Blood Ties (13 page)

None of this felt real.

The entrance hall was virtually empty. A bored-looking woman was sitting beside the rows of coats and bags at the back.

Rachel stalked past her, towards the main staircase.

I followed.

‘Hey,’ the woman called out. ‘Where are you two going?’

Rachel turned round. ‘I’m just fetching something I left in my classroom,’ she lied, this slightly haughty expression on her face.

‘
He
should stay down here,’ the woman said. She glared at me.

Rachel leaned closer. ‘Wait till she turns round,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be at the top of the stairs. Hurry.’ She set off, her heels clacking against the wide stone steps.

I stared after her. I still felt completely numb.

I sauntered across the hall, then turned and wandered back. As I reached the stairs again, a couple appeared, asking for their coats.

The woman on duty at the makeshift cloakroom promptly disappeared down a row of jackets.

I hurried up the stairs two at a time.

Rachel was waiting at the top, hanging over the bannisters. She turned away as I reached her, then led me silently down a long corridor, up another flight of stairs, down a few steps, along another corridor and into a carpeted area.

She opened a door marked
Headteacher’s Office
.

She shook her head. ‘I’m sure this is normally locked,’ she said.

I followed her inside as she switched on a bright overhead light.

I screwed up my eyes against the glare, then looked round the room. A big desk. A few comfortable chairs. And loads of framed school photos on the walls.

Rachel sat down on one of the chairs and put her head in her hands.

I turned away, not knowing what to do or say. It was like there was some kind of barrier between me and what was happening. Like I couldn’t reach out and touch any of it. I stared at the photos on the walls, not really taking any of them in.

Lots of girls in school uniform. That was all. Lots and lots of girls.

Across the room, Rachel started crying.

I cried for several minutes. Great, big, racking sobs. The image of Theo kneeling on the tarmac with that gun against his head filled my mind. I could still feel that man’s hand round my mouth. Hear him whispering at me to be quiet. See him shooting at that other man with . . . what was it? Like a laser gun or something. Sparks flying out into the dark. Then the other man falling to the ground.

And the worst of it was that somehow . . . somehow Dad was mixed up in it all.

After a while, Theo walked over and sat down next to me. I felt his hand on my back, patting me awkwardly. I glanced round, looking at him through my wet fingers. He wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the photographs on the wall opposite. Rebecca was in several of them, of course. Form-leader every year, sports captain of any sport, prize-winner of all prizes . . .

I sniffed hard, trying to stop crying, wishing Theo would hold me again. I felt his hand slide off my back. I wiped my eyes and sighed out the last of my sobs. He wasn’t going to hold me. Not now. Not ever.

I looked up, into his eyes. They were blank.

‘Why did that guy tell us to wait up here?’ I said, my voice all croaky.

Theo ran his hand through his hair. He sat back in his chair and shook his head. ‘Dunno.’ He stared at the floor. ‘I wonder why that other man wanted to kill me.’

I stared at him. He sounded like he was discussing a maths problem or something.

‘I mean it doesn’t make sense,’ he went on. ‘If RAGE wanted to use me to blackmail my dad, then why kill me seconds after finding me. And why did they want to hurt you?’

My mouth fell open. How could he talk about it so calmly? My own mind was jumping about like crazy, racing over what had happened, wondering if we were safe yet, wondering how we were going to get out of the school alive.

‘And why did he call us freaks?’ Theo mused.

I shrugged. Who cared what insults he’d thrown at us. He’d wanted to kill us. And now . . . now he was unconscious. Dead maybe? The image of his body on the ground flashed into my mind again. I felt sick.

Theo sighed. ‘I reckon my dad must have been working on some really freaked-out stuff at that clinic that got fire-bombed. Genetic experiments or something. Maybe trials using us, you know, before we were born.’

What on earth was wrong with him? How could he be talking like that? He’d just had a gun in his face.

‘Has your mum ever said anything about that? About when you were born?’ Theo leaned forward.

I shook my head.

‘Are you sure?’ he persisted. ‘Wasn’t there
anything
unusual about it?’

For Christ’s sake
.

‘Only her age,’ I said. ‘She was forty-seven when she had me, which is really old to have a baby and she did have fertility treatment to get pregnant but . . . but, Theo, how can you even be thinking about—?’

‘Maybe that’s the connection.’ Theo’s eyes widened. ‘Fertility treatment. Maybe my mum had that too.’

I looked at his face. I could still see the gun there, the tip pressed against his forehead. I swallowed, trying to push the image away. ‘But . . . but I thought you said your mum and dad weren’t together that long?’

‘So?’

‘Well, people who hardly know each other don’t usually go for IVF and all that.’ I wiped my eyes. ‘And your mum’s young for a mum, isn’t she?’

Theo sighed again. He looked up at the photograph on the wall opposite.

‘Well, it must be something like that, or else—’

‘We can talk about it later,’ said a male voice.

I spun round. The man who had saved us was standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard the door open.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There’s no time to explain now. Follow me.’

It all felt like a dream. Like it wasn’t really happening. And yet, at the same time, I was hyper-alert. Totally in control. I could see Rachel hesitating, not sure what to do.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door.

The man looked at me. He had blue eyes – bright blue against his olive skin. There was this weird expression in them, like he was looking
for
something in my face. Then he held up his hand to stop us walking out past him into the corridor. He glanced up and down, then beckoned us after him. I scurried right behind him, still holding Rachel by the wrist. Her skin was clammy. She was trembling.

I wasn’t. Not now. I wasn’t afraid at all. I felt nothing.

The man led us to the fire door at the end of the corridor. He glanced at our shoes.

‘Take those heels off,’ he whispered to Rachel.

She gawped at him, blinking rapidly.

‘Go on,’ he said, ‘they’ll make too much noise on the fire escape.’

Rachel still didn’t move, so I knelt down and started undoing the thin strap round her right ankle. Almost immediately she bent down and started working at the left shoe.

The man lifted the fire door bar and pushed the heavy door back across the top of the iron fire escape. How did he know his way round the school so well?

‘What—?’ I started.

‘Sssh.’ The man held his finger to his lips. He peered outside, his right hand reaching round and pulling out the gun tucked into the waistband at his back. I stared at it. It was a real gun.

He crept out onto the metal stairs, the gun in his hand, beckoning us to follow.

I could feel Rachel shaking beside me.

‘It’s okay,’ I murmured.

She nodded and tiptoed after the man. It was even colder outside than it had been earlier. Her bare feet must have been frozen on the iron steps, but she said nothing.

Slowly, carefully, the man led us down the stairs.

I looked around. There was no sign of anyone or anything. But it was dark and there were many shadowy corners where people could have been lurking. I had the dim sense that this should have made me feel terrified. But it didn’t. I was a machine. My only sensation was one of admiration for the man leading us down the steps. The way he moved without making a single sound.

As we reached the bottom of the staircase, a boy and girl lurched round the corner, their arms wrapped round each other. The man froze. His arm whipped out and pushed me and Rachel flat against the wall. Rachel gasped. Her shoes fell to the ground with a light thud.

The couple didn’t seem to have noticed us. They wandered across the tarmac away from us, into one of the shadowy corners. I could just make out the girl leaning against the wall, the boy pressing against her. They started kissing noisily, their hands everywhere.

The man beckoned us forward again. He took us round the corner, down a narrow passageway, then across a wider space.

I had no idea where we were, or how far away the school exit was. Rachel was limping slightly now. I glanced down. Her shoes were no longer in her hands. She must have left them on the ground.

We rounded another wall and the dull thump of the dance music drifted towards us across the air. In the far distance I could just make out the school gates, their high, spiky bars silhouetted against the street lamps beyond.

‘Lewis?’A low growl.

The man spun round. ‘Sir?’

Another man stepped out of the shadows. He was dressed from head to toe in black, with a mask over his face. ‘You’ve got them, Lewis?’

The man we were with nodded curtly. ‘Yes, sir. Mr Simpson, sir.’

His voice was neutral, but I could see his hand tighten on his gun.

For the first time I sensed he was scared. I noticed this without feeling any emotion myself. I was just curious to see what happened next.

The masked man looked round. ‘Where is he?’

Lewis said nothing. I guessed the man was referring to the guy Lewis had somehow knocked out. The one who’d almost shot me.

‘Lewis?’

‘I don’t know, Mr Simpson.’

I frowned. Simpson. The name seemed familiar. In fact, so did the name Lewis. Where had I heard them before?

Beside me, Rachel shivered.

‘Well, Lewis?’ the masked man barked. ‘What happened?’

There was a short, tense pause. Then Lewis swung his arm up and round. The movement was so quick there was no time for the other man to jump back. Lewis’s hand – the hand holding the gun – slammed into his forehead.

The man staggered backwards, clutching his brow.

Lewis darted forwards and thumped the man on the upper back with the edge of the gun. The man fell to the ground.

‘Oh . . . no . . . no,’ Rachel whimpered beside me.

I stared at Lewis. How had he
done
that? His movements were so quick. So precise. Lewis stood over the man for two long seconds, his gun pointing at the man’s chest.

It was like watching a film. I wondered if Lewis would shoot.

Rachel turned her face away.

Lewis stared down at the man. His arm shook.

Then he drew back his arm and tucked his gun in the back of his trouser waistband again. ‘Hurry,’ he said. He yanked on Rachel’s arm, half dragging her towards the school gates.

I raced after them.

Through the gates, Lewis swerved to the right. He pounded down the hill, past the bus shelter where I had met Rachel for the first time. I flew after him. Rachel was stumbling, panting. Lewis holding her up.

We turned down a side road. A navy BMW with darkened windows was parked near the corner. Lewis clicked open the locks. ‘In the back,’ he ordered.

I pulled open the back door and bundled Rachel inside. Lewis was in the driver’s seat, already revving the engine. I slammed my door shut and he zoomed off.

Silence.

I sat back against the leather seat, my hands in my lap. I realised with a jolt that I no longer had my backpack with me. I must have left it on the tarmac when . . . when . . . I suddenly flashed back to the gun barrel pressed against my forehead. I could feel the cold metal against my skin.

Don’t think about it
. I tried to remember exactly what was in the bag. Clothes. Toothbrush. My picture of Dad. My only picture. Something twisted in my gut.
Don’t think about it
.

‘My passport.’
No
.

‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you a new one,’ Lewis said.

Had I spoken out loud? I looked at him. Who was ‘we’?

‘Who are you?’ I said.

‘Lewis Michael.’ He half turned round to give me a quick look.

I felt Rachel stiffen beside me. I remembered the name now. Lewis Michael. The person who’d written the email to Rachel’s dad about ‘shutting me up’. That’s where I’d heard the name Simpson too.

My stomach twisted again.
The gun. Pressing against my skin
.

‘But you’re with RAGE,’ I stammered. ‘We saw your email. You said you were going to kill me.
Shut him up – permanently
. That’s what you said.’

Lewis Michael snorted. ‘Shut you up as in stop you talking. Which you were doing far, far too much of.’

He turned a corner. We were driving quite slowly, through heavy traffic. I had no idea where we were.

I glanced at the door nearest me. It was locked. ‘But RAGE want to kill me. And you’re with them.’ The twisting feeling was filling my stomach now, swelling inside me. I had this strong sense that I had to keep it down, that it was way, way too big to let out.

‘I was working undercover. You saw me taser that guy earlier – knock him out.’

‘Taser?’ Rachel’s voice sounded weak. She was huddled in the far corner of the car, her arms wrapped round her body. Her face was pale and scared and tear-stained.

‘Electric stun gun,’ Lewis said. He looked round at me again. ‘I work for your . . . your dad.’

‘My dad?’ I sat forward, trying to ignore the panicky feeling that was growing and growing inside my stomach. ‘You work for my dad?’

Lewis nodded. ‘That’s why I’m here. He sent me to rescue you.’ He sighed. ‘Even though it meant blowing my cover.’

‘What about
my
dad?’ Rachel said.

‘We’re in touch with him.’ Lewis reached for some kind of mobile phone set into the dashboard. ‘We’ll let him know you’re safe as soon as we can. And your mum, Theodore.’