Escape

by Jeff Povey

  ‘Yeah, I’ll take the leather one,’ he laughs into his phone.

  What’s starting to dawn is that it seems every world I end up in doesn’t want me. The doppelganger world definitely wanted me dead. The empty world . . . well, that had a very good go at killing me on numerous occasions. And now in this world, this world that is just a small town in Hertfordshire and nothing else, is keen to despatch me. Because what if when my dad finds me he decides I’m far too much trouble and decides to do something about it.

  ‘I love you,’ my dad says into the phone. ‘We’ll go for a Chinese later.’ He ends the phone call and, even though I can’t see it, I know the door handle to the bedroom is being pulled downwards. He’s definitely coming in this time.

  The bedroom door opens.

  I might as well come out of hiding.

  Dad’s going to find me anyway.

  REUNION

  Rubble

  Glass. Stone. Concrete

  Dust billowing

  I’m imagining how Carrie would describe this in one of her poems. How the onrushing mass of ex-shopping centre stopped centimetres short of engulfing us. The dust covered us, but the rock and the rubble and cement never quite reached us.

  Black Moths no more

  But wait . . .

  What is that I spy?

  Is it hope?

  Oh, yes, she’d write it exactly like this. But maybe with a rhyme. Some Black Moths got away, but very few. They disappeared into the night and I really don’t care where they have gone. Though we did capture one that had broken limbs and a gaping chest wound.

  From the stone

  Emerges the one

  Who can save us.

  I am delirious.

  Oh, yes, that’s got Carrie written all over it. The thing with a Black Moth is it’s really just Moth Two from the violent world transformed into a panther. I’m hoping this one, when all is explained to it, and Another-Billie has healed its wounds, will be able to transform back into Moth Two. If not, Non-Ape can deal with it.

  And wait, who is that?

  A stranger?

  A friend?

  Is it danger?

  I could fill ten of her notebooks in about half an hour. This is so easy. Once you get rhyming.

  Johnson emerged from the shadows carrying our Moth. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was so much we all wanted to say but during the two mile walk back to the train station no one said a word.

  The Moth smiles.

  We smile at his smile.

  The train waits.

  None of us hesitates.

  The wounded Black Moth has joined Non-Lucas, Billie, Carrie, Evil-GG and Other-Johnson’s (well, Johnson’s body, but Other-Johnson’s mind, I suppose – it’s getting harder and harder to keep up!). The train is fast becoming the Cadaver Express. Non-Ape is back with his best pal, playing snap while they sing Iron Maiden’s ‘Run to the Hills’. Non-Ape is the hero of the hour, but he couldn’t care less, not when he can play snap instead.

  My Johnson is slumped with a lazy metal smile across from me in the first-class carriage. He has traces of cuts and bruises on his superhuman skin, but nothing life-threatening.

  ‘We were getting swamped by those gruesome Moths,’ he tells me. ‘No offence, Moth.’

  ‘None taken, Johnson.’ The Moth is sitting beside him.

  I’ll say it again and savour it. The Moth. My Moth.

  While Non-Ape fought the Black Moths in the tunnel, Johnson snuck away to try and find the Moth.

  ‘I just had a feeling he was OK and that he was nearby,’ Johnson had told me after our reunion. It seemed strange that he could sense the Moth, but I think maybe it was a residue from Johnson being in the wrong body. A hangover from Other-Johnson’s incredible mental powers that’s still lurking in his DNA.

  ‘The other versions of me took me to the shopping centre. I don’t know why though.’ The Moth had filled in the gaps, but then he frowned and looked even more shaken. ‘I don’t even like shopping.’

  ‘I barely got the Moth out of there before Non-Ape started punching the shopping centre to death,’ Johnson added.

  ‘Did they do anything to you?’ I asked the Moth.

  ‘Just squatted there, saying nothing, doing nothing. But if I tried to crawl they all leaped up as one, flashed their teeth, their talons.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you think? I stopped crawling.’

  I sighed quietly to myself. Ask a stupid question, Rev. ‘But they didn’t hurt you or try to kill you.’

  ‘No. They wanted me off the train and as far away from the rest of you as possible. At least that’s my theory.’ He frowned at that, as if trying to find a coherent thought that would explain everything to his muddled mind.

  Now, as we sit on the train rushing back to town, the Moth looks more troubled than ever. There’s clearly a problem he’s trying to get his brilliant brain around.

  I show him my dad’s dust-covered papers. ‘Salvaged these.’

  The Moth nods, but doesn’t take them.

  ‘Maybe later.’ He looks tired, exhausted.

  ‘We got Carrie,’ I tell him gently.

  His dull eyes brighten a little.

  ‘You found her?’

  I nod.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In another carriage. She’s going to need a bit of TLC.’ Which is the queen of understatements. ‘But once we get her healed—’

  The Ape hears this and thrusts a meaty finger into the air. ‘Healed!’

  The Moth barely notices because his heart has quickened. ‘She’ll be OK?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’ I smile through a cut and bruised jaw.

  The Moth is lifted for a moment and I tap the papers that now lie on the table between us. ‘We’re all going home.’

  Johnson meets my eyes. ‘Really think that’s finally going to happen?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I do,’ I tell him.

  He smiles again. ‘Can’t wait for the homecoming party.’

  It’s as simple an exchange as anyone can have, but somewhere in between the words, I know he’s telling me when we get back we – as in me and Johnson – are finally going to be together.

  The Moth falls silent and I’m not sure, but I think he’s doing calculations in his head; his lips are moving as he whispers to himself.

  GG’s voice erupts over the tannoy. ‘So where on earth am I going to go shopping now?’ He laughs.

  The joke brings a smile to each of our faces as the train trundles gently through the pitch-black night. The train that shouldn’t exist. The Moth sits up in his seat. We’ll have to find a wheelchair for him when we reach town.

  ‘Rev?’ he says.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Can’t believe what?’ I ask.

  ‘This . . . reunion. I don’t get how it can have happened.’

  ‘It just did,’ I offer.

  ‘We got lucky,’ Johnson adds.

  ‘SNAP!’ Non-Ape roars at the table opposite ours.

  ‘That’s not a snap.’ The Ape holds up two cards. ‘That’s a King and that’s a Jack.’

  Non-Ape takes a moment to study both cards. A moment that turns into a minute until he eases back, satisfied. ‘Jacks are young Kings.’

  The Ape turns the cards towards him. ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘Obvious.’

  ‘SNAP!’

  The Apes study the cards, their great wide foreheads touching as they pore over the Jack and the King.

  Non-Ape has grown small again, able to fit into the train seat with only a tiny amount of discomfort. He’s used up almost all of his power smashing the shopping centre to pieces.

  ‘So what exactly were they doing with you?’ Johnson asks the Moth. ‘All those ugly Moths. No offence. Again.’

  ‘Nothing. They just stood guard. I tried talking to them but they remained in their panther-like state the whole time. Like animals.’r />
  The very first Black Moth turned from a brainbox into a marauding animal when we first encountered him. We were on a train – we are always on trains – and he chased us down. He went from upright to all fours and morphed into a panther, sleek, black and murderous.

  ‘Billie created them,’ I tell him.

  ‘From what?’ asks Moth, looking confused.

  ‘Thin air.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Johnson backs me up.

  ‘Billie turns your fears into reality,’ I say.

  ‘But the Black Moths were real. I felt them; you felt them. You can’t make something out of nothing.’ His space brain is working overtime now. ‘Unless she’s the most dangerous person of all time. Being able to create matter just by thinking of it.’

  ‘I think they snatched you to stop you reading my dad’s papers,’ I tell the Moth. ‘I think Billie wanted to stay here.’

  ‘With me,’ Johnson adds.

  ‘But this world,’ the Moth says. ‘This world is empty. It likes being empty. And Billie is changing it, populating it. Just like we did when we were transported here.’ The Moth focuses on me again. ‘It wasn’t luck that there was a second train, or that we’re going home.’

  I glance at Johnson who looks as confused as I do.

  ‘Why was there a train at the station when there weren’t any others anywhere to be seen? Until now,’ the Moth asks without wanting an answer. ‘It appeared when we needed it the most.’

  ‘Maybe the thing to do is not question it,’ Johnson suggests.

  ‘You’re right. We shouldn’t question it. I don’t think this world wants anything but for us to leave,’ the Moth says.

  My shoulders ripple. A hint of fear slips through me.

  I wait for more.

  ‘It’s not meant for anyone,’ he continues. ‘This world is about order, not chaos. It even parks the cars nicely. Nothing is out of place. Not until we turned up, that is.’ The Moth takes a breath. ‘And now it’s going to spit us out.’

  ‘I’m all for being spat anywhere but here,’ Johnson offers.

  ‘But I’m worried it thinks we’re taking too long to leave. So if we don’t escape very – and I mean very – soon then it will step up its efforts.’ The Moth’s words are haunting.

  ‘Can’t you feel how restless it is? It’s like a dog whining at a door, getting more and more agitated. It’s like a dog with fleas.’

  ‘And we’re the fleas?’ I ask, even though I know we are, but I’m feeling a panic rising and talking seems to keep it at bay.

  The Moth nods. ‘We’ve contaminated it, and Billie’s weird power to create has infested the world. She’s made everything a hundred times worse. It’s not happy with us. It’s giving us everything we need to leave, so I say we get out of here as quickly as we can.’

  ‘You really think that this world has that sort of power? You can’t know for sure, Moth,’ Johnson argues.

  The Moth is convinced. ‘We all found each other again, Johnson, even after everything that’s happened. It’s too much coincidence to be luck.’

  ‘Well, that leaves one question then,’ Johnson says.

  But I beat him to it. ‘Just how much time do we have—’

  ‘—before this world ups its game and wipes us out.’ Johnson finishes my sentence.

  The words linger.

  The Moth stares out of the window again and spots our hometown rising up in the distance.

  ‘I guess we’re about to find out,’ he says.

  Bang on cue GG sounds the train horn.

  ‘Honey, we’re almost home!’ he booms over the tannoy. ‘Please remember to grab all personal belongings, and if you see any suspicious packages or dead people, please report it to the proper authority.’

  GREAT NAN’S NARNIA WARDROBE

  My dad folds his clamshell phone closed with a plastic snap and is about to spot the open wardrobe door when there’s a sudden hammering on the front door.

  ‘Rev!’ The voice is unmistakable. So is the hammering on the door.

  It’s the Ape.

  Sad-Ape.

  And, just like every good Ape should do, he steps in to save me when everything seems lost.

  I hear my dad turn and head out of the bedroom. I’ve got seconds to extricate myself, grab the formula and sneak out of the bedroom while Sad-Ape keeps my dad occupied. Easy.

  I slip out of the wardrobe. But snag my hair on a sparkling diamanté brooch thing that New-Mum has pinned to a dress and it yanks my head and neck back. I twist and turn, groping blindly behind my head for the brooch. But I’m making it worse and resort to wrenching clumps of trapped hair out of my head.

  My dad has left the bedroom door ajar and I can see down the hallway to the front door where Dad is now facing the giant boy that is Sad-Ape.

  ‘Rev?’ Sad-Ape asks.

  ‘What do you want?’ Dad asks.

  I yank a fistful of pink hair from the brooch and finally get free. Sad-Ape can’t see my past my dad. And thank goodness he can’t because he’d just point my way and say – Her, I want her. He may have hammered on the door, but he’s already retreating into his shell.

  ‘Uh – I just said. Rev,’ Sad-Ape tells my dad.

  I get down on my hands and knees and start searching for the rolled-up formula. But in my panic I’ve kicked it too far and I can’t reach it. I get up and tiptoe as quickly as I can to the far side of the bed, my New-Mum’s side judging from the day and night creams sitting on her cheap bedside table. Creams that didn’t erase the wrinkles that have dug trenches in her face.

  ‘She’s at school,’ I hear my dad respond.

  Which I seriously wish he hadn’t.

  ‘No,’ the nervy Sad-Ape replies. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  I duck down again and flail about for the formula, grabbing it on the third attempt because every time I touch it, it seems to want to roll out of reach.

  ‘She’s not at school?’ My dad’s voice reveals an edge of steel.

  ‘Saw her leave.’ Sad-Ape is killing me with every word he utters.

  I grab the rolled-up formula and realise I’ve forgotten to shut the wardrobe door. I contemplate leaving it open, but even if I do the first thing my dad will do is reach for his thin leather jacket. The leather jacket that contained the rolled-up formula. I need to put it back before he realises what I’ve been up to.

  ‘You saw my daughter leave school?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And you think she came home?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  My only saving grace is Sad-Ape’s slow-moving brain. Having a conversation that would normally last seconds can drag into hours with an Ape.

  I grab the sleeve of the leather jacket and try to wedge the formula into it.

  But the sleeve’s too tight. It can’t be this jacket.

  C’mon, c’mon, gimme a break.

  ‘Why do you think she’s here?’ my dad asks.

  I try again.

  ‘I followed her here.’

  And my life ends in that moment. Death and non-existence curl around the edges of Sad-Ape’s words and then strangle them with the constrictive power of a giant python.

  The formula slides inside the sleeve and I breathe a silent sigh until I spot a clump of electric-pink hair held fast by a glittering diamanté brooch. Even if the open wardrobe door isn’t questioned, I can’t possibly explain the hair so I grab the brooch and tear it from New-Mum’s dress.

  ‘You saw her come into the flat?’ my dad asks quietly. Too quietly. He’s speaking in whispered tones because he must know I’m in the flat, listening.

  I drop down and crawl under the bed, brooch and hank of pink hair clasped in my hand. My heart is going faster than a Lucas-blur.

  ‘She found the key,’ Sad-Ape tells my dad.

  ‘Under the plant pot?’

  I’m imagining Sad-Ape nod his great head.

  They fall silent.

  ‘She in?’ Sad-Ape asks.<
br />
  ‘No,’ my dad replies.

  And then I hear the door close and the turn of the lock.

  Which is the worst sound I’ve heard in a long while. Until I hear footsteps making a measured pace towards my bedroom door. He knocks on it lightly.

  ‘Rev?’ I hear him ask. ‘You in there?’

  I’m not certain but I’m pretty sure this is a game he’s playing. He knows full well I can hear him and he knows there’s no way for me to escape. We’re six floors up so I can hardly jump out of a window.

  I hear my bedroom door open and then: ‘No. Not there.’

  It’s like a game of hide-and-seek now. But without the laughs and thrills.

  He knocks on the bathroom door. ‘Reva?’ Again I hear the door open and close. Then the sound of footsteps heading towards the small lounge. ‘Sweetheart, you home?’ His voice echoes through the silent flat.

  I press down as flat as I can, breathing in carpet dust.

  ‘Nope, not in here either.’ If this was a real search my dad wouldn’t bother talking.

  His commentary is purely for my benefit and he’s dragging it out, building as much threat as he can. There are just two rooms left for him to check. The kitchen and the bedroom I’m currently hiding in.

  I need a weapon and when the brooch in my hand suddenly sparkles I realise that I’m holding one. It’s about seven centimetres long which means the pin that fastens it is probably just short of that length. I turn the brooch round and raise my head to get as good a look at it as I can. I immediately stab the back of my head on the twisted metal knots of the framework that holds the mattress in place. I have to swallow a pained yelp.

  ‘You making brunch?’ my dad calls out. He’s enjoying dragging this out. ‘Mmmm. Smells good.’

  What a joker.

  The pin on the brooch is solid metal, not flimsy; it will make a great weapon. He won’t see it coming. This is between me and him and I’ve got the edge. I’m a fighter now, ironically because of him. Because of what he put me and my friends through. He doesn’t know that and that’s going to be his biggest mistake. There’s a new plan and it’s simple. Keep my dad at arm’s length, grab the formula, find the Moth, go home.