The Disappeared (31 page)

They’re staring at me. I should have got Ilex to speak. I don’t think they understand half of what I’m saying.

‘It’s a fight,’ says a voice from the bathroom doorway.

It’s Kay.

The Specials crane their necks around to see her.

‘It’s a fight to get out of the Academy. It’s a fight for food and a fight to stop EMDs and the LER room. This is Specials against the enforcers. Specials against The Leader and Specials against the Academy.’

Everyone starts to talk at once.

‘The Specials will win,’ calls out Ilex.

‘If you want us to win,’ Kay says, ‘you have to fight. You have to do the things that Blake tells you.’

I can hardly bear to look at her. I need her. Nothing works, nothing makes sense without her. She makes everything right. The Specials are looking at me expectantly.

I swallow. ‘Today I’m going to show everyone how bad the Academies are,’ I say. ‘And I’m going to punish The Leader. I need you to fight the enforcers and The Leader’s . . . enforcers. When Ilex tells you.’ I nod to Ilex to take over. I look back at the door, but Kay has gone. ‘I’ve got to get into the old part of the Academy before someone notices I’m missing from the LER room,’ I say.

I reach out to Ali and she takes my hand. We walk towards the bathroom and I hear a tapping sound. It rises to a clattering. I look over my shoulder and I see that they’re clinking their shrap together.

For me.

I turn back to the door and square my shoulders. I’ve got to make this work.

It’s still early and there’s no one about. Ali and I slip quietly down the stairs. When we reach the door that I first entered the Academy by, I type in RECEPTION and swipe my mother’s card. For a moment I worry that it won’t work, that they’ve taken her off the system, but the door clicks open. We creep past reception and the lift and take the corridor that leads to the older part of the Academy. I peer through one of the doors leading off; it looks like a disused classroom.

At the end of the corridor the doors to a hall are propped open. There don’t seem to be any locks in this old section.

‘Let’s have a look,’ I say to Ali.

The hall is like something out of an old film. There’s a polished floor, covered with rows of wooden chairs, and a stage with steps leading up to it at the far end. Ali skips over to some French windows looking out at a lawn. It must be a long time since she’s seen the outside, but we haven’t got time to admire the view. It’s clear that someone from the Info has been here already because there are lights set up on towers and cases of equipment lying about. We need to find a hiding place. I take Ali’s hand, but before we can move I hear voices coming up the corridor.

I scan the hall. They’d soon spot us if we duck into a row of chairs. Behind us, back towards the entrance, is another door. I run to it, pulling Ali behind me. I fling open the door and we rush inside. I was expecting another classroom, but this is a much smaller room. There’s a desk with a computer in one corner and a bucket and a mop in another. On the floor is an open tool box and on the wall is a cabinet of keys. It’s a maintenance room. More of a caretaker’s cupboard really. I gesture for Ali to sit down at the dusty desk.

Now we’ll just have to wait.

For a long time we listen to the banging and clanking of what I assume is the crew setting up. Then I hear a new set of voices in the hall. I wonder if this is the journalists arriving for the press conference. The voices are getting closer. I squeeze the door open a crack to take a look out. Through the gap I see the red uniform of The Leader’s guards. They’re heading towards the cupboard. I close the door.
Hide!
I sign to Ali. She ducks under the desk. I spin around, uselessly looking for somewhere to hide myself.

The door crashes open. ‘Get your hands in the air!’ a man shouts. He points a gun at me.

I slowly raise my hands.

‘It’s a kid!’ he says to another man coming through the door. They’re both dressed in red guards’ uniforms.

He’s going to hand me over to Rice. I’ll never get The Leader now.

‘Sorry, sir,’ I say, dropping my eyes to his ridiculously shiny boots.

‘What the hell are you doing, boy?’ says the second guard. ‘This is a premium security area. Civilians by invite only.’ He’s massive.

I slacken my facial muscles and make my eyes blank. ‘I don’t know your words,’ I say.

He rolls his eyes.

The first guard steps towards me. I flinch. I hope he can’t see Ali.

‘What are
you
–’ he points to me. ‘– doing
here
?’ He points to the ground.

‘They said The Leader is coming here,’ I say. ‘The Leader is . . . good. I want to see The Leader.’

‘Gree, we’re supposed to be out front,’ says the tall one. ‘Just find a teacher and hand the boy over.’

‘I have to go?’ I say.

‘Yes! C’mon Gree,’ says the tall one.

‘Sorry, kid, we’ve been told to clear the area.’

‘I go to my enforcer,’ I say. I walk towards the door.

The tall one’s radio buzzes. ‘Let’s go,’ he says.

We walk down the corridor to reception.

‘Now you go straight back to your teacher,’ Gree says, patting me on the shoulder.

‘Yes, sir,’ I say and start walking back towards the other part of the Academy. I can feel them watching me. I walk slowly, hoping they’ll move on by the time I reach the door. When I can bear it no longer I look back. They’re gone. But there’s a whole crowd of people in their place.

I’ve got no choice. I’ll have to cut through these people. I walk back down the corridor looking about for enforcers, but there are none. There’s the wire-haired receptionist that I saw when I first arrived. She’s sat at her desk signing people in, with an impeccable sat on either side of her. I make sure the throng of people is screening me from them and move back into the passage leading to the hall. There’s a trickle of people in suits moving down it. I try to merge with the crowd. I hope that if anyone notices my uniform they’ll mistake me for an impeccable. When we get close to the hall I realise that there are now two guards posted on the hall doors and everyone is having their press passes checked. Great. There’s no way they’ll let me in. And poor Ali is still trapped in the cupboard.

I drop back and loiter amongst the bunch of people. I can’t do this by myself. I’m going to have to convince one of the journalists to help me. I can’t get in to confront The Leader, but one of them could. This is too hard. Part of me wishes that I was back in the classroom with no difficult decisions to make. Then I think about all the Specials that are sat in the grid. And will be stuck in the grid until they’re sent to the factory. All those Specials who were banging together their shrap because they believed that I could help them. I’m not going to get another chance.

‘Excuse me, are you a journalist?’ It’s out of my mouth before I can stop myself. The man I asked looks back at me and gives a slight nod, but he’s caught up with a group of people moving towards the hall and he doesn’t stop. I look back to see who else is coming and I realise that someone is watching me. It’s a young woman with hair in waves that are so black and shiny that they look painted.

‘Don’t I know you?’ she says.

With a jolt of recognition I realise she’s right. It’s the woman that interviewed us on the Info when Wilson and I won the Moritz Prize for Outstanding Research, Janna Mason. I nod vigorously. ‘Yes, you do, I—’

‘You were that Science genius at the Learning Community.’ She looks down at my Academy uniform. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘That’s a long story,’ I say. Now I’ve got a journalist I want to grab her by the wrist and force her to listen, but I’ve got to be smart. ‘It’s a long story that would sell you a lot of papers,’ I add. I look over my shoulder, afraid that an impeccable is about to appear. ‘Do you mind coming in here while I explain?’ I open the door to one of the empty classrooms and we slip inside.

‘You’re The Leader’s son?’ Janna runs her fingers through her glossy hair. It swings immediately back into shape. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

‘You don’t even have to mention that part,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I care if anyone believes I’m his son. It’s not like I want to be his son. The important thing is that you tell people what goes on in Academies.’

Janna folds her hands in her lap. Her nails are a dark shade of red.

‘Did they really put your class in cages?’ she says.

‘That’s nowhere near the worst of what happens in here.’

Her forehead puckers.

‘So, will you help me?’ I say. ‘Will you ask The Leader some questions in there? About the use of electric shocks or why the food is drugged . . .’

She smoothes her hair behind her ears and shakes her head.

‘Of course, you’re the journalist, I’m sure you can think of the questions,’ I say.

‘No.’

‘What do you mean no?’

She fixes her gaze on me. ‘You’ve been very brave, Blake. But you’re an intelligent boy and I think that you have experienced enough to know exactly what I mean by no and why.’

‘But this is an incredible piece of news! Guaranteed headlines for weeks. It’s what every journalist wants,’ I say.

‘Hmm. Most journalists just want to stay out of trouble.’ She sighs.

Do I detect contempt? Maybe this is a way in. ‘But not you,’ I say. ‘You’re clever and . . .’ I try to feel my way to what she wants to hear. ‘And . . . smart and different.’

‘I can’t afford to be associated with heresy.’

‘Are you scared? Don’t you care that it’s the truth?’ I say.

‘There are all kinds of truth. I like the kind that makes me popular with my editor.’ She twirls a strand of hair around her finger.

‘Really? Because it looks like it bores you to tears.’

She looks up at me. I’ve got her attention.

‘Go on then,’ I say, ‘get off to the press conference. I’m sure you’ll have a great time writing up your report and including exactly what The Leader tells you to.’

She’s scowling. I’m getting to her.

‘I don’t know how you stick it,’ I say. ‘It must be mind-numbing just copying propaganda down like a robot.’

She takes a step towards me.

‘Really, you might as well be working in a factory. All you’re doing is carrying out orders.’

She purses her lips.

‘You should join the Academy. They like them obedient like you. I thought you were clever. I thought you might even be a dare-devil, but you’re not are you? You’re a good g—’

She shoves me in the chest. I go sprawling backwards.

‘Don’t you dare tell me what kind of person I am,’ she says. ‘You don’t know anything about me.’

I get slowly to my feet. I shrug my shoulders as if I’m unconvinced.

‘Oh, all right!’ she snaps.

‘So you’ll do it then?’ I realise I’m breathing heavily.

‘No. I’m not going to ask those questions, Blake.’

My shoulders sag. I was sure I had her.

‘
You are
,’ she says.

‘Me?’

She leans in so her face is close to mine. ‘It’s true that I’m bored to tears with playing it safe. But whatever psychology you use on me, I’m not a moron. I don’t want to end up in a cage. If there’s going to be risk, then you –’ she extends a finger till it’s pressing into the centre of my chest ‘– can do the risk-taking.’

‘But I haven’t got a press pass,’ I argue.

‘Stop whining. If you want a press pass, I’ll get you one. Wait here.’ She disappears.

I lean against the wall behind the door. Is she going to be able to get me into the hall? Then what? Will they just shut me up as soon as I open my mouth? I drop my chin on to my chest and my mother’s face comes into my mind. ‘I’m trying,’ I say out loud. ‘I’m really trying.’

Janna reappears. She’s got someone’s press pass in her hand.

‘Won’t –’ I squint at the card ‘– Mr N Morris mind?’

‘He doesn’t know he’s lost it yet.’ She rummages in her bag and takes out a tiny camera. ‘Smile.’ She clicks a button. Then she prints the image out. ‘I’m wasted in journalism,’ she says. She folds the edges and neatly tears them off so it’s the right size to cover the photo of N Morris. ‘We need glue,’ she says.

I riffle through the drawers at the front of the classroom. There are yellowing pieces of paper and several pens, but no glue. Janna scrabbles in her bag again. She takes out a tab of gum, chews it and then uses a tiny blob to attach my photo to the card. ‘It’s not perfect,’ she says. ‘I’ll distract them and you just flash it.’