Charlie jumped, then turned and punched him. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
Jack rubbed his arm. ‘Bit young for one of those, don’t ya think?’ He nodded at the notebook. ‘Going to explain?’
Charlie stared at him as if she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t able to work out the drawing. ‘I call it a rapid winch,’ she said finally, as if this clarified the matter for him.
‘A what now?’
Charlie held up the notepad. ‘I needed to design this while I still have it in my head.’ The drawing was some kind of motor connected to a spool of cable. ‘When we had to use a zip line to get off that building, I realised there’s an even better way to do it.’
‘Better way to do what?’ Jack said. ‘Almost kill ourselves?’
‘Not exactly.’ Charlie laid the notepad down. ‘With this, we can drop off the side of a building in a controlled way.’
‘Drop?’ Jack didn’t like the sound of that.
Charlie ignored him. ‘The best bit is, if we need to, the winch can haul us back up really quickly.’
Jack pursed his lips as he thought of uses for Charlie’s rapid winch. They could lower themselves through a skylight, take some priceless artefact from a criminal’s private collection and zoom back up before any guards spotted them.
Or was that from a film he’d once watched?
Charlie turned in her chair and pointed at a motor on one of the workbenches. ‘Noble gave that to me. He said the SAS and US Navy SEALs use them for hauling equipment. It’s supposed to be top secret.’
Trust Noble to have got his hands on something like that. He was one of the very few adults they trusted, and from time to time he found high-tech gadgets they could play with.
Jack looked at Charlie’s drawing again. ‘It’s clever,’ he said. ‘If it works.’
Charlie looked affronted. ‘It’ll work.’
‘Hey,’ Jack held up his hands. ‘You’re a genius. I know that. No arguments from me.’
‘Thanks.’
‘How long will it take you to make it?’
Charlie looked at her drawing. ‘A couple of hours, but I’m not doing it now. I need to sleep.’
‘I’m going to bed too.’ Jack walked to the door. ‘See you in the morning.’
‘It is the morning,’ Charlie said, concentrating on her notepad.
She had a point.
CHAPTER THREE
The next day, Jack awoke with a start and sat up in bed. He’d had one of his anxiety dreams, and it had been a bad one.
A really bad one.
Sweat poured from his brow and his whole body shook. He took a moment to remember what had happened.
He’d dreamt that the Outlaws’ bunker was filled with smoke and he was searching the corridors, trying to find the others. As the minutes passed, the smoke grew thicker. A shadow moved up ahead and Jack tried to shout, but no words came out. He went to step forward, but he couldn’t. In desperation, Jack reached for the shadow and, just as he was about to touch it, he’d gasped and woken up.
The dreams varied in their horrible content, but were always about the same thing: the threat of losing the only family he had – the Outlaws.
Still groggy, Jack looked at his clock with the Albert Einstein face on it. It was nine. He groaned and swung his legs out of bed.
There was a knock at the door and Charlie stuck her head round. ‘I thought I heard you. Do you want some breakfast? Slink’s on the case – he’s making pancakes.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Jack said. ‘Has the program found the virus?’
Charlie shook her head. ‘No. Obi said there’s been no sign of it.’
‘Great,’ Jack muttered as Charlie closed the door.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the opposite wall. Where was the virus now? What was it up to?
He wondered what system it was infecting and what damage it was causing.
With effort, Jack stood up, walked to the door and followed the twists and turns of the corridor to the main bunker. When he got there, Obi was in his chair. He had a plate of pancakes on his lap and was liberally coating them in maple syrup.
Slink was busy in the kitchen, preparing more, while bopping his head to a dubstep tune that was blasting his ears.
Jack rolled his eyes. Even though Slink had earphones in, he could hear every pop, squeak and grind. He walked over to the dining table and dropped into a seat opposite Charlie and Wren.
Wren had a load of pens, felt tips, highlighters and a stack of blank postcards in front of her. She was drawing some kind of animal.
Jack cocked his head. ‘Is that a cat?’
Wren glanced at him. ‘A panther.’ She held up the postcard.
Now it was up the right way, Jack could make out the drawing easily – it was a black panther silhouetted against London’s skyline.
‘That’s really good.’
‘Thanks.’ She put the postcard down and continued with the finishing touches.
Jack looked at the other completed postcards – each one was unique, with a different animal or silhouette of a person in front of various places in London. The skies were painted in bright colours and the overall effect was fascinating.
Charlie said, ‘Slink was going to help Wren with maths this morning.’
Between them, they tried to teach Wren different subjects, because she didn’t go to school any more. Though, with their unusual lifestyle, that was hard to do.
‘I didn’t feel like doing maths today,’ Wren said. ‘I wanted to do this.’ She held up several more postcards with colourful drawings on them. ‘These are Slink’s.’
Slink set down a plate of pancakes in front of Jack, pulled out his earphones and joined them at the table. He picked up one of Wren’s drawings and appraised it. ‘You’re getting really good.’
‘Thanks.’ Wren looked at Jack. ‘Can we go RAKing today?’
Jack shrugged and glanced over at the main computer screen – still no sign of the virus.
‘After you’ve done these,’ Slink said to her, ‘I’ll show you how to tag a bridge.’
‘Slink,’ Charlie moaned. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to do that any more.’
In Slink’s spare time, he spray-painted walls and bridges with cartoons of the Urban Outlaws. The higher the bridge, and the more dangerous the location, the more fun he thought it was.
Wren beamed at him, grabbed a blank postcard and set to work on the next masterpiece.
Jack took a bite of pancake and glanced at the monitor again.
‘Do you think the virus is gone?’ Charlie said. ‘Maybe, someone’s destroyed it.’
Jack swallowed. ‘Doubt it.’
Later that morning, Jack paced back and forth in front of Obi’s chair. He glanced at the time – 10.48 a.m., and still no sign of the virus.
Charlie strode into the room, smiling.
‘What’s up with you?’ Jack said.
‘I’ve finished the rapid winch.’ She looked proud of herself.
‘At least someone’s got some good news.’ Jack glanced at the main screen for the millionth time.
‘I’ve got even better news.’ Slink was sitting in the lounge area with Wren. They were watching cartoons. He stood up and waved his phone at them.
Charlie looked puzzled. ‘What’s that?’
‘One of our other missions.’ Slink grinned. ‘The trap – it’s got something.’ He peered at the phone’s display. ‘And it looks like the right one this time.’
‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Jack said. ‘That thing actually worked?’
Slink nodded. ‘Yep.’
‘Thanks for having faith in my design,’ Charlie grumbled.
‘Yeah, right.’ Obi frowned. ‘You didn’t think my camera software would work either?’
‘It’s not that,’ Jack said. ‘I just think there’s probably a thousand of them and it’s not the first time we –’
‘Let me see that.’ Wren jumped
up and Slink handed her the phone. ‘That’s him,’ she said. ‘It’s definitely him.’
‘Only one way to be sure.’ Slink grabbed his backpack and strode to the dining area.
‘You know,’ Charlie said to Jack, ‘we could go RAKing too. We haven’t gone in a while.’
RAKing was Random Acts of Kindness – and they all liked to do it as often as they could. But now wasn’t the best time.
‘I can’t go.’ Jack nodded at the screens. ‘If the virus comes back –’
‘I’ll let you know if it does,’ Obi said. ‘I can watch out for it while you’re RAKing.’
Jack sighed. ‘I don’t know. I’m not really in the mood.’
Slink stuffed postcards into his bag. ‘Come on, Jack, it’ll be fun.’
Jack looked at Wren – she was bouncing with excitement and doing silent pleading gestures with her hands. Finally, he let out a breath. ‘OK, let’s go.’
Wren squealed with delight, ran to the airlock door and grabbed her coat from a hook on the wall.
Mihone Street in East London had the reputation of being one of the worst places in the country to live. High crime. Low income. Everything was dirty and decaying, but most of the residents were just down on their luck. Not given a chance to help themselves.
The Outlaws liked RAKing on Mihone Street – it felt good to put smiles on people’s faces.
Jack, Charlie, Slink and Wren marched down an alleyway between an abandoned church and a youth centre.
At the end, Slink lifted a pallet aside to reveal a box underneath, just under a metre square, made out of formed sheet metal.
Charlie stepped back. ‘Go for it.’
Wren hurried forward, knelt down and peered into the box. After a moment, a huge grin swept across her face.
‘Well?’ Slink said.
She looked up. ‘It’s him.’
‘Get ready.’ Slink pressed a button on his phone and the lock on the box disengaged.
Wren lifted the flap, reached inside and carefully took out a cat. It had all black fur apart from a round white patch that covered one ear and half its face.
Slink held up his phone with a picture of the cat filling the display.
Jack looked from the picture to the cat and back again. ‘She’s right.’ He couldn’t believe it. The trap they’d made had worked.
Charlie walked over to a skip, rummaged inside and pulled out a cardboard box. She checked it was secure while walking back to Wren. ‘We can put him in here,’ she said.
Wren was reluctant to let the cat go at first, but then decided it was probably for the best – they didn’t want him running off again.
Charlie secured down the flaps. ‘Let’s take him home,’ she said, then the four of them marched from the alley.
As they turned into the road, Obi said in their ears, ‘Well? Is it him?’
‘Yep,’ Slink said. ‘We’re going there now.’
‘Awesome.’
Two roads down, the Outlaws walked into a cul-de-sac. At the end was a rundown terraced house, its garden overgrown and flanked by three-metre high bushes. They stopped outside the gate.
Slink checked the address on his phone and nodded. ‘This is the one.’
Charlie held the box out to Wren. ‘Do you wanna do it?’
Wren beamed and took it from her.
Slink opened the gate and Wren hurried up the broken path. She reached the front door and gently set the box down on the step. She glanced around, then knocked loudly and ran back down the path.
When she was through the gate, the Outlaws hid behind the bushes and watched.
It was a minute or so before the front door opened and an elderly lady peered out. ‘Hello?’
There was a miaowing and clawing sound and she looked at the box. The old lady frowned, then with a lot of effort, she bent down and undid the flaps. She gasped and almost toppled backwards as the cat stuck its head out.
‘Oscar?’ For a long time, the old lady seemed not to believe her eyes.
The cat miaowed again.
The old lady picked Oscar up and cradled him in her arms. ‘Where’ve you been? I was so worried.’
Oscar purred as though nothing was wrong and nuzzled his face into her shoulder.
The old lady’s name was Irene Gardener and her cat had been missing for over a month. Some kind neighbours had put up a few posters, but Oscar was nowhere to be seen.
That’s when Charlie, Obi, Slink and Wren had come up with the idea of building a trap. Charlie constructed it out of steel, with a flap that would drop into place. They’d set a bowl of tuna as bait and fitted it with a wireless camera.
Every day or two, the trap would go off and Slink would check the pictures. Each time, it had been a different cat, and they’d had to free it and refill the bait. They’d been convinced that Oscar would stay in the local neighbourhood. He just had to stumble upon the box.
‘It’s a house cat and not used to being outside,’ Charlie had said.
‘Yeah,’ Wren agreed with a fervent nod. ‘Oscar is lost, that’s all.’
Well, Jack had to hand it to them – they’d been right.
Irene peered in their direction, but they kept out of sight. With another glance up the road, she held Oscar tight, went back inside and shut the door.
Wren smiled. ‘That was amazing.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Slink said. ‘We can’t hang about here all day. We’ve got things to do.’ He pulled a list from his back pocket. ‘These are all Wren’s ideas today.’
As they walked away, Charlie keyed a message into her phone.
‘Who are you texting?’ Jack said.
‘The Consultant, telling him we’ve found Oscar.’
‘The Consultant’ – real name James – was a friend of the Outlaws who helped them out occasionally with missions. This time he’d supplied them with something called the Cat-Cam 9000. Essentially, it was a tiny camera and transmitter which could be inserted into a cat’s collar, undetected. Three other cats in the area had been secretly fitted with the cat-cam to pick up images of Oscar.
Charlie’s phone beeped. She looked at the display and smiled. ‘The Consultant’s happy we found him.’
‘Me too,’ Wren said, skipping after Slink and looking at the list in his hand.
As always, the next couple of hours passed in a blur.
Slink and Wren had taped money to the back of their homemade postcards and were now handing them out to any homeless person they came across.
Jack and Charlie sauntered behind them as they hurried up and down streets, looking under bridges and in alleyways for worthy recipients.
‘Did Obi tell you he’s found a plan of another one of his mum and dad’s old houses?’ Charlie said.
Jack looked at her. ‘Another house? How many did his mum and dad have?’
She shrugged. ‘They were rich.’
‘No kidding.’ Jack glanced around and lowered his voice. ‘What’s he got? Some kind of blueprint?’
She nodded. ‘I think so.’ She looked thoughtful a moment. ‘Obi’s really determined to prove his uncle faked his mum and dad’s will.’
‘Yeah,’ Jack said. ‘Well, we should have a look at it. You never know, he might even be right. He was about Proteus, remember?’
Charlie nodded and grinned at him.
‘What?’ Jack said.
‘Nothing. You’re just a nice guy. I ever tell you that?’
Jack looked away, embarrassed. ‘I’m no saint.’
Slink and Wren ran out of postcards and the four of them stopped outside a block of flats. First, Wren wanted them to clean up the flowerbeds. Taking it in turns to keep a lookout, they ripped out the weeds, picked up the rubbish and cleaned the stone path.
When they were done, they stood back to admire their handiwork.
‘Well?’ Jack said to Wren. ‘What’s next?’
Wren pointed to an underpass by the block of flats. It was almost pitch-black because the fl
oodlight bulb was broken and no one had bothered to fix it. Kids had to walk down that tunnel. It wasn’t safe.
They hurried over to it and Wren sat on Charlie’s shoulders, unscrewed the glass covering on the light and removed the broken bulb.
‘Careful,’ Charlie said, passing her a replacement bulb. ‘It’s mains electricity.’
Wren gingerly took the bulb and clicked it into place.
The light flickered on, illuminating the tunnel.
Wren screwed the cover back and Charlie lowered her to the ground.
Wren stared up at it, looking proud of herself.
Jack’s phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the display. It was a text message from Obi.
‘What’s up?’ Charlie asked.
‘We have to go home.’
‘Why?’
Jack looked at her. ‘The program’s found the virus.’
Back at the bunker, they all gathered around Obi’s chair.
‘I’ve managed to locate the virus’s signal.’ Obi clicked a trackerball and brought up a window. ‘It’s here.’
‘Another power station?’ Charlie said.
Obi nodded. ‘Bransgore – it’s in their system.’ He clicked on another window showing the virus’s code. ‘Looks like it’s been there for a couple of hours.’
Jack stared at the monitor as the virus adapted to the new computers it was infecting.
‘What’s it doing now?’ Wren asked.
‘If it keeps going like this,’ Jack said, ‘it could cripple the entire power station. Permanently.’
Even take down every power station in the South East. Perhaps the entire country.
The computer beeped and the screen went dark.
Obi’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, no.’
‘What now?’ Charlie said.
‘The connection’s been severed.’
Jack pulled the keyboard over and started to type quickly. ‘He’s right.’
‘What’s “severed”?’ Wren asked.
‘It means,’ Jack said, straightening up, ‘the network engineers at Bransgore power station have cut the connection to the internet.’ He looked at the others. ‘They’ve done the worst thing possible – they’ve trapped the virus inside their computer system.’
Blackout Page 4
