Cracks (24 page)

‘Yes, he’s just gone. I’m on my way,’ I say in a gruff voice. Thank God he’s distracted, speaking into his phone and he carries on, barking orders to someone
else.

It’s clear I can’t just wander about. I go back into the room again, thinking hard.

I remember the cells were in rows above the large central area. I just have to trust that this memory from the coma world is accurate. Another memory comes to me . . . and I look up.

This room has the same square ventilation shaft I saw in the kitchens.

Maybe they run round the whole building.

I pat my pockets, dearly wishing I still had my lock picks. But they’re gone.

Then something occurs to me. I put my hand into the trolley bin and reach down, rooting around for ages. I’m on the verge of giving up when my fingers close around something metal that
jangles . . .

Brilliant! I give the lock picks a little kiss.

I quickly work out how to make the bed as high as it will go and then climb on. Using the picks, I undo the ventilation covering and hoist myself inside. I’m weak from the infection and
coma and it’s not easy. I’m sweating as I try for the third time and manage to get my belly over the ledge. Then I slide inside and replace the covering.

It’s warm in here and dust hangs in huge ropes all around. I try not to think about spiders. I don’t know which direction I’m going but decide that if I can find the big open
area in the old prison, I can find where the cells are and look for Jax.

I start shuffling forwards. It’s hard work. My knees and back are soon aching and the hot dusty air is making me wheeze. I’m sweating all over. After finding myself up against a few
dead ends, my luck changes. The shaft gets big enough to walk with my head down. Plus I can see that I’m finally in the old bit of the building. Through the vents, I glimpse grey stone floor
below and a smell of dampness, sweat and age.

Shouts draw me on faster and suddenly I’m looking down on the central atrium of Riley Hall, the one where the boy jeered at me that time. I give my head a shake. That didn’t happen
to me. It happened to the donor boy.

Something weird is going on below. A handful of teenage boy prisoners are smashing stuff up, throwing tables and chairs about and cat-calling triumphantly. A siren goes off –
wah-wah-wah
– and guards suddenly spill into the area. Tasers go off in a blinding flash. The prisoners are overpowered within seconds, pathetically easily. The guards start hauling
the prisoners away, yelling about getting out of the building.

In no time it becomes unnaturally quiet. I crawl to the nearest vent covering, which is over one of the long balconies. Like the others though, the screws are on the other side. I have to kick
it repeatedly until it buckles and then finally falls with a crash to the ground. The sound is horribly loud.

I peer down. It looks like a long way to the balcony.

I lower myself onto my belly backwards and hold on to the rim as long as possible before jumping.

Three, two, one . . .

I jump. My ankle twists a bit but I’m OK. I start to walk along the balcony. All the cell doors are open. Jax has probably already been taken to wherever the other prisoners are going. But
I have to be sure. I’ve got to get him away from Cavendish.

I carefully look inside each cell, one by one. Many of them have had the bunk beds wrenched from the wall and there are dark stains on the wall. Looks like there was some sort of riot here. I
walk the full length of two balconies but don’t see a single prisoner.

Maybe I should just get out of here.

But wait . . . what was that? I stand utterly still, listening, and then hear it again. A low moaning coming from the very first room I looked into. I run in and then notice something I
didn’t see before: a brown hand poking out from behind the broken bed.

‘Jax? Is that you?’ It takes ages to heave the bunk bed to one side but eventually it shifts. Jax is lying behind it, a big gash on his head and his arm lying at an odd angle.

‘Jax!’

His eyelids flutter and then he’s looking at me. Some cloud of confusion passes over his face and then recognition flares in his eyes, like tiny pilot lights being switched on.

‘Matt!’ he says hoarsely. ‘Or whatever your bloody name is!’ He says it like we’ve just bumped into each other in the street and even tries to lift his arm to touch
knuckles. But pain makes him gasp.

‘I’m going to get you out of here,’ I say. ‘Where’s Kyla?’

‘They didn’t get her,’ he says with an effort. ‘We had a bit of an argument and she’d stomped off. Then they got me.’

A tiny part of my brain wants to know what they were arguing about despite everything going on right now. But I’m so relieved she got away. It proves what I guessed before, that Cavendish
looked at my thoughts – and hopes – and then used them against me.‘Let’s get you up,’ I say.

It hurts him. A lot. I help him get to his feet, his teeth bared against the pain. I can see that his arm is giving him agony. I’m still so happy to see him that I have to blink a few
times and rub my sleeve across my face. Jax smiles back at me.

‘You saved me, man,’ he says, his voice still rough. He coughs and groans. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. The lads I shared with went nuts and they didn’t
even care that I was hurt.’

‘Well, let’s get out of here,’ I say. ‘We’re heading for the kitchens. There’s an exit there.’

‘How’d you know?’ says Jax. ‘And why are you even
here
?’

‘It’s a long story, mate,’ I say. ‘It’ll have to wait, come on.’

The siren is still going off at ear-splitting volume. I try to remember which way to go and think I’ve got it when we turn a corner and a figure in black with a balaclava covering their
face springs out, pointing the barrel of a gun directly at us.

Then I hear a sharp intake of breath. The masked person reaches up and pulls off the balaclava.

‘
Tom?
’ For a second I think I must be dreaming or something, but when his face splits into a grin, happiness floods through me and I know he’s really here.

‘Cal! I was looking for you!’ Tom grabs me and pulls me into a bear hug.

‘I thought you were dead!’ I say, my voice breaking.‘I saw what happened to the van!’

‘You didn’t see everything,’ says Tom. ‘We jumped straight out again and an old man beckoned us inside his house and let us out the back way. Said he was no friend of
CATS and was disgusted what was happening to his country. We got to the safe house in the city.’ He pauses. ‘Who’s this?’ He’s looking at Jax.

‘My friend,’ I say. ‘They captured him just because he was with me.’

‘All right?’ says Jax awkwardly.

‘Yeah,’ Tom says, ‘but let’s get going.’ He leads us on, gun at the ready. ‘Things have moved on since you got out of here,’ he says, as we walk.
‘There were some other attempts to fit Revealer Chips using prisoners here. Teenagers. But several died in the process. The nurse who was involved in your care . . . remember her?’

I nod. The woman I thought was Tina when I came round.

‘She decided she’d had enough. She turned against the regime and went public. We have her in hiding and have managed to leak images of the Facility and her testimony onto the
internet. That and the evidence we finally found of the regime placing plaster bombs. There’s been a huge public backlash. It’s being quashed but something is changing, you can feel it.
Riots are breaking out everywhere.’

I can’t take it all in. ‘Where is Cavendish, then?’ I shiver, thinking of the other victims of his twisted programme who weren’t as lucky as me.

‘He was ordered to a top level meeting earlier today,’ says Tom. ‘He’s going to fight to keep the programme but we’ve heard they’re closing it all down. The
prisoners here got wind that something big was happening and a fight broke out that turned into a riot.’ He takes a breath. ‘It was the chance we needed to raid the Facility, and make
sure it’s finished for good . . . But now we need to stop talking and get out of here.’

I’m not arguing.

Tom says it’s too dangerous to go to the main exits and backs up what I said about the kitchens, after checking the plan he has on his phone. As we move through the building, I’m
feeling wobbly, but Jax is in a far worse state. He keeps groaning and making a sucking sound through his teeth. Sweat is trickling down his face, leaving trails in the dirt and dust on his
cheeks.

Suddenly Tom freezes and swears. He’s looking straight up.

I look up too.

Small, pale coloured squares are stuck randomly around the walls, just higher than eye level.

‘God, are they —?’

‘PLASTER BOMBS!’ shouts Tom. ‘They’ve rigged this place up to destroy the evidence! Run!’

All three of us move at once. I have to help Jax, who’s doing his best, but his injuries slow him down. Tom yells back at us to hurry and we put on a burst of speed that makes Jax shudder
with agony. We turn corners and skid on broken glass as we rush to the kitchen door. We feel the rumbles of the first bomb going off through our feet and know we have seconds until they go off in
turn. Part of me wants to let go of Jax and save my own skin but I force myself to hold on to his good arm tightly, not trusting myself to let him go. We run through the kitchen and out to the
storeroom where the door leads outside. We scramble to open it, and there’s a shuddering blast behind us that knocks all of us off our feet.

And then we’re outside. There’s a strange moment of quiet, a gap in time where I feel fresh air on my face. Tom’s yelling but I can’t hear. His mouth is stretched wide. I
throw myself forwards as an explosion rips the world apart.

I can taste and smell burned hair as I tumble onto the hard ground with a crunch and roll over. A wall of heat follows me. I stagger to my feet, unable to see anything but black, choking smoke.
I run and throw myself onto grass, my lungs tearing apart as I try to pull air into them. Tom is next to me, coughing violently. I look up at the building that’s smoking and crumbling and
cracking with the roar of flames.

The thought just seems to float down into my mind like the bits of charred stuff that are raining down on me.

Jax.

Where’s Jax?

I scramble to my feet and then see him, lying face down about three metres away. I run over and turn him over onto his back, forgetting to be careful with his broken arm. He has an ugly gash on
his forehead but his brown eyes are open, looking up at me.

He’s OK!

I shake him. ‘Jax! Jax, come on! Move! Come on, man, you’re going to be all right!’ I shake him harder but he won’t respond and his head just lolls to the side.

I cradle him and cry angry gulping sobs. ‘Come on!’

Why won’t he move? Why wasn’t he faster? Why did he have to break an arm? Why was he even here?

And then Tom is trying to pull me away and saying, ‘Come away, Cal. You can’t do anything now, come away.’ It’s only then that I look properly at his eyes.

The little pilot lights I saw before . . . they’ve gone out.

S
not, blood, tears and dirt are smeared all over my face and I can’t stop coughing. I can’t seem to let go of Jax, like my arms are
locked round his neck. All I can think is, ‘How am I going to tell Kyla?’ and ‘It’s my fault.’

I only realise I’m rocking when something makes me stop and I look up to see Nathan there. I don’t know where he came from but he’s here. He’s squatting on his haunches
and taking hold of my arms, gently prising them away from Jax’s body. He doesn’t seem so angry now. He looks sad and kind.

‘Come on, buddy,’ he says softly. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him. We have to get out of here quickly. Come on.’ He’s speaking gently but his grip is
strong and I find myself being lifted to my feet.

‘We have to take him!’ I shout and then bend double into a fit of coughing.

There are sirens in the distance but I don’t care. I’m going to stay here with Jax.

Tom and another man lift Jax up, carefully but quickly. Nathan pulls me to my feet and steers me fast to a van with blacked out windows. I’m just about to get in when I look down and see
something by my feet. It’s the cat.

I reach down and pick up its furry, warm body and pull it close. It’s been with me right through this. Shown me where to go and even helped me escape. It hums and purrs like a motor and
doesn’t seem to mind the tears that are dripping onto its back as I climb into the van.

I lay my throbbing head against the window. Everything is tinted grey.

But it isn’t just the glass. The world has gone darker too.