by Fiona Shaw
–So where? he said. –Where can we stop?
–In an Outwalker place. You’ll see, she said.
Nine
It was barely dawn when they left the river, quiet as foxes past the sleeping houses. Over the old bridge and up the hill and they came to a big stretch of grass with a church in the middle. It was the kind of grass that was mown and watched over.
On one side was a line of big old houses with spiked railings at the front. There were signs on the railings:
His mum, Jake knew, had grown up in a house like this. Back before the partition, before her mum and dad went to Scotland. She said when she was little, ordinary people could live in one of them, whereas now you had to be rich, or in the Coalition Party. She said they didn’t have railings or signs then, and when her friends came to visit, they just walked off the pavement and up to the front door and rang on the bell.
–Didn’t have hub chips then, either, she told him. –Not when I first went to school.
–But everyone’s got a hub chip, he said, because everyone did, even the Prime Minister, even Joe Pensari who played for Man U.
–But nobody did then, she said. –We had to learn a song at school and Mrs Anselm used to swing her yellow skirt when she sang. Mrs Anselm taught me when I was eight. So I know that that’s when they first brought in hubbing.
Jake tried to imagine it, everyone going to get chipped, all at once.
–Must’ve had to queue for ever, he said. –All those people.
–They did the children first. That was why we learned the song: ‘Quick, chip, and keep your child safe,’ she sang, and she did a funny little dance.
–You just look silly, and it’s not a very good tune, Jake said.
–But it was catchy. It got played all the time, everywhere. All over Twitter, all over the Net. Radio, TV, Netviews, everywhere. And it worked. Parents wanted their children safe. I understand that now.
–So you got chipped when you were eight, Jake said.
–Not immediately. Granny and Grandpa didn’t like it, you can imagine, but … She shrugged. –Two years later it was made compulsory for children under eleven, so I was done then. I was just ten. And five years after that came the partition and the New Wall. Then it was compulsory for everyone. That’s when we left, Jake’s mum said. –A lot of people left then.
The gang walked on past houses with swings on the lawn. Family houses. In the porch of one house Jake saw a skateboard and it made his heart jump: a Santa Cruz, one of the expensive ones. He’d begged for one for years. He looked at the house, its closed curtains. There was a child in there, maybe a boy same age as him, dreaming in a bed, who had a Santa Cruz, and a mother and a father. He put the thought out of his mind and walked on.
About ten minutes later, Swift signalled a stop and the gang waited under some trees while Swift and Poacher looked at the map. Jake unshouldered his rucksack and leaned against a tree. He crouched and put his face into Jet’s fur, ruffled his silk ears.
Cass stood near, her arms by her sides, licking her dry lips, like she did all the time. She did this every time they stopped – just stood, hands disappeared in the sleeves of her parka, and stared at Jet. Each time she got a bit closer, though, and this time she was nearly touching him. She had dark shadows under her eyes. She moved slowly and she didn’t look like a child.
–You want to stroke him? Jake said. –Look, watch. And he crouched down and stroked Jet’s back. He watched Cass’s face, but it was like a mask.
–Cass doesn’t speak and she doesn’t smile, Ollie had told him. –She’s got an illness and something bad happened to her because of it. It’s why they became Outwalkers, her and Swift.
Jake waited, and slowly Cass put out her hand. He reached and took it, saw her fingernails bitten beyond the quick. –We stroke him together? he said, and she nodded.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Davie walk towards them. –Don’t forget, dog boy, he whispered. –Jet’s ours now. But you’re not.
Jake ignored him. –Gentle now, he said to Cass, and with her hand in his, he stroked Jet again. –Hey, boy, he said to Jet in a low voice, and Jet made a single thump of his tail. –See that? Jake said. –Means he likes you stroking him. And something crossed Cass’s face that wasn’t a smile, but it was something.
–Time to go. Swift’s voice made him jump. He hadn’t seen her come over, but he guessed she’d been watching. Watching Cass, and watching Davie. Jake watched her pick up the little girl and hoist her on to her shoulders. And he watched Cass lean forward against her sister’s head, arms around Swift’s neck. She didn’t sit up any more; she didn’t look like she could.
–Time to go, Jakey boy, Davie said.
–They’ll never get you, Jake whispered to Jet. –Never. If they throw me out and I have to go, you’re coming with me. We’ll go back to that river and we’ll follow it till we get to the sea. Then we’ll find a boat, and stow away, and get to Scotland that way. Jet looked up at him, like he’d heard his thoughts and Jake pulled Jet closer, but he was scared.
The hospital had an iron fence around it, ten foot high and spiked on top, stretching as far as you could see, and every fifty yards there was a sign, hammered into the fence:
The signs were rusty and weeds nearly covered some of the fence; some had big purple flowers, while others looked like brambles. They passed the main gates and Jake could just about make out the board: Frenchay Hospital, it said.
It was a strange, forgotten place. Very quiet, like everything was holding its breath. Plants and trees had taken over. They grew out of everywhere: roads, walls, roofs. There were signs for ‘Oncology’ and ‘Maternity’ and ‘Visitors’, but green was twisted around everything so you almost couldn’t see what was underneath.
Swift led, and Poacher followed behind, till the lines of buildings gave out and they came to a little roundabout wild with roses. Swift looked at her piece of paper, and turned right. Jake watched Cass, up on Swift’s shoulders. She was slumped right forward now, her head bumping against Swift’s head with each step. They walked past a long, brick building, graffitied into colour, net curtains still blowing from a window.
–You sure this ain’t it? Poacher called.
But Swift pointed ahead with her arm and kept on walking. She was going so fast, it was hard to keep up; Cass looked like a rag doll, up on her shoulders, as if her body had no bones. Past the brick building, through a car park. ‘Watch out for thieves’, a sign said.
Swift stopped outside a house. Must’ve been a really posh house a hundred years ago, Jake thought. He watched Swift take Cass off her shoulders, whisper something. But Cass was floppy as a doll, eyes shut, head drooping. And Swift’s face: he saw Swift’s face then, and what he saw was fear.
The house must’ve had at least twenty bedrooms, and it was tall – three storeys – with high windows and stone leaves carved around the doorway. It had a load of chimneys coming out of the roof. From a distance it looked like it might still be lived in, but closer up and you could see there’d been a fire in there – the whole of the ground floor and the one above were burnt out, holes for windows, the bricks licked black all around them. No front door. The fire must have been a while back, because weeds had grown up through the windows and there were birds flying in and out.
–It’s an Outwalker place, Ollie told Jake. –We can stay as long as we need to.
–Looks blinded, poor thing, Martha said.
–Looks skanky, Davie said, and quietly, just to Jake: –your kind of place.
In the hall, where the stairs used to be, there was nothing. Just a hole.
–Ladder’s gone, Swift said. –Can’t get up without it. Her eyes were wide and desperate. She had Cass cradled in her arms, and Jake hoped Cass was just sleeping.
–We could steal one when it gets dark, Davie said.
–No. Poacher took off his rucksack. He glanced back at Swift and Cass. –We got to be up there now. He studied his piece of paper, walked outside ag
ain and looked up at the house, beyond the burned-out windows, up higher to the second floor.
–Fire escape up the top. We kin get up that way. There’ll be a ladder. I kin let it down from inside. Give us a leg up, he said, and Ollie went over and put his hands together.
Jake could always tell another climber when he met one. He could tell by the way that they looked at a wall, or a building, or a tree, and he knew already that Poacher wasn’t a climber. He won’t get up there, he thought, and he felt a rush of nerves.
–Why not? It was Swift’s voice and Jake ducked his head. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
–Not much for your fingers to get hold of, he said, but it wasn’t that, because there was plenty. It was just that he knew Poacher couldn’t.
–He has to, Swift said, and it was like she didn’t care if Poacher knew how to climb or didn’t.
Poacher had made it from the ground floor up to the first-floor window and he was gripping the lintel with one hand, trainers out to left and right, like a clown’s feet on the narrow sill.
–Nicely. Doing all right, isn’t he? Ollie said, and Jake saw something pass between Ollie and Davie: a look, an agreement, something.
Shifting his feet along the sill, Poacher felt above him with his fingers. He was searching for something, a pocket between the bricks to get hold of.
–Don’t, Jake muttered. –Stop. Because Poacher wouldn’t make it and Jake couldn’t bear to watch. He crouched down, stroked Jet. Things looked different close to the ground. He watched a tiny spider freefalling from a dock leaf. Easy. He looked back at Poacher. He hadn’t moved, and he wasn’t hunting for holds any more. He was just holding on.
–Come on Poacher, Martha called out, which got Ollie and Davie going too, all of them calling to him that he could do it.
–Next stop, Everest, Ollie shouted, which got him the finger from Poacher. But when they quietened down again there was silence, and then Poacher’s voice, which was small from up there:
–I can’t.
It was like he’d punched them in the stomach, winded them, and all their exhaustion came crashing down. Swift just seemed to crumple and fold over, Cass still in her arms, and Ollie had to grab her with all his skinny strength to keep her from falling. Davie sat down on the ground, his hands in his buzz-cut hair, tugging and tugging, till Martha put her hands over his and spoke to him in a gentle voice.
–Poacher, you have to. We have to get in, Swift said. Her voice was raw.
But Poacher wasn’t moving, or barely. Just his fingers scrabbling over and over at the bricks. He was close to freezing, Jake could see it. Not with cold, but with fear. And once you froze, you were a lot more likely to fall.
Poacher would fall on to paving slabs. Hard stone. He’d probably break some bones. They’d have to take him to a hospital, and then it’d be all up with him. They’d put him in a Home Academy, and then the fracking fields, and he’d never get away.
Jake stood and called up. –Poacher, listen to me. He didn’t look back at the others. –I’ll get you down.
Poacher turned his head, seemed to listen.
–I’ll tell you where the holds are and you’ll be fine.
Poacher sat on the ground once he was down. Jake could see his hands and legs shaking. The gang all stood in different places, like they had nothing to do with each other, like they weren’t a gang at all.
But if someone didn’t get into the house, then they were all done for. There was only one thing for it: he knew he had to climb the wall. He took off his rucksack and unlaced Mrs Hadley’s walking boots.
–Watcha doing, dog boy? Davie’s voice was a snake, sliding into his ear. –You fall, you’re out, and they’ll have you snugged back inside an Academy for ever.
–Porca vacca. Davie, leave him alone! Ollie said.
Jake didn’t know what it meant, but he was glad of Ollie’s support. He took his old plimsolls from his rucksack and pulled them on. He gave Jet’s lead to Martha and took a single glance at Cass. She lay motionless, a small bundle of clothes in her sister’s arms. He didn’t look at Swift. She was too desperate, and it wouldn’t help him now. He put his dad’s penknife into his pocket, and touched his fingers to his mother’s cardigan.
Be careful, Jake. He could hear her so clearly, her voice in his head, and he wished she could tell him not to climb it.
Soon as he started, soon as he was off the ground, his thoughts narrowed down and there was nothing else to think about except this piece of wall and its crevices and cracks and handholds, and him climbing it. It was easier than some of the routes he’d done on the climbing wall; easier than bouldering; and he was up to the first floor quickly. Boards covered the window hole and the bricks were black around it.
He looked back down at everyone. They were all silent and all watching him, all waiting.
He turned back to the wall, looked up. He’d plotted a route when he was on the ground, but now he was here, it didn’t look as easy. He reached up with his left hand and got his fingers in between the bricks where the mortar had fallen out. Twisting his fingers, he made a finger jamb and looked for a toehold. A deep dent in one brick was the best he could find and, bracing his leg, he pushed his toes in. Reaching above for another handhold, he gave his weight to the holds he already had. Pain shafted through his blistered foot and he cried out.
–Be careful, Jake! It was his mum’s voice again, from somewhere inside. He turned his head to get away from it and his body swung out from the wall so that he hung by one hand and one foot.
He heard the gang gasp. Scrabbling with his free foot, he found a toehold and then, up to the left, he saw a fingerhold. He felt clammy with fear, though he could feel the heat of the sun in the bricks.
He looked down. Swift sat on the ground now, Cass curled in her lap like a small animal, and the others stood with her like a proper gang.
You got to do it, he said to himself. You got to. Because the whole gang was depending on it. He reached above him, shoved his fingers into the hold.
He didn’t know how long it took for him to climb the last few feet; it seemed like for ever. But as he lifted himself on to the second-floor sill, he heard the shout of voices from below. He looked down and they were cheering him, Davie and Ollie whooping, and Jet barking. So he gave them a thumbs up, then he turned and raised the window sash and climbed in.
It was so quiet inside it was like someone had blocked his ears up. Silence. Nothing moving.
The room had a load of beds in it, but they were strange-looking ones, made out of building pallets, and floorboards, and chunks of tree. And hanging from the walls, tied up to big hooks, were things that looked like beanbags. There was a line of hooks along the wall and some shelves. Blankets on one shelf and paperback books on the one below. Jake’s parents had kept some paperbacks. There was a line of them on a shelf in their room. His dad said they’d still been able to buy them new when they were students. Jake had once tried reading one. It was weird, turning pieces of paper over. He’d seen it in films, but it was still weird, actually doing it.
On the bottom shelf was a line of tin cans with small holes punched in their sides, like someone had gone at them with a pair of nail scissors. He picked one up. It had a bit of candle inside. By the door was a sign taped to the wall:
–Course. Not bean bags. Mattresses, he said to himself. And he guessed they were hung up to protect against mice, or something.
The corridor was dark and fusty. He tried another door. It was another huge room. For a moment he couldn’t tell what it was for, and then he realized it was a kitchen. Or a sort of kitchen.
–Cool, he said, and he wished his old gang could’ve seen this, because this was to die for. The cooker was a barbecue built of old bricks with a window grille on top and a heap of wood piled beside it ready, and in the corner was a metal sink big enough to have a bath in. ‘Boil water before drinking’ it said on the piece of paper above. There were pots and pans hung off hooks on the wall and pa
cking crates on their sides, stacked on top of each other to make a kind of cupboard. There were plates and mugs inside, and on the top there were more tin cans holding cooking utensils. Jake picked out a wooden spoon; you could see the chisel marks and it was lopsided. In another can were knives, made out of wood and stone, and one from a metal ruler. You could still see the inch measurements on the handle.
On the other side of the room was a big oval table. It was shiny and dark, like something out of the TV dramas his mum used to watch: a table from a hundred years ago. Maybe it had always been in the house. Maybe a big family used to sit around it, with lots of children and aunts and uncles and grandparents.
–Jake! It was Poacher’s voice, hollering from outside. He’d forgotten for a minute: they were waiting for him down there on the ground. Jake ran down the corridor. Swift had told him what he should find. There was a door at the end, hammered together out of building pallets and lengths of plastic wood. Putting his hands between the pallet slats, he lifted it up, and there was the fire escape door. He pushed it open and stepped out onto the fire escape platform.
The ladder was covered in bird lime. He brushed at it, and it came off in clouds. Now he could see the ladder hinge. And, far below, the gang. Jet saw him and started barking, and Jake saw Poacher try to quieten him.
–Watch out! he called down, and shoving hard with his foot, he pushed the ladder out over the drop.
Moments later, and Swift was climbing up, Cass held tight to her in one arm. She didn’t say anything as she came in, but she stared Jake in the eye and gave him a quick nod as she strode on down the corridor.
Davie was about to follow, when Jet broke free of Martha’s hold, and before anyone could stop him, he was scrambling up the bottom rungs of the ladder.
–No, Jet. Down, boy! Jake called, but Jet didn’t go down. He carried on climbing, his paws scrabbling on the metal rungs. Then Martha was there behind him, covering him as he climbed, and dog and girl climbed up and up together.
