by S. G Mark
And then, just as he dared to think they were safe, a police car swung round the corner; gunshots fired at their friends who were already a few hundred metres further along than they were. Lana grabbed Jack and they plunged to the pavement, ducking for cover behind a parked car.
“Fucking hell,” Jack sighed.
Meanwhile the police car drove past, opening fire as bullets rocketed through the windows of the car they were hiding behind. The splintered glass rained down upon them.
“Steven Lennox is present, repeat, confirmed Steven Lennox sighting,” the radio shrieked from the police vehicle.
“Fuck,” Lana swore, looking at Jack.
“This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, feeling the answer in the atmosphere around him.
Guns blazing. Torchlight searching for him. Bodies lying splayed across the streets. They knew he was here and they were after blood.
“They want me!” he yelled, feeling tears coming thick and fast, “Will all this stop if I… if I?”
In all the death and commotion, it seemed to make the most sense, even though in the depths of his heart he knew it couldn’t be true.
Lana shook her head violently, “You go and this whole thing is dead. We’d all be fucking dead! You’re the best thing to happen to this fucking organisation! You hand yourself in and you will sign everyone else’s death warrant!”
Jack struggled to protest, but still felt he needed to do something to make it stop.
“I could buy you some time!” he shouted.
“I have as much time as you have!” Lana grabbed his hand, tightly, “Jack, please! If anyone needs to survive, it has to be you!”
“But why! Why me!?”
“Because I believe in you!” she yelled, “Now get to your fucking feet. We’re going to run to the next corner and then… then we’re going to split. You go left and you don’t stop running, Jack. Don’t you dare stop running. Find a way out of the city. Anywhere. Find a way out and stay out until it’s safe to return.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” she smiled, “Because I’ll never stop running too.”
At that moment, she jumped to her feet, dragging Jack with her. They hurtled to the next crossing; Jack feeling an increasing sense of dread as the traffic lights loomed. In a few moments he would be cut off from everyone, on the run in a strange city as the police hunted him like vermin.
Closing in on the crossing, Lana abruptly let go of his hand before dashing off across the road. Jack headed left, watching her as much as he dared before he had to cut her off from his mind, purged until such time that he could think of anyone but himself. As his feet echoed off the empty pavements, Jack’s lungs burst with activity and the deep dread he’d been carrying festered in his belly. He was alone.
What felt like miles past, as he dipped in and out of side streets to avoid detection. He didn’t stop running until he was sure he was not being followed. As he collapsed against a wall, he listened to the beautiful stillness of the night. There were no sirens. There was no gunfire. Only the occasional taxi drove by, the gush of air in the amber streetlight was almost comforting. Catching his breath, Jack’s thoughts quickly turned to how he was going to leave London. Gone were the times that he could board a train. Anonymity was a friend he no longer spoke to.
His feet burning, Jack carried on in search of a way out of here. Curfew was soon approaching. They had started the protest at eight, and it could only have just gone nine. He wondered how far Lana had travelled. She had the advantage of being able to hop on a train or a bus without anyone looking twice at her. He envied her and wished above all that she was here with him right now. Right this moment, being alone was unbearable. There was no one he could trust. There was no one he could turn to. Alone, he must figure out a way to leave the city and that terrified him. Even though he had been isolated on many missions before, the idea that he was now entirely cut off from his friends, was almost more torturous than being caught. Not until this evening had it really dawned on him what it meant to be labelled as leader. Before tonight it had been an unfortunate inconvenience; it had meant keeping his head down, not revealing his face in public and keeping to the shadows. But now he realised it was something entirely different. It meant dead bodies, friends, on the streets. It meant people screaming, running for their lives. It meant destruction and chaos. All in his name.
A large supermarket reared into view. Though its carpark was near empty, the lights were still on. With no money on him, his stomach rumbled in protest. But then, as he saw a lorry pull out from behind the building, an idea struck him.
Slyly turning into the carpark, Jack kept to the shadows where possible. Families were returning from the store with their trolleys of shopping. The store was preparing to shut from the scenes he could see through the window. Cardboard boxes were strewn across the aisles.
Jack snuck down the side of the building, keeping close to the brick wall. Ahead of him he could hear voices, laughing and joking in between the sounds of heavy objects clashing against each other. As he approached the corner, he snuck a glance round and saw three men stacking crates inside the warehouse door. Parked nearby was an open lorry, apparently empty.
For a few seconds, Jack watched the group of men as they kicked the crates towards each other.
“Got another fucking shift starting now,” one of the men said, “Four hour fucking drive to Leeds, innit.”
“Leeds? You draw the short straw or summit? Fucking Leeds!”
“Not even getting paid any more, even though it’s past Curfew! Fucking tight wankers,” the man said. “Danny, whatcha think you’re doing there then?”
The three men all turned to Danny, who flushed bright red from inside the warehouse itself. Jack stole his moment, crouching as he snuck across the forecourt and clambered into the back of the lorry. It was so densely dark in here, he was unsure that any light penetrated past the first metre. As he snuck along, he noticed a few empty crates fixed to the lorry itself and crouched behind them.
“Danny, you’re a right bloody idiot,” the man said, “Right, guys, I have to head off now. Doug will have a right fucking moan if I’m late to Leeds.”
A few moments later and the back door to the lorry slammed shut with a clang. His presence had gone unnoticed and he sighed deeply with intangible relief when the engine started and they set off into the safety of the motorways.
The cool metal comforted him in a strange way. Jack lay down, resting his head in his elbow. Exhaustion poured from his eyes, but the tears were not from tiredness. Grief, mixed in a smooth cocktail of relief, flowed from him like rain. Devin was dead. Someone he knew well and cared a lot for was dead. It was a strange concept to grasp, perhaps even stranger than when Jess had died. Whilst his sister’s death was shocking, it was almost a long time in coming. But Devin? All it took was the time for the bullet to leave the barrel and plunge into his chest. Not even a second. He didn’t stand a chance. All that hope, all those dreams of a better future, now just a corpse on a slab - if he even was afforded that dignity.
Soon his thoughts turned to Martin and Tom. His hope weakened for their fate. They had been at the front of the protest and were more than likely cornered by the police and the army in the end. Two more deaths to add to the pile of rotting bodies. For now, all his hope lay in one East End girl and her ability to never stop running.
Exhausted though he was, he could not content himself to sleep. Instead, he lay on the cold, hard floor and listened to the hum of the engine and the rattling of the loose crates at the far front of the lorry.
As the miles trundled beneath him, his thoughts soon turned from what was behind him, to where his future lay. He knew a few safehouses in Leeds, but after more than a year since visiting them, he had no idea if any of them were still open. A part of him didn’t wish to remain that close to London either. The CRU would be on the hunt for him and he anticipated that their search would know no bounds. Jack had really pissed th
em off now. Kidnapping one of their MPs before throwing a riot on the same day? Any ambition to remain the quiet symbolic leader was dead in the water.
Exactly where and when he would arrive in Leeds was a complete mystery to Jack until the lorry began to slow. Climbing back behind the fixed crates, he waited anxiously for the back door to open. The lorry came to a halt and the whole vehicle shook as its driver hopped out of the cabin and slammed the door shut.
From outside he heard voices approaching the back door. Jack clung ever more tightly to the crates, but the voices carried farther and soon all dwindled into silence. For several minutes, Jack lay behind the crates in waiting for his escape plan to trigger. But the voices never returned. Eventually, Jack crept across the floor to the end of the lorry and gently pushed open the door. But it was locked and there was no handle on his side. He crammed his fingers around the edges, trying to feel for a purchase with which to pull the door open, but there was none. He was trapped.
Hours later, he woke. His neck strained as he raised his head from leaning against the door. But he had little time to appreciate the pain. Seconds later, he heard banging and the jingling of keys; the distant buzz of machinery and the chuckle of early morning laughter. Scrambling to his feet, he knew he hadn’t the time to retreat behind the crates, and for what point? As soon as they opened the doors, there’d be only one route for escape.
As a splinter of daylight poured into the lorry, Jack readied himself. Before they knew he was there, he needed to already be running. He had only a matter of seconds.
“Mike says he wants it loaded and me back on the road within the hour!” the man said, the same one who’d driven him all this way. “Like fuck that’s going to happen!”
“Does he even know what it’s like to do our job?” another voice said, “Mind, he’ll be asleep for a few hours yet! I’ll just write it in the book that you left at eleven.”
Jack tried not to swear. How did it get to be eleven in the morning?
As the door opened wide, Jack took a depth breath before plunging out on top of the two men, shoving them to the ground in the process. He landed on his feet in another forecourt, surrounded by buildings and tall walls topped with barbed wire. He stared around frantically as he ran, keenly aware that in every direction there was no clear sign of an exit.
“Oi!” the man shouted, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Glancing over his shoulder, he realised the men were now chasing him. Jack upped his speed, but he knew that it was ultimately pointless. He was running straight for the wall and his only hope lay in that there was a hidden walkway behind the buildings. Running too fast, he slammed the side of his body into the wall before changing directions - his risk had paid off. There was a little alleyway leading round the back of the building.
Behind him he could still hear the men pursuing him and with another corner on the horizon, he now faced an all too familiar situation. And then suddenly, an opening between the buildings appeared to his left. Skidding, Jack curved rounded it and sprinted back up towards the forecourt. There were several other lorries parked and he knew that his chances of being caught were great - but he had no way of escaping.
The closest lorry was already pulling away to leave, revealing behind it another one which was being loaded by a single burly man. Jack skidded around the moving lorry and thundered along the forecourt. As the man turned back into the warehouse, Jack seized his opportunity and launched himself into the back of the lorry, scurrying behind the immediate boxes and crates and cowering in the brief shelter.
Moments later and he heard the man return with another crate, slamming it down on the lorry so that it shook. Jack was unbalanced, briefly, and he fell sideways slightly, right into his line of sight. Jack swore he caught the man’s eye before he hauled himself back into cover. Panic struck him. There was no way the man hadn’t seen him.
The sound of padding feet approaching the lorry. Jack felt around his vicinity for a weapon, but was bitterly disappointed.
“What’s up with you two?” the man said.
“Stowaway in the back of Kenny’s truck!”
“Yeah, we chased him round the back, but he came this way! Have you see him?”
“Nah, I’ve not see anyone. But Darren’s just left, maybe he jumped in the back of his truck?”
“Nice one, mate!” Kenny exclaimed, “We’ll go back to the office and radio a warning to him. Maybe we can get him to pull over and we can find this bastard.”
Jack heard the sounds of scampering footsteps, but he could clearly hear the heavy breathing of driver.
“I know who you are,” the man said abruptly.
Jack clung to the shadows, banging his head lightly on the back of the lorry. It was over.
“I can take you as far as the end of my route,” he said, “I don’t want to know what you’re doing, though.”
Slowly emerging from behind the stacked boxes, Jack revealed himself.
“Thank you,” he said, though he couldn’t quite give it the emotion it deserved.
“There should be more men like you, I just wish I was one of them,” he said, grasping on to the door and pulling it closed. “See you in Edinburgh.”
The dark encompassed him. All that existed was the dark and his thundering, broken heart.
It was out of his control now. He was heading home, back to where it all began. The memories all came pouring it, as if his mind had dammed it at the back of his brain. Twenty-eighth September, the cold whisky in his hand as the deep rumbling trembled all around. The fire and smoke, consuming all; Jack desperately fighting through it to rescue Alex, who wasn’t even there. And then the aftermath, Alex shutting himself off as Jack drowned in his own self-pity, meandering through life as Martial Law invaded the streets without protest or even mild rejection. Slowly he grew closer to Eliza, as slowly his past slithered out from the shadows. It all seemed but stories to him now. Eliza’s face was just a mash of mixed memories, and as he sat nestled between a box of tinned goods and fresh bread, he wondered if he’d even recognise her at all.
It was June now, nearly two years since he’d last seen her. The last image he had of her was as he raced from her bedroom, chasing after Alex. She’d been naked, her dignity covered only by the quilt. He pictured the shape of her thighs, the curve of her waist, but his mind filled in too many blanks for the image to truly be her.
How long might her hair be, how tall had she grown? Did she dress the same, or had she found a new style? She’d be twenty now. He had missed so much.
The promise he’d made to Alex lingered over him. For the long journey he debated with himself over whether or not to break it. But what did any of that mean anymore? He was a wanted man, and famously so. Anything he’d hoped to achieve was condemned to idle reverie. For a good hour he’d convinced himself not to find her. Feeling a flurry of strength, he felt keenly proud that he was going to keep his promise to Alex. Less than an hour later and his steel heart began to show signs of softening. How could he possibly be in Edinburgh without being with her? It felt wrong, as if he would be cheating on her.
The tsunami of thoughts hardly ceased throughout his journey. He wondered so many things - had she done well in her exams? Had she gone on to university or college? How had she changed, and what sort of things was she into now? Did she still have the same smile, or wear the same dresses? One question circulated that Jack refused to entertain. It lurked as ominous as it always had, but somehow its shadow was growing and the threat it presented became mightier by the mile. What did she think of him now?
The one advantage of returning home was that he knew all the little sneaky side streets that would avoid detection. In his mind, he’d already formulated a route that would lead him along the quietest streets back to Relugas Road. If, by the time he’d arrived, he had resolved to see Eliza, then he would waste no time in getting there. But if he didn’t, he still needed a place to sleep for the night and without knowing any of the local safehouses, Jack
was starting to worry where he might hide until dawn. It played a huge part in persuading himself that seeking out Eliza was his only reasonable option.
Maybe he’d already made up his mind, maybe he just wanted to believe he had; either way Jack was emotionally torn in two. Eliza had been the whole reason he’d stayed with The Resistance. Up on the hill, Emma screaming sense at him; it had been the hope that Eliza would be safer with him not around that he’d remained. Going to see her almost felt like a betrayal of that hope. He was putting her in a danger she’d not consented to. But he was back in Edinburgh, the place that had given him a life where Stirling had stolen it. She was his home. How could he return and not see her?
The lorry slowed. Jack prepared himself to make a final decision. With his gut wrenching and weighing him down, he waited until the driver opened the back. Cowering behind his box, he did not make a sound in case they were not alone. But he noted curiously that it was already night, for no light filtered through the door.
“We’re in Cameron Toll,” he said, “And you’ve got about a minute to get out of here before my manager comes.”
Jack scrambled to his feet, tripping over the crates to get out.
He jumped from the lorry and rose up to look into his anonymous friend’s eyes. He had no words for his gratitude.
“Can I ask your name?”
The driver shook his head, “Time to go.”
Jack bowed his head gently, “I’ll never forget this.”
And with that, he scarpered into the dark a nearby wood.
Edinburgh. Cold, fresh air smacked his chin. The smell of the air carried a heavy nostalgia. It did not feel as if two years had passed. The sounds, the sights and streets were the same. A city frozen in time. He both soared with happiness and was anchored by pain.