X-Isle (23 page)

*  *  *

They had been told to bring fencing posts from the stacked pile outside the sort room, and these were now inserted beneath the slab.

“Right,” said Steiner. “Get on those ropes and start pulling.”

The round posts were apparently supposed to act as rollers. But though the four boys heaved on the ropes again and again, the stone wouldn’t budge. Eventually Steiner gave up and went off in disgust. He returned with Hutchinson and the sort-room crew, including Gene. Now there were eight of them, and they found that if they all pulled in unison, they could just about move the slab. It took a good twenty minutes to maneuver it off the grass verge and onto the tarmac pathway, but here things became a little easier. The rollers started to work properly, and the smallest of the boys – Enoch – could be spared from the haulage team. It became his job to run from the back of the slab to the front, continually replacing the fencing posts.

Like Egyptian slaves they worked, pulling the slab along, a few centimeters at a time, with Enoch keeping the rollers in position.

“What are we doing?” Gene asked. “Building a bloody pyramid?”

“You’ll see,” said Hutchinson. “Tell you what, though – it makes a change seeing 
you
 break into a sweat.”

“Yeah,” said Steiner. “’Bout time you did some proper work, kiddo.”

Once the tarmac path began its downward slope the slab became more difficult to control. The crew was split – three boys to the front, steering the slab from left to right, and four at the back, hauling on their ropes to act as a brake. When they reached the point where the tarmac ended and the jetty began, Steiner just said, “OK, keep going.”

So now their destination became clear. At the far end of the jetty stood the box-like construction built out of concrete blocks. It didn’t take a genius to guess that the big stone slab might be intended as a lid for that box, but still nobody could guess what its purpose might be.

Progress along the top of the jetty was far slower than it had been on the tarmac, and it was late afternoon by the time the boys had managed to position the slab parallel to the concrete platform. The nylon ropes had blistered their hands, and they were exhausted.

“Had enough?” said Steiner – but he was speaking to Hutchinson.

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“Right then, you lot. Everybody back to the sort room. Today’s Friday. We’ve got till tomorrow night to get this baby up onto the box. Preacher John’s orders.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” said Gene.

“How?” said Steiner. “I don’t care how. You’re the chuffin’ smartarse, you figure it out. But it’ll be done by tomorrow night, OK? Now get back to the sort room.”

CHAPTER
 
THIRTEEN

Saturday morning, and the entire crew were down at the jetty. On Gene’s instructions they had barrowed a few dozen concrete blocks down from the building site, together with three long scaffolding poles.

“First thing we’re gonna do,” said Gene, “is try and get the slab up onto the platform. We’ll use the scaffolding poles as levers – two of us on each pole.”

Steiner and Hutchinson looked on, their arms folded. They had adopted the air of school masters, or competition judges – those who understood perfectly well how this task should be accomplished, but were testing the boys to see whether they could work it out for themselves. They were fooling nobody, however. This was Gene’s show, and everybody knew it.

The stone slab was still on its wooden rollers from the night before. Two of the fencing posts were removed from one end, and the scaffolding poles inserted in the gap beneath.

“Right then, lift!” said Gene, and eight boys began to raise the tubular steel poles. These were heavy enough in themselves, and Baz had little faith in their ability to lift the weight of the stone as well. So he was amazed when the front of the slab began to rise up and separate from its bed of rollers. The boys shuffled to one side, and the front corner of the tablet slewed across to the concrete platform.

“Now the back corner.” Gene seemed to have it all planned out. He laid out three concrete blocks in a row on the platform, and with a lot of lifting and levering the slab eventually lay balanced like a seesaw on the line of blocks.

“We put blocks under each end,” said Gene, “and keep going like that – levering it up and building three stacks of blocks, yeah? So the stone rests on the three stacks. Once we get it high enough, we’ll jiggle it across onto the walls. Job done.”

Steiner looked at Hutchinson. “Yeah, that’s one way. It was either that or a ramp.”

“Yeah. Or block and tackle.”

“We need a couple of guys doing the concrete blocks,” said Gene. “How about Enoch and Ray? You OK with that? Have to watch your hands, though.”

“All right,” said Enoch.

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” Ray glanced at Baz and pulled a slightly crooked face.

The slab had to be jacked up at quite a steep angle in order to get the blocks into position. One slip and fingers could easily get crushed under there. From where he stood, at the furthest end of a scaffold pole, it was difficult for Baz to see what was going on. He kept peering anxiously over Jubo’s shoulder as Ray and Enoch crawled around beneath the construction.

The supporting stacks of blocks grew higher, until the slab was almost level with the top of the wall, but by now the whole thing was beginning to feel creakily unstable, groaning beneath its own massive weight. Baz could smell the perspiration of those around him. The slab seemed darkly threatening, poised, a slumbering monster that had been poked and prodded once too often.

Gene let go of his pole and stepped back to inspect, wiping his forehead. “Just one more level,” he said, “and we’re there.”

Baz looked across at Jubo and let out a long shaky breath. Even Steiner and Hutchinson had dropped their pretended lack of interest, and now watched with frowning concentration.

“Come on,” said Gene. “We’re OK. Ready, Enoch? Ray? Middle blocks then.”

The boys inserted the scaffolding poles, and gingerly began to apply some force. The end of the slab rose up, but then Gene seemed to lose his nerve.

“Whoa... whoa... lower it again.”

“What’s the matter?” said Steiner.

The slab came back down to rest and Gene shook his head.

“I dunno about this. I think it’s too much.”

“What do you mean “too much”?” said Steiner. “It’s the same as all the other times.”

“No,” said Gene. “I’m worried about the stacks. They’re starting to wobble.”

“Hey – we can see what’s going on from here. You can’t. Now get it done. Come on – we’ll keep an eye on it. It’s fine.”

Gene bit his lip and hesitated, but then Hutchinson joined in.

“Listen, if we think it’s looking dodgy we’ll tell you. Now stop friggin’ about and get this job finished. I’ve laid off the sort-room crew long enough.”

“OK...” Gene still sounded uncertain. “Well, just you keep watching that end stack, that’s all. If it starts to lean, then you better bloody tell us.”

“Oi, watch your lip! We don’t take our orders from you, OK?”

Gene shrugged. “Come on, guys. It’ll be all right.” He positioned himself on the scaffolding pole again. “Gently does it.”

Once more the boys began to push down on the scaffolding poles.

“We’re OK... we’re OK...” Gene leaned outwards to get a better view of what was happening. “That high enough, Ray?”

“Bit more...” Ray’s muffled voice came from beneath the slab.

Baz could hear Ray muttering something to Enoch. “Got it? Shove your end in then... bit further...”

And then Baz felt the metal pole being wrenched from his grasp, dragged sideways with a force far beyond his control. There was a horrible grinding crunch, a hollow echo of it in the tube that he was gripping. He lurched forward against Jubo, pulled by the unbelievable weight of collapsing steel and stone. Down it all went, the metal poles clanging out their warning amid a rumble of exploding concrete. The stone tablet crashed into the billowing grey dust like some giant oil tanker belly-flopping into a raging sea.

Baz somersaulted over Jubo and landed on top of the slab, oblivious to his own danger even as he fell. All his thoughts were for Ray – Ray, who had been under the huge monolith as it collapsed... and was under there now. Baz scrambled sideways, trying to get off the slab, his head filled with the panicky notion that he was only adding to the weight, that he might somehow be making matters worse. He slithered down amongst the rubble, banging his knees and elbows on the rough corners of broken blocks, his heart pumping as though it would burst.

Baz hauled himself into a kneeling position, grabbing uselessly at lumps of concrete, throwing them aside...

“No! No! Ray... he’s under there!”

And then he saw that Ray was sitting right next to him.

Ray’s face was damp with sweat, dark patches of grey on his forehead and chin where the concrete dust had stuck to him. His eyes were wide with shock, his gaze fixed on the stone slab.

“God...” Baz dropped the piece of concrete that he was holding, the breath collapsing out of him. “Ohhhh... God. You got out. I thought you were... thought you were still under...”

But Ray said nothing, wasn’t even looking at Baz. Open-mouthed, he began to struggle to his feet, and as Baz squinted up at him he saw that all the other boys were standing, a loose and silent group staring down at the slab.

Enoch!
 Baz rolled over and pushed himself upright. He’d forgotten all about Enoch.

Gene picked his way forward through the rubble and crouched beside the slab, his head tilted as if to listen.

“Enoch?” His voice was higher than normal, on the verge of panic. “Enoch! Can you hear me?” No reply. “Oh, God...” Gene stood up again. “Uh... right. Grab the scaffolding poles.” He looked around at the mess of rubble. “Oh, Christ. Let me think for a minute. OK. Um... just two poles then. One at each end. Let’s see if we can lift it right up and tilt it back against the wall.”

But it couldn’t be done. There was only room for two boys to effectively get a grip on each of the two poles, and that was too few to be able to raise the slab. After a couple of attempts they gave up.

“We’re gonna have to put a pole in the middle as well, then,” said Gene. “But watch what you’re doing. He’s under there somewhere.”

“Christ,” groaned Steiner. “What a friggin’ mess.” Neither he nor Hutchinson offered any help.

Baz got ready on the middle pole, sick at the thought of what he was about to see. His hands were trembling and sweaty. He quickly wiped them on his shorts before stooping to grasp the rusty scaffolding pole.

“... two, three, 
hup.”
Gene gave the signal to lift.

Amid the sobbing gasps and grunts of the boys, the slab began to rise. As Baz staggered forward to reposition his grip, he glimpsed pale shapes flickering around the edges of his vision. He knew that it was Enoch, lying on the ground to his left, but he deliberately kept his eyes averted. All his strength and concentration were needed for the job in hand.

The slab was almost upright. One more push took it beyond its balancing point, and it toppled against the blockwork wall with a grinding thud. The heavy scaffolding poles were lowered, hand over hand, and only then did Baz take a proper look at Enoch.

There didn’t appear to be a mark on him. He was on his back, shoulders flat to the ground, head and legs turned to one side. His arms were raised above his head. He could have been a sunbather lying on a beach and stretching himself, wondering if he could be bothered to go and buy an ice cream. The piles of rubble to either side of him had kept his body from being crushed. There was no blood.

Yet they all knew that Enoch was dead. Gene knelt beside him and raised his torso from the concrete platform. Enoch’s head lolled backwards, hanging down at an impossible angle. His neck was broken.

Baz had seen dead bodies before – many many dead bodies. Some stood out in his mind more than others... Mrs. Kenwright, his saxophone teacher, floating past the bathroom window. She looked so young, like a child in her starry blue pyjamas, her hair all undone, her skin impossibly white against the dark waters that bore her along. And Mr. and Mrs. Gavindra from the paper shop, both dangling upside down in the same lilac tree, as though they were performing a trapeze act together...

It didn’t matter how many you’d seen. Nothing prepared you for the next one. You could never get used to it. And Baz knew what it felt like to be trapped beneath that slab... the terror of seeing it coming down... knowing that it was all over...

Baz stood motionless, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, just staring at Gene as he cradled Enoch in his arms.

“Get ’em all back to t’ sort room,” muttered Steiner. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Sure?” Hutchinson didn’t seem inclined to move.

“Yeah. Done it before.”

“Right, then,” Hutchinson said. “Back to the sort room, you lot. Go on.”

“What are you going to do?” Gene laid Enoch gently down and looked up at Steiner.

“What am 
I
 gonna do? Don’t worry about it,” said Steiner. “I’ll tell you what 
you
 can do, though, smartarse; get back to the chuffin’ drawing board. “Cos that little idea of yours didn’t work too well, did it?”

Baz thought he could never have hated Steiner more than at that moment. Now he was certain that if he had that magic button to push, then he would push it, and have no regrets. Yes, he could do it right now – blow that toe-rag sky-high. And maybe now 
was
 the time. Forget about bombs – just grab whatever came to hand... a shovel... a lump of concrete...

As Gene rose to his feet, Robbie stepped in front of him, quick as a squirrel, ready to head off trouble. “Come on, mate,” he said. “Let’s go. Gene? It’s OK. Let’s go.”

And Gene allowed himself to be turned round, though his face was taut and set, dark eyes blazing with anger.

“Yeah, come on.” Dyson had seen the danger too, recognized how close things were to kicking off. He crowded in on Gene, kept him from turning to face Steiner again. The boys began to disperse, splitting up as they made their way along the jetty. Baz walked alone, not wanting to speak to anyone for the moment. He glanced round at the scene they were leaving behind them. Steiner was watching them go, legs apart, hands on hips.