The Power of Five Oblivion (41 page)

“We’re not going to Alice Springs.”

“No?”

“No.”

“So where are we going?”

Another pause.

“Antarctica.”

Martins screwed up his face in puzzlement. “Are you serious, Larry? Why?”

The pilot took a while to answer. At last he spoke. “I don’t know, mate. It just seems like a good idea.”

The Emirates airline Airbus reached nine thousand metres over the desert. Then it changed course and began the long journey south.

LEGACY 600

THIRTY-ONE

They found another slave market soon enough. It seemed that every village and every town in Brazil had one, that there was no other way for the people to live. Men sold their wives and women sold their children … the younger and fitter they were, the higher their price. The most desperate people of all simply sold themselves. As Matt and Lohan drove south, they passed several chain gangs, like something out of an old American film, dusty figures shuffling forward with their hands tied and chains connecting them from ankle to ankle.

It seemed as if months had passed since the two of them had found themselves in the submerged, rotting city of Belém and had come to terms with the fact that the world had changed utterly in the few seconds it had taken them to travel there from Hong Kong. Environmental catastrophe, political breakdown, the dark influence of the Old Ones … they were aware of all these things but they hardly mattered when they were faced with the practical matter of how they were going to make it to the next day. They had no money, no food and no transport. It was only when they had stumbled on the Mercado de Ferro – the old iron market close to the quays – and discovered what it was now being used for that they had seen what they had to do. Matt hadn’t argued. In the end he had been sold three times and although the process was humiliating and sometimes painful, it had brought them the money they needed to survive.

The third sale had been the worst. It had brought them to Fernandinho. The drug lord was probably looking for them even now, and many of the traders in the country would have been warned about a Chinese man with an American boy and the trick that they were playing. But they had to try again. From the moment Matt had woken up in the stolen jeep, he had taken command. They were no longer heading for Salvador and Matt had no interest in trying to get to the United States. He had been back to the dreamworld and he had a new destination.

“Antarctica!” Sitting in the grey light of the jungle, cramped and mosquito-bitten after a bad night’s sleep, Lohan hadn’t believed what he had just heard.

“The Old Ones are there,” Matt said. “In a place called Oblivion. They’re waiting for us to arrive.”

“If they’re waiting for you, then that’s the last place you should go.”

“No. They have Scott. That’s how they know we’ll come. Their armies are already there.” Matt looked into the distance, at the sun struggling to force its way through the grey clouds. “We’re not the only ones, Lohan. All over the world, people are heading south. There are still a few planes flying. They have ships …”

“How do they know about Oblivion?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’ve heard about it … like a rumour, spreading from country to country. Maybe they’ve dreamt about it. But it’s already begun. And I have to be there to help them…”

That had been three days ago. Since then, the jeep had run out of petrol and Matt and Lohan had been forced to continue on foot. They hadn’t even come across another vehicle they could steal. Matt knew that Lohan would kill anyone who got in his way, simply taking what he needed without any thought. The two of them were unlikely partners and although he had never said as much, Matt found himself badly missing Richard Cole. Lohan might be better equipped for survival but his very ruthlessness made him cold and untrustworthy. When Matt had been taken prisoner in the drug compound, part of him had even wondered if Lohan would stick to their agreement and come to his rescue. He wouldn’t have put it past the Triad leader to abandon him and make off with the money.

In fact, Lohan had considered doing exactly that.

Lohan was twenty-four years old and for much of his life he had been involved in organized crime. He had carried and sold drugs. He had sold weapons – to other criminals and to terrorists. He had been involved in gambling, blackmail and vice. In the course of his career, he had killed eleven men, finally rising to become Incense Master with the rank of 438 in the White Lotus Society in Hong Kong.

He was not ashamed of anything he had done. After all, he had never applied for the job. He had been born into it. His father had been the Master of the Mountain, the undisputed leader of the Triad, and Lohan had been groomed to take his place one day. Part of the lesson was to obey every instruction, to have no scruples, to be loyal only to the Triad and to himself.

It had come as a shock to him to find himself babysitting a fifteen-year-old English schoolgirl. Of course, he had always known about Scarlett Adams. She had been taken from the Pancaran Kasih Orphanage in Jakarta when she was a baby and sent secretly to England. For some reason, the White Lotus Society had sworn to protect her and they had been watching her ever since. Lohan had once asked his father why they should waste time and resources on a single girl, thousands of miles away. It was one of the few times the Master of the Mountain had ever turned his anger on his son.

“Ask no questions. Never question my commands. The life of this girl matters more to me than your own. She is more important than any of us.”

And then the Old Ones had come to Hong Kong and Lohan had understood. It was, at first, impossible to believe. It was as if the city had been invaded by aliens, creatures from outer space. They killed everyone who stood in their way – first hundreds, then thousands – and nobody noticed! The bodies were piling up in the harbour and nobody cared. The Old Ones infiltrated the government. They controlled the police. They turned the entire city into a giant trap – simply so that Scarlett Adams would fall into their hands.

Lohan had managed to grab Scarlett, even though she was surrounded by her enemies, and had tried to smuggle her out of the city on a cruise ship. The plan had only failed at the last moment when they had been betrayed – one of the few failures he had known in his life. The two of them had only met again at the Tai Shan Temple in the last few moments as Hong Kong had been destroyed.

And now this.

Despite everything, Lohan had been sorry to find himself separated from Scarlett. He had grown to like her. After all, she was an English schoolgirl, brought up in comfort in a quiet London suburb. She knew nothing about real life. She had never been in danger. And yet she had adapted remarkably quickly. There had been no hysterics, no tears. At the end of the day, she had actually saved them all, using powers that she had never known she had.

From one fifteen-year-old to another. It seemed to Lohan that Matt was very different from Scarlett. There was something detached about him, an inner strength and certainty that made him quite difficult to understand. When the two of them had found themselves together in Belém, with water lapping at the buildings and rotting corpses floating past in the gutter, he hadn’t even seemed surprised. And although Lohan was a lot older than him, with all the experience that his life in the Triad had brought him, it was Matt who had taken command.

Matt was still the one making the decisions. They were going to Oblivion. It didn’t matter that it would be almost impossible to get there and that anyway it was the worst place on the planet, even more dangerous than Brazil. He didn’t care that the ice and the cold would kill them even if the Old Ones didn’t. That was their destination.

And there was something else. Lohan was aware that Matt had changed since the business with Fernandinho. Maybe it was something he had seen or heard in the dreamworld. There was definitely something he wasn’t saying.

Tired and footsore, they had reached a shabby, whitewashed village where a slave market was actually about to start and that was where they were now, watching from the edges. As far as Lohan could see, it was ideal. There were just a few children for sale, as well as some animals and a one-armed man who probably wouldn’t raise as much as five dollars. But the very fact that it was quiet and out of the way was in its favour. If Fernandinho was looking for them, he would be unlikely to find them here.

Matt was leaning against a wall, looking weak and exhausted after the long walk. It occurred to Lohan that his value was probably going down with every day that passed, although the fact that he could pass as an American still added to his price. American slaves were highly prized. “I think we should go somewhere bigger,” he said.

“Why? This is perfect!”

“We’ll get a better price in a town.”

“I can sell you here for a hundred dollars. Then I can pull you out and sell you again for two hundred dollars when we get to a town. We might as well get all the money we can.”

“No, Lohan.” Matt shook his head. “We’re just wasting time here. Let’s keep going.”

Lohan was astonished that he could be ordered about in this way. Just six months ago, he would never have dreamt that such a thing could happen. But there was something in Matt’s voice that told him there was no point arguing. They turned away from the slave market and set off again.

It took them three hours to arrive at a much busier town, a place called Jangada, which stood at a busy intersection, with houses and shops piled up on each other like a traffic accident. There was a football stadium with broken floodlights and mouldering grass and even as Lohan and Matt arrived, another, larger slave market was about to begin. Once again, Lohan was suspicious. Could it just be coincidence that had brought them here? Or had Matt somehow known that the market was taking place?

A large platform had been constructed in the stadium, with twenty men and a dozen boys aged from about eight to eighteen huddled together in shared misery. There were no women for sale. Jeeps and trucks were parked along the edge of what had once been the football pitch and there were groups of men – the buyers – already examining the merchandise. The whole place stank of animal dung and there were flies everywhere. It occurred to Lohan that even slavery might be preferable to life in this drab, forgotten place.

Matt and Lohan were standing out of sight at one of the entrances, with empty seating rising above them. Lohan had brought a rope with him from the abandoned jeep. He began to tie a noose.

“It may not be so easy to find me this time,” Matt said. “But don’t give up.”

“Why should it be any more difficult than the last three times?” Lohan asked.

Matt didn’t answer. Lohan lifted the rope over his head and pulled it tight around his neck. Matt flinched. He knew what was coming next and although he didn’t like it, he knew it had to be done. “OK,” he said. “I’m ready.”

Lohan hit him across the face. Matt jerked backwards, making no sound. They both knew what they were doing. Matt had to look subdued, the servant with his owner. He bowed his head. His eyes were filled with tears of pain and there was a fresh bruise on his cheek. Now he looked just like the other boys.

Lohan led him across to the trader, a small, mean-looking man dressed in an old football shirt with the name FLAMENGO printed in red on his back. He was bald and carried a bullwhip, curled up at his side. As he saw them approaching, his eyes filled with suspicion and Lohan wondered if he had heard of them and knew the trick they were about to play.

“You’re selling him?” the trader asked, speaking in Portuguese.

“That’s right.” Lohan spoke the language fluently. He had been taught it when he was at school in Macao.

“Where did you get him? He’s clearly not your son. Is he American?”

“I bought him,” Lohan spat. “Now I’ve got no further use for him. So I’m selling him. Do you have a problem with that?”

Matt knew that Lohan was being aggressive on purpose. He wouldn’t want to spin out long stories or make the trader think he had something to hide. There was a long silence and Matt didn’t dare look up. If he did, Lohan would have to hit him again. But then he felt the trader’s hands on him, pulling up his shirt to examine his torso and chest, feeling the muscles in his arms, and knew that he had been accepted for sale. The trader prised open Matt’s mouth and peered inside, looking for evidence of tooth rot or disease. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, just as if he were a dog.

“All right,” he said. “The kid’s in good shape. He can join the others. But I warn you, prices are low today. They’re all being sold in a job lot.”

“Who is the buyer?”

“Over there…”

Lohan glanced at the platform and his heart sank. There was a group of them standing in front of it, dressed in khaki with guns dangling from their shoulders. These weren’t farmers looking for cheap labour or rich men who liked having good-looking boys to clean their houses. They were soldiers and they had done this before, many times. He could tell from the way they stood there, working as a unit, relaxed with each other, uninterested in their surroundings. They were men without feelings and Lohan knew that such men were the most dangerous of all.

He glanced briefly at Matt, wondering if he should make an excuse and pull them both out before it was too late. Matt had seen the soldiers too. He shook his head very slightly. The message was clear. He wanted to go on.

Lohan handed the rope across and the trader led Matt up to the platform, where he stood with the other boys. The soldiers barely acknowledged him. They were buying everyone who was there and it didn’t matter to them if he was fat, thin, strong or weak. A job lot. The trader negotiated briefly with one of the soldiers – a bearded man with a broken nose and crumpled cheeks. A deal was made. The two of them shook hands. The soldier reached into his pocket and took out a bundle of banknotes, which he began to count.

The trader took the money and walked back to Lohan. He handed over five crumpled ten-dollar bills.