Ed felt the blood on his skin drying from the heat of his body. It was itchy and uncomfortable. It caked his clothing.
After running down the lane for what felt like fifteen, twenty minutes the archers veered off into a field through a farm gate and up the side of a low hill. They hadn’t seen any sickos for some time and Ed could see that the hill would give them a good view of the surrounding countryside. There was also a clump of trees up here and, as soon as they arrived, three of the archers threw down their bows and started climbing to get a better view. The rest of the group slumped down on to the ground to rest and Ed gratefully joined them. The girl in charge stayed standing, peering out across the darkened landscape.
Ed looked in the direction they’d come from. He could just make out the roofs of the factory buildings. And there was a black stain across the land that could have been the sickos or just the shadows of clouds across the moon, which was still a diseased red colour.
Ed was fully aware of his body now. His heart was racing. His head ached. His arms ached. His legs ached. His chest ached, rising and falling quickly, his lungs burning with lactic acid. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t got any fresh wounds. They’d been lucky. If these archers hadn’t shown up they could all well be dead. They couldn’t have held out much longer.
He looked at the rest of his little gang, sprawled out on the ground, exhausted. Brooke looked pale and haunted. Ebenezer was muttering to himself and had his hand round a cross on a chain. Kyle had a big drunken grin on his face. Somehow Lewis had managed to put his cool back on. He sat there, leaning back against a tree trunk, eyes half closed, just hanging.
Ed struggled to his feet and walked stiffly over to the tall pale girl, who had a pair of binoculars out now and was scanning the land to the east.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘That’s OK. It was pure luck we came across you.’ She had a polite, middle-class accent. Similar background to him probably.
‘What were you doing out there?’ he asked.
‘Scavenging. We’d been out all day and on the way back we got caught up with that lot.’ She waved her arm vaguely in the direction of the factory buildings. ‘God knows where they all came from or where they’re going. We’ve been trying to get round them for hours. It’s going to be a long march home from here.’
‘Where’s home?’
‘Ascot. You?’
‘London.’
‘London? You’re a bit far off your turf, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, we’re looking for someone.’
‘Well, good luck with that,’ she said with a touch of sarcasm.
Ed was going to question her further when Brooke called to him. He went over and dropped down next to her. She put an arm round him and held him tight. She was shaking.
‘You all right?’ he asked unnecessarily.
‘I never want to do that again.’
‘Hopefully you won’t have to.’
‘They’re all going towards London, Ed.’
‘Maybe.’
‘You know it. You’ve seen it before, you told me. All the sickos you saw going past St Paul’s. They’re massing in London. So I will have to do that again. We have to get back there, Ed. They’re an army.’
‘We will get home.’ Ed folded both arms round her. ‘Just not tonight.’
He was covering her in blood from his sodden clothing. At least it wasn’t his own. He was numb and confused. Couldn’t work out a plan. Couldn’t think more than ten seconds ahead.
In the end a plan was made for him.
‘OK,’ shouted the girl in charge. ‘It’s all clear ahead and it’s safe to go. We have to keep moving. We’ve a lot of ground to cover.’
53
It had taken a long time for Lewis to realize that he knew the girl in the leather jacket. Trying to put the pieces together. Watching her with Ed. And then it had come to him.
They were covering the ground at a fast walk, sticking to roads so the going was easy. Lewis had settled into a loping rhythm, his long legs eating up the miles. He felt like he could keep this up all night if needed. He worked his way up through the ranks of kids. Nobody was talking much, saving their energy. All you could hear was the slap-scrape-thud of their boots.
He got to the front of the column. Fell in beside the girl. He could hear her leather jacket creaking as she walked. It was the jacket that had done it.
‘Hello, Sophie,’ he said and she turned to look at him, surprised and more than a little curious.
She frowned, trying to place him.
‘Do I know you?’
‘I’m hurt you don’t remember me, girl.’
‘Remind me.’
‘Camden Road, Regent’s Park, Buckingham Palace …’
‘Oh my God, you’re one of the Holloway kids.’
Sophie’s face lit up in a smile and then instantly went sour.
‘You’re not … You weren’t a friend of …’
‘Of Arran? No. I was with the other camp. One of Blue’s crew. You disappeared when we got to the palace.’
‘I didn’t feel welcome there. Not by David and not by Maxie and her people. Not after what happened with Arran.’
‘Was an accident,’ said Lewis. ‘We all knew that. Weren’t your fault. He was dying anyways, I reckon, seeing what’s gone down with other kids as got bit. You did him a favour.’
‘I still felt awful. Shooting him like that. Tell you the truth, we wanted to get out of town as well; it had always been our plan. We came out west. Been moving around ever since. A little while at Windsor to start with, but the set-up there reminded me too much of David at Buckingham Palace. Too many rules. Obnoxious bastards in charge: the Golden Twins, they call themselves. A pair of right pains. We were in Bracknell for a bit, but then we linked up with a gang of archers from Ascot. It was a better fit. Been there a couple of weeks now. It’s OK there. Some of the kids are a bit weird, but we get along OK. They’re organized at least. Might move on in the summer, though.’
Sophie paused. Smiled again. ‘It’s Lewis, isn’t it? I remember now. The hair.’
‘You do remember me. Cool.’
‘I didn’t really clock you all in the dark. You’re not all from Holloway, are you?’
‘No. We a mix. Ebenezer come out of Holloway, but we’ve left the palace and moved to the Natural History Museum. We was like you, couldn’t stick that David dickhead. See the girl there, with the scar?’
‘Yeah? Was she from Holloway?’
‘No. You remember, just before we got to the palace we found some kids being massacred close by Green Park tube station?’
‘Yeah. It was pretty horrible.’
‘She was the one we rescued.’
‘No way! You’re kidding.’
‘Straight up. You got to meet her, girl. She’s way cool.’
‘I will. God, this is so freaky. Your guy said you were looking for someone?’
‘Yeah.’
And so Lewis explained about Ella and Sam and Maeve and Robbie and Monkey-Boy. And Sophie thought maybe she remembered Ella. Although Lewis thought she probably didn’t. One thing was certain, though: Ella wasn’t at Ascot, and Sophie hadn’t heard anyone talking about a gang of kids coming out of London.
So they walked on through the night, and it felt good to talk, to remember all they’d been through since leaving Holloway.
At last Sophie said they were getting close to Ascot and Lewis wondered what turn their lives was going to take now.
‘What we gonna find when we get there?’ he asked Sophie.
‘The races, Lewis. It’s gonna be the races …’
THE RACES
54
It was the day of the races. It was warm and sunny and there was a party atmosphere. Ed was up in the grandstand of the Ascot racecourse with all the other kids, waiting, praying that somehow he was going to pull off his plan. It had been a risk. He’d had to balance waiting a few more days here in Ascot against hurrying back to town and
seeing what was going down with the sicko army.
In the end he’d decided to risk staying here. If it went his way it would mean he could return to London with a proper fighting force.
And Ella.
All the best fighters from all the kids’ settlements were going to be here. So that meant two things. If Ella was around in this part of the world someone here would know about it. And if Ed wanted to put together a crack squad this was the place to do it.
Only thing was, he was going to have to somehow win the races.
At least he’d had some time to get things ready.
A couple of days after they’d arrived, once they’d felt rested enough, Ed’s team had joined up with some of Sophie’s archers and they’d gone out to find the car. It was much quicker and easier in the daylight, with no sickos around; the countryside seemed mostly empty. They’d spotted one stray grown-up in the distance, limping across a field, and that was it. When they got to the car they were glad that Ebenezer had thought to shut the door behind him when he got out.
The car was a mess. It was covered in filth from the sickos, dried pus and blood and crusty streaks of saliva, as if it had somehow caught their disease. There were dents where the sickos had taken out their rage on it, plus some unidentified lumps of pinkish grey stuff that looked like growths on the metalwork.
But none of them had had the sense to open the doors.
Lewis climbed into the driver’s seat and fished the key out of his pocket. ‘Hope it starts,’ he said, putting the key in the ignition. The kids had all cheered when the engine rumbled into life.
Lewis put it in reverse and as many kids as could get around it had pushed and shoved until it came up out of the ditch and on to the road.
A load of them had crammed inside it and the rest had walked behind as Lewis had driven it slowly back to Ascot.
When Ed left Ascot, he hoped to have a lot more vehicles with him. And a lot more kids.
For the last three days they’d been arriving from all around. Mostly on horseback or on foot, but one or two in cars, usually the leaders of the various camps, showing off. They’d marched in from the surrounding countryside, bringing sickos with them. The sickos were kept in the racecourse stables over the road. When Ed had found out exactly what the sickos were for, he’d at first been appalled. He’d kind of come to terms with it now. Saw that there was a twisted sense to it. He still hadn’t made up his mind if he was going to join in that part. The rest of the set-up was pretty straightforward, a mixture of horse races and fights.
Most of the kids stayed in tents they’d put up in the middle of the giant racetrack. It looked like an army encampment, or a rock festival like Glastonbury.
This had been the most famous racecourse in England. Where the Queen visited every year for Royal Ascot. There were notices and signs and information boards about the event everywhere Ed looked. Photos of the Queen and Prince Philip arriving in an open-topped carriage escorted by soldiers in old-fashioned uniforms riding matching horses. Photos of the aristocracy enjoying themselves. Celebrities. The rich and the famous. He remembered seeing things on the news about it; women parading about in stupid hats.
Now it had been taken over by children.
The locals lived in a big old hospital behind the track and the guy in charge was known as the Mad King. In the past he would have been described as having a syndrome, or a condition. You weren’t allowed to call people mad then. But that’s what he was. He didn’t say much, and most of what he said made no sense. A guy called Arno Fletcher looked after him. He went everywhere with the King and interpreted everything that came out of his mouth. Ed could see that the whole thing was a scam. Arno was the real boss man, hiding behind the Mad King, twisting his words to mean whatever he wanted.
The King was huge, unnaturally so. His head was big and bony with a heavy brow. He walked stiffly and awkwardly as if he was in pain all the time and he looked at you with deep-set, wary eyes. Arno was about Ed’s age, small and skinny and clever, with long hair. He was always laughing and joking and came across as being friends with everyone.
Ed recognized him as a born politician.
There were a lot of kids like the Mad King here at Ascot, ones with conditions and syndromes. It was like they’d been collected, or, more likely, dumped here by other kids. There was a general air of craziness about the place and Ed sometimes thought it was appropriate they lived in a hospital. Once he’d got used to it, though, it was fine. The kids looked after each other and their combined strangeness gave them a sort of power.
It was Arno who’d come up with the idea for the races. And it was Arno who’d given Ed the idea for his plan.
Ed had eaten dinner with him the night after he’d arrived, sharing some cider and scavenged food.
‘I don’t like kids fighting other kids,’ Arno had said. ‘The races are a way of letting them compete without killing each other. At least most of the time. You see how football used to be? Or the Olympics? They were a way of waging war without too many casualties. Things around here are much better than they used to be. Plus, it stops us from getting bored. That’s the worst thing about the disease. Nothing happens for weeks and then there’s some sudden mad fight against marauding grown-ups, and for a short time you’re absolutely bloody terrified, and then it’s back to the grind and the boredom.’
‘But what happens exactly?’ Ed asked.
‘Each camp puts in a team. Simple.’
‘And what do you get for winning?’
‘Whatever you want, man. You get to choose. Until the next games your camp becomes top dog. Like Ancient Rome. You are the emperor.’
‘Does Ascot ever win?’
‘What do you think? You’ve seen what we’re like.’
‘Fair point.’
‘But the thing is, Ed – we don’t need to win. We make a profit from the races. Everyone coming here, betting. Just don’t tell anyone, yeah?’
‘But if you did win the races …’ Ed wasn’t going to let this go. ‘You could choose your prize?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Who’s the captain?’
‘Can’t be me. Girl called Veda did it last time. But she ran off to Windsor. Never really fitted in here. I was going to ask Sophie; she seems sensible.’
‘Would you let me do it?’
‘We never win, Ed.’
‘So you’ve got nothing to lose.’
And that was why Ed was sitting there, wearing a baggy white T-shirt over his clothes, anxious to see how his team was going to do.
It was like a medieval tournament. Each of the six settlements had their own colours. If kids didn’t have jackets or shirts of the right colour they wore T-shirts over their other clothes, like Ed, or carried home-made flags, or headscarves. Some had even painted their faces.
Ascot wore white, Bracknell was green, Sandhurst was black, Slough was red, Maidenhead was blue and Windsor was yellow, or gold if they had it.
Ed had been there when the Windsor kids had arrived. At their head were the twins he’d heard about, riding matching white horses, and wearing gleaming black and gold armour that must have been specially polished for the event. They also both wore a plastic wreath on their heads, spray-painted gold, to show that they were the winners of the last races. There was something arrogant and lordly about the Golden Twins. They had a snooty look to them, like they thought they were some prince and princess arriving at a rival’s castle.
Behind them came their troops, well drilled and well behaved. A few of them had horses, and there were four pick-up trucks loaded with sickos, all securely tied up or chained. A group of smaller kids brought up the rear, nervous but excited. This was the biggest group to arrive.
The next largest group were the kids from Slough. Ed had watched them come in as well, keeping himself well hidden in the crowd of onlookers. Josa and Kenton had been at the front, Josa carrying a baby that must have been about a year old, her boys behind her, trying to look mean and tough, some
of them succeeding. Ed reckoned they’d been lucky to get out of Slough without sustaining any serious damage from the wave of sickos passing through. It looked like they’d managed to round up most, if not all, of the ones that Ebenezer had released from the pens. They were being herded along in a group, chained and kept at a distance by Josa’s long wooden poles.
The Sandhurst kids were the smallest group, but they were a hard-looking bunch, dressed in denim and leather, with big boots, as if they’d modelled themselves on a biker gang.
There wasn’t much to distinguish between the Bracknell and Maidenhead groups. They looked like any bunch of kids arriving at another school for an event, a football match or whatever, excited, slightly nervous, sticking together. In the past there would have been teachers herding the kids, making sure they didn’t misbehave. Now it was the other way around: the kids were herding the adults, and the adults were the problem. Diseased, violent, anarchic and stupid.
All the arrivals had a few horse riders among them and there were more horses kept here at Ascot. Some of the new kids negotiated with the locals for extra mounts. There was a barter system in place. Kids were exchanging food and drink, weapons, armour, clothing, shoes, books, footballs and sports equipment, seeds and fertilizer, anything that was considered valuable and hard to get hold of. And some of this stuff was then exchanged for tokens to bet with. Arno Fletcher really did have a good system going on.
There must have been a few hundred kids here, but so far Ed hadn’t had any luck finding anything out about Maeve, Robbie, Monkey-Boy and Ella. Everyone had been busy sorting out their teams, setting up their camps, getting settled in. He’d had a short chat with one of the guys in charge at Maidenhead who said he hadn’t heard anything, and he’d spent a wild but similarly blank night with the Sandhurst kids, whose leader was a friendly psycho called Dara.
Despite their looks, the Sandhurst kids seemed to be the most welcoming. While other groups kept to themselves and even posted guards to keep outsiders away, the Sandhurst kids were here to party and didn’t much mind who joined them. They’d got hold of several cases of beer and a whole load of cigarettes and vodka. They never appeared to eat anything and instead had all got stuck into drinking, wrestling, kick-boxing and general free-for-all fighting. Kyle had joined in and held his own pretty well.
The Hunted Page 28