A Mind of its Own

by Martyn Ford

  ‘Why, I collected it and put it in the rear compartment of Monkey Force One,’ Phil said.

  ‘Aw, thank God. It’ll take us back to the woods,’ Tim said.

  ‘I could create another one?’ Phil said, hopeful.

  ‘No need, too risky.’

  ‘So I made the imagination box for nothing?’ The monkey was hunched like a sulking teenager.

  ‘You cut the glass, Phil,’ Tim said, trying to reassure him. ‘You did well.’

  ‘Let’s just go.’ Dee lifted two thumbs and danced. ‘Jail, jail, jailbreak.’

  ‘Fine. Wait here,’ Phil said, clambering back up to the window hole. He scurried away, up the wall and to the roof where he’d parked his tiny jet. He returned thirty seconds or so later and passed the teleportation sphere through.

  Tim literally kissed it. ‘Well done, Phil, well done.’

  This was their chance at an escape. It was one of those strokes of luck that made Tim feel dizzy to think about any other option.

  They huddled close and Tim held the small gadget in his hand. Dee held it too. Phil looked on from Tim’s top pocket, hugging his tiny imagination box and wearing its tiny reader – it kept falling over his eyes and he kept tilting it back. ‘Ready?’ Tim said.

  With a triumphant breath he placed his thumb on the button and—

  ‘Wait,’ Dee said. ‘Wait just one second …’ She took the metal ball from him and placed it on the mattress. ‘Why would they lock us up, only to have us taken out straight away? Why transfer us in the middle of the night? Doesn’t that seem weird to you? What’s the rush?’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Tim asked.

  Dee narrowed her eyes. ‘Remember what they said in the helicopter, before the cobra business?’

  ‘Aw, I do miss Barry,’ Phil said.

  ‘Security level five.’ Dee was frowning. She began to pace. ‘None of the police know who we are, or why we’re really wanted so badly. Not even Clarice knew.’

  ‘Well, they’re just following Stephen’s orders,’ Tim said.

  ‘But maybe they weren’t ordered to lock us up here. They did that because they were so worried about us slipping away again.’ Dee was nodding. ‘And now they’ve been given new orders, from GGHQ, the Grey Guards, to have us transferred as soon as possible?’

  ‘Stephen is coming here personally,’ Phil added, leaping on to the mattress and looking up at them. ‘Are my vocal cords faulty? We have to leave.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dee said. ‘We have to leave. Stephen doesn’t want us to be here, not even for one night. We know he visited Fredric in this very prison to ask for his help – and, among other things, they talked about Hawk Peak’s reputation …’ Dee glared at them both. ‘If you were Stephen Crowfield, where would you hide the imagination station?’

  Tim laughed gently. ‘In the most secure place I could find,’ he said, staring at the wall.

  ‘I think,’ Dee whispered, ‘I think we’re exactly where we need to be.’

  Phil still didn’t seem to have worked it out. But then, steadily, his eyes widened, his mouth fell open and he lifted a finger. ‘Goodness gracious grapes and olives,’ he said, pointing at Tim. ‘You still owe me a hat.’

  Chapter 20

  The prison cell had a steely chill, the kind of damp cold that gets in your clothes and hair – the hole in the window only made it worse.

  Phil scurried up on to the pillow, then on to the corner of the bed frame where he perched like a tiny gargoyle. He was dry now – his fur had a just-washed fluff about it. ‘Ever so sorry, I missed what you were saying – my mind suffers from insatiable wanderlust,’ he said.

  ‘The imagination station is here,’ Tim explained. ‘Here in Hawk Peak Prison. It’s the perfect hiding place.’

  ‘Seems an interesting theory, this being somewhat of an impenetrable fortress,’ Phil replied, stroking flat the hairs on his arms. ‘But, dare I say, one of significant scale.’

  ‘Yeah, but …’ Tim stood quickly and stepped to the cell door. ‘Hey, Stabby Pete, Hammer,’ he said through the bars. ‘This secret basement …’

  The other inmates explained that there was a large hatch in the middle of the open courtyard – which was explicitly off limits – and it was used to access a storage area beneath the prison. No one knew what it contained, hence the speculation and scare stories. Not even the guards had access, they said.

  ‘Who does have access?’ Tim said.

  ‘Far as I know,’ Hammer replied, ‘only the warden’s boss.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Stephen Crowfield,’ Hammer said.

  ‘You definitely heard Stephen say he was coming here?’ Dee whispered to Phil.

  ‘With my own ears,’ the monkey replied.

  Tim thought to himself for a moment, then rolled his eyes. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘He’s coming to get the imagination station.’

  ‘To hide it?’ Dee wondered.

  ‘Yeah, or worse,’ Tim said. ‘Maybe he’s going to use it again? He could just create another universe, another reality – one where we don’t even exist.’

  ‘Or one where we’re goldfish,’ Dee said. ‘Blind goldfish.’

  ‘Yeah, or that.’

  ‘Stopping him in blind-fish form would be virtually impossible,’ Phil said.

  ‘Then … I suppose this is our last chance.’ Dee nodded.

  Tim paced, thinking, planning – they had to get out of this cell and into that basement, before Stephen did. He glanced up at the window. Even if they somehow got rid of the bars and broke the glass, it still wasn’t big enough to crawl through. He turned back to the door. Double-locked, electronically and the old-fashioned way. It was possible Phil could remove the hinges with some metal-cutting equipment, but not without attracting a great deal of attention from the guards.

  ‘We just can’t do it alone,’ Tim said with a wince, gesturing towards the door.

  ‘Guys,’ Dee said through the bars.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘How long have you three been on this wing?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Oh, longer than you could possibly imagine,’ Hammer replied.

  ‘Presumably you’ve thought about breaking out?’ she said.

  ‘Every day, but it can’t be done,’ Stabby Pete added. ‘No one gets out of Hawk Peak.’

  ‘What if we just needed to get out of this wing,’ Dee said. ‘What if we just needed to get to, say, that basement hatch? Could that be done?’

  ‘I … maybe, but it’s a dead end,’ Hammer said. ‘One way in, one way out. Plus it’s in the middle of the quad, which is a huge open space. Even if you made it that far, they’d catch you for sure.’

  ‘That’s absolutely fine – it only needs to be a one-way trip,’ Dee said.

  ‘Why are you asking? Is one of you small enough to crawl through the bars?’ Stabby Pete asked, sarcastically.

  ‘Yep,’ Dee said. ‘One of us is a finger monkey.’

  ‘Hello,’ Phil said.

  ‘What the hell is a finger monkey?’

  ‘It’s …’ Tim said. ‘It’s like a monkey that’s the size of a mouse.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Cool,’ Hammer said.

  ‘That does sound brilliant,’ Stabby Pete admitted.

  ‘So, come on, run us through it,’ Dee said.

  ‘I ain’t telling you nothin’ until you kids explain what you have planned.’ Hammer sounded stubborn.

  ‘All right, listen,’ Tim said. ‘Couple of years back I met an inventor, Professor Eisenstone. He’d built this machine, this box …’ He retold the whole story, right up to this very moment in time. Dee and Phil added bits of information every now and then.

  ‘And I thought Screamy Joe was crazy,’ Hammer said once Tim had finished. ‘But you’re my kind of crazy, so why the hell not. I’ll tell ya how to get out to that hatch, but after that you’re on your own. Firstly, do not tamper with your do
or. Any damage will initiate a full wing lockdown – sleeping gas will come out of the vents, alarms will sound, guards, drones, the works. You do not want that to happen. Instead, get that monkey of yours to break the control box near the end of the hall – that’ll take care of the electronic autolocks. You’ll need to use something powerful, ideally explosives.’

  Phil’s eyes lit up. ‘That shan’t be a problem.’

  ‘The guard will come and investigate, so everything must happen quickly,’ Hammer explained. ‘You’ll need to get his key and key card. You need two sets of hands to open the barrier door, to get to the window, you see. You could try and blast through it, but that’d also initiate lockdown. I suggest letting either me or Stabby Pete out and we can tackle the guard for you.’

  ‘No way,’ Tim whispered to Dee. ‘Absolutely not. That’s a no-no.’ He really did not like the idea of coming into physical contact with these inmates. ‘Phil can make a new key and key card.’

  ‘There is no doubt that my imagination box is powerful,’ the monkey whispered. ‘But I am sorry to report it is also modest in size. Smaller, you will note, than a key card.’

  ‘Well, hang on,’ Dee whispered, before saying louder, ‘Can I just ask what you did to get locked up in here?’

  ‘Me?’ Hammer said. ‘Tax avoidance.’

  ‘Why do they call you Hammer then?’ Dee was frowning.

  ‘That’s my last name, Gerald Hammer.’

  ‘And how about you Stabby Pete?’ she asked.

  ‘Streaking,’ he said, with a sigh.

  Tim and Dee’s eyebrows lifted at the same time.

  ‘As in, running naked on to, like, a football pitch?’ she said.

  ‘Ice hockey,’ he explained. ‘Twenty-six counts. Painful when they tackle you, but worth it.’

  ‘O … K … Why are you called Stabby Pete then?’ Dee wondered.

  ‘Oh, I stabbed a guy too. But he’s fine – we’re actually dear friends now.’

  ‘We can cross him off,’ she whispered. ‘Right, what about Screamy Joe?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Ah!’

  ‘Best to leave Screamy Joe in his cell,’ Hammer said.

  They planned it all in perfectly timed detail – everyone had their roles and got themselves prepared. Before they started, Dee asked Hammer what the chances of success were. He laughed and sighed. ‘You want the honest answer or the sugar-coated answer?’ he said. ‘Really, I’d be astonished if even half of this goes to plan. I reckon they’ll catch you, or shoot you, within about, say, sixty seconds?’

  ‘And the sugar-coated answer?’ Tim said.

  ‘I’m afraid that was the sugar-coated answer, kiddo.’

  Tim and Dee looked at one another and she shrugged.

  ‘Say something reassuring,’ Tim whispered.

  ‘Um, the Grey Guards use high-velocity rifles, so if we die it’ll probably be instantaneous?’ she said.

  ‘Do you know what “reassuring” means? Aw, let’s just do it.’

  And so Phil scurried out through the door’s narrow food hatch, climbed up to the fuse box and used his sharp teeth to chew through the alarm wire. Then he used a marble-sized ball of plastic explosives (Philtex) to blast it to pieces. The lights flickered and the electronic autolocks whirred down. This, as expected, summoned the guard. The rest of the scheme happened out of Tim’s sight, but he could hear the commotion well enough.

  Spotting Phil, the guard chased him down the hall, presumably mistaking him for a mouse – Tim heard loud footsteps. The monkey darted into Hammer’s cell. Once the guard stepped close to the bars, Hammer grabbed him and held him in place. Tim heard the guard yelling to be released, then giggling and screaming and wiggling as the monkey scurried into his pocket. A moment later, a door was clunking.

  ‘No, stop, backup, I need backup!’ the man shouted.

  Hammer was then at their door, fiddling outside with the stolen key card. There was a beep. Then the real lock clacked and turned. It swung open, squeaking on its hinges. Tim was relieved to see the guard was unhurt and was now himself locked inside Hammer’s cell.

  ‘You’re smaller than I imagined,’ the inmate said as they stepped out into the hall.

  ‘You’re bigger than I imagined,’ Tim replied, glancing up at the tall, heavyset man. Hammer had a vest and tattoos and a scary face. For a terrible moment Tim wondered if he had lied about his crimes and was actually planning to just kill and eat them. Or something along those lines.

  Luckily, he was a really nice guy – a gentle giant. Dee snatched the keys from him, ran straight to the main door at the end of the hall, and snapped one off in the keyhole, blocking the lock. There were prison guards on the other side, shouting things at them and then into their radios – they seemed panicked to see inmates out of their cells.

  She returned and Hammer guided them to the barrier door, which needed a card swipe and two locks turned in unison. On the other side was the window.

  ‘Right,’ he said, pointing outside. ‘You see – there, in the middle of the courtyard – that’s your hatch for the basement.’

  It was further away than Tim had imagined. The prison was huge and square in shape, with four large sections and an expanse of empty land in the middle. On the far side, Tim could see the five-storey building – the South Wing. Connected either side of that were the east and the west wings. There were hundreds of windows, all looking down into the courtyard area. It reminded him of school.

  What struck Tim was how bare everything was – there were no trees, no benches, no colours out there. Just flat, empty concrete, enclosed by tall brick buildings. A few weeds had sprouted through cracks, but besides that it looked almost abandoned.

  A second ball of explosives turned a chunk of concrete wall to dust, removing bolts around the now cracked glass.

  Grunting, Hammer barged the damaged window frame with his shoulder, shattering the rest and bending the metal lattice. He then put a foot on the wall and, with bulging veins and clenched teeth, pried it open, only just wide enough for Tim and Dee.

  The guards at the end of the hall were nearly through the door now as Hammer held his thick fingers together between his knees, giving both Tim and Dee a lift through. It seemed effortless, not because they were light but because he was strong.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Hammer,’ Tim said, landing outside in the colder air.

  They turned to run, but Hammer said, ‘Wait. Tim, you can change everything with this machine?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘Could you change my life?’ Hammer seemed suddenly small, like a child younger than Tim asking for a treat.

  ‘Well, maybe,’ Tim said. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘I just … I just want to be happy,’ Hammer whispered.

  An alarm – a constant ringing, like a school bell left on – began to play above.

  The guards were through the door and, with a frantic rush, were tackling Hammer to the ground, clicking cuffs around his wrists and yelling.

  Ignoring their orders – which included, ‘Freeze’, ‘Stop’ and every variation on that theme – Tim and Dee ran, Hammer’s words echoing in his mind. They scaled a fence and were then on the wide-open expanse of concrete. Right in the centre, Tim could just about see the small metal door imbedded in the ground.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘There it is.’

  However, they had only taken about three paces when a spotlight dazzled his vision – stinging white light, brighter than the sun. It was attached, Tim noticed, to a helicopter, which rumbled above and then swooped quickly into the middle of the courtyard. Dust swirled and curled beneath its blades as it touched down. Two watchtowers on the far side came alive – another pair of searchlights shone down on them. Then two more from behind. They were now lit like footballers in a stadium – four shadows splitting at their feet like points on a compass.

  Shielding his face, Tim could see far up ahead that armed Grey Guards were getting into formation. They were all wearing full combat
gear, complete with dark helmets, boots, bulletproof vests – the works. There were at least fifty of them, some crouching behind riot shields, others lying prone on the floor, cocking rifles and reporting on radios. More were appearing at the windows, a few were running into position on the rooftop. Little red lasers – dots of death – arrived on Tim and Dee.

  ‘They sure are taking this seriously,’ she said, looking down at her chest.

  Tim stood there, dancing drops of gentle rain still falling around him like glowing dust, and, despite all the noise and chaos, he could still hear his own pulse throbbing inside his head. Would they actually shoot them if they made a run for that hatch, Tim wondered.

  ‘Phil, where’s your imagination box?’ Tim whispered.

  ‘Oh, dirty fiddlesticks,’ the monkey said. ‘I left it in the cell. Everything was so rushed.’

  ‘Shame, you could have made a hat.’

  ‘Salt my open wounds.’

  And then a megaphone echoed from the helicopter. ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

  Tim recognised his voice straight away.

  Stephen Crowfield strode out from behind the spotlight, his long leather jacket waving in the wind, flapping near his feet. He stepped towards the hatch and, without thinking, Tim started walking forwards too. He couldn’t let Stephen get there first. But the moment he moved, all the red dots and spotlights centred on him.

  ‘I said don’t move.’ Stephen was holding the megaphone to his mouth as he walked.

  Helpless, they could only watch as he opened the hatch and disappeared inside the ground. He stepped out carrying a large metal container – the imagination station presumably enclosed within. Like a cannonball in his chest, Tim’s heart ached in defeat. His fists were clenched at his sides. They had come so close.

  ‘Put your hands above your head,’ another amplified voice said from behind the lights.

  ‘He’s got it,’ Tim said, panicked and sweating, lifting his arms a little. They were shaking. Stephen was walking calmly back towards his helicopter. ‘We … we have to …’ But he couldn’t find the words.

  Sometimes he tried to make himself think like Dee, with pure, cold logic. The facts were: if he moved, his life would probably end. But then if he didn’t move, his life would probably end too.