Counterstrike

by Peter Jay Black

  She froze. Standing as still as a waxwork.

  Jack rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m with you.’

  Charlie snapped out of her spell and nodded. ‘I know.’ She opened the door and they both stepped over a mountain of letters.

  Jack glanced down at them, but they all seemed to be junk mail. ‘No bills?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Charlie said. ‘Dad owned the building, so no mortgage. I’ve been using the money he left in his will to pay the electricity and council tax.’ She sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. ‘I just can’t let go yet.’ She flicked on a bank of switches and light flooded the space.

  They were standing in a large workshop filled with benches, welding equipment and tool chests. It reminded Jack of Charlie’s workshop at the bunker – there was a lot of stuff crammed in there, but everything seemed to be in its proper place – a kind of organised chaos.

  The air smelt stale, as though it had been sealed for hundreds of years, like a tomb.

  On the left-hand side of the workshop was an office, a kitchen and toilet. At the back were six cars under dustsheets and several motorbikes in various states of disrepair.

  Jack stared at it all – it seemed as if Charlie’s father would be back there at any moment.

  Charlie followed his gaze. ‘Dad used to teach me mechanics by taking stuff apart and telling me to put it back together. He said it was the best way to learn.’

  Jack nodded.

  Charlie had learnt mechanics from her father, and then a friend of Noble’s had helped her develop other skills in electronics and making gadgets. She had a gift for understanding how stuff ticked.

  Charlie’s eyes moved around the rest of the workshop and she suddenly stiffened as she stared down at the ground by the roller door.

  The rest of the floor was dirty, but one patch had been wiped clean, revealing the grey-painted concrete beneath. The patch was a couple of metres in diameter and it didn’t take much imagination to work out why someone had had to scrub the floor clean.

  Charlie wobbled on her feet and Jack caught her under the arm. He guided her to the office and sat her in the chair behind the desk, before hurrying to the kitchen, filling a mug with water and taking it back to her.

  As Charlie sipped, her colour returned.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault.’ He glanced at the workshop. ‘Look, we’ll just have to find another way to do this.’

  ‘No.’ Charlie bowed her head, taking deep breaths. Finally she looked up again. ‘I’ve never told you what happened, have I?’

  Jack sat on the edge of the desk. ‘No.’

  Charlie stared at the cup in her hand as she spoke. ‘It was a normal day. A Wednesday. I was at school.’ She sighed. ‘At twenty past three I ran back here because Dad had promised to take me go-karting. They’ve got this proper good indoor racetrack just outside London. It’s got a tunnel, a bridge and all sorts. I even broke one of their karts once by going round a corner too fast. Sheered off a wheel.’ She took a breath and closed her eyes. ‘Anyway, when I got to the end of the road here, the whole place was swarming with cops.’

  ‘Did you know it was your dad?’

  ‘I knew,’ Charlie said. ‘So there I was, trying to get past the police line, and I see them wheel Dad’s body out on a stretcher, all wrapped up in black plastic.’ Charlie looked at Jack. ‘I remember screaming. Next thing I know, some policewoman is talking to me, telling me it will all be OK. But it wasn’t OK, you know? It never will be.’

  ‘He’d been stabbed, right?’ Jack said in a quiet voice.

  ‘Some bloke called Josh Rickson did it.’ Charlie flinched. ‘Who does that? Who can just kill someone? Why can’t everyone just be nice to each other?’

  Jack agreed – though he knew the world didn’t work like that. ‘Did the guy ever say why he did it?’

  Charlie took another sip of water and set the mug down on the desk. ‘He said in court that Dad had fixed his car, charged him two hundred quid, but a day later it had broken down again. He said Dad had tried to con him, but he’d never do that. Never.’ Charlie fixed Jack with an intense expression. ‘Dad was one of the good guys. But even the jury decided he was guilty. Rickson said that Dad started it. He said that when he went to confront him, Dad threw the first punch and threatened his life. He said he stabbed Dad in self-defence.’

  ‘If that’s true, then why did he have a knife on him?’

  ‘It was only a penknife. It’s legal to carry.’

  Jack shook his head. ‘But the guy went to prison though, right?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s there now. Probably laughing. He’ll get out soon. He got a lighter sentence because the jury believed him.’ Charlie’s eyes intensified. ‘Dad was branded a criminal forever. They believed a murderer, Jack. Why did they do that?’

  Jack shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I just wish I’d been able to prove them all wrong, clear Dad’s name. I think about it every day.’ Tears formed in Charlie’s eyes. ‘If I could invent anything in the world, it would be a time machine.’ She clenched her fists. ‘I’d go back. And even if I couldn’t stop that lunatic killing my dad, I’d get the evidence to prove he was a lying scumbag.’

  Jack knew that feeling well – he also wished she could make a time machine because he’d travel to the night of his parents’ car crash and do something to stop it from happening. He sighed. But he knew there was no such thing as time travel, and if you wanted to put something right, all you had to go on was the here and now.

  Slowly an idea formed in Jack’s mind. Like most of his ideas it was crazy. But still, it was worth a shot. Although Charlie wouldn’t be happy if she knew what he was planning.

  He looked at her and tried to keep his face neutral. If she for one minute suspected what he had in mind, she’d stop him. In fact, she’d be mad that he’d even thought of the idea in the first place.

  No, he’d have to do this in secrecy. Which was hard, because Charlie always saw through him.

  Best poker face, he thought.

  She couldn’t find out.

  She mustn’t find out.

  To Jack’s relief, Charlie was still lost in her own thoughts. Finally she got to her feet. ‘Come on.’

  Jack stood. ‘Are you really sure you want to do this?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK now. The past is the past, right?’

  Jack shrugged.

  Charlie walked back into the main workshop and he followed her. She grabbed a large red tool chest and wheeled it over the patch on the floor, at least partly obscuring it. Next she turned to the cars under the dustsheets at the back of the garage.

  She muttered something under her breath and walked over to the one second from the left and yanked off the sheet.

  Underneath was a Ford Escort with faded and rusty blue paintwork. One door was off, leaning against the side of the car.

  ‘Are you sure this is the same car?’ Jack asked her.

  Charlie glanced at him. ‘That’s exactly the same as the security guard’s.’

  Jack frowned at the wreck. ‘But his is red.’

  ‘I know.’ She nodded at the car in front of them. ‘I can sort that. Like I said – I can’t touch his car without him knowing.’

  Jack stared at her. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ He waved a finger at the car. ‘This piece of rubbish? You can get this to look like his car?’

  ‘It’s our only option at such short notice, Jack. Even if we could find a red one that matched, no one’s gonna sell a bunch of kids a car. Besides, it could take ages to find. We don’t have ages, do we?’

  Jack couldn’t argue with that.

  ‘We could ask Noble though,’ he said, still frowning. Noble was their mentor and one of the few adults they trusted. ‘We can see if any of his contacts could get us a car that looks the same.’

  ‘I’d still have to modify it.’ Charlie lifted the bonnet and peer
ed inside. ‘Oh, wow.’

  Jack looked over her shoulder and his eyes widened. ‘I’m no mechanic, Charlie, but isn’t there supposed to be more to an engine than just that?’

  Parts of it were missing, leads were disconnected, pipes had giant holes in them, and the whole lot was covered in a thick layer of brownish muck.

  Charlie closed the bonnet and walked around the back of the car.

  ‘How long will it take you?’ Jack asked.

  She blew out a puff of air, like every good mechanic should do. ‘A few days. I’ll have to work night and day though. Not a simple job.’

  Jack nodded slowly. ‘No kidding.’

  A few days was all the Outlaws had left to get into the Facility, so what choice did they have?

  ‘I’ll get started,’ Charlie said, taking off her jacket and rolling up her sleeves.

  Jack looked back at the office. ‘Do you mind if I borrow a pen and paper?’

  ‘Help yourself.’ She walked to a bench and started arranging tools.

  Jack entered the office and sat at the desk. He opened a drawer, took out a notepad and pen and scrawled a quick note. He tore it from the pad and slipped it into his pocket.

  He then sat there a while trying to work out if there was a better way to do this too. Another option?

  Drawing a blank, he stood and walked back into the workshop. Charlie was examining the hinges on the car door.

  ‘Are you all right for food and drink?’

  ‘I’ll pick up some supplies from the bunker later.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Jack said. ‘One of us will drop something round to you.’

  Besides, he thought, that car will need every second of her attention.

  ‘Thanks, Jack.’ Charlie continued to inspect the hinges.

  ‘See you later then.’

  She looked up at him. ‘Oh, do you need a lift back to the bunker?’

  ‘Nah, I’m OK.’ Jack forced a smile and walked to the door. He glanced back at Charlie a moment, then stepped outside.

  Jack pulled his hood up, turned right and hurried down the road, heading towards the Thames.

  A few minutes later he crossed Vauxhall Bridge, and as he turned right his mobile phone beeped. Jack pulled it from his pocket and looked at the display. It was a message from Obi, saying that another nine cars had left the oil refinery and that he’d recorded all of their number plates. Only problem was, there was still no way to tell what level of the Facility each person worked on.

  Jack replied to Obi, then sent a text to Noble asking if they could meet. A reply came a few seconds later and Noble said he was on his way home and would let Jack know the moment he was free.

  Jack slipped the phone back into his pocket and a few minutes’ more walking led him to a dilapidated warehouse in an old industrial estate.

  He stared at the door, running through all possible scenarios. The problem was, each idea he thought of didn’t end the way he wanted.

  Story of his life at the moment.

  Jack reminded himself that if the other Outlaws found out what he was contemplating, they’d be furious with him too. He let out a breath. Perhaps he needed more time to think about it, to mull it over. Maybe he’d missed something and there was another way.

  Besides, his planning wasn’t going very well at the moment and they were running out of time. He needed every spare moment to work out how to get past the Facility’s security. Perhaps now wasn’t a good time to take this new task on.

  Yeah, I’ll have to come back another time.

  Jack turned from the door and started to walk away.

  ‘Looky, looky,’ a voice said from behind him.

  Jack turned back.

  The door was now open and a skeletal, bald sixteen-year-old kid stared at him. In fact he had no hair at all, not even eyebrows, and he had a thick scar running across his neck.

  Jack’s stomach tightened. ‘All right, Skin?’ He tried to sound light-hearted, but his voice gave him away.

  Skin’s face cracked into a twisted smile, revealing yellowed gappy teeth. ‘Wacky Jacky. What you doin’ ’ere?’

  Jack sighed. ‘I came to see Talya.’

  ‘She’s not called Talya any more.’

  Jack’s brow furrowed. ‘What’s she called?’

  Skin glanced up. ‘Wait, she keeps telling me . . . err . . . ’ He looked at Jack. ‘Purse-something.’

  ‘Purse-something?’

  ‘Yeah, like . . . ’ Skin screwed his face up as if four of his five brain cells were struggling to remember. ‘Purse . . . phone?’

  ‘Persephone?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ Skin said, his face lighting up. ‘Persephone. That’s Talya’s new name.’

  ‘Right.’ Jack rolled his eyes. ‘Ego much?’ he muttered.

  ‘What you say?’

  ‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll come back another day. Sorry to disturb you.’

  Skin’s smile slipped from his face and his eyes narrowed. ‘Get in ’ere. I’m sure Persephone would be disappointed if she ’eard you’d stopped by and not even said ’ello.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll –’

  Skin pulled back his shirt, revealing a large knife tucked into his belt. ‘I said get in ’ere. You know me, Jacky, I’m not one for “pleases” and “thank-yous”.’ He opened the door wide. ‘Now.’

  With reluctance, Jack edged past Skin into the building, where it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior.

  Shards of light pierced the darkness through holes in the roof.

  In the top left of the vast space was a projector screen with sofas in front of it and Jack could make out the backs of kids’ heads as they sat there watching a horror movie.

  Next to them were several metal barrels made into makeshift barbecues and a group of boys were cooking sausages and burgers.

  The rest of the warehouse was filled with tents – all except the back, where two double-decker buses were parked next to each other. A bridge connected the upper decks and a rickety lift was fixed to one side.

  Jack heard the jangle of money and looked to his right. There was a desk with two kids sitting behind it.

  Other kids were emptying their pockets.

  There were wallets, jewellery, cash, coins, rings . . .

  The first kid behind the desk examined the stuff with an eye loupe, then separated it into different shoeboxes, while the second recorded the takings on a notepad, then gave the thieves a percentage.

  ‘Nice haul, Bingo.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Bingo couldn’t have been much older than Wren.

  The kid behind the desk handed Bingo a couple of ten-pound notes. ‘Go get yourself some nosh.’

  Bingo scuttled off.

  ‘Are you coming or what?’ Skin said.

  Jack snapped out of his gaze and followed him to the right-hand double-decker bus.

  Skin stopped at the door and shouted up the stairs to the top level, ‘Persephone?’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Skin.’

  ‘I said don’t disturb.’

  ‘You’ve got a visitor,’ Skin said.

  There was a pause. Then, ‘Who?’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Jack who?’

  Skin looked at Jack. ‘What’s your last name?’

  Jack let out a breath, looked up the stairs and called out, ‘It’s Achilles.’

  There was another pause. Then the voice said, ‘Skin, you checked him for weapons?’

  Skin winced. ‘Course I ’ave. What d’you take me for?’ He quickly looked Jack over and seemed to decide he was clean.

  ‘Come on up then,’ Talya said.

  Jack followed Skin up the stairs.

  The top floor of the bus had several armchairs, a TV and even a small library in one corner.

  Dance music thumped from a speaker.

  Next to a writing desk was a kid in a wheelchair. She too was sixteen, with short spiky hair and a crooked nose.
>
  ‘Hey, Talya,’ Jack said.

  Talya let out an annoyed breath. ‘Didn’t Skin tell ya?’

  ‘Tell me what?’

  ‘My name’s Persephone now.’

  ‘Yeah, he told me.’

  ‘Persephone. Goddess of the underworld,’ Talya said, lifting her chin. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘She was Hades’ wife,’ Jack said. ‘It’s from Greek mythology.’

  ‘I know where it’s from. I ain’t stupid. And I ain’t no one’s wife.’ Talya gestured to an armchair opposite her. ‘Sit.’

  Jack sat down.

  ‘So, how’s things been?’ Talya asked.

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Just OK?’ Talya winked at Skin. ‘I ’eard things are way better than OK for you. I ’eard that you’ve got a gang.’

  ‘It’s not a gang.’

  ‘What is it then?’ Skin asked.

  Jack kept his focus on Talya. ‘We’re a family.’

  Talya laughed. ‘Family? Are you kidding me? You should know better than to call them your family.’ She leant forward. ‘Now I know you have another weakness. Never tell people your weaknesses, Jack.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Skin said, laughing. ‘Don’t tell people your weakness.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Talya snapped.

  Skin instantly fell silent.

  ‘Right then,’ Talya said, straightening up and looking at Jack again. ‘So you’re ’ere. Why?’

  ‘I need a favour.’

  Talya stared at him. ‘A favour? What kind of favour would that be?’

  Jack reached into his pocket.

  Skin leapt forward and pressed a knife to his cheek. ‘Careful,’ he snarled.

  Jack slowly pulled out the folded piece of notepaper and held it out to Talya.

  She took it and Skin stepped back.

  ‘What’s this?’ Talya asked.

  ‘Read it.’

  She grinned. ‘This is so mysterious, Jack. You’ve got me all intrigued ’n’ whatnot.’ She unfolded the notepaper and started to read.

  As the seconds passed, Talya looked more and more surprised.

  Finally she returned her attention to Jack. ‘Are you serious?’

  Jack nodded.

  Talya considered him a long moment. ‘If I get this done, I’m gonna owe a lot of people a lot of favours. And I don’t like owing people favours. You get me?’ She glanced away, then looked at Jack again. ‘This last bit,’ she said, pointing at the notepaper. ‘That bit you wrote at the end, right there. You serious ’bout that too?’