Breaking East

by Bob Summer

  I so nearly let go of his thumb to wipe his blood away, but he was strong and I already felt my grip weakening. ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Somebody might hear. You wouldn’t want to get caught with your pants down, would you?’

  ‘I don’t know who you are,’ he said, ‘but that was a big mistake.’

  I had sod all left to lose, so twisted and tugged in a last ditch attempt to tear his thumb clean off.

  He changed tack and stepped away, tripping over his trousers and letting go of my wrist as he tried to save himself from falling. I dropped his thumb and he slumped to the floor leaving me the space to swing my leg and catch him square between the legs with my boot.

  He mewed like a kitten. Curled up like one too.

  I swiped at my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘You miserable, filthy, disgusting, old soak.’ I plucked the keys from his trouser pocket and left, shutting the door behind me. I wiped my face clean with the hem of my tee shirt and walked as quickly as I dared for the stairs. I ran up, passing two blokes on the way with a cheerful, ‘Got to keep fit, lads.’ All the while I itched to scrub my hands, my neck, my hair. And to clean my teeth, get the taste of that smell out of my gums and off the back of my tongue. I breezed through the doors at the third floor and a quick scan told me it was all clear. I fought the instinct to run. Every muscle tensed taught and every millimetre of my skin tingled filthy and stinking to the point I wanted to claw at it and tear it away from my bones.

  A door opened and Crawlsfeld stepped through, looking down at a sheet of paper in his hand. I lunged through the nearest door closing it behind me as quickly but quietly as I could, all the while praying the room would be empty. I put my forehead against the door, held my breath and listened. My heart was giving it proper welly, I couldn’t hear booger all else. I paused to allow my eyes to get used to the dim light before turning around. The room was a cupboard and almost identical to the one I’d just escaped from, with the same limited floor-space and wide shelving. Phew. The shelves were long drawers fronted with shiny steel, stripy in the sun that filtered through a slatted blind covering the tiny window. Perhaps I’d give myself a minute, take a breather, and give Crawlsfeld, and whoever else was outside, some time to get well away. Like France or somewhere.

  I forced my breathing under control and scrubbed my face with my sleeve in a vain attempt to get rid of the fat man stink. Things were not going well. I pulled open the nearest drawer hoping to find clues to something, heaven knows what. But I figured the more trouble I got into, the more evidence I’d need to convince Joe I’d stepped over the line for good reason.

  The drawer housed sheets but not very tidily. They were shoved in scruffy and crinkled. I rooted through, not sure what I hoped to find but enjoying the sensation of cool linen against my hot fingers. My hand hit something and I grabbed at it instinctively, brushing the sheets aside. It took seconds to register what I’d touched and when it did I nearly yelled out loud. All those tattered nerves of mine snapped simultaneously and I scrambled backwards to the far wall. In the drawer, staring up at me, was Mary.

  Chapter 23

  Dead people’s eyes aren’t glassy and vacant like in the movies. At least dead Mary’s eyes weren’t. They were alive and staring at me - they even spoke to me, ‘Think you’re going to get out of here? Think again.’

  I closed my eyes. Don’t panic, Atty. For the first time I wanted to yell back at Dad’s stupid voice. Don’t panic? Jesus. Try being me. Don’t panic, my foofle. Panicking was about all I had left. I wasn’t cut out for this. Born to be an activist, my backside.

  I stretched out my leg and nudged the drawer closed with my foot. There must be at least twenty drawers. If they all had a body in them … No, that body must be fresh today or there’d be a stink. And flies. Big bluebottles were supposed to nest in bodies. I breathed in through my nose; the warm scent of office-block leather with an undercurrent of blueloo - nothing like the distinct, ripe whiff of Fran swinging from the bannister. And Mary’s cheeks were still soft. Dead things went hard after a while - I’d seen road-kill, frogs and stuff. I swallowed and closed my eyes. Calm.

  The simplest thing to do to keep my sanity was pretend I hadn’t seen the body at all. At least I hoped there was a body attached to her head, I wasn’t going to check. And she might have dropped dead from natural causes for all I knew. Fell off the back of a bike. Ha. Oh no, the hysteria was back.

  I crawled to the door and listened. My back felt vulnerable and tender, my neck in particular, tingled cold with terror. I had a word with myself. Mary didn’t frighten me when she was alive, so she certainly shouldn’t now she lay dead in a drawer – get over it, move on. I peeked out to check the corridor was clear and, to hell with looking calm, shot out the door and ran for Stuart, praying he was still where I’d left him.

  The fat alcoholic’s door swung open easily. I whisper shouted, ‘Stuart!’

  He popped up from behind the sofa, a piece of paper in his hand. ‘I got it.’

  ‘We need to get the feck out of here.’

  He stepped up to me. ‘What’s happened? You’re bleeding.’

  I swiped at my face and brushed at my t shirt. ‘It’s not mine.’

  ‘What? Then what …’

  ‘Never mind. What’s that?’ I reached for the sheet of paper. Not that I gave a crap.

  ‘They’re in the east tower.’

  ‘We can’t stop. We have to get out of here. Mary’s dead.’

  ‘Who?’ He put his hand up. ‘Doesn’t matter. We need to get Gemma.’

  ‘Jesus, Stuart. If we don’t go now we’re dead too. Seriously.’

  ‘I’m not going without Gemma. This way.’ And he ran out the door, down the corridor and veered off down a passage. I followed, pausing only to pick up a mop conveniently left against a door jamb. I’d have preferred an AK-47 but beggars and choosers, etcetera. Stuart burst through a door into another stairwell, narrower this time, more like an old fire escape. I searched the ceiling, found the camera, and battered it with the mop.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Stuart squeaked in horror. ‘They’re going to know we’re up to something.’

  ‘Oh for shitting shits sake, Stuart. How deep in it do we have to get before you wake up?’

  But destroying the camera would be pretty pointless. The next one would pick us up and then the next. There was no escaping them. I looked out of the window and watched guards running towards the boundaries. And they carried guns. I didn’t know what sort, but big, BIG guns. I looked at my mop head. ‘We are so dead.’

  The door opened and a man in a sharp suit stepped through. ‘Good afternoon.’ He held out his hand and Stuart shook it. ‘Delighted to meet you. My name’s Commander Jenkins. I’m head representative of International Security Specialists. Welcome to Sapton Manor.’

  People stepped out of their offices and took a good look as, flanked by guards, we were taken to the ground floor and locked in a room with a barred window.

  ‘Now what?’ said Stuart.

  ‘I can’t believe you shook that guy’s hand.’

  ‘It’s habit.’

  ‘A freaking stupid one.’

  ‘And what about your habit of smashing people’s faces in? I’ve only known you a few days and that’s two already. Not counting ours.’

  ‘You’re blaming me for our black eyes now, are you? I said we should get out of that station but, hell no. Stuart knew best.’ I stomped around looking for something to prise the bars off the window with. In one corner stood a desk, two hard chairs and a broken mirror; in another an old filing cabinet lay on its side with a lonely looking print of a flower propped up against it. ‘We’re so dead.’

  ‘Yeah. So you said already.’

  ‘Well nothing’s changed, has it? In fact things have just got a whole lot worse. Commander of International Security?’

  ‘Nobody is to blame here, Atty. We need a clear head if we’re going to think of a way out of here, so just cool it.’

  ‘I am cool.�
�� God alive. “Cool” was on a par with “oops.” ‘I mean I’m okay.’

  Stuart shook his head and looked out the window. When he turned to face me his hands rested loosely on his hips, the sun shone from behind him, and he stood in a ring of light, like some sort of solar idol. Then he spoke and spoilt it. ‘Do you think we might be about to get arrested or something?’

  I gaped at him, there were no words to express how I felt. None.

  He looked sulky, like a kid on the naughty step. ‘I don’t think they’re going to let us go.’

  I walked in a circle, hands on my head. ‘How the hell did I end up here with you?’

  ‘Stop getting grotty with me, Atty.’

  If he’d fronted it out instead of hiding behind the sofa we wouldn’t be in the mess we were in. There was little point in being a beefy academic if common sense didn’t feature – anywhere. I looked him in the eye and kept my voice calm. ‘Okay, I’ll just shut up while you catch up and state the bleeding obvious then.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘I’m just thinking aloud,’ he said. ‘You know, bouncing ideas around.’

  ‘Oh, ideas. I’d love to hear them. But if all they amount to is, “I think we might be in a spot of bother”, then you can keep them to yourself.’

  ‘Well you could try too. Instead of griping at me, think of a way to get us out of here. Getting stroppy and argumentative is getting us nowhere.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ I said, wide-eyed like an idea had popped into my head, ‘let’s feed them salad.’

  He sighed and turned back to the window. ‘You’re impossible.’

  Seconds of silence turned into minutes. Oh Jeesh. I had a sulker on my hands. ‘All right, all right, I’m sorry. Can we do the bouncing idea thing?’

  ‘You don’t sound very sorry.’

  God alive. ‘I’m really, truly, honestly, begging you sorry.’

  ‘We can’t keep arguing with each other. We’re all we’ve got, remember?’

  Breathe Atty, breathe. ‘What ideas have you got, Stuart? Let’s hear them. And be quick. I reckon we’ve got minutes to dream something up else we’re going to end up with our heads in a drawer full of linen.’

  ‘Uh?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I wonder what the bloody hell they’re going to do with us.’

  ‘Kill us. They’re going to Bloody, bloody, BLOODY kill us. Do you get it now?’

  Stuart actually looked hurt. My knees wobbled, I dropped to a crouch in the corner and put my head in my hands. It was little wonder Joe had tried to get me home. He thought he’d sent me on a nice cushy and cosy job to watch a couple of soft easty kids. No way would he have sent me anywhere near the ISS and dodgy research centres. All those years he’d kept me bubble-wrapped and safe and then, within a few short days, the bottom had fallen clean out of my comfy little box.

  ‘It’s all Gavin’s fault,’ I said. ‘If he hadn’t pointed his skanky finger at Stacey none of this would have happened. Fran wouldn’t have killed herself and I’d have been around to keep an eye on Gemma.’

  ‘Gemma is my little sister and my responsibility.’ Stuart paused, leaning against the wall as if stood waiting for a lift, hands in his pockets. ‘But neither of us could have stopped Crawlsfeld taking Gemma. He had Dad’s permission, remember?’

  Perhaps having a dad go walkabout was better than having a crap one at home after all.

  ‘And,’ he continued, ‘it would have been somebody else’s baby if not Fran’s.’

  I snorted and swallowed some self-disgust. ‘You’re a better person than me. I came here for my sake, not theirs. Chasing promotion, wanting to escape Basley, impress my dad. Selfish.’

  Stuart looked to be pondering on the weather, not how to save our necks. ‘That’s not true, Atty. You sorted that Carl bloke out good and proper. Not many people would have gone in like that. I certainly didn’t want to.’ He looked at me. ‘That guy whose blood you got down your shirt, what did he do to you?’

  ‘Nothing. He tried and failed.’ I rubbed the palm of my hand down my thigh, scrubbed at the corner of my mouth with the cleanest corner of my T-shirt. ‘I need a shower.’

  He looked back out of the window. ‘I bet a place like this is crawling with paedos.’

  ‘Stuart, I’m nearly eighteen.’

  ‘Everything is relative. Come and look at this.’ I got to my feet and joined him at the window. An army of men in black overalls, flak jackets and caps darted about the grounds directing what looked to be a mass evacuation. We watched as high-heeled women and thick-waisted men in suits climbed into various modes of transport and left through the gates.

  ‘It looks like they’re expecting the end of the world,’ said Stuart.

  There was something about bunches of nervous looking grown men in bullet-proof vests that scared the bejeesus out of me. Stuart held my hand. ‘We’ll be okay.’ But it didn’t look good.

  Chapter 24

  ‘We can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen,’ I said after we’d been locked up for what felt like hours. ‘We need to be pro-active.’

  ‘Have you seen the size of the guns out there?’

  Good point, but patience and I weren’t becoming any better friends. ‘There has to be somebody outside the door. If not I’m going to knock it down.’ I went over and hammered on it. ‘Oi! Open up!’

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing?’ Stuart stood staring at me like I’d lost it. He might have been right. Probably right.

  I hammered again. ‘Oi! I need the bathroom!’

  ‘You haven’t long been.’

  For an educated guy he wasn’t half thick. I gawped at him. ‘Are we wanting the same thing here?’

  ‘I just don’t think we should make them angry. At least without formulating some sort of plan. What are you going to do when you get out?’

  ‘We’ll wing it. All our plans have gone to hell so far. We must be on plan Q by now.’ I kicked at the door. ‘Oi!’

  It opened and I stepped back out of the way in case they came in fighting, but, crouched over the prone body of a guard, with a finger on his lips, was Joe. ‘Shhhh.’

  Joe and I have never been the cuddly types, but I leapt up and hugged his mega block head until my arms locked. ‘Oh my God. Is it good to see you? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Rescuing your lily-white arse.’ He prised my legs from around his waist and lowered me to the floor. ‘I told Gavin to bring you home. Where is he?’

  ‘Um.’ I’d forgotten about him. ‘He’s our getaway man.’

  Joe gave me a look that confirmed how daft an idea that was. ‘Please tell me you’re yanking my chain.’

  ‘He’s waiting by the back gate,’ said Stuart.

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Joe. ‘Have you seen it out there? And have you heard from your mum?’

  ‘No. How? Why?’

  ‘She’s been looking for you.’

  ‘Where? When? Why?’ Stuart looked wide-eyed and bamboozled.

  ‘This is nice - this little catch up thing - but that guy’s waking up.’ I nodded towards the guard rolling onto his hands and knees just outside the door. ‘Shouldn’t we be making a run for it?’

  Joe grabbed the guard’s hair and slammed his head into the wall. ‘Sorted. Come on.’

  We walked down the passage and up the stairs, Joe in the middle, gripping us by our elbows. Somehow he’d managed to acquire a security pass. ‘Can you get us one of those?’ I asked.

  ‘Bit late for that now, don’t you think? Shut up and try and look frightened.’

  It wasn’t too hard to achieve. ‘There’s a dead girl in a drawer with sheets.’

  ‘What girl?’ Joe frowned. ‘No. Don’t answer that. Just keep quiet.’

  What was it about people not wanting to know about bodies everywhere? The corridors were silent. Only a few people bustled past carrying files and bags, and their jackets over their
arms, all keen to get away before some type of massive turd hit the fan. Though I doubt they were as keen to escape as me.

  Only one bloke challenged us. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Putting them with the others,’ said Joe. ‘Jenkins’ orders.’ He led us to the second floor and right at the end of the corridor was a blank door which I would have guessed led to yet another faffing cupboard. He knocked. A tubby woman with grey curly hair opened it within seconds.

  She scanned me and Stuart before muttering at Joe. ‘It’s looking worse than ever out there.’

  Joe nudged us into a huge room with enormous windows on two walls. It contained several sofas, three unmade beds, a cot, and lots of clothes and clutter across the floor. Very homely.

  ‘STUEY!’ Gemma raced towards Stuart and jumped to cling around his neck, her legs dangling, her Perfect Princess wedding-gown riding up to show fluorescent green leg warmers. If they were indulging her fashion sense she hadn’t suffered too much.

  ‘Woah, Gem Gem. How’re you doing?’ Stuart swung her around and closed his eyes as he hugged the life out of her.

  ‘Owerr. Put me dowwn.’

  ‘You look amazing.’ He put her back on her feet. ‘Let’s have a look at you.’ He held her hand. Gemma twirled like a ballet dancer and performed a little bow. Stuart grinned. ‘Stunning, as always.’

  The girl from the park was sitting on a chair at the window bouncing Fran’s baby on her lap. ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘You okay?’ She nodded but gave me the cold teenage stare before continuing to watch Stuart and Gemma’s display of happy, reunited families. ‘And Stacey? Is she okay?’ I asked.