If they kill you, would it really matter?
The thought lingers unpleasantly at the back of my mind.
“Keep your eye on that group behind us.” Bryn sounds nervous.
They’re walking casually toward us. Four of them: three men and a woman. “They’re coming.”
“Afraid, old man?” the guy taunts. “It’s the boy we want. Leave him and we’ll let you go.”
I force myself to keep watching the group of four. There’s a blur of movement in the corner of my eye and a yell of pain followed by a string of curses.
“Go!” That’s Bryn.
I glance over my shoulder. One guy is lying on the floor, clutching his thigh. Blood leaks from between his fingers. The other is holding his knife out in front of him but his hand trembles and his eyes twitch. Bryn lunges forward and he dodges to one side, but not before Bryn’s knife slits a line through fabric and skin.
A gap opens up.
I run.
A hand clutches at my top. My feet are wiped out from under me and I crash to the floor.
Instinctively, I roll away. A dark shape looms over me and I roll to my knees, raising my arms above my head.
But the expected blow doesn’t come. The shape resolves itself into a man. He staggers backward, bleeding from a wound to his head.
Bryn crouches in front of the remaining two men and woman, a knife in one hand and a baton in the other. He’s clearly the best fighter, but the three of them are closing in on him. Worse, they’re standing between him and me.
He catches my eye over the shoulder of one. “Run!” he mouths.
But I can’t. I don’t think my legs could move that fast even if I wanted them to.
I glance around, looking for something I can use as a weapon. The street is littered with trash, but most of it is plastic wrappings and other soft materials. A reddish object, half hidden under the rubbish, catches my eye.
A brick, broken in two.
I pick up the two halves. At the same moment, a muffled yelp of pain comes from behind me.
Bryn.
They have their backs to me and are only a few metres away. I don’t have to throw far. The first brick hits the side of one man’s head, not enough to take him down, but enough to distract him and give Bryn an opportunity to land a punch to his nose.
He stumbles back into a wall, blood gushing down his face.
I raise the second half brick. In front of me is the woman. I hesitate.
I can’t hit a woman.
She turns toward me, her eyes filled with hate. There’s a flash of metal in her hand but I catch the movement in her eye and step to the side. Quick enough to avoid the blade plunging into my stomach but not quick enough to avoid it altogether.
A flash of pain shoots up my side. I bring the brick down toward her head. Her reactions are slow – the brick connects with her skull with a thickening thud. Her eyes roll back in her head and she crumples to the ground.
I back away. A hand grabs me from behind. I whirl around, brick raised, and lash out instinctively. It connects with the thug’s shoulder, but he doesn’t budge. Blood trickles down the side of his face from Bryn’s earlier attack. The tip of his serrated blade tickles my chin.
“Gotcha now, boy,” he breathes. The rotten stench of his breath makes me gag.
Something whizzes past my ear. The man’s face freezes in shock. A small knife protrudes from his eye. I stare in horror as he falls back to the ground.
Bryn grabs my hand. “Come on.”
We stumble down the street and onto a larger road. People give us strange looks as we pass but no one tries to stop us. Maybe it’s the blood-stained knife in Bryn’s hand. Or the murderous look on his face.
Streets pass in a blur. Somehow my legs keep moving until Bryn stops and doubles over, releasing my hand and pressing it to the side of his chest. I look closer as a grimace of pain crosses his face. A wet stain darkens his jacket. “You’re hurt.”
“Let’s just keep going.”
He sets off up the street before I can protest.
When we reach the gate to Abby’s yard, Bryn leans against the wall to catch his breath.
“How are you holding up?” He scans my face anxiously.
“Okay,” I lie.
He nods and opens the back gate. I can see Abby through the kitchen window, standing at the table surrounded by dried plants and herbs. She glances up and the smile falls from her face.
I help Bryn inside. His skin is cold and clammy.
“What’s happened? You’re hurt?” Abby looks from Bryn to me and back again.
“Trey’s hurt,” Bryn gasps.
Abby assesses us quickly. “So are you, and you’re worse. Trey, sit down over there.” She nods to a chair and I sink into it, a wave of dizziness washing over me.
I stare blankly across the room as Abby switches to nurse mode. Quick, efficient and emotionless. Almost emotionless. She heats water, cursing at how long the hotplate takes to boil it, and makes Bryn strip and lie down on the table. There’s a long, deep slash on his right side. I take one glance at it then look away as my stomach heaves.
“Yarrow for the bleeding,” Abby murmurs, walking past me to pour hot water into a bowl.
She cleans and examines Bryn’s wound. He winches but doesn’t cry out as she prods around. From the scars on his chest and back, he’s used to injury.
“It’s pretty clean and not as deep as I first thought,” Abby says, straightening up. “If it doesn’t get infected, it should heal fairly quickly.”
She sticks some small pieces of tape across the cut and smears it with a thick paste before bandaging it up. “There you go. Please, take it easy for a few days?”
Bryn eases himself off the table. “I’ll try.”
A smile twists the corners of Abby’s mouth. “Liar.”
She empties the bowl of bloodied water and refills it. “Let’s have a look at you, Trey.”
Gingerly, I peel off my long-sleeved top. I flinch as Abby reaches out to me. She gives me a sympathetic smile. The cloth is warm and soothing, but it needles at the cut on my side and I clamp my teeth together to stop myself crying out.
“Ah, it’s barely a scratch,” Abby says reassuringly.
I steel myself and glance down. A thin line of red tracks across my pale skin. She’s right – compared to Bryn’s wound, it is only a scratch. From how much it hurts, I’d expected something more impressive.
Abby wraps a thin bandage around my waist. “We’ll leave this on for a day or two just to protect it but then you should be fine to take it off.”
I lean back into the chair and close my eyes. My body feels heavy and my head throbs. My mind replays the same scene, over and over again.
The crack of the gunshot reverberates in my head.
Blood clouds my vision.
“Trey, come over here.” Abby pulls me from the chair and leads me over to the large rocking chair in the corner. She gently pushes me down and tucks a blanket around me. A warm mug is pushed into my hands. “Drink this.”
My hands are trembling too much to hold it steady, so I rest it on my knees. It has an odd smell: sweet but slightly medicinal.
“What is it?”
“A herbal drink. I added a little honey,” Abby replies.
“And a tot of something stronger,” Bryn adds.
“Alcohol?”
“It’ll help with the shock,” he replies.
Cautiously, I take a sip. It’s got a kick to it, but the honey is sweet. I feel suddenly more alert. “It’s good.”
Bryn and Abby move to the far side of the room and start talking in low voices. I tune them out, focusing on holding my mug steady enough to drink.
The back door bangs open and the room falls silent. I look up.
Aleesha stands in the doorway. Her hair is dishevelled, pulled half loose from the tight braid she wears it in. Dirt smears her face and a thin line of dried blood runs across her chin. She sways slightly and Abby steps fo
rward to catch her as she half falls into the room.
Her eyes find mine. “You’re okay? I heard …” Her voice trails off as her gaze switches to Bryn.
Abby tries to sit her down, but Aleesha pushes her away. She leans on the table instead. “It’s gone a bit crazy. They want a fight. It’s like … bloodlust or something. I don’t know—”
She clamps her mouth shut.
Bryn looks as if he’s about to speak but stops himself. I feel three pairs of anxious eyes on me.
“Why are you here?” My voice sounds odd. Cold and controlled.
Aleesha looks down at the table as if the grain of the wood may hold an answer. “I don’t know. I think … I wanted to explain.” She gulps and scrubs her sleeve across her eyes.
“You were holding a gun to his head.” They’re my words but they sound as if they come from someone else. It’s like I’m separated in two, watching my body think and speak.
“Yes.”
“You wanted to kill him.”
“No!” She takes a deep breath. “At first I did. I-I wanted to know why he did it. Why he killed my mother. And I wanted justice for her.” She looks up and takes a few steps toward me, still leaning on the table. “But I couldn’t do it, Trey. I let him go. Told him how to get back to the East Gate. I thought he would be safe!”
I stare at her fist, clenching and unclenching, and place the mug on the floor. Inside me, anger builds. I let it grow.
“What did you say to him?” I lift my eyes to hers. “How did you get him Outside?”
Aleesha looks away. “I-I told him you were hurt. That you were asking for him.”
“Ha!” A bitter laugh. A bitter taste in my mouth.
Was that me?
“You used me to draw him out?” My hands propel me up out of the chair. “To lead him to his death?” I stagger toward her, reeling like a drunk.
“I didn’t know!” Aleesha backs away from me. “Trey, I let him go. But he ran straight into Katya a—”
“And what did you do to stop her? I saw you in the square. The gun was in your hand!”
I step forward, shrugging off the hand on my arm that tries to pull me back.
She used me to get to him. If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be alive. If I’d left London as he asked me to, he’d be alive.
“The gun was in your hand,” I repeat.
A sob catches in her throat. “They made me, Trey. I didn’t want to. I refused!” Her eyes glisten. Her face, for once, an open book.
Why did I ever trust her?
My hands ball into fists.
“Trey, let’s just stay calm, okay?”
I ignore the voice like I ignore the quieter voice in my head that tells me to stop. The anger drowns it out.
“It’s your fault. You brought him out here. You—” A sob rises in my throat.
“I’m sorry.” Tears spill from her eyes, weaving light tracks on her dust-covered cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Trey.”
Her lips move again but I don’t hear what she says. That strange sensation hits me again, like I’m floating away from myself. All I can hear is the pounding of my heart. All I want to do is hurt her. Like she hurt me.
You always knew she was a killer. How could you have let yourself care for her? Love her! You fool.
The muscles in my right arm twitch.
“You killed him.”
“No, I …”
“Look at me, damn you!”
She draws her eyes up slowly. I want her to see the hate flowing through me.
This is how much you’ve hurt me.
She flinches and steps back.
“Bryn was right. You are damaged goods. No wonder you have no friends. No wonder no one wants to be with you. You’re broken. Trash.”
There’s a flash of anger in Aleesha’s eyes and her face changes to that cold, expressionless mask that I remember from the first time I met her. “I shouldn’t have come. I just wanted t—”
“To what? Apologize? Pretend like you care?”
She glares at me. “I do care!” Her voice breaks and she draws a deep breath. “He ordered my mother’s death, Trey.”
“Your mother was about to run off with a criminal!”
“Trey.” A warning hand on my arm. I lash out behind me and hear a grunt of pain.
“Maybe that’s why your mother left you.” My voice rises. “You never thought of that, did you? Why didn’t she take you with her if she was meeting your father? Perhaps it was because she didn’t want you.”
She stiffens and turns away, but I don’t want her to turn away. I haven’t finished yet. I grab her shoulder, pulling her roughly around.
“Trey, stop!” Abby’s voice comes from a distance.
My arms rise in front of me, fists balled like a boxer. I can see her hands clench at her sides, but she refuses to raise them. Refuses to fight.
I grab her right arm and yank it up in front of her, but when I release it, she just let it fall to her side. She gives a harsh laugh. “What are you going to do, Trey? Hit me?”
I let my fist fly.
The blow catches her on the chin, jerking her head to one side. The shockwave tingles up my arm. I raise my arm again but strong arms close around me. I fight against them, but I’m dragged back.
“Enough!”
Then I’m flying into the wall. My head smashes back and sharp needles rain down on me as I slump to the ground. Bright lights dance in front of my eyes.
What happened?
I’m back in my body again, blinking at the room in front of me. Bryn stands over me, his chest heaving. His fist is drawn back, and I cower in anticipation of the blow.
It doesn’t come.
Under his arm I see Abby pass Aleesha a wadded-up piece of cloth, which she presses to the trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. She’s looking straight at me, her face a picture of shock.
I did that?
Her lips mouth the words “I’m sorry”.
Guilt floods through me. My chest tightens, and I feel like I’m about to be sick. I lurch to my knees.
“Aleesha, I—”
But she’s already at the back door. Abby says something to her, but Aleesha shakes her off and yanks open the door. Without a backward glance, she staggers out into the yard.
25
Aleesha
I stumble away from Abby’s, away from Area Five. My jaw throbs and the coppery taste of blood lingers in my mouth. But that is nothing compared to the look Trey had given me. A look of pure hatred.
What did you expect?
He was right. I am broken. Every word he spoke was true. If it wasn’t for me, Andrew Goldsmith would still be alive. Trey’s mother would still have a husband. Trey and his sisters would have a father.
There’s a dull ache at the back of my throat. My chest is tight and it’s hard to breathe. But my stomach feels empty. As if everything I had held back for years behind the bars of my cage has rushed up to escape my body, leaving behind an empty shell.
Maybe that’s why your mother left you. Perhaps it was because she didn’t want you.
Trey’s words bite deep. Was I always like this? I had thought it was life on the streets that had made me tough. Forced me to think only of myself. But perhaps it’s part of me, like my dark, straight hair and snub nose. Some bad thing inside me that makes me hurt the people I love.
My feet carry me down through familiar streets. Someone shouts my name, but I ignore them, lost in my own thoughts. Finally, there is nowhere left to go.
Is it a coincidence that my feet brought me here, to the place where Lily’s body burned? The stone I laid her on is still there, though the last of her ashes have long since been blown away by the wind. I run a finger across the cold, hard surface.
I miss you, Lily.
Tears well in my eyes.
I let you die. I let him die. Why can I never do the right thing? Why did I think killing him would help anything?
A cold wind whips in acros
s the water. Hard drops of rain patter onto the concrete slab in front of me. I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest. It’s cold down here. I should find shelter, get out of the rain. But I don’t feel like going to my roof. It reminds me of Trey now. Reminds me of our kiss.
I was right not to encourage him. I knew I’d only hurt him. I just didn’t think it would be in this way.
I brush my fingers across my lips, remembering the tingle of his mouth on mine. It had felt so … right.
Will he ever be able to forgive me?
But I know the answer to that. Every time he sees me, he will see his father dying.
If I could only go back and change things. Find some way of making things right.
I turn and walk along the waterline, shoving my hands deep into my pockets. The wind whips the tears from my eyes and salt mingles with the blood on my lips. My fingers close on a small, hard object. I pull it out. The security device to access the Metz system.
Perhaps there is somewhere I can go. Someone who will understand.
At the next street, I turn inland. I let my feet carry me on. The rain has set in and the daylight’s fading as I reach the edge of the jumble of concrete blocks. I climb quickly, hauling myself up the larger blocks until I find the entrance to Giles’s home.
I crawl into the mouth of the tunnel. The rain has seeped through my clothes and my teeth are beginning to chatter, but at least in here I’m out of the wind.
“Giles!”
There’s no answer.
I call again and am about to set off down the tunnel when I hear a familiar hiss.
“Aleeeesha?”
A pale shape appears out of the dark. “What do you want?”
He sounds suspicious.
“I’ve bought the device back. If you want it.” Silence. “Um, can I come down?”
Another hiss. The pale outline backs away into the tunnel.
I take that as a yes. I feel my way through the tunnel until I reach the heavy curtain. Blinking, I step inside the brightly lit cavern and let the curtain fall back behind me. Giles stands watching me. I shiver. It’s warmer in here, but rain and exhaustion have chilled me to the bone.
Giles silently picks up a blanket and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I wrap it around my shoulders. It’s thin but surprisingly warm.
Infiltrators Page 25