The Joshua Files - a complete box set: Books 1-5 of the young adult sci-fi adventure series plus techno-thriller prequel

by M. G. Harris

  “You’ve got five minutes to decide,” says Madison, picking up the gun, “before we come back in here and get things moving.”

  “She said ten!”

  Madison puts his foot against my chest and shoves me backwards. I manage to rock sideways, dampening the fall with my left shoulder.

  “Ollie’s too nice. Me, I prefer to get things done fast.”

  Shivering, my cheek clammy against the freezing cold floor, I watch them leave.

  The second the door is shut, I twist my wrists, rub them together to get some give in the impossibly tight tape. After a minute I have just enough slack to grab the edge of my left sleeve between my finger and thumb. I tug hard, pulling at the cuff, working my hand back up into the sleeve. I throw my arm backwards, almost dislocate my shoulder as I try to push my left elbow through the shirt armhole. I have to grit my teeth to stop myself gasping with pain and frustration as I squirm around on the grime-encrusted floor.

  But eventually, I do it. I pull my left arm round and rip the front of my shirt open. In another second I’m out of the shirt and the tape. And my hands are free.

  I set to work on the tape around my legs. It’s not easy – no time to find the edge and gently peel the tape; I’m way too panicked for that. I yank the tape with both hands and jimmy my legs to work the ankles apart until I can reach under the tape and pull hard enough to stretch it.

  This all takes several minutes. Towards the end, I’m covered in a film of icy sweat. I’ve just managed to pull the last of the tape under my feet when I hear Ollie’s voice at the top of the cellar stairs.

  “OK, Josh, time’s up.”

  I bolt up the stairs and throw myself at the door as hard as I can, hearing a scream as it connects with Ollie on the other side. I practically explode into the kitchen, almost trip over Ollie on the floor, the gun still clutched in her hand. Behind her Madison stands, momentarily paralysed.

  We both stare at the gun.

  I’m betting that he can reach it before me. I leap over Ollie, into the kitchen, knocking into the stove. I catch my UK mobile phone as it falls, then take another leap and land in the hallway. I duck into the back room and slam the door shut, grab a chair and jam it under the handle. No way out but the window. The broken window is closed, a curtain draped over part of it. Madison kicks the door; the chair shatters. I don’t need any more incentive – I run at the window, clutching at the curtain as my body smashes through the glass. I fall for a second and land hard on the gravel path. The outside lights turn on. Shards of glass cling to the curtain. Madison shoots once as I’m climbing to my feet and running towards the back of the garden, towards the shadows. I vault over the hedge at the back, land on mossy grass at the edge of the golf course. It sounds like Madison is just metres behind.

  I sprint, hearing rapid breath in the gloom as he chases me. But at least he’s not shooting any more.

  The places where Madison kicked me are beginning to throb painfully as bruising sets in. It’s easy to ignore the pain; I concentrate on the need to survive. Madison will kill me now, if he has to – I don’t doubt that. But given a choice, he’ll probably capture me alive, take me back to the cellar and get down to the bone-breaking he promised.

  And that thought just drives me to run harder – because I’m never going back in there. I increase my lead on Madison.

  I cross the golf course, come to some railway tracks. I vault over them and sprint into a thicket. A partial moon hangs very low in a sky thick under high, orange-tinted clouds. Between the reflected city lights and the moon, there’s enough light to navigate between the trees. Seconds later, I reach the canal. It’s easy enough to cross, but I’d risk being an easy target with Madison so close behind. Instead I turn right and run across the waterlogged grounds of community allotments.

  Now I recognize my surroundings – I’m on the edge of Wolvercote Village, near Port Meadow. I keep going. Somewhere ahead, I remember, there’s a bridge, then a railway crossing.

  I keep up the pressure, running hard until I come to the bridge. The soggy ground slows me down; the proper shoes don’t help either. I can still hear Madison, now about thirty metres behind.

  From the railway crossing, I pelt along the main path, splashing through puddles, crossing on to a meadow trail as I approach some houses near the road. I drag my thoughts away from my aching ribs and muscles, trying to think of a plan.

  If I can find somewhere to hide, I can stay here until someone arrives from Ek Naab at four in the morning.

  Although, in just a vest and soaked with sweat and possibly blood, I wonder how long I’ll last in the open. . .

  I desperately need to reach shelter. There’s a pub in Godstow, on the river. I could probably reach it in a minute or two. I keep going, running past the car park, and reach the River Isis. I remember that there’s a boathouse close by on the other side of the river, which is only a few metres wide and shallow at this point. By the time I jump into the water, the open run has helped Madison gain on me. He’s now only twenty metres or so behind.

  Nothing could prepare me for the icy shock of the water. It’s like another blow to my chest. It takes only a few seconds to swim across. Already, I’m shaking. As I climb out on to a wooden jetty, Madison hits the water. I grab the end of a canoe with both hands and slam it into Madison as he approaches. He gasps, reeling; swears at me and falls back into the water. I turn and keep running. I can still hear him cursing in anger.

  As I run through the boatyard, I realize that I can’t see any way out except via the locked buildings. The boatyard is on an outcropping where two rivers join into one. On one side is Port Meadow, where I’ve just come from. On the other is the village of Godstow. I reach the end of the yard, and run on to another jetty. For the first time, I’m out of Madison’s line of sight.

  The only way out seems to be Godstow. Which means crossing another river. It’s narrow, like the first. I’m already soaked through, shivering from the wind chill. But the water will be deeper here, and freezing cold.

  Dreading the cold, I slip quietly back into the water. It’s horrible. I duck under the jetty and hold my breath, listening to Madison approach.

  He runs into the yard and then stops.

  I’ve lost him – so long as he doesn’t figure out that I’m in the water.

  I clamp my mouth shut to stop my teeth from chattering. My energy seeps away with every second.

  Now that I’ve stopped moving and I’m up to my neck in icy water, I’m going into shock. My arms and legs begin to shake.

  I have to keep going.

  I take a deep breath and swim underwater. I move out from the jetty and into the river. When I come up for air, I can see trees and the nearby bank.

  I drag myself out near the trees on the little island. And then my muscles won’t respond. I drop behind a tree, catch my breath, get the shakes. Downstream on the other side of the river, Madison is pacing around. There was a nearby garden with a house – maybe he thinks I’ve gone that way?

  Then I hear him jump into the river. My heart sinks – he’s worked it out. I stagger to my feet, keep moving through the trees. Metres later, I reach the other side of the island – the river again. Up ahead I see lights and hear the road.

  I keep going, guided by the street lights. By the time I reach the road, I’m shattered. Madison must have bet on me hiding on the island because I hear him thrashing around in the interior. I stagger into the road. Maybe a car will pass by and stop? I must look a state – soaked from head to foot, wearing just a bloody vest on top. I make myself keep jogging, barely moving faster than a walk.

  I turn around and peek through a gap in the hedge. I’m just in time to see Madison climbing out off the island, on to the road. He could catch up with me in two seconds.

  I pull off the road and into the dark of the meadow. If I remember right from our compulsory family walks, there are some ruins close by – an old nunnery. If I can get behind the walls, I can hide for hours, always stayin
g on the opposite side to Madison. The sombre silhouettes of the ruined walls stand out against the sky up ahead. I jog a little faster, cross the footpath and into the ruins. I lean against the wall, breathing deeply to recover.

  I’m so weak, I seriously don’t know whether I can keep going. But it’s that or he catches me. I cross the grass to the opposite side of the ruins. I find what I’m looking for – a ruined chapel. There’s just one entrance. Inside, I climb on to the ledge of an east window.

  I keep very still, listening for Madison. After two or three minutes, I hear footsteps on the path. I duck back inside the chapel ruin, press myself tightly into the shadows. I hear someone take a running jump on to the window ledge and a head pokes through the bars on the window. I hold my breath. He almost certainly can’t see me, but he hesitates. He knows I’m here – I sense it.

  The only way into the chapel is the long way around, the way I came. After a minute on the ledge, he jumps down. I hear his footsteps recede, carrying on around the outer wall of the ruin.

  I move to the chapel entrance, waiting.

  This will be my only chance. I’m going to have to land a staggering blow first time. I doubt I’d last five seconds in a fight by now. I bounce lightly on my toes, waiting, shivering. My arms and chest are prickly with gooseflesh.

  I hear Madison’s breathing as he approaches. I try to visualize his hand holding the gun, to picture him walking into the chapel.

  His gun will be in his right hand, about a foot in front of his body. He’ll be stepping cautiously.

  I don’t even have to think about which move to use. This is it; time to prove myself worthy of my capoeira nickname – Mariposa – the butterfly twist.

  I bounce into ginga, preparing: full concentration.

  As Madison crosses the threshold, I lunge into the run-up, dip and flip myself into mariposa – a flying double scissor kick with a twist. As my torso whips through the air, my legs connect with his right arm, catch it between my ankles in a violent, rapid twisting movement.

  Almost perfect.

  Madison drops the gun, falls to his knees, yelling in agony. While he’s on the ground, I aim a low kick to the back of his head. But he’s too quick; he’s already getting up. My kick lands in his back instead, knocks his head forward against the chapel wall. He slumps to the ground, grunting.

  I struggle to hold my position, exhausted, wondering how long he’ll be out of action. Probably not long – he’s still moving groggily and moaning. I crawl on all fours, scrabbling in the damp grass for the gun. When I find it, I think seriously about shooting him in the leg.

  But I’ve never used a gun. I’m pretty shaky – what if my aim wobbles and I kill him? Holding the gun already feels horrible, scary. Madison’s right there, helpless. I could kill him, maim him – if I wanted to.

  Except that I can’t. I know in that instant – it’s not who I am.

  Instinct tells me to get out of there, and fast. So I’m moving again, this time carrying the gun. Back through the looming shadows of the nunnery, across the footpath, deeper into Port Meadow, now with the river on my left.

  I’m hoping that Madison will assume I’d head back to the road and the safety of Godstow Village, or the pub. But I need to find a place to hide until Benicio arrives from Ek Naab.

  If he arrives from Ek Naab. With my Ek Naab phone lying in pieces back at Ollie’s place, he can’t trace me. Port Meadow is big; the river is long.

  I stagger past a river lock. The warm lights of a brick cottage beckon. I find an old woodshed near the cottage. It’s about the same height as me. There’s a door on a latch, and I crawl inside. There are some rotting off-cuts from old carpet piled over the wood. I pull the chunks of carpet over me. They smell of mould, but they’re mostly dry. I hold the gun between my knees, keep it pointed at the door.

  I’m freezing cold, exhausted, terrified – but relieved. I can’t risk letting anyone know I’m here. Daren’t go home, daren’t be seen. What if I’m handed in to the police and they call Mum?

  Without my Ek Naab phone, my best bet is to stay near the river, in Port Meadow, until four in the morning. And hope Benicio has a way to find me.

  The fight with Madison has drained all my strength. I have to make myself stay awake for the next few hours. But I keep drifting in and out of consciousness. I’m shaking violently, on and off. Even my thoughts slow down. It’s as though getting into the shed was the last thing my brain could force my body to do.

  And now everything . . . everything is shutting down.

  At some stage I become aware of a familiar yet eerily displaced sound. . . It takes me a few minutes to work out that it’s the sound of a Muwan landing. I blink, push open the door, lurch away from the woodshed. Beyond the house, the meadow is thick with early-morning mist. Dawn is still hours away. I can still hear the Muwan. But inside that mist, I can’t see anything.

  I walk unsteadily to the riverbank, still wrapped in pieces of carpet, holding the gun. Visibility is no better than ten metres. I shuffle along the bank for several minutes.

  A hand grabs my shoulder, spins me around.

  “It’s me, Benicio. What happened – where’s your cell phone?”

  I don’t answer, trembling with cold.

  Benicio’s eyes zero in on the gun in my hand. Alarmed, he wrests it from my numbed fingers. “No manches! When it’s a real gun, don’t even pretend! Where’d this come from?”

  I still can’t talk. Benicio looks carefully at the gun before he pockets it.

  “I had to use the infrared scanner to find you. You’re freezing! Hardly even a blip.”

  Benicio leads me towards the Muwan. He switches the lights on by remote as we approach it somewhere in the middle of the meadow. Then Benicio pushes me up the Muwan’s ladder. I drop heavily into the passenger seat. My hands are too numb to get into the seat properly. In the interior lights of the Muwan, Benicio removes the rotten carpet and gets his first proper look at me. He inhales sharply. “Man . . . you’re a mess.”

  I can’t reply. My cracked lips move, but I can’t make a sound. Benicio disappears briefly, reappears with blankets and a bottle of water. He throws the blankets around me and tucks me into one of the back seats. I begin to shake again. He tips water into my mouth and I drink the whole bottle, slowly. Then he follows up with another bottle. The contents taste sharp, rough, burning. I spit it out.

  Benicio chuckles. “Take it easy, buddy. Is just tequila. Tequila! Drink. You need to get warm inside.”

  I take another mouthful and swallow. He’s right. I don’t much like the taste, but the heat goes straight into my chest. It’s like a warm glow spreading through me – something I thought I’d never feel again.

  Benicio takes off as soon as I’m safely in the Muwan. The craft flies straight up into the sky for almost twenty seconds, then moves forward smoothly. Benicio must have hit autopilot because he twists around in the forward seat, looking at me.

  “Man, you’re beat up pretty bad,” he says.

  I nod, once.

  “You think you can make it back to Ek Naab? I’m pretty sure there’s blood on your shirt. And you’re freezing, absolutely freezing.”

  I can barely answer without almost biting off my tongue.

  Benicio sounds doubtful. “I don’t know, Josh. It’s gonna be around two hours. Maybe I should take you to a hospital.”

  I shake my head. “Hospital . . . will call Mum,” I manage.

  “Yeah, we should call her.”

  “No! No . . . can’t.”

  “Ah . . . really . . . I don’t know.”

  Benicio turns away and starts talking quietly into his headset, speaking in Yucatec. After a while, he says to me, “I’m going to land, take your pulse, blood pressure, temperature, and then we’ll see. You have hypothermia, Josh. You can die from this.”

  We land ten minutes later, in Ireland. When Benicio tells me this, all I manage to mumble is, “I’ve never been to Ireland.”

  He takes al
l his readings, but I already know what the answer is going to be. I can feel myself warming up from the inside out and from the outside in.

  Finally, he gives me a grin. “You’re OK. I think!”

  I breathe a long sigh of relief.

  “You can tell me all about how this happened to you when we get home. But for now, you should sleep.”

  “Can’t. . .” I say. “Tyler . . . danger.”

  “Your friend is in danger?”

  I nod. I’ve been thinking through what Ollie will do next, and I’ve a nightmarish feeling that she and Madison will bring Tyler in.

  What have they got to lose now? She’s blown her cover with me. Tyler is their last chance to bargain.