My breath turns sour in my mouth. Has there not been enough killing? An image of the wounded lining Abby’s kitchen appears in my head. The blood and screams of pain. This wasn’t the peaceful uprising and protest I’d imagined when I took the government documents to Theo’s dad.
This wasn’t what we planned.
But if there’s some way we can put it right, we have to try.
I stay behind as the room empties. Jameson takes the black box apart and explains to me how it works. Some of what he says goes completely over my head, but I understand enough to realize that he doesn’t know why it doesn’t work. There’s just something missing. His voice and posture speak of his frustration at not having this final piece of the jigsaw.
When I leave, Bryn’s leaning against the stone pillar at the base of the steps leading up to the house. He falls into step beside me.
“You know your way around now,” he comments.
“A little. Enough to get back to Abby’s.”
There’s a pause. “How’s your family?” He gives me a sideways glance. “I know you’ve been going Inside to see them.”
I don’t bother asking how he knows.
“They’re … Dad’s not doing so great. They’ve had to move to a smaller apartment, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s something to do with his work. I think he just feels powerless to change anything. Like he’s given up on everything.”
Bryn stops and rests a hand on my shoulder. “It’s been a tough few months for him, Trey. Any man would be affected by it.”
I sigh. “I wish he could just go away, to the house in Wales. He’s always loved it there. But then there would be no money to pay for the apartment or anything else.”
“And your mother?”
“I’ve only seen her once. She looks older, but I think she’s coping with it better. Ella’s worried about both of them but …”
I hesitate. I’m not sure how much I should tell Bryn. He could pass the information on.
“But what?”
I turn and start walking again. “She thinks the government are wrong. She won’t say so in front of Dad, but her boyfriend and his friends are forming a group – a coalition, they’re calling it – to protest against the government’s actions.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted? Insiders to protest?” Bryn asks evenly.
“Yes, but …”
“But what if the Metz find them?”
I nod and bite my lip. The images of the riot in Rose Square leap into my head, but this time it’s not some unknown Outsider being bludgeoned by the Metz, but Ella. I grab Bryn’s arm. “Don’t tell the Chain about them. Please?”
Bryn nods. “Okay, I won’t.” I must look worried as he pats my hand. “I promise. Is anyone listening to them?”
“Some people, I think. Younger people, students.” Suddenly, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. “Where did Aleesha go?”
Bryn shrugs. “She rushed straight out as if she’d just remembered something important.”
Oh.
“Have you two had a fight?”
“No, nothing like that.” Just that she’s been avoiding being alone with me. I can feel a blush rising to my cheeks and look about for some distraction. “Err, this is a shortcut, isn’t it?”
I dive down a passageway on the left. It kicks us onto a busy shopping street. I glance inside a food store as we walk past and see that the shelves are nearly empty. Outside one of the government rations stores, a crowd of people sit, blocking the entrance, while the distributor looks on, annoyed but powerless to do anything about it.
“I know you don’t like her, but she’s not as bad as you make out,” I say eventually.
“It’s not that I don’t like her.” Bryn moves up to walk beside me. “But she’s damaged, Trey. It’s not her fault, god knows she’s had a tough life, but that doesn’t change the facts.”
“What do you mean the facts?” I snap, turning sharply onto the road that leads to Abby’s house. I quicken my pace, not caring if I leave him behind, but Bryn matches me stride for stride.
Who is he to lecture me about relationships anyway? It’s not as if he’s a good role model.
He grabs my shoulder, yanking me to a halt. “Ask her, Trey. Make her talk to you. Ask her how many men she’s slept with. If she can even remember.”
The tight ball of anger inside me explodes into a blind fury. Spots dance in my vision as my arm swings through the air. At the last minute, Bryn turns his head, so my fist connects with his jaw rather than his nose. The impact reverberates down my arm, making my elbow tingle.
He stumbles back, clutching his jaw. For a moment, both of us stare at each other, frozen in shock. Then Bryn throws back his head and laughs.
“I guess I deserved that.” He stretches his jaw and winces. “You’ve got it bad, lad.” I turn to go but he grabs my arm. “No, wait. I wasn’t insulting her. I’m speaking the truth.” He steps forward and grips my shoulders. “She’s a pretty girl. If she’d been born ugly, she probably wouldn’t be alive today. Do you get what I mean?”
I shake my head, confused.
Bryn sighs. “Out here, with no way of getting food or money, she’s only got one thing to sell. Herself.”
“You’re wrong!” How dare he call her a … a whore! I raise my arm again, but he’s quicker than me and grasps my wrist.
“She’s smart enough to trick most of the Outsiders down there.” Bryn jerks his head in the direction of Area Four. “And perhaps that worked for a while. But there are some bad men out there. Those in Three and Four, they’re some of the worst in the city. They see a pretty girl and they just think of one thing. And they’ll take what they want by force if it’s not given willingly.”
“You mean she was raped?” I stare at him.
He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe she bargained with them. For food or shelter. Protection against other men. Only she knows.”
“But she was just a kid when her mother left,” I whisper. My brain stands still.
“And she’s what, eighteen now? Still practically a kid.” Bryn’s face softens. “No one should have to do what she’s done to survive. No one. But that kind of thing doesn’t go away, however much she tries to hide it inside. She doesn’t know how to have a proper relationship.” He sighs. “All I’m saying is, don’t go getting involved with her until you know more. You’ll just end up getting hurt.”
He gives me a searching look. “Though I suspect it may be a bit late for that. You’ve already fallen for her, haven’t you?”
Anger rises in me.
“Because you’re a great one to give relationship advice, aren’t you?” I put as much sarcasm into the words as I can. “The man who’s never been able to make a relationship last.” I wrench my arm free of his grip. “Get your own life in order before you interfere with mine.”
I stride down the narrow alley behind the row of terraced houses, expecting to hear Bryn hurrying to catch me up. But the only noise to break the silence is the sound of my own footsteps.
I throw open the back door and storm past Abby, who looks up in surprise from the sink. “Tr—”
Whatever she was going to say is cut off when I slam the kitchen door. I take the stairs two at a time and, closing my bedroom door on the world, collapse back on the bed.
It smells of her.
How dare he say that stuff about her! He knows nothing about her life or who she is. How dare he presume to know what I feel? Fallen for her, indeed …
I sit up and cradle my head in my hands, my fury ebbing away.
But you have, haven’t you? Fallen for her.
And when I think about it, he’s right. I don’t know much about her at all.
13
Aleesha
Even during daylight, the concrete jungle is deserted. I lean against a crumbling, boarded-up old shop and scan the open area that separates the jungle from the surrounding buildings. A bit like the dead zone that lies between the Wall and the buildings on
either side.
I wait.
A faint ray of sunshine breaks through the clouds and glints off something in the rubble. I look closer. The same flash of light, between two slabs of concrete. A mirror? Or a spyglass?
I’m not the only one keeping watch.
A trickle of cold sweat runs down my neck. The people who live in the concrete jungle are outcasts. Forced to scrabble together a measly existence in the ancient pile of rubble. Many have a fearsome reputation.
Even Giles was scared of the Boots Brothers.
Coming here during the night is one thing, but walking across that broad open area, in full sight of anyone looking out for easy prey, is quite another.
Needs must. I have to find out how to get to the operations records in the compound and Giles is the only lead I have. We can’t wait any longer.
I wipe my palms on my trousers and pull out the new knife Bryn had given me this morning. I’d been surprised at the gesture, but he’d shrugged it off, saying he’d seen it and thought I’d have some use for it. It’s a good blade and perfectly balanced for throwing.
In my left hand is one of the knives Jay had given me. Not as good, but a blade’s a blade. The stiletto knife is hidden in my boot. I’m hoping I won’t need it.
I move quickly across the empty space. It’s surprisingly clean. The rain seems to wash most of the dirt away down to the river. Yellow weeds reach up through the cracks, strangled by their concrete collars.
The mountain of rubble looms in front of me. Ideally, I’d walk around it to reach the point where I know a safe route up to Giles’s home. But if anyone is watching, they’ll then know exactly where I’m going. Better to lose myself from sight in the rubble.
Cautiously, I make my way up through the tottering pile of concrete, metal and stone. The larger blocks are mostly wedged in place but trusting the smaller blocks between them is riskier.
I’m about ten metres up when there’s a flash of movement to my right. I whip around, one arm already poised to throw.
A man perches on top of a slanted slab five metres away. He grins, revealing a hotchpotch of rotten teeth.
“Now wot’s a pretty girl like you doin’ ’ere?”
He jumps down from the slab and takes a step toward me. There’s a breath of wind and a foul stench wafts toward me, catching at the back of my throat. Greasy, lank hair hangs to his shoulders and the patched fabric of his clothes looks stiff as if the stains have never been washed out.
I try not to think about what stains they might be.
“Stay right there!” I raise my knife, ready to throw. At this range, I bet I could hit him in the eye.
“Ooh, she’s armed.” The voice comes from behind and above me.
Shit. Two of them.
“D’ya think she knows ’ow to use that blade?” the voice says again.
I step carefully to the side, not letting the first man out of my sight until the second man appears in the corner of my vision. My mouth goes dry as I realize he’s been crouched right above my head.
“I reckon so, brother,” the first man replies.
I take a couple more steps backward until they’re both in front of me. One high, one low.
The second man is a mirror image of the first. Same slight, weaselly build. Same dark, lank hair and pasty, pock-marked face. They’re twins.
The Boots Brothers.
My heart sinks further. I can sense them eying me up, assessing how much of a danger I am. They’re cautious though, not yet committing to the attack.
They’re scavengers. They go for easy targets or the pickings left behind after a fight. I need to hurt them enough to scare them off but not too much … If I kill one, the other has nothing to lose.
The taste of iron fills my mouth. I’ve been chewing my lip. I push my shoulders back and try to sound confident. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you don’t leave right now.”
But my plan doesn’t work. The first man pulls a knife from his belt and steps toward me. He moves delicately, knowing without looking where to place his feet on the shifting rubble.
“She’s a bit skinny, brother,” he says, cocking his head to one side. His eyes are bright, and a dribble of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth. “But we ’aven’t had meat for so long.”
“Not for days, brother,” the second man gibbers. He capers from side to side on top of the slab. “She looks fun t’play with.” His jaw drops in a gaping smile.
Nausea twists my gut and I take a deep breath.
Time to take one of them out of the picture.
They’ll assume I’m right-handed, so I throw with my left. The knife buries itself into the shoulder of the man on top of the slab. He screams and falls backward, out of sight.
One knife down.
“You bitch.”
I turn back to the first brother. His face twists in anger as he moves closer, and with a sickening feeling I realize I’ve underestimated him. He knows how to move, how to fight.
The blade he’s holding out is long and dirty, coated in rust. Although, perhaps it’s not rust. I tear my eyes from it and meet his.
Always look at their eyes.
“Take your brother and go and I promise I won’t harm you or come after you. He needs your help.”
My voice is calm and steady in contrast to the wailing pleas of the injured man. But my words do no good. He keeps coming.
He makes the first move, lunging forward. I parry it easily and step to the side, careful not to get cornered in by the blocks of concrete surrounding me. Immediately, he attacks again, and this time I not only dodge his blade but skim my own across his cheek.
Blood bubbles up from the shallow wound and he hisses. His dark eyes narrow to slits.
“I told you. Best to leave. Now.”
He eyes me warily but doesn’t move. I take another step to the side but my foot lands awkwardly on a small block that rocks, sending me stumbling backward.
In an instant he’s on me, slashing his blade toward my face. I lean back and raise my arm, feeling the sharp sting as his knife cuts through my top and skin.
My foot skids on loose gravel and he lunges forward. I strike out and, more by luck than anything else, the two blades clash in mid-air.
For a moment, we press against one another. His rotten breath is almost enough to make me pass out. He leans into me and I’m forced back. Cold, rough concrete brushes my back.
A low rumbling sound makes him hesitate. It gets louder, and over the man’s shoulder I catch sight of rocks and stones tumbling in a landslide down the slope toward us.
The noise makes him turn, and as soon as his attention wavers I grab his wrist and twist it, hard. The knife drops from his hand and clatters between two blocks. I bring my knee up between his legs and wrap my arm around his neck. My sharp new knife presses into the fold of skin on his neck.
The rumbling subsides. The blocks come to rest in their new positions.
“One final time. I suggest you get your brother and leave. Okay?”
He nods.
“I didn’t hear you.” I grit my teeth, trying to avoid breathing in his odour.
“Okay, okay. Don’t kill me!” He scrunches up his face and the acid smell of urine adds to the stench in the air. I force myself not to pull away from him. I don’t think he’ll follow me now, but I need to move quickly.
I remove my arm from his neck and push him hard. He falls to his knees. Then I’m off, running across the blocks, jumping from one to another even as they shift under my feet.
After five minutes I pause for breath and look about to get my bearings. Going by my position relative to the buildings I can see across the wasteland, I’m not far from the entrance to Giles’s tunnel. I pick my way slowly across the rubble and, to my surprise, see him sitting on a low block.
He gives me a wave as I approach.
“You were expecting me?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer but stares at my arm. The black fabric is soaked
in blood. “I, um, ran into some trouble.” I turn my arm to inspect the damage. The cut isn’t deep, but I dread to think what that blade had on it. “You don’t have any antiseptics, do you?”
To my surprise, he nods. “You did well. Taught the Boots Brothers a lesson.” He giggles to himself.
“You saw?” I narrow my eyes. “The rockfall. You caused that?”
Giles shrugs and smiles again.
“I … I came to ask you something. Ask for some help.”
“I thought you might come back, Miss Aleesha.” He turns his head to the side and looks at me with his pale blue eyes. “Best come inside.”
Inside?
I crawl into the low tunnel entrance after him, following more by sound than sight as my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark. My uneasiness returns the further I get from the sun. Have I escaped one trap just to walk into another? The rumours about Giles are almost as bad as those about the Boots Brothers.
Though I haven’t heard anything about him eating people.
The tunnel slants down and, about ten metres in, Giles whispers a warning. “Watch the drop.”
I feel carefully ahead and find the edge of a large block. Twisting around, I lower my feet down. Without Giles’s warning, I’d have plunged head-first over a metre down.
There’s a flash of light ahead and Giles stands silhouetted in a doorway. I get to my feet, the tunnel tall enough to stand in here, and take the curtain he’s holding out. My hand brushes his and he pulls away.
I stand in the doorway, blinking in the unexpected brightness, and look around in amazement. If I’d ever pictured what Giles’s home was like, this wasn’t it.
Dozens of lights create a soft glow and the room is warm, which is odd given it’s underground. Richly coloured fabrics drape across almost every surface, hiding the concrete and rubble that must lie behind. A pile of soft cushions on one side of the room sits next to a set of crates that are filled with books. My eyes are drawn to them. So many books! My fingers itch to pull them out, smell their musty, ancient smell and feel the thin, delicate paper between my fingers.
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