Cracks (18 page)

F
inally we come to the first of the tower blocks. Kyla flicks on the torch on her watch, which is identical to the one Jax has. I have two thoughts
at once: that the watches are obviously from some job lot of stolen goods, and that I want one too. I make a mental note to ask Jax about this later.

The torch throws a splash of powerful white light onto the ground. Kyla looks up at the building ahead and I follow her gaze. Almost all the windows are broken. A pale sliver of moon is
reflected in the few that still have glass, way up above us.

‘Is
this
where we’re going?’ I say and she looks at me.

‘Not good enough for you after Zander’s Palace?’ she says, her voice pulled hard and tight.

I swallow. She looks hurt. ‘No, no, it’s fine. Lead the way.’

Her face softens and then she flicks me a small smile.

We walk into a concrete stairwell that has a powerful smell of wee. This place makes my current home seem like the Ritz. Graffiti covers every bit of the walls and the grey metal lift door. Kyla
presses a button on the wall and, incredibly, there’s a juddering, clanking sound of movement from above.

The doors grind open. Somehow, the wee smell gets even stronger. Kyla steps inside the lift and sees my second’s hesitation before I follow.

‘It’s all right,’ she says. ‘It works.’

The doors close.

‘Sometimes, anyway,’ she murmurs under her breath. She flashes me a wide grin then and I notice again the tiny gap between her front teeth. I can’t understand why all girls
don’t want one exactly like it.

The lift complains and shakes slowly upwards then shudders to a stop. It feels like we’ve only gone about two floors but as we step out, I see a sign that says we’re on Level 12.

‘That’s as far as it goes. We have to walk the next bit,’ she says. ‘Come on.’

We turn into the stairwell, which is littered with broken glass and she stumbles. I catch her thin arm and our eyes meet in the gloom. I let go and we continue in silence.

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 aftermath 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?