Cracks (19 page)

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 stopped 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.’

Kyla slaps him hard on the chest. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she hisses. ‘He’s going to kill me when he comes round! And you don’t even know what happened!
Matt’s
wanted,
man! They’re trying to blame him for a bomb!’

Jax’s eyes go wide. ‘What you talking about?’ he says. ‘Why?’

I stare at him helplessly. I don’t even know where to begin. ‘It’s . . . complicated.’

‘Complicated? You bet it’s complicated!’ shouts Jax. ‘What are we going to do? Where are we gonna go, Matt?’

‘Matt’s not my real name.’

I hear Kyla’s sharp intake of breath.

‘I’m called Cal,’ I continue. ‘I escaped from somewhere bad and the authorities want me back. I’m . . . valuable to them. They’ll do anything, say anything,
to get me.’

There’s a heavy silence. I blink hard, trying to stop tears from leaking out.

Just as I’ve found people I care about, I’m going to have to leave them.

I meet eyes with Kyla. A Revealer Chip isn’t always necessary to see inside someone. She already knows what I’m thinking.

‘He’s got to leave us, Jax,’ she says softly. ‘We can’t stay with him. It’s not safe.’

She doesn’t take her eyes off mine. We stare at each other for ages. I hear Jax cough and when I look at him, suspicion flashes across his face.

‘Where was you, anyway?’ he says.

‘What?’ says Kyla sharply, her face scornful.

‘What are you
talking
about. This is serious, man!’ I say.

‘Last night. Where was you?’ says Jax, moving a bit closer to her.

She snorts, disgustedly, and steps away, crossing her arms. ‘I wanted to show him the flat. You got a problem with that? You’re not the boss of me, Jax! And we got more important
things to think about now!’

Jax starts to say something else and I interrupt him.

‘It’s not like that,’ I say. ‘We just fell asleep, that’s all.’

Jax tips his chin and narrows his eyes.

I make a frustrated huffing sound. It makes my busted lip hurt more.

‘Where will you go, M— Cal?’ says Kyla.

I stare at my shoes. ‘I’ve got to find a place called Brinkley Cross,’ I say after a moment. ‘It’s not that far. But I’ve got to try to change my appearance
first. There are pictures of me everywhere. Will you help?’

Kyla says she knows what to do and disappears off to a chemist. She comes back with a small paper bag a few minutes later.

We find some public toilets whose floor is crunchy with broken glass and litter. The smell is horrible in there and the tap water’s brown but it’ll do. Kyla hacks at my hair with
nail scissors. Then I wet it under the freezing, smelly water and she applies the dye. The colour is called
Cocoa Kisses
on the box. Stupid, that I notice that. It’s dark brown,
anyway, as far as I can tell. Changing how I look, that’s what counts.

Someone tries to come down when we’re halfway through. Jax, who’s guarding the stairs, says, ‘Sorry, suspect device found here. Police on their way.’ I hear panicky
footsteps skittering back up the steps.

We don’t really speak during the whole process, apart from the odd ‘Move that way’ or ‘Head back’ from Kyla. Jax keeps staring at me like he’s seeing me for
the first time. Maybe that’s how it feels. He keeps looking at Kyla too. I want to know what he’s thinking, and at the same time I don’t.

I’m miserable, cold and wet by the time she’s done. After rubbing my head a bit on the filthy hand towel, I look in the mirror. I’m not sure I look different enough. It’s
clearly me behind the freaked-out eyes and dark, spiky hair, even with the fat lip and purple bruise on my cheek. Some of the dye has trickled down my neck leaving brown stains. I rub at them for
ages but the towel just makes them worse.

I think quickly about how to get out of Sheffield. I’ll go to the motorway services on the edge of the city that I saw with Tom, then hitch a ride. I noticed a load of lorries there last
time. One of them must be heading in the direction of Brinkley Cross.

Outside the toilets, Jax tells me how to get there. It’s not far. I can keep to the backstreets. I’ve started to learn a bit about this city on my night jaunts with Zander.

‘Thanks. For everything,’ I say. ‘And I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to mess things up for you both.’

We stand there, the three of us, shuffling our feet and no one looking at anyone else. A light rain starts to patter on our shoulders. My head feels cold and exposed with my new short hair.

I open my mouth to say something else and Jax pulls me into a bear hug so tight I can’t breathe. My bruised ribs scream with angry pain but that’s not the only reason my eyes prickle
and burn. I have to squeeze them tightly closed. He releases me and looks at his feet. A weird, out-of-place happiness that he forgives me for getting too close to Kyla warms me inside for a
moment.

‘It’s not too late for us to come,’ he says. ‘We could still —’

‘No,’ I say, shaking my head, voice wobbling. ‘It’s not safe for you. The people who want me are really bad. You two need to carry on looking out for each other. Just
like before.’

They exchange glances. Kyla’s eyes shine and she wipes a hand across her nose. Then she sniffs loudly and straightens her back. ‘Come on, Jax,’ she says. ‘There’s
no point hanging about. We’ve got to find somewhere else to stay.’

She avoids my eye. If I thought – hoped – there would be any hugs from her, I was wrong. It’s maybe for the best. I’m not sure I can go through with this if I touch her
and smell her cinnamon smell again.

‘Let’s go,’ she says, and takes him by the hand. ‘Bye, Matt, I mean, Cal. Take it easy.’ If it wasn’t for the way she swallows and keeps blinking, you’d
think she wasn’t feeling anything at all right now.

I mumble, ‘Yeah, you too,’ and turn away first. It feels like something inside has been ripped out, leaving a raw, open wound. I walk fast, head down and don’t look back.
Without making a conscious decision to do it, I start to run, ignoring the thumping pain in my ribs and the wetness on my face that isn’t rain.

I feel like a great howl inside me is trying to break free so I run faster, harder, and don’t stop.

They were the only real friends I’ve ever had. All I brought them was trouble.

And now I’m alone again.