by Louise Welsh
If Magnus ran now he might make it through the front gate and out into the streets beyond. The man raised the penknife in the air. Magnus fired the computer keyboard at the upraised hand. It dealt Jeb a glancing blow on the forehead that freed him from the smiler’s grip and knocked the knife from the other man’s grasp.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Jeb’s attacker lunged towards Magnus who picked up a discarded fire extinguisher, freed its safety catch and pulled down on the trigger, blasting the men with foam. Jeb was back on his feet, grappling with the fat man, but the foam made the tiled floor treacherous and he slid backward, pulling his opponent on top of him.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Jeb shouted. ‘This isn’t fucking Home Alone. Hit him with it.’
Magnus swung the extinguisher; it was heavy and he almost lost his balance, but he managed to right himself and deal the other man a blow on the side of the head. His descent, sure as Wylie Coyote’s after he had been hit with an Acme anvil, would have been comical were it not for the sickening crunch of metal against bone. Magnus retched, but his stomach was empty and all that came up was bile. The man groaned. The fingers of one of his hands fluttered. Magnus drove the fire extinguisher down again, like a crofter marking where he was about to begin digging turf. There was another stomach-turning crunch of bone and then the man lay still.
The fat inmate lost his grip on Jeb. ‘Fuck.’ He took a step backward, his eyes moving from Magnus to his friend lying still and bloodied on the ground, then back to Magnus again. ‘Fuck,’ he repeated. ‘Fuck,’ and made for the exit.
Magnus scanned the entrance hall, preparing for the next attack, but he and Jeb were the only people left standing.
‘Shit.’ Jeb leaned forward panting, his hands on his knees. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’
‘I don’t.’ Magnus was gasping for breath. ‘Do you think he’s … ?’
Jeb looked up. ‘Christ, that was a close one. I thought he had me there.’
Magnus held out his hands. They were trembling. ‘I think I might have …’
Jeb said, ‘You did what you had to do. You saved my skin and I saved yours.’
Magnus gave a crazy laugh. ‘What does that make us? Blood brothers?’
Jeb folded his penknife and slid it into his pocket. ‘It makes us even.’
There was a rumble of activity beyond the prison. Magnus looked towards the open gates and saw a flash of desert camouflage, a pale alert against the London brick.
Thirteen
‘We could pretend to be screws and show them our ID.’
Magnus kept his voice to a whisper, even though the wall they were crouched against was too far from the gate for the soldiers guarding it to hear them. His heart was still pounding from the fight in the entrance hall, but the fear that had stalked him since his arrest had vanished. The drab courtyard gleamed with colours he had never noticed before and the air made his skin tingle. Magnus’s eyes tracked a seagull flying high above. The sky was bluer than he remembered, the bird a soaring flash of white.
‘If they don’t believe us, it’ll be game over.’ Jeb was sorting through his pockets, examining the tangle of car keys he had lifted from the locker room. ‘I’m not getting banged up again.’
‘Going straight?’
Jeb glanced at Magnus. ‘That kind of comment could get you into trouble inside.’
‘Glad I managed to avoid trouble,’ Magnus whispered. He had a hysterical urge to laugh.
‘Save the jokes for later.’ Jeb was all business. He nodded towards the gates where a small group of soldiers stood, cradling guns. ‘It’s up to you what you do. I’m going to drive through them.’
Magnus took a deep breath. His bravery had been all adrenalin and it was wearing off. He felt tired and hungry.
Jeb said, ‘I’m not sure why these guys are hanging around instead of barging their way in, but my guess is that they’re not sure what they’re going to find inside and are waiting on reinforcements. We need to make our move now.’
It occurred to Magnus that he could hand himself in, throw himself on the mercy of the soldiers and take his chances. It was the phrase ‘mercy of the soldiers’ that decided him. The memory of news reports from Afghanistan and Iraq, film footage of men in orange jumpsuits being stretchered in chains into cages at Guantánamo Bay. He said, ‘How will we do it?’
‘Find a car, put the pedal to the metal and aim it at the gates. No finesse.’
‘What if they shoot?’
‘Duck.’ Jeb shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe we both end up with an extra bloody eye in the middle of our forehead. Are you up for it or not?’
This was how men landed in prison, Magnus realised, how he had got there himself, acting without imagining the consequences. He shook his head. ‘Probably not.’
‘Fuck you then.’
Jeb rose from their hiding place and ran the length of the wall, keeping his body low. Without thinking about what he was doing, Magnus followed. Jeb halted at a corner and peered round it. ‘I thought you were crapping out.’
‘I am,’ Magnus whispered. ‘But I can’t hide behind this wall for ever. There might be another gate.’
‘An unguarded exit?’
‘You never know.’
Jeb let out a snort. ‘The car park’s over there. Don’t make a show of yourself, if you’re following me.’
The clothes Jeb had chosen were shades of grey that melted into the urban landscape. Magnus glanced down at the mod T-shirt he had stolen from the locker room. The red and white target on his chest seemed like a poor choice now and he pulled up the zip of his hoodie to cover it.
Jeb turned the corner and sprinted across open tarmac to where ranks of cars were parked. Magnus plunged after him, thigh muscles singing with the effort of crouching and running. ‘They’ll probably shoot me in the arse and blow my fucking bollocks off,’ he muttered. But he made the shelter of the cars and hunkered down between a Mondeo and a Shogun. Jeb was flitting between the rows of vehicles, pointing one electronic key after another.
The Mondeo next to Magnus flashed its sidelights and gave an electronic chirrup.
‘Fuck.’ His voice was all breath.
Jeb jogged over, opened the driver’s door and slid inside.
‘Sure you don’t want to come along for the ride?’
‘I can think of pleasanter ways to commit suicide.’
‘Don’t jinx me.’ For the first time since they had sheltered in the art room Jeb looked nervous. He adjusted the rear-view mirror and fitted the key in the ignition. ‘You sit on your arse if you want. I’d rather take a chance than end up back inside.’
Magnus did not bother to contradict him. ‘Look.’ He pointed across the car park. ‘That’s our way out.’
The prison van was skewed across three spaces at the far end of the car park. It was long, with three small, high windows on either side, more like a large horsebox than a vehicle designed for ferrying men. Jeb complained that he didn’t have keys for it, that Magnus was making him lose time and that the van was ‘fucking impregnable’, but Magnus suspected that he was secretly relieved not to be facing a cordon of armed soldiers through the Mondeo’s wide windscreen.
Magnus pulled at the back door to the van, but it was locked tight. He skirted round to the front passenger side and Jeb took the driver’s door. Magnus tried opening his side.
‘Fuck, it’s locked.’
Even as Magnus said the words he heard the door on the other side click open and the horror in Jeb’s voice.
‘Jesus Christ.’
It was impossible to know how long the prison guard had been slumped in the well of the driver’s seat. But these were the hottest days of summer and it had been long enough to bloat the man’s stomach and putrefy his flesh. Jeb held his bloodstained sleeve against his nose and mouth.
‘No way, man, I am not getting in there.’
Magnus thought he saw something moving on the guard’s swollen belly. He turned and retched, holding a
hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. Bile stung the back of his throat. He breathed deeply, his hands on his knees bracing himself, and then straightened up, took off the brown hoodie and grabbed the dead man’s arm, using the cloth as a barrier between his flesh and the corpse’s.
The smell was worse than that of the Minke whale that had been beached when he was fourteen. A group of volunteers had tried for hours to get it back into the water but the beast’s radar was faulty, or perhaps it had been ill and wanted to die. Their efforts had failed. The next day he and Hugh had dared each other to climb up on its black mountain of a body. In the end they had done it together, the pair of them slipping and sliding until they reached its peak, standing triumphant until the gases in the whale had suddenly shifted, and they had tumbled off, laughing and swearing, sure that the creature had come back to life.
‘Worse than a whale’s fart,’ he muttered. The dead guard flopped to the ground and Magnus saw the white stuff wriggling in the rotting flesh more clearly. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Swearing helped. He dragged the man to one side, wiped the seat with the brown hoodie and dropped it on to the man’s face. ‘Rest in Peace.’ The van’s keys were resting in the ignition. Magnus turned to where his cellmate was crouched. ‘Do you want to drive?’
Jeb’s face was pale, but his voice had regained its edge. ‘Think you’ll go fast enough?’
Magnus nodded. ‘If there’s one thing island boys can do, it’s drive fast.’
He would have preferred to have been dressed in a prison guard’s uniform, but going back into the building to find one would take too much time and stripping the screw’s decaying body was out of the question. Magnus steered the van from its parking space. The cab smelled foul, but he kept its windows closed, even though he doubted that its glass was bullet proof. He glanced at Jeb. ‘Do you think the guy I hit with the fire extinguisher is dead?’
Jeb’s knees were folded tight, as if he were bracing himself for impact.‘Concentrate on getting us through the gate.’
‘I think maybe I killed him.’
‘Why would that bother you?’ Jeb took the penknife from his pocket and rolled it between his palms. Magnus remembered how the point of its blade had pierced an inmate’s neck, the arc of blood fountaining from the wound. Jeb said, ‘He was a piece of scum. He would have killed you, killed both of us, without blinking.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ It was a question Magnus would not have dared to broach before, but the closed-in silence of the cab and the waiting troops made it seem imperative.
Jeb pressed the point of the penknife against the palm of his hand, testing the sharpness of the blade or the elasticity of his skin.
‘There’s no point in thinking about it.’
They were crossing the forecourt now and the soldiers had seen the van. Their eyes were on the vehicle, their guns resting in their arms. Magnus drove slowly, hoping the van’s insignia would make them think it was on official business. He felt the pure calm that always washed over him as he stepped on stage and into the spotlight, the fear that clenched his bowels before performances banished in the knowledge that, for good or for bad, it would all be over soon.
Jeb hissed, ‘Speed up.’
One of the soldiers, a young man with fair skin and red hair, stepped forward. He held up his right palm. Magnus slowed the van and held up a hand in greeting. ‘Smile, don’t let them see you’re nervous.’
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jeb spoke through clenched teeth. His mouth was stretched into an expression that was more grimace than grin. ‘Put your foot down.’
‘Don’t worry.’
Magnus nodded at the soldier, one foot on the accelerator, the other on the clutch, keeping the van slow until they were almost at the main gate. At the last minute he pressed a hand to the horn and floored the accelerator. The van was slower to gain speed than he had expected and for one horrible moment he thought that Jeb was right, he had left it too late. Then he saw the soldiers diving out of the van’s path. He scraped the driver’s door against the gatepost, knocking its wing mirror off. Then they were out of Pentonville and into the streets beyond. Magnus turned the van left and let out a roar. He kept his foot to the floor, going as fast as he dared along the city street. Jeb squinted into the passenger-side wing mirror, looking to see if they were being pursued.
‘Anyone coming?’ Magnus asked.
‘Not so far.’
‘Stupid fucking squaddies, lock the gate if you want to keep folk inside.’
Magnus slammed his hands against the steering wheel, drumming out a victory tattoo, light-headed with the buzz of escape and freedom.
‘They were waiting on someone. That’s the only reason they’d have kept the gate open.’
It was as if Jeb’s words summoned the convoy. Two tanks flanked by soldiers turned out of a side street and drove towards them.
‘Oh shit.’ Magnus hit the brakes and slammed the steering wheel again, this time in frustration.
‘Keep calm.’ Jeb gripped Magnus’s arm. His fingers dug into the flesh, forcing him to pay attention. ‘They’re heading to the prison, not away from it. They might not know about us yet.’ He pointed to a side road. ‘Turn first right.’
Magnus did as he was told. He was still going too fast and the van swerved on to the wrong side of the road as he rounded the corner, but the street was deserted.
‘Okay,’ Jeb said, looking at the road behind them in the wing mirror. ‘Turn left at the end.’
Magnus obeyed him, taking the corner with more care this time.
He asked, ‘Are they behind us?’
‘No, I think we struck lucky. It looks like they weren’t interested in us. The squaddies at the gate mustn’t have radioed ahead.’
Magnus wondered if there were more bodies in the back of the van, prisoners who had never made it to their cells rolling from side to side, like slaves in the hold of a transport ship, each time he swung around a corner. That could have been his fate, locked in with men suffering from the sweats, watching them die one by one, and all the time being cooked alive inside the metal box.
‘Keep going.’ Jeb rolled his window down. Perhaps he was also wondering about the contents of the van, because he said, ‘We’ll ditch this fucking coffin asap.’
Magnus had grown used to the smell of decay inside the cab, but the fresh air blowing in through the passenger window was a relief. He opened the window on his side too and a breeze sprang in, ruffling his hair. They were alive.
Fourteen
It was only when he saw an old woman edging her way along the pavement with the aid of a Zimmer frame that Magnus realised what was wrong with the world beyond the van’s windows. The streets were too quiet for a sunny London afternoon. He said, ‘It’s too quiet.’
‘Not quiet enough.’ Jeb had been monitoring the road behind them in the wing mirror. ‘There’s a truck behind us.’
‘An army truck?’
‘No, a VW camper van full of page-three girls.’
Magnus put his foot to the accelerator. The streets were too small for the cumbersome vehicle and it was an effort to keep it on the road.
‘I thought you said you could drive.’
‘Lewis Hamilton couldn’t steer this thing any faster,’ Magnus said.
You are in a controlled zone, an amplified voice announced. Pull over and exit your vehicle.
Jeb said, ‘Keep going.’
Magnus glanced at the knife in Jeb’s hand and wondered if it would go to his own throat should he slow the prison van.
You are in contravention of martial law. The amplified voice was calm. Pull over and exit your vehicle or we will shoot.
There was a tight turn up ahead, an alleyway that they were never going to make. Magnus dropped down the gears. ‘I can stop and back up or we’ve got a choice between controlled crash and out-of-control crash.’
Jeb said, ‘Don’t fucking crash.’
‘Trust me.’
The knife hand twitched
. ‘I don’t trust you.’
We are prepared to fire.
Magnus increased their speed.
This is your final warning. Preparing to fire in five … four …
He heard Jeb fastening his safety belt and wondered that he had not fastened it before.
… three … two …
‘Hold on!’ Magnus skewed the van across the road, hitting the mouth of the alley sideways, blocking it with the cab of the van. The windscreen cracked and stayed miraculously in place, but both side windows shattered, spraying the interior with glitters of flying glass. There was a second dunt and the inertia-reel seatbelt tightened across Magnus’s chest, as the truck pursuing them made contact with the rear of their van. The windscreen of the cab gave way and fell in on them in chunks.
Magnus opened his eyes and saw Jeb already out of his seatbelt, his face potted with stabs of blood, as if he had been attacked by sharp-beaked crows. He touched his own face and felt heat and broken glass.
‘Come on.’ Jeb was almost on top of him, reaching towards the handle of the driver’s door.
‘Lock your side,’ Magnus said. ‘It might slow them down.’
He felt as if his brain had been shaken around his skull like a dice in a cup, but managed to open his own door and jump out into the blocked side of the alley. He staggered as he hit the ground and righted himself against the side of the van. Jeb followed quickly behind him. Magnus looked for the soldiers, but the army truck was out of sight somewhere between the back of the van and the wall of the alley. He had no idea how badly it, or the men inside, were damaged.
‘If this turns out to be a dead-end, then you’ve just given them a wall to shoot us against.’ Jeb shoved Magnus on the shoulder, reminding him of the need to keep moving and they started to jog towards whatever lay at the end of the alley.
Magnus said, ‘This is London, not New York. They won’t shoot us.’
‘I thought you came from Jockland, not another fucking planet.’ Tears of blood were running down Jeb’s face. His eyelashes glistered with shards of glass. He looked like a reluctant glam rocker, a bully boy drummer femmed up for the fans on his manager’s advice. ‘They announced on a loud fucking hailer that they were going to shoot us.’ Jeb spat on the ground. ‘Are you deaf as well as stupid?’
