Cracks (14 page)

There’s no one around at all. The empty streets are lined with soggy piles of rubbish and studded with dog poo. It’s eerie here. I look around, chills creeping up my neck that
aren’t just because I’m cold.

Then I hear this low droning sound, like a swarm of bees. I look around quickly to see where it’s coming from but it feels as though it’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.
It’s getting louder by the second. Something makes me look straight up then and my stomach plunges with shock as something black and small comes hurtling out of the sky. There’s no time
to run away before it’s zipping around my head. I try to bat it away but it’s too fast and swoops out of range.

I force myself to stand still so I can see what I’m up against. The thing hovers right in front of my face, making a series of soft whirring and clicking sounds like it’s talking to
itself.

It’s a machine, I can see that now. It looks like a cross between a giant fly and a tiny helicopter. The whole thing could fit easily into my closed fist. Not that I’m touching it.
There are round protrusions like eyes that open and close at a dizzying pace. It’s some sort of surveillance thing, it must be. And now they’ve found me. I’m going nowhere without
a fight. I spy a broken metal pipe lying on the scrubby grass next to me. I grab it and hold it in position, ready to whack the bug thing out of the air but it suddenly swerves and buzzes away,
back into the grey rain-sodden clouds above me.

I stand there like a lemon. The pipe in my wet hands slides to the ground.

‘Hey, that’s some trick.’

The voice makes me cry out in shock and I spin round to see that boy, Jax, leaning against a wall nearby. I reach down and grab the pipe again, hefting it against my hand to show him I mean
business. I’m not being robbed again after the day I’ve just had.

‘Don’t be like that,’ he says. ‘I ain’t gonna do anything.’ He moves away from the wall and comes closer.

I take a step back.

‘So how d’you do that, man?’

‘Do what?’ I say through clenched teeth, holding the pipe a little closer to my body.

‘Get rid of a buzz drone?’

I don’t have a clue how to answer this question. I stare back at him.

‘Never seen that before,’ says Jax. ‘Them things find you where you shouldn’t be, they zap you and tie you up, nice and tight, ready for CATS to come get you.’

He’s not going to let it go.

‘It’s like you’re the invisible man or something.’

I swallow, thinking about the fact that I have no ID barcode on my arm. These must be the newer scanners Tom mentioned. Apparently they don’t need skin contact. It must have thought I
wasn’t a human. I guess I don’t officially exist.

‘Maybe they’re having an off night,’ I say.

There’s a silence and then Jax guffaws. ‘Off night! You’re funny.’

I haven’t got the energy to waste on this.‘Look, if you’re thinking about robbing me again, why don’t you just have a go and we’ll see what happens?’

Jax looks properly offended. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you, man. Remember what I said earlier, I said this ain’t —’

‘— who you really are, I got it,’ I say.

There’s another pause and he grins so wide, it’s impossible to resist the smile tugging at my own mouth.

‘So why you still hanging around?’ he says. ‘Haven’t you got some nice home to get to?’

I think quickly. ‘I’m . . . lost. I’m trying to get to my uncle’s house in a place called Brinkley Cross. D’you know it?’

Jax puts his head to one side and screws up one eye. ‘Hmm, no. Never heard of it. It’s not round here, anyway. I’d know if it was.’

I feel like someone just delivered a right hook to my belly and hear a sound escape my lips like a groan. What if it isn’t real? What if the name is just something my comatose brain
created? I feel sick. I’m sweating and I’m cold all over. It’s all I have to go on. I don’t have any other options. I feel like I’m hanging from a clifftop and someone
is loosening my fingers one by one.

‘You all right, man?’ says Jax, peering at me a little closer. ‘You look a bit funny.’

I don’t reply. Then I get an idea. A tiny handful of something to grasp onto. ‘What about the Cotswolds . . . ever hear of that place?’ I know that’s real, anyway.
It’s where Tom and Nathan were taking me.

Jax looks down, biting his lip. ‘Nope, don’t think so,’ he says. ‘What is this? Twenty questions?’

Looks like geography isn’t Jax’s strong suit. So there’s still a good chance that Brinkley Cross is real.

‘Look,’ says Jax kindly then, ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know this rain ain’t letting up any tonight. You can come back to mine if you
want. It’s not much, but there’s always floor space.’

I study his face as the rain drips down mine, creeping under my collar and trickling miserably down my skin. I wish someone else could help me decide what to do. It’s all so hard. It feels
like every choice I make could lead somewhere dangerous and scary.

I could say no. I could just walk away and try to find somewhere to shelter for the night. I look around at the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights, the tall warehouses crowding around me and
shiver. The rain’s pelting down now and I’m in a world I don’t know or understand yet.

Should I trust this guy? Could I trust someone who robbed me just a few hours ago? With a
knife
? What’s to stop him trying to do it again and leaving me lying bleeding in the road?
But some instinct is telling me he isn’t violent deep down. I knew people in my old life who liked to hurt people because it made them happy and somehow, Jax doesn’t seem like Des or
Pigface. Anyway, I didn’t trust Tom and Nathan and look what happened there. They’re dead and I still don’t know if I made a bad call. Maybe I should have just stayed with them
and let them do their tests.

Whatever. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to trust someone. I drop the pipe, which falls with a clang to the pavement.

‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I will.’

W
e walk for what feels like days, past tall, old buildings that must have been fancy once but are now crusted with black from the filthy air. My
trainers are rubbing my heels and my hand is aching. I’m hungry and tired and it’s a good job there’s no one around to suggest putting me back into a coma because I might actually
be tempted right now, just so I could lie down.

We follow a path between buildings down to a canal. It smells like bad drains times about a million. I try to breathe through my mouth but can taste it now too, thickly coating my tongue. I put
my hand over my face, trying not to gag. Where is he taking me, anyway? It could be anywhere. I see myself lying on the muddy towpath, blood pouring from a stab wound. A powerful urge to run from
him trembles through my legs and I stop walking for a second.

He turns and peers at me through the peak of his hood. He scrunches up his face and then gives a comically cheerful grin. ‘You all right, man? Not flagging on me, are ya?’

I just shake my head and he makes a big thumbs up sign.

I reluctantly carry on. He’s not acting like someone who wants to stab me. He seems OK. For an armed mugger, anyway.

We walk along in silence, at times flattening ourselves against the green, slimy wall to get across parts where the footpath is broken and tangled weeds have taken the space back. I hear the odd
plock
sound and wonder what kind of creature can live in that water. It’s high, almost lapping over the top of the towpath, like all this rain is just filling up a giant bathtub. Vast
old buildings loom up on the other side of the canal.

There are a few streetlamps working here and there but after a while they run out completely. Jax fiddles with his watch and a powerful light illuminates our way in a bright, white wedge. We
trudge on. I stay close, slipping sometimes on the uneven path and trying to grab at handfuls of weeds or flat brick to stop myself from falling in the water.

After what feels like ten more years, we turn off the tow-path. We’re at the edge of a housing estate. It looks like something from the Blitz. Most of the ugly, square houses have smashed
windows and the black holes look like empty eye sockets that are still somehow watching our every move. Something flashes across one in a rapid burst of movement and I find myself moving a bit
closer to Jax as he follows some mental map through a warren of boarded up narrow lanes. A handful of houses have lights glowing inside and I hear the odd barking dog and crying baby as I follow
Jax deeper into the estate.

Finally, Jax stops. ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ he says. ‘Only temporary, as I say. You might call it a dump, but it’s home, innit?’

Then he actually
winks
at me. Who winks? No one winks. I’m finding it hard not to like this weird guy, despite the whole knifepoint robbery thing. I feel a slight loosening of
something tight inside me.

Inside it’s warm and smells of sweaty armpits, frying meat and damp.

There are lots of people around Jax’s age and a bit older sitting about inside a surprisingly big room. Some are stretched out asleep on mismatched sofas that leak stuffing. Others are on
beanbags, furiously texting or playing games on phones. A soldier in full combat gear suddenly runs at me, screaming, machine gun cocked and I nearly wet my pants until someone shouts, ‘Oi,
move out of the way!’ and I realise it’s just a huge 3D image from a video game, projected on the wall in front of me.

A few of the people murmur greetings to Jax and he touches knuckles with one or two but no one seems that curious about why I’m with him. It feels good not to be looked at. The knot
between my shoulders relaxes the smallest little bit, despite how tired and sore I am.

We go over to a corner where I can see a pile of scrunched up material. Suddenly the whole thing judders and shakes with a coughing fit and a thin brown arm appears, followed by a great mass of
afro hair. A girl about my age, her skin a greyish brown, hacks and splutters into her fist and then flops back, regarding Jax and me with large dark eyes.

‘Kyla,’ says Jax, ‘meet my man, Matt. He’s the person who gave me the mask to help make you better.’

I decide to let this version of events go. I smile cautiously at the girl but her eyes are glassy like she can’t see me. Her breathing is shallow and she has red spots on her cheeks.

‘This is Kyla,’ says Jax quietly.

She ignores me and coughs again. It’s a horrible, painful effort that must reach all the way to her toes.

‘How you doing?’ asks Jax.

The girl just shrugs weakly.

Jax reaches into the tatty canvas bag over his shoulder and produces a can of Coke. ‘Here, drink this.’

She pulls the ring with difficulty then takes a long drink, burping delicately at the end. It’s like the effort of all this is too much and she slumps back again, coughing. She gives a
queenly wave of her hand and then curls up so only the top of her head is visible above the sleeping bag.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ I ask quietly.

Jax glances at me before gently stroking the hair off her face. Her eyes droop and I can hear the rattle of her breathing as she goes back to sleep.

‘Her chest is real bad,’ he says quietly. ‘Happens every winter but this time it’s worse. She needs antibiotics but no one can get them now.’

We both look at the sleeping girl. It’s a bit hard not to notice how pretty she is, despite being ill. I feel guilty for even thinking that because another evil-sounding cough wracks her
body then, like a punch to the stomach.

A low voice behind makes both me and Jax jump. ‘This isn’t a hospital. I don’t want her dying on me here.’

Jax winces and turns to the bloke in his early twenties who has appeared next to us. His limp fair hair hangs across his face which has a scar that seems to cut his hook nose in two. He’s
huge – about six foot five – and he wears a long, greasy black coat that makes him look like a vulture.

Jax seems to shrink as he meets the beaky stare. ‘She’s not gonna die, Zander,’ he says. ‘I think she’s a bit better today.’

All three of us look at the girl. Even I can tell that must be a lie and I’ve never met her before.

‘I got some stuff for you, Zander,’ says Jax eagerly and produces what looks like a plastic wallet of credit cards from his jeans pocket. He hands them over to the man who examines
them expertly before they disappear inside his coat. ‘That’s good. At least one of you is pulling your weight.’

Then he flicks his gaze to me. ‘And who’s this?’ he says, eyeing me up and down.

‘Matt,’ I say firmly, determined not to be intimidated, even though I can practically feel Jax trembling next to me.

‘He’s my friend,’ says Jax. ‘He hasn’t got nowhere to sleep and I said he could stay here . . . just for tonight.’

Zander puts his hand into his pocket in a deliberate way and I see the material bulge.

‘What’s in the bag, Matt?’ he says in a silky voice and I hold it out in front of me.

‘Just some clothes. I’ve got no money. The police took my aunt away and I’m trying to get to my uncle’s house. I haven’t got anything. You can look.’ I feel
like I just made a long speech and swallow, trying not to take my eyes off his face.