by Ruth Fox
Zach was about to sit by himself at lunch, but Monster-boy found him at the lockers.
“Ryder still isn’t here,” he observed.
Zach shook his head.
“You’ll sit with us?” Monster-boy asked.
Zach couldn’t think of a way to refuse, so he followed Morton over to his group near the oval.
Zach felt very much like an outsider, and would almost have preferred to sit by himself, but he didn’t want to be rude—he didn’t think any of the others would notice if he left, but Monster-boy would, and might be hurt by it.
Zach tried not to look at Ida. He couldn’t help but notice that she was still wearing her little gold necklace, and that she fiddled with it when she laughed.
Lex reached into her bag and pulled out a folded square of paper. “This is the latest edition of the Middleview Hills Academy News,” she said. “I’ve been working on it all week, since I haven’t managed to crack the mystery of the Vanishings yet.” She dropped it on the table in front of Monster-boy. “Check it out, Morton!”
She looked around the table, excited and expectant.
Monster-boy had been eating a Krispy Krunch chocolate bar mouthful by slow mouthful (Zach wondered, every time he saw him eating sweets, how often he’d had them when he lived on the Other Side. By the way he savoured them, he would guess they were rare). He had been twirling his wristband back and forth across the table with his free hand. He abandoned both wristband and chocolate bar to pick up the paper gingerly, being very careful not to tear it with his claws. He scanned the front page, and frowned. Then he opened it and read some more. Then he folded it up, put it on the table, stood up, and walked away, leaving his lunch, his bag, and his wristband on the table.
Zach had never seen Monster-boy do anything like that before. He was torn for a moment between wanting to rush after him, and wanting to see what had made Monster-boy leave. He snatched up the paper, which Lex had been reaching for, and his eyes fell on the coloured picture of Monster-boy on the front. It was captioned photo credit: Ida Wentworth. He was shocked and puzzled, and for a moment his eyes refused to focus on the bold print below it. He blinked a few times, and read:
Monster-boy: An Exposé.
Get to Know the Real Morton Morgenstern.
He flicked to the first page. There it was—a two-page spread, with another photo of Morton with Ida’s name credited underneath, and some highlighted quotes: “I really like this school,” and “I’m happy with who I am.”
The article was well set out. Zach’s eyes ran down the page, picking up the most important bits.
. . . people may wonder what prompted the Morgensterns, fine upstanding members of the community, to consider such a radical adoption . . .
. . . and though quiet and reserved in his manner, has made numerous friends . . .
. . . surprisingly reticent about his past, and his “discovery” near the gap in the Wall that led him to be placed in the Hope Orphanage . . .
. . . enjoys books, unlike his brother, Zachary Morgenstern, who, in Morton’s own words, “prefers video games, model fighter jets, and comics” . . .
“What is this?” he demanded.
Lex was looking at him, wariness and defensiveness in her eyes, as if she knew a challenge was coming. To Zach, that said all that needed to be said. She had done the wrong thing and—whether it had been in question or not beforehand—she knew it now.
“It’s an exposé,” she said. “All newspapers do them. It’s a tell-all column about Morton.”
Everyone else was silent, looking between Lex and Zach.
“Why?” said Zach. “Why would you do this?”
“What do you mean?” Lex sounded astonished.
“He’s your friend,” Zach went on. “Or he’s supposed to be. Were you just saying that so you could get close to him?”
“No!” she said, vehemently. “That’s not what—I didn’t—I just wanted to tell his story—”
“He’s just a story to you, is that it? That’s what we all are, right?”
Zach dropped the paper on the table and looked at Ida. “I can’t believe you. Either of you. I hope you’re really happy with what you’ve done. I hope you’re really happy when you’re as famous as Philip Nielson.”
He snatched up Monster-boy’s bag and tucked the forgotten wristband into the pocket of his jacket. He walked away, seething.
Someone caught his elbow. He whirled, half-expecting it to be Ryder, but, of course, Ryder wasn’t here; it was Ida. Her pretty face was anguished. “Wait, Zach. I didn’t know Lex was going to use those photos for the article she was writing. She just asked me if I had any, and I did. I took them for my photography class—I only saw what she wanted them for just now, like you did.”
“But you knew she was writing an article?”
“I knew she was writing about Morton. Everyone did. Her notebooks are full of things about him—”
“And you didn’t think she would do something like this?” He was seething. He’d never yelled at anyone like this, except maybe Ryder, and he couldn’t believe he was doing it to Ida. His eyes settled on the gold locket around her neck, which she was fiddling with now, running the little heart up and down the chain. He wished he’d never given it to her, right then; he was so angry he wished he’d never known any of them.
“Well, yes. But—”
“But nothing! There’s stuff in that article about me, too. And my parents. Don’t you think it’s been hard enough for Morton to be . . . accepted, to be seen as normal, without you and Lex writing about how our family is so . . . freakish? Things were just starting to be okay, and then all this stuff about monsters kidnapping kids happens, then you go and do . . . that!”
Ida was crying, he saw. Good. She deserved to cry!
He was going to say more, about how he would have thought she at least would look out for Morton, but she turned and raced back to Lex and Fiona, who hugged her and huddled together. Zach suddenly wondered if he’d overreacted just a little bit—the things Lex had written weren’t really that bad—but it was too late to take back his angry words now. He marched in the opposite direction, heading for the school.
He checked the hallways, which were mainly empty because it was lunch time. He checked the boys’ toilets. But Monster-boy was nowhere to be found. Zach took out his phone and dialled the number for Morton’s new phone. There was a beeping sound, then a recorded voice informed him the number he had dialled was out of range.
Zach took a deep breath and called his dad.
❖ ❖ ❖
Monster-boy wasn’t back by the time the school day finished. Zach spent his afternoon classes glaring at the back of Lex’s head. Ida hadn’t shown up for the class, and neither had Fiona. Zach hoped they were both feeling horrible about what they’d done.
When the final bell rang, Zach disobeyed one of the Rules. His dad had phoned him again to say he would be taking the car out to look for Morton, so Zach would need to take the bus home. “Be very careful,” he had said distractedly. “Make sure a security officer walks you to the bus.”
Zach walked right past the bus stop.
He couldn’t help but notice how empty the streets seemed. The entire city had changed since the mayor had suggested his rules. Zach felt very uneasy, wondering if at any moment a monster was going to jump out of a hedge or from behind a parked car and grab him.
But in the end, it was a police car that gave him the most trouble—he knew if he was caught, not only would they ask him awkward questions about where he was going in this less-than-savoury neighbourhood, but also, given the mayor’s new suggestions for safety and the fact that they’d picked him up that night with Morton and Ryder, his answers would be scrutinised; he’d be in a lot of trouble. Not to mention what his mum and dad would say when t
he police turned up on their doorstep, having taken their son into custody for the second time in a week.
So when he saw the car turn the corner just ahead of him, he ducked into an alleyway. He knew he should probably go home, and he was just about to, when he heard a sound from up ahead.
It was very faint—a long, low, moan. A sound someone would make if they were in pain.
“Oh, no,” Zach said, dread filling his heart and stomach. “Morton?” he called.
There was no answer.
He walked farther into the alleyway, looking left and right. The streetlights were dim, and he couldn’t see much, but he knew he was somewhere behind Frankie’s Pizza, thanks to the overwhelming smell of olive oil and rotten vegetables. He shone his watch LED ahead of him, illuminating an overflowing dumpster and a few piled bags of rubbish. There was no one there.
Then he heard the noise again.
It had come from just by his feet. Zach looked down and saw a grate set into the uneven asphalt surface. It looked very much like the one he’d seen in the orphanage grounds.
He crouched down and put his fingers through the bars, lifting it. It was heavy, but he managed to swing it back on its creaky hinges. He shone his LED down into the space below.
Just like the other grate, this one led into a shaft. A ladder clung to the wall. Zach looked down and saw a horizontal tunnel running along the bottom.
“That’s weird,” he muttered to himself. He listened again, and this time heard a soft skittering sound. It was definitely coming from the tunnel below.
Zach glanced around him. There was no one about—the streets were quiet. He looked back at the shaft, then, gathering all his courage, he climbed down onto the ladder.
Above him, the heavy grate crashed down with an echoing bang. He jumped, almost letting go of the rungs. When his heart had stopped trying to claw its way out his throat and had settled for rattling around his ribs, he climbed down a little further.
He’d reached the end of the shaft, and the ladder stopped abruptly. He’d have to drop the last few metres to the floor of the tunnel. Taking a breath, he let go and landed on all fours.
The surface below his feet and hands was concrete. He was in a passageway, tall enough for an adult to stand comfortably in. Pipes ran along above his head, skirting the shaft he’d come down. He swung his LED left, then right. The tunnel continued in both directions.
“Oooooow!”
Zach began to walk, trying to follow the sound. There were other passages leading off to either side. The air felt damp, cold and cloying at the same time. Did this passage run all the way under North Silvershine? Did it lead up to that other grate, the one he’d seen in the orphanage grounds, too?
He stopped at the first turn, but the sound didn’t seem to have come from that direction. He took the left turn instead. There was a shaft of dim light up ahead, and he used this to guide him. It fell through a grate, just like the one in the other passageway.
But this tunnel seemed to be less used. There were more cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, so no one had brushed them away recently, and a pipe overhead was leaking onto the floor, making damp little puddles here and there.
Zach stopped to listen, then walked on, then stopped to listen once more.
There it was—“ooooowwww.”
His eyes strained in the darkness. He kept thinking he saw pale shapes in the corners; they were nothing, tricks of the light and shadow and his own eyes inventing things to focus on in a place where he could barely see his own shoes.
So who was making the noise?
He almost didn’t see it. He might have walked right past, if he hadn’t heard the sound of ragged breathing. When he did, it almost made him scream (but only almost). It wasn’t his imagination this time. There was something there, only half a metre away from him; some animal nosing at a small bundle dumped on the tunnel floor.
“What on—” he crouched down, and his eyes finally made out the shapes in the dimness. It was a dog, staring at him with baleful eyes. Its pink tongue was hanging out, and it was panting. Its fur was black with patches of caramel, and its nose was long and narrow. It didn’t look quite like any kind of dog Zach had ever seen before—it kind of looked almost like a dingo he’d seen in books on Australian fauna. But he had seen a picture of this dog, too. It was the same dog he’d seen on the flyers Lex had been handing out.
It was standing guard over a crumpled form on the tunnel floor.
A person.
The dog looked up at Zach and moaned miserably again. “Oooooww.”
“Oh, no,” said Zach, running towards the figure. It was a boy. Zach’s heart seized in his throat. The boy was probably about eight or nine years old, and as Zach crouched closer, peering at his pale features, he recognised him from the Opening Day Fair. Tommy Granger.
The dog, eyeing him warily, growled low in its throat and crouched lower.
“I’m a friend. I promise,” Zach said. He reached out a hand, letting the dog sniff his scent, but he knew there was no need. The dog knew him as a friend and trusted him already—it was just warning him to be careful, letting him know who was in charge here.
“Hey,” said Zach, tapping Tommy’s shoulder lightly, then, when that elicited no response, he shook him a little bit harder. “Hey . . .”
The boy didn’t stir. His arms and legs looked painfully thin. He had a scrape on his cheek, and two large perfectly round red patches on his temples. Zach wondered how long he’d been down here, or how he’d managed to get this far into the tunnels in this state.
He wondered for a moment if he should leave the boy and get help. But looking at the way his chest was barely rising and falling made him think twice. The boy was sick, very, very sick. By the time Zach returned, he might be dead.
There was nothing for it. He slid his arms under the boy’s neck and knees, and hoisted him onto his shoulder.
Tommy was lighter than he should be—the poor kid must have been starving for days, or even longer. Zach felt his heart fluttering against his own chest, and his hurried breathing rasped in his ear.
There was another grate overhead, spilling faint light, and Zach thought it would be better to get out of the tunnels here than to risk going back in the dark, where he might trip or stumble and drop Tommy. He grasped the ladder and pulled himself up one-handed. It was slow going, and awkward, but this grate, at least, wasn’t bolted or latched. It pushed up easily, and he poked his head out, hoping he wasn’t going to come up in the middle of the mall, with startled shoppers looking on—but no, he was looking out at an unfamiliar street.
It seemed deserted. There was a pile of rubble nearby, and tall buildings surrounded him on all sides, their windows either boarded-over or gaping wide like blank, sightless eyes. The sky was low and dark, covered with thick greenish clouds. Lightning flashed behind them, and tendrils of yellowish smoke drifted towards him.
Then Zach saw the towering Wall. Just ahead of him was the section of it that had been knocked inwards, like a giant had taken a bite out of it. He was looking through the gap to the wide grassy slope of the fairgrounds.
He was on the wrong side.
Chapter Sixteen
The dog, down in the tunnels below, gave another long howl, then fell silent. Zach set Tommy on the hard asphalt of the road and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. Tommy still didn’t move.
Zach reached for his mobile phone automatically. He held it up, but a long finger of the yellow smoke was already wrapping itself around the casing. He jabbed at the darkened screen uselessly. Nothing happened.
Zach stood up and looked around. No one came this far out, except on Opening Day, and even then they didn’t cross the gap in the Wall.
On Beyond the Wall, Chris Cambert’s character, Derek, lived in a normal suburban brick house with a
neatly-clipped front lawn. Derek’s mother ran a successful art gallery and his dad was a teacher at the local high school, where Derek was always getting in trouble and out of it by turns. The only way you could physically tell Derek Johansson was a monster were the light-green speckles on his cheeks and arms—and these kind of markings had only appeared on any of the characters in the series in the last five years, since the discovery that the people living beyond the Wall weren’t human after all. Derek’s friends were all happy-go-lucky types, and even the villains, like the evil headmaster who had been plotting to tear down the high school, turned out to be kind-hearted and willing to see the error of their ways.
And the weather was always sunny.
Zach had always known it was fiction. Of course he had. There was no explanation as to how Derek’s mother cut her front lawn so neatly, as a lawnmower would be useless on the Other Side; it was one of those things you weren’t supposed to think about deeply enough to question. But he’d also never imagined the show was so far removed from reality.
Zach looked at the buildings rising up around him. They were multi-storey buildings, and they had once been grand, but they were all crumbling at the corners. Stucco peeled back to expose brick, and some walls were sagging in on themselves. Graffiti was sprayed all over the lower reaches—Monsters’ rights, Freedom for all!, Fernzy, Humans are scum, Fernzy, Fernzy, Rights for ALL, as well as a few thick crosses done in black paint. Broken bricks and concrete, fallen from the Wall when it had been partially demolished, were scattered all over the street. Rubbish blew in the wind. A stream of filthy water trickled down the middle of the road. Zach smelled rotten garbage, sewage, the vinegar scent of the smog, and the sharp-sour smell of a dead and decaying animal.
