The Disappearances (27 page)

‘I live here, man,’ he said, trying to get past.

The man pulled him back. ‘Fill in a form,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s moving to temporary accommodation. You can collect your stuff later. What’s left of it. There’s going to be compensation, though. You know it was a gas leak? Hold on to that form. You might make some money.’

Devil took the form. ‘A gas leak?’ He looked down at the form, but couldn’t focus enough to read it properly. A gas leak. People were really buying this shit.

‘That’s right. Apparently they knew about the dodgy pipes a year ago, council should have fixed it and didn’t. There’s a bus leaving in half an hour, over there. You wait for it. And remember to fill in the form.’

Devil walked in a daze towards the large group of people waiting for the bus. His mum was standing next to a man Devil recognised, a man she was friendly with. She was looking drained, confused. The girl was there with her mum, Nelson too. He shuffled over to Devil. ‘Fuck, man,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ Devil said, his mind racing. ‘Yeah.’

Then he put his hand in his pocket, took out the money that Thomas had given him. A grand to blow up his estate, to kill all these people. He walked over to his mum. ‘Here,’ he said, pressing the money into her hands. ‘Look after yourself.’

His mother stared at him uncertainly, then nodded.

‘You look after her for me,’ he said to the man.

Devil walked back to Nelson. ‘You keep an eye on them,’ he said. ‘Make sure no one takes her money. You get me?’

Nelson looked at him in surprise, then shrugged. ‘Yeah, man. Whatever.’ Then he frowned. ‘Where you going then? Why don’t you make sure no one takes it?’

Devil didn’t say anything. He didn’t know. Not yet. He watched as the bus doors opened and people started to get on. Most of them were covered in dust. And that’s when Devil saw him, the man driving the bus, as he got down to help an old man on; that’s when Devil saw the ring on his finger, the ring with an ‘I’ on it.

‘You get the bus, man,’ he said to Nelson. ‘I’ll catch you later, okay?’

‘Later? But––’ Nelson started to say, but Devil was already walking away, already running. And as he ran, he took the pin off his hoodie, the one that he’d worn all this time, and he threw it onto the ground, treading it in with his shoe. He wasn’t one of Thomas’s gang. Not any more. He paused a moment, stared at the pin with loathing, with shame, with fear. Then he started running again.

And as he ran, he realised that he would always be running. Running, or doing whatever Thomas asked of him. Because men like Thomas didn’t give up. Men like Thomas didn’t let people like Devil slip through their fingers. He could look over his shoulder all his life but it wouldn’t be enough; there would always be someone, something he missed.

He was never going to be free because he knew too much.

And right then, Devil knew what he had do to. The only thing he could do. The only thing he wanted to do. Because he didn’t want to run from Thomas, but he didn’t want to run from himself any more either.

And so he ran back into town, back into the police station, pushed past the queue, stood at the desk and banged his hand down.

‘I want to turn myself in,’ he shouted.

The man at the desk pressed a button; immediately the policeman, the one with the ‘I’ badge came out of a door, walked towards him.

‘You again,’ he said, his face cold. ‘I told you not to waste police time. There was no bomb. There was no …’

‘Not that,’ Devil said quickly. ‘I want to speak to the ginger policeman.’

‘Pete?’ the man at the desk said. ‘You want DC Wainright?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ the policeman said. ‘You can talk to me.’

‘I want Pete,’ Devil said desperately. ‘Please,’ he begged the guy at the desk. He shrugged, picked up the phone. The door opened and the ginger-haired policeman appeared. He looked at Devil uncertainly.

‘He’s wasting police time,’ the senior policeman with the hair growing out of his nose said. ‘I’m handling it.’

‘Right you are,’ PC Wainright shrugged and turned to go.

‘Wait,’ Devil cried out. ‘Wait.’ He looked PC Wainright up and down; there was no pin, no ring.

‘What is it?’ the PC said.

‘I want to turn myself in,’ Devil said.

‘For something that didn’t happen,’ the thin-lipped policeman said.

‘For the Green Lanes Massive murder,’ Devil said, banging his hand down on the desk. ‘For drug dealing. Running a gang. You know all about it. You were there. You spoke to people. You know it happened. I want to confess. I want to confess …’

They had been walking for forty minutes and had already made good progress; by daybreak they would be safe, hidden. It had been Linus who had taught Benjamin about the safety of caves, about nature’s gift to those seeking to survive. It had come up the first time they’d met: Linus had quizzed him on the Settlement, on how it was run, on how it provided for its people. So many questions that Benjamin had grown suspicious, had threatened to have Linus removed if he didn’t come clean about his reasons for being there. But Linus hadn’t seemed fazed, not in the slightest; he had just continued to talk, to notice, to ask, to make suggestions. He told Benjamin that his Settlement was vulnerable, that he was vulnerable as leader. ‘Always have a fallback position,’ he’d told him. ‘Always have somewhere to run to. Trust me, you’ll thank me one day.’

‘You think we’ll be all right?’ he said.

Stern looked at him strangely; Benjamin didn’t often ask for reassurance. Perhaps twice in twenty years. Then he nodded. ‘We’re all alive. We’ve got food and water. The caves are ready and waiting,’ he said. ‘Of course we’ll be all right.’

Benjamin nodded uncomfortably. They were all alive. But for how long? Where was he leading everyone, anyway? Who was he to decide he was their leader, the person who made all the decisions? Sometimes he heard people talking about him as though he was some kind of deity, some kind of saviour sent from heaven. But he knew what he really was. He knew he was nothing like a God.

Then again, it wasn’t like God had ever done much for people. The Old Testament God had been more interested in brutality, killing and maiming like a warlord. Then he sent his son to preach on his behalf and allowed him to be tortured and murdered. Perhaps his son had displeased him, Benjamin found himself thinking. Perhaps he had been unhappy with his son’s interpretation of his message. Because Jesus talked not of punishment, but of forgiveness, of patience, of living a simple, good life, of being tolerant of others, when it was abundantly clear that his father was not tolerant at all. His father did not forgive; he was a man of rage, hell-bent on absolute power, demanding total loyalty and submission from his followers. Sure, the Bible made out that God sacrificed his son to save the world, but that never really rung true for Benjamin. Jesus just didn’t seem to be talking from the same script as his old man. Maybe he got carried away. Maybe his dad hadn’t banked on him having a mind of his own. Benjamin allowed himself a little smile, imagining Jesus as the son of a dictator, trying to modernise the regime, trying to make it appear more people-friendly, more acceptable when his father hadn’t been interested in changing the status quo. Perhaps it was for this, not to save anyone, that Jesus paid the ultimate price.

‘It may not be a bad thing, angering the City,’ Stern said suddenly. ‘Maybe now we can tell our people the truth. Now that we’ve stood up to them.’

Benjamin turned, startled. He had thought that Stern wanted what he wanted; that appeasing the Informers was better than more bloodshed. ‘You’ve wanted me to stand up to them before? Even though it puts our lives in danger?’

Stern didn’t stop walking. ‘A life lived on its own terms is generally better, even if it’s shorter than one lived in subjugation.’

‘But no one knew that we lived in subjugation,’ Benjamin said.

‘I did,’ Stern said simply.

Benjamin nodded and felt his shoulders grow heavier. He had wanted his township to be a proud place, one of quiet dignity. The Informers had taken that from him. And he had taken it from Stern.

He walked, and took a deep breath, deciding that Stern was right, that this was a new beginning, a chance to start again. They didn’t need much to live well. Air to breathe, food to nourish them, clothes and shelter to protect them, a friendly face, a hug …

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But Stern, you must know. These men are not from the City. They act on its behalf, they collect food for it, but they are not the same. They have their own agenda. And crossing them is dangerous. You must be prepared.’

‘I’m always prepared,’ Stern said with a shrug.

Everyone was carrying a bag, but just one, and not a large one. People could travel lightly when they needed to, and yet so often they tried to do the opposite. Benjamin still remembered the days of plenty, of greed, of material things piling up in every room, every cupboard, infecting their owners, polluting the land. So many things, and yet everyone was always in a hurry to buy more. Like an addiction, he thought to himself. As though things could fill the void, as though they somehow provided the answer.

It seemed a lifetime ago. A time when everyone considered themselves invincible, just as he had done. No one could know what was to come; no one could predict the Horrors.

Except for one person.

He stopped walking, as the familiar nausea washed over him, the nausea that always accompanied that thought, that knowledge. Then he frowned, turned to Stern. ‘Can you hear something?’

Stern shook his head. ‘Hear what?’ he asked.

Benjamin put his hand on Stern’s arm, concentrated. Was he imagining it? Of course he was.

But then the whistle got louder. Stern heard it too, and others. Seconds later they all heard the explosion; as his people screamed and ran, Benjamin said a quick prayer to a God that he knew didn’t exist, then ran after them to get them to the caves as quickly as he could.

‘What is this place?’ Raffy asked cautiously, his eyes darting around, resting on Evie every so often, then over at Lucas, before darting back around the room.

‘This,’ Linus said, walking towards the biggest computer, ‘is my little hideout. My research centre. Please, have a seat.’

Raffy ignored him. ‘But what are you doing here? What’s with all the computers? I thought we were going to Base Camp.’

‘You assumed we were going to Base Camp,’ Linus shrugged. ‘I doubt thought had much to do with it. You made an assumption based on previous experience.’

Raffy’s eyes blackened.

Lucas stepped forward. He wasn’t in the mood for this. Wasn’t in the mood for Linus’s little jokes and evasion tactics. ‘Linus, stop patronising Raffy and tell him what we’re doing here,’ he said. ‘Or let me tell him.

Linus raised an eyebrow, and even Raffy looked taken aback. ‘You don’t think we should make tea first?’ Linus asked quizzically. ‘Come on, Lucas. Let’s be civilised, shall we?’

Lucas opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He hadn’t meant to snap like that. He didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be in this cave with them, the two of them. He’d thought he would be okay, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all. His brother evidently hated him; Evie was being polite but it was clear that she was unhappy. And why wouldn’t she be? There was nothing to be happy about. His father had died for nothing; the City may not be in the grip of the System any more, but now it was under threat from the Informers, the murderers who were now looking for Raffy. It wasn’t a better place. It would never be a better place, and it made him feel ashamed.

He caught Linus’s eye, saw his face crease into a half-smile, saw the kindness in and amongst the lines etched into his cheeks, around his eyes. And for a moment he saw not Linus the infuriating renegade, but instead Linus the man who built the System, who believed in it, who was forced to escape from the City when he discovered that it was being corrupted, that everything he had worked for was being usurped. And as they looked at each other, there was a brief moment of recognition. Because Linus had been hopeful too, once.

‘Tea, then,’ he said quietly. ‘But after that we tell Raffy and Evie everything.’

Linus nodded, held Lucas’s gaze for a second or two more, then went in search of an old teapot. A few minutes later he started to make a fire.

Raffy stared at him. ‘You’ve got enough electricity to power all these computers but now you need a fire to make a pot of tea? What about the kettle over there?’

Linus frowned. ‘I thought Lucas was going to make the tea,’ he said with a little shrug, his eyes twinkling with their usual mirth. ‘I’m just building a fire for us to sit around. Raffy, help me, will you? There’s some wood over there.’

Raffy hesitantly shuffled in the direction Linus was pointing; Lucas smiled to himself and went about making the tea. Evie, meanwhile, joined Lucas in Linus’s makeshift kitchen and collected together some cups, the two of them seeming to dance around each other, not meeting each other’s eyes, not bumping into each other, touching each other … She was avoiding him, he could see that. And he totally understood why. So he did the same, doing everything he could not to even make eye contact. He owed it to her. Owed it to Raffy.

A few minutes later, Lucas brought the teapot over to where Raffy was adding logs to a fledgling fire. Somehow, in being busy, the atmosphere had defrosted slightly; Evie and Linus were talking and even Raffy didn’t look quite so thunderous. Maybe Linus had been right to insist on tea, Lucas realised. Maybe Linus was right about more than Lucas gave him credit for.

‘Right,’ he said, pouring the tea into the cups and handing them around. ‘Let’s talk, shall we?’

‘Okay,’ Linus said, gravely. He sat down and took a gulp of tea. ‘The thing about the Informers,’ he said, looking at Raffy carefully, ‘is that they’ve been in the City from the start. I’m beginning to think they were even involved in its genesis.’

‘So they’re City citizens?’ Evie asked, curiously, leaning forwards as though primed for action.

Linus shook his head. ‘Not citizens, Evie. No, I don’t know where they’re citizens of. All I know is that after the Horrors, they watched and waited. And when they heard about the City, heard about the plans, they came to Fisher, came to our Great Leader …’ he raised an eyebrow to emphasise the irony, ‘and offered funding for his new City, offered help and support. Fisher didn’t tell me. He just took what he could get and brought the Brother in on it later, got him to help them run their little scam. And in return for the help, the Informers have, as far as I can tell, had the run of the place. They’ve been watching it all this time. Why, I’m not sure. What I do know, though, is that all this time they’ve been building their own civilisation with technology that is way ahead of anything I have, that’s been developed since the Horrors in places that are meant to have been completely destroyed.’