X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

  “I wish we just had a bleedin’ great tank or something,” said Amit. He squinted up at the sports building. “Like, hidden in there. Wouldn’t that be great? Drive down the hill and blow the whole place apart. Divers, capos, Preacher John – the lot.”

  “Yeah, right.” Gene made a little sucking sound with his teeth. “You’re dreaming again, Amit.”

  “I know,” said Amit, and for once he looked beaten. He hung his head. “We got nothing, have we? No way of looking after ourselves and nowhere to go. Whatever happens to us, we just gotta sit here and take it.”

  And that was the core of the problem: they were helpless to defend themselves against whatever danger might lie ahead, and unable to escape.

  Baz could find nothing new to offer, and so he came back to Ray’s original crazy idea: building a bomb.

  “Gene,” he said, “I know it was just a toy, but that little rocket thing you made – it was so amazing. I mean, it really worked. Couldn’t we, you know, build a bigger one somehow?”

  “What the hell for?” said Gene. “What would you do with it? Look, Baz, something seriously weird is starting to happen round here, and it scares me. We need to come up with some way of protecting ourselves, looking after ourselves, and you’re just thinking like kids all the time. Tanks... bombs... rockets. OK, in theory you could build some kind of weapon, something big that would explode. But here’s what you’d need: number one, a whole lot of propane – that’s the liquid they put in cigarette lighters. Number two, a heavy-duty casing. And it’d have to be airtight. And then you’d have to have some way of lighting the gas that was in the casing.”

  Baz thought about it for a minute. “So if we had one of those big things of calor gas, like they used to use for camping – well, that’s already a bit like a bomb, isn’t it?” he said. “Metal casing and everything. Wouldn’t that work?”

  Gene shook his head. “Calor gas’d explode if it was mixed with air. But you’d have to get the mixture right, and then find some way of setting it off. And anyway – where are you gonna get calor gas from? I’ve never seen any come off the boat and I’ve never seen any go onto it. There’s none around here.”

  “Oh.”

  So that was a non-starter. But then Amit seemed to perk up a bit.

  “What about petrol?” he said. “Could you build a bomb if you had some petrol?”

  “Well, yeah, maybe. But you’d still need a really heavy metal container, ’cos the heavier it is the bigger the explosion. You’d have to put the petrol in – just the right amount, and so there was the right amount of air in there as well. And then you’d have to have some way of sealing the container, and then some way of lighting what was in there.” Gene put his head on one side, his interest momentarily engaged. “Like a spark plug, I suppose...”

  “But that’s... brilliant,” said Baz. He could see it happening. “That’d really work, would it?”

  Gene shrugged, dismissive again. “Well, that’s the way an engine works. Engine cylinders are just metal containers, really. “Cept they have pistons in them, and the exploding petrol makes the pistons go. So yeah, it’d work. But we don’t have any petrol, and we’re not likely to be able to get any. And what would you do with a bomb anyway? You can’t just blow everyone up.”

  “Yeah, but’ – Baz was full of enthusiasm now – ‘it could be done.”

  “That’s all I was ever asking, really.” Ray spoke up, and he sounded a bit miffed. “It was my idea in the first place. I just wanted to know if it could be done, that’s all.”

  “Ha. Anything can be done in theory.” Gene chuckled at his own thoughts. “We could leave here and go to the moon in theory. But first you’d need an actual rocket. Yeah, and some actual rocket fuel to put in it. So you bring me a load of explosive – like propane, or methane, or petrol, or gunpowder – and maybe I’d start taking you seriously. Maybe. But till then it’s not even worth talking about.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Listen, Ray. I’ve already done you a big favor this week, yeah? So do me a favor in return, and gimme some peace.”

  Gene slumped back on the grass, arms folded across his stomach, and sighed.

  Baz looked at Ray. What big favor was that, then? The frown of annoyance on Ray’s face gave no clues, and Gene looked like he was already asleep. His tin of food lay half eaten beside him.

  Baz woke up with a jump, fragments of troubled dreams still shooting around his vision. How could he have possibly forgotten about today? The hole! Ray was going to be put down the hole! Nobody had said a word about it, not even Ray. And there was Ray, apparently snoozing on the grass. Jesus...

  “Ray! Hey – wake up!” Baz reached out, whispering urgently, and gave Ray a shake.

  “Wassa... matter? What is it?” Ray sat up, and others began to stir too.

  “The hole, that’s what’s the matter! How can you just lie there? We gotta do something.”

  Ray rubbed his eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said. “The hole. Well, we’ll see about that.”

  “What do you mean, we’ll see about it? Last week you said there was no way you could go down there. You were crapping yourself.”

  Had it really been a week? So much had happened since then that Baz hadn’t given any thought to Ray’s plight. How could he have simply forgotten about it? Possibly because the subject hadn’t been mentioned again...

  “They’re not putting me in any blinkin’ hole,” said Ray. He stood up and smoothed down the front of his shorts, brushed his hands through his hair and shook it back.

  “Oh, right. So you just decided you didn’t fancy it, then?”

  “Something like that.” Ray sounded as though he were being deliberately vague. Or evasive.

  One or two of the others had picked up on the conversation. There was a general stirring as they all got to their feet, and Robbie said, “Well, if you manage to talk your way out of it, you’ll be the first that ever did.”

  “Oh yeah?” said Ray. “Anyone wanna take any bets?” He sounded almost cocky.

  Too cocky for some, because Dyson immediately said, “Yeah, me. I’ll bet you... uh... water duty for a month. OK? My water duty against yours that you’re in that friggin’ sewer before slob-down tonight.”

  “I’ll bet the same,” said Enoch. “But I tell you what...” He hesitated for a moment. “I hope I lose. Yeah, I do hope I lose. I been down there – I know what it’s like.”

  He was a nice little guy, thought Baz. Not too bright and never said much, but Enoch obviously had a kind heart. Betting, and hoping he’d lose...

  “OK, done, then,” said Ray. “Anyone else? Baz? Gene?”

  There was a positively mischievous look to Ray now.

  Gene gave a grim chuckle. “You better start saying your prayers, mate.”

  Baz shook his head. “I don’t even wanna joke about it.”

  The smile faded from Ray’s face. “Yeah, well. If you didn’t laugh you’d cry. And I am saying my prayers. I really am. Come on, then, let’s get it done.”

  Some of the confidence seemed to go out of Ray as they walked down the hill, and he went very quiet. Baz didn’t push him into conversation. When they got to the main entrance and saw the capos already sitting there on the steps, Ray said, “Stay with me, yeah?”

  “Yeah, course.”

  The capos had other ideas, though.

  “Been on a Sunday stroll?” said Steiner. He stood up. “That’s nice. Well, you can just keep right on walking. All except.... you.” He pointed at Ray. “You stay where you are, maggot. We’ve got a li’l ’pointment, haven’t we?”

  Ray said nothing.

  The rest of the boys began to move away, some of their faces angry, some fearful. Baz stayed where he was, right next to Ray.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  “Oi – sod off.” Hutchinson was on his feet now, pointing the neck of a wine bottle at Baz.

  “What’re you gonna do with that?” Baz said. “Stain my T-shirt?
” But then Gene put a hand against his back.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Better just do as they say. It’ll only make things worse for Ray if you stir it up.”

  “Yeah, you too, Genius.” Steiner was lurching down the steps. “We don’ want any sh-shpectators this time.”

  “It’s OK,” said Gene. “We’re going.” He leaned towards Baz’s ear and murmured, “But you and me’ll come back in a bit and check, yeah?”

  Baz thought about that for a moment, and gave in. Gene was right. There was no point in aggravating the capos, especially not when they’d been drinking. “OK, then. Sorry, Ray. Probably best for you if we go – but we won’t be far away. Good luck.”

  Ray gave him a wan little smile.

  The rest of the boys had wandered down towards the jetty, and now Baz and Gene headed off in the same direction. Baz looked behind him after a few paces, but Ray and the capos had already disappeared round the corner of the building.

  “Don’t know how he thought he was ever gonna get away with it,” Baz said. “God, I hope he comes through this OK.”

  “Yeah, me too. Smart lad, though, is Ray. Some of his ideas are pretty crazy, but’ – Gene spread his palms as he walked – ‘some of ’em aren’t. And at least he has ideas.”

  They joined the group at the end of the jetty and mooched around for a bit, kicking at the shuttering that supported the concrete platform. The platform had been finished over the last few days, and some building work had begun – a rectangle made of concrete blocks. So far it looked like a big open-topped box, about two meters long, a meter deep and a meter high. Nobody could figure out what this thing was supposed to be. The whole construction was a mystery.

  Two or three of the boys began throwing stones out into the muddy waves to pass the time. Baz felt that there was something wrong in skimming stones over the spot where Taps had drowned, and he didn’t join in. It also seemed wrong to be doing anything vaguely entertaining while Ray was suffering. And he would be suffering, thought Baz. Probably down there right now, in that dark stinking pit and all alone... oh God...

  “Four, man! Was definitely a four!”

  “Yah, it was three. You can’t friggin’ count!”

  Jubo and Dyson were in earnest competition, skimming their stones and arguing over the results. Baz watched them for a while, his mood growing darker. Idiots. He wanted to yell at them to stop, wished they cared more about what was happening to Ray. Or maybe he just wished he cared less.

  “Now that gotta be a five!”

  Jubo threw his arms out in appeal, a broad grin on his face. “Ey, you saw it, Baz! Was a five, yeah?”

  What an oaf he was, really. What a shallow, useless, unfeeling, ignorant—

  “Gimme some back-up, man! It was a—Hey. That him already?”

  Jubo’s sight line had changed. Baz frowned at him for a moment longer, then turned to look.

  It was Ray. Strolling along the jetty, hands in his pockets, as though he was out for a promenade along the seafront. If he’d been whistling he couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself.

  “Woo-hoo!” A ragged cheer went up. “Wow! That was quick! What happened, Ray?”

  The boys remained where they were, stamping and whistling, as Ray approached. Baz noticed Gene and Jubo bumping fists in a power salute.

  “Right, Mr. Dyson. I believe that’s a month’s worth of water duty you owe me.” Ray lifted his arms and performed a little twirl in front of the group. “Not a spot on me, as you can see.”

  “God, Ray. How did you manage it? What did you say to them?”

  “Didn’t have to say anything. Seems they had a bit of trouble getting the lid off the drain. They must be getting weaker or something – or maybe they were just too sloshed. Either way, they couldn’t shift it. So after about ten minutes they had to give up. Poor darlings, I felt quite sorry for them.”

  “Ha, ha! No! Seriously? What – so they let you go?”

  “Yeah. I think they got embarrassed in the end. So they just gave me a kick and told me to naff off.”

  “But... I still don’t get it. How come they couldn’t open it up?” Baz had watched the capos lifting the drain cover only last week. It had been a bit of a struggle, but they’d managed it OK.

  “You gonna tell ’em, or shall I?” Ray was grinning at Gene.

  “We stuck the lid down,” said Gene. “Couple of trowelfuls of cement, and the job was a good ’un. Take a crane to shift it now.”

  “Whaaat?”

  “Yeah, Ray came to see me about it on Tuesday night. One of his better ideas.” Gene gave Ray a look. “Simple, yeah? And practical. Something we could actually do. We had the cement, we had the water, we had the levers. Took about five minutes. Lifted the lid off, shoved some cement in there, put the lid back on. And after we’d finished you couldn’t see we’d even touched it.”

  “Brilliant! Why didn’t we ever think of it before?”

  “That lid looks like it’d weigh a ton, though,” said Enoch. “Don’t think I could’ve lifted it off to get any cement in there.”

  “No,” said Ray. “I couldn’t either. Thanks, Jubes.”

  Jubo grinned and raised a hand. “No worries, guy. You cool.”

  So Jubo had been in on it as well. Jubo, Gene and Ray. The three of them together.

  “Well, you could have told the rest of us.” Baz felt as though he’d been left off the party guest list. “I mean...” He stopped himself from saying how worried he’d been over Ray. “We could all have been in on the joke, then.”

  “Yeah,” said Gene. “But it was best not to say. If everybody had been standing round sniggering, the capos would’ve twigged. See, you kicked off nicely, Baz, and that looked more natural, yeah? Besides, we didn’t want to risk Cookie hearing about it, ’cos you never know with him.”

  “Anyway,” said Ray, “it worked. And so – no more water duty for me for a while. Eh, Dyson?”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Dyson took it amiably enough. “You win. And I reckon it was worth it. Hey – but what about Enoch? He bet you too.”

  “I’m gonna let Enoch off,” said Ray. “’Cos he’s such a sweetheart. He hoped he’d lose. Awwww. How nice of him was that?” Ray put an arm around Enoch’s shoulders and patted his cheek.

  “Gerroff!” said Enoch, and the boys all laughed, but Baz felt an unaccountable stab of pain, as though he’d been betrayed. His own friendship had been used as a tool in this escapade. He’d ‘kicked off nicely’, as Gene had put it. Well, you would kick off, wouldn’t you, if something horrible was about to happen to someone you cared about? Wasn’t that what friends were for? And now Ray was prancing around and calling people sweetheart, and—

  No, this was being ridiculous. Ray had come up with a brilliant plan, and it had worked, and he had a right to his moment of triumph. The capos, for once, had come off worst. It was something to celebrate, not get all sniffy about. Join in then, and be glad while you could.

  The atmosphere at lights-out was more subdued. Taps’s empty bed was a constant reminder of how vulnerable they all were, despite today’s success. Whose bed might be lying empty tomorrow, or the day after that?

  Baz lay on his, and stared up at the ceiling. The trouble with Sundays, he was beginning to realize, was that there was time to think. And thinking could bring more pain than pushing wheel barrows. Today had brought a little victory, but tomorrow would surely bring payback.

  Eventually Gene, who was nearest to the slob-room door, said, “Everybody done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah.”

  Gene clicked the switch and the light went out.

  The room smelled worse in the dark, somehow. Baz spread himself out in a star shape and breathed in the foetid air. God, it was like living in a dustbin full of rotting cabbage stalks. He heard the sound of a muffled fart about halfway down the room, and someone murmured, “Uh-oh...”

  “The blue angel flies again...” Another voice. But there was no subsequent fli
ck of a cigarette lighter, and even if there had been, Baz wouldn’t have bothered to look. The blue angel game had lost its appeal lately.

  His own guts felt bloated and uncomfortable. A diet of nothing but tinned food was having its predictable effect. And what might it be doing to his teeth? he wondered. Having rotten teeth was a big worry nowadays.

  The door clicked down at the other end of the room, and Baz raised his head slightly. Was that Cookie? Yes. He heard someone murmur, “Hey... Sir Plus...” and after a few moments the bulky figure came padding down the middle of the room and into the jakes.

  How strange Cookie’s life must be. And how unhappy. He had no friends – everybody either ignored him altogether or just hooted his name whenever he appeared. Was he used to it? And what did the guy do all day, anyway? Nobody really knew.

  Baz felt guilty about the fact that he just went along with the crowd. He’d never joined in the general mockery, but he’d never taken any stand against it either. Didn’t want to make enemies. Didn’t want to put himself outside the circle. Too much of a coward to suggest that such treatment was bullying. And wrong...

  The curtain rustled, and the shadow of Cookie passed by again, running the gauntlet of murmured sneers and insults.

  “Yo. Truck boy...”

  “Mm. I smell lard...”

  Baz frowned in the darkness. Maybe tomorrow he should make an effort. Say something.

  The room settled into silence, but Baz didn’t close his eyes. He could feel the perspiration, prickly on his forehead, a suspicious itch in the middle of his back. God, this place was a nightmare. What was going to happen to him? He brought his legs together, but kept his arms outstretched and imagined that he was being crucified. High up on a cross he was nailed, looking down upon a desolate world. Nothing before him but the endless floods, and the smoking ruins of far-off cities. The image was so vivid that it scared him, and sudden tears sprang to his eyes. It could happen. It really could. He let his jaw fall open, tried to get some air past the lump at the back of his throat. There was no future. There was no one to save him. He was all alone.

  Something touched the palm of his hand, and Baz immediately closed his fingers. Another hand. In the moment of realizing what it was, he should have let go. But he didn’t. He grasped the offered fingers in his own and held on tight.