Tube Riders, The (22 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

Landing Party

The first grey light of morning was breaking through the dark as the perimeter wall of Bristol GUA rose up out of the forest a mile ahead.

‘The train’s finally slowing down,’ Switch shouted to Marta. ‘At fucking last. Are we going in?’

Marta struggled to lift her head. It had been a long, long journey from London, on the clock maybe less than three hours, but on the heart and the hands an eternity. She remembered Jess’s scream as Simon fell, then the girl’s desperate assertion that she would find him, and they’d all meet again in Bristol. Marta had screamed at her to wait, but Jess had ignored her, blindly pitching herself off into the dark. Marta still hoped, but the chances of seeing either alive again were slim. She remembered something she had said,
live together, die together
, and her mind toiled with indecision and guilt, for hadn’t they thrown that away? Shouting back and forth to each other up and down the train, they had agreed that following Jess and Simon into the dark was near suicide. For Simon and Jess, their fate was their own, but guilt now tore at her like a Huntsman’s claws.

She looked around at the others. Everyone was quiet, even Owen, who at first had whooped and screamed like a kid on a rollercoaster. After Simon fell and Jess jumped – two people who weren’t faceless
bad guys
– the reality of the situation had set in, as had the cold. Hugging the side of the train, the chill night wind had battered them relentlessly, and Marta had felt the temptation to just close her eyes and fall backwards into the dark.

‘We’re going in,’ Marta responded at last. ‘A city has better cover and more ways to throw the Huntsmen off our scent. And if we got out of one we can get out of another.’

‘I’ve never seen the countryside,’ Paul shouted back to them. ‘Only on TV.’

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get your chance,’ Marta replied, hair whipping her face. ‘We’re not stopping long, just until we work out what the hell to do next.’

Ahead of them the perimeter wall loomed, a huge grey concrete sentinel rising up into the sky.

‘It’s fucking patroled!’ Switch shouted. ‘Lean in close, they might see us!’

Marta looked, and saw he was right. On top of the wall she could see soldiers moving around. They were just shadows at this distance, and she couldn’t be sure if they had weapons or not, but judging by the security alert they’d set off, there was every chance the guards were watching for them.

‘We’ve had tree cover the whole damn way,’ Paul said. ‘Now when we need it we get bloody fields.’

‘It’s a killing ground,’ Owen shouted.

‘A what?’

‘Open space around the walls where they can see people either escaping or attacking. Easier to shoot them that way.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Video games.’

Marta cut them off. ‘We’re coming up to the tunnel,’ she said. ‘Wait for the train to slow. There’s bound to be a station; hopefully it’ll be for freight only and we can jump off and hide while they unload the train. We’ll have to look for a way out.’

‘Here we go!’ Paul shouted, as the tunnel rushed around them, cold wind wrapping around their already freezing bodies like iced blankets. ‘Hang on!’

The tunnel sloped downwards in impenetrable darkness. Somewhere far ahead the train’s headlights had winked on, but from where they hung the glow was barely perceptible.

‘Can’t see,’ Owen mumbled.

‘Get your head in!’ Paul shouted, and from Owen’s pained shout Marta knew Paul had given him a gentle shove. Losing two for the night was enough already.

‘We’re slowing,’ Switch said as the train began to angle upwards again. ‘I think this could be the station.’

They saw a glow up ahead. Marta was hoping for a secretive underground unloading bay, one with dim lights and few people, where they might be able to slip away unnoticed, but then the glow bloomed all about them as the train rushed out of the tunnel into an immense, cavernous station, an ornate, glass domed roof above them illuminated by huge spotlights. Looking over her shoulder Marta saw a dozen or more empty platforms alongside theirs before you came to the far wall. Her heart sunk. So much for sneaking away, they had about as much cover here as a fugitive did in the middle of a football field.

The train slowed. Switch jumped first, rolling and landing effortlessly. Owen jumped after him, but the train had almost stopped and he just jogged a couple of steps. Paul waited until the train had completely stopped before climbing down like an arthritic old man. Marta flexed her arms, and a moment later a tingle began to filter through them as pins and needles attacked all the long motionless parts of her body.

Then a door at the front of the train swung open with the grinding of rusty hinges, and she saw a bulky figure climbing down on to the platform.

‘Over the edge, now!’ Switch hissed, slipping down into the thin gap between the train and the platform edge. Paul and Owen followed quickly. Marta shuffled after them, her body wracked with cramps, and managed to get out of sight just as the driver appeared on the platform. Lying there in the semi-darkness beneath the train carriage, the hot smell of oil and grease all around her, Marta looked up towards the platform as spasms tugged her body back and forth. She gritted her teeth to stop herself from crying out.

Footsteps approached as the train driver walked along the platform towards another man coming over to meet him.

‘Good day to you, Barry,’ the driver said in a voice as rough and pockmarked as his face. Well met on this fine overcast morning.’

‘Hello, Phil,’ Barry, presumably the station master, said in a Westcountry accent Marta hadn’t heard in years. ‘You got the early run I see.’

‘Well, one hellhole is as good as another,’ Phil the driver said. ‘Doesn’t matter what time of day it is. Right, let’s open them up.’

‘What have we got?’

Phil huffed. ‘Lose your checklist again? One through six is newspapers. They have to be at the distributors by seven so tell your men to get a shift on. Seven and eight are fresh fruit, boxed. Nine to eleven are furniture, twelve to fourteen are foodstuffs. Fifteen is goldfish.’

‘Goldfish?’

‘Yes, goldfish. You deaf?’

‘Just, who–’

‘People buy them, someone has to carry them. Now get them shipped off, we’re scheduled to roll out in an hour and it would be nice to actually be on time for once.’

Peering through the gap between the train and the platform, Marta could see the driver was tall and grizzled, wearing a grimy baseball cap that might once have been red. A beer belly hung over the waist of his grey slacks.

She didn’t dare move. At any moment his eyes might drop and they would be staring into her own.

‘One more thing,’ the driver said. ‘You get the message from London? There’s a chance there are stowaways on this train. I got the radio call about half an hour ago. It’s likely they jumped off somewhere in the GFA, but they might be hiding out in one of the carriages. Get your security men over here before you check. You have permission to blow their fucking heads off on sight.’ He grunted. ‘Especially if you find them in with the fucking goldfish.’

The other man laughed. ‘Yeah, we got the message too. We have a couple of DCA men outside, but there were riots last night over in Easton and Knowle West. An office building got firebombed, so they didn’t have many personnel to spare. Personally I think the terrorists jumped off out in the GFA. I wouldn’t come into this shithole by choice.’

Phil the driver nodded. ‘You can get keg beer out in the GFAs.
Legal
keg beer. You hear that? I mean, what the fuck?’

‘Yeah, the government has a lot to answer for. Terrorists can blow whatever the fuck up they want for all I care, so long as they stay out of my train station.’

Phil grunted and spat down towards the platform, but his aim was off and the globule exploded off the platform edge down on to the tracks. Marta saw Owen wince as a drop of spittle landed on his cheek but to his credit the boy stayed silent.

‘You’re sounding more like a rebel every day, Barry,’ Phil said. ‘I should ship you in and claim my reward. I wonder what that would be, a glass of flat beer and a couple of tins of tuna?’

‘The government and the rebels can get in a circle and fuck each other in the ass as far as I’m concerned,’ the station master said. ‘As long as they do it outside my train station. They’re as worthless as each other.’

‘Amen, ain’t that the truth.’

Both men laughed. Then the driver said, ‘DCA’ll most likely send men from London. That right?’

‘I think so. If they ever get past the red tape. Even the fucking DCA need a permit to travel these days.’

‘Huh. Crazy, ain’t it? Right, let’s get this shit unloaded. The café got bacon this morning?’

‘Only if you brought it.’

‘Ah, shit.’

The two men started to walk away as others came forward to open up the freight truck doors. Wooden slats slammed down, cutting off Marta’s view. The open doors vibrated and wooden boards clattered as men ran up them to unload the cargo inside.

Marta’s eyes caught Switch’s, then Paul’s. So, as they thought. They were hunted.

‘What do we do now?’ Paul whispered to Marta.

‘I have no idea. Switch?’

They looked for the little man, and saw him moving away from them along the side of the platform towards the front of the train, crouched low beneath the metal pipes and supports of the carriage frame. He glanced back towards them. ‘Wait here,’ he hissed. ‘And stay in tight against the wall!’

‘Where’s he going?’ Owen asked.

Paul and Marta both looked at each other. ‘You don’t think he’s going to–’ Marta began.

Paul shook his head. ‘He’s not that crazy.
Is
he?’

#

Switch glanced up from time to time as he moved along beneath the train. He saw workers unloading the freight, men in dirty overalls with thick forearms, scarred faces with bitter stares. So, life in Bristol sucked as much as it did in London, then.

While that was not his concern, protecting his friends was, and Switch had an idea. In a wide open space with no cover, the best way to escape was to have your enemies looking the other way, and he had just the way to make them do that.

He reached the front of the train and ducked beneath the wheels to the other side. Peering up over the platform edge, he saw another train standing a couple of platforms away, providing him with cover. Pushing the clawboard up on to the platform ahead of him, he wormed his way up through the space beneath the cab’s step. He crouched in the cab’s shadow for a moment, checking again. Then, with one hand he reached up, searching for the handle behind him, eyes never leaving the platform.

He found it and tugged. The handle turned, but the door didn’t move.

Switch cursed under his breath. He knew that a common precaution dating back hundreds of years to the days of regular train hijacking was to keep the spare door locked. Most trains were operated by one man, and since most people were right-handed the right-side door was the obvious choice for access.

Still, no matter. He gripped his clawboard tightly then jabbed it backwards above his head, ramming the thin end into the passenger side window with all his strength.

Trains had thicker glass windows than a car, and while he felt the window crack it didn’t shatter. Wincing from the searing pain in his side and the jarring in his wrists, he hit the window again.

This time he felt a crunch, and he twisted up and around, using the clawboard to break away the shards of broken glass. He slipped his hand in through the broken window and pulled up the door release from the inside.

Inside the cab he put the clawboard down on the seat and looked around at the controls. He’d never been inside a train before, but it didn’t look dissimilar to the cab of a bus. There were dials, handles, buttons…

He was choosing which handle to try when the driver’s side door opened and the driver, Phil, climbed up beside him.

Phil had been looking down, otherwise he would have seen Switch and had a chance to get away. But, not expecting to find someone else inside the cab, he climbed right up into range before he looked up.

Switch pressed a knife to Phil’s throat. ‘I’ve got no quarrel with you,’ he said, eyes hard. ‘Tell me what I want and you live.’

The driver was overweight, but his arms were heavily muscled. Dark eyes and a mashed nose that was bent a little to the left suggested he’d been involved in many a fist fight. He towered over Switch, and Switch knew that without the knife he’d be in trouble.

‘You little fuck.’ Phil started to lift a hand, but Switch’s other hand came up, holding another knife, a thin flick blade. The man paused, words cut off.

Switch grinned, showing his teeth. Right in front of the driver’s face he jerked the knife back and made a thin incision down the side of his own face.

Switch felt a warm trickle of blood dribble over his skin and down his neck. He grinned again, and moved the bloody knife back and forth so that the metal gleamed in the cab lights.