Unfed (15 page)

Alice nods, not wanting to be left behind this time, and crashes into Russ before he can move to the next trunk.

There’s a noise behind us, somewhere in the undergrowth. Could be a deer. Could be a soldier. Pete and I shoot each other a look and take off down the bank, not waiting for a free trunk. We’re surfing on our asses, feet out straight, arms trying to slow our descent. I have mud in places I don’t like to think about. We both overshoot Alice. I lean to my right in an attempt to steer, and catch a trunk, while Pete sails past me and out of sight. I’m impressed he manages not to yell, but it’s kind of unsettling that I don’t hear him land.

Russ skids down after him, leaving Alice indignant and still clinging to her first trunk. She opens her mouth to shout, and I gesticulate madly to her, shushing her before she can make a noise. I glance up the hill, and then down, and when I look again Alice has set off on the diagonal toward me, half on her feet and leaning back, and half rolling uncontrollably.
Shit
. As she nears me I brace myself for the collision, but it never happens. At the last minute she slips down past me and rolls again, off the edge of the ravine and out of sight. I swallow a squeal, but Alice doesn’t do as well. She gives a long scream, followed by an “Oh!” and a short yelp. Then silence.

Oh god. Not good not good not good
.

With Russ and Pete in god-knows-what shape at the bottom, it’s up to me. I look up the bank again — is that movement? — and then I’m crawling on my belly toward the edge, pulling myself forward as far as I dare.

I look down into the abyss.

I don’t see her. The gushing stream, the sharp-looking rocks, yes — but no Alice. I pull myself a little farther down to the point she fell off, and lean over again.

She’s there. I see legs. She’s lying on her back, partly obscured by a bush, on a wide grassy ledge that is maybe fifteen or twenty feet below. I can’t see anything above her knees, but she’s not moving. I don’t think, just lower myself over the edge, grabbing at anything I can, feetfirst, scrabbling for any kind of hold, blinded by dirty, running water from above. It’s more of a controlled plummet; I ricochet off things and plunge to the grass below, landing on all fours and rolling over like I meant it. I’m winded, but uninjured. I look up, and that’s when I see the man bending over a lifeless Alice. At first I think — I
hope
— it’s Russ, but he’s slimmer, and all in black. A soldier. He has his back to me, bent over her like he’s feeling for a pulse or strangling her, I can’t tell which.

He hasn’t seen me. I pick up a piece of branch, and creep toward him.

Just aim for the back of the head. As hard as you can. You only get one shot at this
.

I raise the branch, all slimy and green in my hand, and grip it tightly.

Wait! Is he kissing her?

I pause, branch aloft. His head is bent over her face, and there’s a weird lip-smacking noise.

I gasp.

Before I can whack him, he spins around on his knees and looks up at me.

The branch falls from my hand.

It’s Smitty.

I blink. This time, I’m definitely not dreaming.

I shoulda recognized the leather jacket.

“Hey, Roberta. ’Bout time you showed up.” Smitty sits back on his heels beside Alice’s body, wet ink-black hair over his face, a broad smile playing on his chops like I just brought them breakfast in bed. “How the bollocks are you?”

He stands up and looks like he’s going to do the whole hugging and kissing thing. I won’t allow it. I back off. I’ve thought about what I’ll do if — when — I find him. I’ve tried to mentally prepare myself, but now every instinct deserts me.

“Yeah, I’m OK. We looked for you.”

He nods, smile fading. “I waited. Your mum said she’d leave clues.”

A hand clutches my heart. “You’ve seen her?”

He shakes his head. “Not for weeks.”

I swallow, move round him to Alice, and squat down to her. I see her chest rise and fall, and as I move her hair to look for an injury, she moves her head and coughs.

“Were you kissing Alice?”

It’s the dumbest thing to say, but it slips out.

“Kiss of life.” Smitty frowns at me. “Good ol’ Malice practically fell on top of me. I was worried she’d stopped breathing, I was giving her a little mouth-to-mouth.”

He manages to make it sound
disgusting
.

“We should go.” Smitty hauls Alice up. She moans slightly, and he puts her over his shoulder, fireman-stylee. “You’ve got some men in black after you.”

“I noticed.” I inject as much venom into those two words as is humanly possible.

I can’t help but be impressed that he’s still got his strength, but I hate that I’m impressed.

“This way.” He takes off along the grassy ledge. “Watch your step.”

What is wrong with me? I should be thrilled and filled to the brim with joy that he’s here, but I think I preferred Dream Smitty.

The ledge winds down to the bottom of the hill, and suddenly there’s the tree line with the field beyond.

“Psst!”

I spin round. It’s Russ and Pete, their eyes as big as saucers, taking in Alice and the apparition who’s carrying her. Pete flings back his head and starts to laugh silently. Russ casts a look to him and then to me, and I can see that instantly he knows who the tall dark stranger is. He runs toward us lightly, Pete cantering behind. He slows down a couple of paces away and looks Smitty up and down. I clear my throat.

“Russ, this is —”

“Smitty!” Pete rushes at him and hugs him, which causes Smitty to lose his balance a little and almost drop Alice on her head. “I knew you’d be here. I knew it.”

“Good to see you, too, Petey-Poos,” Smitty laughs. “Love the hairdo.”
He turns to Russ. “New recruit? Can’t recommend hanging out with these freaks, they’ll get you into trouble.”

Russ grins tightly and thrusts out a hand. “Russ. I was on the bus when it crashed.”

“Hey, Russ from the Bus,” Smitty says. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake, I’ve got my hands full of blonde at the moment. She’s still heavier than she looks.”

“Is she OK?” Pete asks.

“Breathing, but out cold,” Smitty says. “Which, I think we can all agree, is our favorite kind of Alice.” He smacks her behind. “She’ll be fine. She’s got a thick skull.”

A noise from behind makes us duck down.

“We need to get to the Jeep now.” Russ takes the lead, turning to his left. “This way —”

“Nice idea,” says Smitty. “But wrong direction.” He points to the right. “Jeep’s this way.”

“No.” Russ frowns. “We left it on the hill.”

“You did.” Smitty begins moving through the trees. “And that’s where I nicked it from.”

We follow him, aghast.

“I let off the brakes and freewheeled down the side of the hill. Quite a ride.”

As we reach the tree line, we see it — parked conveniently by the last tree. Smitty opens the back door and dumps Alice inside. He tosses the keys to Pete. “All yours again.” He jumps into the back, where I join him. Russ and Pete climb into the front, and Pete fires up the ignition, while Smitty shouts directions from the back. As we pull away, I spot two of the soldiers emerge from the trees a way off from us.

“Faster, Pete!” I shout. “They’re behind us!”

He puts his foot down and a splatter of mud hits the windows as the wheels spin. But then they catch, and we bounce away across the clods, away from the trees and across the field, Pete cleverly keeping us on the right side of a small hill so that our pursuers can’t train their guns on our tires.

“They’ll make for the helicopter. We have to find cover before they get airborne.” Russ grits his teeth.

“Keep driving, Petey,” Smitty says. “The road’s just over that hill. They’re not going to be flying anywhere for a while.”

“How do you know that?” Russ stares at him.

“Because I tied a nice fat chain around the tail rotor.” Smitty grins.

“Whaat?” Pete cries, turning round. “That’s genius!”

“Knew you’d be proud, Petey,” Smitty says. “Oh” — he smiles to himself — “and I pissed in the cockpit. All over the controls. That’s got to do some damage.”

“Classy,” I murmur, but I can’t say I’m not pleased. “So you saw us coming?”

“Nope.” Smitty shakes his head. “I was in the woods when I heard the helicopter. Figured they were after me. Then I saw you lovely people running for your lives. Did the business with the chain, got the Jeep, and motored back to save your sorry selves.”

Pete lets out a peal of laughter. “We were looking for you, and you found us first.”

This puts the sulks on me, for no good reason. And Russ is glum, too. He grunts and turns around in his seat. Smitty puckers his lips behind Russ’s back and blows him a kiss.

I ignore him and lean over the back to check on Alice, making sure
she’s comfortable. There isn’t a mark on her. I pull the tarp up around her a little so she’ll be warm. She still has her bag around her neck, and I carefully remove it, laying it beside her.

“There’s the road,” Pete says. “Where are we heading?”

“Martha, our babysitter at the hospital,” I explain to Smitty, “said we weren’t far from Edinburgh. We keep driving until we see a road sign; we’re bound to hit a gas station or somewhere that has maps.”

“Hmm,” Smitty says beside me. “Because gas stations treated us so well last time. So where’s your ma hanging out, exactly?”

I avoid his eyes. “I was kind of hoping you’d tell us. But she left us these numbers — coordinates — that’s how we found you. And the second set of numbers has to be where she’s hiding, but we need a map covering a bigger area.”

“And there’s the postcard,” Russ says.

“Yeah.” I fish it out of my backpack and thrust it at him. “Random lighthouse. Don’t know if it’s full-on cryptic, or if that’s where she’s hanging out. Mean anything to you?”

“Nope,” he says. “So where are these coordinates, then?”

“They’re here.” I twist round to the window to show him. But there’s nothing on the glass.

“What’s wrong?” Pete hears the pause.

“They’ve gone,” I say. “We wrote them in the condensation,” I tell Smitty, “but they’ve melted or something.”

He gives me a look, then leans over me and breathes on the glass. His leather jacket creaks, his body warm and heavy against mine. He breathes again, and the glass steams. But to no avail. No numbers come up. The glass has been wiped clean, on purpose. I feel the panic rise in my chest.

“Pete! You wrote them down on some paper,” I shout at him.

“Take the wheel,” Pete says to Russ, slowing the Jeep, then wiggles his hands into his pockets, checking and checking again, looking down the side of the seat and on the floor. He slams on the brake, does a face-palm.

“You lost the paper?” I yell at him.

“Fifty-five, fifty-five, double zero north,” he rasps. “Write this down.”

“You don’t lose stuff, Pete,” I cry. And he doesn’t. He’s Mr. Organized. If I could rely on anyone in our gang to actually not lose something, it would be Petey-Poos. What’s up with him?

“Fifty-five, fifty-five, double zero north — write it down, Bobby!” He shouts at me.

I search for the old map on the floor, find it — and Russ gives me a pen. I scribble the new numbers next to where I’d written the old set of coordinates.

Pete screws up his eyes.

“Double zero … fifty something? I think the last four numbers repeated … fifty-four, fifty-four west?” He slaps his forehead. “Or was it thirty-something?” He shakes his head like he’s got a flea in his ear. “I can’t remember.”

I add to the sequence:

I put the pen down. “You did good, Pete. None of the rest of us could do any better.”

Russ shakes his head. “I should have memorized them. I can’t believe I could be so sloppy.”

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up, Russ from the Bus,” Smitty drawls. “Petey here was always the brains of the crew, and it’s clear nothing has changed since then.”

Russ turns on him, eyes blazing. I shoot out a hand.

“Stop! Don’t turn this into a pissing contest.” I nod to Pete. “Get driving. We have something to go on, and that’s a lot more than we could have.”

It is dark. We can’t risk headlights, so we crawl as fast as we dare, which is not very fast. The road is long, straight, and lonely. Hard to tell what the countryside is doing out there beyond the dark and the clammy, opaque air, but we don’t see any buildings yet. Pete keeps slow and steady. As I begin to relax slightly, the tiredness moves in. It is undeniable and inevitable and I hardly have the strength to fight it, like drowning in a vat of thick, suffocating mud. I rub my face and try to focus.

“Sleep,” Smitty says to me, unexpectedly softly. “I’ll wake you when we get attacked by something.”

Of course, after that I want to stay awake. But my eyes are so heavy. I let them rest for a moment, and then before I know it I’m coming to and I hear the boys discussing something. Russ is outside with the flashlight; I see a flash of green, a road sign.

EDINBURGH 8

Sleep is heavy on me like a leaden quilt, pressing me into my seat. I allow my eyes to close again for a second, and I’m fast asleep.

There’s a bump, and I’m jolted awake. I blink my eyes, but for some reason I can’t quite get them to open properly. But even through half-closed eyelids I can see the dazzling sunlight coming through the back
window. The rays are like liquid, piercing the mud-splattered glass and bathing me in warmth. How long have I been sleeping?

I sit bolt upright. Red-orange light everywhere. The windows are steamed up and I can’t see out. For a moment I wonder if we’ve been beamed up on the Xanthro mother ship. I’m alone in the Jeep. Everyone’s gone. They’ve abandoned me.

A little snort behind me makes me jump. Alice is still fast asleep, with Smitty’s leather jacket over her. I feel a small stab of jealousy, and then feel ridiculous. At least I’m not completely alone.

I gather my backpack, ease open the door, and step outside. It has stopped raining. My boot finds gravelly ground, and I push myself out of the Jeep and close the door quietly. The light dazzles me, like I’ve never seen light for months, like I’m a troglodyte surfacing for the first time.

The Jeep is on a hill, on a rough track leading upward. And beyond is … I blink against the light. The glitter of water, the dark rising of buildings, black spires and towers and glowering hills far into the distance.

Farther up, where the track narrows to a path, I hear voices. I lope as fast as I can to the top and am greeted with a full panorama. The sun is like a burning red ball, hovering over the horizon to my right. Smitty is perched, shivering and jacketless, on some kind of carved stone in the middle of the summit, his hand up at his eyes, shading from the sunrise. Russ and Pete are a ways off, looking over the city.

“Edinburgh?”

Smitty looks over to me.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

“Pete had the idea to come up here,” calls Russ. “Scope things out before we get in above our heads. Bright of him.”

“This hill is Arthur’s Seat.” Pete comes over, ever the tour guide. “You can see the Firth of Forth in the background. And see that little raised bit of land in the center? That’s the Royal Mile, with Edinburgh Castle on top.”

“Awesome view.” I mean it. It’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. To the east, the sun is rising so quickly I can actually see it move. It draws me to look at it until I’m forced to blink, black spots dancing on my eyelids. As it rises it casts orange on the east-facing sides of all the buildings, illuminating roads shining like yellow rivers, dotted with cars that have long ago ended their journeys. No smoke floats out of chimneys, no boats float on the water.

And yet there is movement. At first I think it’s my sun-dazzled eyes, but then I realize the others are seeing it, too. The streets are moving, dots are converging, swarming, moving together and then apart. People, or what used to be people.

“There are hundreds of them,” Pete says.

“Thousands,” Russ corrects him.

“Did you see any on our way here?” I ask them.

“A handful,” Smitty says. “But nothing like that. I think they like company; strength in numbers and all that.”