Itch Rocks

by Simon Mayo

  “Lucy?” Chloe was watching her. “What’s that?”

  “Something your brother gave me. He said to drop it into Flowerdew’s food if I got the chance. But he hasn’t got any food so the whiskey will have to do!”

  “What is it?”

  “Tellurium, apparently.”

  “What does it do?” asked Chloe.

  “No idea—but maybe we’ll find out.”

  An open door led into a guest bedroom and Lucy, her heart racing, peered inside. The single bed was made up but untouched, the room barely furnished. She slid open a closet door: some old coats and a pair of boots, but no duffle bag. She had just returned to the kitchen when one of the doctors appeared.

  “What are you doing?” Reith’s voice was whiny and thin. “Thought you just wanted water.”

  “I just topped up,” said Lucy, smiling. “Look.” She held up the tumbler, but the man wasn’t interested in the water.

  “We’ll be going then,” said Lucy, and she hurried back to Chloe. “Come on—drink this and then we’re going,” she said, unnecessarily loudly.

  “Charles, come in here,” called Adebayo, and the thin man went back into Flowerdew’s bedroom, staring at the girls as he went.

  As soon as he had disappeared into the room, Lucy whispered, “If the duffle bag is here, it must be in there! With him!” She pointed at Flowerdew’s bedroom and Chloe raised her eyebrows, staring at Lucy.

  “But we need to get out. Now. That man gave me the creeps,” she said.

  “But we need the rocks!” whispered Lucy.

  A cry of pain came from the bedroom, followed by raised voices. Both girls got up and made for the front door; they paused for a moment outside Flowerdew’s bedroom.

  There was a string of abuse from Flowerdew, and Chloe peered in. It was dark, with the curtains shut and a bedside light illuminating Flowerdew’s burns. Two doctors were holding his hands and feet while a third tried to clean the wounds, looking up as the door opened. Chloe gave him a thumbs-up, and he waved her away irritably.

  As she turned, there on the floor, right against the wall, she saw a duffle bag. A grubby, blackened duffle bag! She froze, rooted to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest. She knew she had to be quick, but she could barely move.

  “Well, get out! Out!” shouted the doctor.

  As though released from a spell, Chloe ran from the room and grabbed Lucy by the hand. “It’s there!” she whispered, her eyes wide, her breathing short. “But we have to go! What do we do?”

  The sound of movement from the bedroom sent them both scurrying for the door. Lucy pulled it open, and they ran out into the corridor, nearly crashing into Itch and Jack.

  “Chloe!” cried Itch, but her hand was over her brother’s mouth again.

  “You were right!” She was speaking in an urgent whisper, glancing from her brother to her cousin. “The rocks are in there, just inside the bedroom door. But so is Flowerdew and the doctors. They’re trying to treat him—he’s got an IV drip in him or something—but he’s shouting and yelling so much….” The sound of breaking glass and more bellowing from inside the apartment drew them all to the door again.

  “I put the latch on,” said Lucy. “It’s not shut, look….” and she pushed gently. The door edged open. They listened nervously: the apartment was silent.

  “Itch?” Jack was watching her cousin. “What do we do?”

  “We walk in. That’s what we do.” He handed his backpack to Jack.

  “No, Itch …” She tried to pull him back, but he was already inside.

  The door to Flowerdew’s bedroom was open, and Itch paused briefly to listen again. He could hear Flowerdew’s breathing—loud but regular—and the doctors whispering.

  “When can we leave?” asked one. “We’ve done all we can. Now, while he’s asleep?”

  “We stay until our job is done,” insisted another. “He’s paying us well. We owe him.”

  “And he owes me,” said Itch quietly, and walked into the bedroom. In one quick glance he took in the prostrate figure of his former teacher, the attentive doctors, and the blackened duffle bag.

  “Hey—who are you?” called Adebayo.

  Like a porter collecting the luggage, Itch bent down, slid his hand through the straps, lifted, and left. It took three seconds.

  “Hey—come back!”

  Itch flew from the apartment as fast as his terrifyingly familiar load would allow him. Chloe, Jack, and Lucy didn’t need telling; they were already sprinting for the elevator.

  The stairwell and the elevator shaft were next to each other. As they ran down the corridor, they could hear the elevator moving, climbing.

  “Stairs! Take the stairs!” called Jack. They flew past the ornate brass doors, where the floor indicator sign was already showing 2. They pushed open the fire exit doors and took the stairs two, three at a time.

  Itch hoisted the duffle bag onto his shoulders and followed. He was already one flight down when, above him, he heard the elevator door open and voices talking. He hurried on down the stairs, aware of the radiation box banging against his spine. Ahead of him, Jack, Chloe, and Lucy were pushing open the entrance doors.

  “Where now?” asked Lucy.

  “There!” said Jack, pointing at a sign that said WATERLOO STATION.

  They set off along the river walkway. Itch glanced back at the apartment complex, but could see no signs of pursuit. He headed under an arch and along a covered passage past some stalls. Behind him, he heard the rocks rattling as they were jolted around in their container.

  “Where are we going?” asked Lucy, glancing at Itch as they ran.

  “Underground,” he said.

  “Then where?”

  “Not sure. But west. Let’s get out of here first.”

  They pushed their way through slow-walking sightseers who seemed to be conspiring to get in their way. The lines for the Eye and the street performers were all seemingly intent on slowing them down. Itch turned to look behind again, and saw three men—two with buzz cuts and one with a ponytail—pushing their way through the crowd. They shuffled, ran, and dodged their way along the path, veering right under a bridge when they saw the UNDERGROUND sign. Running across a roundabout and avoiding the taxis, they leaped up the steps to the station, running along the concourse looking for the Underground entrance.

  “Who’s got money?” Jack called over her shoulder.

  “I do!” said Lucy, and handed her purse to Itch.

  They’d reached the top of the steps leading to the Underground when they heard a shout. Spinning around, Itch saw the three men close behind them now.

  “Go!” he shouted, but even as they started down the stairs, he knew they wouldn’t have time to buy tickets and escape. Their best bet was to leap over the barriers and hope they could lose their pursuers in the Underground system.

  The lobby was busy, the electric barriers opening and closing as passengers swiped cards or inserted tickets. The ticket office was closed, and long lines had formed by the ticket machines. Underground staff stood at the barriers. They were trapped.

  “Itch, do something!” cried Chloe.

  He glanced around at their pursuers. They were pushing people out of their way, provoking angry cries.

  Itch knew they would be caught in seconds. “Jack!” he said suddenly, an idea forming in his head. “Do that thing you did at Marylebone Station. With burned-hair guy!”

  Jack got it immediately, remembering how she had escaped from a Greencorps agent by telling a stranger she was being followed. She took Chloe’s hand and grabbed a man with LONDON TRANSPORT and RAYMOND written on his badge.

  “Please help me!” she cried. “Those men are following us! I’m scared!” She pointed at the rapidly approaching men and she stood behind Raymond, holding onto his shoulder.

  “What?” spluttered Raymond, a stout man in his fifties who had dealt with fare-evaders and security scares before but had never been asked for protection. Jack was actually ta
ller than he was, but she and Chloe took cover behind him.

  The first man—who had a ponytail—approached and made a grab for Jack.

  “Hey! No—what do you think—?” Raymond pushed his attacker away, but now the man’s two companions had appeared; one shoved Raymond against the ticket barrier. Instantly, three more London Underground staff arrived, shouting and reaching for their radios. One pushed Raymond’s assailant and got a fist in the stomach; wheezing and gasping for breath, he dropped to the floor. A crowd of passengers gathered around, watching, or filming the action with their phones; others were running for the exits. More London Transport staff appeared on the other side of the barrier.

  One of the newly arrived attackers, a short-haired blond man, turned away from Raymond and caught sight of Itch and Lucy standing just away from the mêlée and peeled away from the fracas. Itch handed the duffle bag to Lucy, stood in front of her, and looked around for help, but the staff was concentrating on the fight around Jack and Chloe. The man grinned as he approached, a silver tongue stud glinting in his mouth.

  “Itch, he’s got a knife!” shrieked Lucy, and Itch caught sight of the blade.

  Passengers scattered as the man approached, making a throat-slitting gesture with his knife.

  Walking backward, Itch and Lucy quickly hit the wall, Lucy and the duffle bag first, then Itch pressed up against her. The man lunged at Itch, who got a kick in before he was grabbed and spun around. Itch felt the serrated knife at his throat cut him, and Lucy screamed, “OK! OK! Here!” She was taking the bag from her shoulders when suddenly there was a roar of rage from behind them. A voice he recognized. Itch, his attacker and the knife all went flying, felled by a rampaging Nicholas Lofte.

  “Dad!” As Itch picked himself up, he felt his throat and looked at the blood on his fingers. He guessed it wasn’t a deep cut, but when he saw the knife on the ground, he grabbed it. His father had the knife-man with the tongue stud pinned down on the floor, but was taking blows to the stomach and face. The dark-haired third assailant abandoned the struggle by the barriers and flew at Lucy and Itch, but he pulled up short when he saw the bloody knife in Itch’s hand. Instead he went to help his colleague, who was losing the fight with Nicholas. Itch looked around frantically for Chloe and Jack, who were now protected by Raymond and a circle of London Transport staff, all shouting and swearing at their ponytailed attacker. Realizing that he wasn’t going to win this battle, the thug ran to join the fight with Nicholas.

  Itch, Jack, Chloe, and Lucy were finally in a position to escape, but were reluctant while Nicholas was fighting three thugs on his own.

  Itch had never seen his father fight before; he was amazed by his skill and strength. He had seen them applied to sports, to housework, and to play-fighting his children, but nothing like this. His punches were powerful and accurate, most hitting his attackers in the stomach or neck. But there were three of them and just one of him.

  “I can’t just watch,” said Itch and ran over. “Come on, everyone! Help him! He’s my dad!” He looked at the crowd of passengers and Underground staff. “Well, what are you waiting for!” He heard his father yell with pain and launched a kick at the nearest thug. It connected with ribs and the man howled.

  “Just run, Itch!” shouted his dad.

  “No way!”

  “Itch, look!” called Chloe. A group of Underground staff were advancing on the men. Nicholas had his arms around Tongue Stud’s neck and was kicking out at the others, but they swept his legs out from under him. He crashed to the ground, taking Tongue Stud with him.

  “Leave them alone!”

  “We’re calling the police!”

  “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Two passengers started shouting at the attackers and then began throwing their shopping at them. Others joined in, and within seconds the men were being pelted with books, perfume, jeans, newspapers, potato chips—anything that was at hand.

  “Go now!” Nicholas shouted, before disappearing under a barrage of fists and feet.

  “Whatever you’re running from,” shouted Raymond at Jack, “I’d just go now. We’ll take care of this!”

  Itch glanced at Chloe, who looked stricken at watching their dad fight. She watched the small gang of staff and passengers close in around the struggle, but when one of the attackers lashed out at the shoppers, she nodded at Itch.

  “OK,” she said, and followed Jack, Lucy, and Itch in vaulting the barrier. The crowd at the top of the escalators parted, and the four ran for the moving staircase taking them deep under the London streets.

  “Bakerloo, Jubilee, or Northern?” called Itch.

  “Just get on the first one,” suggested Jack.

  “Bakerloo is good if we can,” said Lucy. The sounds of trains thundering and clattering filled the air, but they couldn’t see a sign. “Here!” she called, and they ran down some steps and onto a platform. There was a scattering of waiting passengers, and the electronic sign said, NEXT TRAIN TWO MINUTES. They huddled together at one end of the platform, breathing heavily. They all looked terrified. Lucy slipped the duffle bag from her shoulders, and they all stood around it in a protective circle.

  “Is it safe, Itch?” asked Lucy. “The radiation box. Does it leak?”

  “I think we’re fine. It’s been underwater, but I don’t see how that would affect it. When we were at the mining school, Dr. Alexander chose that box to house the 126 when we brought it in; my guess is it’s still secure.” Jack and Itch exchanged glances. “But if anyone feels sick, tell us straightaway, OK?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Itch,” said Jack, “the knife…”

  He had forgotten he still had the knife in his hand and hastily tucked it away in his jacket. He wondered if anyone had noticed a teenager running through the station with a bloody knife.

  “What if we’re still being followed?” asked Jack.

  “Let’s hope we’re not,” said Itch.

  “Hope your dad’s OK,” Lucy murmured. “He must have been coming back to the hospital and must’ve seen what was happening.”

  “Whatever,” said Jack. “He saved us.”

  “Again,” added Itch.

  More passengers arrived: backpackers, shoppers, families.

  NEXT TRAIN ONE MINUTE.

  “Who were they?” asked Chloe, still breathless.

  “Flowerdew’s little army of helpers,” said Itch, aware of his throbbing hand now.

  “Wasn’t expecting you to just grab the rocks like that,” said Jack.

  “I wasn’t either,” he admitted. “But I figured Flowerdew was tied up to his drip—and asleep, as it turned out—and the doctors wouldn’t care about the 126.”

  “Still pretty stupid.”

  “Still pretty stupid,” agreed Itch.

  They were all studying the faces of the people on the platform while willing the train to appear. Chloe peered along the platform. She nudged Itch, and he followed her gaze. At the far end, a tall black man in a long coat was reading a paper. “He was looking at us,” she whispered.

  They all tensed and studied the man she was talking about.

  “He’s looking the other way now,” she told them.

  “On purpose maybe,” said Lucy.

  Lights in the tunnel behind them and the sound of a train approaching made them look away. Lucy started to hoist the bag onto her shoulders, but Itch stopped her.

  “My turn. Seriously,” he said.

  “But your fingers—”

  “Are OK, thanks. And so are my shoulders.”

  The train had stopped and the doors opened. They were relieved to step onto it—it felt as if they were stepping away from Flowerdew, away from danger.

  At the other end of the train, the tall man, still reading his paper, stepped onto the Bakerloo Line train to Kilburn Park. Via Paddington.

  “Eight stops,” said Chloe, “then Paddington. What happens then?”

  “Train to Didcot,” said Lucy.

  They were sitting in the last car, It
ch and Chloe on one side, Jack and Lucy on the other.

  “They’re pretty frequent. Used to catch them with my dad—then you take a cab to the Rutherford Lab.”

  “What was that powder you gave Lucy?” Chloe asked Itch.

  His eyes lit up. “I forgot! Yes, the tellurium. Did you use it?”

  Lucy smiled. “Yes—put it in Flowerdew’s whiskey. There was no food to sprinkle it on. I think he’s drinking quite a lot of it. Is that OK?”

  Itch laughed. “Who knows? It could be fun!”

  “Have you poisoned him?” said Chloe.

  “No, that’s going a bit far. And illegal. This is more … interesting. Tellurium, element fifty-two. Atomic weight 127.6. Melting point 449 degrees. Boiling point 988 degrees.”

  Jack mimed a yawn. “And the interesting bit?”

  “It makes you stink of garlic for a week,” said Itch, and everyone laughed. “And not just ordinary garlic either. Really smelly, rotten garlic. It seeps through every pore and there is nothing you can do about it. Wherever he goes, he’ll stand out. He can’t hide.”

  “Sweet,” said Jack.

  As they stopped at Charing Cross, Piccadilly Circus, and Oxford Circus, the train filled and emptied again.

  At Regent’s Park, policemen showed up on the platform, scanning the cars. They were concentrating on the more crowded center cars and missed the Loftes and Lucy, who had slid down in their seats as low as they could.

  “What if the police get on at the next station?” asked Jack.

  “Bet it’ll be like that everywhere,” said Jack, “but we get off soon.”

  “Four more stops,” said Lucy. “Baker Street, Marylebone, Edgware Road, then Paddington.”

  “So let’s split up,” suggested Itch. “They’re looking for the four of us together, so at the next stop, Chloe and I will get off and get into the next car.”

  “Good idea,” said Jack.