Ruby Tanya

by Robert Swindells

  We breathed out, relaxing momentarily. Chairs, whispered Asra. I think so he was finding chairs.

  I nodded in the dark. Thank goodness, but how do we get out of here now they’re settling in?

  Asra shrugged. We can’t, Ruby Tanya. We must wait till they go. I would rather stay in this wardrobe for ever than let that man catch me.

  I shook my head. Could be days, Asra. Chairs, mattresses, grub: doesn’t sound like the odd half-hour, does it?

  Still we must wait, she breathed.

  Voices reached us from the kitchen. Seemed very close in fact, as though the guys were talking right outside the wardrobe. We could hear every word. We listened: Cleaver was speaking.

  … be here shortly, so we better lose the motor. You go, Cedric. Bring it in the yard, back it into one of the outhouses, take the number plates off.

  How do you and Mac get back to the village?

  In the boss’s motor, growled Cleaver, with the plates from this one. Go on, before he comes and finds us rabbiting – you know what he’s like.

  The guy called Cedric went out. The other one, Mac, laughed. I hope he gives us time to get well clear of that hall before it goes up, Cave-Troll. There was enough stuff in that holdall to flatten the whole ruddy village.

  Cleaver grunted. There’s only some of it in the hall, you turkey. Rest’s hidden around the camp, where the police’ll find it. He chuckled. Just in case anybody’s in any doubt over who disrupted a public meeting in such a rude manner.

  My heart kicked me in the ribs. I gripped my friend’s elbow. Asra, I think they’ve put a bomb in the village hall. My dad … half the village’ll be there. Your people’ll get the blame. We’ve got to get out, warn everybody.

  Asra shook her head. How can we, Ruby Tanya? They’re at the bottom of the stairs. Anyway, they’re your father’s friends – why would they—?

  Ssssh! I hissed. If we could hear them, they could hear us. Window. We’ll open a window, climb out. I grabbed both her arms, shook her. I don’t know why they’d kill Dad, I only know what we just heard. The meeting’s in two and a half hours. We’ve got to do it now.

  - Ninety

  Ruby Tanya

  I WAITED TILL they were talking, then shoved the door open. Brief squeal. Asra plucked at my jacket. If I go to the village, police will catch me, send me to my country.

  I nodded. I know and I’m sorry, but we can’t let all those people die. Come on.

  We tiptoed across the floor and along the landing to the back of the house. Two bedrooms overlooked a scrapyard of rusting machines, crumpled vehicles and coils of barbed and chicken wire. We took the room to the left, heard Cedric return as we tried the window there. It wouldn’t budge. Painted in, I whispered. Come on.

  We crossed the landing. If this won’t open, I hissed, we’ll have to smash it. It was a sash window. We put our palms under the frame and heaved upwards. It slid about ten centimetres with a grinding noise, then jammed. Wait! We strained our ears, but nobody seemed to have heard. I began to wiggle the thing, pushing up at the same time. It rose by microscopic increments, making too much noise in spite of my gentleness. Pity there wasn’t a wind, lashing rain, something to mask it.

  It took more than five minutes to make a gap high enough to get through. I poked my head out, looking for that convenient fallpipe they always find in stories. It wasn’t there – we were in the wrong story. There was a wooden lean-to directly under the window, but it was a long drop and you’d probably go through the roof.

  I pulled my head in, told Asra. It’s not good but it’s our only chance. D’you want to go first?

  She shook her head. No, I can’t. I don’t like high. You go, Ruby Tanya.

  I can’t just leave you – there’ll be a heck of a crash when I land. They’d have you straight away.

  She shook her head again. You go, maybe I will come last.

  There wasn’t time to argue. I stooped, shoved a leg through and was halfway out when we heard somebody coming upstairs fast. Torn between the need to escape and my love for Asra, I hesitated. Cleaver was on the landing, roaring. Asra screamed. I made a grab for her – we’d fall together – but she resisted and then it was too late. Cave-Troll’s massive fist closed on my collar and I was hauled off the sill like a cabbage-patch doll. For a split second his attention was focused on me, and in that second Asra fled. As I writhed, slashing with my nails at the thug’s eyes, I saw her hit the stairs running. Go on, Asra, I screamed. It’s just you now.

  I knew these men would kill me: I’d seen and heard too much.

  - Ninety-One

  Asra

  I AM RUNNING downstairs. At the bottom is two men. I don’t know what I do. I’m so scared. They stand with their arms spread like goalies; I am the ball. Four steps from the bottom I throw myself sideways at the banister, roll over it and fall. It hurts but I bounce up, run to the door. The men are close behind. It is not me running – I am not so fast. It is my fear. Cold hits me, I am in the yard. The mud slows me but I think so it slows them more. I am through the gateway, running in long dead grass. I do not hear their breath now. I look back. They are standing in the gateway, puffing clouds of that breath.

  Go on, Asra. It’s just you now. Last words of Ruby Tanya to me. Last to anybody, I think so. Cave-Troll Cleaver has her and it is my fault. My fault. For her I must run to the village, tell the people, save her father. I head for Mushroom Gap.

  At the farm a motor starts. They cannot catch me running, but with a car … I stop, breathing hard, thinking. On Long Lane they will easily get me, but what if I run to the camp instead, to Mr Shofiq? Could we then warn the village in time? Will he believe me, when I have hid from police, from my parents? The motor is in the yard, coming out. It is time to decide.

  I run over the airfield, towards the camp. I hope so the bad men will think I head for the village, the motor will go to Mushroom Gap. As I run I listen. I hear the motor: it is not closer. I turn, see its lights bounding to the gap. I laugh to myself and run on.

  At the camp everything looks the same. I take the pathway to the social club. Mr Shofiq is always there. People stare as I burst in, my hair and clothes are making me look like a wolf girl. I hurry to the office; some of them follow.

  Asra? Mr Shofiq’s mouth falls open, showing his five teeth. Where have you been? he cries. Everybody is looking for you. I run round the desk, hug his neck and start to cry. The doorway is full of people staring. Go away, shouts Mr Shofiq. All go away. He hugs me, rocks me. All right, he whispers to my ear. It is all right, Asra, you are home.

  I start to tell him but he says shush. You are upset, he says, but it is all right. You are just a child, nobody blames you. There is no need to make up stories.

  It isn’t stories, Mr Shofiq, see. I dig in my pocket, bring out the plasticine I hid in the wardrobe, put it in his hand. They have many packs of this – it is like bombs. Also they have Ruby Tanya. Cleaver will kill her.

  Mr Shofiq looks to me, then to the plasticine in his hand. They have this?

  They had it, at the ruins. Now it is at village hall, also here.

  Here?

  Hidden, for police to find.

  Ah yes, I see. He reaches for the telephone, jabs 999, says, Police. Then he changes his mind, slams it down. Too slow, he says. You say your friend is at the old farm?

  Yes.

  How many men?

  Three, four maybe.

  All right, wait here.

  He leaves the office – I never see him move so fast. I look out of the window, thinking about Ruby Tanya. In half a minute he is back. Eight men will go to the farm, he says. They will find your friend. Come with me.

  We run outside. The bus is there, its engine running, Mr Malik in the driver’s seat. Go! snaps Mr Shofiq as we jump on board. The bus is old, but Mr Malik makes it go faster than he drives to school or the supermarket at Danmouth. Me and Mr Shofiq are flung from side to side as we screech round bends like Michael Schumacher. We hang on. When I dare let go
I look at my watch. It is seven o’clock. The meeting will start at half-past. We have a mile to go.

  I don’t think so we can save them.

  - Ninety-Two

  Ruby Tanya

  HE SLAPPED ME across the head a couple of times, seriously hard slaps that made my ears ring. He’d rake-marks down his cheeks from my nails but I hadn’t found his eyes. He half-dangled, half-dragged me downstairs. Mac and Cedric weren’t there. I guessed they’d gone after Asra.

  Siddown and shuddup. He shoved me towards the chest. Move, and I’ll kill you. I believed him, sat stiffly, just breathing. He crossed to the porch doorway and shouted across the yard. What you done with her then? I didn’t catch the reply, but Cleaver’s bellowed response told me what I desperately wanted to know. Well don’t stand there pickin’ yer bleat’n snouts: get the motor and go after her.

  Asra’d shaken them off, then. It didn’t make me feel good, I was much too scared for that, but at least I had the satisfaction of knowing we’d screw up Feltwell’s night if Asra made it to the village.

  I heard the car start, saw it through the window. It was a van, actually. White van, no lettering on the side. Cleaver watched it go, then came in. She won’t get away, he growled, so don’t think it. And as for you, minute the boss gets here, you’re dead. He smiled horribly. In fact you might as well practise while you’re waiting. Being dead, I mean.

  He rummaged in one of the cardboard boxes, produced a reel of parcel tape and some bubble-wrap. Open wide, he snarled. I opened my mouth and he crammed in the bubble-wrap. I was too terrified to resist, knew that my only chance was Asra. He taped my mouth, then wound the reel round and round my head like he was turning me into a mummy. Panic gripped me. I thought I’d suffocate. I jumped up, moaning and jerking my head from side to side. He slapped me again, spun me round. Hands behind your back, he snapped. Come on.

  I did what he said and he taped my wrists together, really tight. Then he squatted, pushed up the bottoms of my jeans and bound my ankles, so that I was totally helpless. It wasn’t till he raised the lid of the chest that I realized what he’d meant by practising being dead. No! I couldn’t say that of course; it came out as a muffled hum. I shook my head violently, tears streamed down my cheeks. I even tried to bunny-hop away. I must’ve looked really pathetic but he didn’t care. In fact he was smiling, enjoying himself: I knew for the first time what merciless means.

  He bent, chucking stuff out of the chest till it was empty. I stood crying, snot and tears running down my chin. He didn’t even look at my face, he just scooped me up and dumped me in the chest. I knew, knew, I wouldn’t get out alive. I did the only thing I could: refused to straighten my legs. My knees jutted above the rim of the chest, the lid rested on them and he couldn’t shut it.

  It didn’t bother Cave-Troll. He raised and slammed the lid as hard as he could, over and over, till the pain in my kneecaps was worse than my terror and I straightened them in spite of myself. With a shout of triumph he slammed down the lid and plunged me into total darkness.

  - Ninety-Three

  Asra

  MR MALIK GLANCES OVER his shoulder. Where is village hall, please?

  Watch the road! cries Mr Shofiq, because we are going at sixty miles an hour. Look for Church Lane on the left, he says, just before the green.

  It is three minutes past seven as our bus turns left on squealing tyres. Left side, raps Mr Shofiq as we roll up Church Lane, past the church and vicar’s house. Mr Malik nods, slams on the brake. We are here. Me and Mr Shofiq pick ourselves up off the floor. Through the window I see the hall, people going in. There are many polices also. When Mr Malik opens the door, a policeman sticks his head in.

  In a hurry, are we? he says.

  Mr Malik jerks his head to Mr Shofiq and me. They are.

  Oh, aye? The policeman steps up.

  Mr Shofiq goes forward to meet him. There’s a bomb, he says, in there. You must get everybody out.

  The policeman shakes his head, smiling. You’ll have to do better than that, sunshine. Think I just got off the boat, do you?

  Boat? Mr Shofiq frowns. No boat, bomb. In the village hall.

  Yes, I heard you the first time. Oldest trick in the book, old lad.

  Trick?

  That’s what I said. Oldest trick in the book. Bomb threat, hall evacuated, no meeting, Bob’s your uncle.

  No! cries Mr Shofiq. We have not come to stop the meeting. We come to warn. There is a—

  Please, Mr Policeman. I step forward. I will be caught now, put on a flight to my country, but I can’t be silent. I look up to the officer and say, My name is Asra Saber. You have been looking for me. I am living in the ruins. Bad men come, I hide in a wardrobe—

  He holds up a hand. I know: you go through the wardrobe and find yourself in a strange land, right?

  No! what I am telling to you is true.

  No it’s not, sweetheart. He sounds tired, turns to Mr Malik. I’m getting off now, he says. I advise you to drive on, turn right and right again: you’ll find you’re facing the Danmouth road. Stay here, you’ll find you’re facing charges.

  He is on the step. Mr Shofiq takes the block of bomb stuff out of his pocket, shows it. D’you know what this is? he asks.

  Sure. The officer nods. Plasticine.

  It is ten past seven.

  - Ninety-Four

  Ruby Tanya

  I TRIED TO concentrate on lying still. Total darkness in a confined space promotes panic, and panic only makes a bad situation worse. You injure yourself thrashing about, and you use more oxygen. I doubted whether the ancient chest was airtight but it felt airtight, and my gag added to the feeling of slow suffocation.

  So I lay still, breathing slowly. My battered knees prickled; I felt the trickle of blood. The chest wasn’t soundproof – I could hear Cleaver moving about, shifting things and muttering to himself. I was listening for the motor which would bring Feltwell. Minute the boss gets here, you’re dead. Listening for it, praying for it not to come.

  It came, after only a few minutes probably, though it felt like hours. I heard the engine die, footfalls in the porch, Feltwell’s voice.

  What’s going on? Where’re Mac and Cedric?

  Chasing a kid. Other one’s in there.

  Kid? What kid? A scraping noise, the lid was lifted. I gazed up at the face I’d seen at Danmouth mall. Who the heck is this? Why’s she here?

  There were two of ’em, boss, upstairs. Must’ve been here when we arrived. They were trying to get out through a bedroom window.

  You should’ve let them, you idiot. What’m I supposed to do with her, now she’s seen my face?

  Kill her, boss. Mac’ll run the other one over with the van, no danger. Should’ve done it by now, in fact.

  Lovely! And how d’you think we’re going to pin two squashed kids on the asylum seekers, you pea-brained tunnel-dwarf?

  I … dunno, boss. We think they heard us talking, about tonight. Had to do summink.

  So you let one of ’em go?

  That runaway, Saber. I bet she’s been living here.

  Feltwell shook his head. You’re supposed to have checked the place out days ago, you brainless lump. What’s the use of me planning everything down to the last detail, if you’re going to screw it all up the first time I leave you to do something by yourself? I suppose you’re going to tell me next that Mac and Cedric left their mobiles here?

  No, boss, they took ’em.

  Well, that’s something. Get onto them, tell them go to the hall, whether they found the kid or not. Got that?

  Yes, boss.

  Good. And when you’ve done that, see to this one. And make sure you do a thorough job for once. There’s a heavy hammer somewhere about. I’ll go do the business.

  He left the lid up, went away. I heard a phone beep, Cleaver talking. Feltwell drove off. These were the last moments of my life. I tried not to think about Mum and Gran and Asra; tried not to think, but couldn’t blank out heavy hammer.

  An
d here it came, in Cleaver’s giant fist. Here comes a chopper to chop off your head. Mum recited that to me once, long ago at bed time. Little did she know. He was smiling, Cleaver. Can you imagine? Looking forward. He walked round the chest, slowly, like a snooker player seeking the best spot, the perfect angle. I closed my eyes.

  There came a noise, a scrabbling from the porch, voices shouting. I opened my eyes. Cleaver, hammer raised, mouth open, stared towards the door. In seconds the kitchen filled with men: heaving, grunting men, like a scrum. Cleaver cried out and fell, the hammer rang on the flags. A bearded face looked down at me. Strong arms went under my knees and shoulders. I was scooped out of my coffin.

  Out of my coffin.

  - Ninety-Five

  Asra

  NOT PLASTICINE, CRIES Mr Shofiq; plastic explosive, found by this child at the abandoned farm.

  For the first time, the policeman seems uncertain. He looks at the bomb stuff, at me, at Mr Shofiq. I … hang on a minute, I’ll get the sergeant.

  It is twelve minutes past seven. People in the queue have noticed who we are, what we are. They are casting dirty looks. When the officer goes away, one man runs over and bangs on the side of the bus, shouting bad words. I look down at his face, made ugly by hate. I move away from the window.

  Mr Shofiq stands at the door, waiting for the sergeant. Mr Malik is nervous, watching the queue. If these people didn’t hate us they wouldn’t be here. The man who banged has a group round him now; they keep looking our way. I think so they want to hurt us.

  Then I see them. Two men, coming out of the hall. Mac and Cedric. Somebody points to the bus and they look. Our eyes meet and their mouths fall open. I know their secret; they know that I know. I have to be silenced. The angry group is a way to do this. Mac calls to them. Come on, what’re we waiting for? Let’s get ’em.