Tom felt the floorboards he was balancing on shift beneath his feet. He was aware of cracks in the brickwork, which frightened him. Another couple of roof slates slipped, and he heard them shatter below. He heard the freight train, too, blasting a long whistle as it heaved its way out of the sidings.
“Spider!” he cried. “Where are you, boy? Spider!”
“He’s dead,” said Robert Tayler. “How many times do you need telling?”
Tom looked down at him. “He’s alive.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“That’s all you do,” said Tom. “You lie all the time. You don’t know what the truth is.”
He looked at the metal rod the boy was holding, and realized the moment had come. His enemy was climbing towards him, smiling, and Tom felt a curious calm—there was no way to avoid the conflict any more. It had been coming for a long time, like a slow train, and there was a terrible rightness to it. They were in the perfect place: the drop was deadly, and there was no escape. An idiot might clamber on to what was left of the wall, and over the rafters, but you’d have to be mad to try. Tom’s eyes flicked right and left, then focused on Rob, who was still smiling.
Marcus was behind him, looking nervous.
“You’re a freak, Lipman,” said Rob.
“Am I?”
“You’re so scared. You’re such a little weakling.”
“But I’m not.”
Rob waved his weapon like a sword.
“You’re scared,” he cried. “Just look at you.”
“I’m not scared at all,” replied Tom. “I’m working out how many of your bones I’m going to break. You’re a rotten, wretched liar, and I’m going to batter you. I don’t care about your little mate because it’s you I’m after.”
Rob blinked. He found that his mouth was open, and though he held the metal rod in both hands, he was no longer quite so confident. His eyes had widened, and Tom could see that he wasn’t sure what to do.
“Guys,” said Marcus, “this isn’t safe.”
“Who cares?” said Tom.
“I’m serious,” Marcus said. “Let’s go down and talk.”
Tom took a step forward. “What shall we talk about, Tayler? You’re nothing, you know. Spider’s alive, and I’m going to find him. But first, I’m going to kill you.”
Rob raised his weapon again, but now it was to defend himself. He went to speak, but before he could, Tom did a very clever thing. He’d seen it in a film, but he was amazed to find it worked so well.
He shouted, “Marcus, no!”—and that made Rob turn, giving Tom the split second he needed.
His feet were firmly planted and he let his enemy have it: a heavy right-hander that cracked into the boy’s face so hard Tom felt the shock up to his shoulder. Rob was knocked off balance, utterly stunned, and Tom moved in again, grabbing at him with both hands. He had Rob’s tie in his fist, up near his throat, so he yanked the boy forward and threw him sideways. Down he went, the weapon skittering into the void. Tom stepped back to use his feet: all he wanted was to kick the boy’s head clean off his shoulders.
Someone had told him that you should always fight fair, but his enemy had asked for this for so long, and was now on all fours, totally at his mercy. The rage and hurt boiled in Tom, and he kicked with his right foot as hard as he’d punched. Luckily for them both, he misjudged it. The kick went wide, and Rob scrabbled to his feet, his face a mask of blood-splashed panic.
Marcus was shouting something, but Tom was ready again, thrilled that his opponent’s nosebleed looked so serious.
He punched again, and caught Rob full in the mouth. The boy couldn’t defend himself, and staggered back, staring into Tom’s burning eyes.
He knew he was beaten, and he knew he had to run. Tom was blocking the stairs, so he took his chance, scrambling up on to the brickwork behind him. It was the only way, and he could just make it round if he jumped.
“Rob, no!” cried Marcus, but then he fell silent.
Rob had dropped to his knees, for he had misjudged it. He put his arms out, horrified to find that the parapet he was on was way too narrow. It was also sickeningly high. With nothing on either side, it was like balancing on a tightrope, and even Tom saw the terror and indecision as Rob lifted his right foot without knowing where to put it. He wanted to turn and get back to safety, but he also wanted to stay away from his attacker.
Marcus put his hand out, and Rob just managed to grab it. He jumped, and as he landed, hard, they all felt the timbers shift and tilt. A roof girder above them broke loose and smashed downwards like a hammer. A section of brickwork toppled slowly inwards and burst into a shower of rubble.
The warehouse was finally collapsing.
The boys went down with it, in an avalanche of timber, brick and slate. Everything fell in terrible slow motion, the columns and archways crumbling in upon each other.
When the debris had finally settled, a dust cloud rose up and hovered over the devastation, boiling in a soft, grey fog. Then silence reasserted itself, as if nothing of any significance had happened.