by Chris Ward
‘I missed you,’ she said. ‘More each day.’
‘I’ve missed you too.’ Simon pulled her close and breathed in the sweet, fragrant smell of her hair. He closed his eyes, feeling her heart beat against his chest. There were few reasons to live in London GUA but he had found one.
Jess was eighteen and worked in a bookstore near the market where he sold pirated movies and antiquated music CDs on a stall owned by an old friend of his father. Simon felt a hundred years older than his twenty. The weight of his fear for her safety kept him awake at night. If he could, he would keep her by his side, but neither her parents, nor Jess herself would allow it. As she constantly reminded him, having grown up in the same city, she was streetwise too. And with a father who worked for the government, she had to be even more careful.
‘Did you ride today?’ she asked.
He hesitated. He knew Jess didn’t like him to ride the trains, but she understood.
‘Just once,’ he said. ‘The others had stuff to do.’ He didn’t mention Dan’s close call.
She drew away, and looked up at him. For a moment he thought she was going to scold him again. It’s the trains or me, Simon. You can’t have both. It’s your choice. When she did speak, her request surprised him. ‘I want to come,’ she said. ‘I want to try it too.’
‘I’ve told you I don’t want that. It’s too dangerous.’
‘So why do you do it then?’
‘I – I –’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It’s . . . my thing, I guess. My identity. It’s all I have left.’
She put her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face towards her. ‘Not anymore,’ she said, and kissed him. ‘Not anymore.’
He knew she was right. He should quit tube riding and look after her. He’d met her just six months ago, but in these fractured times that could be half a lifetime. He couldn’t imagine giving her up, and he hated every moment they were apart, but the Tube Riders – Marta, Paul, even crazy Switch – they were his family. He couldn’t give them up either. Until he had met Jess, riding the trains was the only thing in his life that had mattered, and he had found companions there, people like himself.
‘Let’s go inside,’ she said. ‘Off the street.’
Her family was out – as always – when he visited. Jess’s father was a government official – a position he neither talked about nor entertained questions about – and her mother worked for the MBBC, the Mega Britain Banking Corporation, the country’s only bank.
‘Did you find out anything about my father?’
Jess closed the door before she answered. ‘No, I’m sorry. I tried to ask Dad, but it’s difficult to do it without him becoming suspicious. He asks so many questions, without answering any. I tried to make it look like I was interested in the newspaper story about it, but he just spouted some propaganda about heretics earning their rewards.’ She shrugged. ‘To be honest, he probably doesn’t know.’
‘You know I had nothing to do with it, don’t you?’ Simon said, taking off his shoes. ‘I wasn’t involved with anything my father did, any of those leaflets he used to print out. I just looked at his internet a couple of times. That’s all.’
She cupped his face with her hands again. ‘I know, Simon. But I wouldn’t care if you were. Sometimes I think, these so-called heretics . . .’
‘I want to take you away, Jess,’ Simon said, kissing her. ‘If we could only get out of Mega Britain, get over to France . . . it’s different there, you know. They have a government who gives a shit, there aren’t any of those fucking perimeter walls . . . God damn this place.’
They climbed the stairs up to her bedroom. ‘There’s hope,’ she said. ‘There’s an Ambassador over from Europe, Dad told me. He came today for talks between the European Confederation and Mega Britain. Dad said that the Confederation want to open up trade again. End the blockade.’
‘Do you think they will?’
Jess sat down on her bed. ‘I don’t know. They might have to. The country is bankrupt, Dad says, but the Governor doesn’t listen. People are starving, there’s hardly any oil, there are riots are everywhere . . .’
Simon put a finger on her lips. ‘Okay, stop now.’ He leaned forward and kissed her again.
Jess sighed and pulled him backwards on to the bed, on top of her. Simon closed his eyes and let her take the troubles of the world away.
#
Later, dressed again and lying next to her on the bed, Simon said, ‘I’m going down again on Sunday. Around lunchtime, after I finish my morning shift.’ He stroked her face. ‘You can come if you like. I mean, if you haven’t got work and you’re not busy.’
‘Really? You want me to ride?’
Simon shrugged and gave her a non-committal smile. ‘I don’t know about that. Maybe just watch at first? New people have to practice on the freight trains because they’re much slower. You can almost walk alongside. The commuter trains slow down when they go through each station, but they’re still pretty fast.’
Simon had talked about tube riding before, but Jess seemed endlessly fascinated. Until Simon had revealed his secret to her a couple of months after they had met she had believed the ghost stories too.
‘Sounds difficult,’ she said. Her eyes had lit up again with that need to share his life.
‘Not so much.’ He grinned. ‘Not when you know what you’re doing.’
‘And you use this?’ She lifted his clawboard up off the floor and turned it over in her hands. It was a piece of sanded hardwood about two feet long. On one side, bolted to the wood with a series of little screws was a long piece of curved metal, scratched and dented from use. On the other side were two thick leather straps, again fixed to the wood. The board itself was sprayed black. It looked like there had once been a design on it, but time had worn it away.
‘What the hell is this thing?’ she said wistfully, only half to him.
‘It’s called a clawboard,’ he said. ‘We made them ourselves, although some of them get handed on by people who . . . quit.’
‘Quit?’
‘Um, yeah. Some people get scared, you know? Other people just don’t want to do it anymore.’ He didn’t mention the deaths. There was no need to scare her; she would probably understand when she came down to the tunnels with him.
‘And you made it?’
‘Yeah, this one, I did. The metal hook thing used to be part of the fender of a car. Some of the other guys have two or three smaller ones instead. The leather is horse leather, which is stronger.’
‘Where did you get it?’ I haven’t seen a horse since I was a kid.’
‘Junkyard. Told you it was strong. I think it used to be part of a guitar strap, something like that.’
‘And you painted it black?’
‘Yeah, you know.’ He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at her. ‘To personalize it. Switch – that’s one of the other guys – got some friend of his to paint a dragon on his board. Kind of suits his personality.’
‘But, black?’ She touched his arm and smiled. ‘That’s like the opposite of your personality, Simon.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he grinned. ‘I guess I was in a mood or something at the time.’
She wrapped one of the leather straps around her wrist and tugged. ‘I bet this hurts.’
Simon pulled something out of his pocket and held it up. ‘We wear these,’ he said. ‘It’s like a wrist guard.’ It looked like a tube of rubber, a thick bracelet. ‘It’s an insulator for a water pipe. It was Paul’s idea, before he stopped riding. You don’t need them, but if you ride regularly you get burns on your wrists from the straps, particularly if your timing isn’t all that great.’
‘And you just hang from the train?’
‘On most trains there is a rail that runs along the top of the carriage, just above the level of the door. It’s for water runoff, I think, so that the windows don’t get stained by dirty water.’
‘What if there’s no rail?’
He smiled. ‘We pull ou
t. Otherwise we’d just slide off.’
‘Where does the water come from? There’s no rain in the Underground.’
‘Most of the trains run above and below ground. The network goes right out into the suburbs, and some of those trains run in the open air.’
Jess nodded, grinning. ‘Of course it does. I’m such a moron.’
Simon smiled back. ‘Anyway, as the train arrives, we start to run. It slows down as it comes into the station, but it’s still traveling about fifty miles an hour.’
‘Doesn’t it pull your arms off?’
‘Ah, you see, when the board catches the rail you slide a bit. It jerks, of course, but not as much as if you caught on a solid fixing. Sometimes the rails get rocks or dirt jammed in them, though. That can hurt.’ He grinned.
‘What happens if you miss?’
‘We don’t.’
‘Never?’
‘Not if you know what you’re doing.’ He hated lying to her. He’d missed once, early on. Like Dan this morning, he’d been lucky. He had cracked a couple of ribs but otherwise been fine. But he remembered Clive, too, caught in the gap between the platform edge and the train. He’d been mangled, mashed up. He remembered how they’d tried to revive him, but Clive was already dead. They’d got blood all over themselves, it had been horrible. Marta and Clive had been a couple at the time and Simon couldn’t believe she still came back after seeing that. He guessed her life had been pretty hard before but there was a definite darker look in her eyes after Clive’s death, as if whatever innocence she’d had left had been blown out of her. He had stayed away almost two weeks himself, but when he’d finally given in to the urge, he’d found them – Marta, Paul and Switch – down there as if nothing had happened.
Clive had been given a traditional Tube Rider burial, laid across the tracks for the trains to claim. Simon hated what they’d done, but that was the way things were, that was the Tube Rider Code. Clive had been a homeless runaway, he’d had no family, and taking his body to the police would have only created more questions.
‘And at the end of the platform you just jump off?’
‘Kind of. You brace your feet on the side of the train, push the board in and up, and kick back. We use old mattresses to land on, but if you know how, it’s possible to land on the platform and roll without hurting yourself.’ Much, he didn’t add. It hurt like hell, you just didn’t break anything if you did it right.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she said.
‘If you’re careful you’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go,’ he said. ‘It’s almost five. Your parents will be home soon.’
‘Okay,’ she said, standing up and smoothing out her clothes. As she led him out on to the landing and down the stairs, she said, ‘I’ll meet you in the market after your shift. You can take me then.’
He smiled. ‘I don’t want to go,’ he said. ‘I want to stay here with you.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Stop being such a sap.’ She punched his arm, but he saw a dewy look in her eyes. He swallowed, desperate not to get tearful in front of her. Every time he left her he felt like he would never see her again.
‘You know,’ she said, pointing at the clawboard, tucked under his arm. ‘It’s a wonder no one ever gets suspicious of that thing. You carry it around everywhere like an advertisement above your head. “Look at me, I’m a Tube Rider”.’
He shrugged. ‘People just think it’s a kind of skateboard,’ he said. Or a weapon, he didn’t say. Enough people carried those. ‘No one really takes any notice of me, because I just look like a girly skater kid.’
She touched his arm. ‘Well, you just carry on not being noticed, and keep yourself safe for me.’
‘I’ll try.’
He kissed her and said goodbye. Jess tapped in a code on a keypad by the door to deactivate the front gate, and Simon headed down the path, glancing back every few feet to make sure she was still there.
‘Bye,’ he said again as he stepped out on to the road. ‘Be safe.’
She stepped forward. ‘Wait a second.’
‘What?’
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small silver box. She lifted it and pointed it at him.
Simon frowned. ‘Is that a –’
‘Digital camera? Yeah. I just want a picture of you to look at while you’re not with me.’
‘Where did you get it?’ He hadn’t seen one in years. You needed a license for any electronic product. That included televisions, computers and mobile phones.
‘Dad gave it to me.’ She shrugged. ‘I think it’s government loot. Go on, smile.’
Simon had barely opened his mouth when Jess pressed a button and a little click sounded. She peered at a small screen on the back. ‘There. I’ll make you a copy.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, not really caring either way. ‘Anyway, you’d better get inside.’
She smiled and winked at him. As the door closed, Simon felt that familiar despair welling up in his throat. He turned away and gulped it down as he headed off along the street. Light rain still hung in the air beneath the grey sky, and he zipped up his jacket to the point where the zip got stuck on a broken tooth about halfway up. It was a long way back across London to the burnt out ruin of a bed-sit some shark was renting him now, but it was a roof, more than they suspected Switch had. No one knew where Switch slept at night, but the guy was proud and wouldn’t ask for help. With that knife he could take care of himself, and Simon had Jess to worry about. He wondered if inviting her to meet the other Tube Riders was a good thing. The first ride would be enough to get her hooked, and that would be his fault. He felt like a drug pusher – he knew what it would do to her, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted her to share his life, but at the same time he knew it might destroy her.
The wind got up, ruffling his hair. He grimaced at the cold, pulled a beanie hat from his pocket and slipped it over his head. Then, with the clawboard tucked safely up under his arm, he headed off towards the cold little room he now called home.
Chapter Three
Huntsman
After leaving the others, Switch headed off across the park, cutting past the junk-filled pond and up the hill on the far side. One or two grim-faced couples eyed him warily, and he matched their glances with his own flicking stare until they turned away. Confrontation was his key to survival. Hide from people chasing you and eventually they would track you down. Face them, stand and fight, and you got them off your trail.
A couple of streets away he found a dirty fast food joint and bought a burger which he ate back out on the street. In a bin he found an old newspaper from two days ago which had little of interest, but he wasn’t much of a reader anyway. Most of the news he did glance at concerned crime within the city, murder, robbery, arson. The only mention of the world was from opinion columns that criticized the European Confederation’s trade blockades, and there was no mention of America at all. Switch had met a man once who’d been there, but as the man was begging for his life at the time Switch didn’t know if it was just a claim to still the knife or a true event. In any case, the promise of a ticket out of Mega Britain had not been enough to safeguard the man’s wallet. Switch had granted him his life, though; he wasn’t all bad.
He tossed the paper into the next bin he passed. He cared little for news; cared less for thoughts of revolution and rebellion. Once, as a kid, things had been different, but he’d made his peace now, found his ways to survive. Tube riding and enough money to keep him alive were all he needed.
After finishing his burger he headed back across the park, away from the shadow of the huge unfinished highway overpass. He tossed the wrapper into the pond and climbed the hill towards the old station entrance. He looked about for the others, but as he’d expected they’d all gone. Good. He smiled, and went back inside.
Tube riding was all Switch cared about. He had no memory of his parents, and had lost his uncle William, the man who
had brought him up, when government scumfucks had abducted Switch and other children from the streets of Bristol GUA and transported them up north to work in child labor camps. That had been ten years ago, and his uncle was probably dead now, especially considering the line of work William had been in. Switch would never qualify for a travel permit to leave London GUA and there was no other way out of the city.
He descended into the depths of St. Cannerwells, feeling the hum of the trains in the walls around him. He shivered, breathing deeply. Tube riding was like a drug. For the others it was identity, comradeship, union and all that other buddy-up shit, but for Switch it was all about the ride. Hanging off the side of the trains as they roared along the platform was like wanking on heroin times ten. He’d done everything, tried every real drug he could find, and nothing compared. Sex, too, was a pale comparison, but with his eye the only sluts he could get were paid for anyway, and money wasn’t something he had much of. Tube riding was free oblivion.
Down on the platform he let a couple of trains through before he made his move. There was an express train every hour at eighteen minutes past, and it was his dream to ride it. The commuter trains were fast, but the express roared. No one had ever ridden it, and Switch wanted to be the first. There was only one way to get on the express, though: practice.
He heard the building roar back in the tunnel and closed his eyes, tensing every muscle in his body. As the glow of the lights appeared Switch’s eyes flashed open and he started into a sprint, much earlier than the others ever did. When the train shot out of the tunnel he was already in position and he leapt for it, clawboard swinging high to catch the rail. As always, the yank on his arms as it caught made him grunt, but then he was on, feet braced on the side of the train. He had a second to glance in through the window, and saw a pair of scruffy teenagers opposite him, a boy and a girl, their heads close together.
