The Enemy (17 page)

“You’ve kil ed him!” screamed Maxie.

“No.” It was Arran’s voice.

S
am waited, perched on the metal rungs. There was no way out of the shaft. The top was blocked. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold on, even though he had wedged his body across the gap. His muscles were sore and shaking. His back hurt.

He tried to concentrate on hanging on instead of imagining what the grown-ups were doing. Every time he thought they’d gone, he heard them again.

Searching for him. Just be smal , he told himself. Be smal and stil , and try to think of happier times. Of sunny days on the beach. Of playing with his Playmobil. Anything other than being stuck underground in this tiny space with the grown-ups sniffing around for him.

He heard one nearby. Snuffling like a pig. Its fingers raking the brickwork. He felt warm liquid trickling down his legs, and he realized he must have wet himself again. He prayed that they wouldn’t be able to smel it. Then he heard the grown-up lapping at the water on the ground. A few seconds later it was sick. A fight broke out. The grown-ups snarling and whining at each other.

Why wouldn’t they just go away?

He had had enough.

He was only nine.

A terrible voice inside tempted him to give up, to let go and drop down and make an end to it.

No more fear. No more pain.

But there was a stronger force making his hands grip tighter, tensing his legs, readying them to kick if needed.

He was Sam the Giant Slayer. Sam of the silver pin. He thought about his favorite film—
Time Bandits
—how the little people in it won in the end against the forces of evil.

And he remembered the story of Pandora’s box that they’d read at school. After al the nasty things had come out of it, there was one thing left. Hope.

And Pandora had let it out of the box.

He had to have hope.

The grown-ups would go. He would climb down. He would find his sister and his friends and walk to safety.

Cal um pressed play on the beat box and sat in his armchair. He smiled as the sound of ABBA fil ed the shop. “Dancing Queen.” ABBA had been his mom’s favorite band. She had taken him to see
Mamma Mia
live on stage, and although he’d complained, secretly he’d enjoyed it. He couldn’t remember how many times they’d watched the DVD together. There were a lot of uncool things he liked but had to pretend to hate, like
High School
Musical
and Harry Potter.

And ABBA ...

Wel , now he could listen to what he wanted, he could read what he wanted, he could do what he wanted without any other kids laughing at him. He opened a can of peaches and took a gulp of the sweet juice. The taste exploded inside his mouth and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t remember when he had ever been happier.

Arran’s mouth was dry and he felt hungry. God, he was hungry. He was hungry and he was thirsty, but there was no pain. He felt nothing. He was drifting in a warm sea. He struggled to keep his eyes open. Sometimes the sky looked black, sometimes a bril iant, blinding white.

And sometimes it was red as blood.

He slept for a while and dreamed of sitting at his Xbox.

When he woke, his mother was there, cradling him in her arms, and he felt an overwhelming happiness. He wanted to tel everyone. The nightmare was over. His mother looked down into his face and smiled the most beautiful smile. He knew that everything was al right if she smiled at him like that.

There were no more monsters. She brushed his hair off his forehead and rested a cool hand on his face. Like she always did when he was sick. To see if he was hot. And al the while her eyes were smiling at him.

“I love you, baby,” she said, and he smiled back. He opened his mouth to speak; he wanted to tel her something. It was hard to get the words out.

They stuck in his dry throat.

They had bandaged the wound and wrapped Arran tightly around the chest. The white material was soon stained dark with blood, though. The wound was steadily leaking, and nobody dared catch Maxie’s eye. They al knew the worst— Arran was dying—but Maxie wouldn’t admit it. They hated themselves for it, but they wanted to move on, leave Arran behind. It wasn’t safe here. The grown-ups had attacked once and they would attack again. The longer the kids stayed stil , the more danger they were in. But Maxie sat by the body and wouldn’t move. It was late. She’d been holding him for what seemed like hours. Talking quietly. Trying to give him water.

She could hear the others muttering. They were plotting. She knew they wanted to abandon Arran. She looked at his handsome face, so pale and tired looking. He hadn’t moved for ages.

And then his lips parted and Maxie’s heart leapt.

“Come over here,” she cried. “Quick. It’s al right, listen, he’s trying to speak.”

Ol ie came back over with Maeve and Blue.

“Listen,” said Maxie. “I’m sure he’s trying to say something. He only needed a rest. He’s getting stronger at last. If he can speak he’s al right.”

Arran’s gray-blue eyes opened, and they were clear and bright. He smiled at Maxie.

“I love you, Mom,” he said quietly, and he died in Maxie’s arms.

T
hey had ransacked the buildings and gardens nearby and colected everything they could find that would burn— falen branches, tables, chairs, doors, mattresses, scaffolding planks, tires—and packed it around the BMW. It was no more use to them. Blue had driven it around, chasing off the last of the grown-ups after the battle, until the last of its gas had run out. Once they had a good-sized bonfire, they wrapped Arran and the other dead kids in sheets.

They wanted to make sure their faces were hidden. Then they placed the bodies on top of the heap.

Maxie had insisted. There was no way she was going to leave them here to be eaten. Arran, with the others, would be given a hero’s send-off. The dead grown-ups they left where they had fal en. Freak sprayed a message on to a nearby wal . this is where arran harper fel . we don’t know the day or the date, but we’l never forget it. he was the bravest of us al .

Whitney and Josh gave him the names of the other kids who had died, and Freak added them to the mural, then finished it with a Freaky-Deaky tag.

When they were ready, Maxie lit a match and approached the car.

Freak cal ed her back.

“Before you do that,” he said, “can I say something?”

“Okay,” said Blue, “but make it quick. We need to get going.”

“I’l be quick,” said Freak. He took a breath and looked at the faces of the kids.

“Arran talked to me this morning,” he said. “Helped me to keep going. Now it’s my turn. We al lost someone we loved today. But the thing is, we won.

We beat them. I was going to write something different over there. I was going to write ‘Arran Lives.’ Cuz it’s important we don’t forget what he wanted. To get to the palace and have a better life. And we mustn’t forget one other thing. Us kids are al in this together. We’re al on the same side. The grown-ups are the enemy. It was an accident, what happened to Arran. And I don’t want no one to blame Sophie. We work together, we survive together.”

“Yeah, nice speech,” said Achil eus with a touch of sarcasm. “Now light the fire.”

Maxie stepped forward, and soon the great pile was sending flames several feet into the air. Maxie saw something lying on the ground and stooped to pick it up. It was Arran’s club. It felt heavy in her hands. It was al that was left of him.

From now on it was hers.

Once the kids were sure that the fire wasn’t going to go out, they set off. They didn’t want to stay and watch the bodies burn to ash. They said their farewel s and marched away in battle formation, the fire at their backs.

The plan was to keep going and try to get to the palace that night, even though it was late and the sky had grown dark. The problem was not only that there was nowhere in Camden for such a large party of kids to shelter safely, there was also the danger of a blaze that was spreading down from Kentish Town, consuming every building in its path and sending up thick smoke that further darkened the sky.

Sophie and the archers walked at the front with Blue and Jester. Then came the other fighters, Big Mick, Achil eus, Freak, and the rest. Ol ie and the skirmishers brought up the rear as ever. Lewis took up his position on the left flank. Maxie left Josh in charge of her group on the right flank, however, and joined the little kids in the center of the column. She wanted to be with them and take comfort from them. They were affectionate and caring and not afraid to show their emotions. They hugged Maxie and held her hand and told her it was al right and that they missed Arran, and they swapped stories about him, his great deeds. She nearly burst into tears again when little Joel gave her his puppy, Godzil a, to hold. The puppy felt warm and soft. He was very sleepy, but he managed to lick her face before snuggling down in her arms. She walked on with Joel staring up at her.

Whitney came over and tickled the dog behind his ear.

“Cute,” she said, and Maxie smiled.

“Listen,” Whitney went on, “I’m sorry about Arran. We al are.”

“It’s okay.”

“I didn’t real y know him,” said Whitney, “but I could tel he was al right. You had a thing for him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. We never spoke about it.”

“Sometimes you don’t have to, girl.”

“It just seems so unfair,” said Maxie angrily. “You wake up one morning with your whole life ahead of you. So many things to see and do, and then

—bang! You’re dead. There’s nothing. I can’t stop thinking about how his life has just stopped like that. He’l never grow up. Never have kids of his own.

Never grow old.”

“Just think of him like that, yeah?” said Whitney. “Forever young. Always the beautiful Arran you knew.”

“Forever dead,” said Maxie.

“Hey, come on, think positive,” said Whitney. “That’s an order.”

Maxie gave a bitter, slightly hysterical laugh. “Think positive? Look at us, Whitney. Look at what’s happened to us. What’s to be positive about?”

“At least
Big Brother
ain’t on TV no more.”

“No.” Maxie gave a snort of laughter that almost slid into tears.

“See, you can stil laugh.”

“I feel dead inside,” said Maxie.

“It’l pass. We’ve al lost people.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a horrible day.”

“Too many friends have been kil ed,” said Whitney. “Too many.”

“Yeah,” said Maxie. “Arran’s not the first and he won’t be the last. Every time someone dies, I don’t think I can take anymore.”

“But somehow you do, don’t you?” said Whitney. “You carry on.”

“Yeah,” said Maxie, and she wiped away a tear.

“I dunno,” said Whitney. “Maybe, when this is al over, when we’re safe and we can rest, that’s the time to cry. Right now, like your man said, we gotta stick together and help each other.”

“I know. Thanks, Whitney.”

“And listen.” Whitney held Maxie’s arm. “Blue. He’s al right, you know. He has to act tough cuz he’s our leader. But he ain’t stupid. You need to work with him.”

“I’l try.”

Whitney gripped Maxie’s head in an affectionate arm-lock.

“You’re strong. I know it, girl. Together we can be stronger.”

It was a moonless night, and no stars shone in the clouded sky. Some kids had made flaming torches, but they were quickly burning out. Those that had them were using their flashlights. They had to keep in a huddled mass, though, or risk getting split up in the dark.

Freak was plodding along, lost in his thoughts. He felt someone nudge him in the side.

“You planning on going to the Oscars? Make some more cheesy speeches?”

It was Achil eus. Freak sighed and looked away. “Why do you always have to pretend to be so tough, Akkie?” he said.

“Who’s pretending?”

“Don’t you care about Arran?”

“Yeah. I care. He was al right. But you don’t fool me. I know what that speech was real y al about.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

Achil eus put on a whiny voice, mocking Freak. “Don’t blame Sophie, it was an accident, us kids have to stick together . . . Bul shit. You’re just feeling guilty about what you did to Arran and don’t want no one to blame you.”