Maggot Moon (17 page)

The lights go on so suddenly that it feels as if someone has punched me. Hector opens his eyes. I think maybe they’ve been listening. Did I say too much? Did Hector? It’s so bright that for a moment I am blinded all over again. Hector pulls away. When he comes into focus he is looking at me as if I am some sort of apparition.

“I hoped you were just a dream,” he says. “A good dream, come to comfort me.”

I see Hector clearly now. He looks transparent. His bandages are grubby, new blood seeps through. He’s going to be all right, though. I know he is going to be all right. I pull him close and carry on holding him. If I don’t let go of him he will get better.

“Did they arrest Gramps as well as you?” he asks.

“No,” I whisper.

“Why just you?”

“I came by myself to take you home.”

“You came here — what — through the tunnel?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Are you bonkers?”

“Maybe.”

He laughs. A wheezy laugh. At least I made him see the funny side.

“Standish, what crazy, brave idea were you thinking of?”

“A good one,” I said.

Though I have to admit the guard was right when he said I was lucky. Finding Hector was the best bit of luck so far. Maybe it’s a sign that this might all work out. All I need is the belief it can.

Hector says softly, “I’ve thought a lot about you.”

“I’m taking you to the land of Croca-Colas,” I say. “Remember? We are going to drive one of those big Cadillacs.”

“What color is it?” he asks, and this worries me. Hector should remember. We talked about it often enough.

“Sky blue,” I say.

He coughs. Not a good sound. Too deep, too full of coffins.

Why is mankind so fucking cruel?

Why?

The lights go off.

“They do this all the time — on, off, on, off. It’s supposed to drive you mad. I feel it might be working,” says Hector.

I don’t want him thinking gloomy thoughts. But nothing sounds that cheerful in the dark of this tin can.

“Does it hurt?” I ask. “Your hand?”

“Yes. No,” he says.

He rests his head against me. He is burning up. I was going to tell him about my stone but now all I can think of is us escaping from here. We need to find Mr. Lush. Hector needs medicine.

I wish I could see his face. All I can hear is that snake rattle in his chest.

Words mask the noise.

I say, “When you left, there was this huge hole. I couldn’t walk around with a hole that size in the heart of me.”

He says nothing but I know he is listening. Words are the only medicine I have.

“You make sense of a world that is senseless. You gave me space boots so that I could walk on other planets. Without you, I’m lost. There’s no left, no right. No tomorrow, only miles of yesterdays. It doesn’t matter what happens now because I’ve found you. That’s why I’m here. Because of you. You who I love. My best friend. My brother.”

Hector says sleepily, “I should never have gone searching for the football.”

There is nothing I can say to that. All I can see is the emptiness between his words.

His voice trails off. He is asleep. The only sound is the sand grater of his rasping breath.

I wake with a start. For a moment I have no idea where I am. The lights are on again. The door is thrown open, and the guard who looks like Mr. Gunnell enters with a tray of food. He puts it down before me. This is real food — the smell is mouthwatering.

“Eat!”

I take the tray over to Hector.

“No. Just you.”

“I won’t,” I say. “Not unless he can eat as well.”

The guard slaps me round the head.

“I order you to eat.”

I think I am in for one mighty beating. Hector moves deeper into the corner, imprinting himself on the wall. I can tell that the guard is itching to break my head. I can see his thoughts running round his flabby brain. But I’m gambling that he hasn’t been given those instructions yet. That will come after the astronaut has landed on the moon and the world has eaten the tea tray. My heart only starts to beat again when the guard leaves, taking the tray of food with him. I seem to be right about the beating. The door slams shut behind him. The enticing smell of food lingers.

“What the fricking hell are you doing?” asks Hector.

“We both eat or we both don’t.”

“Standish, no one in here gets food. This is no frick-fracking holiday camp.”

“I think I might have some power.”

“Oh, Standish, what is going on in that daydreaming head of yours?”

So I tell Hector about the rope and how I make the astronaut look as if he is walking without gravity. And I tell him about the giant and the stone.

Hector stares at me.

“We made a space rocket, remember?” I say. “We were going to planet Juniper. We nearly did. If they hadn’t taken you we would be there now.”

Hector looks as if he is about to say I’m crazy, but doesn’t. He tilts his head back against the wall. I see there are tears running down his face.

“You are right,” he says. “We could have escaped in that rocket. It was my fault we didn’t. I couldn’t believe like you. I couldn’t see beyond the cardboard. This time,” Hector says, “this time, Standish, I believe you. All of me believes you. If anyone can throw the stone, you will. If anyone can free me from this hellhole, you can.”

We hear footsteps. The key turns in the lock. What the fuck’s going to happen now? Perhaps they gave the guard permission to beat my brains in after all.

Guard One has another guard with him, and behind them both is a man with a small body and a head that appears to be stuck on a pole. This man is wearing a white coat. They make Hector stand. His legs fold under him. He is thrown over the shoulder of the guard who wants to break all my bones.

“Where are you taking him?” I shout. “Leave him alone, don’t touch him.”

The man in the white coat just raises his hand.

“Put him down,” I yell. “Leave him be, just fucking well leave him be. If you hurt him I won’t do anything for you.”

I am just an insect. The second guard brushes me away so hard I land in a heap where Hector has been. The floor is wet. He’s pissed himself. They all leave, slamming the door shut. I get up, throw myself at it again and again. The lights go out.

I’m in the dark. Time has forgotten me. I’ve no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, me and my musical pit of an empty stomach. I think about Gramps, Miss Phillips, and the moon man. I wonder if they made it out. I think about Hector and stop worrying about the tears. It’s dark, who can see them anyway? My head spins with all the many possibilities of the what-if game. I’m trying not to cry. I’m really trying. I have this lump in my throat, this fury choking me.

I must calm down. I must not go over the moon, not yet. Stay calm. Don’t go getting moon mad. Moon sad.

Moon morons.

Who do I want to be right now, right this moment? I want to be a Juniparian. I would then with my radiant vision save Hector and all the thousands of people in here. The trouble is, I have a feeling that this might be a bit too much even for Juniparians. It might be too much for me. No, I can’t think like that.

But what if I have it all wrong and I don’t have the power to throw my stone? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve got things backwards. Tomorrow they’ll just find a more cooperative, terrified little squirt to hang in the harness.

I am not worried about that, not much. What worries me sick is the thought of Hector having another finger chopped off.

I nearly jump out of my shoes. The light is turned on, and Guard One comes in. I’m close to insanely blurting out why I’m here. It’s terror that’s making me long to do it. The words are rising, a fart in my throat. I close my eyes. If he is going to kill me, best not to watch.

There is the sound of something being dragged into the cell. It makes me look. The guards are putting down two thin mattresses. Then they bring Hector back. His hand is newly bandaged, he’s had a change of clothes.

He lies on the mattress, shivering.

The guard brings in two trays of food as well as a blanket. I put the blanket over Hector. He says he’s freezing. But I feel his skin. He is a frying pan.

“Eat,” the guard commands.

It’s fish and chips. Fish and chips with a huge wedge of lemon. This is a Zone One meal. I’ve never in my life seen a real lemon. I sniff the lemon. It smells of sunlight. It is the only color in this gray cell. I eat and lick my plate. Hector hasn’t touched his food.

“You’ve got to have something,” I say. “It will make you better.”

I cut up his food and he takes the smallest of bits.

“You eat it for me, Standish,” he says.

I am so hungry that I do. I don’t want to think about Hector being this ill. I just can’t think about it, that’s all. He turns his head away and closes his eyes. I eat it. I could’ve eaten the plate.

The guard takes away the trays. The door is locked, the light turned off.

Only the moon shines in.

“I am very cold,” says Hector. I put my arms round him, hoping he will stop shivering, hoping he will stop burning up.

“I saw my father,” Hector whispers into my ear.

“Good.”

“He knew you were here. He asked if the moon man had reached you.”

“No,” I say.