The Enemy (12 page)

Come on. Come on.

He realized there were tears streaming down his face.

His happy dream of being welcomed home as a hero was in tatters. Nobody would ever know what he had gone through last night. Nobody would know about the battle at the stadium. The giant’s beard on fire. His escape across the field. Hiding in the water tank. It had al been for nothing.

Nothing . . .

No. Damn them. He wasn’t going to let them catch him. He was Sam the Giant Slayer. He was going to escape.

Then, as if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the road began to slope gently downward, and he picked up speed, stil pedaling furiously. When he next looked back, the grown-ups had fal en behind. Yes. He was getting away.

See you, losers!

On he went. His legs like Jel -O. And each time he looked behind him, the grown-ups were farther away.

He whooped.

He screamed.

He was Sam the hero again.

By the time he hit Hol oway Road he was alone. He had lost sight of the shambling idiots. Ah, they were probably stil fol owing him, but they’d take ages to get here—he had plenty of time to get inside.

There it was. Waitrose. His home. The lookouts on the roof would have spotted him already. He waved, but couldn’t see anyone. Maybe they were already at the speaking tube, sending orders to the kids below.

“You’l never believe it! It’s Sam, riding a wonky bike like a crazy kid!”

Maybe the doors would open up for him as he arrived.

He cycled up to the front of the shop and jumped off his bike. He couldn’t hear anyone inside.

“Hey!”

He pul ed the chain that rang a big bel above the shop floor. Pul ing and pul ing and pul ing.

“Open up!” he yel ed. “It’s me, Sam. I’m back!”

Nothing. What was taking them so long?

“Hey! You lot. It’s me. Let me in. . . .”

He stopped shouting and listened. He couldn’t hear anything. He pul ed the chain again. Maybe it was broken? No. He was sure he could hear the bel ringing in the shop. So why was nobody coming?

He stepped back and went over to the window to try to see inside, but al the shutters and barricades were up. He banged on the glass. Shouted again.

He huffed. This wasn’t how he’d pictured it at al .

Something caught his eye and he turned to look back the way he had come. Bodies walking. His heart lifted for a brief moment. It must be a scav party returning. They’d get him in.

They were too big, though, too slow.

And there were too many of them.

Tears sprang back into his eyes Why had he lied to himself?

It was the grown-ups who had chased him down Seven Sisters Road. They must have carried on, doggedly fol owing his trail, and now they were shuffling nearer.

He ran back to the door and tugged at the bel pul , screaming at the top of his voice.

“Let me in let me in let me in!”

The grown-ups heard him and broke into a lazy jog. They weren’t exactly hurrying, though. Why would they need to? They’d catch up with him in the end.

C
alum could hear someone outside. Ringing the bel, banging on the windows, shouting. He stayed in his chair, unmoving. If he sat here long enough they would go away. For the first time in a year he was alone. Properly alone. He truly believed that if he was careful, if he stayed hidden and kept quiet, the grown-ups would ignore the shop, leave him be. Arran had left him some food and water, without tel ing the others. That was a cool thing to do. But what Arran couldn’t have known was that Cal um already had loads of stuff stashed away. He had been hoarding since they first came here. In secret places. Above loose ceiling panels, in the wal spaces behind cabinets, in forgotten storage areas. It had been obvious to him from the start—if he didn’t look after himself, he was going to wind up dead. Let the others share, let them ration everything, divide food into portions—when everything ran out they’d quickly start fighting over what was left.

There was only one of him. This was his kingdom now. He was Arran, Achil eus, Freak, and Ol ie al rol ed into one.

He hadn’t been making it up when he’d told Arran he thought that some other kids would want to stay, though. He’d half hoped they would, but after the initial surprise that nobody did, he’d soon discovered that it was much better this way.

There was nobody to get on his nerves. Just him and his stash. Alone. Peaceful. Bliss. No more arguments. No more petty fights. No more needling or bul ying. Most of the time, being here had felt like being in the
Big Brother
house. Everyone living on top of each other, with nothing to do except moan and bitch. Occasional y a scav party had brought back books they’d looted, or games and puzzles, anything to lift the boredom, but it had never been enough.

Now there was nobody to tel him what to do. What was the point, if the adults had al died, of simply getting jumped-up kids to boss you about? Oh, sure, he liked Arran, but he didn’t ever remember voting that he should be in charge.

It would be different now. Cal um could do whatever he wanted. He even had a portable CD player. He’d kept it hidden in his most secret stash, along with some CDs and, most important of al , batteries. Batteries were more precious than gold. They’d found stacks of them in the shop when they first arrived, and they’d thought that they would last forever. Cal um had been the first to realize just how quickly they would run out, though, and had set about hoarding them. Now he didn’t have to hide them anymore.

He was looking forward to putting on some music. He hadn’t listened to any music for about six months. A lot of the kids had had iPods and other MP3 players, but they were completely useless as there was no way to charge them. Deke had once found a solar charger in a shop, but it never worked properly and it eventual y broke. And that was the end of that.

Until now.

Sweet.

Cal um was nicely set up.

But now someone was trying to spoil it. Making a racket outside, drawing the attention of any grown-ups who happened to be in the area.

Wel , they could make as much noise as they wanted. He wasn’t about to let them in. This was his crib now. It was not for sharing.

He closed his eyes. Soon, whoever was outside would go away, and he could have some more peace and quiet.

T
he grown-ups hobbled down the road on bent legs.

Some were dribbling. Some were clacking their teeth together and making a sort of humming, buzzing sound. Some scratched at their sores and rashes. Some were shaking al over and whipping their heads from side to side. One was missing a hand, and his forearm was green and gangrenous.

Al of them were hungry and crazy and in pain. The creature by the shop was food. They would catch it and rip it open and feed on it. That was al that mattered to them.

Sam reckoned he had about thirty seconds before they got to him.

He studied the barriers, his eyes darting about wildly. He knew they couldn’t be forced, but they were built to keep out grown-ups, and he was smal

—maybe he could find a way. . . ?

He frowned. There was a smal gap at the top. The barriers hadn’t been closed properly. If he could climb up he just might be able to squeeze through. He jumped up and grabbed hold of the top of a metal sheet. It bit into his hands, but he ignored the pain.

He glanced down the road. The grown-ups were nearly upon him.

His feet scrabbled on the metal, trying to get a grip. His sneakers squeaked. He found a little bump and his foot held fast. Now he pul ed and wriggled and kicked, and then he was up. On his bel y. He was right. He could just fit through the space at the top. It was tight, though, and he could hardly breathe as he forced his smal body into the narrow gap, scraping his skin on the edges, his feet kicking out behind him like a mad frog.

He could hear the grown-ups. They had final y gotten here. He felt hands trying to take hold of his ankles. He kicked harder, and with a mighty effort he wrenched his hips through and then slithered and tumbled down the other side into the covered mal .

Outside, the grown-ups whined and moaned. He hoped they couldn’t get in. The barrier was usual y bolted shut, but the bars weren’t in place and the chain was hanging loose. Why hadn’t it been done properly?

Awful thoughts came into his head. What if there had been an attack while he was gone? What if everyone was dead?

He ran over to the shutter. It hadn’t been wound down al the way. Again, a grown-up wouldn’t fit through. But he was Smal Sam.

He wormed his way under on his bel y and stood up. Slowly he walked farther into the shop, fearful of what he might find.

It al looked the same as ever—except that it was deserted.

“Hel o?”

His voice sounded feeble and tiny.

He walked deeper inside.

Somebody was in an armchair. In the area at the back, where they had cleared a space and moved in some furniture. Just sitting there. Doing nothing. He wasn’t dead, though. He blinked.

It was Cal um.

“Hel o?” said Sam, walking closer. “Are you al right?”

Cal um nodded slowly, watchful. “How did you get in?” was al he asked. No surprise or joy at seeing Sam back from the dead.

“The barriers weren’t properly shut.”

“I must have not closed them right when they left.”

“What do you mean?” said Sam. “When who left?”

Cal um told Sam everything that had happened. Sam slumped down on a sofa, exhausted.

“They can’t have gone,” he said.

“Wel , they have. Al of them.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

Cal um shrugged. “I like it here.”

“Didn’t you hear me, though?” said Sam. “When I was trying to get in? I rang the bel .”

“I didn’t know it was you, did I? How could I? I thought it was one of them, a grown-up.”

“It was me,” said Sam, and he started to cry. He was so tired. Al he wanted to do was lie down on the sofa and go to sleep, but Cal um was looking at him in an odd way. Sam was so confused. He wasn’t sure he trusted Cal um. Wasn’t even sure that he was tel ing the truth. Had a raggedy boy real y turned up and led everyone away?

“My sister El a,” he said quietly. “I promised to look after her, and now she’s gone.”

“They didn’t leave that long ago,” said Cal um. “You could catch up with them easy.”

“I’d have to go back out there.”

“Yeah.” Cal um nodded his head slowly, watching Sam with glittering black eyes.

Sam stood up. “Is there a bicycle pump here?” he said.

A
rran’s head was spinning. Walking in the hot sun was boiling his already feverish brain. He felt faint and found breathing difficult. He was trying hard not to show it, but every now and then he would sway and stumble sideways across the road. He took another sip of water. His hundredth since they’d left, it seemed like. At this rate he’d finish his supply before they even got to Camden.

The truth was, he felt awful, and he knew it was serious. Germs had got in through his broken skin and they were breeding in his blood.

He could have wept. If Jester had only showed up a few hours earlier, then Arran would never have gone up to the pool with the scav party. Deke would stil be alive, and Smal Sam too, probably. Then Arran wouldn’t have this bloody bite in his neck. It was typical to be shown a way out, to be offered a place of safety, to have hope dangled in front of you, only to have it snatched away like this.