The Enemy (31 page)

“Tel them to stop!” she shouted. “Now!”

“Make me, bitch.”

Maxie swiped the club across John’s face. It smashed into his nose and flattened it sideways. He howled. Maxie kicked him flat and picked up his spear.

“Now tel them!” she shouted, pressing the blades into the soft skin at his throat. “And don’t ever cal me a bitch again, you ugly piece of shit.”

Just John mumbled something, blood streaming from his ruined nose into the gravel.

Maxie looked over and saw Carl, with a bunch of tough-looking squatters, grappling with Achil eus and his best fighters.

“Everybody stop now!” she screamed, final y making herself heard. Kids paused in what they were doing. Carl looked furious. Al he could see was the blood pouring out of Just John, and Maxie standing there holding his spear. What had she done to him?

“I’l kil him!” Maxie yel ed. “I swear it! Now stop! Throw down your weapons.”

“You better do as she says,” said Achil eus.

“Do it,” Carl ordered, and the squatters gave up the fight.

P
od had finaly gotten to Blue and was dragging him out of the ruins of the shack. His body was limp and lifeless. He’d been knocked cold by a faling beam. He was stil alive, though. Pod ordered his team to make a stretcher out of bits of scrap.

Lewis watched them, his Afro flattened in the rain, his head looking two sizes smal er. “We’re going to need another one of those,” he said.

Pod gave him a quizzical look.

“Freak’s hurt.”

There was a sul en mood in the camp as the squatters surveyed the damage. Many of their shacks were completely trashed. Half of their tents trampled. They were getting thoroughly soaked. Younger kids were crying.

Achil eus and the fighters were standing in a ring around Just John, who stil hadn’t got his senses ful y back. He was lying on the gravel, bewildered and bedraggled.

Another group was clustered around Freak, who was sitting where he had dropped. Ol ie was pressing a piece of torn cloth over the wound in his back. Maxie was holding him in her arms.

“I don’t want to die,” Freak whispered.

“Then don’t,” said Maxie, trying not to sob. She looked at Ol ie, who had a look of utter hopelessness on his face.

“I don’t feel good,” said Freak. “I wish my mom was here. How she was. Before she got sick. I wish everything was how it was before. I never asked for any of this. It was just me and Deke. Spraying our tag on the wal s.”

“Freaky-Deaky,” said Maxie.

“Yeah . . . Is Deke here? Where’s Deke?”

“He’s not here.”

“Neither am I,” said Freak, and he closed his eyes.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” said Ol ie.

“He’s dead,” said Maxie.

T
hey wrapped Freak in a blanket and carried him gently to one of Pod’s stretchers. They lifted Just John to his feet and tied his hands behind his back.

Maxie looked at the sky and then walked over to where the squatters were standing watching. She looked for Carl, the pirate, who seemed to be John’s second in command.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice cold and hard and clear. “We’re going back to the palace and we’re taking John with us. You have until this evening to decide what you want to do. But before it gets dark you send someone to the palace to talk to us, and we’l figure out what happens next.”

“What do you mean what happens—”

“Shut up, Carl. I’m speaking. Two things can happen. One: you turn up and make peace, we figure out how we can al get along, and you take John home with you. Happy ending. Or two: no one shows up and we come back here with a bigger force, with al our weapons, and we don’t hold back. We wipe you out. Kil you if we have to. You understand? It’s your choice.”

O
n a Friday or Saturday night we’d get pizzas and watch DVDs.”

“Me too . . . Only we used to get Indian takeout.”

Sam and Rhiannon were sitting in the darkness of the car. The nightlights that Nick and Rachel kept burning twenty-four hours a day on the platform outside cast no light in here. Al Sam could see was a vague yel ow glow in the window, and Rhiannon’s head silhouetted against it. They were sitting opposite each other, keeping the fear away by talking of old familiar things.

“I used to love chicken tikka,” said Rhiannon.

“Me too,” said Sam. “But we didn’t get Indian food much. It was too spicy for my little sister, El a.”

“Don’t she like chicken tikka? Everyone likes chicken tikka.”

“She likes it a bit. But she’s not very good with food. She’s fussy. Al she real y likes is plain cheese pizza.”

“Boring,” said Rhiannon.

“I bet you wouldn’t say no to one now, though,” said Sam.

“Maybe we could cal for a delivery,” said Rhiannon, and she giggled.

“Domino’s,” said Sam. “Can I take your order?”

“Veggie Supreme.”

“I don’t think I ever had one of those.”

“We’l rent a DVD and have pizza,” said Rhiannon. “What shal we watch?”

“We used to watch TV series mostly,” said Sam. “Sometimes three episodes in one night.”

“Yeah,” said Rhiannon. “I love box sets.”

“
Star Trek
,” said Sam. “And
Heroes
. But it was a bit gory.”

“We were halfway through
Lost
,” said Rhiannon.

“That was too scary for El a,” said Sam. “She liked
Ugly Betty
. She didn’t real y understand it, though.”

“Did you have a Wii? We had a Wii.”

“No,” said Sam. “I used to play games on my computer. World of Warcraft.”

“My favorite was The Sims.”

“Yes, I sorta liked that. But I preferred World of Warcraft. I had a Tauran shaman cal ed Dorkcrawler. I wanted to cal him Darkcrawler, but that name was already taken. I also had a Night Elf Warrior cal ed Deathblooood, with four O’s, and a gnome cal ed Shortybottom. He was level sixty-two.”

“Were you on Facebook or MySpace?”

“No. My mom wouldn’t let me,” said Sam. “I used to use MSN sometimes, but mostly I played World of Warcraft. Though I was getting a bit bored of it.

My friend had Grand Theft Auto. I real y wanted to get that, but Mom said no way.”

There was a muffled thud from somewhere down the train. Sam and Rhiannon fel silent. They were both asking themselves the same question.

What was that?

It was a sound they hadn’t heard before. It could mean that Nick and Rachel were up to something in another car. Kil ing something. It could be other grown-ups attacking. It could be a brick fal ing from the roof.

Or it could be something to do with the nasty face at the window, and that posed as many questions as it answered.

Of al the things that had happened to him, the face freaked Sam out the most. The fact that it had no mouth.

Was it the mouthless creature that had made that sound? The truth was, it could be anything. But as the children lived a mind-rotting existence of boredom mixed with fear, their imaginations were working hard and fast.

There were no more clues. The thud was fol owed by a long period of quiet.

Sam and Rhiannon sat there in the darkness. Unmoving. For a brief moment they had been at home, with their families, snuggled up on the sofa on a Saturday night.

Now they were back in this cold comfortless train car.

They could hear the twins sleeping, their breathing shal ow and feeble. Sam felt something touch his knee. He realized it was Rhiannon’s fingers. She was reaching out for him. He took hold of her hand and squeezed. She was trembling. After a long while, which seemed like hours, there was another thud, nearer this time. Once again it was fol owed by nothing but deep silence.

Sam could stand it no longer. He went over to the window. Looked out at the platform. There was nothing moving out there. The sound hadn’t come from the direction of Nick and Rachel’s sleeping car, and he hadn’t heard or seen anything of them, but it was possible that they could have gone down to one of the other cars without being noticed.

At last there came another bang, closer stil but muffled again. Then a light appeared at the window in the door leading to the next car. A smal flickering flame. Sam screwed up his eyes, straining to see what it was. He couldn’t go any closer, as his chain prevented him from moving far.

Now a sheet of cardboard appeared at the window. It had been ripped from a computer box and there was writing on it. Seven words scrawled in marker pen. Whoever was there adjusted the cardboard so that the flame lit it from the side.

Sam read:

kip qwite I am her to help

It took him a few seconds to realize that it was meant to say “Keep quiet I am here to help.” And no sooner had he figured it out than the cardboard disappeared and was replaced by a face.

Sam jumped.

It was the same face he had seen at the window.

Only it was different.

He smiled.

What an idiot he was.

When he had seen the face before, it had been upside down. Hanging from the roof of the car.

When he had seen the face before, it had been upside down. Hanging from the roof of the car.

The bald crown had been its chin. Sam had been looking for a mouth where the forehead was.

Now that it was the right way up he could see that it was a boy’s face. Black with dirt, eyes wide, smal sharp teeth very white. There was a shock of dark, tangled hair sprouting from the top. The hair that Sam had thought was a beard when he had first seen it upside down outside the car.

The face grinned and then its owner raised a fist and gave a thumbs-up. The flame snapped off. A few seconds later there was a familiar dul thud and the sound of fal ing glass, tinkling onto the metal floor.

“If you hear the butchers, yel .” It was the quietest whisper in the world.

Then silence.

Sam counted the seconds in his head. It was al he could think of to fil the time and ease the tension that was growing inside him like a bal oon inflating.

He got up to sixty-five before the flame flickered back on. Startlingly close. Sam jerked back in fright. The boy had climbed through the window and come down into the car without them hearing or seeing anything. The flame was lit just long enough for them to get a proper look at him. He was about Sam’s size, skinny and wiry looking, wearing shorts, sneakers, and a woman’s leather jacket with the sleeves cut off halfway. He had a leather backpack slung over one shoulder, and he was carrying a cigarette lighter and a blanket.

He flicked the lighter and the flame died.

“Not safe,” he whispered. “If the butchers see the light, they’l come running, mark my words.”

“Who are you?” said Sam.

“Stay quiet,” the boy hissed. “You’re getting out of here pronto.”

Sam felt the boy’s hands groping along his arms to the handcuffs.

“Handy-cuffs,” he breathed in Sam’s ear. “Soon have these bracelets off. No more than a jiffy.”

There was rattling and scraping as the boy poked around in the lock with some kind of tool. Then, final y, a snap and rattle and the cuffs came loose.

Sam now felt the boy slip the lighter into his hands.

“Light me, skipper,” he said. “The Kid needs to see his surroundings.”

Sam rol ed the flint on the lighter, and the flame jumped and sparked. The boy was already at the end of the car, holding the blanket across the whole width.