Thirteen (7 page)

Rachel was dancing with about five or six boys, including a couple who looked over sixteen. She was remarkable, arching her body back and then moving her shoulders forward, and sometimes resting her hands on boys' shoulders. Asa had to prance around ever more athletically to keep her attention.

Leo's legs and arms did not seem to move with any reference to one another. He looked like an alien whose sucker-pad limbs kept slipping apart. Amused pity from a couple of fifteen-year-old girls was misread by him as genuine interest.

It was then that the band moved their hands above their heads, a circular space opened up and several hundred people started moving in the same anticlockwise direction, round and round.

“Yes!” said Asa. “Mosh pit!”

All five in their group were caught up in the movement, though Megan, Rachel and Leo soon pushed their way to the side, panting heavily and sweating.

“Sick,” they agreed, trying to catch sight of the other two.

Adam and Asa were swept along by the excitement and whirlpool movement. They were the youngest there, so older teenagers shouted encouragement, but after a minute or two they wanted to escape. All of a sudden they found it hard to keep their footing and were elbowed once or twice. Then Asa fell. People did try to avoid Adam as he leaned down to help,
but momentum carried some into his back. He was nudged forward, then spun away from Asa.

He couldn't get back. It was as if bodies were being sent to knock him down. They came too fast. Nudge. Prod. Bump. Adam let out a string of swear words.

There was a sharper jolt, and Adam tripped and twisted to the ground, trying to grab hold of people around him. A boot scuffed the back of his head, and he raised his hands to shield his face; then a foot jabbed into his ribs; there was a lot of pressure on his upper leg—“Get off me!”—and then he couldn't distinguish the smacks and pokes that came like wasp stings.

“Stop! Help!”

He was wrapped in indistinct loud noises and could see nothing but hundreds of blurred legs. Sooner or later someone was going to stand on his head.

Words tumbled out of him: “Help-me-someone-help-me- now-get-off-help-me-now!”

Then he felt himself being lifted up, firmly; hands were under each shoulder. A couple of dancers had grabbed him, one on either side, and pulled him to safety, which was actually only a few feet away.

“Are you okay?” they asked, leaning toward Adam. They were about fifteen or sixteen. “That was amazing.”

“Yeah, thanks, mate,” he said, trying to look as if the experience had been expected and entertaining.

Asa arrived, having also been rescued by two slightly older dancers.

Megan, Rachel and Leo ran over. “You should
not
have been in there!” shouted Leo.

“It was brilliant,” said Asa.

“Come on,” said the oldest rescuer. “Let's get you away from here.”

The group, now nine in total, wound their way past those who were still dancing and slumped on the muddy ground next to a popcorn and cotton candy stall.

“I could do with something to eat,” said Rachel. She was looking at the oldest boy, who was all blond hair and muscles. She thought he looked like Alex Pettyfer. Rachel, a goddess to most boys, had Alex Pettyfer as her god.

One of the two girls spoke to Adam. “You really should stay out of that stuff until you're a bit older, but you're a sick dancer.” Adam was flattered. He looked into the girl's deep blue eyes—eyes the same color as Megan's, but much more grown-up somehow.

“Thanks. Can I buy you all a drink, as a thank-you for getting me out of there?” suggested Adam.

The group ended up spending the rest of Saturday evening together, and by 11:00 p.m. on Saturday it was as if they had all been friends for years. By Sunday evening they were like family.

The action was wilder on Sunday, with everyone trying to make the most of the last evening. There were so many people that although the site was less than a mile from end to end, it was impossible to find anyone else, especially as there was no cell phone reception.

The blond boy was called Keenan, which he said meant “fair-headed” in Irish. The pretty girl was Cassie: “I don't know where that comes from, but it probably means clever and sexy,” she said in a way that made Adam and Asa look at one another and Megan roll her eyes. The other two were named Harry and Sofia.

After checking in with Asa's parents at
exactly
the agreed time—a ploy to make sure that they were allowed to stay out until the music stopped at midnight—the group split up. Leo was talked into visiting the DJ tent with the other two newcomers. An exhausted Asa said that he was keen to dance in front of the main stage with Rachel. Harry and Sofia also drifted off. So Adam and Megan were left alone with Keenan and Cassie.

Year eleven seemed an exotic and distant land for Adam and Megan, who were in year nine. Adam had already started to flick his hair back in the same way as Keenan; Megan had a hushed conversation with Cassie about kissing.

Adam and Megan never considered that they were in terrible danger. They thought that Keenan and Cassie were ordinary kids.

They never saw a seventeen-year-old boy with a long scar on his neck watching them.

10:15 p.m.

“How about going on the rides before they close?” said Keenan. “You can still hear the main stage from there.”

There were three main rides, none of which had long lines. The Frisbee was certainly the most exciting, but Megan and Cassie weren't keen. “If I puke up there, it'll go on people down here,” said Cassie. There was also one called Starship, in which riders were spun around while pressed against a circular wall. But they chose Tornado, the gentlest, which allowed all four of them to go on together.

10:30 p.m.

They whirled and twisted and pressed together, whooping and screaming, dizzy with spinning and laughter. Lights and sound twirled around them. Adam had one arm around Megan—
amazing Megan
—and one arm round Cassie, who was soft to touch and
very
pretty.

He stepped off the ride feeling happier than ever and pulled Megan over, briefly hugging her. “That was great, wasn't it?”

For a second—what a second—she had both arms around him, hugging him back. “Yes, it was.”

“How about going back to our tent to chill out?” said Keenan. “Come on, you've got an hour.”

10:55 p.m.

The tent was big enough for four. “This is where Harry and I sleep,” said Keenan. Harry seemed friendly enough, but he wasn't an imposing and impressive character like Keenan. “Cassie and Sofia are next door.” Keenan pulled out a large
brown bottle. “How about something to get the party going? Just a swig?”

Megan was not keen. Her parents nearly hadn't let her go to the festival at all. “Don't drink. And stay away from anything that looks like drugs,” they had warned her, over and over.

Cassie said that she would have some; Adam also. He felt very daring and several years older than he was. Megan agreed to a drop, which resulted in three-quarters of a plastic cup. They all sat with cider in front of them.

“Come on then,” said Keenan. And he drank first. “How about truth or dare?”

Adam and Megan smiled and gave mock groans, then nodded.

11:25 p.m.

This had to be the last go, because all four had spotted the time on Keenan's alarm clock. Adam was determined to go for dare again, hoping that he would have to kiss Megan.

Keenan had a different idea. “You have to run down to the first-aid tent, with your T-shirt off, shouting, ‘I love Megan, I love Megan.' ”

Adam's disappointment was lessened by the thought that this might still lead to a kiss later. “Okay,” he said as he pulled off his top. He quickly leaped outside, bolstered by cider, so not as shy as he would normally have been in front of those returning to their tents.

“I love Megan! I love Megan!”

He jumped over ropes and between tents, even cupping his hands to his mouth, racing all the way there. Done it. He began to head back, still yelling. “I love Megan! I love—”

Then he stopped. Between him and Keenan's tent was the teenager from the park. For a few seconds they faced one another like gunslingers about to draw weapons.

“No!” Adam felt drained and cold inside. He had to get back. Keenan looked tough; he would help.

Unable to head straight there, and struggling to see clearly in the dark, he went down one row, where the path was slightly wider, and sprinted in what he thought was the right direction. He didn't look to either side, just ran with all his strength until he finally spotted the brown and gray of Keenan's tent. Sighing with relief, Adam fell breathlessly inside.

11:35 p.m.

A hand immediately grabbed his throat and he was pushed harshly to the ground. Knees on his back. His legs pinned down.

Then a voice: “Truth or dare?” It was Keenan.

Adam thought of the bloke chasing him, who surely wouldn't be far away. “Stop messing about! There's someone after me.”

Adam could hear chuckling. Was that Harry?

“Answer me—truth or dare?”

Adam was suddenly desperate. “Let me go, you bastard.”

Keenan, usually called Cobra, grabbed the side of Adam's face and pulled the skin tight. “Truth or dare?” he insisted.

“Truth?” said Adam.

“You're coming with us. Don't make a sound, or your girlfriend will get hurt.”

Megan? Where was she? Adam didn't want her hurt. He had no choice. “Okay.”

He was hauled upright, Harry on one arm and a girl he hadn't seen before on the other.

Why the hell were they doing this? He had no idea how their game had suddenly become twisted and scary.

“And, just in case you were thinking of shouting for help, you'll find that this really keeps the noise down,” said Keenan. He stuffed a handkerchief into Adam's mouth. Though Adam could still breathe, it deadened any sound he tried to make.

“This also keeps the noise down,” said Keenan, punching Adam in the face. Unable to move his arms, Adam couldn't stop his eyes from watering.

Keenan picked up a large leather-bound book and put it in a backpack.

Adam was marched out of the tent, then back toward the trees. He knew that fields were beyond: he had seen them when they arrived. Were they going to beat him up? What had he done? Did this have something to do with Jake? Terrified that something would happen to Megan, Adam didn't speak until they were well beyond the tents. Then his voice came out like a low siren through the handkerchief. “Why? Why?”

He was ignored, and step by step the tents disappeared into the distance, until Adam was pushed between a gap in the fence and all was darkness.

They kept walking.

“What's going on? What do you want?” Adam pleaded for answers.

11:50 p.m.

Keenan spoke. “Before you die, I'll tell you what you are. You are filth, but you are dangerous. Born at midnight at the millennium, two thousand years after the previous Imposter, you—”

“I wasn't. I wasn't,” Adam tried to say. But he was.

“You would stop Lord Coron, who will cleanse this world, from taking his real place, perhaps with me at his side.”

Coron? Cleanse the world? What was Keenan going on about? This was mad!

Adam realized that these people were completely crazy. He was terrified and things didn't make sense. They really were going to kill him! He struggled, throwing his body around, desperately trying to break free. Keenan put a hand on either side of Adam's mouth and pressed in. Then he jabbed him hard with his fist. Adam's world shrank to black, his face filled with pain.

Adam was turned to face Harry.

“Python, teach him to choose manners,” said Keenan.

Python? Not Harry? Adam was confused. They were using different names. What the hell was going on?

Harry, or Python, kneed Adam twice and then kicked him in the stomach. Adam coughed up something into the back of the handkerchief. His throat gurgled.

Near the brow of the hill, at the far end of a field, they stopped.

11:58 p.m.

Keenan pulled the leather-bound book and a long knife from his backpack.

Sofia smiled. “Go on.”

“Yes, go on,” said Harry. “Say the words of sacrifice.”

The knife didn't glint. It was dark and solid.

The handkerchief was pulled from Adam's mouth. “I'll do anything,” he burbled, panic making his brain spin like a wheel on ice. “Just don't kill me. I promise, anything.”

11:59 p.m.

Keenan started. “Master, accept this sacrifice . . .”

Something flashed past the rim of Adam's vision and hit Sofia, who let out a small groan and fell to the ground. Suddenly the arm she had been holding was free.

What . . . ?

Then a figure in a dark top threw himself into the group. The knife left Keenan's hands and twisted in the air before hitting the grass with a whisper.

Adam and Harry stood frozen for an instant, then Adam snapped himself loose and dived for the knife.

What happened next only took a second. Adam grabbed the knife, his mind blinded by panic and twisted by pain. In the same instant, Harry dived at him, drawing back his fist to punch. Adam could do nothing to stop him. Everything hung in slow motion for a moment, then sped up again.

The knife went into Harry. Immediately—too late—Adam's
hand leaped away from the hilt. He knew what had happened before Harry even fell to the ground.

He had killed him.

Beside him, the older boy in the black top had Keenan pinned to the ground, while Sofia sat on the grass, moaning in pain and clutching her head.

“Run,” said the older boy to Adam. “Run! And if you ever need me again, I will be where you and the girl went through the water.”

Adam immediately set off toward the festival site, oblivious to the impression he would make with red stains on his hands.