by Fiona Shaw
–Chance, the girl said. –Just chance. You were lucky. Our lookout spotted you more than a mile off.
–If we’d seen ’em coming sooner, we’d have grabbed you sooner, Poacher said. –Near thing. That’s why we had to do it straightaway.
Now Jake grew frightened. He touched the back of his neck. There was a bandage over the cutting they’d done, and his fingers came away sticky. –Do what? he said.
They didn’t answer at once, and in that pause his fear grew huge, and he couldn’t get his breath, and his skin went cold.
–What’ve you done? he said.
–We’d have told yer before, if we could, Poacher said. –But there wan’t time. They’d have had you by now if we hadn’t done it quick, and maybe they’d have got us too. Couldn’t let that happen. So we took out yer hub chip. Stuck you with superglue. Works good. Better’n stitches out here.
Jake’s heart was banging so hard, he thought they’d hear it, sitting on each side of him. He was scared, and he was bewildered because he knew, everybody knew, you couldn’t just take it out. Everybody had a chip for life, like everybody had a name. Even criminals. Even really bad ones. Cradle to grave. Even the King. Even the Prime Minister. You got it the day you were born, and it was with you when you died.
–I don’t understand, he said.
–Simples, Swift said. –If we cut it out and then cut it in two, then they can’t find you. There’s not a hub van in the country that can track you down.
–But it’s mine, Jake said. –You can’t do that.
Because your chip was how you got watched, for sure, but it was how you got looked after too. What if you got ill? Or needed school dinners? And what about when you were a grown-up and you needed a job, or somewhere to live? What about registering your mobile? It was true he was trying to escape from the hub vans and he didn’t want to be caught. But if it was going to get taken out, that was his decision, not someone else’s decision, someone he’d never even met before.
–I want it back, he said, and he knew his fear was there in his voice because he felt Jet shift beside him, heard the growl in his throat. But Swift nodded.
–OK, she said at once. –Shine it over here, Poacher, so dog boy can see. And she fished in her pocket. –Here you go.
In the palm of her hand was a bit of white plastic, cut into two, like the two halves of an old sim card. –Cleaned it up a bit, she said. –The blood and that. Anyway, you don’t like what we’ve done, you’ll be fine to get up in a few hours and you can take yourself off to the nearest hub post and tell your tale, and they’ll fit you a new one, take you back in, send you back to your Home Academy.
–Yer gotta cut him some slack, Poacher said. –Got a lot to get his head around. Yer an’ me been there too, once.
–There isn’t time for slack, Swift said. –You know that. We shouldn’t even still be here. It’s only because of him. We need to be moving on.
Poacher put his hand on Jake’s shoulder, just for a second. –Sleep again, dog boy, yer’ll feel better tonight. Martha’s put some moss on yer hand, on the cut. Was going nasty, but it’s good now. We’ll bring yer some food in a while. We ain’t going anywhere till dark. But by nightfall, yer gotta decide. Yer want to come with us, yer want to stay here, whichever.
–You going? Jake said.
–Stuff to do. Poacher patted Jet’s head. –Keep yer warm, won’t he. Then he put his hands together like he was praying, gave a little bow, and he was gone.
This was the old dark again. The black tar dark of Jake’s nightmares. The dark before Jet arrived, when sometimes, even with the light on the landing, he got too frightened and he’d run down the stairs and his mum or his dad would take him up again, tuck him in, kiss him on the forehead.
–Wish Dad was here, he said into the dark, and the dark seemed to swallow up his voice.
Somebody kicked his foot, broke his dream.
–Hey, dog boy. Poacher says eat this, and then you’ve got to stay or go.
Jake shook the sleep from his head. It was the younger boy kneeling beside him. He was dressed in denim shorts cut off below the knee and a pair of wellington boots and what looked like a donkey jacket with the arms chopped off. Round his waist was knotted an old waterproof jacket, and he too wore a beanie.
The boy held a torch in one hand and a plastic fast food tray in the other. He shone the torch at Jake’s face, then swerved it away around the tunnel. –Far as I care, you can go, he said.
Jake could see the paper wrappings and cardboard folds, the yellow logo. He was ravenous and the food smelled good. He pushed himself up on one shoulder.
The boy set the food and a bottle of water down beside him. –It’s for the dog too, he said.
Jake nodded. His neck hurt when he moved, but he wasn’t going to show it in front of this boy.
The boy took a tea light from his pocket and struck a match, jerking it in towards Jake’s face, and away, and the match went out. He struck another, lit the tea light, set it on the concrete and handed Jake the box of matches. Then he left.
The tea light picked out Jake’s hands as he opened the food. It lit Jet’s face and his twitching nose as he sat on his haunches, watching every movement.
–Even Stevens, Jake said. –Don’t worry, boy.
There were two Big Macs, some McNuggets and a pile of chips. There was a doughnut and half a chocolate muffin. Ketchup had spread on to the doughnut, and one of the Macs had a couple of bites out. Jake grinned. His mum would’ve died to see them eating this stuff. But nothing had ever smelled as good.
He divided the food and put Jet’s on the floor to one side. Then he tapped beside it to signal to the dog he could eat.
When they’d eaten everything, Jake drank a couple of slugs of the water and poured the rest into the plastic tray, set it down for Jet. He listened to his dog drink, the quick slap of his tongue. It reminded him of home. Jet’s bowl in the corner of the kitchen. Jake was still thirsty, but Jet needed it more, and he did feel better for the food. Stronger. The pain wasn’t so bad now.
He guessed at the time: maybe six o’clock. Not dusk yet, but not so far off. He had to think, to work it out, how long he’d been here.
It wasn’t even twenty-four hours, and he’d been out of the Home Academy less than forty-eight. But his escape, and Jet locked in the shed, and the Hadleys’ kitchen: they seemed like years ago. Like another world. He’d thought he’d be a regular boy again by now, in a family, and with a mother and a father. Not his own mum and dad. But better than the Home Academy. Better than a dormitory, and a number on your clothes, and a bell to wake you and a bell for bed, and forty other kids, all of them as sad as you were. And instead he was here in a concrete tunnel, eating chucked-out food and not enough water, and a wound on his neck that was more than a wound, and he had to decide if he was staying or going.
–Devil or the deep blue sea, he said, and Jet thumped with his tail like he understood.
The boy in the donkey jacket was back. –Poacher says it’s time, he said, and he swung his head for Jake to follow.
They were waiting for him under the trees. Poacher and Swift were the biggest, and there was another boy bigger than Jake but skinnier, and a girl that looked older; she had a rounded face and grey eyes that seemed to smile at him, even though she didn’t know who he was. Then the donkey jacket boy – Davie, they’d called him – and another small one. He counted six of them, total. The bigger kids held long sticks and Poacher and Swift had knives hanging off their belts. Davie stared at Jake like his eyes were a weapon: they were green and unblinking. The littlest one didn’t look more than five years old. Jake thought she was a girl, but it was hard to tell. She wore a pair of combats and a too-big hat with ear flaps and a too-big parka. Everyone looked at him except the little girl, who stared at Jet.
Jake tried to walk upright and look strong, but his legs felt wobbly and his neck hurt, especially when the rucksack bumped against it. The gang just stood and waited. Not angr
y, and not friendly either. So he got to a few feet away and stood, facing them. It was quiet under the trees, and warmer than the tunnel because the sun hadn’t set yet. Somewhere there was the roar of traffic. It sounded like the sea.
–Decided? Poacher said.
They were all watching him, all waiting. Even the little girl, if she was a girl, even she was watching him now. He pulled Jet closer, so he could feel his dog warmth against his legs.
–I want to come with you.
And it was like everyone had been holding their breath, and now they all let it out. Two of the kids, the skinny one and Davie, did a high-five, and Poacher grinned.
Swift stepped forward. She hadn’t smiled yet. –We’ve got rules, she said. –If you break them, you’re out. We’ll tie you up and dump you in a hub station.
Jake nodded, but she hadn’t finished.
–The dog can stay if you feed it. She turned to one of the bigger kids, taller than Jake and skinny like a rake. –Ollie, your job to tell dog boy what’s what. Tell him the rules. Make sure he understands. Then she turned away and was bending down, beckoning to the little girl.
Jake was scared of Swift and he only spoke because he had to. –Where are we going? he said.
Swift straightened and turned. –Where do you think? she said.
–I dunno. Because there’s nowhere safe, is there? Nowhere you can go they won’t catch you in the end.
–Nowhere in England, there isn’t, no, she said. –Or Wales. And she crouched down again and called out. –Up you get, Cass. So she was a girl.
Cass ran over and Swift hoisted her on to her shoulders. Jake stared at her. Not England and not Wales. Course not. He heard his mum’s voice in his head, what she called her stern voice, wanting him to understand something: Your grandparents will always look after you. Always.
–Scotland, he said. –You’re going to Scotland, like me.
Swift shrugged. –Let’s go then, she said, and she set off through the trees, and the rest of the gang followed.
Seven
Swift was at the front carrying Cass on her shoulders, and Poacher was at the back. The gang kept close together, one upon the other’s heels. They walked without talking much, the only noise the snap of twigs.
Jake’s legs had felt wobbly at first, but once he was walking, he felt stronger. He didn’t know where they were going, or how long they’d be walking for, but it was good, for now, not to have to think, or decide anything. It was good just to walk behind Ollie, putting one step in front of the other until he was told to stop.
He’d walked in the countryside with his mum and dad, but never with anybody else. In fact, it was the first time he could remember seeing anybody walking in the countryside. People just didn’t do it any more, and when his teacher had gone on about the virus, and rats and mice and stuff, and the poo being airborne, which they all laughed at till the teacher told them what it could do to you, and why you needed to stay away from fields, he’d kept very quiet.
Ollie was tall and gangly, with black curly hair, and he walked like a spider, like he hadn’t grown into his legs yet. Jake reckoned he was maybe fourteen: older than him, but younger than Poacher. He wondered when Ollie would tell him the rules.
The sun dropped and night came. Jake zipped his jacket to the chin and kept Jet close. There must be lots of animals here, because he could feel Jet pull and start against the lead.
–Heel, boy, he whispered, and for a minute Jet would walk to heel, and then he’d smell something else and Jake would feel him strain again.
Swift took out a torch and the pace slowed. The torchlight picked out the trees, but it was difficult, at the back of the line, to see the roots and brambles. Jake stumbled again and again, and once he cried out at the scorch of pain from the wound in his neck.
–Give the dog some slack, Poacher whispered from behind. –Then you can follow him. So Jake let Jet trot ahead a few steps, the dog sure-footed, and then where Jet went, Jake followed, and he didn’t stumble again.
They went on and on. Jake had no idea how long they walked for, if it was two hours, or four hours, or more. But the night went on being dark and the woods became fields, then back to woods, and still on they went.
Ollie dropped back beside him. –If a car comes, lie in the ditch, he whispered. –Lie flat on your belly with your eyes down. As soon as you see the lights. Then he said: –Poacher said I must tell you the rules. So are you listening?
–Yeah, Jake said.
Ollie’s voice was down in the ground, it was so deep, and it was posh. Posh like government voices. Weird, this skinny half-boy and this deep-down posh voice.
–First of all, it’s not a rule, but I don’t like dogs. I was bitten by one when I was little. I have the scar to show for it. So I’d be grateful if you could keep your dog close to you.
–OK, Jake said. Jet wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he wasn’t about to wind this boy up and say so now.
–All right. These are the rules. We’re Outwalkers, and you’re still a bona fide.
–Bona fide?
–Our word for someone living inside Coalition rules. Outwalker gangs have different rules, and if you don’t like them, then you stay a bona fide and you don’t join us. Do you understand?
–So there are other gangs like you?
–Yes, but we stay apart. Too risky otherwise. And I don’t know about other children. I’ve only seen grown-ups. The gang always comes first. So if you join us, and you break a rule, the leaders can kick you out. That’s it. No questions, no second chances. Just out. And we have done it already, kicked kids out.
Jake stared at the lane. The tarmac black slid into the night dark. He didn’t want to be left alone in this. –I understand, he said.
–There are four main ones, Ollie said. –Rule one is no technology. Two is be outside. Three is be hidden, and four is obedience to the gang. Say them back to me.
–No technology. Be outside. Be hidden. Obedience. Is that all of them?
–Yup. That’s the lot. Rule one, no technology: that’s for the same reason that we took out your chip. So they can’t find us. No mobiles, pads, helmets, i-glasses, nothing. If you get found with anything, even some retro piece of iPhone crap, you’re out. No questions, just out. We know you’re clean – we’ve been through your rucksack – so keep it that way.
–No pad? Jake said. –Not even one for the group?
–Nope.
–So … Jake thought a moment. –No mobile means no money. How do we get stuff?
–Have to do without. Make do. Steal.
–OK, Jake said, but he didn’t feel it.
–I was rubbish at scrounging when I started. Used to blush even thinking about it. I’m a very good thief now. So if I can do it, you can.
Jake grinned in the dark. –OK, he said again.
–Rule two: you only stop in outside places. Not in places that are part of things any more. You have to be outside and in the countryside.
–So how do we find places? Jake said. Because even on his own it’d be hard, finding a place to sleep every night, and there was a whole bunch of them in the gang.
–It’s Poacher and Swift that decide. Poacher mainly, cos he’s done it before, more than once. He’s got a map of Outwalker routes and safe places. Paper map, of course.
–Done it before? Jake said, but Ollie went on.
–Rule three, he said, –is you’ve got to stay hidden. It’s obvious why. That’s why we sometimes travel in the night. That’s why only Swift’s using a torch now. We don’t want to be seen. Four: you have to do what the gang says. If you don’t want to do it, then leave.
Jake had been in a gang with his friends at school. They’d come to his house for tea one time. When Andy broke one of their rules, they’d kept him in the gang, because he had the best garden for playing in. This was completely different. They were all kids here, but it wasn’t about playing any more.
–So, have you got any questions? Ollie said.
/> –Yeah, Jake said. He could hear the teacher’s voice: obey the notices, stay out of the countryside. –What about the virus? Isn’t anybody scared they’ll catch it?
Ollie took a swipe at the verge. –Maybe. But I’d rather be outside and free and take that risk than give myself up to the hubbers. Anyway, if you don’t like it, leave.
Jake remembered how his dad used to say you’d have to inhale rat poo for days even to get a rash. And his mum said it was a Coalition stunt to keep people out of the countryside.
–No, I’m cool with it, he said. –Something else: does the gang walk everywhere? Cos it’s going to take a long time on foot.
–We’re walking because of you, mate, Ollie said. –We were going to get a ride at the Services. But the hubbers were all over that place, hunting for you, so we had to make another plan.
Jake was glad of the dark then because he hadn’t thought about what the gang was doing when it found him, and now he was ashamed and his face felt hot.
–Last thing, Ollie said. –You’ve got to have a skill. It’s not a rule, but you can’t be a full member of the gang without one. Little ones don’t have to – that’s only Cass; she’s Swift’s little sister – but you do.
–What kind of skill? Jake said.
–Something you can do better than anyone else. Something that the gang needs.
–I got no idea, Jake said.
–So, Poacher: he’s got to Scotland before. He’s been an Outwalker longest. He gets us into places. And he catches animals and he can make a fire without matches. Swift is the fastest runner, and quick with a knife and quick in the mind. She can look at the stars and maps – Poacher’s got these old-fashioned paper ones – and work out which way to go. Don’t know where she learned it. Then there’s Martha: she’s really good at doctoring, and she knows what to get in a chemist’s. She knows about plants too, for medicine, and stuff you can eat, like nettles. Davie, he’s a major techie; dunno how since he was in an Academy for years. He knows loads of science. Science isn’t much use for the gang, but he knows all about hub systems and that is useful. He’s odd, twitchy, but you’ll get used to him. Also he can sew things and mend clothes. He helps Martha with her doctoring too. And me, I’m a really good actor, though that doesn’t count as a skill. But I’m the cook, and that does. I’m good at it too. You name it, I can cook it. Pavlova, drizzle cake, roast lamb, risotto ai funghi.
