Cracks

by Caroline Green

  I count ten more floors. I’m a little tired but Kyla is wheezing like mad.

  ‘Look,’ I say, stopping. ‘Are you up to this?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she says in a whisper. ‘Nearly there now.’

  I make myself slow down to her pace. After a couple more floors we run out of stairs. We’re obviously at the top. We turn into a row of flats with a long low balcony at the front. Most of the flats have metal doors across the front. I almost trip over a rusting child’s bicycle and some old paint cans but Kyla seems to know this place well and moves quickly and easily. The very last flat has a normal front door with peeling, flaking paint. A brass number 1610 hangs lopsidedly. Kyla pulls a key out of her pocket and puts it in the lock. She has to shove the door hard with her shoulder to open it.

  Inside, she sweeps the torch around, revealing a carpet covered in a swirly pattern. There’s a strong damp smell and something scurries past my foot, making me scrunch my toes inside my trainers. The air feels cold and wind ruffles Kyla’s hair.

  She turns a corner off the small hallway.

  I follow her and can’t help sucking in my breath in surprise at what I see.

  I’m in a large room, with windows that go almost floor to ceiling. Several of them have cracked glass or none at all but they curve round to give a panoramic view of the city below.

  You can see for miles around. It’s all glittering and twinkling like someone spread out a carpet of stars, just for us. Golden ropes of light mark the major roads and low flying helicopters swoop and dive with searchlights that criss-cross the city.

  It’s . . . beautiful. It feels like the whole world is down there, good and bad. A powerful feeling of being alive surges through me and I want to grab Kyla and hold her tight. How could I ever have thought that other world was real before? It was nothing like this really. I gaze at her instead and she smiles back.

  ‘Like the view?’ she asks, making a sweeping motion with her hand. ‘It might be a long way up but this flat has the best view ever if you ask me.’

  She walks over to an old sofa that faces out towards the windows and climbs on, wrapping her arms around her knees. She goes utterly still. I get a feeling that she’s gone somewhere else entirely inside her head.

  The wind howls through the window spaces in a ghostly chorus but it’s weirdly soothing. It’s cold up here but the air feels cleaner than any I’ve breathed since I came out of the Facility. I sit down on the sofa, the opposite end to Kyla. I’m careful not to sit too close, even though I want to. The material under me feels somehow greasy and crunchy at the same time.

  ‘Is this where you used to live?’ I say after a while.

  Kyla stirs and looks at me. Her eyes are luminous in the semi-darkness. ‘Yes,’ she says and pauses for a moment before speaking again. ‘Me and Mum. Flats were in a state even then, but no one wants to live in high rises now because everyone’s scared of bombs. It’s not going to be here in another week or two because they’re pulling them down, one by one. I come back when I can. Just so I don’t forget, you know?’

  I nod. Do I know? I wish I did, which is close enough.

  ‘Did you meet Jax here?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ she says softly. ‘Met him in care. We just sort of stuck together ever since.’

  The question I’ve wanted to ask since I first met her slips out before I can stop myself. ‘So you and him. Are you, er . . .’

  Kyla lets out a throaty laugh. ‘Shut up!’ she says. ‘That’s disgusting! We’re like brother and sister!’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘I thought . . .’

  She curls her legs to the side. ‘Nah,’ she says, and looks at the window again. ‘We just go back a long way, that’s all.’ I think about the way Jax looks at her when he thinks no one is watching. I’m not so sure he feels the same way. But I keep this to myself.

  ‘Mum never really liked living here,’ says Kyla dreamily. ‘Wanted to live in the country. Somewhere with fields and cows!’ She laughs like this is as crazy as wanting to live in the Sahara Desert. ‘I’d rather have a bit of life. Although I’m sure there are better places than Sheffield.’

  ‘How long did you live here?’ I say carefully.

  Kyla swallows and her fingers pluck at the bottom of her cardigan. ‘Till I was ten,’ she says. ‘Then mum died of pig flu and I went into care. Hit this whole block really hard. Took Jax’s parents too.’

  ‘Pig flu?’ It comes out as more of a question than I intended. ‘What’s that?’

  This is definitely the wrong thing to say, judging by the scorching look on Kyla’s face. ‘How can you ask that?’ she snaps. ‘It killed half the bloody country. Where you been?’

  I’m trying to think up some sort of excuse when something else comes out of my mouth instead.

  ‘I was in an accident when I was little,’ I say. ‘I was in a coma for twelve years. The people who were monitoring me . . . they’re bad, but I escaped. I’m a bit out of touch on some things. Sorry.’

  Kyla is staring at me, lips parted and eyes wide.

  ‘Close your mouth, princess, you’ll catch flies,’ I hear Des’s voice clearly in my mind.

  ‘So tell me about the pig flu,’ I say hurriedly, to fill the silence.

  ‘Wow,’ says Kyla finally and clears her throat. ‘Well. Wow! I don’t know what to . . . Um . . . well, it happened five years ago. Started out as regular flu but then mutated in pigs or something. Mum was in the first load of people who got it.’

  ‘Oh.’ I rummage around for the right thing to say. ‘Sorry,’ I blurt, at last.

  Kyla sighs and turns back to look out the window. It feels like ages before she speaks again. ‘Yeah. It was rough. I still miss her every single day.’ She pauses. ‘What about you, Matt?’ she turns to me, her eyes soft. ‘Sounds like you’ve not exactly had an easy time either. Where are your parents?’

  I look down. I have no idea how to reply to this question. Where are my parents? Who are they? Is there anyone out there who would claim me for their own?

  I swallow deeply. ‘I don’t know,’ I say at last. ‘It’s complicated. Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’

  ‘No worries,’ she says gently and turns back to look at the view.

  ‘I’ve heard you can see stars in some places,’ she says after a few moments. ‘Not here though. Too much light pollution or something. But who needs stars when you’ve got all this, right?’

  ‘Right,’ I say quietly. We sit in silence, looking out at the jewel-studded darkness.

  Suddenly there’s a flash of light somewhere near the centre of the city, followed a couple of seconds later by a dull, crump sound.

  ‘Oh no!’ Kyla jumps up and moves closer to the windows.

  ‘What is it?

  ‘Sounds like another plaster bomb,’ she says. She turns to me. ‘You don’t know what those are either, right?’

  I shrug and shake my head.

  She explains. Things have moved on in the world of organised terror and suicide attacks aren’t the way it’s done now. Bombs are now sophisticated enough to fit on a small patch that looks a bit like a sticking plaster, hence the nickname. They’re undetectable by any scanner. Every six months or so, one gets stuck onto the door of a commuter train or inside a café and activated by mobile. Then, as Kyla puts it, ‘Kaboom.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ I say and she nods, biting her lip. ‘Who’s behind them then?’

  ‘Take your pick, there’s about ten groups that usually say it was them. Often we hear it’s a crowd called Torch, whoever they are.’

  I have to chew my bottom lip to stop myself from speaking. I don’t believe Torch have anything to do with the bombings. But I’m not getting into that now.

  We watch clouds of smoke curl and twist into the night sky and in the distance sirens shriek and wail. Kyla moves back from the window and sits on the sofa and I sit down again too. I can’t help noticing we’re a bit closer than we were before.

  I try to picture the aftermat
h of a bomb but all I see is the van with Tom and Nathan bursting into flames so I try to push it out of my mind. It’s wrong, I know, but after a while, I start to feel a bit peaceful, sitting so high above the world with Kyla. Like all my problems are too small to make out, just like the cars and people so far below us.

  I look around at the mouldering walls and damp carpet and, despite everything, I envy Kyla having this place. Also for having Jax as a ‘brother’ even if he doesn’t exactly see it that way. I want to have that too. If there’s anyone out there at all who knows me, I’m determined to find them if it’s the last thing I do. It’s not going to be easy to leave here though. I feel like I’ve made connections here. Like I’m not just someone’s lab rat but someone with a good mate and a crush on a hot girl. Just a normal boy.

  I sneak a look at Kyla. She curls her arm in and rests her head on it, away from me. A springy curl escapes and bounces up and I wonder what she would do if I gently pushed it back.

  I’m going to do it.

  I can’t do it!

  I’m going to, though.

  I gather up all my courage, heart thumping and reach out my hand tentatively. She doesn’t protest or move away. I touch her hair, very gently, and smooth it back from her face. She gives a little sigh. My heart bangs so hard in my chest I swear it must be booming loud enough for people on the ground to hear. I slide down the sofa a bit closer.

  She said she and Jax weren’t an item, right? But if I think about it too much I’ll bottle it so I don’t, I just lean a little bit closer again and close in . . . then hear a soft snore.

  She’s fast asleep.

  I sit there for ages, just watching her. Feeling privileged that I can, in a funny way.

  I don’t remember falling asleep. But when my head jerks upright, a grey-pink stain is spreading up from the bottom of the sky into the darkness. Kyla is snuggled next to me now, her hair all bunched up under my chin in a way that tickles. My arm is around her and her slim brown hand, bitten nails painted with some purple sparkly stuff, is resting on my chest. I’m frightened to breathe, even though it looks like we’ve been like this for ages. She smells really good though. But her hair is tickling my nose and . . .

  ATCHOO!

  I sneeze explosively and Kyla’s off the sofa like she’s been shot from a cannon. She turns around, eyes wide, and then frowns, realising we’ve been snuggled up together all night. I’m a bit offended by how embarrassed she looks, as a matter of fact, like I’ve done something wrong. I get to my feet, trying to stretch out the kinks in my muscles.

  ‘Morning.’ I try to sound not bothered but I’m having a hard time meeting her eye.

  She just grunts.

  We don’t speak on the way back to the house. I’m feeling a bit awkward about the whole falling asleep together thing. Maybe she is too. Or maybe it’s not that. Maybe I’m just the very last person in the world she’d want to curl up with on a sofa and the thought turns sour in my belly like last night’s evil soup. She probably prefers Jax, whatever she says. Who’d want someone who’s never heard of pig flu and plaster bombs and probably a million other things?

  All this swirls around inside me as we trudge back in the early morning light.

  The house is quiet, apart from snores from the sleeping bodies draped everywhere. There are even more beer bottles than normal lying around and the carpet crunches. Looks like they’ve had a party. The air reeks of feet and a sweetish smoke.

  I go into the kitchen and pour some suspect-looking juice into a cup before downing it in one go. There’s a leftover naan bread from a takeaway on the side and I eat it in a few bites.

  Kyla comes into the kitchen, her skin with a freshly-scrubbed glow that makes her look really young. She avoids my eye and drinks some water straight from the tap. Exhaustion trickles inside my bones. All I want is to curl up under a blanket and sleep but Zander seems to appear from nowhere. His eyes are bloodshot and starey. I know he’s taken something by the way he sways against the doorframe.

  ‘Well, lookie here,’ he says thickly. ‘If it isn’t the invisible man.’

  ‘Uh . . . morning, Zander.’ I try to leave the room but he’s barring the way. He’s way taller than me but I stand firm and meet his glassy eyes, trying not to breathe in the chemical tang on his breath.

  ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ he says.

  ‘What?’ I say, confused.

  Zander gets out his phone and, still smiling, touches the screen and then points it at the kitchen wall. A tanned woman with stiff blond hair is sitting on a desk in 3D. Terrorism Alert runs along the bottom of the screen before she speaks.

  ‘Police are asking the general public to look out for a teenage boy, believed to be behind the latest terrorist atrocity, a so-called “plaster bomb” that went off in an inner city branch of Starbucks last night.’

  My guts loop-the-loop as a picture appears on the screen. It’s my face. The mug shot was obviously taken from the Facility because I have a weird, spaced-out look. Exactly the kind of look you might expect from a mad terrorist.

  ‘Police say the boy has been radicalised by a terrorist organisation known as Torch, who have been involved in violent anti-government protests for several years. He is described as unstable and potentially dangerous. There’s a substantial reward for any member of the public whose information leads to the boy’s arrest. Here’s that number again . . .’

  I can’t breathe. Pictures hurtle into my mind. I’m lying in a hospital bed, drugged and powerless again, wires everywhere. Unable to move, unable to think for myself. Or in a cell, somewhere like Riley Hall. Left to rot. I’m making little gasping sounds and the walls start to pulse around me again like sheets of cardboard being rippled. I’m not letting them catch me. Not when I’ve had exactly ten days of freedom and had a glimpse of a proper life. And I’ve still got to get to Brinkley Cross and find Amil. Then trace my family. It can’t end now, can it? Not like this. The image snaps off and Zander smiles, showing his pointy teeth. ‘Well, well, well . . .’ he says.

  ‘You know I had nothing to do with that!’ I say in a kind of rough squeak.

  Kyla speaks at the same time. ‘I was with Matt last night. He didn’t even know what plaster bombs were until I told him!’

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ Zander’s voice is soft and he’s not smiling any more. ‘I couldn’t care less about no bomb. I don’t even care why they really want you. You’ve been useful to me. But I’m thinking a substantial reward is better than a few knock-off DVDs and some crates of booze. You see my dilemma?’

  There’s no time to waste.

  I slam my shoulder into Zander as hard as I can. Because he’s drugged up, it takes him by surprise and he falls back against the work surface. I run for the front door.

  Kyla screams, ‘Run, Matt!’

  I’m out into the estate, darting around the nearest corner, looking around wildly. Zander knows the shortcuts like the back of his hand. Crashing into brick and grazing my hands, I shuttle around corners, trying to put distance between me and the house. Gasping for breath, I start to recognise the buildings that mark the edge of the estate.

  I get my breath and run out into the open ground. Then something slams into me so hard that all the air leaves the world and darkness swirls around me. I can see Zander’s crazed face above me, eyes mad with fury as he raises his booted foot. Pain knifes into my side. Everything is red, angry, hurting. I spit blood onto the scraggy grass and some distant part of me thinks, ‘He’s going to kill me now.’ Images of Pigface get all mixed up in what’s happening and I’m not even certain who it is hitting me . . .

  There’s a thud and Zander crumples like a dead weight on top of me, his greasy blond hair fanned next to my face. His eyes are closed.

  Retching and gasping for breath, I manage to shove him away. Kyla stands above us, a broken bottle in one hand and the other over her mouth. It takes a second for my brain to put the pieces together. Kyla hit him. He was going to kill me and Kyla stop
ped him. She saved me.

  She starts to cry and drops the bottle, then just runs.

  ‘Kyla,’ I say thickly but she’s gone. For a horrible minute I think maybe she believes that story. But no, she defended me, didn’t she? She knows I have nothing to do with that bomb.

  I groan. I’m hurting so badly, I can’t get up and it takes me ages to struggle to my feet. I don’t think Zander’s dead, although he looks bad. I lean over him and put my fingers to the side of his neck like I know what I’m doing. There’s definitely something fluttering in there. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or not. I spit more blood onto the ground and gently touch my lip, which feels spongy and wet.

  I hear approaching footsteps and have no time to move before Kyla is there again. She has Jax with her. She’s still crying hard. Jax’s eyes go round when he sees Zander and he leans over him, then looks at me.

  ‘What the . . . ? What did you do to Zander, man?’

  ‘I did it!’ shrieks Kyla and I look around nervously. ‘He was gonna kill him, Jax!’

  Jax puts his hands in his hair and paces up and down, saying, ‘Oh, man, this is bad,’ over and over again.

  ‘We need to get out of here.’ It hurts to talk. My tongue feels too big and my teeth don’t fit. They both nod vigorously, as though I’m suddenly in charge.

  Think, Cal, think!

  ‘Go get whatever you need; money, clothes,’ I say. ‘We’ll meet you by the flats. Quickly, Jax! Tell anyone you see that we’re on an urgent job. GO!’

  Jax runs off.

  Kyla is holding her elbows and staring down at Zander, who is still out cold. She looks up at me slowly.

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘No,’ I say, like I’m certain. ‘Kyla, come on. We have to get away from here.’

  We hurry in silence to the meeting place. I have to breathe in small sips because of the screaming pain in my ribs.

  Jax is there within five minutes. His eyes are still wide and a muscle is twitching in his cheek. ‘Oh, man, this is so messed up,’ he says. He puts his hands on his head and turns round in a circle. ‘I think I’m going to go see if I can sort this.’