The Enemy (14 page)

They weren’t after him.

What were they after, though?

M
axie was sitting with Arran under the blue-painted railway bridge by Camden Road station. She had moved him here to be out of the sun. He was shivering, but she didn’t think it was from cold.

“You’ve got to keep everyone together,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Maxie.

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to what?”

“Worry.”

“You don’t, Arran. You’ve been cut. You’re sick.”

Arran grabbed Maxie’s arm. “That doesn’t make any difference,” he said. “It’s like I was saying to Freak—” He broke off, confused. “Was I saying it to him? Did I say it? I don’t remember. . . .”

“What? What were you saying?”

“We shouldn’t have to deal with al this crap, Maxie. We’re just kids. I never realized before. Our moms and dads used to deal with crap so that we didn’t have to. They worried about things for us, and they did difficult things for us, so that we could just keep on being kids. We used to laugh at them and cal them boring and pointless, but they protected us, they made the world safe for us so that we could play. I don’t want to be an adult, Maxie. I want to go back to being just a kid again. But I can’t. It’s not an option. I’ve got to be a father to these little kids, and you’ve got to be a mother. They need us. I wish they didn’t. I wish I wasn’t needed. Look around. I sit down for a rest and everything fal s apart.”

Maxie stood up. Arran was right. The excitement of being outside was making everyone careless. There was stil a party mood. Kids were perched on cars, chatting, or sitting on the curb in the sun.

Maxie shouted to Blue. He strol ed over, trying to look cool.

“What’s up?”

“We need to keep alert,” she said. “We need to keep organized. We have to be ready at al times.”

Blue shrugged. “We’re ready.”

“We’re not.”

Blue gave her a look. “The only one not at their post is you, girl.”

“I’m making sure Arran’s al right.”

“Ain’t you got someone else can do that?”

“Yeah.” Maxie went to find Maeve.

Ol ie was at the rear of the group, nervously looking back the way they had come. The other skirmishers, armed with javelins, slings, and rocks, were squatting in the shade of a van, talking about soccer. Ol ie wished they were taking this more seriously.

“It’s not right,” he said, trying to get their attention.

“Chil out,” said one of the Morrisons crew. “There’s no one around.”

“Yeah, but there
should
be people around,” said Ol ie, squinting up the road toward the top of the hil . “We haven’t come down this way for ages because it’s always been too dangerous. So where are al the grown-ups now?”

“They’re hiding from us, man,” said the other boy. “Anyone tries to attack, they’l be massacred.”

Ol ie looked around at the scattered group.

“Everyone’s relaxed too much,” he said.

“Except you,” said the boy, and the others laughed.

“Be quiet a minute!” Ol ie put a finger to his lips.

“What?”

“You hear anything?”

“No . . . No, wait. Now I hear something.”

There was a swooshing sound, like waves rol ing pebbles across a beach, and a murmur like the wind.

“Something’s coming,” said Ol ie.

Josh was moving among the kids, trying to keep them alert. Most grumbled at him, and when he got to the Morrisons team, who were supposed to be guarding the right flank, they looked half asleep. Josh struggled to remember the name of the tal , dozy-looking kid with the Afro who was meant to be in charge. Lewis. That was it. He was sitting slumped against a storefront, his eyes closed.

“We should be ready in case anything happens,” said Josh, worried that he was sounding like some anxious teacher on a school trip.

“I’m conserving my energy,” said Lewis, and he yawned.

“You should be watching the flank. In case any grown-ups come in from the side.”

“I’m listening,” said Lewis. “I’ve got bat ears.”

“I don’t want to be a pain in the ass,” said Josh. “You might think this is al a joke but—”

“It’s cool,” said Lewis.

“What’s cool?”

“You’re cool, I’m cool, everything’s cool.”

“If we lose any kids . . .”

“I won’t lose you no kids, bro. I’m cool. You got nothing to fear, Lewis is here.”

“You think I’m scared?” said Josh. “I ain’t scared. Nothing scares me, man.”

“If you say so, bro.”

“Yeah, wel , just tel me if your bat ears pick anything up.”

Lewis slowly opened his eyes. “I’m hearing something now, man.” He jumped to his feet surprisingly quickly, and Josh could see that his whole body was tensed. What had he heard?

“Up, up, up!” Lewis yel ed at his team, and in a moment they were al ready.

Arran was aware of shouting. Coming from the rear of the group. He’d been lost in his thoughts, trying to regain his strength so that they could get moving again.

“What’s going on?” he said.

“Dunno,” said Maeve, who was sitting with him, unable to do much more than offer sympathy.

“Help me up.”

“Arran . . .”

“Help me up, Maeve!” Arran snapped, and Maeve hauled him to his feet.

“Where’s my club?”

Maeve fetched Arran’s pickax handle and gave it to him.

Lazy. He’d been lazy. He was supposed to be in charge, a leader. He pushed his way through the mil ing kids to the rear of the group, where the commotion was. He saw Ol ie. Ol ie would know what was going on. He was sensible.

“We heard something,” Ol ie explained.

Before Arran could say anything, someone shouted.

“Look!”

People were coming over the brow of the hil . A solid line of grown-ups, their shuffling feet scraping on the street, a low moan rising from the herd.

Sounds like the seaside, Arran thought, and closed his eyes for a moment. He was back in Portugal with his mom and dad. Lying on his back, sunbathing.

“Have you got your lotion on?”

“Yes, Mom . . .”

She leaned over him. Smiled. Arran liked it when she was happy. Then her smile grew wide so that her mouth was a gaping hole surrounded by jagged teeth. She lunged at him—

“I’ve got my lotion on!” Arran shouted.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Arran wiped sweat from his face.

“Jesus,” said Ol ie. “There’s loads of them.”

“Get into place!” Arran yel ed, just as Blue ran up with Jester and the rest of the fighters.

Arran was pleased to see how fast the kids got themselves together and back into battle formation.

The front line of grown-ups stopped about a hundred yards away, and the two groups stood looking at each other.

“What are they doing?” said Blue.

“God knows.”

Jester whistled. “They’re like a bloody army,” he said. “Can you take them, d’you think?”

“Don’t know,” said Blue. “I’ve never seen so many in one place before. They ain’t usual y this organized.”

A smal er group of grown-ups pushed to the front and stepped clear of the pack. Almost as if they were in charge. At the vanguard of this new group was a huge fat father whose neck didn’t seem able to support the great cannonbal of a head that lol ed over his chest. Random tufts of hair sprouted from his otherwise bald scalp. He was wearing shorts and an England vest with the cross of Saint George on it. A pair of wire-framed glasses with no lenses in them perched on his squashed and rotting nose. He rol ed his head back and stared at Arran. It looked like he was laughing.

“They must have been fol owing us,” said Arran, his head clearing as his system was pumped ful of adrenalin. “We need to avoid a fight if we can.”

“How we gonna do that?” said Blue. “Look at ’em. They’re not going to go away.”

“We’l back off,” said Arran. “See what happens. Maybe get to somewhere safer. Somewhere we can defend. Where’s Ol ie?”

“Here.”

“Stay with us. We’l need your firepower.”

He and Blue shouted orders, and the kids began to retreat from the grown-ups. Arran and the best fighters stayed at the back, facing the enemy. The road in the other direction was stil clear. Maxie and Lewis kept with their teams on the flanks. The little kids had formed into a tight, frightened bunch in the middle. They were huddled so closely together that it was difficult to keep them moving. They kept bumping into each other and anxiously looking back.

Maeve and Whitney goaded them, shoving them along, encouraging them, tel ing them not to worry, but there was a mounting sense of panic.

Staying indoors al the time, the little kids had been sheltered from the worst of the fighting. They weren’t used to this. Some of the older kids, too.

They weren’t al fighters.

The grown-ups kept pace with them, advancing down the hil . Creeping closer. The father in the Saint George vest stil at their head.

“Stay together!” Arran shouted.

Then three emaciated grown-ups blundered out from a side street, so starved they might as wel have been skeletons. They made a dash toward the little kids to try to separate them from the group, but were swiftly knocked down by Lewis and the Morrisons fighters on that flank. Maxie watched them go into action and was impressed by their skil . Blue had been right: frizzy-haired Lewis might have looked dozy, but he moved fast when he had to, and dealt with the grown-ups ruthlessly and efficiently.

The sudden attack, though, had spooked the little kids. A bunch of them broke away and started to run.

“Stop them!” Maxie yel ed, but there was nothing Maeve, Whitney, and the others could do. In a moment the little kids were darting in al directions, and even some of the older kids were starting to run. A bunch barged right past Maxie, who screamed at them to get back, but it was no good.

“Come on,” said Lewis, and he and his team ran after the fleeing kids. “We’l get ’em.”

As the orderly group broke up, it seemed to give encouragement to the grown-ups. The fat father in the Saint George vest raised his arms above his head, bel owed, and at last they attacked, coming as fast as they were able down the hil .

“Hold the line!” Arran shouted, and the fighters got into position, spears bristling.

Nothing was going to stop the grown-ups; they waddled and limped and scurried onward. The kids watched them getting closer—a hideous row of smashed and diseased faces.

Arran stood fast, Achil eus on one side, Blue on the other, more fighters spread out across the road. Behind them in a shorter line were Ol ie and the skirmishers. Silent. Waiting.

C
loser and closer the grown-ups came until at last Arran gave the order.

“Fire!”

A hail of pel ets, stones, and javelins flew at the grown-ups, and as they went down, Arran moved the fighters forward. The first wave of attackers was almost immediately smashed to the ground, and this hampered the rest from getting forward.

Arran spotted Saint George clambering over a body. He took a swing at him, but the fat father ducked just in time.

“Maxie!” Arran shouted. “We need support!”

Even as he said it, Arran looked around to see Maxie arriving with her flanking squad. Their eyes met. They must have both been thinking the same thing at the same time. They were linked. For a moment it was as if nobody else existed. Arran was so proud of her. She was brave and strong and clever.

She smiled at him and he smiled back. He knew at last. He knew that she felt the same way about him as he did about her. He just knew. He couldn’t say how. And she understood. He felt a great force of happiness wel up inside him.

He was ten feet tal . Knowing that somebody cared about him made al the difference. It gave him fresh strength. He could cope with anything now.

He turned and slammed his club into the face of a father who had managed to get past the fal en bodies.

With Whitney and Maeve’s help, Lewis’s team had managed to take control of the little kids. They had herded them off to the side, where a paved pathway ran above the Regent’s Canal. It looked easy to defend. There were tal wal s on one side and railings on the other. Past the railings was a fifteen-foot drop to the canal towpath. The older kids had to push and shove and yel at the younger ones to stop them from running again. Whitney stayed at the center, gathering them in, towering above the smal er kids, pul ing them to her, calming them.