Dystopia: YA Paranormal Adventure Romance (17 page)

How deep am I buried? A few feet, or the usual six? I shine the light from my mobile around the entire surface of the coffin. My hand shakes uncontrollably. It's not an expensive coffin; it's more of a pine box. Mine was a quick, cheap burial and I pause to realise that this might actually go in my favour. Maybe if I can work a split in the lid, the weight of the earth above will break through. I risk suffocating from the collapsing soil, but it's easy to risk your life when there are only a few minutes of it remaining.

I pull my scarf up over my nose and mouth to protect my airways. With my hands tightly around the handle of the small knife I start to work an opening at waist level.
My mobile bleeps, signalling a low battery. I'm not sure which will die first; the mobile, or me. I compose myself to work steadily, but not so fast that my breathing will get out of control. The wood creaks and soil starts to trickle through a split in the grain. Then the mobile light goes out and it's pitch black.

I press the cold steel of the small dagger to my lips. The knife is the last piece of my mother that I have. I feel closer to her when it's in my hands. Deciding to go for
broke, I put all the energy I have behind the handle of the knife. A loud crack is quickly followed by a deluge of earth. Scrambling with all four limbs, I push the collapsing soil down and torward the space at my feet. In a matter of seconds my knees are forced up to my chest and there is no more room at the bottom of the coffin.

I push the rushing dirt to the space at my sides, all the time telling myself to breathe slowly and calmly. The hole directly above my stomach
must be quite big judging by the amount of earth that fell through, so I wriggle into a seated position. Thankfully, I'm small and skinny enough to do this. There seems to be no end to the collapsing earth, so I start to push it into the space behind me where my head was. My eyes are shut tight as the dry earth presses against my scarf. I use the small knife to work a tunnel above my head, then begin to thrust myself upward into a standing position.

I know that the next few moments are crucial to my survival. My breathing becomes rapid and shallow. I need air in the next sixty seconds or the game is up. I can feel my pulse pounding in my temples. My limbs feel like they are weighed down as I fight through the earth. I refuse to die here like this, never to be found. The small knife starts to
feel warm in my hand and I have the strangest sensation that it's pulling me up, somehow helping me.

I take in a grainy gulp of air and fear it's my last. Suddenly the heat drains from the knife and it feels cold. My wrist has full movement and I wriggle my hand. Is it simply an underground pocket? For all I know I may have another ten feet to go. No, it's not that: I can feel a breeze. I exhale my last breath and drag myself upward in a final effort. My head bursts through the hole made by my arm and I'm hit by cool wind. I pull the scarf down and take in the fresh air. Wiping my eyelids, I lift my head toward the moon in the night sky.

I'm alive.

Life is all that matters this very second. A
wispy cloud drifts across the moon as I breathe in and out, drinking in the cool air. The world that I'm still a part of is a different one; it's a strange place where everything I've ever known has changed. But I do know some things: I know that I'm not alone and that I'm stronger than I ever believed I could be.

Chapter 21

Wednesday 18 September 8:23pm

Aaron Hart

It's like a scene from a classic zombie movie. A bare arm thrusts upward through the earth, followed by a head. Thankfully, my skills brought me close by, but I'd never have found Sasha if she hadn't dug herself out.

For a long moment she is very still; just a head and an arm above ground level. I call to Zara for help and between us we pull Sasha
free. Zara wipes away the mud from her face and places the inhaler to her lips. She looks awful and it pains me to see her like this. Her eyes are bloodshot and it takes her a full five minutes of coughing up bits of soil before she can speak. I kneel next to her limp body. Her eyes lift up to mine, then shift to Zara, and we all catch our breaths together.

"You're both alive," she says, hoarsely.

Considering the circumstances, it's the most selfless reaction I've ever heard. This girl, with her crimson tinted eyes, is working her way under my skin, and I'm perfectly happy for her to be there. She's safe and that is all that matters to me right now.

"We're a bit
wet, but fine, thanks for asking," I reply. "How's your day going?"

It's probably not the right time for humour. I really need to learn when to get serious, but Sasha doesn't seem to mind.

"What happened?" she asks, frowning. "I thought you'd drowned?"

Zara kneels next to her and rubs her back tenderly, trying not to drip all over her.

"We used hollow reeds as makeshift snorkels to swim underwater. Escaping from a submerged trap is standard training for all Agents," she says. "Escaping from being buried alive isn't. You'll have to show us that one sometime."

Sasha smiles the weakest smile I've ever seen.

"How did you find me?" She asks.

I brush some of the loose soil from her forehead.

"After the car sank we swam to the other side of the lake," I explain. "We knew there was no way a Pyromorph would follow; they're scared of water. When we got back here you were gone, then Zara had a premonition about what Ludvig had planned for you. From there I used my Empath skills to try and feel my way closer toward you. We got lucky, very lucky."

I feel sick to the core to think that
Ludvig had buried Sasha and left her to die. It would have been kinder to fry her alive. It was his mistake to underestimate her, and I swear I'll make him pay for it. I help Sasha to her feet then immediately pull her close to me and hold her tight. I drag a reluctant Zara torward us to make it a three-way hug. We're wet, muddy and freezing cold, but we're alive.

There's a squelch of wet shoes and clothes as we peel ourselves apart.

"What now?" asks Zara. "We've lost Rover and we'll catch our death of cold standing here."

"It's only a mile or so to the main road," I explain. "From there we can find a tube station and head to my mum's place for food and warmth."

I take the lack of a reply as agreement. We trudge off like three euphoric swamp-monsters.

+ + +

It takes us a couple of hours to get to my mum's flat. We are able to intermingle with the crowds of students celebrating Fresher's Week ─ their first week at university, and their first time out after curfew. I've lost my fake ID during the underwater escape, but I'm hardly ever asked for it. Sasha, on the other hand, could never pass for being over-eighteen.

Thankfully, people don't seem to take notice of us and our wet clothes any more than the student's fancy dress costumes. The only person to grumble at us is the cashier at the tube station when we pay for our tickets with a crumpled and soaked ten pound note. When we bailed from the burning car Zara and I did our best to hold on to the things that mattered most: my wallet; Sasha's inhaler; Zara's glasses. I can't help but wish I had some of The Agency gadgets with me. A warm coat would also do nicely.

I begin to regret the idea of coming to Mum's the moment we walk out of the tube station. It's been a while since I visited her and this place has gone even further downhill by the looks of it. More of the flats are boarded up than occupied these days. During the D-Day blackout there was an explosion at a nearby factory. A fire raged through the housing estate as I watched from the safety of our high-rise flat. Years have passed yet the government has done little to rebuild this less desirable part of London.

Hopefully, it's not as bad as it looks around here, although I'm sure Zara and Sasha think it's full of drug dealers. In fact, I know that's what they think. The government wanted
to move the remaining residents away from here and make this one of the many restricted zones, not fit for human habitation. What the establishment failed to realise is that 'community' is a spiritual rather than physical thing. It created a sense of solidarity amongst the people who remain and futile as it may be, I admire that. There's something about fighting even after the fight's over that I can relate to.

Sasha has an uncertain look as I lead the way into one of the high rise buildings and up to a graffiti
-covered elevator.

"Don't worry," I say, knowing exactly how she feels.

Secretly, I'm reassuring myself more than her. I hate lifts. In fact, I hate most confined spaces, so I can't imagine the hell that Sasha went through being buried alive. The underwater car experience wasn't exactly ideal for me either. I shake those thoughts from my mind and cast a sideways glance at Sasha. I'm not sure why, but I hope my mother doesn't influence Sasha's opinion of me. She looks so exhausted, I want to draw her to me and hold her. I know she'd never let me do that though. She's a fighter; I genuinely smile at the thought.

"It works out OK, trust me," says Zara. "We'll make it just fine."

Sasha nods, but I know this was for my benefit as much as hers. I can't imagine how annoying it must be to have an Empath on one shoulder and a Precog on the other. The lift groans its way to the top floor and I hold my breath the whole way up. It does that horrible thing of dropping slightly before the doors open and I let out a ridiculous sounding shriek. It's kind of funny that after all the crazy supernatural things we've experienced, something as mundane as a lift can still give me the jitters.

Sasha laughs and I decide that it's a sound I could get used to.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of lifts."

"I just don't like confined sp
aces, it's no big deal."

Sasha laughs again
at my failed attempt to play it down. I guess it's nice for her to see a normal, human reaction to an everyday kind of fear.

"Told you we'd be fine," says Zara, dead-arming me. "From here on, I can't guarantee anything."

"Neither can I," I say nervously. "My mum is harmless, but she likes a drink if you know what I mean. She really likes a drink. Please don't be offended by anything she says."

I knock on the door and Mum opens it with a large gin and tonic in her hand. She looks us up and down and doesn't seem at all surprised by the sorry state we're in.

"Aaron. It's you again. So which one of these girls did you get pregnant?"

She points her glass filled hand in the direction of my friends and I cringe. Perfect. It literally took her two seconds to offend everyone. I feel my face redden and dare not look
torward Zara or Sasha.

"These are my work friends, Mum. Can we come inside?"

She tuts, wobbles a bit, then opens the door wider for us to file in.

"Don't forget to wipe your feet," she says with a chuckle.

It's meant to be a joke; the carpet hasn't seen a vacuum in a long time. Mum's home is a two bedroom flat, with the living room and kitchen forming one main area. There's a strong aroma of garlic and onion, probably the remnants of a take-away meal. A soap opera plays out on the TV and the coffee table is a mess of cheap magazines, used glasses and a full ashtray. The faint sounds of a neighbour's argument permeate the walls. I moved out years ago, but it could have been yesterday for all that's changed. Mum walks around the table, steadying herself on the back of the armchair as she surveys me.

"You look older."

"I am. Time will do that to a person."

She gru
nts at my sarcastic reply. It's always easier to deal with her when she's in a drunken stupor. I decide to ask for a favour before she sobers up.

"Mind if I grab some clean clothes? I might need to borrow some of yours too.
Not for me, obviously."

"Fine," she says, and I'm not completely convinced s
he understands me. "You hungry? I'll get us a take-away."

I glance to Zara and Sasha for
guidance, but they seem stunned into silence like two shy school girls. I sense their hunger and make the call myself.

"
Erm, yeah, sure. Thanks, Mum."

"Drink?"

"No way, you know I don't!"

"I didn't mean alcohol. You didn't think I'd share that, did you? I'll put the kettle on."

I feel guilty. I shouldn't judge her. Alcohol is her way of coping and it has been since Dystopia Day. I remember it clearly; watching the chaos across the streets of London from our top floor window while my mum drank herself into a stupor. I was fourteen years old and I was frightened by what was happening in the world. My mum's answer was to turn to alcohol. I've seen what it can do to a person, which is why I'll never touch the stuff.

I go to my old bedroom. I've not lived here for
years, but Mum has kept it exactly the same. She told me that my bed would always be here for me and that felt nice to know. I change into an old pair of sweatpants, then root out a couple of jumpers and tee shirts for the girls. They'll have to match them up with a pair of Mum's leggings. I can't help but laugh at the thought of Zara exchanging her smart suit for this get up.

I don't want to leave the girls alone too long with Mum making awkward conversation.
She knows nothing about my job at The Agency because I never wanted to burden her with it all. As crazy as things are with Zara's mother, at least they have The Agency in common. Maybe you need to be a little crazy to get your head around it all. Let's face it, we all have a less than normal family situation.

I walk back in and slump into an armchair. Mum rests a tray of hot mugs on top of the pile of magazines.

"It's coffee, with milk in the gravy boat. Got no sugar though."

Zara looks distraught. Mum tops up her own black coffee with a generous dash of whiskey.

"This is nice," says Mum as she cradles the mug to her chest.

I'm not sure whether she means the drink or the company. I jump on her momentary good mood.

"Can we crash over here tonight? I'll sleep on the sofa, the girls can have my room. And please don't ask why, it's a long story."

Mum shrugs, which I take to mean "yes".

"Where are your manners, Aaron? You've not even properly introduced me." She extends a hand to Zara. "I'm Janice, nice to meet you."

Zara shakes her hand politely.

"Wow, you're really pissed off about the lack of sugar, eh? And you're worried about your mother. Don't be, she's content with where she's at."

Zara snaps me a look, stunned by this revelation. Without
saying a word I know that she understands that Mum and I share the same Empath powers. We all have our secrets but I suppose I should have warned them before we came here. I can see Sasha working things out and I know she's dying to ask my mother about her talents.

"Don't mind Mum, she's just pretty good at picking up on how people feel, if you get me."

I wink at Sasha, who completely ignores the hint.

"So you're an
Empath, like Aaron?" she asks.

"Eh?" says Mum with a hiccup.

I make the zip-it sign by running my fingers across my lips and the message finally sinks in. Mum downs the rest of her Irish coffee. Her throat must be immune to the hot drink and the strong alcohol.

"Right, I'd better go and get some sugar before those looks kill me. I'll pick up some food while I'm out."

I offer her some cash, which she refuses, so I stuff a note into the money jar after she leaves.

"I don't believe it," says Sasha. "Your Mum is an
Empath, and she doesn't even know she is?"

"And she doesn't know you are," adds Zara.

The cat's out of the bag. They might as well have the full story.

"It doesn't sit well with her. I've seen her struggle for years. I didn't understand it when I was younger. I felt embarrassed by her. It was only when I joined The Agency that I found out that having these skills is not a free gift. Mum makes a living as a fake tarot reader. People are blown away by how well she can read them. The future stuff she just makes up."

I only hope they don't judge her, or me.

"Don't worry about it," says Zara. "Are you forgetting that I just introduced you to my mother in a mental hospital? I guess we're all a little broken in one way or another. That doesn't mean we can't be fixed."