by Jo Zebedee
“It lies with the GC. I’ll report the incident to their representative,” he said, knowing how it sounded, a Judas taking his silver coins. Peters’ mouth tightened into a thin line. Carter crossed his arms. "I don’t like it either, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
Peters looked through the glass, taking a long moment before he turned his gaze back to Carter. “If it were me, I’d hand in my stripes and walk away.” Carter went to cut him off, but his voice rose over Carter’s. “Because it’s shit. He’s human, they’re the invaders. It’s shit.”
He turned and walked out, leaving Carter to stare at the boy. Peters was right. It was crap, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Carter walked into the interview room, pulled out the chair opposite the boy and sank into it. It had taken him a bit of time to find out who he was, but finally a constable had come up with a name. The boy ignored him and Carter watched for a moment, letting the silence stretch. John was holding something in his hand, a rag of some sort, and his hands were clenching and unclenching around it, as if it was the only thing he could sense or control.
“John.” No response. Carter rapped the table. “John Dray!”
This time, John lifted his head. “What?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“The station. Antrim Road station.”
“Good lad. My name’s Henry Carter, I’m an inspector based here.” The boy nodded, and Carter went on, “Now, since I already know your name, could you confirm it for the record?”
“No.”
Carter took a deep breath. “John Dray,” he said. “Your mate is Terence Delaney. Living somewhere in the Oldpark. Parents died about three months ago, foraging for food. Got some siblings.” He laid his hands on the table. “That’s all I know about you, John. Can you help me out with some more?”
“I haven’t done anything,” said the boy. “You’ve no reason to hold me.”
He clenched his fist around the rag and Carter pointed at it. “What’s that?”
John looked at it, and his eyes seemed to soften. “It’s nothing. Just something I carry around with me.”
“Whose is it?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Carter waited, thinking. The siblings, apparently, were younger. “What will happen when you don’t get home?” The lad’s head came up, and Carter shrugged. “Because you’re not going anywhere.” Carter leaned forward. “You weren’t the only one who carried out a job tonight: Baltimore, Rostov, Marseilles, Istanbul, Buenos Aires and Mombasa, they're the ones we know of. All the other runners who let the virus go are dead.” He paused, but there was no answer, so he pushed again. “All the Zelotyr are dead, John. That’s what the job was, to kill them.”
John’s eyes hardened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Carter smiled at his bravado. “You know we picked up two men waiting at the edge of the estate? They had guns.” The boy paled slightly at that. “Now, what were you doing on the hill?”
“Nothing; I told the patrol that.”
“Spare me.” Carter nodded at the rag. “So, whose is it? Since you’ve nothing to hide, why not tell me?” The boy’s hand clenched around it, and Carter softened his voice. “I’m here to help, John.”
The boy looked up, his eyes hard. “Like hell you are.”
“Well, no one else is,” said Carter. He leaned back in his seat, looking at the ceiling's pattern of cracks from the Zelo bombs. He waited.
“It’s my little brother’s – from his coat," said John, his voice hesitant. "That’s all.”
Carter stifled a smile of relief. “What’s his name?”
“Stuart.”
There was a clatter from the corridor and Carter got up to open the door and take a tray from Sanderson. He set it on the table, picked up a mug of tea, and pushed another mug towards John. “Hot chocolate. I thought you must be cold. Biscuits, if you want any.”
The boy’s eyes went round at the sight of the biscuits and he reached out and took one, nibbling at it for a moment before his hunger got the better of his manners and he devoured it in two bites. Carter pushed the plate over to him.
“Help yourself,” he said, and waited while the boy did just that. After, John picked up the mug and huddled over it, his face pinched and dirty, his too-long hair falling over his face, hiding his watchful eyes.
“Any other brothers?” asked Carter. The boy shook his head. “Sisters?”
A slight nod. “Two.”
“Where are they?”
The boy’s shoulders stiffened.
“At home.”
“Where’s home?” The boy shook his head, and Carter moved back to safer ground. “How old are they?”
John pushed his hair back. He looked younger. More vulnerable. Slowly, he said, “Josey’s a couple of years younger than me – the other two, they’re just kids. Josey’ll look after them until I get home.”
Carter leaned forward until his hand was nearly touching the boy’s. “Look, John, you’re in a lot of trouble, do you know that? It’s just – you won’t be getting back to them anytime soon.”
The boy blinked before he looked back at Carter and nodded. He looked like he was scared to speak in case he cried, and Carter didn’t blame him.
“Can you tell me anything? Who gave you the tin?”
“We found it.” John’s voice was a whisper and his eyes didn’t meet Carter’s.
“Where?”
“On the ground.”
“So you found a tin, and decided to risk the patrols – leave your kid sisters and Stuart alone – to climb up the Cave Hill?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, come on. If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.” Nothing. Carter fought to keep the frustration out of his voice. “John, I don’t know where you live, but I bet whoever set you up does.”
There was a rattling noise, and Carter looked around, trying to tell what it was. He looked back at John and realised the boy’s feet were drumming off the ground and he was shaking, his shoulders shuddering as if he couldn’t stop.
Oh, hell. Carter got up and draped his jacket round the boy’s shoulders. He pushed the table back and crouched down, putting his hand on John's chin, tipping his face so they were looking at each other.
“John, things are really bad, okay?”
John’s eyes didn’t waver, even though his teeth were chattering.
“I need you to tell me what happened, and who was involved.” No response. “If you don’t, John, you’ll be taking the rap for it. You’ll get sent to the Zelotyr and they’ll…” He stopped. He couldn’t tell this kid what he faced. He had to. “They’ll…”
“K - kill me,” whispered John. “Like they say, on the street – they do it more than once.”
God help me, he knows. “Yes. Unless you tell me who set you up for this, John, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”
“I can’t. You’re right, he – he – knows where the kids are. If I tell you…”
“That’s right, John, he does…” Carter looked into the boy’s eyes – they were older than they should be – until John nodded.
“He won’t hurt them,” said John. “He knows if they’re gone, there’s nothing to hold me.”
Carter fought the urge to thump his fist on the desk and point out that the bastard, whoever it was, didn’t need more than one of them. He saw the boy was still shuddering, and held his tongue; threats weren’t going to work here. Especially since he suspected the boy knew the truth, but was too scared to admit it.
“John,” he said, picking his words carefully, “the word will be spreading that the Zelotyr are gone.” John watched him, his pupils huge, making his eyes seem like dark pools. "I’m expecting trouble once people realise the patrols are gone. Does that sound right?”
“I suppose.”
“Good. The thing is, when that trouble comes, there’s not enough polic
e or army left to stop it.” He waited until the boy nodded his understanding. “People will get hurt and angry and they’ll turn on the people who can be blamed. Once they realise the Zelotyr were keeping them safe, they’ll blame you for changing things. And if they can’t find you… even if whoever you are working for doesn’t go for your family, someone else might.”
The grey eyes closed, stayed shut for what seemed like minutes, and Carter snaked his hand out until it covered the boy’s.
John's eyes opened. “Ten Shannon Road,” he whispered.
Carter squeezed his hand. “Good lad. I’ll go and see myself, and then I’ll come back and we can talk some more.”
“If you get my family in front of me, I’ll tell you everything you need to know. The kids need me, I can’t be sent away…” John looked down at the desk. “You might want to check number six as well, that’s where Taz and his mum live.”
“Right.” Carter stood to go.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t mean it. Nor did Taz. Is he okay? He seemed really sick.”
Carter paused. In some ways, the other boy might be the luckier; he was still unconscious, and not aware of the mess. He nodded. “He’s still very shocked.”
“Please, can you help?”
Carter paused, looking at the boy. What had he survived: a year of a bloody war, hiding, foraging food by night? And he’d ended up here, doing someone else’s dirty work.
“I’ll do what I can, John,” he said, choosing his words with care. There was no point promising the earth, not if he couldn’t deliver it.
“You promise?”
The too-old eyes searched him, as if grasping at the hope in front of them. Carter took a deep breath. “Yes. I promise.” He turned away before the boy could ask anything more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Josey sat at the top of the stairs, in the spot where John stayed when he kept watch. A shaft of daylight crawled over her foot, warming it, and she bit her lip. Where was he? He’d never been so late back, and he knew she had no food. She glanced at the two empty water bottles – she’d had to give the kids something to fill their stomachs – and over at the dwindling supply in the corner. Tears pricked her, but she bit down on her knuckle, making sure no noise escaped and woke the kids.
She looked over at the closed bedroom doors. The lay-out was the same as in their old house, and all it took was a slight narrowing of her eyes to imagine she was back there, a year ago. There’d been no way to know 2014 was going to bring an invasion worse than any in the comics John and Taz used to buy. She shifted on the step and stared at what would have been her parents’ bedroom. What she wouldn’t give to push open the door and find them sitting there, cups of tea in hand. Or go to her room and get into a bed that wasn’t mouldy and manky, but clean, its covers just off the line and smelling of fresh air.
Some hope. Useless daydreams, nothing more, like the dreams of the family who’d lived in this house at the start of the war and who’d been in it the day the Zelo bomb had brought down the roof. Their kid had died in the house and they’d fled Belfast afterwards.
She got up and paced the landing, not able to sit any longer. Her CD player sat in the corner beside her bedroom door. She’d love to turn it on and dance to Jessie J. She’d done that with the kids to keep them from crying after Ma and Da died, until the batteries had given up. She wanted it to be the old days when John annoyed her and it was easy to hate him, not sit and pray he’d get home, and he hadn’t been caught, or….
She leaned her head against the door. He couldn’t be dead. He was too smart. He was quick, like a shadow in the streets. He’d be fine.
A soft noise made her start, and she strained, listening, but there was nothing except the kids’ soft snores, and a whistle of wind.
Another noise came, louder this time, from downstairs. She went to the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness. It had been ages since she and John had barricaded the door and told the kids it was going to be a grand adventure camping on the landing. Neither of the little ones had been fooled, not really. They knew aliens weren’t the only danger in Belfast, that hunger made people desperate.
There was a crash, making her jump. A splinter of light appeared where the front door was. She wanted to scream, to run, but stayed still, not daring to give away they were in the house. A second thud and the damage widened to a crack.
That got her moving. This was no looter, trying for an easy break-in. She ran to Sophie’s bedroom and kicked the door open. “Wake up! Hide in the wardrobe and don’t come out unless me or John tells you to.”
Sophie came awake immediately – she might be only eight, but she’d lived through the invasion, too – and darted into the wardrobe. Josey ran into the boys’ room. She picked Stuart up, struggling a little, her hands slippery from fear. She managed to pull him onto her hip and ran into the biggest bedroom, the one that had no roof at all left, not daring to look downstairs. As she shut the door, there was a splintering noise, followed by the sound of men’s voices.
“Wha…?” asked Stuart, still sleepy.
“Shhhh,” she said. “It’s hide and seek, okay, Stuart? You have to be quiet.”
He, too, was a veteran, and crawled under the big bed. She joined him, pulling boxes around them, ignoring their musty smell. Her ma had used the same sort of boxes to store shoes she’d never wear again. Josey choked back something – not quite a sob, more a strangling fear. There was no time to mourn Ma, not when she was busy trying to be her. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, more than one pair. Josey closed her eyes and prayed: be John. It wasn’t, of course it wasn’t. A plastic bottle was knocked over, dully bouncing on the landing floor, and she had to bite back a yelp. She wished she hadn’t separated Sophie, but the wardrobe was too small for all of them.
Wardrobe – who was she kidding? Whoever this was, they were going to find them. She groped around, trying to find anything to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. She kept her other hand on Stuart’s back. He squirmed and she didn’t blame him – the stench of mould from the carpet was thick, clogging her throat.
The door was kicked open and hard footsteps crossed to the wardrobe. The door opened, followed by a loud tut. Josey fought the urge to wriggle away, and pulled the terrified Stuart close. He was too warm, his skin sweaty. The footsteps came over to the bed and stopped. She could see boots, leather and shining. Top of the range. No one she knew had new clothes.
“Josey Dray, is that little Stuart you have there?” The voice was broad Belfast, harsh, not at all safe. “Come out before I drag you.”
She didn’t move. Another tut, and he got down on his knees. His face appeared at the edge of the bed, looking at her from a sideways position, and her breath caught: Gary McDowell. He was a good four years above her at school, but she knew about him. He’d taken one of the boys from her class, who'd called him Graham instead of Gary, and flushed his head down the toilet. He’d left the boy in the cubicle for an hour, telling him if he called for help he’d spend every day facing more of the same.
“There you are,” he said, and gave a mock wave. His mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed anger. “If you don’t come out, I’ll kick your arse from here to Derry.”
She had no option; he was between her and the exit.
“I don’t want to,” whispered Stuart.
“It’s all right,” she said. She backed out, pulling him with her, and stood. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making her a little dizzy, but she lifted Stuart onto her hip and faced Gary. She daren’t show fear; his sort loved people to be scared.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He came to the end of the bed, blocking her way past. “Where’s the wee girl?”
He was close enough to smell beer on his breath, and her fear deepened; drunk and looking for kicks was never a good combination. She stopped meeting his eyes – she couldn’t afford to anger him. She tightened her hold on Stuart, trying
not to frighten him. “She’s in the next room. I’ll get her.”
He grabbed her arm. “Let's do that.” He pushed her towards the door.
She stumbled, barely keeping her grip on Stuart, and hurried next door. To hell with pretending not to be scared. She opened the wardrobe where Sophie huddled, her eyes huge and staring.
“You need to come out,” said Josey.
Sophie hesitated, but at Josey’s nod came out, and they turned to face Gary. Another lad joined him, wiry and full of nervous fidgeting.
“Is that all of them?” he asked.
“Aye.” Gary smirked. “The Dray family, just where they should be.”
Josey shivered. She had nothing to offer to make him go away. He was watching her, his eyes sharp, and her legs started to shake. She’d heard what some of the lads on the streets were up to since the invasion, how girls had been brought into the gangs and made to do what the blokes wanted. It was why John didn’t like her going out to scavenge, even in the daytime. She backed away. “John will be back in a minute.”
“I don’t think so. John’s been detained.”
Detained? Who by? Sophie pulled against her leg. Stuart froze, numb with terror, clinging to her top. She tried to stop her legs shaking – she couldn’t fall apart in front of the kids – and lifted her chin. “What do you want?”
“Put the kid down.” She tried, but had to uncurl Stuart’s hands first. Gary indicated the stairs with a jerk of his head. “You’re coming with me.” He nodded at the other man. “Deal with the kids.”
“That wasn’t what your da told us. He said to get the older girl.”
“Are you arguing with me?” Gary’s voice was low, threatening. He grabbed the other lad’s collar. “Because if you are, we can take it to the Big Man and see who he backs.”
