We drive in silence for a while. The headlights bore two pale holes into the darkness.
I’m just starting to get lulled by the rhythm of the van when Tom speaks. ‘So, Cal,’ he says, keeping his eyes on the road. ‘Here’s the deal. My cover story is that I’m a teacher on half-term holidays. You’re my kid brother and I’m driving you to stay with our aunt and uncle because our mum and dad are working. You injured your arm in the science labs at school.’
‘I did?’ I say.
‘Yes,’ he says patiently. ‘You did. Everyone has a small ID chip implanted on the inside of their wrist instead of ID papers now. Except you. There was no need to ID chip you, where you were. That’s why Helen bandaged that area too. CATS scanners need to touch skin to work. They’re unlikely to bother checking because they’d have to take the bandage off.’
‘Right,’ I say, not much clearer. ‘What about you, though? What if you get scanned? Do they know you work for Torch?’
‘Oh yes, they know,’ says Tom, frowning at the road ahead. ‘But I’ve had a false chip fitted into my arm. It wouldn’t pass the newer scanners in the main cities, but if we keep to back roads, it should be enough to get through the more basic security technology at any road blocks we come up against.’
My weary brain struggles to take all this in.
‘What about Bea— Nathan?’ I say.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ says Tom. ‘The van has a hidden compartment in the back. We’re banking on him not being found at all.’ The words hang ominously in the air. ‘OK,’ Tom continues, ‘so your name is Matt Spencer and I’m Patrick. We live in Westport, North Yorkshire. But hopefully we won’t get stopped anyway. Cal? Still with me, mate?’
‘Yeah, yeah. Spencer. Westport. Got it.’
Tom smiles. ‘I’m not surprised you’re tired after the day you’ve had,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you try to sleep for a bit?’
‘I’m all right,’ I say. ‘Not tired at all.’
This isn’t exactly the truth. I am completely shot to pieces. But I also feel like I’ve drunk about seventeen Cokes. I’m shaky and wired and can’t imagine I’ll ever sleep again. My neck isn’t doing a very good job of supporting my enormously heavy head at the moment though, so I pick up the rucksack and squish it against the window so at least I can lean against it.
No way I can sleep. Better to stay alert. Still not sure I can trust . . .
Something wet and cold is pressed against my face. I open eyes full of sand and realise I’ve done quite a lot of dribbling on the rucksack. Must have dropped off. The light is milky grey and raindrops trickle down the windscreen. Looks like it’s morning but I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep. The door of the van is open and we’re no longer moving. Cigarette smoke wafts in. Must be in Loz’s van. Oh God, does that mean we’re going to Riley Hall again?
I sit up, panicky, in my seat and then it all starts to come back to me. Being in the Facility . . . getting sprung by Torch. It feels a bit like I’ve just plunged down a roller-coaster as the images come rushing into my mind. I look at my bandaged hand, which throbs with a dull, steady beat. I need to pee too. I’m about to open my door to get out when quiet, angry voices outside make me hesitate.
‘It isn’t the time or the place to discuss this!’ Tom’s voice is low and urgent. ‘We’re doing nothing without his permission, you know that! If he doesn’t agree then that’s the end of it.’
‘You’re not thinking this through properly, Tom!’ Nathan’s words come as an angry hiss. ‘A deeper debrief is the only way to get the information we need. Damn it, this is too important to waste time on polite requests! What do you think he’ll say? “Yes, go ahead, be my guest!” Of course he won’t! Would you agree, in his position?’
‘Keep your voice down for God’s sake!’ snaps Tom.
Nathan swears and I hear the pop of him sucking on his cigarette. It reminds me of Des, whose face pops straight into my mind. I scrunch my eyes for a second to make it go away. Tom is now murmuring so quietly I can’t make out what he’s saying.
‘We’ll see about that,’ says Nathan clearly. There are footsteps.
I hear the back doors open and close with a clang. Looking through slitted eyes, I watch Tom climb back into the van. He peers at me but I stay still, head to one side like I’m asleep. The engine starts again and the car moves. I keep my eyes closed but my heart is thumping. Why were they fighting? And what did Nathan mean about a ‘deeper debrief ’? I don’t like the sound of it, whatever it is.
I haven’t really been told what it is they want from me yet. Do they have their own reasons for getting me out of that place? I make a quick decision to be on my guard. I’m not trusting anyone yet.
After a few minutes I do a fake waking up routine, with a big stretchy yawn thrown in for good measure. It feels important somehow that they don’t know what I heard.
Tom looks away from the road and searches my face before half-smiling. ‘How you doing, buddy?’ he says.
I shrug.
Tom yawns widely and then catches my eye and grins.
I think about asking him to explain what I overheard but don’t know how to bring it up. ‘You haven’t really told me where we’re going yet,’ I say instead.
He glances at me. ‘No, you’re right. Sorry, we should have made that clear. We’re driving to another Torch safe house. It’s in the Cotswolds. You can rest there for a bit and get your head together. We can talk about the future once you’ve had time to adjust to all this.’ He pauses and flashes a kind smile. ‘It’ll all be OK. We’ll sort you out, don’t worry.’
I stare ahead. We’re driving through a forest that feels like a dense green tunnel. There are no other cars on the road.
I don’t know what to think. I like Tom. He does seem to care what happens to me.
I sit up straighter in my seat. I’m all fidgety. It’s like there are so many questions, all crowded in together, and I don’t know which ones to pick out to ask. At this present moment, though, I have other concerns.
‘Tom?’ I say.
‘Yeah?’
‘I need to pee.’
‘Ah, OK, no problem,’ he says and presses a button on the dashboard.
‘Comfort break,’ he says, presumably to Nathan.
The van slows and stops in a lay-by. I climb down onto the ground, which is crunchy with bits of bark and twigs. The rain has stopped now and sunshine is pushing through the clouds, splashing brightness everywhere. I go off into the trees to do what I have to do, looking around me as I go. Weird . . . it’s not like I was expecting 2024 to be all jet packs and skyscrapers, but I wasn’t expecting a normal-looking forest either.
But then I realise it’s amazing in a different way. I do a gentle spin, looking up at the tall pines above me and I get all filled up inside. The sharp smell of the trees mixed with the warm earth and the sunshine sprinkling my face feel so intense and I have to swallow deeply. I wipe my eyes and cough in what I hope is a manly way as I walk back to where Nathan and Tom are standing. Nathan is leaning against a tree, smoking again and frowning as usual. He looks exactly like you’d expect after spending several hours in the back of that van. Rumpled and sore. His face now sports a rainbow of bruises and I guiltily look away.
‘All done?’ says Tom. His tone is light but he’s constantly scanning around us, checking we’re alone. His eyes have grey shadows under them.
‘Can I ask something?’
‘Of course,’ he says.
‘What’s with all the smells?’
He smiles, puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Everything . . . it all smells so strong.’
The two men exchange glances and then Nathan speaks. ‘It’s because you’ve been cooped up all that time,’ he says a bit grudgingly. ‘You haven’t been able to experience the world properly. You lived in those four walls for all those years. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?’
‘Fourteen,’ I say.
Something passes across
his face. He surprises me by giving me a weak smile, but there’s sadness in his eyes. ‘Plenty of time to make up for it,’ he says.
I think about his brother dying and feel a spasm of pity. Maybe I’m bringing back painful memories just by being a teenage kid.
‘I’m . . .’ I hesitate. ‘I’m sorry about hurting you yesterday,’ I say in a rush, looking at my shoes.
There’s a pause. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he says at last.
Tom opens the driver’s door and emerges, holding a bag. He checks his watch. ‘I think we should take another five minutes and have something to eat.’ He looks at me. ‘How’s the hand?’
‘It’s OK,’ I say. Actually, it’s just started hurting like crazy in the last few minutes, like someone has flipped a switch and is gradually notching up the pain. Whatever Helen gave me must be wearing off. It’s almost a high-pitched whine that only I can hear; an angry mosquito in my ear.
‘Well, it does hurt a bit, to be honest,’ I admit.
Tom goes to the van and comes back with tablets. ‘Swallow these and then eat something.’
I gulp the bitter tablets back with some lukewarm water from a plastic bottle.
We sit on a fallen-down tree and Tom produces tuna sandwiches and warm cans of Coke. I start wondering if 2024 is any different at all and then I remember I have a dirty great computer chip inside my brain that shows people my darkest, deepest secrets. I stuff in my sandwich to distract myself, barely pausing to swallow.
‘Easy now,’ says Tom, but I ignore him and stuff the remains of it down before giving a ripe and satisfied burp.
‘Feel better for that?’ he asks with a mischievous grin.
The painkillers are starting to dull the pain already and I’m feeling almost half decent. A smile tickles my mouth. ‘Blinding, thanks,’ I say.
Tom laughs and then he burps too, even louder than mine.
Nathan swoops his eyes disgustedly, which just makes Tom laugh harder. It’s like Nathan is Dad and Tom is the cheeky teenager, even though there’s probably only a few years between them.
‘I think it’s about time we —’ sniffs Nathan.
But Tom, suddenly serious, cuts him off with a harsh, ‘Shhh!’, his finger to his mouth. There are two sides to him, I can see, and the professional one kicks in effortlessly.
Both men go absolutely still.
‘I heard something,’ murmurs Tom.
Then I hear it too.
A faint snapping of branches is coming from somewhere behind us.
Without saying another word, Nathan runs to the back of the van and I hear the clang of the doors slamming closed after he clambers inside. Tom grabs the evidence of our lunch and stuffs it into a carrier bag.
‘Quickly, Cal, get in,’ he says sharply.
The back of my neck prickles with anxiety. We clamber in and Tom starts the engine before I’ve even closed my door. The tyres screech as we pull away from the lay-by.
‘What was it?’ I say.
Tom checks the rear-view mirror. ‘I’m not sure, but could be cats,’ he says grimly.
Somehow I’m guessing this isn’t the kind of moggies I’m familiar with.
I open my mouth to ask more and then something flashes in front of the car. Tom swears and we brake suddenly. I’m violently jerked forwards and the seatbelt bites into my shoulder. Something slams into my side window and I gasp, looking into the face of a young Indian man, his eyes bulging with terror and his face bloody and scratched. His clothes are ripped and purple bruises and small red scabs spot his arms.
He seems to mouth the word ‘help’ and tries to open my door but I hear Tom clunk the central locking.
I spin to look at him and see a hard set to his face.
‘He needs our help!’ I yell but Tom just pulls away in a screech of tyres. I look in the wing mirror and see a pack of dogs emerging from the bushes with several men in black uniforms. The man crouches in the road and the dogs set upon him like he’s a juicy bone.
‘Why didn’t you help him?’ I shout.
Tom stares stonily at the road ahead. ‘I couldn’t, Cal,’ he says quietly. ‘He was beyond help. We’d only have drawn attention to ourselves. It might have meant you being captured again. Do you understand?’
I nod, reluctantly. I’m shaking all over and can’t get the image of the man’s terrified face out of my head.
‘Who are those people? Are they police?’ I clench my good hand and try to breathe. The lunch I just bolted down feels like it might come right back up again.
‘More powerful than the police,’ says Tom. ‘They’re known as Counterinsurgency and Anti-Terrorism Squads, or CATS. It’s difficult to monitor some rural areas, so they send in these CATS to sniff out terrorists. Or at least that’s what they say. Really they like to bully and intimidate residents. Black and Asian residents usually get it worst.’
‘Why?’ I say and Tom gives a heavy sigh.
‘Because the whole regime is based on a fear of terrorism. There are regular attacks in the major cities and no one knows for sure who’s responsible. Torch thinks the regime is actually behind many of them. It’s their reason for identity chipping and it’s why they invented the Revealer Chip. It’s all about control.’
I look ahead, the man’s terrified face still superimposed on my retinas.
‘Help.’ That’s what he was trying to say. And we just drove away and left him there. I don’t know what they’ll do to him. Maybe he’ll be killed. Or maybe he’s going to end up in the Facility. Deep in some rotten part of me, I’m relieved it’s happening to him and not me.
We drive in silence for ages. The sky has clouded over again and a thin drizzle is falling now. The windscreen wipers swish and thump rhythmically.
After a while we reach a motorway that has about ten lanes each way. It makes me a bit nervy and my back prickles with sweat. Tom closes all the windows and I can hear the low hum of air-con.
We stop at a service station to fill the van with petrol. Tom’s face is serious now. All the banter has gone. Nervousness ripples in my belly. It somehow felt safer when we were in the middle of nowhere. I can’t help worrying that every car overtaking us is filled with CATS or whatever they’re called, all hunting me down.
Coming off the motorway at last, the traffic slows and thickens, no longer moving easily. We’re at the top of a giant hill and below us, Tom tells me, is Sheffield. But it’s hard to make out buildings because the whole thing has a kind of yellow fog hanging over it.
‘What’s that?’ I say.
‘Just rush hour pollution,’ says Tom. ‘It’s known as the miasma. Car use has gone off the scale because no one feels safe on public transport these days.’
I stare at him, confused.
‘Terrorist attacks,’ he says wearily, making air quotes with his fingers.
We crawl through the suburbs of the city. The houses look pretty much like any houses, although some of the better-tended gardens have all sorts of colourful plants splashed over them. They’re a weird contrast to the toxic yellow air outside the car. I swivel in my seat to look at some massive palm trees taking over one front garden. They look weird. Sort of tropical.
‘The one upside to climate change,’ he says with a wry smile. ‘We get a few exotic plants. Unfortunately, that also means exotic insects so, if you see any mozzies, make sure you kill them quickly. Malaria is a big problem here now, and there was an epidemic of dengue fever a couple of years ago.’
‘What the hell is dengue fever?’ I ask.
‘Believe me,’ says Tom grimly, ‘you don’t want to know.’
As we crawl through the streets I can’t stop staring at the strange plants. Someone in a black 4x4 alongside us mouths something and a black screen instantly covers the window.
Tom notices. ‘Try not to draw attention to yourself, Cal,’ he says sharply. I turn away, stung. ‘People get jumpy about being stared at.’
We stop at traffic lights. And then an alien creature suddenly
appears at the window next to me and I just about lose my entire skin in fright.
It’s staring in at me, its long flesh-coloured snout flat at one end and dotted with tiny holes. Its eyes are black and round. Even more bizarrely, it seems to be wearing a suit. And riding a bike.
‘What is that?’ I point a shaking finger at the window. That’s when I notice lots of other creatures with the same face.
Tom smiles. ‘Don’t freak out, it’s only people wearing their miasma masks. They keep out the worst of the pollution. You only have to wear them during rush hour. Look in the glove compartment.’
I reach forward and open it up and see two slippery pinkish things pooled in the bottom. I pull one of them out. It’s soft and light and only takes on its proper shape when I give it a shake.
‘What is it made from?’ I ask Tom.
‘Skin,’ he says, matter-of-factly.
I drop it in my lap like it’s burning.
Tom gives another easy laugh. ‘Don’t worry, it hasn’t been sliced off anyone! It’s synthetically engineered.’
I slip the mask on and, with a sucking noise, it clings to my face. It gives me the creeps so I quickly whip it off again.
‘Why don’t you stick it in your rucksack for now? I’ve got several.’
I stuff the mask into the front of my backpack. Maybe 2024 is a bit more different than I realised.
Tom’s phone rings and he brings it to his ear, eyes on the rear-view mirror. ‘Yup?’ he says and then goes quiet, listening to the person on the other end. He glances sharply at me and his face colours. He’s frowning and then he looks furious. ‘No,’ he says. ‘This isn’t —’
The other voice seems to cut him off. He swears and then slowly lowers the phone.
‘So who was that?’ I say.
There’s a pause big enough to park a bus in before he speaks again. ‘We have to make a detour into the city,’ he says tightly.
‘Where to?’
He pauses again. ‘To the university,’ he says. ‘There’s someone there who wants to meet you.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I say, suspicion spiking my guts. ‘Who?’
Cracks Page 8
