Danger Aloft!

‘That must’ve been who Moni was contacting by the bridge,’ Angel said.

‘The little traitor!’ Monkey banged his hand against the gate in anger. ‘How could she?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Angel warned, tugging his sleeve. ‘Come on.’

They set off across the recently furrowed field, keeping close to the hedge and crouching low so that their heads wouldn’t be seen. Clods of earth clung to their feet making it heavy going. Then they heard the sound that they’d both been dreading: dogs!

‘Oh for...!’ Monkey kicked aimlessly at the earth, exasperated. ‘This is pointless! We might as well give ourselves up - we’ll never outrun dogs.’

‘Listen,’ Angel dropped her voice as she tried to control her breathing after the exertion of walking through the muddy, rutted soil.

Monkey held his breath and listened. He could hear yelping and, above that, the cries of the dog handlers but farther away, almost at the very edge of his hearing range was something else; faint but clear - running water.

‘They can’t track us through water,’ Angel said. ‘When we get to the river, they’ll assume we’re heading upstream back to town, so if we go the other way, it might throw them.’

Monkey looked at her: the moonlight reflected across her cheeks and the tip of her nose. He thought she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. ‘You’re...’ he started to voice his thoughts, but embarrassment overcame him. ‘...very clever, aren’t you?’ he finished, lamely.

‘Yes,’ she replied, with no hint of conceit. ‘Now, come on!’

They made it to the stream and, just as Angel had predicted, the dogs lost the scent and their handlers made the erroneous assumption that they would make their way back to town. They waded through the freezing water, sometimes thigh deep, until dawn broke, grey and hazy. Only then, when they could see their surroundings, did they leave the stream and seek refuge in a disused watermill.

Cold, tired and wet, they collapsed onto a pile of old paper sacks on the floor of the mill. It was too dangerous even to attempt to light a fire and their clothes clung to them, chilling them to the core.

‘We should take it in turns to sleep while the other keeps guard,’ Monkey said. He put his arm round Angel’s shoulder and pulled some of the sacks over her knees. ‘You go first.’ He put his other arm across her, pulling her to him, protectively and she fell into a deep, immediate sleep with her head on his chest. Try as he might to stop his eyelids from closing, within minutes, Monkey had joined her.

It was dusk again when they woke and their clothes, although still damp, had almost dried from their body heat. Monkey stood up and stretched. His stomach rumbled.

‘I’m starving.’

‘Me too, but we need to get back.’ Angel took the paper Jane had given her from her pocket. It was damp and crumpled but the address of the safe house was still visible - just. ‘I know Jane said only to use this in an emergency, but I think this qualifies.’

Monkey agreed and they headed back to town and the safe house Jane had suggested. Under cover of night, they followed the river upstream as it meandered back towards town. A field of late Brussels sprouts and a store of turnips provided them with the worst meal Monkey had ever tasted - or ever hoped to taste again. He consoled himself with the thought that, even if he got caught, the food on The Farm couldn’t be any worse than that.

It was still Energy Conservation Shut Down when they entered the town from the west, along the north bank of the river, by the Uplands Lunar Park.

‘Where is this safe house, anyway?’ Monkey asked.

Angel retrieved the paper and handed it to him. He stopped. ‘No way!’

‘What’s the problem?’ There was irritation in her voice. She was tired and anxious, and just wanted to reach safety.

‘This is Danger’s address.’

‘Jordan Grainger?’ Angel queried. ‘You sure?’

‘I should know - I’ve been there enough times.’ He paused, thinking aloud. ‘I’m just hoping this isn’t some sort of stitch-up. I mean, Danger’s hardcore hood. And his nurturer’s a teacher - pro-Assembly through and through.’

Angel gnawed at her bottom lip. ‘What should we do?’

Monkey sighed. ‘What choice do we have? They’ll be looking for us at our own homes and there’s no way we can go back to the village. Short of living off raw sprouts for the rest of our lives, this is all we’ve got.’

Angel nodded wearily and, once again, they set off through the suburbs.

The fact that Monkey knew the house made it easier for them to make their way through the rear sustenance patches to the back door, thus avoiding any cameras that might have been trained on Danger’s street.

Monkey buzzed the voice-com several times before a sleepy female voice responded.

‘I’ve been given this address by some people in Combe Magna.’ Monkey said simply, without identifying himself.

There was silence before the voice replied, ‘There are several ways to care for offspring.’

Monkey narrowed his eyes and looked to Angel for some sort of guidance. She moved closer to the grille on the voice-com and spoke quietly. ‘Mov Grainger, if that’s part of some sort of password, we don’t know the rest of it, but we’ve been given this address by Jane Patterson.’

The voice-com clicked silent, leaving them standing at the back door for several minutes before Danger’s nurturer opened the door a fraction and, with the security bar in place, spoke to them through a narrow crack.

‘Security has your picture plastered all over town, Mickey.’ She looked at Angel. ‘And yours too, if you’re Angelina.’ She was still in her nightclothes and Monkey noticed her pull her dressing gown closer.

‘Can we come in - please?’ Monkey asked.

Mov Grainger hesitated. ‘Why have you come here?’

‘We were told this was a safe house,’ Angel explained.

The nurturer seemed reluctant. ‘I’m not expecting any visitors.’

Monkey was feeling desperate. He could sense Angel’s exhaustion and despair. He put his arm round her for comfort and explained to Danger’s nurturer about the raid on the village. The shock on her face was evident, even through the narrow gap between the door and the jamb.

‘Go on,’ she said.

‘We’ve no idea how many were arrested,’ he continued. ‘They might have got away. We did. We went along the river and then doubled back on ourselves. Moni Morrison was involved and...’ he faltered, ‘...my sister.’

Mov Grainger opened the door and ushered them inside. ‘Did anyone follow you?’ she asked, urgently peering round the door into the sustenance patch.

‘Don’t think so,’ Monkey said. ‘But then, we didn’t think anyone had followed us to the village.’

‘What’s done is done,’ the nurturer said, pragmatically. ‘Hopefully, you’ll have learnt from it. Now, you look as though you need a hot shower and a decent meal. Keep the noise down, my son and daughter are asleep.’

After they had bathed and eaten breakfast, Monkey and Angel were shown upstairs into a spare room where Mov Grainger pulled an old-fashioned wardrobe away from the wall to reveal a staircase that went into the attic.

‘You’ll stay up here for the time being.’ Danger’s nurturer showed them a row of mattresses along the eaves and a bucket behind a screen to be used as a toilet. She lit an oil lamp on a small table which also had a variety of playing cards, books and pre-revolution board games on it. There was also a one-way intercom where the occupants of the loft could hear what was going on downstairs so that they would know when to be quiet and when they were safe. And there was a cupboard with bottles of water and packets of biscuits.

‘I think you’ve got everything you’ll need.’ She held out her hand. ‘And I’ll take your ring-cams if I may.’

Monkey pulled his hand to his chest, defensively. ‘It’s turned off - has been since we arrived at the village, the night Fuse...’

‘You’ll be issued with new ones in good time,’ she went on brusquely. ‘Ones that have a different encryption. But these must be destroyed.’

Angel handed hers over and nudged Monkey to do the same. ‘You know we’d be tempted to use them if we keep them.’

Reluctantly, Monkey pulled his off his finger and placed it in her palm. ‘Mov Grainger...’

The woman smiled for the first time since they’d arrived on her doorstep. ‘You can call me Pat.’

‘Pat,’ Monkey went on, ‘does Danger know about all this?’ He made a sweeping movement, indicating the secret loft room.

‘Jordan is like the rest of us - he knows what I, as his next in line, think it advisable for him to know, on a strictly need-to-know basis.’

Monkey looked puzzled. ‘But does that mean...’

‘What it means is, you don’t need to know anything more! Now, I’ll be going to work at O-7:30 and home again about 18:00 hours this evening. You do not come down from here - under any circumstances. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Absolutely,’ Angel said, flopping down on one of the mattresses.

‘Fine,’ agreed Monkey, somewhat less wholeheartedly.

He stood at the top of the stairs as Pat left, watching her step back into the spare room and push the wardrobe back into place. As he watched the crack of artificial light slowly disappear, he stared down into the darkness, feeling claustrophobic and frustrated. He had too much to do to be locked in here until Pat got home that evening. He needed to be out there finding out what had happened to Tragic and his family; he wanted to find Penny and give her a piece of his mind and he needed to make sure that Angel’s name was cleared of any involvement.

Although he was physically tired, his mind was in overdrive. He picked up the playing cards and tossed them down again in disdain. Then opened the cupboard and shut it again feeling disgruntled and helpless.

‘What time is it?’ he asked Angel.

‘Don’t know,’ she yawned. ‘It was about four when we got here, so probably about five o’clock by now.’

‘I’m gonna need more than a few biscuits to keep me going for the next thirteen hours,’ he said, grumpily. ‘I’ll see if she can get us any more food - and maybe a games console or something. Do you want anything?’

But Angel didn’t answer - she was already asleep.

Stealthily, he took the oil lamp from the table and crept down the stairs. Placing the lamp on the bottom step he pushed the back of the wardrobe that faced him. It didn’t move. He pressed his shoulder against it but still nothing. Finally, he turned so that his back was against the wooden panel and, with his feet on the second step, he straightened his legs. Slowly, he felt the wardrobe inch forwards. He moved down slightly and repeated the procedure, edging it out millimetre by millimetre. He turned the other way and sat on the step, putting his feet against the wood and pushing with all his strength. To his horror, he felt it tip forwards beyond its centre of gravity. He tried to grab it and steady it, but it was too heavy for him and it teetered then tumbled forwards, crashing to the floor in the spare room and splintering into pieces.

Lights went on and doors opened. Pat appeared in her nightgown from one room, Danger from another and his older sister, Beth from another. A light flickered on from the ground floor and Monkey heard footsteps running up the stairs.

‘It’s OK!’ Pat called out, through clenched teeth.

A provider appeared from downstairs. He was fully clothed in the uniform of a Security officer. Monkey gasped. It was his head teacher, Professor Reed.