X-Isle (9 page)

The final break was the worst. Stretched out on the grass, motionless, Baz felt as though he had collapsed in the middle of a desert. The pain that had circled him while he was still walking now descended upon him like a vulture, tearing at his palms and fingertips, at his neck and shoulders and legs, rending him apart tendon by tendon, shred by shred. He was a bloodied carcass, flayed to the bone, helpless...

“Come on, Baz. Last shift.”

Up again somehow, and now the wheelbarrow handles felt as though they were poker-hot, burning into his raw palms, the weight of the breeze blocks threatening to pull his arms from their sockets. But still he kept going. And going.

In the late afternoon the skies opened and the steep tarmacked pathway became a treacherous torrent of water. Baz found it impossible to grip the slippery handles of the wheelbarrow, and he continually stumbled and fell, watching his load slide down the hill time and again. It broke him. The rain struck the top of his unprotected head with such force that it felt as though iron rods were bouncing off his skull, and he knew that he could do no more. Baz teetered and wobbled along the chipping pathway of the jetty, ready to throw himself into the sea along with his load of blocks rather than ever climb that hill again.

But perhaps the rain that finally bludgeoned him into submission also saved his life – because it didn’t fall on him alone. It fell on all around him, Steiner included.

“OK, that’s enough!” the capo’s hoarse voice yelled above the roar of the deluge. “Pack it in! Take the barrows back up top, and then get to the sort room.” Steiner hurried away towards the school building, one arm over his head for protection.

So the torture was at an end. The hill still had to be negotiated one more time, but knowing that it would be the last time gave Baz the will to find strength from somewhere. He tipped his blocks down into the sea. The power of the falling rain made the surface of the water look as though it were boiling, covered in a blanket of steam. Baz stood gazing at it for a few moments, then turned round.

OK, then. One last effort.

They stacked their wheelbarrows against a pallet of breeze blocks and staggered back down the hill, a wordless gang of scarecrows. Flip flop, flip flop. Baz was concentrating wholly on keeping his knees from buckling. The pain was another issue, something to be put aside and dealt with later. All his thinking was in his knee-joints. Don’t let them bend too far. Just stay upright.

Here are the steps to the school. One-two, one-two. Here’s the shelter of the entranceway, and there goes the hammering rain, behind them now.

The door to the sort room was open. Amit paused there for a moment, perhaps waiting for some unspoken permission to enter, then led the way in.

They congregated by the workbench, inter mingling with the other boys, heads down, water still streaming from them. Baz stared at the pool forming at his feet, watched it grow and break away, trickling in zigzags across the dusty floor to join another pool at the feet of the boy standing nearest to him: Taps.

“What d’you think then, Steiner?” Hutchinson said. “Reckon this lot’ll give us anymore trouble? Reckon they’ll be up for more fun and games tonight? Another early start tomorrow?”

Steiner said, “Couldn’t give a stuff. It’s up to them. Yeah, OK, Taps, you can get the tins. I want t’ same as last night – three meat, two spaghetti, two beans, two tomatoes.”

Baz raised his head. So here it was again – the food game. A moment of panic ran through him. If he was going to survive, then it was going to have to be on something more substantial than tomatoes. No way could he get through another day without food. And tomatoes didn’t count as food. Think, then.

Taps collected tins from various crates, counting them as he went, his mouth moving in silent whispers. He was slow, and it gave Baz a chance to study the faces around him, weigh up the competition. The other boys were watching Taps too. Only Ray met his eye, with an expression of – what? Sympathy? Worry? Baz turned away, trying to clear the wooziness in his head, to concentrate on the matter in hand. It was crucial that he figure out the odds, find some kind of strategy...

The tins were on the floor. Taps took up his former place, shuffling into the circle next to Baz.

“OK, Gene,” said Steiner. “You first.”

Gene stepped forward, same as he had yesterday, and took one of the three tins of meat. 
B/STEW.
 Baz studied the pattern and positions of the remaining tins. He inched a little closer to Taps.

“Who’s your top dog, Steiner?” Hutchinson shifted his clipboard from one arm to the other. Baz was alive to every twitch of movement in the room. He’d already made his decision – and his plan. He would go for the spag, the tin that was positioned between the two toms. Instinct and reasoning told him that it was least likely to be anyone else’s first choice. So concentrate on that and forget the rest.

“Got no top dog,” said Steiner.

What? This was a deviation from yesterday’s pattern. Baz tensed himself.

“’Cos they’re a total bunch of crap, the lot of ’em. All-of-you-ready-go!”

Baz was straight off the mark. He crashed into Taps, a deliberate and vicious shoulder-barge that sent the smaller boy spinning, and threw himself into a dive across the floor. His hand was on the tin of spaghetti so quickly, and so far ahead of the other flailing bodies, that it was almost a disappointment. He could have probably gone for the meat after all. As it was he still had time to knock a tin of beans away from Enoch and roll it towards Ray’s scrabbling fingers.

“Hey!” Enoch’s aggrieved voice was muffled in the general struggle. Baz untangled himself from the melee and stood up. But then one of his knees suddenly sagged and he wondered if he actually 
could
 stand up. He took an unsteady pace backwards, fell against the workbench, and remained there, using the bench for support. By now the others were back on their feet, each clutching whatever tin they had managed to get. Baz was aware of the looks that were directed towards him, the bewilderment of Taps, the outrage of Enoch, the gratitude of Ray, the scowling disappointment of Steiner. But he ignored them all.

He felt his breathing begin to relax into normality, and was amazed at himself. Shocked. He had entered this room barely able to stay upright, was struggling even now, and yet when it came to pure survival he had found some reserve of animal energy deep within him. And an animal he had momentarily become.

“OK,” said Hutchinson. “Back to the slob room.”

Baz pushed himself away from the workbench. He held his tin of spaghetti close, and focused on the open doorway ahead of him, taking it one step at a time.

Deep down he cared only about himself. Lying on his bed, unable to move, this was what he was starting to realize. He would do whatever was necessary to save his own skin, and if anybody got in his way, then tough. His assault on Taps was proof of that. A boy who had done him no harm, a boy who had collected blackberries for him out of sympathy. But what shocked him more than anything was how calculating he could be. Even in the act of helping Ray he had known that he was actually thinking of his own well-being. Because if Ray had proper food – something other than tomatoes – then there would be no question of feeling obliged to share his own food with him. And he had understood this in the moment that he had flicked the tin of beans away from Enoch.

Baz allowed his eyelids to droop. Had he always been this selfish? And was everybody else just as bad?

“Look after number one,” his dad had said. But could that be right? Baz was too tired to think about it anymore. Or to care.

His head spun away into the darkness, rolling over and over across the heavens, and he left the low murmuring voices of the other boys far behind him. But after what only seemed like a few moments he was tense and alert again. He’d felt something touching his hands, his fingers being gently prised apart. Someone was after his food!

“Gerroff me... you friggin’ thief!” Baz lashed out against his molester, opened his eyes, tried to sit up...

The bare light bulb danced above his head, scribbling wild patterns across his vision.

“Whoa – it’s OK. I’m just... just trying to...”

It was Ray, kneeling beside him. “Look – I’ve got some plasters and stuff.”

“What?”

“Plasters. There were some under the sink. You’re all bloody.”

Baz lay back down again and let out a long breath.

“For Chrissake, Ray. I was asleep. Ow – what are you playing at?” Baz felt sudden renewed pain in his hands. Ray had pressed a damp cloth, a T-shirt maybe, against one of his palms. The cloth smelled of disinfectant, and it stung like crazy.

“You gotta eat. Come on. Let me try and fix you up a bit.”

Baz was embarrassed, but could find no energy or will to resist. And anyway, it made sense. He allowed Ray to dab his hands with the wet cloth, juddering and wincing at each fresh wave of pain. It was hard to keep back the tears.

Dyson walked past on his way to the washroom. “What’s this – doctors and nurses?” he said. But then he paused and said, “Is it bad?”

“Take a look,” said Ray.

Dyson leaned over. “Ouch. Yeah, that’s bad. Your skin hardens up after a week or two, though. You’ll be OK.” He walked on.

“Might be better to leave it open tonight,” Ray said. “Let it all dry out a bit, and put the plasters on tomorrow.” He was holding one of Baz’s hands in his own, frowning as he studied the wounds, his eyes lowered in concentration beneath long dark lashes. Baz watched him.

“I found some Dettol,” murmured Ray. “It should help keep out the germs at least.” He looked up. “My mum used to be a nurse,” he said. “Before all this.”

“Yeah?” Baz felt vaguely uncomfortable. Here was a side to Ray that he’d never expected to see. He pulled his hand away, but then wondered if this action would seem ungrateful.

“Thanks,” he said.

Ray shrugged. “You’re probably going to have to do the same for me tomorrow. And anyway’ – he lowered his voice – ‘you got me the beans. Saved my life, that did. Want me to open your spaghetti for you?”

Baz struggled to sit up. “No. I can do it.” But every movement he made was agony, and he decided that he could use whatever help was on offer. “Yeah, go on, then. Thanks.”

CHAPTER
 
SIX

The deck of the 
Cormorant
 looked like a breaker’s yard. It was piled high with bits of rusty metal, a mountainous jumble of scrap, all of it smeared in stinking grey ooze.

Baz followed Amit across the gangplank, his limbs weak and unsteady, his eyesight bleary. He was exhausted before the day had even begun.

The heap of junk turned out to be tools – handsaws, planes, pliers and screwdrivers, hammers, bags of screws and nails, nuts and bolts, half a dozen fold-up workbenches. Yesterday’s dive must have been to some kind of DIY store.

“Isaac gets a good price for this kind of stuff,” said Amit, “when it’s cleaned up. Everybody wants tools on the mainland.”

Baz worked in the same team as before, although this time it was Hutchinson who was in charge. Amit and Robbie surreptitiously tried to give Baz the easier things to carry, and he was grateful for that, because he was struggling desperately to cope. Every bit of him ached. His plastered-up hands were quickly covered in muck, and apart from the stinging pain he was also worried about getting infection in there. It took a good couple of hours to unload the boat.

They brought the heavy crates to a patch of gravel outside the back door of the sort room. Here were two large plastic bathtubs, both filled with water, and it was here that the clean-up operation apparently began. The goods were tipped out of the crates into a great oozing heap on the gravel, ready to be immersed in water and scrubbed down.

“You get the worst of it off in the first tub,” said Amit, “and use the other one to give it a final rinse, yeah?”

The water in the first bath was already disgustingly filthy, and Baz could see long strands of hair floating on the surface. He swallowed and tried to keep from retching.

“Two to a tub, then,” said Amit. “We better get started.”

Baz took a deep breath and sank to his knees beside the first bathtub, opposite Taps. He felt his stomach heave, and thought he was going to throw up over the side of it.

But then the back doors to the sort room were opened, and Hutchinson appeared.

“You – newbie,” he said to Baz. “Get up. Come on – on your feet. You’ve got more important things to learn yet. Leave that, and go and work next to Gene. He’ll show you the codes.”

Baz pushed himself upright, relieved to be able to turn his back on that reeking grey soup. He followed Hutchinson into the heat of the sort room.

“Gene – get this kid shaped up,” Hutchinson called across the cluttered space. “Show him the codes. I’m off for a crap.”

“Well, that’s great to hear,” murmured Gene as Baz approached the workbench. “Tell us all about it, why don’t you?”

He turned to Baz and glanced down at his hands. “Take a minute to get washed up,” he said. “There’s a bucket in the corner. Clean plasters in that Tupperware box over there.”

Baz was so grateful that he felt tears spring to his eyes. “Thanks,” he said.

As well as an assortment of plasters, the Tupperware box contained a pack of multi-colored balloons. Big ones with 
PARTY TIME!
 printed on the side. Some party, thought Baz.

But this was so much better than yesterday. Baz stood next to Gene, an array of tins before him on the bench, and a thick black marker pen in his hand. There was a sheet of paper stuck to the back wall with masking tape, and on the paper were handwritten codes, groups of numbers and letters.

“Every tin has a code printed on it’ – Gene looked up from what he was doing – pulling a cigarette lighter apart with a pair of pliers, or so it seemed – ‘and you can tell what’s in there from that. Once you’ve learned the codes you can mark ’em up. You start with own brands. That’s the supermarket’s own stuff, not Heinz or anything. That comes later. Look – grab that tin just there... yeah, that one. That’s Somerby’s. They’re dead easy ’cos they just have a little box with three letters. CCS, or whatever. What does that one say?”