Crossfire

by Malorie Blackman

  Troy’s mouth falls open, once again revealing its half-chewed, mushy contents.

  ‘Dude! Seriously?’ I frown, pointing at his mouth.

  Troy’s mouth snaps shut. He chews quickly and swallows.

  ‘Rigged? By who?’

  ‘Mr Pike for one. He wants to rig the vote so that Dina wins, even though she pulled out,’ I say.

  ‘Mr Pike! Are you high?’

  ‘No, and I’m not deluded either. He doesn’t want the son of a terrorist sympathizer or a Nought to be voted the head student of Heathcroft – his words, not—’

  ‘LIBBY!’

  I register the shock on Troy’s face a moment before his box of fish and chips hits the ground. Without warning, my arms are yanked behind me – hard – and what feels like a plastic tag is pulled tight round my wrists.

  ‘GET OFF ME—’ Troy yells.

  A man wearing a rabbit mask has darted past Troy to put an arm round his throat. Troy’s eyes are bulging. I open my mouth to scream, only to feel an arm round my own throat, and then a piece of cloth is clapped over my nose and mouth. The cloth smells strangely sweet. A syrupy, chemical smell. I slam my head back into the man behind me and kick back as hard as I can. The back of my head smashes into something hard and plastic. A guy behind is wearing another mask as well, I realize. The man grunts so I’ve done some damage, but if anything the cloth is pushed harder into my face. The skin around my mouth begins to tingle. My head starts to swim. Black spots dance before my eyes, growing ever bigger. I watch as Troy struggles against being gagged, but he’s losing.

  Don’t pass out, Libby—

  The sweet smell of the cloth over my face is now sickly sweet, filling my nose, my mouth, my lungs. The hand over my nose moves away, only to return and push another cloth into my mouth. I’m lifted off my feet. I try to inhale to scream past the cloth in my mouth, but my breath is locked somewhere south of my shoulders, and my head is swimming so much by now that I don’t know which way is up. My body flops as if all the muscles have melted. Almost immediately, I’m dumped down onto the raised, hard surface inside a van, which knocks all the air out of me. I fall sideways like a felled tree. I glimpse a guy in a tiger mask, his eyes the only part of his face that’s visible. Inside I’m screaming, but the sound is too terrified to rise above my lungs. I can’t move. My whole body has turned to lead.

  ‘For fuck’s sake! There’s only supposed to be one.’

  ‘So there’s two. So we improvise.’

  The men’s faint, distorted voices are coming at me through cotton wool.

  Get up, Libby. Come on. Get up. Get out.

  I concentrate on moving my legs, but they no longer belong to me. My world is closing down. That sweet, chemical smell now shrouds my entire body.

  The van door slams shut. It’s different to a car door, louder and more resonant. Troy lies beside me, a cloth bag over his head. He’s writhing and kicking out. Moments later, the van’s engine starts and I can feel the vehicle vibrating beneath and around me. We shoot off at speed. So much so that there’s another severe jolt as my body leaves the floor of the van for a moment before slamming back down. My head hits the floor first. A white, searing explosion of pain. And that sweet, chemical smell fills my whole world. I realize too late that I’ve been drugged. I’m going to black out. There are no more sights, no more sounds.

  Only silence.

  thirty-two. Troy

  * * *

  Owff! I’m bouncing around in the back of this van like a pinball. WTF—? I’d barely had a chance to register the two men jumping out of the back of the grey van that pulled up in front of us before all hell was let loose. I have no idea if the men who grabbed us are Nought, Cross or Martian. They were wearing hoodies and it was only when they raised their heads and I saw their animal masks that I realized we were in trouble. One in a tiger mask grabbed Libby. The one who grabbed me wore a rabbit mask. I had no chance to seize Libby and run. No chance to do anything but cry out her name before we were manhandled into the back of this van.

  It all happened so fast.

  ‘Ihhheeeeh!’ I try to call out Libby’s name, but I’ve been gagged with a grimy rag knotted at the back of my head. My hands are bound behind me with what feels like plastic cable ties. I can’t see a damned thing past the filthy canvas bag they pulled over my head. I try to call out to her again. No reply. The van’s engine, the honk of a horn and the rumble of traffic noises are all I can hear.

  Is Liberty all right?

  Who are those two men who grabbed us?

  Where are they taking us?

  What are they going to do with us?

  All kinds of horror movies are playing in my head.

  Is this about Callie defending Tobey Durbridge? If so, were they after me, and Libby just got in the way? Or maybe this has nothing to do with my sister and the forthcoming court case at all. Maybe they’re perverts or traffickers, in which case we’re really up shit creek.

  Oh God …

  Questions tumble over each other in my head. And regret. And remorse. I should never have ducked out of school. Strange – and terrifying – that I should hope and pray that we’ve been snatched to ensure that my sister will drop Tobey Durbridge’s case. Because at least then Libby and I might stand some chance of emerging from all this … relatively unscathed.

  But damn! What will they do to us if Callie won’t drop the case?

  What will they do to us if she does?

  And, if Libby is collateral damage, what will they do to her? Surely they’ll see her as expendable and get rid of her?

  Guilt gnaws at me as I consider Libby. I had to watch as the tiger-mask man chucked her in the back of this van before my face was covered and the same was done to me. If something happens to Libby because of my sister …

  NO!

  That’s not going to happen. Not if I have anything to do with it. God knows, Libby isn’t my favourite person, but she doesn’t deserve this. No one does.

  We’re turning right. Are we on the main road now? I should’ve tried to memorize the route we’re taking. My phone! My phone’s in my pocket. I lie flat and move my head up and down, trying to work off this hood. I catch a glimpse of daylight through the glass panels in the doors at the back of the van. It’s working. I’m rubbing my cheek raw, trying to get this thing off, but I have to do something. Tilting my head back, I peer beneath the hood. Turning, I can just see Libby’s feet to my left. She’s not moving. At all. I inch forward but soon have to stop. There’s not enough room to turn round and check her properly.

  I turn onto my left side so that my right trouser pocket isn’t pressed against the floor of the van. Now, if I can only get my phone out of that pocket … I bend my wrists in every position known to humans, and some that aren’t, and I still can’t get my hands anywhere close to my pockets. All I get for the effort are strained wrists, the plastic of the bindings cutting deeper into my skin and a burning ball of frustration in the pit of my stomach.

  I have to get it together. Think.

  It’s too late to try and figure out our route and I have no idea where we’re going, but I can at least try and work out where we are now. Car engines, the rev of a motorbike. Nothing significant there. Muffled laughter outside, gone just as quickly as it came.

  Twenty minutes later and I’m just as clueless. I can hardly see, can barely move, and I still have no idea where we are or where we’re going. My heart is beating so fast. Too fast.

  Take a deep breath, Troy. Calm down. You can’t think straight if you’re panicking.

  That’s when it hits me, really hits me.

  Libby and I are in a crap ton of trouble and it’s all my fault.

  Not for one single second did I take Callie’s warnings seriously.

  Big mistake.

  HUGE mistake.

  All I’d wanted was some chips and an escape from school. I’d thought Callie was being overcautious at best and had to be exaggerating at worst. If anyone thought they could g
et to Callie through me, they were seriously deluding themselves. At least, that’s what I told myself. But apparently that’s exactly what someone has decided. We won’t even be missed until we’re due home. No … hang on … The results of the school election are going to be announced at the end of the school day and Libby and I will be expected in the hall for that, along with the rest of the upper school. If we’re both missing, surely the alarm will be raised then? Too late to help us, but at least the police will be notified and they’ll start looking for us. The thought brings some comfort. Not much but some.

  By the time the police start searching, we could be hundreds of kilometres away. Or worse.

  Libby and I need to find a way out of this, but how?

  How?

  thirty-three. Libby

  * * *

  My heart is thrashing about like a landed fish. I groan, the sound smothered by the filthy rag in my mouth, which tastes of old sweat and petrol. Something slimy sits against my tongue, as if someone blew their nose on the rag first before stuffing it in my mouth. I try to force the disgusting thing out, but my tongue keeps rebelling. Steeling myself, I poke at it again. When enough of it has been pushed past my lips, I catch it under my cheek and then pull my head away until the disgusting thing is completely out of my mouth. I spit repeatedly into the hankie or whatever it is, trying to get its last remnants off my tongue. My hands are still tied behind my back. I’m not sure which is making my stomach churn more: abject terror or the lingering taste of the gag.

  For Shaka’s sake, don’t puke.

  It smells bad enough down here without me adding to it.

  The hard floor scrapes against my back and legs. I take a deep breath and try to force myself to get it together and think rationally. My eyes are slowly growing accustomed to the dim, sickly yellow light, which barely reaches the far wall of this place. Nearby lies Troy. When they flung him down the stairs, he fell badly. He took quite a crack to his head, which I think knocked him out. God, I hope it’s nothing more serious, though being knocked unconscious is bad enough.

  ‘Troy? Troy, wake up. Are you OK? Wake up.’

  He doesn’t stir. He’s just out for the count – I refuse to contemplate anything worse than that. What is this place? Where are we? It looks and smells like some kind of storage unit or maybe a basement? There are no windows, at least none that I can see.

  Why am I here?

  Barbed-wire thoughts slash their way through my mind. From a distance, a rumbling sound gets nearer and vibrates beneath me with a regular, thumping undertone to it. Are we near an underground station? Do Tube trains run beneath this building or close by? Heathcroft High is about seven kilometres away from the nearest Tube station so we must’ve been driven at least that distance and probably a whole lot further. I only came to when one of them carried me into this building over his shoulder. And even then I was as groggy as hell.

  ‘Troy? Troy, wake up. Please wake up.’

  But Troy is still unconscious. I twist, coiling my body round like a snake to lie on my back. My bound hands dig into my lower spine. Taking a deep breath, I jerk upwards. It takes a couple of tries, but at last I’m sitting, my hands still tied behind me. I rock back and forth, forcing my bound hands beneath my bum and hips, then under my knees and feet, curling to make it easier to bring my hands to the front of my body. At last it’s done.

  ‘Troy! Wake up, damn it. Troy—’

  Troy’s eyes flutter open. He looks bewildered. I don’t doubt for a second that I’m his mirror image. The mere fact that I’m not alone is strangely comforting – even if it’s Troy who’s my companion.

  Grunting, he struggles to sit up. He looks around, then at me, even more perplexed.

  ‘Libby, what – and I sincerely mean this – the actual bollocks is going on?’ he groans.

  ‘We’ve been snatched off the street and brought here. Now you know as much as me,’ I reply. ‘Hang on. Let me try to get you free, then you can do the same for me.’

  NOW

  * * *

  thirty-four. Troy

  * * *

  So here Libby and I sit, waiting to wake up from our shared nightmare. I’m hurting, especially my head, and the longer I’m down here, the worse it gets. I need to get out of here before I … Libby said our predicament might be because of her dad. Last I heard she didn’t even know who that was. If she now knows, what could he possibly have done to have led to our current situation? No. My sister’s job is the reason I’m down here. I’m sure of it. But it’s messed up that I’m hoping one or other of us is right. The alternatives don’t bear thinking about.

  Or maybe this is Sonny’s doing? A ploy on his part to get me out of the way? But what would that achieve? He’s already got rid of the cars in his quarry. I have no proof of my suspicions so I’m no real threat to him. Going to all this trouble doesn’t make any sense, unless he’s afraid that Mum might start listening to and believing me.

  ‘Why d’you think that man in the mask took our photo?’ Libby’s question is a welcome intrusion.

  I sigh. ‘To send to someone as proof that they have us? I hope.’

  Libby nods. In agreement with my assessment or sharing my hope? It’s hard to tell.

  ‘Look, I don’t mean to make this sound like some kind of competition Libby, but this situation … I think it’s on me.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ She frowns.

  ‘My sister Callie is a lawyer – remember? Well, she’s currently involved in a high-profile case and I suspect our being abducted has something to do with that.’

  I force myself to look at Libby, expecting to see censure in her eyes. Instead, she holds my gaze, though even in the dim light I can see her cheeks reddening.

  ‘What?’ I ask. Am I missing something?

  ‘What’s the high-profile case your sister is involved in?’ asks Libby.

  ‘I can’t say. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘You can tell me,’ she says. ‘Who am I going to tell?’

  I tilt my head. ‘Libby, you of all people should know that, unlike most, I can keep a secret.’

  Yes, that’s a dig!

  Libby nods, her cheeks reddening further. ‘Maybe it’s not you they’re after. Maybe it’s me.’

  ‘Why would anyone want you?’ That really wasn’t meant to be a bitch-slap. It’s just the way the words fell out of my mouth, but I can see from the look on Libby’s face that that’s how she takes it.

  ‘You really are a total crapstick,’ she retorts. ‘If I have to be stuck down here in this hellhole, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather share it with.’

  Not a compliment. I choose to ignore her snit and ask again, ‘Why would they be after you?’

  Libby takes a deep breath. ‘Because of the new Prime Minister.’

  ‘Tobias Durbridge?’ I say, my voice unintentionally sharp. ‘What about him?’

  Libby looks me in the eye and states simply, ‘He’s my dad.’

  Daily Shouter Online

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  Exposed: slain underworld kingpin Daniel Jeavons spun a web that ensnared judges, business CEOs and other pillars of society

  Today the Daily Shouter can reveal that the ruthless underworld kingpin, Daniel Jeavons, whose body was found on 7 September, was aided during his reign of terror by pillars of society and prominent members of the establishment. Due to an active injunction against this publication regarding any discussion of Daniel Jeavons’ business empire, we cannot reveal names, but we have proof that at least one circuit judge, a number of MPs and captains of industry were on the payroll of Dan Jeavons.

  Then

  * * *

  WAY BACK WHEN

  thirty-five. Tobey

  * * *

  Friday afternoon and it was the day of Callie’s birthday party. I’d offered to help her set up after school. She’d kept saying no but I insisted. The rain was coming down in a fig
hting mood. Droplets the size of coins smacked at everything in their path and the blustery wind blew the rain every which way, making my hood and Callie’s umbrella pointless as we made our way to her house. We both went in, laughing and shaking ourselves off like wet dogs.

  ‘This weather is something else,’ I said.

  Callie’s smile came and went.

  ‘Where’s your mum and Meggie?’ I asked.

  ‘Nana Meggie is spending some time with her sister, and Mum and Nathan are having a weekend break together by the sea,’ said Callie.

  ‘Your mum’s trusting you with the house for the whole weekend?’ I asked, surprised.

  ‘Yep. So I’d better not mess up or it’ll never happen again.’ Callie pulled off her jacket and threw it over the banister.

  I pulled off my hoodie and flung it over Callie’s jacket. Dumping my rucksack at the foot of the stairs, I followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Most of the tables on the patio have already been set up so hopefully the weather will improve soon. It’s supposed to. The caterers are coming in an hour with the food, so until then could you help me with the decorations and getting the drinks chilled and in buckets?’ said Callie.

  Pause.

  ‘Anything you want.’

  Callie looked at me then, a charged silence descending between us. I stood still, drinking her in – the way she looked at me sometimes like I was a puzzle to solve, the sound of her voice when she was humming to herself, the way she laughed with her head tilted back, the way she dipped her chin when she smiled as if she didn’t want anyone to see. I would grow tired of being with her about the time I grew tired of breathing.

  This girl was my other half, and because of me she’d been shot and nearly died. She’d been in a coma for days – thanks to me. I still couldn’t let that go. If I’d lost her, I would’ve carried on walking and talking and existing, but a major part of me, the real part of me, would’ve died with her. Looking at her now, it scared me just how much I lo—cared for her. After one brief moment of weakness many months ago, when I’d cried in front of her, I promised myself that Callie would never see me weak again. I’d prove to her – and myself – just how solid I was. I made myself stay away from her, pretending an indifference that was 180 degrees away from how I really felt. And I’ll admit that part of it was to punish myself. It was my fault Callie had got shot in the first place, so I told myself she’d be better off if I stayed away from her. That was my penance, my self-inflicted stopover in purgatory. No, not purgatory. Hell. During our time apart I’d missed her like crazy. My self-imposed punishment didn’t last long. A few weeks at most before Callie’s friend Sammi had taken me to one side and threatened to kick my arse if I didn’t pull my head out of it.