The passageway opens up and I let my left arm fall to my side. I trail my fingers along the right wall, feeling the smoothness of Plexiglas windows.
The bright beam of a flashlight slices through the darkness of the passageway and bounces off the walls. I emerge into an old-fashioned light well between tall office buildings, barely three metres across. Ahead, the passageway turns a corner, and Aleesha stands at the bend, face flushed and eyes wide.
“Get down!”
I press my back against the wall as a knife whistles through the air in front of me. There’s a clatter and the light goes out.
The darkness seems even blacker. Aleesha’s hand grabs mine, pulling me forward. I follow her blindly, my arm outstretched to ward off any obstacle.
My foot catches on something and I lurch forward, falling to the ground, my hand slipping from Aleesha’s grasp. Pain shoots from my right kneecap, and I bite my lip to stifle my whimper of pain.
“Come on! They’ll start shooting soon.”
As if on cue, another flashlight shines down the light well. It comes to rest on me, and I drop flat to the ground as a bullet shoots through the spot where my chest had been seconds before.
I look up. I’m just a few metres from the turn in the passageway. A few metres from safety.
Aleesha’s face appears around the corner of the wall and she mouths something at me. Words of encouragement perhaps. I squirm forward on my belly, feet scrabbling to push me forward.
Bullets thud into the ground around me. Aleesha reaches out and grabs my belt, yanking me behind the shelter of the wall. I lie with my face pressed to the dusty ground, gasping for breath.
“Damn.”
I push myself up and follow Aleesha’s gaze. The flashlight reflects off the office windows, providing enough light for us to see the concrete wall ahead of us. A dead end. I swallow, tasting the iron-tang of blood in my mouth.
“You hurt?”
“I’m okay. Just banged my knee.” I heave myself into a sitting position and examine my shoulder. The fabric of my top is torn, and my finger comes away wet with blood. I look away and roll my shoulder experimentally. “They shot me … but it felt like I was being electrocuted?”
“Stun bullets.” Aleesha picks up a small cylinder and holds it up to the light. “They’re designed to shock you. Like a taser but in a bullet. They’re pretty nasty.” She glances at my shoulder. “How did you get it off you?”
I squint at the object held neatly between her fingers. It looks like a tiny electronic device encased in clear plastic, with a set of spikes at one end. “My shoulder hit the wall. I guess it must have ripped it out?” I shudder and swallow down the nausea that rises in my throat, trying not to think about the blood trickling down my arm.
Aleesha nods approvingly. “Good. If you’d have tried to pull it out, the shock would have been worse. You’d most likely not have made it into the passageway.”
I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. The throbbing in my knee is fading to a dull ache. “I guess it’s too much to hope for that they’ll just go away?”
I can almost feel the look she’s giving me.
“They’re not trying to kill us at least. Otherwise they’d have used proper bullets. They want us alive.”
“Great. That makes me feel so much better.”
Aleesha ignores my sarcasm. I feel her shift beside me. There’s a soft tapping sound. “The lower windows are proper glass. Breakable. Not like Plexiglas.”
There’s a sound like a child’s rattle followed by a small thud as something hits the ground on the other side of the skylight.
Why are they throwing things a—
There’s a blinding flash of light and the air is sucked from my lungs as a deafening blast reverberates in the narrow space. I try to draw a breath, but the air is more dust than oxygen and my lungs spasm in protest. Spots of light dance in front of my eyes and there’s a loud ringing in my ears.
Aleesha’s hand closes over mine and tugs me forward. I crawl obediently toward her, gasping as my knees grind into the hard surface and tiny daggers bite into my hands.
I blink and the spots of light fade. A steady beam of light reflects off the thousands of tiny shards of glass scattered on the ground. The bottom windows are ringed with glass teeth, the panes shattered by the explosion.
Aleesha is already inside the building, beckoning to me and mouthing silent words. I scramble through the window, not caring that shards of glass tear at my clothes and skin, and drop down into the room beyond. Aleesha pulls me forward and we half stagger, half run out of the room and into a long corridor. A high-pitched wailing noise intrudes on the ringing in my ears.
At the foot of a flight of stairs, Aleesha pauses. There’s a sign on the wall indicating we’re in the basement. “Up!” she mouths and points at the ceiling.
I pause on the ground floor but Aleesha keeps on going up, taking the stairs two at a time. Panting, I follow, struggling to keep up. She pauses for breath on the third floor.
“Where are you going?” My words sound muffled as if I’m underwater. I rest my hands on my knees and gulp in air.
“To the roof. They won’t expect us to go there.”
The roof? “Is there a way out there?”
Her teeth flash white in the dark. “I hope so.”
“You hope so?”
But she’s right. A trapdoor leads up onto the roof and we soon find a way back down a fire escape to a different street. The Metz are nowhere to be seen.
We reach the Wall, a shimmer of colour that stretches into the clouds. The patterns are constantly changing and shifting, like the swirling water in the brook that runs through the forest beside my family’s home in the Welsh countryside. I push the thought to the back of my mind. Thinking of the house, of my family, is still too painful.
Aleesha runs straight through the Wall, barely pausing for breath, but I hesitate, reaching out a hand toward it. Why am I nervous? I’ve been through it so many times. But we still don’t know why Aleesha and I are the only people who can pass through unharmed. Everyone else dies almost instantly.
I was always taught that the Wall was there to protect us. That inside it, we were safe. That was before I discovered I was an illegal child, my birth covered up by the man I thought was my father. Before the Metz came for me that fateful day at school. Before I cut out my chip and threw away my identity. Before I went on the run.
Now I know that nowhere is really safe. Insiders and Outsiders, we’re both at the mercy of the government.
I take a deep breath and step through the barrier. There’s no resistance, just a slight tingling.
Then I’m through. Outside.
It doesn’t take us long to weave through the streets of Area Five and reach the back alley to Abby’s house. Light glows from the kitchen window, but the blind is pulled down, obscuring the scene inside. An overwhelming sense of relief makes me stumble on the cracked paving stones and I sag against the wall of the house for a moment and close my eyes.
We made it.
The back door is unlocked. As I push it open, a stench of dirt, sweat and something else hits the back of my throat and I cough violently, my eyes watering.
What on earth?
The kitchen is in chaos. A bare-chested man lies prone on the kitchen table, which is covered with plastic sheeting. His hands grip the table edge and his eyes are squeezed shut. The hairs on his chest shine wet in the light and a deep wound on his stomach leaks fresh blood.
“There you are, Trey. Can you come and give me a hand?”
I tear my eyes from the man to look at Abby. She’s pouring water from the kettle into a large bowl. Her long dark hair is loosely tied back, and her olive skin is creased with worry lines.
I walk over and take the bowl from her. Jars full of pastes and ointments are neatly lined up on the counter. Healing remedies from the few ancient books on herblore Abby’s collected over the years, or those she’s learned to trust. It’s a fa
r cry from the sterile, mechanical environment of the medic centres where bots carry out delicate surgical procedures and drugs can heal almost instantly. But, as Abby keeps reminding me, the medic facilities out here are overrun and not everyone can access them.
“Wash your hands. Then put some gloves on and start trying to clean up this gentleman’s wound.” She points to a pile of neatly folded white fabric and then to the man on the table. “Aleesha – please put more water on to boil. Bryn? How are you doing over there?”
It’s only then I notice that there are other people in the small room. A pale-faced woman sits in the rocking chair, clutching a small child to her. The boy appears to be asleep. Next to her, Bryn’s busy wrapping a white gauze bandage around the head of an elderly man whose eyes are glazed over. Another two people wait in line for treatment, slumped against the wall.
I walk over to the table, rest the bowl on the edge and pull on thin plastic gloves.
“What happened?” Aleesha asks. There’s an edge to her voice and I wonder if she knows these people. If they’re from Area Four.
“The Metz have been taking a heavy-handed approach again. There was a bust-up a few streets away, plus things in Four are so bad, Amber’s had to send a couple of people up here to get patched up.” She brushes back her hair with the back of her hand and sighs. “It’s been a busy day.”
I dip a cloth in the warm water and dab cautiously at the man’s chest. He lets out a moan. When I rinse the cloth in the bowl, it tinges the water pink. I swallow hard and force myself to look at the wound on his stomach. The raw gaping flesh moves as he breathes, revealing what looks like a giant worm.
Is that his intestine?
A wave of nausea washes over me and the room seems to shift sideways. I close my eyes but that doesn’t get rid of the smell. It reminds me of another place. Another man. Mikheil.
“Trey? Are you okay? You look about to faint.”
The room swims back into focus. Aleesha is staring at me, concern in her eyes.
“I-I just …” I make it to the sink just in time. My eyes burn as I retch, and the smell of vomit mingles with the stink in the room, making my stomach heave again. I close my eyes and force myself to take a couple of deep breaths.
Behind me, there’s a faint splash as Aleesha takes over my washing duties. Abby walks over to her. “Once the wound’s clean, smear this inside. It’ll help stop infection. Then I’ll stitch it up. If he starts screaming, give him a bit of this on his tongue.”
“Tronk? You’re giving him tronk?” Aleesha’s voice sounds strangled.
“Just a bit, for the pain. And to sedate him while I stitch up the wound.”
Aleesha doesn’t reply. I glance back at her. She’s staring at a small packet of white powder on the table. Her eyes are hungry. They dart to me and I look away, wondering if Abby would have handed her the tronk so willingly if she’d known about Aleesha’s addiction.
“Here, drink this.” Abby shoves a cup into my hand. I rinse my mouth and take a couple of sips before using the rest to wash out the sink.
“Sorry …”
She pats me gently on the back. “It’s okay. Why don’t you and Bryn go into the front room for a bit? I can manage fine with Aleesha. Besides, you two need to talk. You’ve been tip-toeing around each other for too long.”
Bryn growls from the other side of the room. “Abby, it’s—”
Abby gives him a silencing look. I stumble from the kitchen, grateful for any excuse to get away. The air in the hallway is comparatively fresh and I gulp it in, trying to shake the nausea.
Bryn pushes past me into the small front room. He seems angry, but then he always seems angry around me. Like he wants to be rid of me. The son he never knew he had.
The room is dark and sparsely furnished. There’s a blanket on the sofa where Bryn has been sleeping. He turns to face me, his hands on his hips.
“What trouble have you two been getting into now?”
“W-w-what do you mean?” I bite my lip. Damn that stammer.
“You come in with a limp, covered in dirt and with blood on your hands. I hardly think you got that from walking in the park.”
“It’s none of your business.” The words come out sharper than I’d intended and Bryn’s eyes narrow.
Though we’re the same height, his hefty build makes it feel as if he’s looming over me. For a moment, his outline is silhouetted against the lamp in the corner of the room. Then he sighs, rubs one hand over his eyes and sits down on the sofa. “I’m sorry, Trey. It’s just, I worry about you, you know? I promised your parents I’d take care of you.”
I perch on a high-backed chair. Your parents. To him, I’m still the pathetic Insider boy who he’s been lumbered with the job of looking after. If everything had gone the way he and my father had planned, I’d be up at a school in Birmingham, banished from London by the government, and he’d have been able to forget I exist. Instead, I’m still here, a lingering reminder of an old affair.
My father. I still can’t think of Bryn as my father. My genes may be his, and my blond hair and blue eyes come from him, but my father is still the tall, dark-haired man who brought me up. The man who I always failed to please, but who I know loved me as if I were his own flesh and blood.
I wonder if it hurts Abby too, now she knows the truth. She never had the opportunity to have children, never found the man to love her as she deserved. If it hadn’t been for my mother, perhaps her and Bryn’s story would have been different.
“I couldn’t just leave. Not now I know how wrong things are in this city. If I went away it would be like I was burying my head in the sand, as if I was accepting that it was okay for the government to treat Outsiders like … like they don’t matter.”
Bryn snorts. “Oh, to be young and idealistic.” He sighs. “I was like that once.”
We sit in silence for a moment. “You know, you don’t have to stay in London because of me,” I say. “Don’t let me stop you from going back home. Where is home anyway?”
He yawns. “I’ve never really had one. Always been too busy moving around, working. But I had my eye on a little place up in the mountains in the south of France. It’s cooler up there in the summer and quiet – not many people around. I figured it would be a peaceful kind of retirement. Anyway, I may be able to leave soon. Now Lamar’s replacement’s arrived.”
I sit up straight. “Milicent’s replacement?”
“Lamar’s replacement. Milicent was never supposed to take charge.”
The door bangs open and Aleesha walks in. “Abby needs a hand moving the big dude, Bryn,” she says without preamble.
“Sure.” Bryn gets to his feet.
“Wait, who is he?”
“Who is who?” Aleesha looks from Bryn to me.
“Lamar’s replacement,” I say.
“Her name is Katya. She’s Russian,” Bryn says, as if that explains everything.
“And …” I prompt.
“And she seems competent enough. The Leader trusts her implicitly.”
There’s a “but” hanging in the air. Aleesha senses it too. She folds her arms, blocking the doorway. “So, what’s the problem?”
“No problem.” Bryn shrugs. “She’s a beautiful woman. And I never trust beautiful women.”
Aleesha rolls her eyes. “You never trust anyone.”
“You can talk.” He glares at her and Aleesha meets his gaze defiantly. “Anyway, she wants to see both of you tomorrow afternoon. Now, are you going to let me give Abby a hand or are we going to stand here chatting all night?”
Aleesha steps aside to let Bryn past, then leans against the door frame. “Who do you think the person is behind all this? The one they call the Leader?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. I can’t even work out how big the Chain is. From what Bryn and Murdoch have said, they’ve people in different cities all over the world.”
“Bryn knows, doesn’t he?”
“I think so. He seems to be the only
one here who’s actually met him face to face. Maybe he’s a recluse.”
“A what?”
I forget sometimes that Aleesha’s vocabulary is limited. She’s smart, but never went to school. “A recluse. Someone who hides away from the world.”
She looks thoughtful. “Maybe that would explain why he doesn’t just come here and sort things out himself.”
“Maybe.” I stand and prod my knee experimentally. It’s sore, but sound.
“Trey, how do we know that what the Chain is doing is right?”
I walk over to her. “They say they want to create an equal city. Take down the divide between Insiders and Outsiders.”
“Do you believe them?”
I sigh and stare into her brown eyes. They have flecks of green that I’ve never noticed before. “I guess we just have to trust them and believe they’re doing the right thing. You’ve got to believe in something, after all.”
“What do you believe in, Trey?”
I consider the question for a minute. “Justice. Trying to right the wrongs of the past.”
“Justice.” Aleesha rolls the word around in her mouth as if it’s new to her. Perhaps it is. “It’s a good word.” Then she turns and disappears back into the kitchen.
3
Aleesha
The grey light of dawn filters through the small bedroom window. Beside me, Trey’s breathing is light and even. He insisted on me taking the bed, even though I’m used to sleeping on the floor without even a mattress for comfort. I roll over to look at him. His hair’s all mussed up, framing his pale face. He looks so peaceful as he sleeps, like a child who knows he is safe. Did I feel like that once? Maybe a long time ago.
I push the blanket aside and crawl to the end of the bed, then tiptoe over to the window. I crane my neck to see past the back yards of the houses to the end of the alleyway. No sign of Metz officers. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there.
It was late by the time we finished treating the injured people last night and I’d been about to leave when Bryn had stopped me. “There are Metz stationed at the end of the road and the back alley,” he’d said. “It may just be coincidence or the fact that we’ve had all these people traipsing in and out, but we can’t risk them seeing you. You’ll have to stay here tonight.”
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