by Chris Ward
She climbed to her feet as the train rolled past her. It was slowing almost to a full stop, and as the last carriage reached them Switch leapt down from it, landing on his feet, twisting and falling to the ground. The train rolled away into the tunnel and came to a stop a few hundred feet inside.
‘Are you all right?’ Marta said, helping him to his feet. Her hand on his back came away sticky, and lifting it to her nose she smelt the copper scent of blood.
‘That bitch stuck me,’ he moaned. ‘How’d she do that from that distance?’
‘You need a doctor,’ Paul said.
‘Fuck it. I’ve had worse. Let’s just get out of here and then worry about it.’
Simon and Jess walked over. Jess’s face shone wet with tears, but otherwise she looked all right. Simon had one hand on her arm as if worried she might faint.
‘The way out’s up there,’ Marta said, pointing towards some stairs behind them. Let’s get out of here and reassess ourselves in the light.’
‘Is the station open?’ Paul said.
‘This end used to be. I don’t know if it’s been closed up since, though.’
They started up the stairs, Marta in the lead with Jess at her shoulder, Simon and Paul helping Switch along behind them. At the top of the stairs the corridor turned to the right, opening out into a wider lobby where Marta remembered the ticket gates were. Beyond that were two more staircases before the station exited on the corner of Hatton Road. There might be a locked gate, but Marta and Paul could both pick locks. If not, they might be able to force it.
The station had been abandoned longer than St. Cannerwells, for at least twenty years. They weren’t expecting to hear voices, nor see lights from the lobby area. Dazed, still in shock from the Cross Jumpers’ attack, they walked right out into plain view of a group of men standing in a huddle just beyond the old ticket gates.
It took a moment for Marta to recognise the black suits the men wore. When she did, noticing at the same time another man in their midst, on his knees with his hands tied behind his back, his face battered and bloody, she lifted a hand to stifle a scream.
The Department of Civil Affairs.
One of the men lifted what looked like a baton and smashed the kneeling man across the face with it. The man screamed and fell sideways, but another man caught him and held him upright. The battered man started talking quickly, his voice high-pitched and faltering. He was crying for his life in a language Marta didn’t recognise. The tears though, tears of utter terror, were something she understood. An image of her mother flashed into her mind, her mother with tears streaming down her bloodied cheeks as she lay in the hospital bed an hour after the terrorist attack. ‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave you,’ Rachel had wept. Half an hour later, she had done both.
One of the DCA agents looked up. He turned to the others and said something sharp, looked back at them and pointed. Three men pulled guns. Two aimed them at the Tube Riders, but the third held it up to the battered man’s temple and pulled the trigger.
The gun went off, impossibly loud in the empty Underground station. The man’s face exploded onto the tiles. Behind Marta, Jess screamed, and she heard Simon retching.
For a second everything seemed to stop. Marta glanced at Jess and heard the girl say, ‘I know that man, oh God, I know that man,’ as Jess’s hand fell to her stomach.
Marta’s heart seemed to twist in her chest as she saw the belt around Jess’s waist.
The camera.
‘Hey!’ shouted the man holding the gun. ‘Stop!’
‘Run!’ Marta screamed. Their collective reverie shattered as one of the other men fired. The shot rang out, and a puff of dust and broken tiles exploded out of the wall just inches wide of where Paul stood. Then they were running, fleeing from that place as though it were Huntsmen and not just men who pursued them, their ears still ringing from the gunshots.
Switch, his back injury seemingly forgotten, went first down the steps, three at a time. Paul was close behind, while Simon hung back a little, dragging Jess who looked close to passing out. Marta, at the back, glanced behind her and saw the men closing.
‘Come back here!’ someone shouted. ‘Come back or you’re all dead!’
Down on the platform, they heard the rumble of the next train as it approached.
‘Ride this one?’ Switch shouted.
‘No,’ Marta replied. ‘It stops in the tunnel. They’ll catch us.’
‘Well, what the fuck do we do then?’
They were relying on her, she knew. If they hadn’t needed a leader before, they did now. She looked around, thinking quickly. She saw the train’s lights approaching the tunnel mouth, looked the other way and saw the glow of the red stop light in the far tunnel. There was another rumble coming from that direction, too.
‘We have to get across the tracks!’ she said. ‘That train stops to let one through the other way. If we can get across, this one will cover us and we can ride the next one back. Hurry!’
‘The train’s coming!’ Paul shouted.
Marta heard the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs behind them. ‘We have to jump across!’ she shouted.
‘I ain’t no fucking Cross Jumper –’
‘Just fucking do it, Switch!’ Marta screamed. ‘And the rest of you! Jump or we’re dead!’
Jess and Simon didn’t need another warning. They sprinted for the platform edge and leapt out, easily landing on the far side. Paul landed just behind them, stumbling and rolling over. Marta glanced back to see the men halfway down the stairs, all now with guns in their hands. She turned and sprinted for the platform edge.
As she leapt out across the track, she looked to her left and saw twin eyes of light bursting out of the tunnel. Sudden, immediate terror struck her. From this angle the train looked like some giant beast, roaring in anger as it rushed forward to crush her. Cross-jumping really was just life or death, then.
She hit the far platform just as the train broke from the tunnel. As she rolled she looked back and shouted, ‘Switch!’
The little man hung in mid air between the platforms, legs and arms flailing like a bizarre cartoon caricature. His face was caught in a grimace of pain. Time seemed to stand still for a moment, and then there was a crack behind him. A gun muzzle flashed. The train was huge and just feet away; there was no way he could make it –
– yet he did, landing and rolling on the platform beside Marta as the train rumbled past them. He jerked and sat up, one hand reaching for the injury on his back, the other rubbing his left foot, now shoeless.
‘I don’t believe it . . .’ he muttered, wincing in pain.
Behind them Paul and Simon were already on their feet, Simon dragging Jess along behind him.
‘Come on,’ Paul said. ‘They’ll have a clear shot in about five seconds.’
As one train rushed past another roar built up in the adjacent tunnel, on the opposite side. A moment later it surged along the platform, going far faster.
‘Go!’ Paul shouted, racing for the train, Simon and Jess just behind him.
‘Come on, hero,’ Marta said to Switch, pulling the little man to his feet.
‘It ate my fucking shoe,’ he muttered, grabbing his clawboard off the platform and following after her. ‘I liked those shoes!’
As Marta jumped and caught, she looked back towards the far platform, revealed now that the other train had gone into the tunnel. She counted six men there, standing still, watching them. The guns had disappeared, as though they knew they couldn’t shoot without risking the lives of the passengers inside the train. One man at the front lifted a hand, pressed two fingers to his temple and then pointed them at her.
I’ll remember you, that gesture said.
Switch caught just behind her, and Marta felt the vibration of his landing shake the rail. As the train entered the tunnel and darkness surrounded them, the image of the six dark men fixed itself in her mind together with the image of the dead man whose face was now jus
t a memory.
As they raced out of sight, she couldn’t quite get her head around what they had seen or what had happened. She knew, though, that Dreggo and the Cross Jumpers were now the least of their worries.
Chapter Nine
Enemies
As the train’s rumble receded into the tunnel, Dreggo looked up as the other Cross Jumpers crowded around her. Maul lay in front of her, his skin pallid in the emergency lighting, already cooling as the blood thickened and dried around him. Her heart rose and fell in her chest, pushing bile towards her mouth, wanting her to choke.
Maul, her friend. Dead. She didn’t love him, but as he lay dead before her she wondered what she did feel. He would have loved her had she let him, and in his brutish way he would have taken care of her. On the outside he was an animal, but she knew he would have treated her well, respected her.
And he was dead.
She had brought her Cross Jumpers here to start a war with the Tube Riders, and she had found them more cunning that she had anticipated. To ride off into the tunnels like that was a masterstroke. They had time to go to ground now and it would take a few days to track them down at least. She could have handled them escaping, though. It was humiliating, but that was how wars were fought. But to escape mostly unharmed, leaving one of her own dead, one close to her at that . . .
‘Are you sure they aren’t back in the tunnel?’ she asked the closest Cross Jumpers, her voice cracked and hoarse.
‘No,’ said one called Renno, a skinny kid who made his money from petty theft. ‘They’ve gone. There’s no sign of any bodies back there either.’
‘Okay.’ She glanced back at Maul. ‘Let’s get him over to the tracks.’
Three men came forward to drag Maul’s heavy body away. Others just stood around, their knives and clubs at their sides, eyes on the ground. Dissent was brewing, she knew it. Dreggo had become leader of the Cross Jumpers through the Code, and she had reinforced her leadership with acts of wanton violence like yesterday’s murder of the Tube Rider, Dan. She ruled through fear, and they knew now what she could do with a knife. But dissent was growing nonetheless. She had brought them here, and now Maul was dead, for nothing. There were others who didn’t want her leading them to their own deaths.
As the three men pushed Maul’s body down on to the tracks, Dreggo turned to the other Cross Jumpers.
‘Listen up.’ Faces turned towards her, but they were angry, mutinous. ‘We came here today to give them an ultimatum. You all heard me offer them a chance at freedom. Didn’t you?’
There were one or two murmurs of agreement.
‘They didn’t need to fight. All they had to do was give up what they had, and walk away. Simple. They wanted the fight.’
‘No. No, they didn’t.’
Dreggo’s eyes bored into the assembled group.
‘Who said that?’
‘I did.’ A black-haired girl near the back raised her hand. Even at this distance Dreggo could see it was shaking. The hand belonged to Bethany, a former prostitute, now a night worker in a supermarket. ‘They didn’t want to fight, you wanted to fight.’ One or two others grunted in agreement.
Dreggo glared at her, and then let her gaze fall on the other stony faces. ‘Does what we do mean nothing to you people? Do you not understand what it means to be a Cross Jumper?’
‘We have violence above ground,’ said Matty, a shoplifter. ‘We didn’t come here for this.’
Dreggo’s mouth fell open. ‘Wake up, you idiots! Open your eyes! Maul is dead now because he believed in what we have! The Tube Riders were a legend, but the Cross Jumpers can become an even bigger legend!’
‘Whatever,’ Matty said. ‘Some of us don’t care about being a fucking legend.’
A knife appeared in Dreggo’s hand. ‘Is that so? You were happy to watch that Tube Rider die yesterday. Yet when it comes to fighting for your cause, you give up? How about I cut you open and see if you have a spine?’
She only had one knife left. There were more than twenty of them. There were secrets about her past that none of them knew, but that was too many even for her.
‘Some of us love what we do,’ said another voice. ‘But we didn’t want this. We didn’t want a turf war. Why don’t you leave? Go make your own legend.’
She looked for the speaker, and found him standing at the back.
Billy Lees, the man she had replaced.
Her anger boiled over, and before she could stop herself, she whipped her hand over, the knife whizzing through the air. It struck Billy in the neck with a soft thud. She had thrown it harder than any man could, and it had sunk so deep that the handle itself was holding the blood in. He made a sound like a gurgling drain, his breath cut off, and staggered backwards, hands scrabbling for the knife. As his dying fingers knocked against the handle blood began to spray in little bursts, like a water pipe split by a hot sun. He staggered backwards a few steps and keeled over. His body writhed spastically on the platform in its last life throes, his legs kicking out at the tiles. The others stared in horror, but not one person moved to help him. After a few seconds he was still.
Behind Dreggo, a train raced out of the tunnel and roared past them, causing a soft popping noise as it struck and dragged away Maul’s body. Dreggo felt a well of regret fill her stomach as she knew they should have had a farewell ceremony in honour of him. His body was gone now, his memory forever tainted.
‘Okay, leave,’ Dreggo shouted, waving towards the stairs. ‘You’re not Cross Jumpers, you’re cowards. Maul would have spat on you, all of you. Just as I do now.’ She hawked and spat towards the nearest feet to her. ‘Go on. Get on with your lives somewhere else.’
There was a murmur from the group as the backmost began to move away towards the stairs. Few wanted to turn their backs on her, so to hurry the moment she did it for them, turning away and stalking back up the platform towards where Maul’s blood stained the ground. She knelt down and dipped her finger in it, feeling the stickiness, still warm.
Dreggo did not cry, but Maul had been her friend. She hadn’t loved him but she had respected him, appreciated his kindness. Now, her group, her identity, had been disbanded by her own hand. There was blood on her conscience, and blood on her hands. And all because of them.
She clenched her fists and slammed them against the tiles, once, twice, three times, until tiny cracks appeared. No matter. She would hunt the Tube Riders herself, and one by one they would die. Then, and only then, would she start a new order of Cross Jumpers.
She looked back towards the stairs, and found the platform empty. Billy Lees’s body still lay where it had fallen. She went over to the body, took hold of one of his limp arms and dragged him over to the platform edge.
‘You were a coward but at least you stood up to me,’ she told his dead eyes. ‘That in itself makes you deserving of a Cross Jumper burial.’ She put one foot on his chest and shoved him down on to the tracks. Then she turned away, the last living person in St. Cannerwells Underground station.
Dan had told her there were only four Tube Riders, but she had seen five. The punky girl Marta had been their leader. That was without question. The one with the jippy eye who had murdered Maul and the fat guy had ridden pretty well. Then there was the couple, the pretty boy and the cute, homey-looking girl with the neat hair and the nice clothes. It had to be her, she had to be the new one. She had looked more tentative, more uncertain than the others. The others looked like street kids, and might live anywhere, maybe even moving from place to place. But the homey girl, she probably had a proper home. If Dreggo could find her, she would find the others.
She rubbed the side of her head, just above her eye, and for a moment her hair lifted up a fraction, revealing a cluster of wires that disappeared into her skin just above her ear.
Secrets no one knew. Secrets that if she could, even she would forget.
Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, she moved across the platform to where she’d first seen the girl standing, looking f
or a scent.
#
The older of the two men in the DCA uniforms rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his grey eyes narrowed. In front of them, the rails still hummed from the recently departed train.
The taller, younger of the two said, ‘Tell me that didn’t just happen, Clayton. Tell me we didn’t just get interrupted by a bunch of kids with a fucking digital camera. You think they got footage of that?’
Leland Clayton began to massage the bridge of his nose. He glanced back towards the stairs, where the other four men had gone on his order to start cleaning up the mess that his gun had caused. He lowered his voice, aware that echoes could carry in a place like this. ‘Are you aware who those . . . kids were, Vincent?’
Adam Vincent shook his head. ‘Meth heads, runaways, what does it matter? They saw us kill the Ambassador, and they might have got digital footage of it. That’s a big problem.’
‘They were Tube Riders.’
‘What?’
Clayton put a hand inside his coat and pulled out a little pamphlet magazine, sixteen pages in black and white. The single word title identified it as VOICE. It was an illegal magazine printed and fastened in some filthy squat somewhere and distributed with the main intent of talking shit about the government. Clayton made a point of getting his hands on such things as it made the perpetrators easy to track down. There were always clues in the pages somewhere, and while Clayton was no latter day Sherlock Holmes he had a pretty good reputation for flushing out rebels and revolutionaries.
‘Page thirteen or fourteen, I believe. It’s just a little article in amongst all the government hate bullshit.’
‘The Tube Riders?’ Vincent muttered, scanning the poorly copied, unaligned text.
‘Come on, Vincent. I’m sure even you’ve heard of them.’ Clayton, who enjoyed a good ghost story, smiled. ‘People say they’re ghosts, demons, the souls of hundreds of train suicides.’ He shrugged. ‘But they’re not. As we’ve just seen, the Tube Riders are just a group of kids.’