by Fiona Shaw
It was Davie, shouting and coughing, and he was standing now, headphones still clamped to his head. Reaching round the black box, Ralph yanked out the headphone lead and a radio voice filled the room.
… Hub forces tracked them to a freightyard in the north-east. Although the gang appear to have fled the yard, a hub spokesman said the hub forces were closing in. The gang, thought to be made up of at least a dozen renegade young people from Home Academies around the country, used illicit drugs to lure the lowlifers to their deaths deep below the London Tube system. Seventy-eight are dead already, but emergency services warn that the final death toll is likely to be higher …
–No! Aliya had her hand over her mouth. She was white as a sheet.
Another twenty-three remain in a critical condition. It is not known yet whether this is the same gang that were responsible for the murder last week of the London security guard. As yet, the gang’s motive is unclear, but senior Coalition spokesman Noel Knight suggested the massacre might be part of a lowlifer turf war. Mr Knight stressed that the gang was very dangerous and should on no account be approached. He urged anyone who believed they had seen the gang to text LOWLIFERS to the following number …
–Switch it off, Poacher said. Davie flicked a switch and the room went quiet. No one moved, no one spoke.
A picture flashed through Jake’s mind of the Hadleys. He hadn’t thought about them since the day he escaped. But he pictured them now sitting in their kitchen and listening to this news and knowing that he was one of the renegades. Mr Hadley turning to Mrs Hadley and saying: –I told you so; and her just looking sad. He remembered how sure he was, the day he escaped from the Home Academy, that they would take him in as their son, give Jet a place by the fire.
That was in another life now.
Ollie picked up his knife again and went on chopping vegetables, but silently, urgently, like he was racing somebody. No humming.
–Hubbers got us pegged as their scapegoats. Swift’s voice was bitter. –Got us blamed for their dirty work.
–So you can believe me now, Aliya said. Her voice was calm and clear. –You wouldn’t listen to me in the Mail Rail shop. You smashed my mobile. But now it’s been on the radio. Seventy-eight dead. Some of them will be my friends …
Jake heard the break in her voice.
The room was quiet, then Poacher spoke. –We had yer wrong, girl, and I reckon we gotta apologize.
Thirty-eight
The whole gang sat at Ralph’s long table and ate Ollie’s food – hot potatoes with butter and vegetables with cheese melted over – while Aliya told them why she had run away from her home. She sat with her hands out on the table in front of her, and spoke in the flat voice that Jake recognized, because he’d heard it in the Home Academy. It was the voice you spoke in when something hurt nearly too much to tell.
–I’ve already told you that my mother is Minister for Borders: in charge of keeping people inside England and keeping people out.
She stopped, took a drink of water, and they waited. Then she went on, her fingers picking at the wood grain in the table.
–I used to feel proud of her. I thought she was keeping England safe. But then I met Gaz, and I joined the Catchpitters. Began to hear about what my mother didn’t say, as well as what she did say. They always call them incidents. ‘Unfortunate incidents’. She waved her fingers in the air, to put in speech marks. –Did you hear it just now? On the radio? They say stuff like ‘Three people drowned. Unfortunate incident’.
–What d’you mean, incidents? Swift said.
–Incidents aren’t accidents, Aliya said. –It’s what they say when they kill people. It’s the word they use. ‘Unfortunate incident off the south coast involving three adult migrants’. ‘Unfortunate incident on the Anglo-Scottish border involving seven migrant children and a dog’. Mostly they manage to keep those stories out of the news. That’s part of my mum’s job too.
Then she told them about the memo. –Show them the notes, Jake, she said. And she explained it to the gang, as she’d explained it to Jake earlier.
–We were witnesses to what happened at the meet, she said. –That’s why they have to catch us. To stop us saying what really happened.
They blindfolded Aliya, tied her hands and feet, pushed her to her knees. They told her not to speak and not to move. Ralph dropped the blinds at the windows and Poacher lit a fire, a tiny one, in a shallow metal bowl. Then they made her stand up on her own, just like they’d done to him. Only this time Jake was standing with the gang, and this time he understood.
It took Aliya three goes to get up. She grazed her forehead on the floorboards and cut her lip, but she didn’t cry out.
–Untie her, Poacher said, and when the blindfold and the ropes were off, he stepped forward. –Aliya Khan, you have proved yerself in the MailRail and today, in the freightyard, and you’ve earned yer place as an Outwalker. From now on, we stand with you, and you stand with us.
Aliya stood very still, swaying a little, eyes down, mouth serious. Perhaps she didn’t want to become part of the gang. Perhaps she was angry. What would happen then?
But then she lifted her head and turned to look at Jake, and for the first time he saw her smile.
–Now we got ter give you a mark, Poacher said. –Your first, cos you ain’t never been cut fer a chip. And when you got it, you belong with us. So bow yer head.
Around him, the others fell into sleep. Jake listened as their breathing settled. Davie had drunk Ralph’s tea and he was coughing less. Aliya lay with her back to Jake and he could see the small circle on her neck.
–You did good, Aliya, he whispered, and he felt proud.
Jet lay in one corner. Jake brought a bowl of cold water, set it down on the floorboards. Wetting a cloth, he washed first Jet’s paws and then his ears, to bring the fever down. He checked the wound. It seemed the same. –Hey, boy, he whispered. But Jet was motionless, lost in his fever, and Jake lay down beside him, covering himself with one of Ralph’s old blankets.
–Gonna rest you up, he whispered to Jet, –and get you to a good place.
A remote place, high in the hills, Poacher had told them. They’d set off in the evening, the day after tomorrow, once Jet was out of danger and it was safe to go. An Outwalker house. He’d been there before. Two women, who would take them in and keep them safe till they could cross into Scotland.
Jake’s thoughts raced. He couldn’t sleep. Again he saw the guard dog lunge for Jet. Again he heard Scar woman’s voice, its cold hatred like broken glass, sharp and shrill.
–Stop it, he told himself. –Sleep.
Seated on a chair and still as a stone, Ralph kept watch, looking out into the freightyard night. The moon was up, and in its light Jake could see Ralph’s profile. His skin was silver and his hair shone in a river over his shoulders. He looked the same age as Jake imagined his grandparents to be.
Jake closed his eyes. He imagined his grandparents in their place. The house by water. Added in some sheep – black ones – in a field, and pictured a shed with tools on the wall, sawdust, and dark corners. His grandfather at work on something and there, with her back to him, another figure, wearing the old cardigan he loved, patched and darned. As his breath steadied into sleep, from the shadows his mother turned towards him.
Jake jolted awake. A roaring engine noise filled the room. He opened his eyes, heart banging. It was still dark. A swathe of light swung in through the windows across the room, and then away. The roaring died away, then rose again. It was coming for them, hunting them out. He sat up, panic beating through him.
A hand on his shoulder. Poacher.
–Hubbers. Keep yer head down.
They waited, hearts in their mouths, as the Land Rovers roared through. Waited for one to stop, for the hubbers to get out, Tasers ready, batons lifted. But the roaring went on, deeper into the yard, engines revving past, and then the noise was gone and it was quiet again.
Jake looked around, as if the noise and the
light might have hurt someone. They were all there. Swift on the bed, beside Cass. Poacher back crouched in the midst of the rest of them, looking out of the window. Ollie’s lips were moving silently, and Jake saw him make a cross sign over himself.
A movement on the far side caught his eye: Ralph, headphones on, listening to the old radio, muttering something. His hand turning a dial. What was he doing? Hubbers pouring into the yard, and he was listening to the radio?
–Ralph, Poacher called, but the older man didn’t look up. Just went on muttering. Maybe he was angry, Jake thought. Angry with them for bringing all this trouble.
–Twelve Land Rovers, Ollie said. –Maybe eight hubbers in each. Nearly a hundred hubbers. On the radio, they said we’d left the yard.
–Maybe they said it on purpose. To fool us, Aliya said. –Maybe they knew, all along, that we were in here.
Poacher stood up. –That many, we ain’t got a hope. No point staying on here. They’ll search every inch …
Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Ralph clamp his headphones tight to his ears, tip his chair forward, like he wanted to block out everything, everybody.
–Likely they’ll catch us this time, but we ain’t gonna make it easy. So get yer stuff on but don’ rush it. We run when we’re ready.
He clapped his hands together, then everyone was moving, pulling on boots, rucksacks. Jake got his stuff on fast, zipped up his jacket. Ollie was ready, and Aliya, and Swift was lifting Cass into a blanket sling she’d knotted and slung across her chest. Only Davie wasn’t moving yet, but kneeling at the window still, and rocking slightly.
Jake bent down to Jet. No movement. Not even the tip of his tail. Jake shook his head. He wasn’t going to think about it, cos if he thought, he’d stop. If he thought, he’d lie down by his dog and never get up again.
–Course you’re coming with me, Jet boy, he said, and he grabbed at a blanket. –I’m gonna do you a sling, like Swift. Safe as houses.
–Gotta go, Poacher called, and Jake was knotting the blanket corners, his fingers clumsy with nerves, when Ralph shouted out:
–Yo! Stop there!
Jake paused, looked round. Ralph’s craggy old Outwalker face was cracked wide in a grin, and he grabbed his cap and flung it away, so that his grey ponytail swung around his head.
–Too late, Ralph. They’re at yer door, and we gotta be outta here. There was a warning in Poacher’s voice the whole gang could hear. A warning that said: Don’t try to stop us. Don’t try. –Ollie, Davie, get the ladder down! he said.
But before they could move, Ralph was there in front of it. –Hold your horses, lads and lasses. Cos I’ve got you one hell of a ride out!
They didn’t have long to get to the rendezvous, and the bikers wouldn’t hang around if they were late. Too risky. A footpath in the woods just outside the freightyard. Ralph would take them past the fence, show them where to go.
–That what you were doing with the black box? Davie said.
Ralph nodded. –CB Radio, he said. –Old tech. Nobody uses it now, so hubbers don’t check those frequencies.
–But you do, Davie said, and Ralph grinned.
–The bikers: they Outwalkers? Poacher said.
Ralph put his hand to his heart. –Old friends. Used to ride with them. I’d trust them with my life.
–Where can they take us to? Poacher said.
–Best bit, Ralph said. –They’re gonna take you right to the border. Bloke called Tom. Only thing is, Jet … He turned to Jake, and Jake knew what he was going to say.
They ran past the buildings and through the high weeds, the sunrise dazzling them, nettles stinging the backs of their hands, catching their cheeks, bramble runners whipping at their ankles.
Jake saw Davie flinch, hand to his eye. Behind him, Aliya bit back a gasp. But Jake felt nothing. He moved in a fog, his hands empty, and his heart torn. Behind him, up in that high room, his dog lay wounded, maybe dying, and he was running away.
They’d gone past the last warehouse and stopped at the edge of the undergrowth. Ralph pointed.
–There’s where we’re headed. Bikers’ll be here in ten minutes. The perimeter fence, gates to the left, and beyond it: trees. In there.
Jake saw his mum and his dad in their car at the bottom of the river. He saw JoJo and the other boys waking in the morning to his empty bed. He saw Jet lying on the floor of that high room. He hadn’t said goodbye to any of them. He just left JoJo, and now he’d just left Jet and he felt cold to the bones. The rising sun blasted his eyes, and he felt cold as ice.
His mum’s voice. You and Jet, always.
–How are we getting out? he said.
Ralph pointed to a patch of brambles. –Tunnel. Goes underneath the fence. Footpath just the other side.
Jake nodded. –They’ll be here in ten minutes, you said. I got to do something. I’ll see you there. And before anyone could stop him, he had turned and was running back with the sun behind him.
Jet hadn’t moved. Jake found the bowl of water and the cloth and wetted his ears and his paws.
–Hey, boy, he said. –I got to say goodbye. But Ralph’s promised me: he’s going to look after you. He’s the old tall fella. Knows loads about getting dogs well.
He stood up and went over to the radio table, found a scrap of paper, nub of pencil. He wrote on it: Jet. Mr and Mrs Gillies. Applecross. Scotland. And he slipped it underneath the radio. He stroked Jet’s head. –Get strong, boy, he said, and he wasn’t certain, but he thought he felt Jet lift his head a little.
He couldn’t help it then. He sobbed. He buried his face in Jet’s fur, like he’d done since he was little, and he howled with the pain of it, sharp around his heart and pulling his chest into a knot.
He lifted his face, wiped the back of his sleeve over it. There was no time now. Easing his fingers gently under Jet’s chin, he undid his collar and pulled it free. He wrapped it twice round his wrist and buckled it close. –Now I got something of you with me, he said. –Me and you, Jet. Always.
He checked and listened before he set off. No sounds, no movements. No hubbers here yet. Then out through the smashed car and he was running back to the gang. The sun dazzled, but he knew that ahead were the high weeds, and the patch of brambles. He was in time. Wrapped around his wrist, Jet’s collar was still warm. He held it in to him, protective.
The woman came from nowhere.
Jake stopped, backed up a few steps, and she was walking towards him, smiling. The scar on her cheek seemed to glow.
–Well, well. Look who we’ve got here. Mr Jacob Riley, I believe, and she laughed. –Oh yes, we know who you are. And who your parents were.
Jake tried to think. On either side of him, containers were stacked three to the sky. No gaps between them. He could run back the way he’d come, but that would bring her nearer Jet.
–We know what you’re like, Scar woman went on. –We got quite a character reference for you. Mr and Mrs Hadley. Do you remember them? Nice couple.
Or he could try and get past her. But he didn’t rate his chances. Not when she had all those weapons strapped to her. Her fingers were on her Taser already and he knew she would use it.
–I wouldn’t try anything, she said, like she knew what was in his mind. –It’s not nice, being hit twice by a Taser. Can be fatal, though I’d hope not, because I really would like to know what’s in your little head. What lies your mummy and daddy might have told you, for instance.
She tilted her head, peered at him. –But I remember you now. You’re the same boy I saw on the escalator. I felt sorry for you. Big mistake, that was.
–You killed people, Jake blurted out. –You killed those people in the Tube station.
She smiled. –Such an awful loss of life. Still, we learned a great deal from them, and you got the blame. Won’t be long now before the vaccine is safe enough for everyone.
Jake clenched his jaw. This woman and the hubber with her had killed Martha. But he had to keep thinking, because he was ru
nning out of time.
–So, she said, and she was stepping towards him, and pulling the Taser from its holster, –enough chat. I need to know where Aliya Khan is. And I need to know now.
Jake darted to one side, pulled at the levers on a container door. Locked tight. He tried the next. The same. Scar woman walked steadily towards him. No need to hurry. She had him trapped. Jake’s heart was beating fit to bust.
He got to the stack of containers. They looked forty feet high at least.
–I wouldn’t try it. We’ve got you surrounded, Master Riley. Her voice was oily smooth. –You’ve had your bit of freedom. Time to come in now.
Last chance. Last try. He reached again for the door lever, this time holding on to it, using it like he’d use a jut of rock on a rockface, to pull himself upwards. Then, if he kicked up with his leg, he could shove his boot into the narrow space between the locked lever and the door and twist his foot round to make a foot jam. Foot jam. The word swung into his head. His father’s voice. Good move, Jakey boy. Now make it tell.
He pulled himself up, reached again, grabbed higher, foot-jammed, pulled up again. Scar woman was running at him, she was shaking the door lever, pointing the Taser. Ten feet up and climbing, Jake waited for the shot, the pain. Waited to fall.
–Stupid boy! she shouted, and the door lever rattled. –Stupid lowlife scum! A few questions, that’s all. Then he heard her call in for support and he knew she wasn’t going to fire.
He reached the top, and he was up and running at once. The whole yard was visible from here, hubbers down the far end like a swarm of black ants. He heard a Land Rover gunning its engine, saw ants pile into it, saw it drive this way. They were coming for him.
A gap between containers and a twenty foot drop. He leaped and cleared it. A second gap, and a third. Jake’s breath was loud and ragged, but he knew he would have heard the bikers’ engines if they’d arrived, and he hadn’t heard them yet. The last container, and just ahead the perimeter fence. Pulling his jacket sleeves down to protect his hands, he slid down the door levers like a fireman down a pole and dived for the weeds. On his belly, elbowing through, he got to the patch of brambles.