by Fiona Shaw
People left quickly with their bags of food, like they couldn’t get away fast enough. Finding a spot in the shadow of a big building, Jake watched them from a distance: a steady stream of people hurrying off. He just had to choose the right person. Someone who looked kind. A bit of food to get Ollie on his feet again, and get them both to the Tube: that’s all he needed. Then they could find the others …
But what if the gang had gone? What would him and Ollie do then?
Angrily he pushed the thoughts away, but they were there in his head, those fears, barely out of sight, just waiting for him.
He counted the people out. Five, ten, fifteen people.
Come on, he told himself. Get on and do it. He went and stood just a few feet away. He could see in from here: could see the guard stood just inside.
Then, gathering his courage, he went up to someone.
–Excuse me, he said.
The woman was about his mum’s age. She wore jeans and a jacket with little blue hearts on it and she had lots of bags, so he’d guessed she must have children, and he thought she had a nice face. He glanced quickly down at her bags. There was a sliced loaf at the top of one, and he could see tins in another and a carton of milk.
–We got separated from our parents, he said, –and we’re very hungry. The woman stared at him like she didn’t understand. So Jake tried again. –If you could spare a few slices of bread, or a tin? Any tin? I’ve got a penknife, I can open anything …
She’d stopped when he spoke to her, and he could see the guard looking their way. Come on, he thought, before the guard comes out. The woman beckoned to him, and he took a couple of steps closer. Maybe she’d give them a tin of beans and a tin of fish. Maybe she’d give him a swig from the milk carton.
Leaning forward, she whispered, so only he could hear, –I know what you are. You’re an illegal. We’ve been warned about you. Disgusting, your parents are, sending you out like this.
Jake stepped back. The woman’s mouth was twisted into a thin line and she was staring at him like he was something evil.
–They’re not, Jake said. –You don’t know anything—
But she cut him off with a shake of her head. –Lucky for you I’m in a hurry, else I’d take you and report you to a hub post myself.
And with her bags on her arm swinging in at him, she reached and grabbed him by the ear and wrenched it round so that he fell to his knees with the pain, despite himself.
–They want food, tell them to go on the Universal, like the rest of us.
She let go of his ear and walked off.
Before he could run, before he even could get to his feet, the guard was over to him. Jake tried to roll away, tried to resist, his fingers scrabbling at the pavement for something to hold on to, but she was much stronger than him, and she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the food bank. He wriggled and turned, trying to get free, but her fingers were like iron.
She bent close to him and whispered in his ear, –I can handcuff you if you prefer it, she said. –But they’re not nice to wear, even for small boys. So I suggest you come quietly, lad.
Her voice was worse than her grasp, and Jake’s strength deserted him and despair filled his veins.
–Now don’t make a sound, or else, the guard said.
People stared coldly at him as they walked past with their bags of food. Pulling him into a side room, the guard pushed Jake down onto the long wooden bench that ran down one side and shut the door.
–Don’t move, or I’ll cuff you, she said.
On the other was a wall of metal lockers. Taking out a bunch of keys, she unlocked one and swung the door open. Despite his fear, Jake gasped, because the locker was stacked high with food. Chocolate bars, cakes, fish tins, tins of fruit. Cartons of juice.
–Not a sound, remember? she growled. –Gimme your rucksack, and he watched her stuff it with food: a packet of KP nuts, some bread rolls, a couple of tins of fruit, two cartons of juice, three slabs of malt loaf, two chunks of Cathedral Cheddar, two packets of biscuits, a box of Mr Kiplings and two bars of Fruit & Nut.
–Now I’m going to take you out like I’ve punished you. Keep your head down and rub your eyes like you’ve been crying. Don’t run. Walk. And if anyone asks where you got that food and you so much as mention Euston Road food bank, I’ll swear blind you held me up with a knife and stole it from me. Do you understand?
Jake nodded, and she grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket and pushed him in front of her, out of the locker room and back into the corridor where people were still leaving with their bags of food.
–Get out, she said loudly, her voice sounding rough and angry, –before I report you to the hub police, and she shoved him out of the exit.
Jake kept his head down all the way back to the scaffolded building. It was raining now but he didn’t care. Glancing round to make sure no one was watching him, he slipped behind the flapping plastic.
But Ollie had gone.
There was nothing in the space behind the scaffolding except a heap of old clothes in one corner.
–I said I’d be back. And I said I’d find food, Jake said. –You just had to wait for me.
Tears pricked at his eyes, and he took a kick at the pile of clothes.
–Ouch!
Jake jumped at the voice, and then as he watched, the pile of clothes untangled itself.
–You didn’t need to kick me, Ollie said, sitting up. –I thought I should disguise myself better. He rubbed his elbow. –Least it worked, I suppose.
–I thought you’d blinking gone and left, Jake said, and he took a swipe at his friend.
Shadows passed by on the outside of the plastic and the two boys froze. When they’d gone, Jake pulled off his rucksack and unzipped it like a magician with a rabbit.
–Breakfast, like I promised, he whispered. –Look!
And he grinned to see Ollie’s face.
Twenty-one
They ate inside the sound of falling rain. Not just any rain, but thunderous, heavy drops that slammed into the pavement and ricocheted back against the plastic sheeting like bullets. The storm took the light from the sky and the air grew cold, but with food to eat, the boys didn’t care. When they’d eaten their fill, they packed the remainder into rucksacks. Jake pulled on his jacket, felt the rattle of the raisins in their box, somewhere deep in the lining.
–Ready? Jake said.
–Yep. Tube’s not far, Ollie said. –I checked on the map in the gardens.
Jake pushed aside the plastic and looked out. The street was empty. –You first then, he said.
Ollie was a different boy with food inside him, and Jake, having to run three steps to Ollie’s long-legged two, was glad it wasn’t far to the Tube. Within a minute he was soaked to the skin, but at least with the rain coming down so hard, nobody looked twice at two boys running. Ollie turned left down a long, narrow street lined with smart shops and cafes, and at the bottom, he stopped and pointed.
–Bond Street Tube, he said.
And there it was, the Tube entrance lit up, blue and shiny through the rain, on the far side of a huge street, pavements packed with people. Just a stone’s throw away.
Ollie turned up his collar. –Keep your neck hidden. Don’t want people seeing our scars.
Jake had never seen so many people, everybody rushing, clipping and cutting across each other. The crowd looked solid, no way in, but Ollie had disappeared already, eaten up by it. So Jake took a few deep breaths and followed him. It was like stepping into a vacuum, all the air sucked out. Faces in their mobiles, minds somewhere else, people caught him with their bags, swung their umbrellas into his face. Ollie was ahead of him, already disappearing, and he tried to catch up, but the crowd was so strong he felt himself pushed against the road barrier, felt the breath squashed from his body. His head felt dizzy and he was slipping down towards the grey pavement slabs, gasping for air.
Then a hand was on his collar, pulling at him, and Ollie was there, his lanky leng
th shielding Jake from the crowd, standing firm against it. –You all right?
Jake gulped deep draughts of air. He nodded.
Ollie put out his hand. –Hold it till we get to the Tube, he said. And then, seeing Jake’s expression, he rolled his eyes: –Get over yourself, or stay here. Up to you.
Jake didn’t know how Ollie did it. He seemed to weave around people, find gaps where there weren’t any, and a minute later they were inside the Tube station. It was as crammed as the street outside, with crowds of drenched people standing around, eating street food, waiting for the rain to stop. Scan hubs were mounted on the walls above people’s head, and reflexively Jake pulled his collar up. Slowly the boys made their way through the people, inching closer and closer to the ticket barriers.
Nearly back to the gang. Nearly back to Jet. As long as the gang hadn’t left already. Jake shook the thought from his head and ducked out of a wet umbrella’s way.
Along the walls, screens showed adverts for Les Miserables and Coca-Cola. Above them, the red ticker tape news bulletins spewed out:
… Coalition to clamp down on illegals … scientists testing virus antidote …
They were close to the barriers now. Jake watched people hold their mobiles to the swipe pads on the silver posts; the barrier opened, and the moment the person was through it closed swiftly behind them.
Nice one, Jake thought. We can’t buy a ticket because we haven’t got a mobile. But we can’t get caught because we haven’t got a chip.
He tapped Ollie on the shoulder and pointed to the barriers.
But Ollie didn’t respond. Instead he pointed to high on the wall, to the ticker tape feed. Jake looked up.
PM promises greater security against outlaw swarms … US President in surprise interest rate decision … outlaw gang murder London security guard: police close in on suspects …
Round the station the ticker tape spooled: police close in … police close in … police close in, on every side.
–We have to get out of here, Jake said quietly.
–But we haven’t got mobiles, Ollie said. –We can’t swipe.
–We can slide under. Just do what I do, Jake said; and before Ollie could say another word, he crouched low, then dived beneath the barrier, head between his arms, fingers laced in front of him, sliding on the tiled floor. Seconds later, he was under and up on the far side and people were staring at him, taking photos. They were waving at the hub camera, and the hub camera was turning slowly towards him. He looked back. Ollie was shaking his head.
–Come on, Ollie, Jake said.
Behind Ollie people were pressing in, impatient. Jake saw him take a deep breath, put his hands together, close his eyes.
He’s praying, Jake thought.
Then, with a little shout, Ollie dived.
They were halfway down the escalator when the hub police arrived at the top, lights flashing, tannoy booming: STAY WHERE YOU ARE. STAND TO THE RIGHT. DON’T MOVE. The escalator ground to a halt and people stood frozen to the spot.
Jake’s first instinct was still to make a run for it. It would be risky to shoot at them: too many other people in the way. And if they ran now, they could head for the nearest platform, jump down at one end, run into the tunnel, take their chances. Better that, surely, than stand here and be caught. He was ready to give Ollie the signal when Ollie nudged him.
–I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it. Take a look. There are tons of them.
–But … Jake said.
Ollie shook his head. –We haven’t got a chance.
Jake glanced round. A crowd of hub police jostled at the top, all of them weaponed up. Helmets, black gloves. And as he watched, they started pushing their way down the escalator stairs, three lots of hub police on the three parallel escalators. Somewhere a baby started crying, its wail echoing off the tiles. Any second now and it would all be over.
He gritted his teeth and gripped the rail. He felt Ollie lean forward into him. –You’ve been a proper friend, Jake, he said quietly. –I won’t forget, whatever happens.
The hub police were steps away now. Jake could hear their grunts, could hear people’s cries as the police trampled past them. Shoulders hunched, he kept his head lowered. You didn’t look around. You didn’t watch what was happening to someone else, in case it happened to you. But this was happening to him – and the man on the step below him, and the woman on the step above Ollie: they would look at their shoes, or their phones, or anywhere else they could, when the hubbers arrested two boys. Any second now.
JoJo used to say the police pulled zip ties too tight on purpose, specially on kids. There was a boy in their Home Academy who JoJo said had been paralysed that way.
Jake took a deep breath. He could smell aftershave, and sweat, and apples. Why could he smell apples? He made himself feel the smooth rubber of the escalator rail, nudged his boot toe between the ridges on the escalator step. His last minute of freedom. He wanted to store the memory, even if it was here, in this underground place, and in London.
He wouldn’t see Ollie again, or the gang. Or Jet. He’d never see Jet again.
The baby went on wailing.
Then the hubbers were there, pushing past Ollie and shoving Jake backwards, jamming him up against the rail. A hand gripped his shoulder, tight enough to bruise, and he felt the cold plastic of a baton shoved under his chin and lifted and pressed up against his throat, forcing his head backwards.
The tannoy blared: DO NOT MOVE. HUB POLICE EVENT. DO NOT MOVE. HUB POLICE EVENT.
A hubber stared back at him, her face only inches away from his. She was close enough that Jake could see the bags under her eyes, a livid scar across her cheekbone. She was close enough that he could smell her oniony breath, and he could see her eyes, which were his mother’s eyes, true brown, but not kind. And he was close enough that he could see he wasn’t what she was looking for. Her eyes tightened to slits, and she lowered the baton and spoke into her wire.
–Bond Street, escalator two, twenty yards. It’s a boy. No girl found.
She let go of him like he was something dirty, which come to think of it he was, and ran on down the escalator stairs, other hub police at her heels, and they were all gone as fast as they’d arrived.
Jake stood, dazed. People were staring at him, but he didn’t care. He was still free. He felt Ollie leaning forward again.
–They were looking for a girl, Ollie whispered, his voice high-pitched with relief. –Not us.
–One girl and all those police. She must’ve killed a lot of seccas, Jake said, and he was laughing; he couldn’t help himself, even though it wasn’t funny.
–It’ll be us soon, though, Ollie whispered. –They’ll have us on CCTV everywhere, the shop, the gardens, the streets, and they’ll be close behind now.
Still everyone stood on the three escalators, hundreds of people in three lines standing in the middle of nowhere, waiting. Then the tannoy voice again:
SECURITY ALERT OVER. PLEASE ENSURE YOU HAVE ALL YOUR PERSONAL POSSESSIONS.
The escalators jolted to life and the boys were swept along in the crowd of people pushing down the steps to the trains below.
They’d been searching the platforms for nearly two hours and Jake had almost given up hope when Ollie finally found the Outwalker sign. The trains rumbled under their feet with a gathering roar, the thunder on the rails, the rush of warm, old air, the blast of headlights as they came out of the tunnels. They’d checked every nub of chewing gum, every scratch, every bit of graffiti, and found nothing. At least the hub police had disappeared, and nobody paid any attention to two scruffy boys. Nobody noticed that they never got on a Tube train. Nobody noticed that they didn’t have mobiles, or wondered why they kept their jacket collars turned up, even in the fuggy warmth of the station. Sometimes Jake thought he glimpsed figures like them in the crowds pushing on, flooding off the trains: dirty-skinned and filthy-clothed, eyes shifting and lurking. But no children. Never their gang.
The sign
was scratched on to the side of a vending machine: a circle no bigger than a bottle top, and inside it another tiny dot, dinted firmly into the silver metal. Jake ran his finger over it. If you didn’t know, you wouldn’t even notice it. But this was their lifeline. This was their hope. If they hadn’t gone already. If they hadn’t gone.
Jake looked down to the end of the platform just a few yards off. A sign showed a bolt of lightning:
That’s where they had to go. They had to step round the sign, past the barrier, jump down onto the gravel beside the lines and run into the pitch-dark of that tunnel.
–Don’t look like you’re looking, Ollie muttered, and Jake turned back towards the platform. But a train was approaching, the rush of used-up air, and nobody was watching them. STAND CLEAR OF THE APPROACHING TRAIN. STAND CLEAR, went the tannoy voice.
Another minute, the train pulling out, and they’d be down beside the track and running. Running towards the gang. Running towards Jet.
If the gang hadn’t gone.
If they hadn’t gone.
Butterflies flicked in Jake’s stomach. The gang might be close now. Really close.
The Tube doors opened and people flooded out, shouldering forward past them, jostling into the carriage till they were packed tight as fish in a tin. KEEP CLEAR OF THE CLOSING DOORS, and with a suck of air, the doors shut across the coats and bags and damp umbrellas and the Tube pulled away. Jake looked up at the noticeboard:
–Every two minutes, Ollie said, and Jake could tell he was thinking the same thing. Two minutes. That’s how long they had to run into that darkness. Two minutes before the next train was there, and what if they hadn’t found a way out of the tunnel by then?
The boys leaned against the platform wall and watched another train arrive, fill up and depart. Jake was scared. More scared than he’d been since his parents died. Escaping from the Home Academy, climbing up the outside of the house, being zapped with the Taser, being hunted by the hub police: none of these was as frightening as this tunnel. Fear sapped his strength, so his legs were shaking and his arms felt weak.