by Jeff Povey
‘Cry from your glass eye.’
Which means there’s also no one to stop New-GG suddenly leaping up and climbing on top of a desk. ‘GG likes that rhyme!’ New-GG becomes animated, his eyes widening. ‘Cry from your glass eye.’
Sad-Ape tries to shut him out by putting his great hands over his large ears.
‘Cry,’ New-GG starts singing. ‘Cry from your glass eye.’ New-GG is now dancing some weird cancan, his pointy, shiny shoes flicking ever closer to Sad-Ape’s bowed head and face.
‘I thought you told me to leave him alone,’ I say.
‘I did.’ New-GG swings a foot dangerously close to the Ape’s head. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to.’
‘You’re new. You haven’t earned the right to make him cry.’ New-Carrie aims a challenging look my way.
‘Cry from your glass eye!’ New-GG sings, kicking his feet towards Sad-Ape. New-Lucas starts laughing and New-Billie sets her phone down and stares hard at the outrageous New-GG.
‘Leave him alone, GG.’
‘But I’m soooooooooo bored!’ New-GG tells her, dancing and kicking dangerously close to Sad-Ape’s head.
I hate what New-GG is doing but I also hate that their Ape is sitting there accepting it without a fight or even so much as a word or bellow. The New-Moth is pretending to be absorbed in his book, but I can see his eyes shifting back and forth to Sad-Ape. He looks uncomfortable, but he’s smart enough – or is it cowardice? – not to speak up.
‘You could take his eye out,’ I warn New-GG.
‘How do you think he lost the other one?’ New-GG laughs.
I turn to New-Billie and I can tell she feels awkward. ‘You going to stop this?’ I ask her.
She weighs me up then lowers her voice. ‘You know it makes no difference.’
‘That’s not how any Ape should be,’ I tell her.
‘Nothing makes a difference,’ she adds solemnly.
‘All day long no one does or says a thing,’ I plead with her. ‘All day it’s been like that, but now people are getting animated – and ugly,’ I add. ‘Why?’
I know all of the people in this room; I’ve fought and laughed with their exact copies and none of them would behave like this.
‘I don’t get it,’ I tell Billie.
She drops her eyes, won’t look at me. ‘You’ve got to find a release,’ she mumbles. ‘You’ve got to find something that’ll get you animated. Gives you a reason to have a heartbeat.’
‘That makes no sense,’ I tell her.
‘It will when you’ve been here as long as we have,’ she continues to mumble. ‘The pressure builds and it keeps on building and building until . . . ’ She trails off.
‘Until what?’ I demand.
‘Until something gives,’ she says simply. Then she glances at New-Johnson, takes him in as he lights another match then lets it drop to the floor. ‘Phone me,’ she says quietly, rising from her desk before leaving detention. ‘Or I’ll phone you. Deal?’
New-Billie hustles from the classroom before I can answer.
I glance back at Sad-Ape, a tiny frightened boy lost in a huge body.
‘Hey, you, you one-eyed boo-boo,’ New-GG sings. ‘Hey, you, you animal of the zoo.’
The toes of his pointy shoes are millimetres from taking Sad-Ape’s good eye out.
‘Hey, you, monkey boy. Hey, you, glass eye. Hey, you, cry baby.’
New-Lucas is now banging out a rapper’s beat on the table, like it’s a drum, syncing with New-GG’s song and his dance steps. ‘Hey, you!’ he sings.
New-Carrie starts bopping in her seat, her stick-thin stiletto body carves dance shapes that are all angles and sharp edges. ‘Hey, you!’
Sad-Ape cowers, but his good eye stays fixed on the swinging shoe. It’s as if he’s almost welcoming it, hoping it will dig deep into his eye socket and blind him forever.
‘Stop it!’ I yell.
But no one pays any attention.
‘Hey, you!’ New-GG sings.
‘Yeah, you!’ New-Carrie echoes.
‘Killa Gorilla.’
‘Stop!’ I’m on my feet now. New-Carrie tries to grab my arm, but I shake her hand away, giving her a venomous stare. ‘You really shouldn’t do that,’ I tell her. She doesn’t know what I’ve been through, the endless battles to survive, and if she thinks she can grab my arm again she’ d better be ready to have her wrist broken. What they’re doing to this Ape is killing me.
‘Hey, you!’ New-Lucas thumps out the rap, harder and faster.
‘Cry from your glass eye!’ I’ve no idea how New-GG hasn’t kicked Sad-Ape in the face yet.
New-Johnson, relaxing at the back, picks up his phone and starts filming the bullying.
‘Guys, c’mon,’ I plead.
The rhythmic drumming and dancing are making my head throb. New-Carrie has picked up New-Lucas’s beat and slams her tiny feet down on the floor in sync.
The New-Moth has stopped reading and now watches the relentless victimisation. He isn’t enjoying it, but he’s definitely not brave enough to try and stop them.
New-Lucas moves closer to Sad-Ape by picking up his table and chair and edging it across the classroom. Kangarooing it closer to the Ape.
That’s something else my Ape did. That’s his move!
New-Carrie picks up her desk and chair and copies New-Lucas as together they pincer themselves towards Sad-Ape. He has no escape as they sing and bang out the rap beat scraping their chairs and desks closer to Sad-Ape. Coming from all angles and hemming him in. Their voices grow louder.
‘Hey, you!’ they chorus.
I shove my chair back so hard it crashes to the floor.
New-Carrie gives me a dark warning look. But she’s nothing compared to what I’ve had to face recently. She’s a puff of air in comparison.
I move quickly, pushing between the converging chairs and desks, and, while one of New-GG’s feet is in mid-swing, I swipe his standing leg from under him. He crashes to the classroom floor and the song and the dancing and the kangarooing stop abruptly.
But I’m not stopping. I’m on the move. I grab Sad-Ape’s huge hands and try to tug him to his feet. ‘Get up!’
Sad-Ape barely reacts.
‘I said move it!’
His leaden, scared eyes meet mine. ‘It’s OK,’ he says quietly, resigned to his fate. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘Get up!’ I yell.
New-GG is already getting gingerly to his feet and New-Carrie and New-Lucas are helping him.
‘What a bitch,’ New-Carrie says.
‘Ooh, she’s a hot fiery one,’ New-GG comments.
‘Anything broken?’ New-Lucas asks him.
New-GG wiggles his right pinkie finger and he’s missing a long nail. He winces in exaggerated agony. ‘D’you think I’ll live?’
I drag at Sad-Ape’s meaty arm. ‘Please, I’m getting you out of here.’
Sad-Ape finally rises to his feet, a deep frown on his brow. ‘Why?’
‘Seriously?’ I shout at him.
Behind me I hear a match strike and when I swivel round New-Johnson is showing me a burning match. His eyes meet mine through the flame and I think it’s some sort of a warning.
I lead Sad-Ape towards the door, expecting the others to descend upon me, but instead they start singing again.
‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey, you two.’
‘Hey, you two lovers.’
They start banging their desks in unison and stamping their feet. The only ones who don’t are the New-Moth and New-Johnson. New-Moth looks awkward, trapped between joining in or being outed as a non-believer. New-Johnson seems to have lost interest in the bullying and instead his mesmerising blue eyes are locked on mine. C’mon, Johnson, I think. Be the rebel, be the one who swims against the tide. This isn’t you. This isn’t any Johnson in any world. I know it. I can feel it. Inside him is the indomitable spirit of the boy who never obeys. The loner, the wolf, the motorbike king. C’mon, Johnson, show me you’re in th
ere somewhere. Give me a spark.
His eyes drop from mine.
Johnson, don’t look away.
He lights a cigarette and stares dolefully out of the window.
No!
I have no choice but to lead the big lump of frightened Sad-Ape out of the classroom and slam the door behind me. I have to stop and take some breaths so I can clear my head.
The singing and drumming echo down the long corridor, chasing us all the way down the four flights of stairs. The empty school reverberates with their bullying, but it gives me the chance to try and collect my thoughts as I walk Sad-Ape down the corridor.
‘You OK?’ I ask him.
‘No,’ he answers bluntly. Which shocks me as much as anything else that has just happened. No Ape would ever admit to that, not ever.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘That’s good.’
‘It is?’ he asks.
‘Means it can only get better,’ I tell him.
This world is the worst one yet. It may not kill you or swarm with violent, clawed monsters, but it does something different. It takes copies of people you’ve come to regard as your best friends and twists them into ugly facsimiles. But I’ve learned one thing from them: they are bitter, they are resentful because something happened. Something dark and bad is lurking or looming in this world. No one cares because, I think – and this is just a theory right now – it’s too late. It’s too late for everyone in this world. There’s no life here, just existence. And that worries me more than anything I have faced so far.
HELL’S A COMING
It takes a lot longer than you’d think to walk across seven fields. From a distance you weigh up those fields and you think that’s what, five minutes a field, so it’s thirty-five minutes in total. I have fallen over so many times that I doubt I have any skin left on my knees. The fields are mainly grass and crops, but unseen sticks and stones lurk silently and I swear I’ve tripped over and landed on every single one of them.
The Ape has Evil-GG slung over his right shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and Non-Lucas slung over his left. They’re weighing him down, but I think he sees it as a test of physical strength so he marches through the fields in defiance of their combined weight and the pressure they’re putting on his cracked ribs. He has no quit in him.
It’s almost pitch-black by the time we come across the railway line that leads from my town all the way into King’s Cross. The Ape is the first to see it and his eyes light up. A train sits alone on the railway track.
Another train?
Really?
It can’t possibly be there. We didn’t pass another one on our way into London and I know for a fact that the line this one is standing on is the same line we rocketed down before we crashed into King’s Cross station. That train has to be a hallucination at best.
My shoulders are tingling again.
‘That train shouldn’t be there,’ I tell the Ape.
‘It’s there,’ he confirms.
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘It’s there,’ he repeats and points to add to his concrete assessment. ‘See. Right there.’
Yet again the conversation is going to go around in circles and I need to divert his one-thought-at-a-time mental process.
‘Think we could drive it?’ I ask.
‘Easy,’ he decides.
‘Then let’s get the doors open and load these three into a carriage.’
The Ape lets Evil-GG and Non-Lucas slip from his mighty grasp. They both land on their heads before flopping beside the steel wheels of the train.
I let go of Carrie and almost topple down with her because I’m so tired now. If I let myself, I’d gladly curl up into a ball and spend the rest of the night in a dreamy snooze. I try to listen for any noise coming from the battle in the tunnel. But the sound isn’t carrying as strongly as it did before. Either that or the fight is over.
The Ape presses the OPEN button on the nearest carriage door. Nothing happens. He presses it again. Same result.
I march down to the next carriage and try that instead. Still nothing.
The Ape tries the next carriage, but the doors remain firmly closed to us.
I look past the train and down the stretch of railway track that leads to our hometown. If nothing else, it will be easier going if we head straight down the line.
‘Let’s take five minutes, catch our breath, and then walk the rest of the way,’ I tell the Ape.
He presses the fourth carriage door button and it opens. This carriage also houses the driving compartment. He turns back to me.
‘You can walk, but I’m taking the train.’
The Ape turns back, collects Non-Lucas and fireman lifts him into the carriage. He does the same with Carrie and Evil-GG. Finally he climbs on board and I follow.
The lights aren’t on in the empty, silent train as the Ape tries the door to the driver’s compartment, but it won’t budge. He wrenches at the handle until it snaps off in his meaty paw.
‘Nice work,’ I mumble.
He looks at the handle and weighs it before turning on the door and kicking it as hard as he can. His boot rears up and smashes against the lock. Once, twice, three times. But the door doesn’t give.
‘I’ll try the driver’s door from the outside,’ I say. But he doesn’t hear me because all he can think is to batter at the door.
I head for the open carriage exit door only for it to hiss shut in front of me. I try the OPEN button but the door won’t budge.
This happened before when I found Billie on a Eurostar train. Right at the moment she was transforming into her hybrid self. She was decidedly unhappy when talons sprang from her fingertips and, quite naturally, it tipped her just a tad over the edge.
The Ape keeps hammering at the driver’s door while I look for the emergency carriage door release. I have to break open a plastic covering but after what I’ve been through nothing’s going to stop me and I’m through to the door release in a heartbeat. But even after yanking it so hard it almost comes off in my hand the door remains firmly closed.
The Ape is forced to take a breather because the driver’s door won’t open either. He turns to me and I can tell just from the way he’s now listening keenly that he knows there is trouble coming. His eyes find a carriage window, but it’s pitch-black outside and the light from inside fades two metres into the darkness. He stands and listens; he has incredible hearing, as he keeps telling me, so I fall silent and wait for him to pinpoint exactly what it is that’s bothering him.
His chest rises and falls. I know his ribs must ache, but he still shows no sign of pain.
He just listens.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
The Ape holds up a meaty hand, shushing me. He crosses to the window and lays one side of his head against the pane. His breathing calms as he listens.
I go towards him, leaning a hand on the top of a seat, but not realising that I’m actually gripping it tightly. So tightly my knuckles are white.
‘Ape?’ I barely breathe the word. ‘Is there something out there?’
‘There’s always something out there.’ He breathes quietly, his ear still planted up against the reinforced windowpane.
‘We need to run?’ I ask him. Even though I don’t think I can take a single step.
‘Or fight.’ The Ape isn’t keen on running.
‘How about we get into the driver’s cabin,’ I tell him. ‘Somehow. Will there be time?’
The Ape takes an age to listen to whatever he thinks he can hear outside in the darkness. Precious seconds are eaten up where we could be tearing through the driver’s door. But this is his way; he is the original immovable force.
Finally he climbs away from the window and his skin makes a sucking sound on the glass. I step back, freeing my fingers from the death grip I had on the top of the train seat.
The Ape backs all the way across the carriage and without warning he charges back across the aisle and hurls his entire overweight, flabby b
ody at the train window. He lands with all the might he can muster and crashes out through the window.
I reach the smashed window and for a moment I can’t see where he is.
‘Dazza?’ I scream-whisper into the night. I don’t know why I’m trying to be quiet after the racket he’s just made. ‘Dazza!’ I say louder.
I hear movement, a groan, and realise the Ape is still lying on the ground. Even in the dull sodium glare, I can see that his left shoulder has dropped wickedly to level with his chest practically. He’s dislocated it badly.
I instinctively pull the end of my sleeves over my hands and, trying my best not to cut them on the jagged pieces of broken glass sticking out from the frame, I launch myself out of the window.
I land awkwardly, go into a stumble, finding myself outside the glow from the carriage and suddenly in the pitch-black. I have to get my bearings and then turn back to the Ape. He is climbing to his feet, cradling his shoulder.
‘We’re out,’ he declares proudly.
‘Let me see that arm.’
‘Later.’ Then he looks round the side of the train before seeking out a large rock. He grimaces with each movement.
‘Just tell me what to do,’ I quietly hiss at him.
‘I got this.’
I grab the rock from him. ‘I’ve got it too.’
A rumble climbs through the night behind us. We both stop. As ever, the Ape was right. There is something out there.
‘Smash the driver’s window,’ the Ape tells me. Quietly. Calmly. All matter-of-fact, as if there’s no other reason for holding a rock other than to smash something with it.
I don’t need a second invite and race to the driver’s window and hurl the rock clean through it. Glass explodes everywhere and showers us in tiny shards.
‘Boost me,’ I tell the Ape, momentarily forgetting about his dislocated shoulder.
He offers his mighty and meaty good arm.
The rumble is growing louder. If it’s the Black Moths, then it means Johnson and Non-Ape have been defeated. So what chance do we stand?
‘I won’t be able to pull you up,’ I say to the Ape. ‘I need to fix your shoulder first.’
He shrugs with his good shoulder. ‘So fix it.’
