Itch Rocks

by Simon Mayo

  “Two!”

  “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!” Itch was frantic. “Put the gun down! I’m doing it. Look!” He gripped the canister between his legs and tried to turn the lid, but his hands were too weak.

  “ONE!” yelled Flowerdew.

  “IT’S STUCK! IT’S STUCK! JUST WAIT!”

  And a gunshot rang out in Target Station Four.

  Jack and Lucy screamed; Itch yelled, “NO!” and spun around in time to see Chloe fall to the floor, blood spraying in an arc.

  “Chloe!” cried Jack, and she and Lucy ran over to her cousin. Chloe had fallen with Bello on top of her; all Jack could see was one leg and the top of her head.

  “Oh God, Chloe!” shouted Itch as he tried to take in what had happened. “Get him off her! Where’s the blood coming from?” A steady stream of dark red blood was pooling just a few inches from Chloe’s head; her hair was thick with it. “Grab his arm! Pull together!” he told Jack and Lucy, and they hauled Bello off her. As he flipped over, they saw a gunshot wound and blood coming from his forehead.

  And Chloe opened her eyes.

  With a cry of relief, Itch spun to see where the shot had come from; the other gunmen had hit the floor, doing the same.

  A noise like thunder came from above—the sound of footsteps pounding along the metal walkway. Putting the canister in his backpack, Itch threw himself down, then crawled over to his sister. She flung her arms around him; she couldn’t speak, she could barely breathe. He glanced up at the walkway and his heart leaped.

  “It’s Fairnie! And”—his voice caught—“and Sam, Moz, and Kirsten, I think!”

  Itch and Chloe watched the MI5 team, wearing helmets, protective goggles, and bulletproof vests, thunder across the walkway from the control room. As fire was returned, they all hit the floor, but their weapons reappeared above the handrail.

  “Itch! Over here!” called Jack. She and Lucy were crouching behind a large metal portable office.

  Itch took Chloe’s hand and they ran to join them, collapsing on top of each other.

  Jack was smiling. “Never seen anything sweeter,” she said, hugging Chloe, Bello’s blood smearing both of them.

  The firing was intense now, bullets ricocheting dangerously around the building. Bello’s men were retreating along the tunnel, using it for cover. They were looking for an exit but were pinned down by steady gunfire. Moz emerged above the rail, and as he fired, the others continued along the walkway, jumping down the steps. Their combat boots squeaked on the floor as they ran straight past Itch, Jack, Chloe, and Lucy.

  “Stay low!” shouted Fairnie as he ran past.

  “Stay out of it!” added Kirsten, and gave them a thumbs-up.

  “I think we will,” said Itch, and Chloe managed a smile.

  The firing continued for many more minutes but, like a passing thunderstorm, seemed to be moving away. The four of them stayed huddled together, not daring to move. It had been quiet for a few seconds when they heard pounding feet and saw legs running on the far side of the tunnel.

  Sam Singh ducked underneath and emerged, grinning. “Nice to see you guys again. We’ve accounted for all of them apart from Flowerdew.” He pointed at Bello’s splayed body. “His partners gave up once they’d taken bullets in the legs and buttocks. But no Flowerdew. Seen him?”

  “Not since you started firing,” said Lucy, sounding scared again.

  “Itch,” said Sam, “where’s the 126?”

  “Of course, you’re rescuing the rocks too,” said Itch. “I thought it might be just us you wanted.”

  “Unfair,” said Chloe.

  Itch paused. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “No worries,” said Sam.

  “In my backpack. Need to see them?” Itch showed him the canister.

  Sam spoke into his mic. “Rocks are here. Kids safe.” He listened briefly to the reply. “Right, keep low. Let’s assume Flowerdew’s still out there. Let’s meet in the control room.”

  He led the way back to the steps and they ran at full tilt along the walkway, no one looking anywhere other than straight ahead. Chloe followed Sam, Lucy tucked in behind Jack, and Itch, exhausted, lagged behind. They all crashed into the control room, where Tina Greaves was tending to the released scientists. They all cheered as Sam led the party inside. The body of the red-haired gunman lay against a computer terminal, his head covered by a white coat; blood leaking through in three places.

  Despite the weapon hanging from her neck, Tina embraced Chloe, Jack, and Lucy.

  “Are we safe?” Itch asked her.

  She pointed at the monitors: they showed Fairnie, Moz, and Kirsten on their way back, without Flowerdew. “No,” she replied, “but you’re OK.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  She held up her machine gun.

  “Fair enough.”

  Itch turned and went to look more closely at the monitors.

  Lucy came over to join him. “What happens to the rocks?” she asked.

  “What do you suggest?”

  She shrugged. “Not much we can do. Hand them over, I suppose.”

  Itch was silent. Lucy was right. He was relieved to be alive—relieved all of them were alive—but he hadn’t achieved what he’d come here for.

  “What would your father have done?” he said. “If Cake were here, what would he do now?”

  Lucy thought about it. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. And you know what? I’m not sure I care.” Itch looked shocked, but she continued, “Itch, this is about us and our decisions, not my dad. I loved him very much, but he was always running away. And making the wrong decisions. He couldn’t have done any of this. You’re far braver than he ever was. He would be very proud of you.”

  Itch was staring at the floor when Chloe and Jack joined them.

  “You all right, Itch?” asked Jack.

  “Yeah, fine. Never been better. Now, group decision needed. Colonel Fairnie will be here any second. He’ll want the rocks—it doesn’t seem we have much choice.”

  “You’re going to hand them over?”

  “Does anyone feel like running?” Itch looked at them all in turn: they were exhausted. No one said anything. “I will if you will—I just don’t know where we’d go anymore. And hiding them doesn’t seem to work….”

  They looked up as Fairnie, Moz, and Kirsten came into the control room. The colonel headed straight for Itch and smiled. “Good to see you all again. We’ll need to get some doctors in to check you over, but Flowerdew is still missing—”

  “We put tellurium in his whiskey. He’ll stink of garlic for a while. That might help.”

  Fairnie laughed. “Did you indeed! Nice work! We think he’s in one of the tunnels under the labs, but there are quite a few to cover. Maybe we’ll sniff him out.” He made to leave, then turned back. “Oh, just one thing … the 126. Where did you say you’d put it?”

  Itch smiled. “Well …” he said, reaching for his backpack—but Fairnie put out his hand to stop him.

  “You do whatever you have to do,” he said quietly. He looked Itch straight in the eye. “My team is going to hunt for Flowerdew. We’ll be gone for a while. Do what you have to do. Do you understand?”

  Itch looked stunned. “Do you mean …?”

  “I don’t mean anything. I need to go and find Flowerdew. Be careful.” The colonel nodded at them, and stroked his moustache as if about to say something else; instead, he went back to his colleagues.

  Jack spoke first. “Was he telling you to go ahead and kill the rocks?”

  “Sounded like it,” said Itch. “What else could he have meant?”

  They watched the MI5 team head out along the walkway. Sam had stayed behind and was keen to get the scientists away as soon as possible.

  “There’s a police van outside, everybody,” he announced. “Let’s go!” And he herded them out—a few supporting each other—through the rear door.

  One by one they left the room, some waving at Lucy as they did
so.

  “What do we do now?” asked Chloe.

  They all jumped as the door opened again and Tom Oakes came back in. “Apparently I can help … in your, er, undertaking.” He went over to the beam controller’s console. “Jenny has had to leave with the rest of them, so there’s just us now.”

  Itch, Jack, and Chloe were all too stunned to move, so Oakes walked over. “You all look as though you’ve seen a ghost. I once worked with your science teacher at the Mountain Pass mine in California many years back. Henry Hampton and I go back quite a long way—he told me about you, Itch. I know it’s all supposed to be top secret, but you’d be surprised how many scientists know all about Itchingham Lofte.”

  Itch didn’t know what to say.

  Oakes smiled. “Come on, we need to whomp these suckers.” He led them over to the console. “You can see the whole tunnel from here. Unless you object, I’ll put the rocks in the pod and you fire the beam. It’s the quickest way, and we don’t have a lot of time. Also, we don’t know quite how your 126 will react.”

  “You know about—?” began Itch, but Oakes shook his head.

  “Later. When all the rocks are in, you’ll see it on the screen. I just need to get the beam intensity right….” He keyed in some figures, his hands moving deliberately. “That should do it. When I give the signal, turn this key and leave. Now the rocks, please. I have to catch that bus.”

  Still in a daze, Itch gave Oakes the canister, and he ran out of the control room; when he reappeared on the monitors in front of Itch, he had donned a protective helmet and gloves. The four of them watched as, expertly, he used the crane to load the 126 onto the target plate.

  “Wow, he makes it look easy,” said Itch. “I think he’s done it.”

  They saw Oakes giving the thumbs-up before he ran out of view. The middle monitor showed a close-up of the eight rocks. Jack, Chloe, and Lucy looked at Itch, whose hand hovered over the key.

  Staring at the rocks, he said, “This is for all the misery and pain you’ve caused. We’re better off without you.” Then he added, “And this is for you too, Cake. I got rid of them in the end….”

  He put his hand on the key. Jack rested her hand on his, and Chloe and Lucy placed theirs on top. Itch, the bow of the key in his fingers, turned the key through ninety degrees. Lights started to flash everywhere, but the BEAM OFF light was still illuminated; another twist of the key, and BEAM ON flashed at them. Everything seemed to start humming.

  The rocks now disappeared from view as thick steel barriers came down within the tunnel, leaving Itch staring at screens that showed lots of flashing lights but not much else.

  “Death ray on,” said Jack.

  “Didn’t he say, Turn the key and leave?” said Chloe.

  “He did,” said Itch.

  “Shall we go, then?”

  Itch nodded. “I suppose so.”

  Two minutes after they had turned the beam on, the protons hit the pieces of 126. The reactions released pulses of neutrons, and the temperature climbed quickly. The smallest rock started to glow red immediately, swiftly followed by the other seven. As their atomic weight tumbled, they rapidly turned blue-white before seeming to melt into each other, folding into a molten lava-like puddle. The temperature continued to climb, and some of the 126 began to vaporize; it snapped and sparked as the extraordinary amount of energy released made all the instruments in the target station light up.

  A convulsion in the pod sent a shock wave through the tunnel, and the whole building shuddered. With nowhere to flow, the molten rock heaved and pulsed with released energy; tremor after tremor hit the deserted target station.

  The 126 was splitting.

  Under the neutron bombardment, it was being torn apart.

  Itch clicked his front door shut and walked down the hill toward the beach. A fierce wind and steady rain were blowing in off the Atlantic. He kept his head down, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He walked quickly, inhaling the salty air into his lungs. By the time he reached the golf course his hair was plastered to his face; by the time he got to the beach huts he was soaked through. He stood watching the mountainous surf; slate-gray water and pale foam smashing into the sand and rocks. He had always loved high tide on wild days, partly for the show but also because there weren’t any surfers around to make him feel useless.

  The roar of the surf was so loud, he only heard the footsteps at the last minute. He turned to see his father jogging toward him, waving cheerily. Nicholas was, unlike his son, appropriately dressed, with a cap pulled low and a thick jacket that Itch was sure had seen duty on many an oil rig.

  “Hey, Itch. Where you heading?”

  “Don’t know really—just somewhere.”

  “Getting out of the house?”

  “Something like that.”

  They stood watching the surf in silence for a moment, before Nicholas touched Itch on the elbow. “Come on, let’s walk. Can’t hang around in this weather, and you’re barely wearing anything. Your mother would have a fit.”

  “If she were here, she would,” said Itch. “But she’s not, is she?” He hadn’t meant it to sound so angry—though he saw no reason to apologize.

  “I know it’s been bad, Itch, and that’s my fault. Most of it, anyway. I’m hoping she’ll be back soon. I’m sure she wouldn’t miss Christmas with you guys.”

  They continued along the high path, walking close to the cliff edge and looking down onto both of the town’s beaches. Row after row of Atlantic rollers were piling in; low cloud obscured the horizon.

  “Where’s she gone?” asked Itch.

  “A friend’s,” said his father. “Not far.” The path dipped toward the beach. “I should have told her about leaving the rigs sooner, but it seemed … too risky. I never thought she’d like me working with Jacob Alexander. And as it turned out, I was right.”

  “Does Dr. Alexander know—?” began Itch.

  “He knows everything. And that you spallated the 126.”

  “And?”

  “Well, first up he can’t believe you got to use the ISIS particle accelerator. He’s rather jealous, I think. And impressed. But of course, he’d love to have had the 126 to work on himself. He keeps telling me how he analyzed it on the X-ray spectrometer; he’s shown me the printout of the readings. It took a while for him to accept that I knew where the rocks were, but he’s a family man. He said he understood and would probably have done the same.”

  “Wow …” Itch’s phone bleeped, and he took it out. “It’s Chloe. Wants to know what I want for Christmas. She’s out shopping.”

  “I know,” said Nicholas. “I told her I was coming after you. Listen, Itch, I just want you to know that our little group of scientists is doing some great work. There are some South African mines we’ve found that you would love. Our team has discovered new thorium deposits to look at. We were thinking of getting an expedition together and wondered if you might like to come. To, you know, help out.”

  “OK, nice idea,” said Itch. “But that’s radioactive thorium you’re talking about, Dad, and I might have had a lifetime’s radiation in the space of a few months.”

  Nicholas laughed. “Fair point! And what will your mother say?”

  “If she comes back, she might not like it.”

  “She will come back, Itch. Trust me.”

  “Did she leave because of what I did? Did she go because we disappeared to the ISIS lab? She must have gone ballistic.”

  “No, absolutely not. She was furious about that—so was I—but she left because of me. Because of … us. She says she can’t trust me, and I understand that, but we’re working on it, Itch.” Nicholas looked at his son, resting his arm around his shoulder. “She didn’t leave because of you. OK?”

  Itch nodded. “All right. You might want to tell Chloe that too.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  As they neared the beach, they were hailed by a familiar figure. Wrapped in a vast yellow rain slicker, John Watkins was waving a walking stick in
their direction, and Itch ran toward him as soon as he recognized who it was. Watkins stood smiling, his face mottled with bruising, a thick bandage showing under his cap.

  “Itch, my good man! How terrific to see you looking so well!” Watkins called out as he approached. He had to shout over the noise of the crashing waves.

  There was a brief awkwardness, covered by a handshake. “You got away! My God, I was so scared for you all, and so angry with myself for not helping you.”

  Watkins was still holding onto Itch’s hand, and tears filled his eyes. “I’ve been trying to think what else I could have said—”

  “Sir!” interrupted Itch. “We’re sorry we got you involved. Who was to know Shivvi was so crazy and so dangerous?”

  “Well, we found out soon enough,” said Watkins, touching his bandage gingerly.

  “How bad …?” began Itch.

  “Bad enough. I was kept in for tests—X-rays and the like—and I need to go back for more. But I’m sure I’ll be fine. Ah, your father’s caught up! Hello, Mr. Lofte! Terrible day!”

  Nicholas shook his hand warmly. “May we walk with you? We seem to have the beach to ourselves, after all?”

  “Delighted!” said Watkins. “Though I won’t stay out much longer. There’s only so much soaking I can take at my age. I feel the cold nowadays.” He paused to look out to sea. “The academy, as I’m sure you’ll know, has been in uproar. What with Lucy’s exposure of Mary as a fraud, Shivvi’s escape, your kidnapping, and the fire in Brighton, I don’t suppose anything has been taught at all. And there are exams on the horizon too!”

  “You know Shivvi died?” said Itch.

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “Flowerdew killed her.”

  “Yes, I heard that too.”

  There seemed nothing else to say.

  “Does everyone know I did it? The fire, I mean?” asked Itch.

  “Not really. Well, officially the fire was blamed on Flowerdew and the men he was working with—the papers were quick to blame the Argentineans—but everyone here guessed you were mixed up in it somehow. But you and Jack have been kept out of the story. Once I heard you were both OK, I must say I mourned for the Fitzherbert School. To see my old school in flames…. Oh, my.” John Watkins looked quite overcome for a few moments as he rested on his walking stick.