The room was huge and crammed with people – a hundred, two hundred, more, Jake didn’t know, because he couldn’t see the end of it. He couldn’t believe so many people lived down here beneath the city.
The music was so loud now that it felt like being underwater, and he wanted to run out, or put his hands over his ears. He felt Jet’s growl, rather than heard it. Jet’s hackles were raised, and when Jake put a hand to his head to reassure, he felt him flinch. The sooner they were out of here, the better.
The people were lowlifers, all of them, no mistaking it. Their clothes, their hair, the way they walked, half-stooped as if they were still crouched down, and most of all the colour of their skin: their hands were grimy, and their faces looked grey, like they hadn’t seen the sun in years, and everywhere he heard that cough, Davie’s cough, a dry, rasping sound. Some people were dancing, but most were standing in clumps. Some of them were smoking something and it hazed the air, a musty, sweet smell, mixed with the smell of sweat. Drifts of heat seemed to wash across and everyone was drinking from bottles of water and he wondered where they’d got them, and if that meant there was food somewhere too.
He followed Poacher to the far side of the room. The music was quieter over here, and he could nearly hear what people were saying. Further down he glimpsed a trestle table. That’s where the bottles of water came from: it was piled with them and people were grabbing them like they were in a desert, chugging them back, chucking the bottles in a dustbin. That was weird, because it sounded like you didn’t get anything for nothing down here, so someone must’ve paid for those and brought them in.
He was about to tap Poacher on the back when a group caught his eye. Surfers. He searched among them but he couldn’t see the blond ponytail.
How had they all ended up down here? A few looked ancient, but lots of them didn’t look much older than Poacher or Swift. Maybe they’d escaped from Home Academies too. They were passing round water and a little plastic bag, the kind of bag his mum used to put carrot sticks in for his pack-up. The bag was full of sweets, it looked like, and he watched each of the lowlifers take one and swallow it down with a glug of water.
–You want? A girl (she wasn’t much more than a girl) was offering him a sweet. She was wearing a long mac, the kind his dad wore to ride his bike in the rain, though it wasn’t going to rain in here. Jake didn’t know which gang she belonged to, but she had a soft voice and a kind smile.
–Go on, she said. –One for you, one for your very nice dog, and she handed him two of them, a blue one and a pink one, and a bottle of water. –Plenty more where these came from, little boy.
–Thanks.
Her fingers were black, her nails broken, and her eyes were like dark holes. –There’s a Surfer messiah down here, she said. –Gifts galore.
–Yeah? Jake said. –What’s he look like? Is he here?
But she went on talking like she hadn’t heard him. –I heard he’s got a golden halo an’ everything. An’ brought us manna from heaven, enough for every tribe. See everybody? And she swept her arm around to include the whole room. –So eat it, sweetie. Babes in these deep dark woods don’t turn down treats when they’re offered.
Her voice was all drifty-dreamy against the noise, soft on his ears. And he didn’t know what manna was, but he had the sweet on his tongue, and it tasted bitter, not nice at all, when a hard grip on his arm pulled him sideways and a voice hissed in his ear:
–Spit it out.
Poacher tugged him away, pinching his ear. A sign above his head said: ‘Rules Before Operating Heavy Machinery’ and another said: ‘No Smoking’. Then Jake felt Poacher’s fingers in his mouth, feeling for the bitter sweet, and he threw it on the floor, a blue blob in blue spittle.
–Rinse yer mouth and spit, Poacher said, handing him a bottle of water. And when Jake had finished, he shook him by the shoulders. –These are drugs, Jake, he hissed. –Mandy. They ain’t sweets. They just give ’em to you?
–And Jet. Gave me one for Jet as well. Poacher put his hand out and Jake handed him the pink pill. His hands were shaking. He felt like he did after nearly slipping on a climb.
Poacher dropped the pill on the floor and stamped on it till it was powder. –They’re dangerous fer kids. Proper dangerous. Kill dogs, probs.
–It’s the blond Surfer handing them out, Jake said. –I’m sure of it. The girl called him a messiah.
–Are you sure? Did you see him?
Jake shook his head.
–Mandy for free, Poacher said. –No wonder they think he’s like a god. An’ the bottles o’ water? Who’s payin’ fer that? He shook his head. –I don’t believe he’s gonna help us. This whole thing stinks. The meet, everythin’. He dropped his head, scratched his dreads, and when he looked up, he looked scared. –Swift was right. We shouldn’t a’ come here. Somethin’s gonna happen. Something not good. An’ if you’re right an’ the blond Surfer’s handing out the mandy, then he’s a part of it. We gotta get out. And he gave a sharp whistle.
Poacher moved fast, fast as Swift, and it was hard to follow him. He was soon out of sight. Keeping his eye on the far door, and ducking and diving between the crowds Jake stumbled behind, keeping Jet tight to his legs. His rucksack bumped against his back and sweat trickled down. He’d have killed for another drink of water, but there wasn’t time to stop.
More people were dancing now, tying clothes around their waists in the heat of the room, and the lights had gone down. The music seemed mellower too, more like a band off one of his mum’s old CDs. Maybe Poacher was wrong. Maybe this was OK, all of this, and it was Poacher being crazy, not everybody else. It all looked chilled to him, even Poacher, loping ahead, and if there was free water and free mandy, he’d bet there was food too somewhere. Gangs with different kinds of clothes were all dancing together, in pairs, in little groups, all mixed up together and their territories forgotten, like in a dream. Like the soldiers in the old war that his teacher told about who got out of their ditches because it was Christmas, both sides, and played a game of footie.
The scream stopped him in his tracks. A girl’s scream, sharp, and then gone. A girl’s scream, not an adult’s.
He looked back, and between the swaying dancers he saw her: a flash of black hair, a wild glare. A tall man had her in an arm lock, his hand a bar across her mouth, and she was fighting him, twisting and turning, but he had her tight. Jake shouldered his way closer. Now he could see the man clearly. Now he could see the lightning zigzag on his hoodie and the blond ponytail that whipped across his back as the girl struggled.
–The blond Surfer, Jake murmured.
The Surfer was saying something to the girl, tight-lipped, and the girl was shaking her head. Jake couldn’t fully see the girl’s face, but he could see enough to know she was no adult. Older than him maybe, but younger than Swift and Martha. And he could see that she didn’t stand a chance against the Surfer.
Twisting her head free, the girl yelled out, –Let me go! Help! Gaz! Checker! He’s going to hurt you!
She was dressed in Catchpit gear – black denims, black jacket scratted with tinfoil and plastic and crisp packet colours – and there were some Catchpitters right there, but their eyes were big as saucers and they watched it all like they were on a different planet. Whichever ones were Gaz and Checker, they didn’t make a move to help her.
–Let go of me, the girl yelled. –I’ve seen your plan. I know what you’re going to do. You won’t get away with it! Gaz! Help!
But the Catchpitters turned away, shaking their heads, and the blond Surfer got his arm clamped down and silenced her again. Jake was close to them now, close enough to hear what the Surfer was whispering to her.
–Now now, little girl. Your friends don’t want to know. You don’t matter to them, not when they’ve got free treats. But your mother’s been very very upset … she’s had us searching all over London, such a waste of our time, far more important things to be doing, so we ought to get you back to where you belong … The Surfer was grinning, a wide smile full of shiny white teeth … –but then again, if you’ve seen things, then we don’t want you telling anybody else what’s going on down here, do we? Might ruin future plans too. So maybe we’ll lock you up somewhere comfy for a little while. I think your mother would approve, as long as she thinks you’re safe. Then he reached into his pocket and fished out a plastic bag full of mandy and shook them onto the ground. –Be happy, he said, and where nobody would help the girl, now there was a mob pushing and shoving to get the mandy: Catchpitters, Friners and others Jake didn’t recognize, scrabbling for the pinks and blues and reds.
Jake stared. This was the Surfers’ leader, the man who’d said he’d get them out. They’d paid him for it with the last of their food. He’d promised them. But he was hurting this girl, wrenching her arm round, twisting it behind her. He was holding her prisoner. Anger boiled through Jake. The blond Surfer was a big man and Jake knew he didn’t stand a chance. Besides which, he had Jet, and he didn’t dare let go of his lead.
–Poacher! he yelled. He looked around. Where was he? –Poacher! he yelled again.
Slowly the blond Surfer turned towards him. He had a hard look on his face, like a question and an accusation all at once. Their eyes met, and Jake saw recognition flash across the Surfer’s face. Still holding the girl, he’d taken one step towards Jake when Poacher came from nowhere.
Poacher saw it all in a flash. He gave one sharp wolf whistle, then folded his fingers into a fist and crunched the blond Surfer straight in the face. Jake felt the blow, heard it, almost as if Poacher had hit him instead. The Surfer had let go of the girl and was on the floor, hands to his face. No way he was going to lead them out of the tunnels now. Because whatever he’d been threatening the girl with, he was their only chance to get out of here, wasn’t he? And Poacher had made him mad.
Jake’s heart was thudding in his chest. Now what?
–Get her out, Jake! Poacher shouted, because the Surfer was back on his feet fast, hands to his face, blood pouring from his nose.
–You frigging lowlife illegal, he roared, making a grab at Poacher.
The girl just stood there, paralysed. Jake got her by the wrist and pulled her.
–Come on! he shouted.
He didn’t look back, just ran, gripping her wrist and Jet’s lead. This time the crowds seemed to part for them, boy and girl and dog, and they got to the door in no time. The gang was all there, and seconds later Poacher too, his face and hands covered in blood.
–You OK? Martha said.
Poacher nodded. –But the other fella’s not feeling so good. We ain’t stayin’ fer dessert.
They hid in the shop. Crouched down behind the postcard racks and the trays of toys and sweets, silent, waiting. They were invisible, if anyone looked through the glass. As long as no one opened the door. The girl was crouched beside Jake, her breath still coming in gasps. He didn’t dare move his head, so he could only see her foot. She was wearing black trainers, classy ones. The kind you saw in the adverts, but never got in the shops in his home town.
–Ssh. Swift’s quick command.
Jake listened. Heavy footsteps coming closer. Someone running down the corridor. He looked at the ground, like he’d be less visible that way. He could feel the fear in the gang. It was like a heat behind the eyes, like dizziness. The footsteps reached the door. Stopped. They could hear the man’s ragged breath. Jake stared at the floor, hand on Jet’s muzzle, not moving. Then the footsteps again, moving away, getting fainter.
Another minute, no one moving, no one making a sound, and still everything was quiet. Only the distant thump of the meet music.
Swift went to the door, looked through the glass; inched the door open, checked the corridor.
–It’s clear.
Jake felt relief flood through him and he leaned back against the merchandise trays. He watched Martha pull on a MailRail cap, which made her look like a little kid. He watched Davie fill his pockets with packets of Love Hearts.
–Love with all yer heart, Davie murmured. –It’s in the good book; and he winked at Jake.
Swift nodded to the girl. –It’s clear, she said again. –You can go.
Jake watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting quite still, one hand in a pocket, the other fiddling with something on her clothes, one of the weird bits of crisp packet or something, since it made a rustling noise.
–What if I don’t want to? the girl said.
Jake looked round. You didn’t speak against Swift unless you were Poacher. Ollie had his mouth open, and even Davie was staring at her, but the girl was pouting.
–Go, Swift said again. –Back to your Catchpitters.
–They’re not mine, the girl said. –They don’t want to know.
–They’re stoned, Poacher said. –Free mandy. Free pills. That’s why they don’t wanna know.
–But don’t you want to know why there are free pills? And that man. I have to stop—
–No, Swift said, interrupting her. –Poacher did the right thing, pulling that guy off you. But that’s it. Job done. We don’t want you with us and we don’t wanna know about the info.
–But it’s important. If I can’t rescue them, there are going to be others. The Coalition— the girl said.
–Not interested. Swift chopped her off. –What’s interesting to us is getting out of here, and that’s got a whole lot more difficult since Poacher punched our guide in the face. You with us is going to make it even riskier. For starters, you’re chipped …
–I’m not, the girl said.
Swift went on as if she hadn’t heard her … –so we leave this room and then you’re on your own.
–I’m not chipped, the girl said.
Poacher snorted. –Yeah, right. And this ain’t England.
–Everyone’s got a chip, Martha said. –Even the King.
–Uh-uh, the girl said. –That’s what they tell you. If you get born high enough – Royal Family, Coalition minister: they don’t chip your children. Anyway, I’m not, and I don’t want your help.
The girl’s voice was new to Jake. She spoke like they did when his mum put the radio on. Maybe it was how they spoke in London, or maybe she was just very posh. She was clean too. Cleanest person he’d seen down here so far.
But if she was very posh and very clean, what was she doing down here?
–You ain’t complained about getting my help so far, Poacher said. –That blond Surfer had hold of yer good an’ proper till I punched him.
–He’s not a Surfer, the girl said. His name is Noel, actually. She shuddered. –He works for my mother.
Jake wondered who on earth this girl’s mother was, but Swift didn’t seem to care.
–Whatever, she said. One thing we know now is he’s as much a Surfer as you’re a Catchpitter.
–I am a Catchpitter. They inducted me and everything. I’ve done four catchpits. Only Piccadilly Circus left to do and I’ll be a full gang member …
Jake heard Davie snort behind him.
–Jake, Poacher said. –Check her neck.
The girl looked like she was going to protest, but Jake parted her hair and gently pushed her head forward. Her hair smelled nice. Lemony. He stared. It should be just there, on the left. Everybody in England had one, a little scar there, a tiny white line on the skin of your neck where they’d slipped in the chip. Every single body. They told you that at school: everybody, even the Royals, even the Prime Minister, because everybody needs to be looked after equally.
But her neck was smooth. No scar, no nothing.
He put his fingers to it, felt for the telltale hard edge of plastic below the skin. Nothing. It was freaky. He pulled away, and the girl tossed her hair back, as if to say, Get your hands off me now.
–No chip, Jake said.
Davie gave a low whistle. –No cuts or tattoos. Biblical. Freaky.
Jake saw Poacher and Swift exchange looks.
–Have you thought about how you’re getting out of here? the girl said.
–We had a plan till you happened. And it’s none of your business, Swift said, putting her arm around Cass as if the girl might be dangerous to be near. –So git.
–Because Noel will have those stairs guarded. The girl went on as if Swift hadn’t spoken, nodding towards the green emergency exit sign in the corner. –And every other rat-run near here. She was talking fast, urgently. –He’ll have brought in the troops, everybody, cos—
–So we’ll git the lift, Poacher said, interrupting her. –Scan hub won’t see us. Ollie? Go an’ press the button. And Ollie was getting up when the girl spoke again.
–I wouldn’t, if I were you. They’ll have someone waiting at the top, he’ll see the lift button light up, and boom! She made a sound like a little explosion. –They’ve got you.
There was a silence, as if nobody knew what to do or say. Jake had never seen Poacher or Swift like this: like they didn’t know what had happened and didn’t know what to do next.
Then Poacher sighed, like he was giving up something. –What’s the rat-runs? he said.
–So, the girl said, as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask, –the rat-runs are your paths and passages. They know about them all, and mostly they’ll leave you alone in them. That way, they know where you are, after all. Look, I don’t mean to be facetious. The truth is, we could help each other now. I need to get out too. I have to stop Noel somehow.
–Who’s ‘They’? Poacher said.
–The Office of Covert Surveillance, the girl said. –Part of the Home Office. You know, the government. The Coalition. Of course, they didn’t know that I was down here, not till just now, and that will change things, somewhat. Because that man – she gave a little shudder here and Jake didn’t know if it was acted or real – now he’s seen me, he will do everything to get me back to my mother. Otherwise it won’t only be his job that’s on the line.
–So it’s you they’re hunting now, not us, Swift said.
Jake shut his eyes against the man falling in his mind, the thud he made at the bottom, the stink of broken perfumes. He saw the ticker tape feed spooling round the walls of the Tube station: ‘police close in … police close in …’
–The Coalition doesn’t know, doesn’t care about us, Swift went on, –but if you’re telling us the truth, then it makes you dangerous to be near.
–Maybe, the girl said, –but they’ll still have all the exits covered, and anyone coming up is going to get arrested, checked by the hub police. Even people that aren’t important. The girl looked down at her hands – was she checking her nails? – and Jake noticed that they were painted purple.
Martha was frowning, forehead furrowed like someone older. –So why don’t you go back to your mother? she said. –Since you’ve got one. More than most of us down here has got.
–Because I can’t, the girl said in a hard voice. –She’s … But she stopped herself. She turned to Swift. –Let’s do a deal. You let me stay with you until we’re all out of London and I’ll get us all out of here. I’m in a hurry too.
–Don’t listen to her. Let the hubbers pick her up, Martha said immediately. –If she’s so important, they won’t hurt her.
The girl turned her back on Martha. –Deal? she said again to Swift. –Then we can go our separate ways. Believe you me, I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I could think of an alternative. But you seem to need to get out of these tunnels, and I have to get out of London.
Jake listened to the girl in amazement. She spoke like a grown-up, and not just any grown-up. She spoke like, he didn’t know, like the Home Academy Headteacher, or someone on the TV going on about Coalition stuff.
Swift and Poacher swapped glances again, and Poacher glanced over at Davie, at Jake. –That Surfer dishing out mandy, he was the one was gonna git us outta here, wasn’t he? he said.
They both nodded.
Poacher turned back to the girl. –Deal then, he said. –Gimme yer rucksack. I gotta check it.
The girl passed it to him, and he rummaged through.
–Few bits o’ clothes, notebook, he said and he handed it back. –Now gimme yer mobile.
–I’ve already turned it off … the girl said.
–Give it to me. Poacher held out his hand.
–And I can take out the card, the girl said, but Poacher shook his head.
–Give it. Gotta keep us all safe as we can.
Reluctantly the girl took her mobile from her pocket. –Be careful with it. It’s got very important information on it. Evidence. Important for everyone, I mean. For you, and for all of them, in the meet, and you have to listen to me …
Poacher nodded. –Yup, he said, unclipping his penknife, and flipping the card out of the back of the mobile, he cut it in two.
The girl gasped. –You can’t do that! I need to tell people … You need …
Placing the mobile on the floor, Poacher stamped down hard. Jake heard the crunch of split plastic and the girl’s cry of anger. Picking up the mobile pieces, Poacher dropped them in the bin behind the desk. He pushed one half of the card beneath the bouncy balls, and the other half under the Love Hearts.
–That was mine. My evidence. I need it, the girl said. –You don’t understand how important—
But Poacher shook his head, interrupted her. –Ain’t got time fer important right now. We gotta git outta here smartish, so you gotta change yer gear, cos he’s looking fer a Catchpitter. They all will be. An’ he’s looking fer long hair. Poacher nodded to Jake. –You’re near enough same height. Give her yer spares. Stash her gear in yer rucksack, hers ain’t big enough. Martha, cut her hair.
–Not my hair! the girl said. –I’ll change my clothes, but not my hair. I’ll put it up. You’ve got no right. You can’t!
But Martha had already taken out her scissors, and before the girl had even finished protesting, she’d cut fast across the shiny black.
Jake heard the girl’s gasp, watched her put her hand to her head. She looked much younger with her hair cut. Poacher passed her an old beanie from his rucksack.
–Case yer wanna cover it, he said.
The girl took it from him as if it was dirty, which it probably was, but she put it on. She hid behind a stand of pencils and pens while she put on Jake’s spares.
Davie gave out little packets of Love Hearts while the girl got changed. –Gotta love yer neighbour, he said. –Eat my heart.
‘Be real’, Jake’s first one said, and when he put it in his mouth, it reminded him of car journeys and his mum and dad talking in the front.
Davie gave an orange Love Heart to Swift. –‘I’m sorry’, she read out.
Once the girl was changed, Martha gave her a paper bag she’d taken from behind the till. –It’s got your hair in it, she said, and the girl took it and Jake saw her bite her lip.
–That Surfer fella’ll be back pretty smartish, when he doesn’t find us up there, Swift said. –So how do we get out, posh girl?