by Blake Jon
“What’s your names?” he asked, turning down the radio.
“I’m Dale,” said Kris. “This is Susan.”
I smiled weakly, unable to give Kris the kick he deserved.
“Susan?” said the driver. “That’s an unusual name.”
“She’s an unusual person,” said Kris.
“Can’t you speak for yourself, love?” said the driver.
“Obviously not,” I replied.
“I’m Finn,” said the driver. “Finn the van man.”
“All good, Finn,” said Kris.
Finn cruised smoothly into the outside lane. Kris watched every move he made at the controls with fierce concentration.
Then Finn nodded at Feela’s box. “What you got in there then?”
“Ferret,” said Kris.
“Oh, aye,” replied Finn. There was a few seconds’ silence. It was to be the last relaxed seconds of the journey. “I used to keep ferrets,” he added.
“Cool,” said Kris. At the same time, he shot me a glance which said, Oh shit.
“Is it a jill?” asked Finn.
“It’s called Ferry,” I replied.
“No, a jill!” said Finn. “You know, a female.”
“Oh … um …” I stammered,
“Why d’you think that?” asked Kris, quickly.
“’Cause it don’t smell much,” said Finn.
“You know your stuff,” said Kris. “Yeah, it’s a jill.”
“Got a hob for it?” asked Finn.
The only hob I knew was for cooking, and he couldn’t mean that—could he? Maybe it was best to let Kris field the questions.
“Think that’s a good idea, do you?” said Kris.
“Got to have a hob, ain’t she?” said Finn. “Die without a hob. Less she’s spayed, of course.”
“Had one die, have you?” asked Kris.
“Me?” replied Finn. “No, not me. I know ferrets. But I knew a guy once, his jill went into heat, kept her locked up for a month—didn’t want no kits, see? Went toxic and bit the dust.”
“That’s sad,” I said.
“So, you got a hob, have you?” asked Finn.
“Nah,” said Kris. “She’s spayed.”
“Wise man,” said Finn. “Saves a lot of trouble.”
By now the light had completely faded. We were speeding down the quadway at 150 kph, as if in a dream, but one you weren’t in control of, one which could go horribly wrong at any moment. Finn seemed nice enough, but there was a hard look in his eye, an illegal stun-stem under the dashboard, and a war magazine on the shelf behind me. I placed my hand on Feela’s box for comfort.
“So,” said Finn. “What d’you feed her?”
Kris shrugged. “You know,” he said. “The usual.”
“Oh, aye,” said Finn. “What’s that, then?”
“Come on,” said Kris. “You know what ferrets eat.”
“I know what I think a ferret should eat,” replied Finn. “But other people got their own opinions.”
“Such as?” asked Kris.
“Mate of mine fed his ferret dog food,” said Finn. “Swore by it.”
“He’s in good company,” said Kris. “That’s what we use.”
There was a short silence. “And she’s all right on it, is she?” asked Finn.
“Fine,” said Kris.
There was another short silence. “How long you say you had her?” asked Finn.
Kris turned to me. “How long is it now, Sue?” he asked.
“Couple of years,” I grunted.
Finn said nothing, but checked me out in the mirror. I looked away. Finn turned up the radio and sang along under his breath. The conversation seemed to have ended. We made a few more kilometers, then Finn yawned.
“Time for a break,” he said.
A truck stop was just ahead. Finn pulled on to the sliproad and parked up amongst the other monsters. “Come on, kids,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll get you a coffee.”
“I’ll stay here, thanks,” I replied, my hand still on Feela’s box.
“Uh-uh,” said Finn. “Sorry, love. I can’t leave you here with all the stuff I’ve got. No offense, but you can’t be too careful these days.”
Reluctantly, I left Feela and followed Finn and Kris out of the truck, across the black tarmac glistening with drizzle, into the strange lost world of the truck stop with its fake food outlets and its sinister rest cupboards. Finn led the way into the Old London Deli, bought the coffees, then sat himself opposite us, his giant hairy forearms dominating the table.
“What’s the game then, kids?” he said.
“What do you mean?” asked Kris.
“That’s not a ferret in that box,” said Finn.
“Yes it is,” I replied unconvincingly.
Finn gave something between a snort and a snigger. “No one in their right mind feeds a ferret dog food,” he said. His hard, flat-top eyes scanned first me then Kris. We made no reply. “Ferret’s a predator,” said Finn. “Eats every bit of an animal. Guts, organs, cartilage, bone. You feed it just meat and it’ll die of malnutrition.”
“We don’t just feed it dog food,” said Kris, but Finn wasn’t interested.
“So what you really got in there?” he asked.
“Ferret,” said Kris.
“Let’s think,” said Finn. “An animal small enough to go in that box … but one which you got to lie about to get a lift. I can only think of one animal that fits that description.”
By now my face had letters of fire written across it, and those letters spelled GUILTY.
“Where d’you get this cat then?” asked Finn.
“What cat?” asked Kris.
“Just found it,” I replied.
Kris looked daggers at me, but there was no point in lying any more. And anyway, Finn was a kind of pirate of the road, an outsider, a man with an illegal stun-stem who maybe didn’t think much of the law. With any luck, I thought, he might be sympathetic.
How wrong I was.
“I really ought to turn you in,” said Finn. “But as I like you, I’ll offer you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” asked Kris.
“Like I said, I’ll take you to Booth City,” said Finn. “Except now, it’ll cost you a grand.”
“A grand?” said Kris. “Are you joking?”
Finn rose up in his seat and moved threateningly towards Kris. “Listen, son,” he said. “If I do my public duty and turn you in, you’re looking at ten years in a youth detention center and an ID tag for the rest of your life. You should be grateful I’m so generous.”
“We haven’t got a grand,” I protested.
“I don’t believe you,” said Finn.
“Why do you think we’re hitching a lift?” said Kris.
“’Cause you can’t use the bloody rail, that’s why!” said Finn. “Think I’m stupid?”
“We could maybe afford fifty,” I suggested.
Finn snorted with derision. “Hand us your ID cards,” he said. “I’ll find out how much you can afford.”
My hand moved instinctively to my bag. No one was going near my ID card.
“We need to talk about it,” said Kris.
“You got five minutes,” replied Finn. “I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Come on, Jade,” said Kris, getting up.
“Don’t you mean Sue?” said Finn with a smirk.
Kris led the way out of the diner and through the concourse to the side door. He gave a quick glance back towards Finn then faced me with an urgent expression. “You wait two minutes then go back and say I’m in the toilet,” he said. “I’ll go around the back way to the truck and get Feela.”
“How?” I asked.
Kris held up a smartkey. “Can’t be too careful these days,” he said.
I was shocked. Stealing was wrong, that was always drummed into me. But to Kris it seemed as normal as breathing.
“What’ll I do when he sees Feela’s gone?” I asked, getting very f
rightened.
“Don’t go back to the truck with him. Say you need the toilet as well. Meet me back here and we’ll leg it through them woods.”
Kris nodded towards the trees at the back of the truck stop. It wouldn’t be hard to get lost in there, I thought. But after that?
“I’m scared,” I said.
“Just do it,” replied Kris.
Kris turned and walked towards the exit. Without thinking any more about it, I went back to face Finn. But the moment he caught sight of me without Kris, things started to go wrong. He leaped out of his seat and raced full-tilt from the diner as the other customers gawked in amazement. I chased after him and reached the car park just in time to see Kris emerge at the other end of the building.
Kris had no chance. Finn had fifty meters on him. And just as he reached the truck, to my utter dismay, it became apparent Finn had another key. As Kris raced hopelessly towards him and I screamed at the top of my lungs, the monstrous beast-truck lit up like a fairground, and before my horrified eyes drove off into the night, with Feela a helpless passenger.
I just cried.
“What the hell did you do?” said Kris as he arrived, panting for breath.
“I did what you said!” I blubbed.
“Crying ain’t gonna help,” said Kris.
“I’m not crying to help!” I blathered. “I’m crying …’cause he’s got Feela!”
Another belt of emotion hit me. The sobs came like heaving waves.
“Yeah, well,” said Kris. “When you’re used to knocks …”
I turned on him in disbelief. “My mum’s just died!” I cried.
Kris buttoned it. For a moment I thought he was going to put an arm around me, but it was a vain hope.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get after him.”
“What?” I gasped. “How?”
Kris opened his phone. His thumb punched away as his keen brown eyes focused hard on the screen. “I put a tracker on Feela’s box,” he said. “We should be able to pick it up on Earthline.”
Kris tapped away some more, swiveled the C-wheel, then smiled.
“Got him,” he said. “Just check the likely destinations.”
I dried my eyes.
“OK,” he said. “Let’s get a train.”
“What’s the point of that?” I said. “They never run on time, if they run at all.”
“We’ll get a bullet,” said Kris.
“That’ll take all our credit!” I protested.
“Then we’ll get more,” said Kris. “Come on.”
Chapter Eleven
It wasn’t easy for me to step into that bullet pod. I’d overcome my fear of them because I had to, but I could never forget the day we heard what had happened to Dad. How I’d clung to Mum that day and prayed that nothing would happen to her, except I didn’t really pray, because God was dead too, as far as I was concerned. Far better to believe he didn’t exist than to believe in him and hate him, or her, or it, except everyone knows that God’s a man really, and a typical one at that.
Anyway, they said they’d improved the design of the pods since the accident, and I did choose to believe this, because very senior people in the government said it. Unlike Kris I still believed there were people up there who were trying their best for us.
Kris barely seemed to notice we were in the pod, or the fantastic speed at which we were traveling. His eyes were still fixed on his phone.
“He better not hurt Feela,” I said.
“Why should he hurt her?” said Kris. “He wants to sell her.”
“Do you think that’s what he’ll do?”
“Of course he will!” said Kris. “That’s guy’s got con man written all over him. Ah! Got him!”
Kris tapped furiously at the phone. “He’s stopped,” he said. “J42.”
We both glanced upwards at the list of stops for the bullet. J42 was after the next one. Kris programmed the pod to stop there.
“But what are we going to do if we find him?” I asked.
“I’m going to fight him,” replied Kris.
“Are you joking?” I said.
“He’s a macho man,” said Kris. “He won’t turn down a fight.”
“Kris,” I pointed out. “He’s twice as big as you.”
“But I’m trained in tae kwon do,” replied Kris.
I viewed Kris’s lean arms and slender frame. He was wiry and maybe stronger than he looked, but Finn had arms and legs like knotted iron. Tae kwon do or not, he could swat Kris into the middle of next week.
“This is stupid,” I said.
“Got any better ideas?” asked Kris.
“There must be something better than fighting him,” I said. “Besides,” I added, “I’m a pacifist.”
Kris screwed up his face in disgust. “A pacifist?” he snorted. “What’s the point of being a pacifist?”
“If everyone became a pacifist,” I said, “we’d have world peace.” I knew it sounded lame the moment it was out, but it was too late. Kris seized on it like a ravenous dog.
“It’s not going to happen, Jade!” he growled. “Wake up! It’s not going to happen.”
“It could happen,” I protested. “Anyway, I believe in setting an example.”
“What of?” sneered Kris. “Someone who likes getting their butt kicked?”
I smiled lamely.
“You saw what Comprot did to get your cat,” said Kris. “What if they’d found her and put a gun to her head?”
“They didn’t,” I replied.
“Thanks to me,” said Kris. “But what if they had?”
“They didn’t,” I repeated. “I’m not getting involved in arguments about things that never happened.”
Kris snorted. “That’s a cop-out,” he said.
“I just hate violence, OK?” I cried.
“Then don’t watch,” replied Kris. He stood up, sprang into a combat position, and performed a series of quick, twisting punches.
What was going through this strange boy’s mind? Was this a serious attempt to get Feela back, or just some pathetic shot at proving himself as a man? Sure, he looked like he knew something about this tae kwon do—you could tell that from the precision of his movements. But if he really thought he was going to beat Finn he was living in a movie.
The pod went into a powerful deceleration and stopped. J42. We got off. Kris rechecked his phone.
“He’s at the nightmarket,” he said.
“Maybe he’s left Feela in the parking lot,” I suggested.
“I doubt it,” said Kris.
“He can’t sell an illegal cat at the nightmarket,” I said.
“You’d be surprised,” replied Kris.
We set off through a bleak industrial area, Kris practicing moves as he walked, giving me a running commentary on the art of tae kwon do.
“This is the cat stance,” he said, throwing his weight onto his back leg.
“Cats don’t stand on two legs,” I commented.
“Yeah, but the back legs are where the power is,” replied Kris. “The back legs give the purchase. The front ones do the damage.”
Kris punched a quick onetwo, then swiftly kicked the air, missing me by a whisker.
“I hate this,” I said.
“What are you worrying about?” said Kris. “You don’t have to do a thing.”
“I hate that, too,” I replied.
“See, when a cat fights,” said Kris, “every ounce of its strength is concentrated on the point of impact.”
“I’m not listening,” I replied.
“Mind and body are one,” said Kris.
“Kris,” I said, “he’s going to kill you.”
“Shut up, will you?” said Kris.
It was the first sign that Kris was more nervous than he was letting on. I let it go. Up ahead, a bright halo of orange light gave the first indication of the nightmarket. As we moved forward, gradually, like the morning sun, a glowing dome appeared above the other buildings. My heart l
eaped as I saw a row of trucks stretching off into the distance. Despite Kris’s warnings, I found myself running towards them, desperately searching till I found the beast which had carried my cat away.
Kris was right. The cab was empty. Feela was inside the market and, if we were unlucky, already sold.
Chapter Twelve
It was a typical nightmarket, a horrible place, full of obsessed people with euro signs in their eyes. The main dome was divided into twenty or so circular carousels, with a giant screen above them all, and individual screens beside each presentation spot. Eye-bots were everywhere, like giant, silent bluebottle flies. One even came to meet us and stared for a moment with its blank white eye, as if we were up for sale as well.
We moved through the market, eyes peeled for the man who’d stolen Feela. But most of the men there were truckers, and it was hard to tell one from the other.
And then we saw him. He was emerging from the dealer’s area with another man in tow. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the pet carrier hanging from his hairy fist.
Kris was over like a shot, puffed up like a swan, barring the way.
“Is he trying to sell you that cat?” asked Kris.
Finn and his customer stopped in their tracks.
“Because it’s not his cat to sell,” said Kris.
“It’s my cat!” I cried, catching up.
“He’s a thief,” added Kris.
“OK, son, that’ll do,” said Finn.
“I’ll fight you for it,” said Kris.
Finn laughed.
“Come on, big man,” said Kris. “I’ll fight you for it.”
Finn stopped laughing.
“Get out of here,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” said Kris. “Scared of fighting a kid?”
“I will fight you if you don’t shut up,” said Finn.
“Yeah, that’s what I want,” said Kris. “You and me, outside now.”
Finn turned to his companion. “Sorry about this, Des,” he said. “Picked these kids up earlier, they got sight of the cat, and … well, you know what kids are like these days.”
“Crazy,” said Finn’s companion.
“I’m waiting, big man,” said Kris.
