44

At first, there was nothing.

Then a breath, a gasp that lifted his head and shoulders, and a blue flash of pain from temple to jaw that knocked him unconscious again.

Nothing... then more breathing. Not his own, but close to him: low grunting, slightly out of breath.

Is someone carrying me? he thought to himself, I’m on a stretcher, to hospital...

Where’s Adonis?

The thought was too much, and he went under once more.

If he was expecting starched cotton sheets and a calm bedside manner when he next opened his eyes then he was in for a shock, as he found himself where he’d fallen, on a mattress of brick and rubble.

It was still night. The sky high above him was black and empty, only giving way to reds and oranges as he turned his head and saw where the city burned. The flames stung his eyes, forcing them shut again, hiding the grim reality if only for a short time, until he was ready, stronger.

Hesitantly, he tested himself, moving one arm then another, expecting pain, but miraculously feeling nothing but the vague sting of cuts and grazes.

He moved his attention to his legs: his right knee bending with little more than an ache, though when he tried his left, submerged by brick and stone, nothing moved. He strained. Nothing.

He tried to sit up and see what was going on, but the second he lifted his head, pain flashed the length of his face, threatening to force its way through the top of his skull. He raised his hand to his cheek, feeling it come away wet and clammy, not needing to look to know that it was covered in blood.

Fearfully, Joseph kept his head still and moved his arm down his body to where his left leg lay trapped. He tried to dislodge some stones to allow himself to slide free, but he didn’t have the strength or coordination to do it, not without waking the pain in his head.

Frustrated and scared, he let his eyes close once more, and gently, gently allowed his head to fall to the left, trying to relieve the pressure that he felt building in his forehead. But when he opened his eyes, he faced a sight that he’d often thought about, but had never been able to really picture.

Adonis’s lair as never before.

His hut still stood, but something was missing: a twenty-foot stretch of bars, now warped into a tangled mess and lying flat on the ground, where Bert Conaghan had once stood, fist clenched.

Joseph let out a cry. This couldn’t be happening, but it was, and as much as it hurt him, he tried desperately to remember what had happened before everything cut to black. There had been a final explosion, he knew that, but whether it came from a bomb or the end of his rifle as he pulled the trigger, he had no idea. All he knew was that the wall was down, and that there was no sign of Adonis.

He panicked, the tensing of his body bringing another wave of pain and terror, though he didn’t know what terrified him more, the thought that Adonis could already be dead, or the prospect of him walking free, and what he might have to do as a consequence.

His eyes scanned every inch of the enclosure but there was no sign of him. He craned his neck back still further to work out if Adonis was perched in his normal grieving spot, but there was nobody there.

He could be in his hut, Joseph thought, though he reckoned it was unlikely. If he’d been locked away his entire life then, given a chance at freedom, he would grab it without hesitation.

But if Adonis was free, then where was he? In the shadows, scared or angry? Or had he bolted, found a way over the walls and into the streets beyond? And if he’d done that, how long till he created pandemonium? How long till someone else pulled the trigger on him? Joseph was scared, but also furious with himself. He’d had one job to do but had fallen woefully short. How would he tell Mrs F?

He was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. Any effort to focus brought yet more shooting pains, so he let his lids close and swept his arms around him in an arc to find a trace of the rifle. He’d got lucky once before, so why not again? He had to believe that, he had no other choice.

But there was nothing. His searching was fruitless. The rifle was buried, like his leg. He allowed himself a moment to take stock and work out what the hell he was going to do: what options did he have? His mind raced to Syd, hunkered down in the underground station. What would she do? Because she certainly wouldn’t just lie there, that was for sure. He’d never met anyone more determined than her. He had to be more like her, let her inspire him.

It came to him quickly. It was clear what he needed to do. He had to free himself. He had to ignore any pain that he was feeling and drag his leg free.

Then he could look for the rifle properly, look for Adonis properly, find a way, somehow, to keep the promise that he’d made to Mrs F.

He pulled air deep into his chest, seeing stars as he wedged his elbows into the ground and hoisted himself to a sitting position. His head throbbed and swam, and he tasted sick in his mouth. He looked where his leg should be, replaced by an avalanche of brick, and with a clumsy arm he brushed away the smaller rocks, laying bare the size of the job in front of him: a slab of concrete that would challenge Goliath.

His spirits sank. What now? He looked around him, and could see the flames intensifying. He tried to guess how long he had before they snaked closer, putting him out of his misery.

But just as his mind turned to the most gruesome way to die, there came a lifeline. As out of the shadows lurched the most unlikely of saviours.

Out of the shadows, came Adonis.