by Fiona Shaw
–Get down, Martha! Poacher yelled. –Get down!
The tunnel loomed, like a huge black mouth, and just in time, Jake ducked down, laying his head next to Jet’s as the train roared in. But above the train’s noise he heard a cry, and he felt the train lurch, like a split-second pause, before the roar filled his ears and the train thundered on into the dark.
Warm air, oily-smelling, rushed past, pulling tears from Jake’s eyes. Martha! He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel the tunnel roof rushing past. It must be only inches from his head. He put a hand to Jet’s back and he didn’t know if it was him or Jet that was shaking.
On and on the MailRail rushed, through endless tunnels, and all Jake could do was hunker down, keep his hands in and hope Davie knew how to stop it. They must be there soon, wherever there was, and then they could get to Martha. He’d do anything for her. Anything. Surely she would be all right. Surely she would …
The stop was as sudden as the start, a screech of brakes, the stench of burnt rubber. There was a yelp from Jet, and Jake was thrown forward again, then silence. Jake sat up and looked around. He patted the seat, and Jet sat up beside him, leaned in. There was lighting here, big, dim blocks of electric light high up on the walls. They were out of the tunnel and into a bigger space, a kind of station. Signs on the wall said King’s Cross and MailRail, and there was dusty machinery on the platform. It didn’t look like anyone had been here for a very long time. Not bona fides and not lowlifers either. Around him, he could hear the rest of the gang beginning to move too.
He stroked Jet’s ears. –You all right, boy? Jet thumped his tail.
Davie climbed out of the engine space, grinning from ear to ear, and the girl after him. –Yes! he said, and he high-fived the girl, who didn’t look like she’d ever done a high-five before. –You been here before, right?
–Not exactly, the girl said. –They took us back to the shop when I did it. But of course I know King’s Cross.
Jake stepped out onto the platform with Jet, and there were Ollie, and Swift and Cass, all of them looking like he felt: shaky but unhurt. Poacher got off, near the back. Only one missing was Martha.
–Martha? Swift called. Her voice was high, fearful.
They watched Poacher walk back to the final wagon, watched him look in over the side door. They saw him staring down. Then they watched him take a step away from the train, something odd about the way he was moving. Watched him pull off his beanie and stand still a moment. Then he leaned forward and was sick.
–Martha! Swift set Cass down on the platform and ran for the rear of the train, swift as her name, past Jake, past Ollie, past Poacher. Opening the wagon door, she was stepping in and stooping down, and Jake held his breath, as if somehow Swift with all her power could make Martha be all right. But when Swift stood up, as slowly as she’d run fast, her arms were empty in front of her. And as she turned, Jake saw her face. It looked hollow, and it was white as chalk.
–What’s happened to her? Ollie whispered, but for answer Swift only shook her head.
Poacher’s face, Swift’s face: Jake knew what they meant. It was something about the eyes. The two hub police that told him about his mum and dad: they had had the same look. And there was that same silence after, which was more than a silence; it was a void, a hole, a blackness that you couldn’t see the bottom of, that pulled you in.
–She’s dead, isn’t she. Ollie spoke the words as a statement.
–The hubber wouldn’t let her go, Poacher said. –She couldn’t get down, an’ the tunnel …
Now Davie was running to the back, his mouth open wide in a soundless scream.
–No, Davie! Poacher said. –Don’t look …
They caught him, Poacher and Swift, before he reached the back of the train, and held him away. Held his silent screaming, pounding, desperate body, while the rest of them stood paralysed, and watched.
Jake couldn’t have moved, even if he’d wanted to. His body was lead. Arms, legs, head, everything. Martha was dead. She’d died, but they’d got away. And if he’d been in the last wagon, he’d be dead now instead of her.
–Not died, he muttered to himself. –Killed. Murdered.
Poacher and Swift brought Davie back down the platform, and the rest of them followed. Davie didn’t try to run again, but he was rocking, back and forward, and chanting over and over: –Lo, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death … lo, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death … lo, though we walk … And swiping hard at himself. Not a flicky movement, but a hard, slapping one against the side of his head, over and over.
They sat, all of them, on the gritty ground, and nobody knew what to say or what to do. Swift wrapped her arms around her little sister, and buried her head in Cass’s hair. Jake saw she had a smear of blood on one cheek.
–She’s just lying there, Poacher said, –an’ she’s all … He shook his head. –I can’t …
Jake didn’t know how long they all stayed like that. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. He felt cold, but he didn’t cry. There was a rumbling sound above them. It grew louder, then faded away. A few minutes later there was another.
–Right. Swift let go of Cass. –This is hard. Probably the hardest thing we’ll ever do. We have to go, cos that Surfer, the hubbers: they won’t be far behind. And we can’t let them catch us. Not now. Her eyes were shiny with tears, and she swiped them away with her fists.
–But leave her like she is? For them to find? Poacher said. There was horror in his voice.
–What choice have we got, Poacher? We can’t bury her, can we? Swift took a scrap of paper and a pencil out of her rucksack. –She’s got to have her whole name. Otherwise, with no hub chip, no one will know who she is.
Poacher shrugged. –Them knowing can’t hurt her now, he said.
A movement caught Jake’s eye. It was the girl. She’d sat down a little way off from the rest of them. Now she stood up and walked over to where the MailRail equipment still lay: gantries and metal cages and winches; black boxes on wheels ready for the mail that never came any more. Jake could see that the girl was looking for something. Then she reached down into one of the boxes and came up holding some brown sacks. Jake could make out the words ‘Royal Mail’ on the side of one. Pulling the beanie off her cropped hair, the girl stuffed it into her pocket, took a water bottle from her rucksack and walked to the back of the train. The gang watched her. She walked slowly, like they’d walked at his mum and dad’s funeral.
When she reached the final wagon, she dropped the sacks and her rucksack and pulled open the half-door. She stood there a moment, just looking. Jake could see that she was biting her lip, and saying something to herself, though he couldn’t hear the words. Then she bent down and, as Jake found out later, moved Martha’s body, laying her out on the wagon bench as best she could. Zipping open her rucksack she took out a T-shirt, and poured some water on to it. And taking a deep breath, she knelt in towards Martha’s body.
–What’s she doing? Davie said.
–She’s cleaning off the blood, Swift said, and she shook her head. –I should be doing it, but … And this time Swift let the tears run down her face.
They watched the girl in silence. Five times she stood back up, wrung out the T-shirt, poured on more water and knelt in to Martha’s body again.
Finally she picked up the sacks, and though he couldn’t see, couldn’t bear to see Martha’s body, Jake understood now what the sacks were for. The girl was covering Martha with them. Giving her a kind of burial. When she had finished, she came over to the gang. She carried her rucksack in one hand, and Martha’s MailRail cap in the other. How had it stayed on her head? How was the cap still there, and Martha not?
–Here, the girl said, and she gave the cap to Swift.
Thirty
They laid a packet of Love Hearts on Martha’s body, and they wrote on a piece of paper:
They left it next to the Love Hearts.
Thirty-one
Poacher took out the malt loaf, the very last of their food, and cut it into chunks with his penknife. He gave a chunk to everyone, even Jet. And when Davie said he couldn’t eat, Swift made him.
–You think Martha’d want that? she said. –You eat it, Davie. It’s all we got. If we don’t eat, we’ll get too weak to go on. You think Martha’d want that?
The girl still sat a little way apart and ate hers too.
Poacher hadn’t cut the loaf like Martha would have. All the chunks were different sizes. Jake chewed his piece and the malt loaf stuck in his throat. He watched Swift squat down and cut Cass’s piece into tiny bits and feed them to her like she was a baby bird.
–Right, Poacher said. –We gotta work out what ter do. He beckoned to the girl, and to Swift, and they got in a huddle. The rest of them waited in silence on the platform. There was nothing left to say, and they didn’t know what to do. Davie and Cass sat on the ground, and Jake and Ollie stood against one of the parcel bins. Ollie’s mouth was set in a thin line and every few seconds he banged his hand against the bin rail. Although he didn’t say a word, Jake knew he was angry.
–D’you reckon we’ll escape? Jake said, and Ollie shrugged. It was a pointless thing to say, because how would Ollie know, but he wanted to distract him.
Jake watched the huddle, the nods and head shaking. Poacher and Swift were asking the girl questions and she was doing most of the talking.
–She might help us. She knows London really well. She said so, Jake said, which got another shrug, and a glare too, this time.
Then Poacher summoned them over. –We made a plan, he said. –This girl here says if we kin get up outta the Tube from here, she kin get us outta London.
The girl nodded. –What I’ve suggested— she began, but before she could say any more, Ollie broke in.
–What, like she got us on that train? Like she got Martha killed? The words spat from him like stones and Jake saw the girl flinch.
–Yeah, Martha would be alive if it wasn’t for her, Davie said. –She’d be here now …
–We don’t want your suggestions, Ollie said, and his voice had gone hard, and posh like the girl’s.
–Shut it. Both of you, Swift said. –Martha’s death: it’s not the girl’s fault.
–But we wouldn’t have got on that train— Ollie began, and Swift interrupted him.
–No, we wouldn’t. We’d have gone up in that lift like sitting ducks and they’d have us in a hub van by now, or worse. She got to her feet. –Poacher’s right. They’ll be hunting for us. We’ve got away, but now we have to find a way out of here, and fast.
It was a warren of tunnels and rooms, so everyone went in a different direction. Davie found a lift, big enough for a whole wagon, but Poacher said it was too risky. There was a Gents with toilet roll and soap. Jake washed his hands and face and the water ran grey and grey and then clear. He would have kept his hands under that shiny stream for hours if he could have.
Jake and Ollie found a control centre, knobs and dials on the walls, and office chairs. Jake brushed the dust from one and sat down and pushed off. His dad used to do that, whizz him on the office chair, make it spin till Jake was so dizzy, turning and turning, he’d fall down if he stood up. He pushed the chair round with his foot and shut his eyes. He could hear his dad’s laugh, feel his hand on the chair back …
A dog’s bark. Jake opened his eyes, waited for the room to settle. Jet was barking at a tall grey door. Jake looked round at Ollie, and his face showed what Jake felt. What if there was something bad in there? Something dead.
–Porca vacca, Ollie said, shaking his head. –Your dog. You open it.
The handle was stiff and Jake had to use both hands.
He could smell the air even before he had the door open. Not the dirty air of the tunnels, and not the smell of something dead or rotting, but fresh air. Air that had birds flying in it, and clouds and rain and sun. He breathed deep and felt it like an ache in his chest.
Then he saw the staircase.
–Hey, he yelled. –Jet’s found it!
The spiral staircase was thick with dust and old cobwebs, and orange with rust. It seemed to go up for ever, turning and turning as far as you could see. They climbed as quietly as they could, their footsteps clanging softly. Small blocks of emergency lighting, crusted with dirt and dead flies, lit their way. Red rust showered down with each footfall. Poacher went first with the girl behind him and Swift was at the back, cradling Cass in her arms. The rust fell down like soft rain, and with each footfall the smell of the fresh air grew stronger.
–Stairway to heaven, Davie said quietly. –Might find Martha at the top of it.
Thirty-two
Just do it. Just climb.
Martha underground.
Martha lying dead.
Martha found by the blond Surfer.
One step, and the next, and the next, and don’t think, don’t imagine.
Martha being slung in a van.
Martha lying in the dark.
Martha alone.
Stop it! Jake was yelling inside his head, and outside he was climbing, everybody was climbing, like they were all still a gang together, like it mattered.
He listened to Ollie’s voice, beating quiet and steady.
–Eighty-six, eighty-seven …
He sounded normal. He sounded like nothing had even happened.
–Shut it, Ollie.
–Eight-nine, ninety …
–Shut it, Jake said again.
But Ollie went on and on, till Poacher called them to a stop. –Sit down, he said.
–Two hundred and four, Ollie said in the same flat voice.
Jake sat down in the red dust and shut his eyes. He felt Jet’s head on his lap, and he stroked Jet’s ears. Davie was drumming on the staircase, a hard, angry rhythm.
Poacher’s voice was hoarse, like he’d been shouting, or crying all night, which maybe he had, just silently. –All of yer, drink some water. Halfway up, I reckon. Cos once I pop the lid up there, we gotta go fast …
–I ain’t leaving. That was Davie’s voice.
–An’ we go in pairs …
–I ain’t leaving, cos Martha ain’t dead, Davie said. –I ain’t seen her dead. Not properly. He got to his feet.
–Davie, you go with Jake …
But Davie was scrambling past Jet, pushing past Jake, fighting to get down again.
–Going back for her, he said.
–I saw her, Davie, Poacher said. –She’s dead, and then to Swift: –Stop him.
Jake saw a rush of movements: Davie pushing down, and Swift’s arm raised, and the flash of a knife. He saw Cass turned away into the wall, her eyes scrunched shut.
Swift held the knife out so it was just touching Davie’s chest. –Can’t let you go, she said. –Cos they’ll catch you, and you’ll lead them to us. They’ll make you.
That was all they were, Jake thought. They weren’t a gang. They were just a group that didn’t dare let anyone go.
–Frisk him, Swift told Ollie, and Ollie patted Davie down and took away his knife, and pushed Davie down on the step next to Poacher.
Then Poacher went on like nothing had happened.
–We head for the freightyard. Break in there an’ jump a train going north. Girl knows where the yard is, an’ I done freight before. Getting on and off’s dangerous, so you got to be super-careful. Look fer Outwalker signs. An’ do what I tell yer.
Davie giggled. –Bye bye, Martha …
–Shut it, Poacher said.
–Sleep well, Martha. Never mind.
–He’s lost it, Ollie whispered. –Dangerous to keep him, dangerous to let him go.
–Doesn’t matter, Jake said to himself. Because they were just a bunch of kids and it was too hard, looking out for each other, and it was too hard, losing each other. He looked down at Jet. –Doesn’t matter what happens.
–Can I say something? The girl’s voice took Jake by surprise. He’d bee
n lost in his own thoughts. Her voice sounded squeaky, like someone rubbing a balloon. –Because there are a few facts that I know and you don’t …
–And we don’t need to hear them, Ollie said. His voice had an edge Jake had never heard before. –You’ve said enough to Poacher and Swift already, and you’re not part of our gang. Soon as we’re out of London, you’re on your own.
–Button it, Ollie, Swift said, but the girl shook her head.
–I don’t mind. I know I’m not part of it, but I suggest we all try to act like a gang, at least till we’re clear of London. Then we’re less likely to get caught.
–She’s right, Swift said. –We stop being a gang, we do their job for them. She looked upwards to the girl. –Tell us quick.
The girl cleared her throat. –So, I know that the hub police use heat sensors on lots of freight trains to catch people like you. She paused, then corrected herself. –Like us.
Jake felt mutinous. Ollie was right. The girl wasn’t one of them and she was trying to weasel her way in. That’s why she cleaned Martha’s face and everything. But he wasn’t fooled.
–Which is why you have to jump on at the very last minute, the girl went on, –after they’ve done their checks. And as I said, I know where the nearest freightyard is.
–Why should we believe you? Ollie said. –You said you could start the MailRail, and you couldn’t.
The girl looked at Poacher.
–All right, Poacher said, like he was giving her permission. –Tell ’em who yer ma is.
–She’s a minister in the Coalition, the girl said. –Borders are her responsibility.
–Ooh, Davie said. –Get her with her important mother.
–So what? Ollie said.
–So I hear things.
–Nice, Ollie said.
The girl ignored him and went on. –They catch stowaways every year. Lots. And they’re not kind to them. Fracking fields, picking fields, big tariffs, that kind of thing. The stowaways try to get out on the Tunnel freight trains, because that’s the quickest route into Europe. We shouldn’t even think of going near those.