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CHAPTER
 
FIVE

The urgent clamor of an alarm bell brought him from the depths of sleep, dragging him upwards amid a swirl of images: Mum walking into his bedroom with a cup of tea... cereal packets on the kitchen table... lunchbox... uniform...

School!
 It was time to go to school.

Baz opened his eyes and jerked upright just as the alarm clock stopped ringing. Was he late?

But of course there was no school. He’d for gotten. No school, no Mum, no anything. There was only this. A roomful of strangers, an empty feeling in his belly, and the stale smell of alcohol.

He had reason to be grateful for the whisky fumes at least. They reminded him that there was broken glass on the floor. As Baz fumbled around in the semi-darkness for his shorts and trainers, he glanced towards the huddled-up bundle on the mattress next to him – Ray.

“Watch out for the glass,” he mumbled. The back of his mouth was dry and sore, and it tasted of metal.

No reply came from the next bed, and Baz realized that Ray wasn’t there. Could he have run away in the night? No. Even as the thought occurred to him, Ray appeared, ducking beneath the makeshift curtain as he came out of the jakes – already washed and dressed, apparently.

“Christ. You’re up early.” Baz pulled trainers onto his bare feet.

“Yeah, I always am. Makes no difference what time I go to bed, I always wake up at stupid-o’clock. It drives me nuts. You snore like a pig, by the way.”

Baz didn’t say anything to this. He stood up and peered around the room. The rest of the boys were only now beginning to stir – grumbling and muttering as blankets were thrown aside. He saw that Taps was awake and sitting up, a forlorn and tousled little figure in the dingy light.

“Hey, Taps,” said Baz. “What happens now?”

“Pardon?” Taps rubbed his eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said what happens now?”

“We have fifteen minutes to be outside the sort room.” There was something slightly odd in the way Taps spoke. Quite careful and precise, as though he were reading from a piece of paper.

“OK.” Baz nodded and made his way into the jakes.

Steiner and Hutchinson appeared as the boys were congregating in the corridor outside the door to the sort room. The capos looked bleary-eyed, and more sour-faced than ever.

“Right then, thanks to you lot we’ve all got to start an hour early,” snarled Steiner. “And Hutch and me get a rollocking for not keeping you in line – too soft on you, Isaac says. We’ll soon see about that. Amit, you’re on t’ jetty. Dyson in t’ sort room. Dyson, take first pick.”

“Jubo.” Dyson spoke without hesitation. This was obviously a well-worn routine.

“Robbie,” said Amit.

“Enoch.”

“Taps.”

“Er...” Dyson looked from Baz to Ray – the only two now remaining. “Er... I’ll take Ray.”

“OK. Baz,” said Amit, “you’re with me.”

Baz had been surprised not to have been chosen first. He was sure he must be stronger than Ray. Why would Dyson have picked the weakest?

“OK.” Steiner looked straight at Ray. “So today you got lucky. You’re in t’ sort room. But tomorrow you’ll be with me. On t’ jetty.”

It sounded as if the jetty was the tougher option. Maybe that was why Dyson had picked Ray.

Hutchinson unlocked the door to the sort room. “Dyson, get your lot in there,” he said. “The rest of you go on up to the sports center.”

“Yeah,” said Steiner. “And I want to see you back down on t’ jetty with t’ first load o’ blocks in ten minutes.”

So Baz was one of four climbing the steep asphalt path that apparently led up to the sports center. Amit, Robbie, Taps and himself.

“What’s at the sports center?” he asked.

“Stone and rubble and stuff,” said Amit. “They were building a new science block when it all happened.”

“So that’s where the stone for the jetty comes from? We have to carry it down?”

“Yeah.”

“What, in wheelbarrows?”

“Yeah, listen, mate. Don’t talk so much, OK? It’s too early in the morning, and we’ve got a hell of a long day ahead of us.”

“Sorry.” Baz took a swig from his water bottle. It was still only about seven-thirty, and the island was hung in mist, but already he was sweating from the humidity.

At the top of the hill was an area of flat open ground. There were tennis nets and rusty goalposts rising amongst the tangle of overgrown grass and nettles. This must have once been the school playing field. A big modern building with a curved corrugated roof stood at the far end of the field, and next to that the beginnings of another construction – tall iron stanchions set into concrete. Baz could see a couple of diggers and a cement-mixer truck, grey shapes in the mist, and beyond them a group of trees. A small wood, perhaps, or a copse.

And that was the extent of the island. From up here the sea was visible whichever way you looked, an endless circular horizon. Closer to the shores were the half-submerged ruins of buildings that had once dotted the slopes of Tab Hill. The only structure that had survived was the school itself, standing just that bit higher up the hill than its neighbors.

A flash of white caught Baz’s eye – something popping up from among the tall grass, out towards the middle of the overgrown playing field.

“What... what’s that thing?” said Baz. But even as he asked, he saw that it was an animal of some kind. A sheep? No, a white goat.

“Oh, it’s only Old Bill,” said Amit. He laughed. “That was some kid called Yusuf’s ticket here. His old man was a butcher or something.”

“What happened to him?”

“Who, Yusuf? Couldn’t hack it. Sent back at the end of his first week.”

“Oh. So the goat – it just lives in the field?” said Baz.

“Yeah. Surprised Preacher John hasn’t eaten it yet. Mind you, Cookie’d have to catch it first. I can just see Cookie chasing round after Old Bill with a meat cleaver. Ha.”

They followed the pathway round the perimeter of the field, and the full extent of the construction site came into view: mountains of rubble and chippings, massive stacks of building blocks, timber, scaffolding poles.

“See the roof of that place – the sports center?” said Amit. “We get most of our water from that. Gene rigged it so that all the rain that comes off the roof goes into those blue barrels ‘stead of down the drains.”

Baz looked at where Amit was pointing. He could see six plastic barrels, arranged in pairs along the side of the building with the huge corrugated roof. The barrels were mounted on stacks of concrete blocks, and had downpipes leading into them.

“There’s more on the other side,” said Amit. “We got a couple outside the main building too, but they don’t work as good, so we have to cart water from here to fill the shower butts. It’s a pig.”

“Yeah. Robbie told me.”

“Right. Well, water duty’s three times a week – Monday, Thursday, Saturday. Takes four of us to do it. You get one week on, one week off. You’ll be on next week – if you last that long. Come on.”

“So what’s in the sports center?”

“Swimming pool and stuff. It’s all locked up, though. You can’t get in there.”

Robbie and Taps were already pulling wheelbarrows from a stack that leaned against a pallet of concrete blocks.

“What are we on today, Amit?” said Robbie. “Blocks or rubble?”

“Er... blocks, I guess. OK, Baz. Grab a barrow and just do like we do. Four blocks at a time. I’ll show you.”

After the third journey Baz was beginning to get the knack of it. He copied the other boys, stacking the concrete blocks into the front of the barrow so that most of the weight was over the front wheel. This made the load easier to lift, although if the blocks were too far forward, the whole thing became unstable and likely to tip over. The barrow then had to be pushed around the playing fields and down the steep path to the jetty. Keeping it upright on the descent was the hardest bit, and Baz’s arms and shoulders were already aching from the effort.

The jetty extended about thirty meters out into the foggy sea – the same long mound of stone and rubble that Baz had seen the night before, topped with its flattened pathway of pinkish-colored chippings.

Here stood Steiner, directing operations. The boys brought their barrows to the edge of the pathway and tipped their contents down the bank of rubble towards the scummy water. It wasn’t easy to raise the handles with enough force to shoot the load of blocks any distance, and Baz, teetering on the brink, was wary lest Steiner decide to trip him or give him a push at the last second. But Steiner seemed content to do no more than yell at him.

“
Tip
 it, you little turd, don’t just lift it!”

The process was long and slow and laborious, each circuit taking between ten and fifteen minutes and each load of four blocks making only the slightest difference to the overall construction. By mid-morning Baz was dizzy with fatigue and lack of food. He didn’t see how he was going to keep this up until evening.

“Don’t we get a break?” He was third in the chain of boys, staggering down the hill with a loaded barrow for the umpteenth time. Taps was ahead of him, and Robbie brought up the rear. Taps was muttering to himself as he walked, a constant low and rhythmic drone. With his massive head of hair wobbling about above his skinny white body, he looked like a tadpole.

“Yeah.” Baz heard Robbie’s panting voice behind him. “Gotta be time for a rest. Hey, Taps – how many loads do you make it?”

“Thirteen. Two hundred and eight blocks. Seven-six-two... seven-six-three...” Taps’s voice faded back to a mutter once more. What was he doing?

“Christ.” Robbie drew level with Baz as the path broadened. “We usually get a break about every ten loads. Wouldn’t get that ’cept that Steiner wants to sneak off and look at his porno mags. So he’s got it in for us all right – gonna make us work all friggin’ day, looks like.”

But this time, as Baz tipped his load of blocks over the edge of the jetty, he heard Steiner say to Amit, “OK, break it up. Back here in half an hour with the next load.”

“See?” muttered Robbie as the gang made their way back up the hill. “He had to crack in the end. Look out, Miss July.”

“Ha. Yeah, right.”

Baz didn’t understand this last exchange, but for the moment he was too tired to ask questions.

They threw themselves into the long grass and lay flat out, staring up at the white featureless sky. Nobody spoke. After a while Baz rolled onto his side and examined the state of his hands. His palms were red, though not yet blistered, and the skin on his fingertips was becoming rough and sore from continually lifting the breeze blocks.

“Bad?” Amit had turned sideways to look at him.

Baz nodded. “Could be worse, though.”

“Yeah, well, it’ll get worse. There’s a medicine box in the slob room with plasters and stuff – under the sink. You can fix yourself up later. But that’s another rule: you don’t get sick. If you can’t work, they just send you back.”

The sound of a diesel engine drifted up from far below – 
dub-dub-dub-dub...

“Is that the boat?” said Baz.

“Yeah. Diving day today. They dive Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Trade Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. They’re usually late back, diving days, so it’ll be tomorrow morning before we have to unload whatever they bring back tonight. Clean it and sort it. And the other crew’ll be on the barrows.”

“Right.” Baz tried to imagine how Ray was going to cope with this. But if weedy Taps could manage it, then maybe anyone could. He drank the last of his water and said, “Can I go and fill this up from one of the water butts?”

“Sure,” said Amit. “You can do mine as well while you’re about it. Make it quick, though. We gotta start again in a few minutes. Three shifts to go. Next break we’ll try for a few blackberries over in the copse.”

As Baz stood up to go, Robbie said, “Hey, Baz...” He raised an empty Coke bottle. “Do mine, will ya?”

“OK. Er... what about you, Taps? You want some water?”

Taps sat up and looked around. “Beg pardon?” The kid seemed like he was in a permanent daze.

“I’m gonna get some water,” said Baz. “You want some?”

“Oh. Um, no thank you. It isn’t time for my water yet.”

Baz glanced down at Taps’s empty water bottle lying beside him on the grass. He might have said something more, but then he caught a look from Robbie – a pursing of the lips, a tiny shake of the head.

“OK.” Baz collected the offered bottles and made his way over towards the nearest of the water butts.

At the next break Baz was too dizzy and exhausted to even think. He collapsed with the others onto the patch of flattened grass, his head throbbing, forearm thrown across his eyes... and immediately saw an angel...

The angel was blue, transparent, a ghostly figure sailing horizontally above a darkened landscape. Huge storm clouds were coming over the skyline, rolling and boiling like smoke from a million burning tires. The angel floated past him from left to right, and at the last moment before disappearing she turned her head and spoke to him. Baz could see the angel’s lips moving but couldn’t catch the words, because now the storm was crashing towards him – just like before – and this time it got him. He was flung this way and that, caught up in the huge waves, helpless, choking, drowning...

“For Christ’s sake, Robbie. Over his forehead, not up his soddin’ nose.”

Baz sat up, spluttering, half blinded. Robbie was kneeling beside him with a water bottle poised in mid-air.

“What the hell are you doing?” Baz coughed and wiped his streaming face.

“Trying to wake you up, that’s what. You’ve been asleep nearly half an hour.”

“Jesus. I thought I was drowning...”

“Eat some of these. The sugar will help give you energy.”

Someone was standing over him, offering him something in cupped hands. But the hands were so strangely colored: inky blues and deep magentas. Baz brought his waterlogged vision into focus. It was Taps, reaching out towards him, his palms full of blackberries.

Load... walk... tip... walk... load...

Round and round the cycle continued, the hours passing in a tingling haze, his body locked into continual movement and almost numbed by it. Follow the person in front of you, stay ahead of the one behind. That was all you had to do: keep moving.