The Enemy (16 page)

He broke into a run and dodged past some railings. Two fathers came lol oping up behind him and smashed into the ironwork.

A car had driven into the side of the tube station, creating a gaping hole in the big steel shutters. A skeleton sat at the wheel. You normal y never saw skeletons anywhere.

Sam ducked in and clambered over the ticket gates. He fumbled in his pocket for the flashlight he’d picked up at Waitrose. Pumped the handle and flicked the switch. He scribbled the blue-white beam over the wal s. There was only one thing for it: he would have to go down toward the platforms. A shriek outside spurred him on, and in a few seconds he was rushing down the unmoving escalator two steps at a time, his flashlight beam zigzagging wildly, showing flashes of torn posters for vacations and televisions and shops and other useless things.

It was a mess at the bottom. Fal en bricks, tangles of wires, pools of yel ow water—a dead body crawling with maggots. There had been a fire here recently, and he could smel smoke.

The grown-ups were stil fol owing him. They were on the escalator, their noisy progress echoing off the tiled wal s.

Grunts and heavy breathing and clumsy feet. Sam looked quickly to right and left, and chose right.

He ran on through the passenger tunnels until he reached a platform. He quickly shone his beam along the rusting tracks. There was water and trash lying between the rails. He jumped down, pressed himself against the wal below the platform, and switched off his flashlight.

It was utterly dark. A darkness like he had never known before the disaster. There was no source of light anywhere. No winking safety bulbs. No glow of electricity. The world had ceased to exist. Sam suddenly became aware of his other senses. First the cuts and scrapes on his bruised body, then a metal bolt digging into his side. Next came the smel s of dust and oil and damp and decay pressing into his nose. Then his hearing. Nearby some dripping water, and a smal animal moving about, a mouse or rat. Farther away, but moving closer, the grown-ups. He could sense that they were unsure in the dark. Their footsteps uneven. There was a cough, a sneeze, chattering teeth. Long fingernails scraping on the tiles as they felt their way along.

He prayed that they would give up and return to the light. He was too smal to bother with. They couldn’t hope to find him.

Go away. Go away. Go away.

They arrived at the platform, and one came close. Sam could hear it sniffing, and smel its foul stink, like a blocked toilet. There was a rustle of clothing as it knelt down, and then it began to run its fingers along the edge of the platform. The dry skin sounded like paper.

Go away . . . Please go away.

Another one. He heard it flop onto the rails and begin to work its way toward him.

How quickly would they give up?

Could he risk trying to make a run for it, or was it safer to stay here?

If he ran he’d have to put the flashlight on, and that would tel the grown-ups where he was.

Then the one above him slithered over the wal , almost landing on him. He heard its feet slop into a puddle.

There were two of them down here on the tracks now, moving about. It would only be a matter of time before others fol owed. They knew he was here.

They would feel about in the darkness for him. Eventual y they would find him.

Sam’s heart was racing, his whole body shaking. They would sense it. He was biting his shirt to stop from crying out in fear. It was no good. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He pointed his flashlight toward where he thought the nearest one of them was, and snapped the beam on for half a second.

The light caught the grown-up ful in the face; it gasped and put its hands up to cover its eyes, but not before Sam had gotten a good look at it. A father, his nose split almost in two, showing a nasty black hole in the gap. His lower jaw hanging loose. Sam quickly skimmed the beam both ways along the tracks, just long enough to get his bearings. Then he rol ed over and dropped down into the gutter that ran between the rails. There were about four inches of water in the gutter. Sam hobbled along, somewhere between a crouch and a crawl, moving as fast as he dared in the dark toward one of the railway tunnels. His hands on the rails on either side. Behind him the grown-ups fol owed, grunting and panting. He had spotted at least six of them when his flashlight had been lit.

He gave another quick squirt of light. Just in time. Another second and he would have run into the end of the gutter. He clambered up and into the tunnel. It would be harder going now. He had to make his way over the cross ties without slipping. It was the same for the grown-ups, but they would be able to fol ow him by the noise he was making.

He stumbled on, every few seconds lighting the way ahead. The tunnel split in two and he made a quick decision, taking the left-hand branch. A little farther along he came to a stopped train. It fitted too tightly in the tunnel for him to squeeze past, so he would have to go underneath.

He dropped onto his bel y and crawled under the front of the train, wriggling like a worm. It was hard work and difficult to move without making a noise. Were the grown-ups stil fol owing? He shone the flashlight back. There were three of them there, peering under the carriage, their eyes bulging, red and swol en, their tongues lol ing. One of them flopped down and started to slither his way forward.

Sam switched off the flashlight.

Blackness again.

He crawled on. His knees stinging. The sound of his fol owers too close behind.

The one in front worked his way nearer and nearer, his rancid breath coming in short rasping gasps. He got hold of Sam’s ankle. Sam kicked out and kept kicking. He felt something break like a twig, and he hoped it was at least a finger. No matter how hard he kicked it, though, the grown-up wouldn’t let go. It was then that Sam remembered the butterfly pin. He had it stuck through a fold of cloth on the front of his sweatshirt. He pul ed it loose, curled back around, and struck—jab, jab, jab, jab, jab—right where he thought the grown-up’s face would be. It was like poking a watermelon. There was a shriek, and the grown-up let go and thrashed about like a wounded animal.

That might hold the others up. Sam crawled on. He risked another burst of light. The bottom of the train seemed to stretch away forever ahead of him, but off to one side was a dark hole in the tunnel wal . Maybe a way out?

He stuffed the flashlight back into his pocket, lay flat, and, making as little noise as he could, moved slowly sideways over the rail, past the wheels of the train, where there was a gap between two carriages. He couldn’t risk the flashlight. It would show the grown-ups where he was. So he ran his hands over the wal until he found the opening and ducked into it. He heard the grown-ups move past him, stil under the train. It wouldn’t take them long to realize he wasn’t ahead of them anymore, but would they be able to find this hiding place? Sam backed deeper into the hole; the ground sloped downward into shal ow water. He soon came to a solid wal . Once more he used his hands to get the shape of his surroundings, and he discovered that he was at the bottom of a shaft of some sort. It was open above his head, and, what’s more, there were metal rungs fixed to the wal . He hauled himself up and climbed into the darkness.

I
didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know . . . We couldn’t tel ...”

Arran was lying where he had fal en, surrounded by dead grown-ups, and Maxie, Blue, and a stunned circle of the rest of the Hol oway kids. The girl was kneeling by him, her hand pressed to his chest where the steel shaft of the arrow stuck out. Her bow was lying next to his body.

Maxie didn’t know her name. She didn’t want to know. She was tal and thin and striking, with long dark hair and very white skin. She was wearing a battered black leather jacket and knee-high biker boots.

Standing in a smal , wary knot behind her were her friends, five girls and seven boys. They were al lean and wiry and weather-beaten, as if they’d been living outdoors for some time. Their eyes moved like animals’ eyes. Watchful, alert, unsure.

The Hol oway crew outnumbered them easily.

And they had shot Arran.

“We’d been fol owing the pack,” said the girl. “The adults.

We didn’t know what they were up to. We’d never seen them behave this way before. We know how to keep hidden. We were staying out of their way. And then they were charging down the street toward us. We thought they were coming for us. We started firing. We never saw the boy among them.”

She touched the feathers at the tip of the arrow. “This is mine,” she said sadly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Being sorry won’t bring him back,” said Maxie. “Being sorry never changed anything.”

“It was an accident,” said Ol ie, and Maxie shot him a dirty look.

Maeve pushed her way to the front and knelt by Arran. She put her ear to his chest and a finger to the artery in his neck.

“He’s not dead,” she said.

“Oh, thank God,” Maxie sobbed, and dropped to the road beside Maeve. She put her face to Arran’s. It was wet with tears. She didn’t care who saw it.

“Arran,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t die.”

Arran’s lips parted and he spoke one word, in the quietest whisper they had ever heard. So deep was the silence, however, that there was no mistaking what he said.

“No.”

Maxie smiled through her tears.

“He’s not going to die. He’s strong. He’s our leader. He’s going to get us to the palace. . . .”

“The palace?” said the girl, and now Jester stepped forward.

“I’m taking them to Buckingham Palace,” he said. “It’s safe there.”

“It’s not safe anywhere,” said the girl. “We know. We’ve been al over.”

“Have you been into the center of town?” asked Jester.

“Wel , no . . .”

“Then you haven’t been al over, have you?”

“She’s not coming with us, anyway,” said Maxie, standing up. “Not after what she’s done to Arran.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah,” said Blue. “It was an accident. If they want to come with us, then let them. We could use some more fighters. We lost seven kids in the battle.”

“She’s not coming!” Maxie shouted.

“If I say she’s coming, she’s coming,” said Blue.

“Why?” said Maxie. “Because she’s pretty?”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Blue laughed dismissively. “I told you, she’s a mad good fighter. We al need to stick together.”

“Who put you in charge al of a sudden?” Maxie snorted.

“You said just now Arran was the leader,” said Blue calmly, ignoring Maxie’s outburst. “Wel , that wasn’t strictly speaking true, was it? We was both leaders. And now he’s hurt bad, so, from here on, I’m in charge.”

Maxie glared at Blue, her eyes defiant. “I’m Arran’s second in command,” she said. “I’l take his place until he’s better.”

“I’m in charge, girl,” said Blue.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ol ie, stepping between them. “Al that matters right now is we try to get Arran better. Then we can argue over who’s in charge.

Maeve, is there anything you can do?”

“I don’t know,” said Maeve, shaking her head. “The arrow’s in pretty deep. If we take it out he might bleed worse.”

“Is it in his heart?”

“If it was in his heart he’d be dead already.”

“His lung?”

“Maybe.”

Maeve looked around at the girl who was stil kneeling next to her. “What do you think? Do you know about arrows?”

“I think you’re right. If you try to take it out you could make it worse.”

“You can’t leave him like that!” Maxie yel ed. “You can’t!”

Ol ie nodded at the girl. “You,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Sophie,” said the girl.

“Tel me, Sophie,” said Ol ie, crouching down to inspect the wound. “Is it barbed? The arrow? Has it got a barbed tip?”

“No,” said Sophie. “It’s a sports arrow, designed for shooting at targets. It’s probably gone right through him. It was very close range.”

Maxie wailed and threw herself on Arran, cupping his face in her hands.

“He was already weak from the bite in his neck,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

“Okay,” said Jester, “as I see it, it’s like this. He can’t walk. So, whatever we do, we’l have to carry him. Maybe make a stretcher, or find a trol ey, or something.”

“We can’t move him like that with an arrow sticking out of him,” Blue objected.

“I know that,” said Jester. “So we’l have to risk taking it out. We’ve no other choice. We’l have to bandage him up and just hope we can stop the bleeding.”

“You’l only be able to stop the bleeding on the outside,” said Maeve. “Not inside. He’l die.”

“Wel , what do you suggest?” said Jester. “We operate on him?”

“It would be the only way to save him,” said Sophie.

“Don’t be stupid,” Maxie snapped. “We can’t operate on him.”

“I know,” said Sophie sadly.

“If we can just get him to the palace, he might have a chance,” said Jester. “But if we stay here he won’t, and it’l be dangerous for the rest of us. We have to keep moving. I say we take the arrow out and see what happens.”

“No,” said Maxie.

“We ain’t got time for this,” said Achil eus, and he marched over to Arran, grabbed the arrow, and yanked it out. Maxie screamed. A gout of lumpy jel ylike blood dribbled from the wound. Arran groaned and coughed. His body spasmed, and he was stil .