Dear Lynch,
That's wonderful news about the school! I was always sure you'd get a place, but it's great to know for certain that you'll be going. Mari was so pleased when I told her. She says to wish you good luck and tell you to come and visit her at the library any time that you want.
How's life in the big city? It seemed like a nice enough place, but I only saw it for a few hours when I helped you drop off your things. I miss you, by the way. I wish you could have kept on living with us like you did before, but it's probably best that you go study. At least you won't have to worry about money like a regular student; they said on the news that your compensation was going to be in the hundred thousands.
I've seen you plenty on TV, of course. They had you on all the news channels last night giving evidence to the tribunal. And that interview you did was on the front page of all the papers. You look very grown-up in the pictures. I can't believe you've only just turned seventeen. I like what you've done with your hair, by the way. It definitely beats the bald look.
I've given a few interviews myself, but none as high-profile. And Darren's had to give evidence twice now. To be honest I'll be glad when it all dies down and we can put the whole thing behind us. Mum and Dad say that if everything is quiet by the summertime we'll go on holiday together. All of us, me and them and Darren . . . and you too, of course, if you'll come?
Write back soon, Lynch.
With Love,
Laura
Monday, 21 May 2012
Friday, 18 May 2012
Part Three, Chapter Ten
The gun kicks. There is the deafening slam of a gunshot. When I open my eyes it is to see Ingleman stumbling backwards, hands grasping at his neck. Blood escapes between his fingers. More than anything he looks surprised, astonished even. His eyes meet mine, but it's like he's looking past me, at some other person entirely. No recognition there. No more cruelty. And he stumbles again, this time towards the edge of the helipad.
Suddenly Laura's there, by his side, head down, determined. She's screaming, but I can't hear what. She shoves into him and sends him reeling and he stumbles like a drunk to the very edge of the platform and teeters there for just a second. Just a second and then he falls. I hear the thump of him landing like a sack of meat, and I know in that second that Ingleman is dead. The man who tortured me, who took Laura's brother, who organised the kidnap and vivisection of all those children is finally no more.
All the same I walk to the edge to check. He lies down there, broken and bloody, staring up with unseeing eyes.
A wave of tiredness and pain runs through me. My throat hurts. My lungs hurt. My leg is in agony. I've never felt this exhausted in my life, even after days spend in the labs. The gun falls from my hands, and for a moment I think I'm about to follow it, but Laura catches me by the shoulders and helps me to sit down on the edge of the helipad, then lie down. Distantly I can still here the shouts and shots of the battle being fought on the main deck of the ship. All I can see are the stars.
"It's okay," she says. "It'll be over soon. We'll get help soon." She's crying and I think that I'm crying too. "We're okay," she says, over and over. And then, just as I'm starting to feel drowsy she grabs my shoulder. "Look," she says, "Here they are." I raise my head just enough to see a small band of army men in black uniforms making their way towards us. Then I slump back to the deck and find Laura's face looking down at me, and I smile at her.
"Thank you," I say.
It's all confused after that. I drift in and out. One second I'm lying on the deck, and the next I'm being loaded onto a stretcher by the army men and carried down the stairs. Laura's by my side, holding my hand, and then she's gone. I drift out. I drift in. The men set me down on a trolley and I look around for my friend. At first I can't make her out from the confusion of bodies moving around me, but then I catch sight of her across the deck of the ship. She's hugging a blond-haired boy dressed in grey overalls, and he's hugging her back. I drift out. I drift in and Laura's there again, holding my hand, telling me that they found him, they found him, they found her brother. And the boy who helped me escape so long ago, so many long ages ago is there too smiling and holding my hand. And Laura's telling me that it was Mari, it was all down to Mari, she found our letter and she went straight to a friend of hers, a retired colonel, and he went straight to his friend, and by the time we were taken they were already planning a strike on the Academy. And Mari is waiting for us, Laura says, she wants to see us, she wants to see us, wants to talk to us . . . and so does every journalist in the country.
I drift out. The last thing I hear is Laura's voice. The last thing I feel is her hand on the side of my face. "It's over now, Lynch. It'll all be okay."
Suddenly Laura's there, by his side, head down, determined. She's screaming, but I can't hear what. She shoves into him and sends him reeling and he stumbles like a drunk to the very edge of the platform and teeters there for just a second. Just a second and then he falls. I hear the thump of him landing like a sack of meat, and I know in that second that Ingleman is dead. The man who tortured me, who took Laura's brother, who organised the kidnap and vivisection of all those children is finally no more.
All the same I walk to the edge to check. He lies down there, broken and bloody, staring up with unseeing eyes.
A wave of tiredness and pain runs through me. My throat hurts. My lungs hurt. My leg is in agony. I've never felt this exhausted in my life, even after days spend in the labs. The gun falls from my hands, and for a moment I think I'm about to follow it, but Laura catches me by the shoulders and helps me to sit down on the edge of the helipad, then lie down. Distantly I can still here the shouts and shots of the battle being fought on the main deck of the ship. All I can see are the stars.
"It's okay," she says. "It'll be over soon. We'll get help soon." She's crying and I think that I'm crying too. "We're okay," she says, over and over. And then, just as I'm starting to feel drowsy she grabs my shoulder. "Look," she says, "Here they are." I raise my head just enough to see a small band of army men in black uniforms making their way towards us. Then I slump back to the deck and find Laura's face looking down at me, and I smile at her.
"Thank you," I say.
It's all confused after that. I drift in and out. One second I'm lying on the deck, and the next I'm being loaded onto a stretcher by the army men and carried down the stairs. Laura's by my side, holding my hand, and then she's gone. I drift out. I drift in. The men set me down on a trolley and I look around for my friend. At first I can't make her out from the confusion of bodies moving around me, but then I catch sight of her across the deck of the ship. She's hugging a blond-haired boy dressed in grey overalls, and he's hugging her back. I drift out. I drift in and Laura's there again, holding my hand, telling me that they found him, they found him, they found her brother. And the boy who helped me escape so long ago, so many long ages ago is there too smiling and holding my hand. And Laura's telling me that it was Mari, it was all down to Mari, she found our letter and she went straight to a friend of hers, a retired colonel, and he went straight to his friend, and by the time we were taken they were already planning a strike on the Academy. And Mari is waiting for us, Laura says, she wants to see us, she wants to see us, wants to talk to us . . . and so does every journalist in the country.
I drift out. The last thing I hear is Laura's voice. The last thing I feel is her hand on the side of my face. "It's over now, Lynch. It'll all be okay."
Monday, 14 May 2012
Part Three, Chapter Nine
My legs kick weakly against the decking. My fingers scrabble at his arms. His grip is like iron, like a vice closing around my neck. His face grins down at me, eyes wide, insane. The last thing I'll ever see, fading and fading and fading. It doesn't even hurt anymore. Now it just feels like I'm floating. I think vaguely of Laura and of Darren and of all the other poor children this man has hurt . . . but there's nothing I can do anymore. I feel a sense of terrible disappointment.
And then suddenly my vision clears, the pain comes crashing back like a knife through my neck. I gasp, drawing in a huge whoop of air that burns even as it flows into my lungs. I struggle to find my feet, the world seeming to tilt and turn crazily about me.
I see Ingleman on his knees a few metres away from me, Laura clinging to his back. He tries to throw her off but she clings there, arm tight around his neck. She won't last long, I know. Ingleman's strong, and Laura's no fighter. I struggle to my feet, every limb feeling weak and swollen. I just mange to stand before a massive wave of pain rolls through me, emanating from my leg. I look down to see that below the knee I'm covered in blood, so much of it that it's pooling on the deck. I feel faint. I grit my teeth. The faintness passes.
There, not more than a metre away from me is a pistol. Ingleman's gun; he must have dropped it when I attacked him. I lean down to pick it up, but end up falling to my knees. My hands close around it and I find the trigger and raise it and point it at the struggling pair of figures on the deck in front of me. Laura's still clinging to Ingleman's back, but as I watch he manages to whip his arm back and land a punch on her face that looks as though it breaks her nose. Blood spatters and Laura gives a muffled cry of pain. Triumphant, Ingleman rises to his feet, shedding Laura like a cloak. As he turns to kick her he catches sight of me holding a gun on him, and freezes.
My arms are sagging under the weight of the pistol. My vision is blurred. I don't even know if the safety is off, or how to remove it if it is. The moment stretches. Slowly Ingleman raises his arms. Even slower, he starts walking towards me.
"Now, little girl," he says calmly. "I want you to give that to me."
"Shut up," I say. I aim low, at his chest, and pull the trigger.
Nothing happens.
The trigger stops short, as if there's something blocking it. And I see the light of triumph in Ingleman's face, and he lunges forward, and I fumble with the gun, searching, stumbling back, knowing that there's no time, knowing that I've got it wrong. And Ingleman's so close, hands reaching for me, and something clicks on the side of the gun, a lever flicks into place, and I shut my eyes and aim wildly and pull the trigger.
And then suddenly my vision clears, the pain comes crashing back like a knife through my neck. I gasp, drawing in a huge whoop of air that burns even as it flows into my lungs. I struggle to find my feet, the world seeming to tilt and turn crazily about me.
I see Ingleman on his knees a few metres away from me, Laura clinging to his back. He tries to throw her off but she clings there, arm tight around his neck. She won't last long, I know. Ingleman's strong, and Laura's no fighter. I struggle to my feet, every limb feeling weak and swollen. I just mange to stand before a massive wave of pain rolls through me, emanating from my leg. I look down to see that below the knee I'm covered in blood, so much of it that it's pooling on the deck. I feel faint. I grit my teeth. The faintness passes.
There, not more than a metre away from me is a pistol. Ingleman's gun; he must have dropped it when I attacked him. I lean down to pick it up, but end up falling to my knees. My hands close around it and I find the trigger and raise it and point it at the struggling pair of figures on the deck in front of me. Laura's still clinging to Ingleman's back, but as I watch he manages to whip his arm back and land a punch on her face that looks as though it breaks her nose. Blood spatters and Laura gives a muffled cry of pain. Triumphant, Ingleman rises to his feet, shedding Laura like a cloak. As he turns to kick her he catches sight of me holding a gun on him, and freezes.
My arms are sagging under the weight of the pistol. My vision is blurred. I don't even know if the safety is off, or how to remove it if it is. The moment stretches. Slowly Ingleman raises his arms. Even slower, he starts walking towards me.
"Now, little girl," he says calmly. "I want you to give that to me."
"Shut up," I say. I aim low, at his chest, and pull the trigger.
Nothing happens.
The trigger stops short, as if there's something blocking it. And I see the light of triumph in Ingleman's face, and he lunges forward, and I fumble with the gun, searching, stumbling back, knowing that there's no time, knowing that I've got it wrong. And Ingleman's so close, hands reaching for me, and something clicks on the side of the gun, a lever flicks into place, and I shut my eyes and aim wildly and pull the trigger.
Friday, 11 May 2012
Part Three, Chapter Eight
The sound of the battle becomes distant as I descend. I'm now cut off from the fight by a tall row of metal cabins. This end of the ship is all but deserted; just me and Ingleman. As I duck and sprint through the tangle of pipes and vents and railings I expect any second to hear the pitch of the helicopter rotors change, to see it rise up into the sky, bearing Ingleman away from me safe and sound. The thought of it makes me sick. After all he's done . . .
Finally I reach the metal staircase that leads up to the helipad. I grab the railing and jump up three steps at a time, only pausing when I reach the top. Up here the noise of the rotors is deafening. They're spinning at full speed, but Ingleman still hasn't taken off. Is he waiting for someone? Or did one of my shots damage the helicopter somehow? Either way, he's there and he knows I'm coming. I'll have to be careful.
Heart thudding, I move up to the very top of the stairs, keeping my head down below the level of the edge of the helipad. I realise now how defenceless I am without a weapon, dizzy and weak from lack of blood. Just a little girl, really. But I'm the only one who's here to stop him.
I take a few calming breaths and then quickly stick my head up and take a look before ducking back down. Sparks fly off the metal near my head, and there's the heavy thunk of metal hitting metal. I huddle down onto the steps. Ingleman's there sure enough, and he's got a gun pointed right at where I'm hiding.
"Lynch," I hear him bellow over the rotor noise. "What a surprise to see you here." Even now, even as his Academy falls apart around him there's a note of such certainty, such power in his voice. It makes my stomach turn to water, the adrenaline flooding coldly from my body. "Come to kill me, have you girl? Come to take your petty stab at vengeance?"
"The army are here," I shout back, hearing the fear in my voice. "They're coming. They won't let you get away."
"It won't be up to them to let me do anything," says Ingleman calmly. "You'll be amazed at what's possible with money and resources." He's moving closer, I'm sure of it. Little by little I can hear his voice edging nearer. I'm rooted to the spot, cowering there, waiting. "This isn't the end, little girl. This is little more than a setback, and a minor one at that."
"You're evil," I yell, not even sure what I'm saying. "You took children. You took children and you used them for your experiments. You can tell yourself it's all for the good but you're wrong, you bastard. You're wrong and they're going to get you and you'll spend the rest of your life dead or in prison."
His voice comes again, this time almost right above me. "You really are bitter, aren't--" But before he can finish his sentence I've jumped to my feet and flung myself up onto the helipad. He's standing even closer than I thought, and I cannon straight into his legs and knock him to the ground. As he falls the gun goes off in his hands and feel a hot, heavy impact just above my foot. The whole of that leg goes numb. I land beside Ingleman on the decking, scramble around and grab him by the neck.
But he's ready for me. His elbow slams back into my face, sending a wave of pain through my head. My grip weakens, and he turns, breaks from me, seizes my collar and slams me down against the metal, hard. He's on top of me, and his hands fasten around my neck and start to squeeze.
"I should have done this long ago," he grunts, his face wild, his hair sweat-slicked and dishevelled. His thumbs press into my neck. I taste blood. Everything starts to go dark.
Finally I reach the metal staircase that leads up to the helipad. I grab the railing and jump up three steps at a time, only pausing when I reach the top. Up here the noise of the rotors is deafening. They're spinning at full speed, but Ingleman still hasn't taken off. Is he waiting for someone? Or did one of my shots damage the helicopter somehow? Either way, he's there and he knows I'm coming. I'll have to be careful.
Heart thudding, I move up to the very top of the stairs, keeping my head down below the level of the edge of the helipad. I realise now how defenceless I am without a weapon, dizzy and weak from lack of blood. Just a little girl, really. But I'm the only one who's here to stop him.
I take a few calming breaths and then quickly stick my head up and take a look before ducking back down. Sparks fly off the metal near my head, and there's the heavy thunk of metal hitting metal. I huddle down onto the steps. Ingleman's there sure enough, and he's got a gun pointed right at where I'm hiding.
"Lynch," I hear him bellow over the rotor noise. "What a surprise to see you here." Even now, even as his Academy falls apart around him there's a note of such certainty, such power in his voice. It makes my stomach turn to water, the adrenaline flooding coldly from my body. "Come to kill me, have you girl? Come to take your petty stab at vengeance?"
"The army are here," I shout back, hearing the fear in my voice. "They're coming. They won't let you get away."
"It won't be up to them to let me do anything," says Ingleman calmly. "You'll be amazed at what's possible with money and resources." He's moving closer, I'm sure of it. Little by little I can hear his voice edging nearer. I'm rooted to the spot, cowering there, waiting. "This isn't the end, little girl. This is little more than a setback, and a minor one at that."
"You're evil," I yell, not even sure what I'm saying. "You took children. You took children and you used them for your experiments. You can tell yourself it's all for the good but you're wrong, you bastard. You're wrong and they're going to get you and you'll spend the rest of your life dead or in prison."
His voice comes again, this time almost right above me. "You really are bitter, aren't--" But before he can finish his sentence I've jumped to my feet and flung myself up onto the helipad. He's standing even closer than I thought, and I cannon straight into his legs and knock him to the ground. As he falls the gun goes off in his hands and feel a hot, heavy impact just above my foot. The whole of that leg goes numb. I land beside Ingleman on the decking, scramble around and grab him by the neck.
But he's ready for me. His elbow slams back into my face, sending a wave of pain through my head. My grip weakens, and he turns, breaks from me, seizes my collar and slams me down against the metal, hard. He's on top of me, and his hands fasten around my neck and start to squeeze.
"I should have done this long ago," he grunts, his face wild, his hair sweat-slicked and dishevelled. His thumbs press into my neck. I taste blood. Everything starts to go dark.
Monday, 7 May 2012
Part Three, Chapter Seven
We step out and I quickly grab Laura and drag her down behind a nearby vent stack. We're at deck level, and there's a pitched battle taking place. Over at one edge of the ship a small group of Academy wardens and scientists have taken up position behind a line of metal crates and barrels. They're shooting across the deck at a group of men dressed in black, who are taking cover in among the pipework and vent stacks that cover the deck. My heart lifts; it can only be the army.
Even as we watch a helicopter sweeps low overhead. I see a few of the Academy wardens aim up at it, sparks flying from the muzzles of their weapons. The copter tilts and roars away from the line of fire. The attacking soldiers have used the opportunity to gain some ground. Two more of them come clambering over the railing at the side of the ship and hunker down in cover.
Just then there's an explosion that lights up the night sky. I duck back into cover; someone must be using grenades. There's a guttering scream, and I smell burning thick in the air. Feet hammer by not far from where we hide; a pair of Academy men go running past, then stop just in front of us to take aim at the soldiers.
Without thinking I point the rifle at their back and squeeze the trigger. One man falls, and the rifle kicks so hard in my hands I almost drop it. The other man has halfway turned when I shoot him in the neck. He drops, twitching. Laura screams and huddles down against the vent stack, covering her ears.
"It's okay," I yell to her. "We're going to be okay." I drop down with my back against the metal, every muscle in my body humming with the adrenaline.
There's the noise of a helicopter rotor. At first I think the one I saw before has returned for another run at the Academy fighters, but then I turn and see a second craft. This one, a small black bug of a machine, has not yet taken flight. It sits on an elevated platform at the rear of the ship, its rotors gaining speed as it prepares to fly. There, climbing into the pilot's seat, is Ingleman.
My breath catches in my throat. Even from this distance there's no mistaking him. I can't believe it; he's getting away. Even as his men fight and die to protect his investment he's busy saving his own skin. I glance back towards the battle being fought on the main deck; both sides are entrenched. The army has moved forward as far as it can, but the Academy men are holding them back with grenades. By the time it's all over Ingleman could be miles away.
I can't let that happen. I won't.
"Lynch, wait . . ." Laura calls, but I've already taken off running towards the stationary helicopter. It's not far off, but to get there I have to climb down onto a lower deck, sprint through a maze of pipework and venting, then climb back up again onto the launch pad. At the top of the first set of steps I pause, kneel, and take aim with the rifle. The helicopter jitters in the sights; with the pain and the adrenaline I can't stop shaking. I squeeze the trigger once, twice, three times, loosing a dozen wild shots into the night until at last it clicks empty. I see sparks fly from the metal of the helipad, and I see Ingleman duck down and shield his head with his arms, then fling himself into the cockpit.
None of the shots him home. Cursing, I fling the gun aside and sprint down the steps.
Even as we watch a helicopter sweeps low overhead. I see a few of the Academy wardens aim up at it, sparks flying from the muzzles of their weapons. The copter tilts and roars away from the line of fire. The attacking soldiers have used the opportunity to gain some ground. Two more of them come clambering over the railing at the side of the ship and hunker down in cover.
Just then there's an explosion that lights up the night sky. I duck back into cover; someone must be using grenades. There's a guttering scream, and I smell burning thick in the air. Feet hammer by not far from where we hide; a pair of Academy men go running past, then stop just in front of us to take aim at the soldiers.
Without thinking I point the rifle at their back and squeeze the trigger. One man falls, and the rifle kicks so hard in my hands I almost drop it. The other man has halfway turned when I shoot him in the neck. He drops, twitching. Laura screams and huddles down against the vent stack, covering her ears.
"It's okay," I yell to her. "We're going to be okay." I drop down with my back against the metal, every muscle in my body humming with the adrenaline.
There's the noise of a helicopter rotor. At first I think the one I saw before has returned for another run at the Academy fighters, but then I turn and see a second craft. This one, a small black bug of a machine, has not yet taken flight. It sits on an elevated platform at the rear of the ship, its rotors gaining speed as it prepares to fly. There, climbing into the pilot's seat, is Ingleman.
My breath catches in my throat. Even from this distance there's no mistaking him. I can't believe it; he's getting away. Even as his men fight and die to protect his investment he's busy saving his own skin. I glance back towards the battle being fought on the main deck; both sides are entrenched. The army has moved forward as far as it can, but the Academy men are holding them back with grenades. By the time it's all over Ingleman could be miles away.
I can't let that happen. I won't.
"Lynch, wait . . ." Laura calls, but I've already taken off running towards the stationary helicopter. It's not far off, but to get there I have to climb down onto a lower deck, sprint through a maze of pipework and venting, then climb back up again onto the launch pad. At the top of the first set of steps I pause, kneel, and take aim with the rifle. The helicopter jitters in the sights; with the pain and the adrenaline I can't stop shaking. I squeeze the trigger once, twice, three times, loosing a dozen wild shots into the night until at last it clicks empty. I see sparks fly from the metal of the helipad, and I see Ingleman duck down and shield his head with his arms, then fling himself into the cockpit.
None of the shots him home. Cursing, I fling the gun aside and sprint down the steps.
Friday, 4 May 2012
Part Three, Chapter Six
He turns, but by the time he does it's too late. Laura slams into him and knocks him down. His gloved hand releases my hair. His rifle clatters to the floor, and he follows it with a shout of surprise. Laura lands on top of him, and she's hitting him with her cuffed hands, hard. The man tries to throw her off, but she just keeps hitting him and hitting him. His head snaps to the side and blood spatters onto the floor. Laura's sobbing and screaming. She leaps off him, stumbles, grabs the rifle up off the floor. She can't hold it properly with her hands still cuffed, but she pulls it tight against her side and points it down at him. The man twitches on the floor like a broken insect. He's clearly unconscious.
"Laura!" I yell. With a sob she drops the rifle and comes stumbling over to me.
"Lynch . . . oh, God, your ear . . ." Her hands flutter over the place where Ingleman cut me. It looks like she wants to help me, but she doesn't know how.
"It's okay," I lie. "Get me untied." Laura nods and starts working at the braces that hold my arms. She gets one undone, and then I use my free arm to undo the other while she unclips my legs. As I stand a rush of blood flows to my head and I stumble, dizzy. Laura catches me. I feel the blood still running down the side of my neck. It's all happened so fast that I can't take it in.
The room shakes again. I hear the sound of a dull and distant explosion. An alarm starts to sound, rising and falling somewhere in the depths of the ship.
"What's going on?" says Laura. "What's happening?"
I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. We've got to get away. We might not get another chance. Come on. Get the gun."
Laura picks up the rifle and passes it to me, and we make our way to the door. I hold the gun up, brace it against my shoulder and put my finger over the trigger.
"Open it," I say. Laura lets me stand by myself and hauls the heavy handle of the door up. It swings open. I duck out, checking left and right. Nobody there. We're in a windowless corridor that stretches off dimly in either direction.
"This way," I say to Laura, picking a direction at random. We start to run, Laura hiccupping and gasping softly behind me. My head throbs heavily and adrenaline courses through my body. I feel like any second I'm about to burn up, explode like a star gone supernova.
At the end of the corridor is another door, and on the other side a staircase. We hurry up, feet hammering on the metal steps. Two floors, then three. How far down can we be? Just as we set foot on the next flight of stairs the door at the top bursts open, and two Academy wardens come barrelling through. Instinctively me and Laura fling ourselves back against the wall, but there's no need. The wardens don't even notice us as they sprint away up the stairs.
The door they came through is still swinging shut when we reach it. We head through and find ourselves running along a kind of balcony that looks out over a cargo bay. It's huge, big enough to hold a street of houses with room left over. Down there are stacks of metal boxes and Academy equipment, as well as half a dozen big black jeeps. A few Academy personnel are scurrying about in a panic, but they're too busy to notice us.
"Here," cries Laura, "Through here." She grabs my arm and hauls me through an open door into a short, darkened corridor on the other side. At the far end there's a metal door with a porthole set in the middle, through which I can see a tiny disc of the night time sky. Me and Laura fling ourselves against the door, haul up the handle and fling it open.
A gust of cool air rushes in and over us. Out there on the deck of the ship, everything is chaos.
"Laura!" I yell. With a sob she drops the rifle and comes stumbling over to me.
"Lynch . . . oh, God, your ear . . ." Her hands flutter over the place where Ingleman cut me. It looks like she wants to help me, but she doesn't know how.
"It's okay," I lie. "Get me untied." Laura nods and starts working at the braces that hold my arms. She gets one undone, and then I use my free arm to undo the other while she unclips my legs. As I stand a rush of blood flows to my head and I stumble, dizzy. Laura catches me. I feel the blood still running down the side of my neck. It's all happened so fast that I can't take it in.
The room shakes again. I hear the sound of a dull and distant explosion. An alarm starts to sound, rising and falling somewhere in the depths of the ship.
"What's going on?" says Laura. "What's happening?"
I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. We've got to get away. We might not get another chance. Come on. Get the gun."
Laura picks up the rifle and passes it to me, and we make our way to the door. I hold the gun up, brace it against my shoulder and put my finger over the trigger.
"Open it," I say. Laura lets me stand by myself and hauls the heavy handle of the door up. It swings open. I duck out, checking left and right. Nobody there. We're in a windowless corridor that stretches off dimly in either direction.
"This way," I say to Laura, picking a direction at random. We start to run, Laura hiccupping and gasping softly behind me. My head throbs heavily and adrenaline courses through my body. I feel like any second I'm about to burn up, explode like a star gone supernova.
At the end of the corridor is another door, and on the other side a staircase. We hurry up, feet hammering on the metal steps. Two floors, then three. How far down can we be? Just as we set foot on the next flight of stairs the door at the top bursts open, and two Academy wardens come barrelling through. Instinctively me and Laura fling ourselves back against the wall, but there's no need. The wardens don't even notice us as they sprint away up the stairs.
The door they came through is still swinging shut when we reach it. We head through and find ourselves running along a kind of balcony that looks out over a cargo bay. It's huge, big enough to hold a street of houses with room left over. Down there are stacks of metal boxes and Academy equipment, as well as half a dozen big black jeeps. A few Academy personnel are scurrying about in a panic, but they're too busy to notice us.
"Here," cries Laura, "Through here." She grabs my arm and hauls me through an open door into a short, darkened corridor on the other side. At the far end there's a metal door with a porthole set in the middle, through which I can see a tiny disc of the night time sky. Me and Laura fling ourselves against the door, haul up the handle and fling it open.
A gust of cool air rushes in and over us. Out there on the deck of the ship, everything is chaos.
Monday, 30 April 2012
Part Three, Chapter Five
I can't help it anymore. I start to scream. Wordless noise, begging him to stop, pleading with him, crying. He ignores me. A palm forces my head to one side, exposing my ear. Pain flowers at the side of my head, hot and razoring and unbearable. I feel blood spatter onto my shoulder, soaking still-warm into my clothes. Laura's screaming too, and I hear her dimly through the pain. The pain plunges like a spear down through my body, and all I can think of is that. I swear I can feel the flesh being cut. There is nothing else in the world.
Ingleman pushes my head the other way. I kick and pull feebly at my restraints, but it's useless. "No . . . Please . . ." I see the knife, now dripping blood, darting through the air towards me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. But the expected pain doesn't come; instead there's a deep, shuddering rumble that seems to come up through the floor. Ingleman releases me and I sag forward in the chair. I'm shaking and the side of my head is a mess of agonising pain. I can't hear anything at all through that ear, as if it's underwater. I can feel the blood flowing freely down my cheek though.
The rumble comes again. I risk a glance up and see Ingleman standing there looking plainly confused. His shirt, I see with a sickening jolt, is spotted with blood, and he still hold the knife. As I watch he turns to the two guards and barks an order that I don't hear. He tucks the knife into his belt and sweeps from the room, one of the guards in his wake. The other remains, rifle held steady, keeping watch over me and Laura.
A wave of dizziness hits me and I sag forward again. I realise I can still hear through my un-mutilated ear, and that Laura is shouting at the guard, screaming at him, calling him a string of filthy names, telling him to let her go. He ignores her. A moment later I feel a gloved hand seize my hair and slam my head back against the chair. The guard is holding me there, staring at the bleeding wound where my ear used to be with something that looks like fascination.
I turn my gaze away from him. In the very corner of my eye I can still see Laura. I see her sit up. I see her duck her cuffed hands underneath her legs, one by one, so that she ends up sitting with her hands bound in front of her rather than behind. And I see her stand up in one fluid movement and leap towards the guard.
Ingleman pushes my head the other way. I kick and pull feebly at my restraints, but it's useless. "No . . . Please . . ." I see the knife, now dripping blood, darting through the air towards me, and I squeeze my eyes shut. But the expected pain doesn't come; instead there's a deep, shuddering rumble that seems to come up through the floor. Ingleman releases me and I sag forward in the chair. I'm shaking and the side of my head is a mess of agonising pain. I can't hear anything at all through that ear, as if it's underwater. I can feel the blood flowing freely down my cheek though.
The rumble comes again. I risk a glance up and see Ingleman standing there looking plainly confused. His shirt, I see with a sickening jolt, is spotted with blood, and he still hold the knife. As I watch he turns to the two guards and barks an order that I don't hear. He tucks the knife into his belt and sweeps from the room, one of the guards in his wake. The other remains, rifle held steady, keeping watch over me and Laura.
A wave of dizziness hits me and I sag forward again. I realise I can still hear through my un-mutilated ear, and that Laura is shouting at the guard, screaming at him, calling him a string of filthy names, telling him to let her go. He ignores her. A moment later I feel a gloved hand seize my hair and slam my head back against the chair. The guard is holding me there, staring at the bleeding wound where my ear used to be with something that looks like fascination.
I turn my gaze away from him. In the very corner of my eye I can still see Laura. I see her sit up. I see her duck her cuffed hands underneath her legs, one by one, so that she ends up sitting with her hands bound in front of her rather than behind. And I see her stand up in one fluid movement and leap towards the guard.
Friday, 27 April 2012
Part Three, Chapter Four
The wardens seize me, lift me bodily and slam me into the chair. They undo the cuffs around my arms and wrestle them to the arms of the chair, locking them in place inside thick metal braces. The same goes for my legs. The braces are so strong; they make me feel tiny, pathetic, like a child trying to lift a car. It is hopeless, and I know it's hopeless.
The wardens retreat to the back of the room and Ingleman comes to stand in front of me. From somewhere he's obtained a knife, a dark black plastic thing with a moulded grip and a serrated edge. He points it at the direct centre of my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
"Sometimes," he says calmly, and to me his voice sounds loud, deafening, like the voice of God. "Sometimes, in order for the whole to benefit, there must be pain. The work we did at the Academy, for example." He's talking normally, casually, as though having a conversation over dinner. "We conducted experiments that would benefit thousands. We built powerful weapons that ensured peace in unstable countries. We tested drugs to help rid society of dangerous criminals. We even advanced our understanding of the capabilities of the human body beyond the previous limits of medical science." He pauses here, but I keep my eyes shut, heart thundering, hating his voice, and yet dreading the moment when he finishes talking. I can still hear Laura sobbing in the corner. How can he make her watch this? "All very admirable, and necessary, I'm sure you'll agree. But in order for these advances, there had to be pain, and sacrifice. You know that better than anyone. Nothing in this world was ever accomplished without those two things." I feel his breath bouncing off my face. Hot and close. He's almost whispering, now. "Pain and sacrifice. For the greater good, of course. Like now, to give another example. Now when this whole grand project finds itself in jeopardy because of the actions of one little girl. In order for there to be progress, the Academy must continue. And in order for the Academy to continue I must know who you told your little stories to. In order to know who you told there must, you understand, be pain."
I sense him withdraw, and then there is the longest silence of my life. It stretches into minutes, each second that creeps by seeming like an eternity. At last, unable to stand it any longer, I open my eyes a tiny crack. Ingleman is standing directly in front of me, the knife levelled with my face, his expression set and hard.
"So you see," he says smoothly, "this is all rather necessary."
And then he moves, and I shut my eyes.
The wardens retreat to the back of the room and Ingleman comes to stand in front of me. From somewhere he's obtained a knife, a dark black plastic thing with a moulded grip and a serrated edge. He points it at the direct centre of my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
"Sometimes," he says calmly, and to me his voice sounds loud, deafening, like the voice of God. "Sometimes, in order for the whole to benefit, there must be pain. The work we did at the Academy, for example." He's talking normally, casually, as though having a conversation over dinner. "We conducted experiments that would benefit thousands. We built powerful weapons that ensured peace in unstable countries. We tested drugs to help rid society of dangerous criminals. We even advanced our understanding of the capabilities of the human body beyond the previous limits of medical science." He pauses here, but I keep my eyes shut, heart thundering, hating his voice, and yet dreading the moment when he finishes talking. I can still hear Laura sobbing in the corner. How can he make her watch this? "All very admirable, and necessary, I'm sure you'll agree. But in order for these advances, there had to be pain, and sacrifice. You know that better than anyone. Nothing in this world was ever accomplished without those two things." I feel his breath bouncing off my face. Hot and close. He's almost whispering, now. "Pain and sacrifice. For the greater good, of course. Like now, to give another example. Now when this whole grand project finds itself in jeopardy because of the actions of one little girl. In order for there to be progress, the Academy must continue. And in order for the Academy to continue I must know who you told your little stories to. In order to know who you told there must, you understand, be pain."
I sense him withdraw, and then there is the longest silence of my life. It stretches into minutes, each second that creeps by seeming like an eternity. At last, unable to stand it any longer, I open my eyes a tiny crack. Ingleman is standing directly in front of me, the knife levelled with my face, his expression set and hard.
"So you see," he says smoothly, "this is all rather necessary."
And then he moves, and I shut my eyes.
Monday, 23 April 2012
Part Three, Chapter Three
The helicopter comes into a bumpy landing, and the roar of the rotors dies away. One of the wardens jumps up and pulls me to my feet, shoving me out ahead of him through the side door of the cabin. The hop down to the landing pad almost makes my legs give way, but somehow I remain standing. We're on the very top deck of the ship, looking down over a metal rail at the lower decks. Down there, everything is metal. Pipes and conduits spread like tangled vines over the armoured decking. A series of small cranes are busy winching aboard metal crates and bulky pieces of equipment. Wardens and Academy scientists mill about everywhere. They're loading up the Academy, all their sick research, all their implements of torture, all their guns and weapons. I wonder if they're bringing their test subjects with them as well, or if they were considered disposable. After all, wherever Ingleman chooses to take his little project there's bound to be children available for the taking. For a moment I think of Laura's brother, Darren. It feels like a hand squeezing at my heart. I hope for her sake he's still alive.
Before I can see anything more the hood is pulled over my head once more, and the warden starts shoving me along the deck. The noise of all the activity becomes muffled, and I sense that we've passed through a door. I hear our footsteps clanking along the metal floor. I hear my own breathing. I hear Laura's pained and wretched sobs.
We descend a flight of stairs, then another. Turn left then right then left again. Within minutes I'm completely disorientated. Lost in the metal belly of this hideous ship. I'm never going to walk out, I think madly. This is it. I've seen the sky for the last time. I'm going to die down here, like a beast in a slaughterhouse.
We turn once more, and then my warden rips the hood from my head and shoves me, hard, sending me toppling to the ground. A second later Laura tumbles down beside me. With her hood removed I can see that her face is stained by tears, and swollen below one eye. They must have hit her. Her eyes meet mine and she mouths my name.
"It'll be okay," I say. "We'll be okay. Just be calm." I don't even know what I'm saying. Just meaningless noise to stop her panicking. To stop myself panicking. Vainly, I hope it will happen quickly, when it happens. I hope that Ingleman won't want to linger.
I glance around. We're in a blank metal box of a room. Nothing but a few ducts, a metal door set with a thick glass porthole, and a heavy metal chair set in the very centre of the room. Everything grey. It stinks of sweat and oil. Ingleman and the two wardens are standing by the door, looking down at us.
Ingleman points at me. "This one first," he says.
Before I can see anything more the hood is pulled over my head once more, and the warden starts shoving me along the deck. The noise of all the activity becomes muffled, and I sense that we've passed through a door. I hear our footsteps clanking along the metal floor. I hear my own breathing. I hear Laura's pained and wretched sobs.
We descend a flight of stairs, then another. Turn left then right then left again. Within minutes I'm completely disorientated. Lost in the metal belly of this hideous ship. I'm never going to walk out, I think madly. This is it. I've seen the sky for the last time. I'm going to die down here, like a beast in a slaughterhouse.
We turn once more, and then my warden rips the hood from my head and shoves me, hard, sending me toppling to the ground. A second later Laura tumbles down beside me. With her hood removed I can see that her face is stained by tears, and swollen below one eye. They must have hit her. Her eyes meet mine and she mouths my name.
"It'll be okay," I say. "We'll be okay. Just be calm." I don't even know what I'm saying. Just meaningless noise to stop her panicking. To stop myself panicking. Vainly, I hope it will happen quickly, when it happens. I hope that Ingleman won't want to linger.
I glance around. We're in a blank metal box of a room. Nothing but a few ducts, a metal door set with a thick glass porthole, and a heavy metal chair set in the very centre of the room. Everything grey. It stinks of sweat and oil. Ingleman and the two wardens are standing by the door, looking down at us.
Ingleman points at me. "This one first," he says.
Friday, 20 April 2012
Part Three, Chapter Two
I've never seen his face this close up before. What strikes me most is how ordinary he is. Even as his hand tightens around my throat there's no trace of evil in his gaze. He's even dressed like a civilian: a sensible white shirt and black trousers. If you put him on a street full of normal, decent people he'd blend right in. His calm, careful ordinariness only makes him worse.
"Please," I say. And I would be disgusted with myself but I'm past caring now. If I had to beg for him to let me go I would. I would do anything but go back. "Please. Laura . . . leave her. She . . . only--"
He cuts me off with a sharp, hard slap to the face. Then he releases me and I slump back to the floor of the helicopter, gasping and wheezing for breath. I can see Laura lying with her hands tied behind her back and a sack over her head at the back of the cabin. There are a couple of Academy wardens sitting there too, rifles balanced across their knees.
Ingleman grabs the back of my jumpsuit and hauls me to my knees again, shoving me towards the curved window in the side of the small cabin. He shoves my face up against it.
"Look," he says, voice raised above the noise of the rotors. I look down. Below us is a beach, alive with activity. Men are racing back and forth, unloading boxes off the back of trucks. As the helicopter turns a little I see that they are transferring the boxes to a series of small motor launches that bob about in the shallows. I watch one of the little boats take off from the shore, heading out to sea. It's only when the helicopter completes its turn that I see where the little launch is heading.
Sitting out at anchor, maybe a quarter mile from the shore is a massive ship. I make out the hard lines of decks and chimneys, everything gunmetal grey, lit by harsh halogen floodlights. The thing is immense, built for war. Even the sight of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Ingleman wrenches me away from the window. "We've had to vacate our premises on the island," he sneers. "Costly, but a necessary precaution. We've already found office space in a . . . more liberal part of the world. One where our work will not be so . . . obstructed." He smiles. "Our studies will continue, little girl. I will see to that. You and your little friend, in fact, will be our first test subjects for some very experimental new procedures." He flings me away from him and I hit the floor with a thud that feels like it cracks a rib. I gasp for air. "You've cost me significantly, little girl," he says coldly, "And I intend to make you pay in full."
At that moment the helicopter lurches and Ingleman is distracted by a shouted question from one of the pilots. He turns away, and I use the opportunity to check on Laura. She's lying quite still, visibly shaking, and even over the roar of the rotors I can tell that she's sobbing behind that hood. I wish I could reach out and comfort her, but I can't. Instead I shut my eyes and try to wish myself somewhere else. Retreat, I tell myself, but it's no good. This time there's no getting away.
"Please," I say. And I would be disgusted with myself but I'm past caring now. If I had to beg for him to let me go I would. I would do anything but go back. "Please. Laura . . . leave her. She . . . only--"
He cuts me off with a sharp, hard slap to the face. Then he releases me and I slump back to the floor of the helicopter, gasping and wheezing for breath. I can see Laura lying with her hands tied behind her back and a sack over her head at the back of the cabin. There are a couple of Academy wardens sitting there too, rifles balanced across their knees.
Ingleman grabs the back of my jumpsuit and hauls me to my knees again, shoving me towards the curved window in the side of the small cabin. He shoves my face up against it.
"Look," he says, voice raised above the noise of the rotors. I look down. Below us is a beach, alive with activity. Men are racing back and forth, unloading boxes off the back of trucks. As the helicopter turns a little I see that they are transferring the boxes to a series of small motor launches that bob about in the shallows. I watch one of the little boats take off from the shore, heading out to sea. It's only when the helicopter completes its turn that I see where the little launch is heading.
Sitting out at anchor, maybe a quarter mile from the shore is a massive ship. I make out the hard lines of decks and chimneys, everything gunmetal grey, lit by harsh halogen floodlights. The thing is immense, built for war. Even the sight of it makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Ingleman wrenches me away from the window. "We've had to vacate our premises on the island," he sneers. "Costly, but a necessary precaution. We've already found office space in a . . . more liberal part of the world. One where our work will not be so . . . obstructed." He smiles. "Our studies will continue, little girl. I will see to that. You and your little friend, in fact, will be our first test subjects for some very experimental new procedures." He flings me away from him and I hit the floor with a thud that feels like it cracks a rib. I gasp for air. "You've cost me significantly, little girl," he says coldly, "And I intend to make you pay in full."
At that moment the helicopter lurches and Ingleman is distracted by a shouted question from one of the pilots. He turns away, and I use the opportunity to check on Laura. She's lying quite still, visibly shaking, and even over the roar of the rotors I can tell that she's sobbing behind that hood. I wish I could reach out and comfort her, but I can't. Instead I shut my eyes and try to wish myself somewhere else. Retreat, I tell myself, but it's no good. This time there's no getting away.
Monday, 16 April 2012
Part Three, Chapter One
When I wake up I'm lying on a cold metal floor. There's a sick, bloody taste in the back of my mouth and my skull aches sharply where one of the wardens hit me. I lie there, unable to move, letting the horrible shock of reality sink in. They found me. They came for me and they found me and now they're taking me back to Ingleman. This is it. This is how it ends.
For a moment I feel terribly, awfully sick. What's going to happen to me now? Back to the labs? Or to a quiet, tiled room somewhere for a long interrogation? The thought makes my insides turn to water. I can't face it. And Laura as well. What about her? It's my fault she's involved in all of this. The thought of her being hurt, maybe even killed . . . she's such an innocent in all of this. Oh, hell.
The floor on which I lie is shuddering. Clearly, I'm in the back of some kind of moving vehicle. My hands are tied behind my back and I'm lying painfully on my front. I swing my legs and push up off the floor and eventually, with a fair amount of pain and struggle manage to bring myself to a sitting position. By the time I'm there I'm exhausted, and the throbbing in my skull is worse than ever.
"Hello?" I call, tentatively at first, and then when that gets no response I try louder, hearing plainly the desperation in my voice. "Anyone? Laura? Please. . ."
"Lynch?" My heart soars at the sound of Laura's voice. "Is that you? What's happening?" She sounds like she's crying, and it's a massive effort for me to keep my own voice steady in response.
"They found us," I say. "They're taking us . . . somewhere. I don't know. But listen, Laura. It's me they want. You'll be okay. Just tell them what they want to hear, you understand? Just give them what they want and you'll be okay." I know it's a lie, and a weak one at that, but it's all I can think of right now.
"Lynch, I don't understand--" But before Laura can finish speaking the van or truck or whatever we're in rolls to a stop, and a sudden influx of bright light shines through the sack over my head.
"All right," shouts a rough voice. "Get them out and get them in the chopper, quick now."
Hands seize me and lift me to my feet, and I'm walked roughly out of the vehicle into the cool night air. I can only assume Laura is somewhere behind me. The noise out here is deafening. Sure enough I can hear and feel the whirling rotors of a helicopter, and there's shouting and the noise of engines all around. After a short walk across the concrete my two minders grab me by the arms, lift me bodily and throw me onto another metal floor. From the sound of the rotors I'm sure I must be inside the helicopter now. A second later, and another body lands beside me. A pained yelp tells me that it's Laura. At least we're still together.
Within seconds I feel a sharp lurch in my stomach, and I know that we must be rising into the air. A hand seizes my collar and drags me onto my knees. The hood is ripped away. For a long moment the harsh light of the helicopter cabin dazzles me, and I can't see a thing. But I don't need to see to know who's holding me. I only need to hear the sound of his voice, calm and cruel.
"Lynch," says Ingleman. "I knew that you'd be back."
For a moment I feel terribly, awfully sick. What's going to happen to me now? Back to the labs? Or to a quiet, tiled room somewhere for a long interrogation? The thought makes my insides turn to water. I can't face it. And Laura as well. What about her? It's my fault she's involved in all of this. The thought of her being hurt, maybe even killed . . . she's such an innocent in all of this. Oh, hell.
The floor on which I lie is shuddering. Clearly, I'm in the back of some kind of moving vehicle. My hands are tied behind my back and I'm lying painfully on my front. I swing my legs and push up off the floor and eventually, with a fair amount of pain and struggle manage to bring myself to a sitting position. By the time I'm there I'm exhausted, and the throbbing in my skull is worse than ever.
"Hello?" I call, tentatively at first, and then when that gets no response I try louder, hearing plainly the desperation in my voice. "Anyone? Laura? Please. . ."
"Lynch?" My heart soars at the sound of Laura's voice. "Is that you? What's happening?" She sounds like she's crying, and it's a massive effort for me to keep my own voice steady in response.
"They found us," I say. "They're taking us . . . somewhere. I don't know. But listen, Laura. It's me they want. You'll be okay. Just tell them what they want to hear, you understand? Just give them what they want and you'll be okay." I know it's a lie, and a weak one at that, but it's all I can think of right now.
"Lynch, I don't understand--" But before Laura can finish speaking the van or truck or whatever we're in rolls to a stop, and a sudden influx of bright light shines through the sack over my head.
"All right," shouts a rough voice. "Get them out and get them in the chopper, quick now."
Hands seize me and lift me to my feet, and I'm walked roughly out of the vehicle into the cool night air. I can only assume Laura is somewhere behind me. The noise out here is deafening. Sure enough I can hear and feel the whirling rotors of a helicopter, and there's shouting and the noise of engines all around. After a short walk across the concrete my two minders grab me by the arms, lift me bodily and throw me onto another metal floor. From the sound of the rotors I'm sure I must be inside the helicopter now. A second later, and another body lands beside me. A pained yelp tells me that it's Laura. At least we're still together.
Within seconds I feel a sharp lurch in my stomach, and I know that we must be rising into the air. A hand seizes my collar and drags me onto my knees. The hood is ripped away. For a long moment the harsh light of the helicopter cabin dazzles me, and I can't see a thing. But I don't need to see to know who's holding me. I only need to hear the sound of his voice, calm and cruel.
"Lynch," says Ingleman. "I knew that you'd be back."
Friday, 13 April 2012
Part Two, Chapter Eighteen
Lynch has already boarded the train before I can react, and I don't want to give us away by causing a massive fuss. I follow her on board, get her attention and then nod towards the end of the platform and pull a face.
"What?" she whispers. "Police?"
I nod. Lynch goes pale. "Well," she says, "Too late now. If we go dashing off it'll only attract attention." And she heads into the carriage and slumps down into an empty seat, pulling her woolly hat lower on her head as she does so.
For a few minutes the train sits waiting in the station. Nobody else boards our carriage. At last the whistle sounds and the doors hiss shut. Beyond the windows, the platform starts to move. We're on our way, though by no means safe just yet.
"No turning back now," says Lynch grimly. I watch out of the window as we pull away from the station, through a tunnel, through the city and out into the countryside. Soon enough we're churning our way through fields and rolling hills. That's when it hits me; I've left home. I'm running away with a girl I met on the streets just a few days ago. It's all real, and it's all happening. Happening to me, no less. A shiver runs through me, and I feel a powerful pang of sadness as I wonder how long it will be before Mum or Dad notice that I'm gone.
"Listen," says Lynch, "I'm going to try and get some sleep." I nod in agreement, and we move to opposite seats so we can stretch out a bit. Lynch is dozing within minutes, clearly exhausted, but even though I'm more tired than I have been in months sleep won't come for me. I sit there, watching Lynch sleeping and letting my thoughts run through my head: in a little while Mari will come into work and discover our parcel. I can imagine her sitting down to read it, paging through the photographs and maps and statements. I picture her face creasing in a frown, her hand reaching out to pick up the phone.
Then I'm thinking of Darren. I see him lying in a bleak metal cell, sleeping fitfully, not knowing that his sister and the girl he helped escape are sitting together in a train carriage, thinking of him. Not knowing that there are people out there who know the truth, who are looking for him, who are trying to do something to help.
Rocked by the gentle motion of the train, I gradually fall asleep. I don't dream at all as the train speeds us northwards.
I'm not sure how long I'm out before it happens. All I know is there's sudden brightness and shouting and rough hands snatch me out of my seat, and I catch a glimpse of men in grey uniforms for only a second before a hood is wrenched roughly over my head.
"What?" she whispers. "Police?"
I nod. Lynch goes pale. "Well," she says, "Too late now. If we go dashing off it'll only attract attention." And she heads into the carriage and slumps down into an empty seat, pulling her woolly hat lower on her head as she does so.
For a few minutes the train sits waiting in the station. Nobody else boards our carriage. At last the whistle sounds and the doors hiss shut. Beyond the windows, the platform starts to move. We're on our way, though by no means safe just yet.
"No turning back now," says Lynch grimly. I watch out of the window as we pull away from the station, through a tunnel, through the city and out into the countryside. Soon enough we're churning our way through fields and rolling hills. That's when it hits me; I've left home. I'm running away with a girl I met on the streets just a few days ago. It's all real, and it's all happening. Happening to me, no less. A shiver runs through me, and I feel a powerful pang of sadness as I wonder how long it will be before Mum or Dad notice that I'm gone.
"Listen," says Lynch, "I'm going to try and get some sleep." I nod in agreement, and we move to opposite seats so we can stretch out a bit. Lynch is dozing within minutes, clearly exhausted, but even though I'm more tired than I have been in months sleep won't come for me. I sit there, watching Lynch sleeping and letting my thoughts run through my head: in a little while Mari will come into work and discover our parcel. I can imagine her sitting down to read it, paging through the photographs and maps and statements. I picture her face creasing in a frown, her hand reaching out to pick up the phone.
Then I'm thinking of Darren. I see him lying in a bleak metal cell, sleeping fitfully, not knowing that his sister and the girl he helped escape are sitting together in a train carriage, thinking of him. Not knowing that there are people out there who know the truth, who are looking for him, who are trying to do something to help.
Rocked by the gentle motion of the train, I gradually fall asleep. I don't dream at all as the train speeds us northwards.
I'm not sure how long I'm out before it happens. All I know is there's sudden brightness and shouting and rough hands snatch me out of my seat, and I catch a glimpse of men in grey uniforms for only a second before a hood is wrenched roughly over my head.
Monday, 9 April 2012
Part Two, Chapter Seventeen
We're up through the night working. As we slip out of the fire exit of the library at five thirty in the morning, the product of all our labours sits on the front counter of the library, right where Mari will see it in the morning. I've left a letter thanking her, explaining that I've gone with Lynch, and setting out the full story. Lynch has written up a statement, and we've included maps of what we think is the location of the Academy, along with photographs and Missing Persons' reports for Darren and others, all printed out from the library computers. From the talks I've had with Mari I know that she's in touch with a good few reputable journalists. Hopefully, if all goes well, me and Lynch will be away and safe before the story breaks.
It's not far to the train station; just ten minutes walk. It feels like miles. Every time a car approaches down the semi-dark street my heart leaps into my mouth, and every time we catch sight of another pedestrian I feel a twinge of terror at the thought that it might be the police.
"It's okay," says Lynch. "Just stay calm." Despite her tone there's tension in her voice.
We arrive without incident, and enter the ticket hall. It's cold but brightly lit, and the only people about are the early commuters, striding about all suits and briefcases. We head over to the ticket machines and pick up Lynch's ticket; Mari texted me the number an hour ago, along with her wishes of good luck. Lynch uses some of Mari's money to buy me a ticket as well. Checking the boards, I see that the first train north leaves in twenty minutes. Wordlessly, we make our way to the platform and take a seat on a bench to wait.
The time passes slowly. Both of us are too tense to speak, and I feel like every few seconds I'm glancing at my watch or at the steps that lead onto the platform.
At last, at long last, the approaching train is announced. It looks like it's only us and two or three other men in grey suits catching this one. Me and Lynch stand up and move to the front of the platform as the train hisses into place in front of us. Lynch's hand finds my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"Last chance to do the sensible thing," she says seriously.
I don't even have to think about it now. "I'm coming with you," I say. And it's then, just as the doors open, that I glance up the platform and see the policeman.
It's not far to the train station; just ten minutes walk. It feels like miles. Every time a car approaches down the semi-dark street my heart leaps into my mouth, and every time we catch sight of another pedestrian I feel a twinge of terror at the thought that it might be the police.
"It's okay," says Lynch. "Just stay calm." Despite her tone there's tension in her voice.
We arrive without incident, and enter the ticket hall. It's cold but brightly lit, and the only people about are the early commuters, striding about all suits and briefcases. We head over to the ticket machines and pick up Lynch's ticket; Mari texted me the number an hour ago, along with her wishes of good luck. Lynch uses some of Mari's money to buy me a ticket as well. Checking the boards, I see that the first train north leaves in twenty minutes. Wordlessly, we make our way to the platform and take a seat on a bench to wait.
The time passes slowly. Both of us are too tense to speak, and I feel like every few seconds I'm glancing at my watch or at the steps that lead onto the platform.
At last, at long last, the approaching train is announced. It looks like it's only us and two or three other men in grey suits catching this one. Me and Lynch stand up and move to the front of the platform as the train hisses into place in front of us. Lynch's hand finds my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"Last chance to do the sensible thing," she says seriously.
I don't even have to think about it now. "I'm coming with you," I say. And it's then, just as the doors open, that I glance up the platform and see the policeman.
Friday, 6 April 2012
Part Two, Chapter Sixteen
"No way," says Lynch flatly. "You can't. It's too dangerous."
"Listen," I insist. "Hear me out at least."
"No." Lynch shakes her head. "You listen. I'm grateful for everything you've done, but you have to understand that this . . . this isn't a game. This is real. If you came with me you'd be putting yourself in the worst danger you could possibly put yourself in. I mean, there are men out there who want to kill me, maybe torture me first. Do you understand that? Really?" She's talking quickly, and from the breaking note in her voice I can tell she's close to tears. I reach out and take her hands.
"I know there's danger. But . . ." I try and marshal my thoughts, try to pull some sense from the mess of feelings in my heart. "But I have to. I'm involved now. For you. And for Darren. I . . . I have to see this through."
"I'm on the run, Laura," says Lynch despairingly. "Wherever I'm going it's not going to be pleasant. Why would you do that to yourself? You have a life here. You're safe. You have family. Why . . . I don't . . ."
And then she is crying, the sounds of her sobs small and muffled in the large space of the empty library.
"Listen," I say. "That's not all. I have an idea, something I think we should do. Something I think we have to do. If we want to help Darren and all the others. If we want to stop Ingleman."
At Ingleman's name Lynch twitches tightly. She wipes quickly at her face and makes a visible effort to stop her tears. "What?" she asks.
"We have to tell people," I say. "We have to write it down. All of it. Everything you know. And we have to make sure it gets out. Ingleman's powerful, right? But he's not above the law. Nobody is. All we have to do is draw attention to him. This Academy of his, it's such a big operation. He won't be able to keep it hidden if people are looking for it. But nobody's looking. Nobody suspects him. Nobody questions his cover story, his version of events. Not yet, anyway. We have to make it public. We have to."
Once I've finished talking Lynch just sits there for a minute looking at me in astonishment. "Well," I say. "What do you think?"
She frowns for a minute, looking uncertain, then nods. "All right," she says grudgingly.
"All right," I say, and my heart does a flip and I swallow dry. "Let's get to work."
"Listen," I insist. "Hear me out at least."
"No." Lynch shakes her head. "You listen. I'm grateful for everything you've done, but you have to understand that this . . . this isn't a game. This is real. If you came with me you'd be putting yourself in the worst danger you could possibly put yourself in. I mean, there are men out there who want to kill me, maybe torture me first. Do you understand that? Really?" She's talking quickly, and from the breaking note in her voice I can tell she's close to tears. I reach out and take her hands.
"I know there's danger. But . . ." I try and marshal my thoughts, try to pull some sense from the mess of feelings in my heart. "But I have to. I'm involved now. For you. And for Darren. I . . . I have to see this through."
"I'm on the run, Laura," says Lynch despairingly. "Wherever I'm going it's not going to be pleasant. Why would you do that to yourself? You have a life here. You're safe. You have family. Why . . . I don't . . ."
And then she is crying, the sounds of her sobs small and muffled in the large space of the empty library.
"Listen," I say. "That's not all. I have an idea, something I think we should do. Something I think we have to do. If we want to help Darren and all the others. If we want to stop Ingleman."
At Ingleman's name Lynch twitches tightly. She wipes quickly at her face and makes a visible effort to stop her tears. "What?" she asks.
"We have to tell people," I say. "We have to write it down. All of it. Everything you know. And we have to make sure it gets out. Ingleman's powerful, right? But he's not above the law. Nobody is. All we have to do is draw attention to him. This Academy of his, it's such a big operation. He won't be able to keep it hidden if people are looking for it. But nobody's looking. Nobody suspects him. Nobody questions his cover story, his version of events. Not yet, anyway. We have to make it public. We have to."
Once I've finished talking Lynch just sits there for a minute looking at me in astonishment. "Well," I say. "What do you think?"
She frowns for a minute, looking uncertain, then nods. "All right," she says grudgingly.
"All right," I say, and my heart does a flip and I swallow dry. "Let's get to work."
Monday, 2 April 2012
Part Two, Chapter Fifteen
Just as she said, Mari runs up a pretty convincing Student ID on the library card printer. By the time she's finished it looks exactly like mine. With a quiet but genuine "thanks" Lynch slips the ID into the side pocket of a small canvas purse Mari found for her in the Lost Property box. Closing time has gone by now, and we can finally come out of the back room and stretch our legs. It's just us and Mari in the library. It feels so surreal. It feels as if I've stepped right outside of everything I've ever known.
"Right," says Mari. "I'm going to go get your ticket now. It'll look suspicious if I come back to the library after hours, so I'll order it and have it ready to pick up at the machine at the station. You'll just need the reference number, which I'll text to you, Laura. You can leave out of the fire exit when morning comes; I've switched off the alarm."
"Right," I say, trying to sound casual. "No problem."
Mari turns to Lynch. We're in the lobby of the library, behind the desk. It's dark, but I can still see that Mari's expression is intent. She reaches into her purse and presses a fold of notes into Lynch's hand. "You'll need money," she says, and when Lynch immediately starts to protest at the amount, she adds forcefully, "Just take it. You'll be grateful of it later on."
"Thank you," says Lynch, sounding abashed. She adds the notes to the side pocket of her bag.
"Well," says Mari, and lets out a long breath. "You must call me when you get home Laura, just to let me know it all went okay."
"I will. Promise." Mari hugs me again and then, more tentatively, Lynch as well. The girl looks a little uncomfortable, but pleased, as if she isn't used to human touch. Then Mari heads for the door to the library. Just before she goes she turns one last time and waves. The expression on her face is carefully set, and in that moment I feel a powerful rush of gratitude for her, for everything she's done to help us, to save us. It's not something there's time for now, but I make a promise to myself to tell her someday just how much it has meant.
"Good luck," says Mari. "Be careful." And then she's gone. We hear the doors lock behind her.
Me and Lynch are alone in the vacant library. Outside, it is just beginning to get dark, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Lynch takes a few steps to one of the swivel chairs behind the desk and slumps down into it.
"I hope we can trust her," she says. She sounds tired.
"We can," I assure her. "I'd trust her with my life."
Lynch nods, biting her lip as if in thought. "She was . . . kind," she says eventually.
I take the swivel chair opposite Lynch and draw myself up close to her. For a few hours now the germ of an idea has been burning in my brain, but I had to wait for Mari to go before I could discuss it with Lynch. Now the moment is here I feel a tiny grain of doubt. For a second, just a second, I actually want to go home. But then I remember that home without Darren is no longer the place it used to be.
I take a deep breath. "Listen, Lynch," I say. "I'm coming with you."
"Right," says Mari. "I'm going to go get your ticket now. It'll look suspicious if I come back to the library after hours, so I'll order it and have it ready to pick up at the machine at the station. You'll just need the reference number, which I'll text to you, Laura. You can leave out of the fire exit when morning comes; I've switched off the alarm."
"Right," I say, trying to sound casual. "No problem."
Mari turns to Lynch. We're in the lobby of the library, behind the desk. It's dark, but I can still see that Mari's expression is intent. She reaches into her purse and presses a fold of notes into Lynch's hand. "You'll need money," she says, and when Lynch immediately starts to protest at the amount, she adds forcefully, "Just take it. You'll be grateful of it later on."
"Thank you," says Lynch, sounding abashed. She adds the notes to the side pocket of her bag.
"Well," says Mari, and lets out a long breath. "You must call me when you get home Laura, just to let me know it all went okay."
"I will. Promise." Mari hugs me again and then, more tentatively, Lynch as well. The girl looks a little uncomfortable, but pleased, as if she isn't used to human touch. Then Mari heads for the door to the library. Just before she goes she turns one last time and waves. The expression on her face is carefully set, and in that moment I feel a powerful rush of gratitude for her, for everything she's done to help us, to save us. It's not something there's time for now, but I make a promise to myself to tell her someday just how much it has meant.
"Good luck," says Mari. "Be careful." And then she's gone. We hear the doors lock behind her.
Me and Lynch are alone in the vacant library. Outside, it is just beginning to get dark, the streetlights flickering on one by one. Lynch takes a few steps to one of the swivel chairs behind the desk and slumps down into it.
"I hope we can trust her," she says. She sounds tired.
"We can," I assure her. "I'd trust her with my life."
Lynch nods, biting her lip as if in thought. "She was . . . kind," she says eventually.
I take the swivel chair opposite Lynch and draw myself up close to her. For a few hours now the germ of an idea has been burning in my brain, but I had to wait for Mari to go before I could discuss it with Lynch. Now the moment is here I feel a tiny grain of doubt. For a second, just a second, I actually want to go home. But then I remember that home without Darren is no longer the place it used to be.
I take a deep breath. "Listen, Lynch," I say. "I'm coming with you."
Friday, 30 March 2012
Part Two, Chapter Fourteen
Ten minutes later we're sat in one of the backrooms drinking cups of coffee. I've just finished telling Mari what I need, and there's a tense silence draped over the room. Lynch looks deeply uncomfortably, and is eyeing the door as though she plans to leap to her feet and run at any moment .
Mari takes a long drink of her coffee. "So you need a place to stay tonight?" she says carefully. I nod. Of course, I've only told her what she needs to know. That Lynch is running away from some bad people who mean her harm, and that she needs somewhere to stay for a night before she gets the first train out in the morning. And that we have to steer clear of the police.
"I promise, Mari, I wouldn't ask unless it was really important."
Mari looks searchingly at me, and then at Lynch. For the first time she addresses her directly. "You're that one the police are all out in force looking for, aren't you? The 'terrorist'?"
Lynch nods cautiously. "That's me."
Mari looks back at me. "And you're telling me that the police have got it wrong, yes? That Lynch is innocent?"
"Yes," I say. "But if they find her they won't even give her a chance. These people who she's running from, they're . . . well, they're powerful. They have a lot of influence."
Mari nods thoughtfully and then sits back in her chair. "This is a lot to take in for a Monday."
I start to apologise again, but Mari waves it away. She looks to Lynch again.
"Tell me," she says. "Is this true? Are you in danger? And the people you're running from; are they the bad guys in all this?"
Lynch looks directly at her with serious, sleepless eyes. "It's true," she says. "All of it."
For a moment Mari's expression is unreadable, and I feel my first real twinge of worry. What if she decides to call in the police anyway? But a second later Mari nods and gets to her feet.
"You can stay," she says. "But you'll need a ticket if you're getting the first train of the day. Some ID would help as well, and some decent clothes."
I'm elated that Mari's going to help us, but I control myself. One thing at a time, I tell myself. Don't let your guard down until it's over. "I can lend Lynch some of my clothes," I say, "But I don't know where to get ID from. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be okay without."
"It's okay," says Mari with a smile. "I'll whip you up a student card using the library card printer. That should get you on the train okay. Let me just grab my camera."
She moves to leave, but just as she's going I call out, "Mari," and she turns. I stand up. "Thank you for this. Thank you for helping."
The next thing I know Mari is hugging me tight against her shoulder. It's been a long time since anyone hugged me like this, like a mother, and for a moment I tight little ball in my throat and I'm tired and I want to go home and Mari whispers into my ear, "You're a good girl, Laura. This'll all turn out okay," and we just stand there holding each other for a long, long time.
Mari takes a long drink of her coffee. "So you need a place to stay tonight?" she says carefully. I nod. Of course, I've only told her what she needs to know. That Lynch is running away from some bad people who mean her harm, and that she needs somewhere to stay for a night before she gets the first train out in the morning. And that we have to steer clear of the police.
"I promise, Mari, I wouldn't ask unless it was really important."
Mari looks searchingly at me, and then at Lynch. For the first time she addresses her directly. "You're that one the police are all out in force looking for, aren't you? The 'terrorist'?"
Lynch nods cautiously. "That's me."
Mari looks back at me. "And you're telling me that the police have got it wrong, yes? That Lynch is innocent?"
"Yes," I say. "But if they find her they won't even give her a chance. These people who she's running from, they're . . . well, they're powerful. They have a lot of influence."
Mari nods thoughtfully and then sits back in her chair. "This is a lot to take in for a Monday."
I start to apologise again, but Mari waves it away. She looks to Lynch again.
"Tell me," she says. "Is this true? Are you in danger? And the people you're running from; are they the bad guys in all this?"
Lynch looks directly at her with serious, sleepless eyes. "It's true," she says. "All of it."
For a moment Mari's expression is unreadable, and I feel my first real twinge of worry. What if she decides to call in the police anyway? But a second later Mari nods and gets to her feet.
"You can stay," she says. "But you'll need a ticket if you're getting the first train of the day. Some ID would help as well, and some decent clothes."
I'm elated that Mari's going to help us, but I control myself. One thing at a time, I tell myself. Don't let your guard down until it's over. "I can lend Lynch some of my clothes," I say, "But I don't know where to get ID from. Maybe . . . maybe she'll be okay without."
"It's okay," says Mari with a smile. "I'll whip you up a student card using the library card printer. That should get you on the train okay. Let me just grab my camera."
She moves to leave, but just as she's going I call out, "Mari," and she turns. I stand up. "Thank you for this. Thank you for helping."
The next thing I know Mari is hugging me tight against her shoulder. It's been a long time since anyone hugged me like this, like a mother, and for a moment I tight little ball in my throat and I'm tired and I want to go home and Mari whispers into my ear, "You're a good girl, Laura. This'll all turn out okay," and we just stand there holding each other for a long, long time.
Monday, 26 March 2012
Part Two, Chapter Thirteen
Lynch is at one of the computer terminals, frowning intently as she peruses what looks like a news site. As I sit down in the seat beside her she twitches and kills the monitor, then lets out a relieved breath when she sees it's only me. She's used the money I gave her to purchase a pair of cheap blue jeans and a woolly cap. Dressed in those along with my coat she looks almost normal.
"Oh, Laura." She frowns. "I thought you were at school."
"I was," I say. "Something's happened." And I tell her everything. As I speak her face slowly grows harder, more distant. I can tell it's the kind of news she's been dreading.
Once I've finished she gets abruptly to her feet. "I've got to go," she says.
"Go?" I stand up too. "Go where? And how?"
Lynch shrugs. "I'll get a train. Go north, as far as I can. Get away from here, away from the search." She squeezes her eyes tight shut and rubs at them tiredly. "I should have gone as soon as I got ashore. Shouldn't have hung around. Ugh. Can you show me the way to the train station?"
"Of course," I say, but then I'm struck by an idea. "But not yet. There's too many police officers out there looking for you at the moment. You'd be seen."
Lynch regards me for a second, then nods and slumps back down to the seat. "When then?"
"Tomorrow morning," I say. "We'll get the first train of the day. Six AM. There won't be anyone out at that hour."
"Tomorrow?" says Lynch. Her voice is low but urgent. "Tomorrow's no good, Laura. They're out there looking for me right now. They're out there looking for me and when they find me they're going to take me back and Ingleman's going to kill me. You understand? I've been wandering around town for two days now. People are going to remember seeing a girl in coveralls with shaved head. I've got to go. Now."
"Wait," I say. "Please." I look around. At this time of day the library's pretty quiet, and we're alone at the computer terminals. "I think we're safe here. And I have an idea. I think I might . . . I think I know someone who might be able to help you."
At that moment there's a sound from the stacks off to the left. We both turn, and to my immense relief we see Mari standing there clutching an armful of books. She looks at me and Lynch and smiles in a puzzled way.
"Laura?" she says. "What are you doing here? Haven't you got school?"
"Mari," I say, and even I can hear the hope in my voice. I bite my lip, wondering how I can possibly ask what I am about to ask "It's good to see you. I . . . I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you?"
"Oh, Laura." She frowns. "I thought you were at school."
"I was," I say. "Something's happened." And I tell her everything. As I speak her face slowly grows harder, more distant. I can tell it's the kind of news she's been dreading.
Once I've finished she gets abruptly to her feet. "I've got to go," she says.
"Go?" I stand up too. "Go where? And how?"
Lynch shrugs. "I'll get a train. Go north, as far as I can. Get away from here, away from the search." She squeezes her eyes tight shut and rubs at them tiredly. "I should have gone as soon as I got ashore. Shouldn't have hung around. Ugh. Can you show me the way to the train station?"
"Of course," I say, but then I'm struck by an idea. "But not yet. There's too many police officers out there looking for you at the moment. You'd be seen."
Lynch regards me for a second, then nods and slumps back down to the seat. "When then?"
"Tomorrow morning," I say. "We'll get the first train of the day. Six AM. There won't be anyone out at that hour."
"Tomorrow?" says Lynch. Her voice is low but urgent. "Tomorrow's no good, Laura. They're out there looking for me right now. They're out there looking for me and when they find me they're going to take me back and Ingleman's going to kill me. You understand? I've been wandering around town for two days now. People are going to remember seeing a girl in coveralls with shaved head. I've got to go. Now."
"Wait," I say. "Please." I look around. At this time of day the library's pretty quiet, and we're alone at the computer terminals. "I think we're safe here. And I have an idea. I think I might . . . I think I know someone who might be able to help you."
At that moment there's a sound from the stacks off to the left. We both turn, and to my immense relief we see Mari standing there clutching an armful of books. She looks at me and Lynch and smiles in a puzzled way.
"Laura?" she says. "What are you doing here? Haven't you got school?"
"Mari," I say, and even I can hear the hope in my voice. I bite my lip, wondering how I can possibly ask what I am about to ask "It's good to see you. I . . . I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you?"
Friday, 23 March 2012
Part Two, Chapter Twelve
I duck into the girl's bathroom and splash some water over my face. It makes me feel a little better. I lock myself in a cubicle and try hard to think.
Lynch is out in the middle of town right now. Hopefully she will have found somewhere to lie low, but she's still out there, and still unaware that the police are mounting a full-scale search for her. I could wait until the end of the school day, but by then it might be too late. She has to be warned. Which means I have to get out of school.
I wait in the toilets for an hour, until the bell rings for lunch. Then I head out to the front of the school. Students in the final year are allowed to leave the campus for lunch hour, and my plan is to blend in with them and hope that nobody notices.
As I approach the gate, my heart does a flip. The police cars are still there, and I recognise Miller standing by the gate along with a couple of other officers, talking casually. It takes all my willpower to keep walking and pretend that everything is normal. I pass through the gate along with a small stream of older students, and set off quickly down the road.
I make myself wait until I'm at the end of the road before I relax. Once I'm certain that I'm out of sight of the school gates I start to move at a rapid jog.
It takes me twenty minutes to get into town. I head for the spot where I left Lynch this morning, but unsurprisingly she isn't still waiting there. Breathless from the jog I turn around in circles, searching the scattering of midday shoppers. If I was left alone in a strange high street for a day, where would I go to get away from the crowds?
I try the food court of the mall. It's crowded with people, but none of them are Lynch. I try some of the quieter coffee shops along the high street, but they're similarly empty. As I leave the last one I catch sight of a couple of police officers in fluorescent jackets wandering down the middle of the thoroughfare. They're stopping people at random and talking to them, showing them what looks like a picture. My heart starts thudding again and I duck back inside the coffee shop and head for the toilets. I lock myself in a cubicle and set about removing my school blazer and tie and stuffing them in my bag. I allow myself five minutes to calm down, then head back out.
The two police officers I saw aren't the only ones. They're everywhere; I see a couple of them attaching posters to lampposts, and I don't even have to go close enough to read to know the gist of what those posters say.
"Where are you, Lynch?" I whisper under my breath. I'm starting to panic now, slow burn. Desperate I start heading for the shopping mall again, wondering if I might have missed her. I'm halfway there when it hits me. Of course; if she was looking for somewhere quiet to spend the day then she could hardly do better than the city library. How could I not have thought of it before? I've spent long enough hiding out there myself that it should have been obvious.
I change course and start towards the library, praying that I won't be too late.
Lynch is out in the middle of town right now. Hopefully she will have found somewhere to lie low, but she's still out there, and still unaware that the police are mounting a full-scale search for her. I could wait until the end of the school day, but by then it might be too late. She has to be warned. Which means I have to get out of school.
I wait in the toilets for an hour, until the bell rings for lunch. Then I head out to the front of the school. Students in the final year are allowed to leave the campus for lunch hour, and my plan is to blend in with them and hope that nobody notices.
As I approach the gate, my heart does a flip. The police cars are still there, and I recognise Miller standing by the gate along with a couple of other officers, talking casually. It takes all my willpower to keep walking and pretend that everything is normal. I pass through the gate along with a small stream of older students, and set off quickly down the road.
I make myself wait until I'm at the end of the road before I relax. Once I'm certain that I'm out of sight of the school gates I start to move at a rapid jog.
It takes me twenty minutes to get into town. I head for the spot where I left Lynch this morning, but unsurprisingly she isn't still waiting there. Breathless from the jog I turn around in circles, searching the scattering of midday shoppers. If I was left alone in a strange high street for a day, where would I go to get away from the crowds?
I try the food court of the mall. It's crowded with people, but none of them are Lynch. I try some of the quieter coffee shops along the high street, but they're similarly empty. As I leave the last one I catch sight of a couple of police officers in fluorescent jackets wandering down the middle of the thoroughfare. They're stopping people at random and talking to them, showing them what looks like a picture. My heart starts thudding again and I duck back inside the coffee shop and head for the toilets. I lock myself in a cubicle and set about removing my school blazer and tie and stuffing them in my bag. I allow myself five minutes to calm down, then head back out.
The two police officers I saw aren't the only ones. They're everywhere; I see a couple of them attaching posters to lampposts, and I don't even have to go close enough to read to know the gist of what those posters say.
"Where are you, Lynch?" I whisper under my breath. I'm starting to panic now, slow burn. Desperate I start heading for the shopping mall again, wondering if I might have missed her. I'm halfway there when it hits me. Of course; if she was looking for somewhere quiet to spend the day then she could hardly do better than the city library. How could I not have thought of it before? I've spent long enough hiding out there myself that it should have been obvious.
I change course and start towards the library, praying that I won't be too late.
Monday, 19 March 2012
Part Two, Chapter Eleven
There's a policewoman waiting for us in homeroom. She's dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, but just from the way she stands at the front of the class it's obvious she's here on official business. As I make my way to my desk I feel sure that she's looking right at me. Already I can feel myself blushing under her imagined gaze. I sit down and try to remember what I look like at my most normal.
Once everyone is settled at their desks our homeroom tutor steps forward and holds up her hands for quiet. Almost at once, silence falls, people dropping their conversations mid-sentence. The tutor looks almost surprised, but I can sense the tension. Everyone's waiting to see what our visitor is here for, what she has to say. And I have a dreadful sense that I already know.
The policewoman steps forward and clears her throat. She surveys the classroom, her eyes sweeping over me like a searchlight.
"All right everyone," she says. "I'll cut right to the point. I'm officer Miller from the local constabulary, and I'm here to ask for your help." The tension in the room rises another notch, but Miller carries on regardless. "At the moment we're mounting a very serious investigation, in co-ordination with other constabularies up and down the coast. We're looking for a girl who's gone missing, and she'd be about the age most of you are now. I'm here to ask for your help." My throat has gone dry. I'm almost certain that I'm shaking. Desperately, I try to keep my body still and my face set. "Has someone moved in with a friend? Have you seen someone new in town? Even wandering the streets? If you have it's vitally important that you tell us. This girl is dangerous. She's been involved with some very nasty criminals, and has links to terrorist organisations. Your tutor is going to give out a card with her description and my number on it. If anyone of you see or hear anything suspicious, you can call me up anytime of the day or night to discuss it in the strictest of confidence." Miller gives one more sober, searching glance around the room, then steps back. "Thank you," she says, and shows herself out.
The moment she's gone I let out a breath that feels as if I've been holding since I walked into the room. As our tutor walks around handing out the cards I bury my face on my arms and try to cool the blush that's crept up my cheeks. I feel like I've just gone through an interrogation, but as far as I can tell I didn't give myself away. All the same there's this horrible paranoid feeling at the back of my brain. Part of me wants to go running back into town to find Lynch and warn her, and part of me is also wondering: Miller said that she had links to criminal organisations, even terrorists. Could it be true?
For a few minutes I'm torn. But then I think of her standing cold and bedraggled and lonely-looking on the beach and I know at once, of course, that she's no terrorist, no criminal. And at the same time it all suddenly seems really, deeply real for the first time. The Academy, Ingleman, Lynch; they're not part of some other world, some other person's problem. They're here, in my world, in my town, in my life. And for Lynch's sake, and Darren's, it's up to me to do something.
"Are you all right, Laura?" It's our tutor, looking down at me with a concerned frown. I do my best to sit up and smile like normal, but I know at once it's not going to work.
"Actually," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, "I don't feel very well. Headache. I think . . . maybe I should go to the nurse's office."
The tutor buys it wholesale. Five minutes later I'm making my way down the corridor, hall pass in hand, wondering what on earth I'm supposed to do next.
Once everyone is settled at their desks our homeroom tutor steps forward and holds up her hands for quiet. Almost at once, silence falls, people dropping their conversations mid-sentence. The tutor looks almost surprised, but I can sense the tension. Everyone's waiting to see what our visitor is here for, what she has to say. And I have a dreadful sense that I already know.
The policewoman steps forward and clears her throat. She surveys the classroom, her eyes sweeping over me like a searchlight.
"All right everyone," she says. "I'll cut right to the point. I'm officer Miller from the local constabulary, and I'm here to ask for your help." The tension in the room rises another notch, but Miller carries on regardless. "At the moment we're mounting a very serious investigation, in co-ordination with other constabularies up and down the coast. We're looking for a girl who's gone missing, and she'd be about the age most of you are now. I'm here to ask for your help." My throat has gone dry. I'm almost certain that I'm shaking. Desperately, I try to keep my body still and my face set. "Has someone moved in with a friend? Have you seen someone new in town? Even wandering the streets? If you have it's vitally important that you tell us. This girl is dangerous. She's been involved with some very nasty criminals, and has links to terrorist organisations. Your tutor is going to give out a card with her description and my number on it. If anyone of you see or hear anything suspicious, you can call me up anytime of the day or night to discuss it in the strictest of confidence." Miller gives one more sober, searching glance around the room, then steps back. "Thank you," she says, and shows herself out.
The moment she's gone I let out a breath that feels as if I've been holding since I walked into the room. As our tutor walks around handing out the cards I bury my face on my arms and try to cool the blush that's crept up my cheeks. I feel like I've just gone through an interrogation, but as far as I can tell I didn't give myself away. All the same there's this horrible paranoid feeling at the back of my brain. Part of me wants to go running back into town to find Lynch and warn her, and part of me is also wondering: Miller said that she had links to criminal organisations, even terrorists. Could it be true?
For a few minutes I'm torn. But then I think of her standing cold and bedraggled and lonely-looking on the beach and I know at once, of course, that she's no terrorist, no criminal. And at the same time it all suddenly seems really, deeply real for the first time. The Academy, Ingleman, Lynch; they're not part of some other world, some other person's problem. They're here, in my world, in my town, in my life. And for Lynch's sake, and Darren's, it's up to me to do something.
"Are you all right, Laura?" It's our tutor, looking down at me with a concerned frown. I do my best to sit up and smile like normal, but I know at once it's not going to work.
"Actually," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady, "I don't feel very well. Headache. I think . . . maybe I should go to the nurse's office."
The tutor buys it wholesale. Five minutes later I'm making my way down the corridor, hall pass in hand, wondering what on earth I'm supposed to do next.
Friday, 16 March 2012
Part Two, Chapter Ten
I don't sleep that night. Me and Lynch stay up talking until the dawn light is peeking in through the windows. At six AM I head home just long enough to change into uniform and grab some breakfast before I set off for school. Not that I want to go, but I know that if I skipped or called in sick the school would call home to check with my parents, and then there'd be questions and suspicion and trouble. Best to carry on as normal. I left Lynch in town with a handful of change and the promise that I'd come and find her right after the end of school.
As I walk across the park my head is spinning. Could it be true? In the rational light of day it sounds impossible, absurd. Who could believe a story like that? And yet there was no mistaking how earnest Lynch had been in the telling of it. By the end, when she told me how she escaped, and what happened to her friend Syra, she was crying freely. So was I. Back then in that empty house it all seemed so real.
And there were parts of it that rang true as well. That program she mentioned, run by some man called Ingleman. I remember when he came and gave a talk at my school about it. I even remember that Darren signed up to do the tests, although he dropped it later on when it clashed with his hockey games. Could it be possible? Or am I just believing her because I want so badly for there to be some hope that Darren's still alive.
I think of how she talked about her escape. The boy who helped her over the fence--the boy with the tattoos. She described him so well, right down to the scar on his forehead. The scar that I hadn't told her about, that she couldn't possibly have known of beforehand. Was that Darren? The thought fills me with fear and hope and sadness. Where is he now? Is he still alive? Was he punished for helping her escape?
Or is it all just a lie? A little story she concocted to win my sympathy, to keep me on her side? Maybe she's crazy. Maybe it's all happening in her head.
Even if it is all true, what can I do about it? I've never felt so powerless in my life. I have to act, have to do the right thing, rescue Lynch, rescue my brother, bring my family back together . . . but I have no idea how to start at something so big. Last night, Lynch almost laughed when I said we should go to the police.
"It's the police I'm running from, Laura," she told me. "Ingleman's powerful. He has influence. By now I'll be listed on half the wanted lists in the country as a deranged terrorist. They won't even listen to my story before they slap me in a cell and call Ingleman to come fetch."
I'm still turning this all over in my head as I approach the school gates, joining the stream of other pupils. What can I do? I've never felt so powerless. Like always, I end up thinking of Darren. Wondering about him. Hoping for him. It all comes back to my brother.
I'm so wrapped up that I'm at the gates before I notice the police cars parked up on the street outside.
As I walk across the park my head is spinning. Could it be true? In the rational light of day it sounds impossible, absurd. Who could believe a story like that? And yet there was no mistaking how earnest Lynch had been in the telling of it. By the end, when she told me how she escaped, and what happened to her friend Syra, she was crying freely. So was I. Back then in that empty house it all seemed so real.
And there were parts of it that rang true as well. That program she mentioned, run by some man called Ingleman. I remember when he came and gave a talk at my school about it. I even remember that Darren signed up to do the tests, although he dropped it later on when it clashed with his hockey games. Could it be possible? Or am I just believing her because I want so badly for there to be some hope that Darren's still alive.
I think of how she talked about her escape. The boy who helped her over the fence--the boy with the tattoos. She described him so well, right down to the scar on his forehead. The scar that I hadn't told her about, that she couldn't possibly have known of beforehand. Was that Darren? The thought fills me with fear and hope and sadness. Where is he now? Is he still alive? Was he punished for helping her escape?
Or is it all just a lie? A little story she concocted to win my sympathy, to keep me on her side? Maybe she's crazy. Maybe it's all happening in her head.
Even if it is all true, what can I do about it? I've never felt so powerless in my life. I have to act, have to do the right thing, rescue Lynch, rescue my brother, bring my family back together . . . but I have no idea how to start at something so big. Last night, Lynch almost laughed when I said we should go to the police.
"It's the police I'm running from, Laura," she told me. "Ingleman's powerful. He has influence. By now I'll be listed on half the wanted lists in the country as a deranged terrorist. They won't even listen to my story before they slap me in a cell and call Ingleman to come fetch."
I'm still turning this all over in my head as I approach the school gates, joining the stream of other pupils. What can I do? I've never felt so powerless. Like always, I end up thinking of Darren. Wondering about him. Hoping for him. It all comes back to my brother.
I'm so wrapped up that I'm at the gates before I notice the police cars parked up on the street outside.
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