‘Which way?’ Max says, his face white and strained under his hood. ‘I can’t remember.’
I try to picture the map. ‘Down there,’ I say, pointing to our left.
‘You sure?’
I nod, even though I’m not. I just hope we haven’t left it too late.
CHAPTER 30
WE CAN’T RUN
in case anyone sees us and wonders what we’re doing, but we walk as fast as we can. Although the streets are completely empty, I keep getting the feeling we’re being watched, my scalp and the skin on the backs of my hands prickling. If we had more time, I’d check it out, make sure, but we don’t have any time at all. So I tell myself I’m being paranoid. Who’d be following us anyway, except for ACID? And they wouldn’t sneak up on us, they’d point their guns at us and shout at us to stop.
The streets begin to widen, the tower blocks giving way to shops and offices. Everything’s shuttered, with holosigns in the windows saying
CLOSED FOR RALLY DAY
, and there’s still no one about. It’s kind of unnerving, actually – like everyone’s been beamed up and Max and I are the only people left on earth.
‘Look for a PKP,’ I tell Max as we reach a junction with a network of mag tracks running across it, although I can’t see any mags anywhere. Being out in the open like this is making me nervous. I scan the area, but there don’t seem to be any PKPs either. Perhaps Manchester’s already ripped its PKP network out. After all, who uses it these days when everyone has komms?
With the rain spattering down on my head, I weigh up our options. If we can’t find a PKP, I’ll have to convince someone to let me borrow their komm. Or knock them out and steal it.
If I can find anyone.
‘There!’ Max cries. I look in the direction he’s pointing and see, near a dilapidated foodmart, a single PKP in a scuffed perspex booth, graffiti (nothing from NAR, thank goodness) etched deep into the plastic.
Please let it work please let it work please let it work
, I pray silently inside my head as we run across to it.
There’s no holodisplay, just an old-fashioned printed sign next to it, barely readable.
ALL LINKS EXCEPT THOSE TO ACID ARE CHARGEABLE AT THE USUAL RATES – PLEASE INSERT A VALID CITIZENSHIP-CARD WITH ENOUGH KREDZ TO MAKE YOUR LINK
.
‘But you should be able to get through to ACID without one if it’s free to link them, right?’ Max says.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. I’m trying to remember how these things work. There are two buttons on the top, one green and one red, and a keypad underneath them with numbers on it. I hit the green button.
Nothing happens.
I press it again, jamming my thumb down on it. Suddenly, a holoscreen crackles into life at the back of the booth, the words
PLEASE INSERT C-CARD
jumping about on it. I remember that whoever picks up the link at the other end will be able to see me, so I pull my hood down
further
over my face and tug the neck of my sweatshirt up to cover my chin and mouth. Then I stab the 9 key on the keypad.
For a moment, I think it’s not going to work; that even to link ACID, you need a c-card, so they can check out who’s linking them. Then the words disappear and the colour of the screen changes from silver to green as the link goes through.
I look around for a news screen so I can check the time: 0829. Staring at the screen again, I shift from one foot to the other.
C’mon . . . c’mon
. . .
A woman’s face appears; not a real woman but a static image – neat blonde hair, saccharine smile. I wonder if it’s supposed to be reassuring. ‘You are through to the ACID Crime Report Hotlink,’ a robotic voice says. ‘Everything you say will be recorded. Please state your name and c-card ID number.’
‘Listen,’ I say from behind the neck of my sweatshirt, desperately hoping there’s a real person on the other end somewhere. ‘I’m in Manchester where the rally’s taking place. You have to clear the square. There are explosive devices stuck to the buildings around the edge, and they’re going to go off in thirty minutes.’ When there’s no response, I say it again. ‘Clear the square. There are bombs. You have thirty minutes.’
The woman’s face disappears. She’s replaced by an ACID agent, his expression shocked and angry. ‘What?’ he says. ‘Who are you? Take your hood down and identify yourself.’
‘You have thirty minutes,’ I repeat, and hit the red button to cut the link.
Max and I walk away quickly, heading for a little side street beyond the shops. I still can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching us, but every time I turn round, there’s nothing there. No footsteps, no figure slipping into a doorway. I
must
be imagining it.
Then we hear sirens, and the thud of a roto – two rotos – approaching rapidly. Max grabs my hand and pulls me into the entranceway of the foodmart. Moments later, three electro vans with blacked-out windows and the ACID logo on the side go flying past, sirens screaming. The two rotos lumber overhead. Max and I press ourselves against the foodmart’s shuttered doors, trying to melt into the shadows and become invisible.
‘We did it,’ Max whispers when they’ve gone as, from a distance, the wind blows the sound of the sirens and amplified voices back towards us.
‘I hope so,’ I say. I don’t feel so sure, but when I look at him, he’s grinning, and there’s something about it that’s infectious. I feel a smile spread slowly across my face too, starting to feel almost hysterical with relief.
I shake my head. ‘We should get out of here.’
Max’s smile falters. ‘What if more vans come? We’ll be right out in the open – they might recognize you from the PKP screen.’
Shit
. I hadn’t thought of that. Only seconds after the words have left his mouth, I hear another siren approaching, and moments later a fourth van speeds past.
‘Wait a bit, then,’ I say. ‘People will start coming back this way soon – if we’re part of a crowd, we’ll be less easy to spot.’
We both pull back our hoods and crouch on the damp concrete in the entrance to the foodmart – it’s too wet to sit – huddling side by side to wait.
‘Mia?’ Max says after a few moments.
I look round at him again.
‘D’you think we’ll ever make it back to London?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘D’you want to go back?’
‘I’d like to know what’s happened to Mum,’ he says, his forehead creasing with worry, and I feel guilt tug at my insides.
‘What about your parents?’ he says suddenly. ‘They must be worried about you.’
I swallow hard. ‘I . . . don’t have any parents,’ I say. ‘They died when I was little. Accident.’
Max’s expression changes to concern. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say, hating myself for lying to him; for all the lies I’ve ever told him, layer upon layer upon layer of them. ‘I don’t really remember them.’
‘It still sucks, though,’ he says quietly.
I don’t say anything. I can’t look at him. But I know he’s looking at me, and in the end I can’t help it: I have to drag my gaze up to meet his. And when I see the concern still plainly visible in his eyes, mingled with sympathy and sorrow, I hate myself more than ever. I should get up. I should walk away from him. He’d be better off without me, even if he doesn’t know it.
But I can’t. I
can’t
.
And I can’t tear my gaze away from his. The air between us feels as if it’s suddenly become charged with electricity. I remember last night, when he held onto my hand and we were so close I could feel his breath against my face.
I don’t need to wonder if he was thinking the same as me any more. I can see it in his eyes, as plainly as if he’d said the words out loud.
There’s a pause, several heartbeats long. Then, still holding my gaze, he dips his head towards mine.
I come to my senses with a bump. ‘Max,
no
,’ I gasp, pushing him away. ‘I can’t – we mustn’t – it’s too dangerous – we have to get out of here and—’
‘I thought we were waiting for there to be more people around?’ he says, sounding puzzled and hurt.
‘No. Actually, I think we should go,’ I say. ‘ACID will be looking for the people who sent the warning – they’ll have figured out which PKP it came from – we have to leave
now
.’
I scramble to my feet, brushing dirt off my back where I had it pressed against the shutters. Whichever way I turn, I seem to hurt him. But I
can’t
let anything happen between us. Apart from anything else, it’s too risky; he could find out who I am.
Max gets up too. ‘So, which way?’ he says. His voice sounds cool, emotionless, and when I sneak a glance at him, I see his jaw is clenched. I open my mouth to speak,
realize
I have no idea what I want to say to him, and close it again.
‘Mia.
Which way?
’
I blink, trying to regain my focus. ‘Um, down there,’ I say, pointing to the side street we were heading for before the vans went past. ‘We should keep off the main roads, I think.’
‘Fine.’ He pulls his hood back up and walks out onto the street, his arms wrapped around his middle. I hurry after him.
‘Going somewhere?’ asks a voice behind us.
We both turn to see Jacob step out of a shop doorway a few metres from where we were hiding, a smile on his face, his pack over his shoulder and a gun in his hand.
CHAPTER 31
‘WALK,’ HE SAYS
, pointing up the street with the gun. ‘And don’t try any of that kung fu shit,’ he tells me. ‘If you so much as
twitch
in the wrong direction, I’ll put a bullet through your boyfriend’s head.’
Max’s eyes go wide.
We walk.
‘Where are you taking us?’ I say.
‘The church,’ he says, pointing again, and I see a spire looming above the roofs to our left.
‘Did you follow us?’ I say, remembering the prickling sensation in my scalp and across the back of my hands as we made our way down here, and wishing desperately that I’d paid it more attention.
‘I certainly did.’ He sounds so smug that I want to take a swing at him, gun or no gun. ‘I had a feeling you were going to try and mess things up.’
‘You’re too late, anyhow,’ I say. ‘I linked ACID. They know.’
Jacob laughs. ‘Do you have any idea how long it’s going to take to get everyone out of that square? They’re panicking. It’s chaos. And anyway, I might not have been quite accurate about the timers on the bombs.’
I whirl round. ‘
What?
’
‘Keep moving,’ he says, sliding his thumb across to the gun’s charge switch.
I start to walk again, shaking. He’s lying. He
has
to be. If the bombs go off while everyone’s still trying to get out of the square . . .
We reach the church, which has boarded-over windows and a huge
FOR SALE
holosign outside. The doors have chains looped through the handles, but the padlock’s missing. Jacob unwinds the chains and nudges one of the doors open with his foot. ‘In,’ he says.
Max hesitates.
‘GO.’ Jacob jabs him in the back with the muzzle of the gun. Max stumbles forward into the church, and I follow.
Inside, it’s so dark I can’t see anything. There’s a strong smell of damp and piss and mice. I hear Jacob take something out of his pack and shake it. A few seconds later, a glolamp flares dully into life.
In its weak glow, I can see we’re near the altar. There’s a vandalized holoscreen projector on the wall behind it. In front of us, rows of pews disappear into the shadows at the back of the church, and to our left is the pulpit, decorated with a massive, peeling gilt eagle with outstretched wings. Near the altar are some lightweight wooden chairs, piled one on top of another, most of them smashed to pieces. Jacob grabs a couple that are still in one piece, keeping the gun trained on me and Max the whole time, and places one at the base of the pulpit and
one
beside the front row of pews. ‘Sit down,’ he tells Max, taking some lengths of rope out of the bag.
Max sits, and, keeping the gun pointed at my head, Jacob makes me tie him up, binding his wrists and legs and tying him and the chair to the pulpit rail. Then I sit down and, tucking the gun into his belt, Jacob binds my arms and legs so fast I don’t even have a chance to
think
about fighting him off.
‘Let us
go
!’ I snap at him. ‘You can’t do this!’
‘I believe I just did,’ Jacob says, standing back and folding his arms, the gun hanging loosely from his right hand.
I strain against the ropes, but they’re so tight, all that happens is I start to feel like I can’t breathe. I relax, gasping again. ‘So what are you going to do?’ I say when I’ve got my breath back. ‘Just leave us here?’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, I’ve got something special planned for you two,’ Jacob says, and I feel fear clench inside me.
‘But all those people, they’re going to die,’ Max says. His voice sounds hoarse and desperate.
‘And?’ Jacob says.
‘They’ve done
nothing
!’
‘It’s a necessary sacrifice,’ he says, his voice as empty of emotion as his flat, unwavering gaze. ‘Their deaths will be a tragedy, but you need to look at the bigger picture here. ACID need to pay.’
‘You’re crazy,’ Max says.
One corner of Jacob’s mouth curves up in a smile. ‘How kind of you to say so.’
‘You’re
sick
,’ I say.
‘Sick?’ Jacob’s smile broadens. ‘Really? If so, I’m in good company.’
And in an instant, I know exactly what the next words out of his mouth are going to be.
‘Don’t,’ I say, hearing the pleading whine in my voice but too desperate to care. ‘Do anything you like to me, but not that.’
Jacob’s smile disappears and his face snaps back into a chilly, expressionless mask. ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’ he says.
‘Mia?’ Max says. ‘What’s he on about?’
‘She’s not called Mia,’ Jacob says. ‘She’s called Jenna Strong.’
Then he turns and walks out of the church without another word.
CHAPTER 32
‘MAX . . .’ I SAY
.
His face is white.
‘You,’ he says. ‘
You
.’