Tube Riders, The (36 page)

‘Break the door open. You might be able to rest inside,’ Carl said.

Jess nodded. Turning behind her, she rammed her clawboard against the truck door. It had a padlock, but didn’t look strong. Sure enough, after a couple more desperate slugs, the door popped open, swinging inward.

There were some crates secured near the far side of the truck, but there was a little space left between them, and with Carl’s help Jess was able to haul Simon inside. He was barely conscious, and they propped him up with his back to a wooden crate. With the door shut, the peace inside the truck was harmony compared to the grinding, thudding cacophony that had surrounded them outside.

Carl looked at Simon, then at Jess, his face grim. ‘I’ll go up to the cab,’ he said. ‘I’ll see if I can stop the train.’

Jess nodded. ‘Be careful,’ she said, trying not to let her voice break up.

Carl gave her a quick smile and went out, shutting the door behind him.

In the relative calm of the freight truck, Jess mopped Simon’s forehead with a rag. His face was ashen, his lips white from blood loss.

‘You know, don’t you?’ he said suddenly, his voice almost as she remembered from their first meeting, soft, peaceful, like a cool park in the middle of a busy city. She remembered his smile too, and he gave her one now, warm, easy. She felt her heart jump as it had done that first time, back in the street near Charing Cross where he’d stopped her and asked her for the time.

‘I know what?’

‘That I love you. That I love you more than anything.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘And that … it’s time for me to go now.’

Jess’s breath caught in her throat and she almost choked. She hadn’t tried to stop the bleeding; she knew how bad his wound was, but still, hearing it in words made it suddenly so real. She wanted to cry but no tears would come. She just felt empty, hollow.

‘There are a million things I want to say to you, Jessica,’ Simon told her. ‘But there isn’t the time. Perhaps in another life, another time, we could have been together longer.’

‘Simon, shut up! Just shut fucking
up!
’ She wanted to shake him, make him take back what he was saying.

‘I just want you to know that I love you. You are my … my … light.’

‘
Simon!
’ Jess was hysterical. She’d found him, she’d brought him back. She’d saved him once, and he’d returned the favour, but at an incalculable cost. ‘I didn’t come so far just to lose you again!’

‘You’ll never lose me. I’ll always be in…’ He reached up a hand, his face scrunched up with pain, and touched her chest, just between her breasts. ‘… in … here.’

‘Simon, no…’

One of his hands dropped into hers. His fingers squeezed momentarily tight, and she felt something hard there. ‘Don’t give up … on us…’

For a moment she didn’t understand. Then she looked down and saw what he had pressed into her hand – the little camera memory card. For a second she hated the thing, wanted to throw it away, but she realised that if she did, his life, like those of her parents, would have been wasted. He was right. As much as it tore her up inside, he was right.

Simon began to cough, doubling over. She patted his back, lifting him up straight, felt the weakness in his shoulders, the sagging of his body.

‘I love you, Simon!’ she gasped, as his eyes locked on to hers, narrowing slightly, then going suddenly wide, desperate, his shoulders and neck tensing, a whining sound escaping his mouth as his last breath left him.

‘Jessica–’ he gasped, and then went soft in her arms.

‘
No!
’

Jess’s howl filled the small space between the cargo crates, seeming to make them rattle. Around her she felt the braking of the train, the slow bumping as it ground towards a halt, but she didn’t notice anything at all, not even when, a few minutes later, the side door opened and Carl looked in to see her leaning back against the crates, Simon’s body held in her arms, his blood drenching her clothes.

#

Carl looked at her face, saw the pain there, the utter, complete grief in her beautiful face, and he wanted to cry too, not just for the young man whom he had known so briefly, but for the girl who had lost him. Carl saw in the dead hollows of her eyes that Jess’s life had moved a step closer to darkness, and sensed the sadness torturing her heart. As she closed her eyes and leaned closer to Simon’s body, part of Carl wished she would never open them again.

Let life spare her too,
he thought, tears springing to his own eyes.

Chapter Forty

Prison Break

Marta couldn’t see anything. Below her she could feel the rumbling wheels of the bus, but hidden away in a thin compartment below the floor she had little way of knowing in which direction they were heading. Beside her, Paul and Owen were talking quietly in the dark. Owen had that familiar excitement about him, which Paul was trying to hush. Marta smiled. It was probably better for the kid to keep his spirits up. She had lost hers long ago.

Switch was on the other side of her. Feeling a need for conversation, she nudged him softly. ‘Tell me again what’s going to happen.’

‘Uncle and his men will create a diversion; draw the guards away from the perimeter gate. I’ll slip out and attach a small explosive device to the gate. When it blows, the bus can just drive through.’

‘I can’t believe it’ll work as easily as that.’

‘Me neither. But I trust Unc. He’s the best man I’ve ever known, and if I can’t trust him I can’t trust anyone.’

They both heard the bus’s engine die and the rocking below them ceased. A moment later they heard a muffled explosion not far away.

‘What was that?’

‘I guess that’s our diversion.’

Someone tapped on the floor. ‘Your turn!’ a muffled voice shouted.

Marta felt Switch’s hand take hers and squeeze it lightly. ‘See you soon,’ he said.

She heard him slide away, and a second later daylight bathed them as Switch pulled away a loose panel in the side of the bus and jumped out. Marta squinted in the brightness. Switch gave her a weird spastic wink and replaced the panel, locking her in darkness again.

#

Outside, Switch looked around. The perimeter gate rose up in front of him, about thirty feet tall, built back into a concrete wall that stretched off in both directions, disappearing behind the roofs of the abandoned houses and buildings that rotted in the wall’s shadow. William had told him that few people lived near the wall; it was too much of a reminder of times past. Now, the buildings were the haunts of drug addicts, whores and vagrants.

Behind him, the bus, an old government one, had stopped at a bent, rusty bus-stop sign just short of the gate. The driver, an undercover UMF man, was engaged in a heated exchange with another man, also of the UMF, masquerading as a fare-dodging customer. Switch had about a minute to take care of his job and get back to the bus before their ruse drew attention.

The gate itself looked unguarded. It was a small one; most of the major traffic came in though a much larger gate to the north of the city, William had said, but even so, Switch would have expected guards. Looking left, he saw the reason why; a burning car had drawn the attention of the gate’s sentries, who now stood around it like tramps around a trash-can fire.

Switch didn’t waste any time. He headed straight for the gate, leaning low, limping slightly. He wore a dirty brown shawl and a headscarf, while in his hand he carried a paper bag with the end of a glass bottle sticking out.

When he reached the gate, still unnoticed, he put the bottle down as close to the centre as he could. Then he began limping away.

‘Oi, you!’

Switch glanced up. A green-uniformed guard jogged across towards him, waving an automatic rifle. ‘Get the hell away from there, you fucking turd!’

Switch had one hand inside the robe, trying to pass off as an amputee. Out of sight, his fingers closed around a switch-blade. The other guards were over by the burning car, walking around it, trying to peer inside to see if there were casualties. With surprise on his side Switch felt quite sure he could take the guard out if the man caused him a problem.

‘Sorry guv’nur,’ Switch slurred. ‘Got lost eh.’ He cocked his face at the guard and gave a half-grin. William’s men had caked his face with fake blood, and his own twitching eye only made him more pitiful.

The guard relaxed. ‘Come on. Just get the hell away from the gate. You know the law.’

‘Just tryin’ t’get ‘ome, guv.’

‘Well, keep trying. Hey, wait!’ The man pointed. ‘You forgot your medicine, my friend.’

‘’E’s empty,’ Switch started to say, but it was too late. The man was already heading across towards the paper bag, nestled in between the two huge gates.

Switch started to jog for the nearest buildings. Beneath his robe he let go of the knife and felt for the small plastic box that would detonate the crude bomb.

He reached the nearest building and ducked into a doorway. Turning around, he saw the guard reach the bag and pick it up.

Switch closed his eyes. It was bad enough having to do it at all, but he didn’t want to watch the man die as well.

He pressed the detonator button.

A roar filled the air behind him. The sound of ripping, tearing steel and splintering wood mixed with the screams of men. Switch opened his eyes to chaos; a wall of smoke and concrete dust bloomed up between him and the gate, so at first he was unable to see if they’d broken through. At the same time, gunshots began to ring out from the cover of the buildings to his right, where a group of William’s men were staked out. Caught out in the open, several of the guards went down immediately, but a couple managed to take cover behind the burnt-out car, and from there they began to return fire.

Switch was behind them, though, so he slipped back through the dust alongside the perimeter wall towards the gate. Ahead of him, he heard the engine rumble as the bus began to move.

Gunfire came from above him, guards on top of the wall trying to pin down William’s men. He grimaced. Their plan was moments from failure.

The dust began to clear. To his dismay he saw that the gate still stood.

‘Shit, oh
shit
.’

As he got near he found that the bomb had badly damaged it, great dents and cracks in its steel surface, with its hinges buckled and misshapen, but still it remained closed.

He turned in the direction of the bus and began to run.

The driver almost didn’t see him, and Switch heard the squeal of old brakes as the bus tried to stop. Jumping out of its way, he caught the rail to the side of the open front door and swung inside.

‘Gun it, man!’ he shouted at the driver, one of William’s men. ‘The gate’s still up!’

‘No way,’ the man grunted. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but those damn gates were built to last.’

‘It’s our only chance!’

‘Gonna tell the others?’

‘No. If we don’t make it there’s a chance they won’t be discovered.’

‘Fat chance of that.’

Switch spun around. Marta stood behind him, while behind her Owen was helping Paul up out of a trapdoor in the bus floor.

‘Get back out of sight!’

‘We stand together,’ Marta said.

The driver glanced over his shoulder. ‘Well, damn well hang on to something, then.’

The bus lurched forward. Gunfire cracked all around them, shattering several of the windows. Switch ducked down behind the bus’s dashboard, while behind him the others dived down between the seats.

‘Here it comes!’ the driver shouted. Switch glanced up just long enough to see the perimeter wall rising up around them, the gate no more than a few feet ahead.

‘Yeah!’

The bus hit the gates square on. Switch slammed into the dashboard as the front window imploded, ducking his head to avoid shards of flying glass. There was a momentary thud and then a rush of forward movement, and to his relief Switch realised they were through. He heard the gunfire receding behind them as the bus bumped downhill, at first on a road, and then swerving off, bumping across an open area of grassland. The wind rushed past his face and he frowned, looking over his shoulder to see the road disappearing back to their right.

‘Where the hell are you–’

Switch knew immediately that his words were wasted. The driver, bloodied and lifeless, was slumped back in the seat, a large shard of glass protruding from a neck injury that pumped blood down over his fake bus driver’s uniform.

‘Marta, Paul! We have another problem!’

Switch jumped up, trying to grab the wheel out of the driver’s dead hands, but it was too late. The dead man lurched forward, pulling the wheel sharply over to the left. The bus, still moving downhill, bumped again and overbalanced.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Switch was screaming at the others to hang on, even as he wrapped his arms around the wheel to brace himself. Behind him, he heard Marta screaming, Paul shouting at Owen, and Owen gasping as though this were yet another fairground ride.

The bus crashed over on to its side, cushioned slightly by a stand of bushes that smashed in through the windows. There was a grinding noise as the engine continued to revolve for a few seconds, then the internal workings of the old bus shuddered and went still.

Switch rubbed his head and pulled himself to his feet. He felt like he was standing horizontally, with the bus’s seats hanging in the air to his left. ‘Everyone all right?’ he asked, feeling a little dazed but otherwise okay.

Three groggy voices came back affirmative.

‘Is it going to blow up?’ Marta asked, crawling across the broken bus windows towards him, a small cut on her cheek and some pieces of twig in her hair.

‘No,’ Paul said. ‘Not unless there’s a spark from somewhere. It’s a common myth that vehicles blow up when they crash, and the bio-fuel buses use is less flammable than old petrol.’

‘Thanks for the fucking infomercial, but we had better get moving,’ Switch said. ‘We’ve lost our wheels, but they’ve still got theirs.’

‘Perhaps we should blow it up anyway,’ Owen said, leaning against the sideways turned seats. ‘Throw them off the trail.’

‘He’s got a point,’ Marta said. ‘How?’

Owen pointed at Switch. ‘You’ve got something to light a fire with, haven’t you?’

Switch grinned. ‘Of course I have.’

‘And the fuel’s still flammable?’

Paul nodded. ‘Yeah, less than petrol, but it’ll still ignite, I think.’

‘Good.’ Owen nodded. ‘Do it then.’

Switch cut a piece of his rope to use as a fuse. The driver’s body yielded the keys to the petrol tank, but unfortunately the bus had rolled on that side. Instead, Paul and Switch had to break a hole in the bottom of the tank and feed the rope inside. Rust made it easier, but the three-quarters empty tank swallowed a lot of rope before they reached the fuel itself. The fuse wasn’t long enough to be safe, and Switch insisted the others got clear before he set it alight.

He waited until they were twenty yards away, then he touched his lighter to the doused rope. ‘Here it comes!’ he shouted, watching a flame immediately strike up and rush towards the bus’s undercarriage. Switch turned and dashed in the other direction, leaping over a stand of bracken into a small natural hollow, just as the flame reached the bus and an explosion boomed. Switch looked up to see the underside of the bus broken open, a pool of flame around the vehicle. He nodded with satisfaction as the flames raked at the side of the bus.

‘Nice job, Switch!’ Marta shouted.

‘Thanks. Pocket fucking pyro, I am.’ He grinned and turned to follow the others.

They were heading downhill, away from the bus, towards a stand of forest. They had no escape from the Huntsmen, of course, but the trees would give them cover against gunfire.

‘What do we do now?’ Owen said, running alongside Paul.

‘We run,’ Paul said. ‘And we keep running.’

‘Paul, that’s a crap plan if ever I’ve heard one.’

Despite their fear, their exhaustion, and the bruises that littered their bodies, Marta and Switch both laughed.

‘Well, you get working on a new one, and while you’re at it, we’ll keep running from the Huntsmen,’ Marta said.

‘Easy,’ Owen said. ‘The river.’

‘What river?’

He pointed to the right. ‘I saw it from the top deck of the bus before we crashed. At the very least we can get across it. Should make our trail more difficult for the Huntsmen to follow.’

‘Paul, your brother’s a genius,’ Marta said.

‘That’s the benefit of a proper education,’ Owen said. ‘And lots of video games.’

‘Well, you haven’t solved what we’re going to do once we cross that damn river,’ Switch said. ‘I can’t fucking swim. And if we’re walking I imagine even those DCA chumps will be able to find us.’

‘I thought I saw some sort of boat. Maybe we can steal it, but we’d better hurry.’ Without waiting for an answer he dashed ahead of the others, dancing between the trees like a deer running from fire. ‘Come on!’ they heard him shout back, before a sudden splash came from up ahead.

They jogged after him through the trees, emerging from a thicket on to a sharp riverbank. Owen was standing waist deep in the water.

‘Dammit, didn’t see it coming,’ he muttered, looking down at his sopping clothes and then picking a piece of grime out of his hair.

The others looked down. The riverbank didn’t so much slope away as drop vertically into the water, and a moment later they realised why.