The Detainee
Page 25
“How long?” I asked.
The little guy made a face like maybe it would be next week, maybe next year, but more likely sometime after the world’s gone bang. I sighed, unable to hide my disappointment. He really had me going there for a moment. Now we were back to firing peashooters at the sun.
“I need time!” he cried.
The only trouble is, we don’t have it. Or certainly not in the quantities he requires. I mean, I can see why he’s so excited by the possibility of finding out about the satellites, maybe even discovering something that might prove invaluable in the future. But the trouble with Jimmy is, he gets so swept away on these tidal waves of enthusiasm it can take days before he gets his feet back on firm ground again. We have other, far more pressing, problems, and now, thanks to Bailey, maybe the means of confronting them. When I told Jimmy the news about the Villagers who might want to join us, ex-soldiers, he wasn’t in the slightest bit interested. In fact, he was so intent on getting back to that damn computer, I don’t think he even registered what I said.
“Did you hear me?” I asked.
He nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Jimmy!” I groaned, but this time he didn’t even answer.
In the end we left him to it. I mean, I have a fair idea what’s gonna happen, that at some stage I’ll be forced into dragging him away from that thing, that I’ll be accused of all manner of tactical and mental shortcomings, but I don’t care. He isn’t the only one on a mission around here.
Bailey and me returned to the living area to find Gordie and Luxurious back with a couple more friends. Little guys, I think they were brothers, I don’t know, Johnny and someone. As we arrived they were telling Lena and Delilah about more kids disappearing, that they’d seen a refrigerated container being loaded onto the night garbage boat.
There was a long silence. I could feel Delilah looking at me, but I refused to meet her gaze. I mean, I don’t know if it’s my imagination or what, but I hate this idea that everyone’s waiting for me to do something. The intention’s there, they know that, it’s just that I haven’t quite got my head around the logistics yet.
“I got two more lined up for tomorrow,” Gordie told us.
I turned to Lena. “What d’ya think?”
She shrugged, plainly a little concerned. “I don’t know. That would make eight. It’s unlikely to be noticed but . . .”
Gordie gave such a howl of protest, his disappointment in us so obvious it was just the final push I needed. “Gordie! Gordie!” I cried, calming him, putting my hand on his shoulder.
“What?” he moaned.
“I want you to do something else for me.”
“What?” he repeated, even more begrudgingly.
I paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Instead of persuading kids to come up here, I want you to get them to help us down there.”
He just stared at me, as if I wasn’t making any sense. “Doing what?”
“Next time there’s a fog, we’re going to attack the Camp.”
Silence fell like a pebble into a pond, and Johnny, or whatever his name is, whispered, “Shit!” as if he just realized he’d been tricked into joining the funny farm.
“Are you serious?” Gordie asked.
“Yeah. But be careful. Better ten kids you can trust than fifty you can’t.”
“But what are we going to do?” he persisted.
I shrugged, as if making the most matter-of-fact of decisions. “We’re going to blow that damn place, De Grew, and all his Wastelords into the sea.”
Later, when I went down to Jimmy’s workshop to inform him of the plan, that we were going down into the Camp as soon as the fog allowed and Bailey’s contingent of Villagers was confirmed, his reaction was, well, about what I would’ve expected.
“You’re kidding me,” he said, for once unlocking his gaze from his computer screen.
“No.”
“Big Guy!”
“Why not?”
“Wait for me to go through these disks!”
“Jimmy! We haven’t got the time! Can you guarantee me that what’s in there’s going to help?”
“Yeah . . .” he said, with a slight hesitation.
“People are dying!”
“People are always dying,” he said, almost dismissively.
I tell you, that really got me. Obsession’s such a selfish thing and I understand it normally, I really do. It’s people like him who get things done in this world, who make the discoveries, illuminate our darkness. I’m just one of the dull masses who go to make up the demand. But this is something else.
“Can’t you see how shortsighted you’re being?” he said. “What difference is a few days, a week or two, going to make to the overall situation?”
“To those kids being killed and chopped up for spare parts, quite a lot,” I growled. “Still, as long as you get to play with your toys.”
There wasn’t a lot of going back from that. I mean, we’d never had a proper argument before and I don’t think either of us knew how to handle it. In the end, he just said I could do whatever I liked, but it would be without him. Which was a bit of a problem, cuz the main reason I’d gone to see him was to ask for his help. With no weapons on the Island apart from waste workers’ machetes, I was hoping he might come up with a few ideas to even up the odds. It was the first time Jimmy ever let me down. He wouldn’t even answer me. Just sat there hunched over his computer, tapping away at the keys, sulking like some shriveled-up old man-child.
Thank God that Bailey returned from the Village with more encouraging news. He’s managed to talk thirty-two people into joining us and, to be honest, when he told me it made me feel kind of humbled. I’ve always been so critical of Villagers, to find I’d misjudged them by that much came as quite a shock. All but two are ex-soldiers, some men, some women, and just like with the kids, we’re going to bring them over a few at a time.
The other thing he’s proved invaluable for is coming up with makeshift armaments. There’s kerosene in one of the storerooms, gallons of it, and after collecting up every suitable container, he started to make up some Molotov cocktails.
’Course, when Jimmy got to hear, he was even more put out; sneering at Molotovs, saying they were crude, only for “kids and backstreet rioters.” I guess he was just peeved at someone else taking over his role of inventor. In the end, and despite still being pissed at me, he couldn’t resist showing Bailey how it “ought to be done.” He knows where he can get some weed killer—that must’ve been used to keep the concourses clear on the old stations or something—and has begrudgingly abandoned his computer for the shortest of whiles to set about making us up some “real explosives.”
The following day, Gordie and Luxurious returned from the Camp really pleased with themselves. They’ve spoken to a lot of kids, those they’re sure they can trust, and reckon they got twenty or so who are with us, and maybe twice that number who’ll join in once they’re sure we’re serious.
It’s almost beyond belief. After everything that’s happened, the kids, who once hunted us, who treated our destruction like one of those old computer games, are now ready to fight alongside us. Maybe Gordie’s oft-repeated boast that he’s got a real reputation in the Camp ain’t bravado after all. Either that or he’s one helluva persuasive speaker.
Later, Bailey’s going to bring over the first of his old soldiers. I mean, crazy, harebrained, whatever this plan is, it’s actually starting to fall into place. There’s a real buzz going around the tunnels, a sense that these old arteries are starting to pulse with life again.
That afternoon I went up to the entrance to wait for Bailey. I knew he wouldn’t take any risks bringing them in, I wasn’t worried about that, it was more wanting to be there to greet them, to maybe make up for my past sins. And also, if I’m really honest about it, I was feeling pretty excited at the prospect of their arrival.
The only problem was, they didn’t come. Not that day, nor the following one.
I waited till the next morning, and still with no sign, decided to go over and see what the problem was. The moment the Village came into sight I got my answer. No wonder I hadn’t seen many Wastelords in the Old City; they were all over there. I never seen that many. Every direction you looked there were gangs of red overalls bleeding from one row into another. And as I got just a bit closer, I saw something that was even more of an unpleasant surprise.
It wasn’t only Wastelords. Not just Islanders. There were others, too. Men and women, casually dressed in civilian clothing, and yet, something about them made you think they were a proper trained and disciplined force. I turned to look down to the pier. There was an unfamiliar boat tied up down there—I don’t know, I’m not an expert, it wasn’t painted in military colors or anything, but it was some kind of patrol boat. Over in the distance, up near the Head, not one, but two Infinity Dragonflies suddenly chattered into the air. Jesus, they must’ve thought that whatever was going on was interesting.
I stood there for a while, tempted to go into the Village, try to find out what was going on, but in the end decided it was too risky. Instead, I made my way back to the tunnels. All of the others, with the exception of Jimmy who was still spending his time down in his workshop (and presumably away from me), were waiting in the living area.
“Well, that’s it,” Delilah said, on hearing my news. “They’ll be over here next.”
“We can trust Bailey,” I reassured her.
“And what about the other thirty-two?” Delilah asked.
There was a pause, Gordie made this kind of sneering grunt, like it was my fault for involving Villagers in the first place.
“Who the hell are those other guys?” I asked, for maybe the tenth time.
“Mainland police?” Lena suggested.
“Is there such a thing?”
“Some kind of security, maybe?”
“But what are they doing here?”
“I don’t know!”
I sighed, knowing she was getting a little irritated. “I gotta go back over. Speak to Bailey.”
“How?” Lena asked. “If there’s that many?”
I hesitated, but only for a moment. “At night.”
“Clancy!”
“What choice have I got?”
“I’ll come,” Gordie volunteered.
“Me too!” Arturo chimed in, with Luxurious only a fraction behind.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why not?” Gordie asked, though he swallowed the question almost as soon as he said it. “Oh.”
“What?” Arturo asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?” Arturo asked again.
Gordie kind of headed him away, the other kids following. “They don’t want us going over to the Village at night,” he muttered. “Frightening old people.”
All of them went quiet and drifted off down the tunnel, their heads slightly bowed, like they’d just been reminded of a misdemeanor they’d almost forgotten.
Lena sighed. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, dammit!” I said, wishing I’d never said anything. “I know the way better than you do. And, Delilah, before you say anything, no, I don’t want your help either!”
It’s funny how nights can vary in terms of darkness, with or without the moon. This one seemed a lot denser than the time I went out to dig up the cable, like I was having to actually push its folds aside to get through. I knew I couldn’t do what I did before: assume there’d be no one around and go wherever I liked. Island rules have changed. Anything’s possible now. I needed to skulk in the shadows, slip from one pile of rubble to the next, constantly on the lookout.
When the pier came into view, the boat had gone and presumably its passengers with it, so that was one worry I didn’t have to deal with. Mind you, I still didn’t have a clue what I was up against, nor what to expect.
It took me the best part of three-quarters of an hour to get over there. Ducking down, leaping in and out of mounds of garbage, forever disturbing protesting rats. The way the weather’s been, with no fog in a while, I was hoping Bailey wouldn’t have moved his lean-to yet. If he had, God knew what I was going to do.
I turned into the rows, walking as quietly as I could, aware I was probably alarming Villagers, that they had to be wondering who the hell was out at this time of night. One lean-to I passed, this woman must’ve been on the final strand of a whole lotta torture, cuz she started to scream, over and over, like she just couldn’t bear it anymore. I heard this female voice trying to pacify her, telling her it was all right, but I hurried on, anxious to be gone before any Wastelords came to investigate.
Villagers don’t normally sleep that well, just endlessly doze, but there inevitably comes a time when they’re so exhausted they almost fall into a coma. Which must’ve been the case with Bailey, cuz I was able to slip into his lean-to without so much as the slightest alteration to his long, low snoring. I locked my arm around his neck, my hand across his mouth and he instantly awoke.
“It’s me!” I hissed as he tried to wrench himself free. His eyes kind of gaped, like he was furious with me, or maybe himself, then he went all limp, as if to indicate submission. “We need to talk. And I hope for your sake you haven’t been talking to anyone else,” I warned.
He nodded his head slowly to show he understood and I removed my hand from over his mouth.
“They’re searching the Village,” he told me. “Going through every single lean-to. No one’s being allowed to leave.”
“Who is?”
“The Wastelords. And others. From the Mainland.”
I sighed and released my grip fully, knowing instantly it was true. “Who?”
“Infinity?” he suggested.
“Nah, they’re just media.”
“Only name I’ve seen. Whoever they are, De Grew seems pretty grateful for their assistance.”
“He’s been here?”
“Every day.” Bailey gave this kind of low whistle, as if he’d come face to face with the devil. “One helluva nasty piece of work.”
I paused for a moment, trying to take it all in. “Is this still about Lena?”
Bailey shook his head. “I don’t think so. Somebody’s talked somewhere. They’re going through the whole place inch by inch. Searching for weapons, anything that might be used in a fight. The Old City’ll probably be next.”
“I don’t get it.” I sighed. “What about these volunteers of yours?”
“We’re still with you, but . . . what can we do?”
I thought for a moment. “Can you round them up now?”
“In the dark?”
I nodded. Bailey made this face like it wasn’t going to be easy, but still agreed.
“We can’t do nothing without you,” I told him. “Thirty or so people are going to make all the difference.”
“Twenty-seven,” he said, sounding a little apologetic. “Including me.” I looked at him, waiting for an explanation. “He frightens the hell out of everyone.”
I nodded my head, again feeling that plunging in my stomach I’d got so used to over the last few days; he was talking about the man I was planning to kill.
As quietly as we possibly could, Bailey and me went from lean-to to lean-to, gathering up our little army, their ages and shortcomings all too obvious as they stumbled sleepily out into the night. Several times one of them fell over something as we made our way along the row. You could hear people inside muttering away, wondering what the hell was going on. A couple of plastics were pulled back a finger or two, but we just kept moving.
It was even worse when got out on the landfills. Scampering from one mound of garbage to another was almost comic. God kn
ows how long it’d been since they’d been out at night. I mean, each society creates its own culture and in ours you simply didn’t do it. They were tripping over things, wandering off in the wrong direction, getting lost all the time. It was all I could do to ensure we ended up with the same number we started off with.
Mind you, to be fair, by the time we reached the tunnel entrance they were starting to get the hang of it. But any hope they had of regaining their composure was lost when I suddenly leaned into a pile of rubble and magically opened a door. There were a couple of gasps, one or two muttered curses, and though they tried to take it in stride, what they were met with inside, what they saw on their way down, made it impossible.
You should’ve seen their faces when they first confronted the kids. They were like age-old natural enemies, cats and dogs, hackles raised, eyes blazing, circling around, getting ready for a fight. ’Course, we had to explain to them that it ain’t like that down here, but they only really got it when they saw Arturo cuddling up to Delilah, Luxurious jealously trying to slide in between them. Even Gordie became aware enough of the situation to soften his act a little, cutting down on his usual attitude and aggression.
As for Hannah, well, in a way she’s the biggest miracle of them all. She still hasn’t spoken more than the odd word, but I tell you, I gotta helluva shock the day I found her dancing in the garden. I went down to see if she wanted any help digging up some vegetables. As I was approaching, I could hear these skippy little footsteps, someone softly humming. ’Course, she stopped as soon as she realized I was watching, but do you know something? Even though I only caught a moment of it, even though she pretended like it never happened, it was long enough for me to see what she was doing. Out here, in all this shit and violence, and after the ugly and despairing life she’s known, that kid was dancing ballet. Pirouetting and skipping across the garden, leaping into the air, and I tell you, it was something quite beautiful to behold.
Anyways, small and disparate though we might be, our little army is finally assembled. Thirty-one adults and six kids (plus the promise of at least another twenty, maybe more, to rendezvous with us on the way down). Which probably doesn’t sound like that many under the circumstances, but in the few days that we’ve all been down here, it sometimes feels like a good old-fashioned rush hour. Everywhere you look there are people. Stretched out along the living area, sleeping in every alcove, wandering around wondering what to do. All of them living in this kind of limbo state, not used to this underground world the way we are, and not planning to get that way either. Life for them is up top and won’t begin again until we go up there and fight for it.