voice. “Never, never. Have you got that?”

  Megan’s face splintered again into tears and confusion.

  Adam stepped forward and put his arms around her. She stood still, like a pillar, arms at her side. Adam didn’t say anything.

  Megan didn’t understand what Adam had done, but she knew that the hug meant he was sorry, and that he cared for her. But she still feared that something had happened to change their lives.

  15

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 28, 2013

  Adam didn’t sleep at all that night. He was terrified of another attack, so he never actually put his head down. His tent was some way from Cassie’s and Keenan’s, and much nearer to the main road through the site, but sometimes a rustle rose above the drumming of the rain and Adam tightened his grip on the mallet used to drive in the tent pegs. He was in mortal danger. And he had done something terrible. He knew he should tell someone.

  But how could he? He was a killer.

  His parents were decent people, but they would immediately involve the police, which would lead to arrest and imprisonment, probably. Adam didn’t really know what they did with thirteen-year-olds, but the words Young Offenders’ Institution hung over him. Or maybe they would send him to a home, a Victorian building with brutal dormitories and metal beds and cold showers.

  Adam saw his future dribbling away. He prodded the locked suitcase.

  He certainly couldn’t confide in anyone at school. He hardly knew his form teacher, Mrs. Hopkins. Mrs. Tavistock? No way. Mr. Sterling? He wouldn’t be shocked to hear Adam had massacred a village, but even he would probably do what teachers do. It would all go straight back to parents and the police.

  Asa or Leo? He kept all important things from them already. No, there was only one person: Megan. And he wanted to protect her from it all. He would have to do this on his own. If he kept quiet it would all go away—not immediately, but slowly; it would fade until it was just a shadow and might not have happened at all.

  And in between thinking this, Adam kept being dragged back to fearful tension by the slightest noise.

  Asa’s shallow breathing continued regardless. Adam looked again at the case. Eventually he decided to take it behind the shower block and force it open with the mallet.

  Megan didn’t sleep at all that night, lying still in the darkness, turning the events of the evening over and over in her mind. Rachel asked several times what the matter was, but she always said the same thing: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  To complicate things further for Megan, Asa’s dad had called her parents by walking to the gate and getting reception on his phone. The words missing with Adam would have conjured up all sorts of images in their minds. Asa’s parents didn’t ask many questions when Adam and Megan had finally arrived: they were tired and saw only a vague boyfriend–girlfriend situation. If only they had thought to investigate, things would have taken a very different course. But they didn’t know how very ignorant they were, so didn’t think to ask.

  The rain and early start had kept most people awake, so Adam and Megan were among tired company the next morning. Adam felt wretched: worried, depressed, exhausted.

  “Is everything okay?” asked Leo needlessly.

  “I think that there’s been a bit of a domestic,” said Asa in front of Adam. “Let me know if you want some advice from Uncle Asa.” He was buoyed by his success with Rachel and had slept soundly.

  As they packed up, Adam glanced across the field to where they had played Truth or Dare. How long ago that seemed. He couldn’t make out individual tents very well, but almost all of them had been taken down. Still the metallic case sat at Adam’s feet.

  “Is that one yours?” asked Asa’s dad, who seemed to have completely forgotten about the earlier events.

  “Yes,” he lied.

  In silence, Adam and Megan walked to the station, trailing slightly behind the rest. As they left the festival site, the Rock Harvest banner still dripping from the overnight rain, Adam saw a tall blond boy and a brown-haired girl waiting in the distance by the roadside. Thinking about safety in numbers—they couldn’t attack him here, surely—Adam drifted closer to the others, but gradually realized that they looked nothing like the pair he thought they were. His shoulders slumped and he suddenly felt desperate to get home.

  Milton Keynes Station was awash with festival goers, a rather more subdued bunch than two or three days earlier. Somehow, everyone from Gospel Oak Senior had managed to g
ather in the middle of platform four, the departure point for one of the trains to London.

  Adam and Megan wandered up. Jake was in the middle of the group. “I sorted him out,” he was saying, “and he didn’t bother us again.” Adam felt safer now that he was with familiar faces, even Jake Taylor’s.

  Then something terrible. Across two tracks on the parallel platform was another familiar face: Cassie. She seemed to be alone and looked as tired as Adam.

  Adam noticed a train about two hundred yards away, trundling closer with the usual sparks and squeaks, about to arrive in front of her.

  She mouthed four words: “The case. Leave it.”

  Adam edged away from his group and spoke across the tracks, “Why?”

  The train was gliding in. One hundred yards.

  “I want it.”

  Adam waited, looking between case and girl.

  Fifty yards.

  He shrugged a little. “Okay.”

  Then twenty yards, then ten.

  And at that point he threw the case toward Cassie, but it fell short, on to the tracks in front of her platform. Almost immediately the train was sitting over it like a dinosaur shielding an egg. There was no way that Cassie could get to it until the train pulled away.

  Curious onlookers muttered and nudged, including some from Adam’s group.

  “Grant, you’re so stupid,” said Jake. “I’ve had dumps that are more intelligent than you. I don’t know why a pretty thing like Meggie wastes her time with you.” At that moment Adam’s train arrived and they all flooded on.

  Adam found himself able to look out of the window and see the train on Cassie’s platform pull out, revealing the case.

  Despite the shock of onlookers and shouts from attendants on the station, Cassie leaped onto the tracks. Adam peered down from his train.

  With terrifying presence of mind, she glanced up and smiled. “Thanks.” And, looking pretty, and innocent and attractive in ways that still affected Adam despite everything, she added, “See you soon.”

  Then, case in her arms, she leaped back up on to the platform. Several travelers gathered around her.

  Seconds later she turned back toward Adam, fire in her eyes and snarling. She was looking for the fastest way to reach him.