Geri and Fernandez left. I sighed and looked round the room. The trestle table had been scrubbed so hard that the wood in the middle was almost white. The dresser behind was stacked with plates and glasses. There was no mess . . . nothing that made it feel homely at all.
‘Ed.’
I spun round. Nico was standing beside the door on the far side of the room, beyond the long table. He opened it softly and peered round. ‘Come on,’ he said quietly. ‘There’s a corridor down here, with a door and a window.’
‘Nico, for goodness sake.’ My heart thudded. ‘That man told us to stay here.’
‘Lighten up, man,’ Nico made a face. ‘I’m just gonna take a quick look. I’ll be back before Senor Fussypants knows we were gone.’ He disappeared through the door.
Muttering angrily to myself, I crossed the room towards him. It was all very well Nico saying he was only taking a ‘quick look’. If Fernandez came back and found him gone, I could just imagine how much trouble we would both be in.
I reached the door and peered round it. Nico was standing in a gloomy corridor, staring out of a window onto an empty, shaded courtyard.
‘Come back,’ I hissed.
Nico shook his head. ‘We’ve got a second.’ He frowned, still staring out at the courtyard. ‘Where d’you think everyone is?’ he whispered.
‘Working, remember?’ I said.
‘Oh yeah. “The young people are doing their chores”,’ Nico said, in a fair imitation of Fernandez’ voice. ‘Don’t you hate being called that . . . young people? It’s so patronising.’
‘Nico, will you—’
‘Jesus, man, look!’ Nico held up his hand to silence me. ‘Look,’ he repeated, pointing through the window. A line of five or six kids – some about our age, others younger – were crossing the bleak stone courtyard, following after a thickset man with a snake tattoo down one of his arms.
The kids were dressed shabbily, though they looked clean. But there was something defeated about the way they were walking that sent a chill down my spine.
As we watched, one of the younger kids said something, and the man with the tattoo hit him across the head. The boy stumbled sideways, then carried on walking.
My mouth fell open. I moved closer to the window.
Nico sucked in his breath. ‘That doesn’t look like the young people doing their chores, does it?’
I shook my head, frowning.
We watched for a moment longer. As they reached the edge of the toilets in the centre of the courtyard, Tattoo Man struck another member of the group, a skinny girl with long dark hair. The girl fell to the ground. The man pointed to her trailing shoe lace and the girl knelt, meekly, to tie it.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Nico breathed. ‘What is this place?’
I glanced back into the Camp lobby. The front door was still firmly shut. I caught the echo of Geri’s high tinkly laugh in the distance. She and Fernandez must still be talking.
I took a deep breath and joined Nico by the window. From here I could see the whole courtyard. It was paved with large stone slabs and flanked on one side by what looked like a barn and on the other by a white building similar in style to the main house. Apart from the toilets in the centre, where the kids were now lined up, the courtyard was empty.
As we watched, Tattoo Man and the other kids vanished round the side of the toilets, leaving the skinny dark-haired girl in plain view, still struggling with her shoe lace.
Nico darted down the corridor to the door that led onto the courtyard. He yanked on the handle. Locked. He raised his hand in the gesture he uses to perform telekinesis.
‘What are you doing?’ I said, appalled.
‘Listen,’ he said, urgently. ‘If what we’ve just seen is typical of what goes on in this Camp, then we need to find out and tell Geri before she leaves.’ He twisted his hand. There was a click as the lock undid and the door sprang ajar. I stared, impressed in spite of myself. I’d never tell him so, but Nico’s telekinetic skills are pretty amazing to watch.
Nico pushed the door open and stepped into the courtyard.
I hesitated for a second, then followed.
The heat hit me hard. Even in the shade of the courtyard it was like stepping into an oven. I glanced round as we crept across the paving stones. No one at the windows. At least we wouldn’t be spotted from inside the house.
Nico had already reached the girl. She jumped as he touched her shoulder. He said something in a low voice while I ran past and peered round the side of the hut.
The other kids and Tattoo Man were gathered next to a ramshackle old VW bus, parked in the shade of a single tree. Next to the bus was a huge wooden well, with a fenced area beyond. This area was strikingly lush and green compared to the arid desert all around us. Tattoo Man was talking in Spanish. His speech was too rapid for me to catch any of the words, but he was clearly barking out orders.
I turned back to Nico and the girl.
‘Que?’ she was whispering. ‘Quien eres?’
Nico turned to me. ‘I don’t understand what she’s saying,’ he whispered.
I barely heard him. I was staring at the girl, transfixed. I wasn’t looking right into her eyes, obviously, but I’d already seen they were beautiful – a sea-green colour that stood out against her tanned skin. And it wasn’t just her eyes. She was beautiful. About my age, with a worried, oval-shaped face, a long nose and silky dark hair that curled onto her shoulders.
‘Ed,’ Nico hissed.
‘She asked who we were,’ I explained.
‘Ed,’ I said to the girl. ‘Me llamo Ed. Este es Nico. Y tu? Como te llamas?’
The girl was trying to look into my eyes, but I kept my gaze averted.
‘Luz,’ she whispered. ‘Me llamo Luz. You . . . Eds, English . . . please, help . . .’
‘What are you saying?’ Nico hissed beside us.
‘Just our names,’ I said. ‘She’s called Luz.’
‘Loos?’ Nico said.
‘Luz, donde eres?’ Tattoo Man shouted from round the corner.
Luz froze. Nico grabbed my arm with one hand and Luz’s with the other and dragged us into the WC marked Senors – the men’s toilet.
We stood in the narrow, dimly-lit corridor. A stench drifted out from the toilets that had to be just around the tiled corner.
‘Ask her what the hell’s going on here,’ Nico demanded.
A second later, a shadow fell across the doorway. I held my breath and pressed my back against the cool concrete wall.
‘LUZ, ven aqui!’ It was the man, even angrier than before. He swore in Spanish, then said something I just about understood about there not being time for a toilet break.
He thought Luz was in the ladies toilet next to this one.
Luz took a step towards the door. I grabbed her arm. I didn’t dare speak in case the man heard us. If I wanted to know what was going on here, I was going to have to mind-read her. I pulled Luz round until she met my eyes.
In a second I was inside her mind. People always freak when that happens the first time, and Luz was no exception. Her mind was jumping around, full of fear and confusion. Mind you, my own thoughts were jumping about just as badly.
Hola, I stammered – not knowing what else to thought-speak. It’s okay. Who is that man?
Que? Luz’s mind was still all over the place, her thought-speech tumbling out.
How this? A single strand of thought stood out above the rest: We must quick . . . Eds, English . . . you just come in camp, no?
Si. I tried to make my mind settle.
This place no es good. Senor Fernandez es bad man. You go. Tell persons . . . help . . .
Where are you going in the van?
Que?
Donde vas en el . . . el coche grand?
Damn it, why did my Spanish have to desert me now?
No se . . . I don’t know . . . Ed. Por favor. Ayudame.
Ayudame. Help me. My stomach turned over.
‘Luz!’ The man outside soun
ded very close. ‘Are you in the men’s toilet?’ he said in Spanish.
Need go, Luz’s thought-speech grew panicky. Help.
‘Ed, leave it,’ Nico hissed, right in my ear.
I will help, I promise. I broke the connection.
Luz burst through the door. We waited, holding our breath. I could hear the man yelling at her, then the slap of a hand, presumably making contact with Luz’s head. I raged silently at the thought of her being hurt.
A few more seconds passed, then Nico peered after her. ‘They’ve gone, come on,’ he said.
He slipped outside and raced across the courtyard. I followed, more slowly, a large part of me wanting to find Luz. I could hear the bus revving up round the corner.
What was happening to her? Where was she being taken?
And then a large hand clamped down on my shoulder and Senor Fernandez’ heavy, nasal voice sounded in my ear.
‘Only in camp five minutes,’ he said, ‘and you, Ed, are already in the deepest of deep shits.’
The adventure continues in The Rescue,
coming soon!
The Hostage Page 18
