Furnace 4 - Fugitives (3 page)

Especially knowing that the warden, the blacksuits and the wheezers, and the rats too, were still down there, trapped. I offered a silent prayer that they’d all die screaming.

Except I knew that sooner or later the creeps would get out. The warden and his army, his sick force of freaks, would hit the streets. And Alfred Furnace, too. I could still hear his laughter buried deep in the black poison that circled my veins. He was on his way, and he was bringing his berserkers with him. They were all heading to the city, they were heading here right now, and I knew deep down that they weren’t coming just to round up a bunch of escapees.

‘Man, we totally trashed that place,’ Zee said softly, another peal of laughter spilling from his grin.

I stared at the screen, too mesmerised by the pixelated flames to reply. It was the prison that was on fire now, but when Furnace reached the city the chaos would spread. It would spread far and wide.

I couldn’t help thinking that when he arrived, the whole world would burn.

Television

The breach occurred shortly after five o’clock this morning.

The newsreader’s clipped accent was the perfect contrast to the scenes of carnage behind her. Zee and I had collapsed against a pillar, our eyes flicking between the various reports. There didn’t seem to be anything on any channel but breaking news of our escape.

Authorities have cordoned off the prison and the surround
ing area and have reportedly petitioned the government for
help from the army to contain the breakout. There is as yet no
word from Furnace Penitentiary itself as to exactly how the
prison’s security was breached and how many inmates have
escaped.

On the bottom of the screen was a digital clock which read 05.43, as well as the date. It was March the twenty-third. I couldn’t believe how much time had passed, how much of my life had been stolen. Beneath that was a rolling text bar. I followed it as I listened.

Zee looked as if he was about to fall asleep – his eyelids almost shut and his chocolate-streaked mouth drooping. I didn’t blame him. We weren’t exactly safe in here, but for the first time in a long time we weren’t running for our lives or fighting tooth and nail to stay alive. This mall was the closest thing we had to a home, and the stillness that hung over the place – the quiet almost church-like despite the chatter of the TVs and the constant drone of music – was disarming. It was tempting to believe that we could close our eyes here and wake up free men. And it was easy to forget that the events on screen were happening half a dozen streets away.

I turned my attention back to the television. A middle-aged reporter was standing in the centre of a street, trying and failing not to look nervous, the burning prison visible behind him. There were cops everywhere, and I thought I caught a glimpse of a bunch of inmates being bundled into a van. The thick smoke, flecked with sparkling reds and blues, meant that I couldn’t be sure.

… supposed to have been the most secure prison in the
world, but the big question today is just how a group of teenage
inmates managed to crack security at Furnace Penitentiary.
With memories of what has been dubbed the Summer of
Slaughter still fresh in the minds of the nation, it’s no surprise
that people here are reacting with anger and distress to the
news
.

‘This reminds me of being at home,’ Zee said, his voice slurred.

‘You lived in a mall?’ I joked. Zee raised a hand and batted me gently on the leg.

‘No, you doofus. The news. I used to sit with my folks after dinner and watch it. They’d always stick a documentary or something on afterwards.’ He paused, and for a moment I thought he might have dropped off. On screen the reporter was being jostled to one side by an armed policeman, a gloved hand raised to block the shot. I tried to watch but my vision was swimming in and out of focus. For a fraction of a second the reporter and the policeman seemed to appear out of the screen, standing right in front of me wearing flowery maternity dresses, and I realised I’d fallen asleep. I snapped my head up, my entire body jolting.

‘Do you think we’ll be able to go home?’ Zee asked. The question took me by surprise, waking me up a little.

‘Seriously?’ I asked. He nodded, and the sheer desperation in his expression was almost enough to force a lie from my lips. But there was no denying the truth. ‘Come on, Zee. As soon as they’ve finished searching the area the police will be checking out our addresses. If you head home they’ll catch you before the day is up, I guarantee it.’

‘Not if my parents hide me,’ he said. ‘Or if we all go away together. They’d do that, I know they would. They’d just get in the car and we could all drive somewhere nice, somewhere out of the way. Yours would do the same. We’re their kids.’

I spluttered, the noise half laugh and half sob. I may not have been able to remember my parents’ faces but I had never forgotten the way they had condemned me, the way my mum had turned away after the court hearing, the way they had forgotten me. I had no doubt that if I stepped through my kitchen door they’d welcome me with tight smiles and a hushed call to the police. Zee seemed to read my mind.

‘Well, mine would. You could come too; they’d like you.’

The last few words were so quiet they were almost unrecognisable. Zee’s chin slowly dropped until it hit his chest, his breathing growing heavier and steadier.

‘Dream on, Zee,’ I said gently. ‘We’re on our own now.’

I lifted a hand and rested it on his shoulder, shaking him gently. We couldn’t afford to sleep. The moment we let down our guard was the moment we put ourselves back in the warden’s hands.

‘Zee,’ I said more loudly. ‘Zee, stay awake.’

I gripped him harder, feeling the jutting ridge of his shoulder blade beneath the skin. It was rising and falling with each breath, but after three or four it stopped, trembling weakly for a second before lying still. I waited for him to inhale, my heart in my throat, but he
sat there scrunched against the pillar as still and silent as a corpse. I rolled onto my knees before him, both of my hands on his shoulders, shaking hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

‘Zee!’ I was shouting now. ‘Jesus, wake up! Zee? What’s wrong.’

His head lurched up like a puppet’s, eyes locked onto mine. Only they weren’t Zee’s eyes, they were empty sockets in his head. No, not empty … They were full of darkness, not just shadow but something heavy and substantial that thrashed and spilled inside them like they were two cups of oil. I looked at Zee and felt as though all the goodness in the world had been extinguished. It was like meeting the warden’s gaze, only infinitely worse. No, these eyes belonged to someone else. Some
thing
else. Something unspeakably evil. I don’t know how I could be sure, but I was.

These eyes belonged to Alfred Furnace.

‘Alex,’ the thing that was once Zee screamed, words blasted from the red-raw tunnel of its throat, ‘I AM COMING FOR YOU!’

Then it was grabbing me, shaking me relentlessly, my head banging against the wall, my teeth clacking together, screaming my name over and over and over—

‘Alex! Alex, wake up!’

My eyes opened and for a moment all I could see was those oil-slick eyes gaping at me. I blinked, and the two versions of Zee’s face overlapped, as though he was wearing a cheap Halloween mask that had slipped. One more blink and he snapped back to normal, his
expression one of concern. His hands were around my collar and he was shaking me, hard enough to bounce my head off the pillar. When he saw that I’d come to he let go, rocking back on his heels.

‘Thought we’d lost you for a minute there,’ he said.

I staggered to my feet, trying to rub some of the confusion from my head. I could have just fallen asleep, the vision a nightmare. But I knew better. Furnace had been inside my head. Somehow he had peeled open my mind with filthy fingers and seeded his thoughts there. I slapped my cheek a couple of times, then yawned twice, the rush of oxygen to my brain brightening the room.

‘Where’s Simon?’ I said, knowing that the only way I was going to stay awake was by keeping upright. ‘We’d better get moving.’

I didn’t wait for a response, shuffling across the smooth floor towards menswear. Simon was lost in the middle of it, almost buried by a pile of clothes. He was smoothing down the front of a black designer hoodie.

‘Fatties’ department is just over there,’ he said, peeking out of the cotton folds and nodding to one side.

‘Thanks,’ I muttered, squeezing between the overstuffed rails. My mind must still have been pretty fragile, because it almost shattered when I crossed an aisle and saw a shape loom up beside me. I turned to see a blacksuit there, decked in torn overalls but his cold silver eyes glinting. I fell back against a table laden with jeans, my hands darting up defensively. The blacksuit’s did the same, and it was only when I waved at it, the
hulking brute imitating my actions, that I recognised my reflection.

It was the first time I had seen myself properly since my surgery. Of course deep down I’d known what the warden had done to me. I knew that he’d torn me open and stuffed me with somebody else’s flesh, making me bigger, stronger, faster. But when I saw myself in my own imagination I still saw
me
, the skinny kid I’d been when I entered the prison.

That … that
thing
in the mirror – its torso massive, its limbs bulging so much they looked like they would burst, its skin lined with black veins, and those eyes … It was a monster. It was Frankenstein’s repulsive creation, bruises and blemishes beaten into every square inch, scars criss-crossing like roads on a map. It couldn’t be me. It just couldn’t.

But it was.

I groaned, the noise boiling up from my stomach. I held my giant hands up in front of my face so I wouldn’t see the tears, then I scurried shamefully away from the mirror.

Focus, I told myself. You have to focus or you’re not getting out of here.

Ahead was a shelf full of carefully folded tracksuit trousers and I rummaged through them, wiping my blurred eyes until I could make out the size. I pulled out an XXXL, sending the rest crumpling to the floor. They were tight but comfortable enough. A minute or so later and I was also wearing a massive black hooded sweatshirt and a brand-new pair of size-14 Nikes. I felt
a little better being free of my Furnace stripes, but I still avoided the full-length mirrors as I made my way back to the electronics department.

Simon was leaning against the same pillar as I had been earlier, trying on a gold watch he had found. Zee had also got himself some new kit – a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown T-shirt. He had a black beanie on his head and a parka draped over his shoulders. He looked over when he heard me coming and smiled at my hoodie.

‘Nice touch,’ he said. I frowned, looking down to see a bright yellow smiley face plastered across my chest. I wasn’t quite sure how I had failed to notice it when I’d plucked the thing off the shelf. I thought about taking it off but I just couldn’t be bothered. Besides, if a guy couldn’t wear a smiley when he’d just got out of prison then when could he?

‘How are things out there?’ I asked, nodding at the televisions.

‘Bad,’ said Zee. ‘Looks like the army are on the way, the coastguard too. They’re bringing in everyone they can to round us up. Take a look at this, though.’ He pointed at a smaller television which was showing CNN. ‘Wait for it, hang on … There.’

Just to recap on this latest story
, said the anchorman, his finger pressed to his ear.
There have been reports of some
kind of … animal loose in the city. This footage from close to
the prison shows what looks like a large dog …
The picture on the screen flicked to a CCTV clip of something huge and beetle-black darting down an alleyway. It
was on screen for less than a second, the image too grainy to make out any detail other than four long legs. I knew what it was, though, and it was no dog, not even one of the warden’s skinless beasts.

‘The berserker,’ I whispered to myself, my injuries seeming to throb even more painfully as I remembered the battle I’d had with it, a fight that had almost killed me. If that thing was loose then we needed to be careful; there was no way I could face it again, even with its injuries.

I studied the array of screens in front of me to see whether there was anything else about the berserker, but the other channels only wanted to talk about the breakout. On one they were interviewing a politician, the man half asleep. On another they were showing a blueprint of Furnace that I knew from just glancing at it was completely wrong. I turned to the next, the largest television in the display. It was another aerial shot, obviously being filmed live from one of the choppers. There was no prison in view, just a bunch of narrow streets and shops, plus another building that looked much larger than the rest. There was a round glass dome in the roof and a shaft of light beamed up from it like an emergency flare.

The helicopter was so low that we could see through the dome to the shop beyond, and a bank of flickering television screens against which three hunched forms were silhouetted. I watched one of those figures turn and wave, a slight delay between Zee’s action and its digital echo.

‘We’re on the telly,’ he said as we all stared in disbelief at the vast dome over our heads.

Then the glass exploded, armed police dropping on ropes like spiders scuttling in for the kill.