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.
Friday, 4 May 2012
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.
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