Breakdown (29 page)

I hide the bottle of brandy, wedge it under the waistband of my skirt, pull my top down over it. Step out of my cover, back down through the old streets of the village, past the first three biomes and down the path to the old police station. I knock on the door. Timid. Acting the part. At last the soldier on duty comes. He opens the door, looks at me. It's a good start. I take a deep breath. My heart is hammering.

‘Remember, when you're scared,' said Nan, ‘it's just a feeling. It has no use unless it helps you. Remember that.'

‘The soldiers up top have arrested the manager,' I say. ‘Caught him and two workers stealing the General's wine. They sent me to say you need to get three cells ready.'

The soldier lets out a long, low whistle.

‘They're holding him at the barracks.' Breathless. Chest heaving. Breasts swelling. ‘It's a long story – seems like the adjutant is in on it  … ' Fans self with delicate hand. ‘He's nowhere to be found – and I was there  … '

The soldier sucks in his breath. ‘Come in. Tell me,' he says.

‘The officer in charge now says he “don't want any of them in the same cell so they can make up thieving, lying stories.”' I step into the police station. My heart still hammering. ‘Oh, maybe that's four cells.' My hands fly to my face. ‘Oh no, I've forgotten how many cells.'

That's it. Feel the fear. Let it help. Act confused.

The soldier seems winded by the news. He goes to the back behind the counter of the charge office and removes a bunch of keys.

‘So they sent me with a release order for the prisoner you've got here.'

A puzzled look creeps across his face.

‘So you'll have enough vacant cells  … ' I stammer.

Use your fear.

The soldier takes the release order and looks at it. He's obviously surprised.

‘Wait,' he says. ‘I need to check this one because the prisoner we're holding has serious charges against him.'

Oh God don't let him check.

‘Oh and they sent you this.' I lift up my skirt, a little too high, and pull out the bottle of brandy. ‘They say it's a celebration that they've finally rounded up the thieves  …  and they found  … '
Stay breathless. Heave bosom.
‘ …  whole crates of unaccounted-for brandy. It seems there's been a racket going on for ages.' I smile at him. I put the bottle on the ground and bend forward. My top drops open. My cleavage shows. He can see right down. I pull out the loosened cork. The smell of alcohol is overwhelming.

I don't straighten up. I just lift my chin. I let his gaze linger. I stay breathless. ‘I'm so sorry I don't know how many cells  … ' I can see his eyes grow round. His pupils dilate.
Time him, Melissa. Wait for the right moment
.

‘Shall I pour it for you? Do you have a glass?'

He gets flustered. I never thought I would be any good at flirting. But it turns out I am. I leave the bottle on the floor and straighten up shyly, pull my top back up. Blush. I don't like flirting. I'd rather fight a dog any day.

I tell myself:
Keep going. Get Tarquin out.
I gasp as if I'm suddenly aware of the extent to which my top fell open. I run my hands over my breasts. Look distraught.

The soldier's still looking at me. Mesmerised. His pupils fully dilated. I hear Nan's voice.
Strike now. Wait. Time him. You may not get a second chance.

I toss my hair to one side and smile and look into his eyes. Wide. Seductive. Beautiful.

Strike.

I pick up the bottle. Hand it to him.

He takes the bottle and raises it to his lips.

One slug of that brandy and he wants to cough. Anyone would. I can smell it from here. Raw like liquid fire.

But he can't. Because I hold him with my eyes and carry on smiling and looking. He daren't cough or splutter.

He raises the bottle again and gulps back more. I understand.
He's mine now.

I act agitated. I adjust my skirt just a tiny bit, show a glimpse of my knees, put my shoulders back, my chest out. I act embarrassed, just enough to keep his attention. I let my legs splay a fraction.

Oh Nan, you'd be so proud of me.

He swigs from the bottle again. He's gone. His eyes are wide. His face a book. Nan would be beaming.
Your beauty has power, Melissa. Harness it. Make it work for you.

I keep smiling deep into his eyes. Making him drink more. I lean in a little closer. He stinks of alcohol.

‘I've got to report back when the cells are empty,' I stammer.

‘What?' he says. He slurs his speech a bit.

‘Are you all right?'

He looks again at the release order. ‘Shit. Can't check on this smelling of grog.'

This is it, Nan. I've nearly done it.

‘I'll get him,' he says. He's staggering a little, but he still knows what he's doing.
Very careful now, Melissa.

I wait in the old charge office. Dirty cream walls. Flaking paint. Rusted filing cabinets. The soldier disappears down to the cells. I hear him clanking through other doors. He's gone for ages. I sit there staring at the wall.
Oh please don't let anything go wrong.

Tarquin. Tarquin.

I cross and uncross my legs. I hate skirts.

What's happening back at the house? Have they arrested Billson? Is Lenny on his way? My God, he's taking forever.
My heart pounds. My legs feel like they're made of mud, all squishy.

Footsteps returning. The soldier. Tarquin. I shoot him a look. Flash my eyes. He nods ever so slightly.

‘Need to get these handcuffs off,' mutters the soldier. ‘Where's he to go to?'

Where is he supposed to go to? Oh my God. Harold never mentioned that part of it.

‘He's to report to Barrack Five,' I say. I make it up as I go along.

‘Any transfer docs? Or bail papers?'

Holy shit.

‘It was such a rush,' I say.
Just let him unlock the handcuffs. That's all.

The soldier looks confused. ‘And they're bringing the arrested parties here?'

‘Yes, really soon.'

The soldier sighs. He finds his keys. He unlocks the cuffs on Tarquin. He crosses to the desk. ‘I can't release him yet. I'll ask the others when they bring the culprits in where he's to go to. They can escort him there.'

But you have released him. Without handcuffs on he's as good as free.

‘So you' – he turns to Tarquin – ‘sit and wait while we get this sorted.'

I nod at Tarquin.

The soldier goes to hang up the keys.

It's the last thing he'll remember doing.

‘Where's Lenny?'

‘Shush. No questions.' I put my finger up over my lips. I hand sign him to wait.

Outside, the street's empty. I nod at Tarquin. I point to the back of the building. Tarquin doesn't need explanations. I know what he's thinking.

‘He's there,' I mouth.

It's like the sun breaks through clouds. With a little shake, his shoulders seem to broaden.

‘Find him and wait for me. The train will leave soon. We'll be on board,' I say and point to the field beyond the back of the old police station, to the little thicket of bushes.

‘Get going,' I say. I give him a tiny push. ‘Behind the thicket is the railway station. I'll meet you there. I've just got one more thing to do.'

I turn on my heel.

I wish I could be there when Tarquin finds Lenny. I'd have liked to see the smiles and the hugging. I'd have liked to see Lenny's face. I'd have liked to see Tarquin suddenly happy. I blink back a sudden rush of something.
Stay in charge.

The General will be back soon. If I'm going to get my own back on him, I don't have much time. He'll be sorry he ever messed with me.

I race from the back of the police station to the edge of the big estate. I climb the old stone wall and I'm in. A part of me is screaming,
Leave. Join Lenny. Join Tarquin. Forget it.

The other part is saying,
No. Show him. Do something, however small. Fight back.

So I do. I march up to the greenhouse. I step past
NO ADMITTANCE
. I push open the doors. I stand inside inhaling the sweet fragrance of the orchids. I wedge the door wide. I walk down the aisle between the plants. As I go I pick up old flower pots, seedling trays, gardening tools, and I hurl them at the old glass windows. They break with a crashing sound. The bees begin to buzz, alarmed. A breeze from outside suddenly belts through the broken glass.

‘Fly, little ones,' I whisper.

I turn into the second aisle. I pick up
Eltroplectris
: Long-claw Orchid;
Elythranthera
: Snake-mouth Orchid.

‘Out the window with you.'
That was for you, Dora.

I smash as much glass as I can. I start to run. I hold out my hand and sweep the pots to the floor.
This is for you – girl with the golden hair.
I run and throw and smash. The bees whirl up in a cloud and find the gaps in the glass. They stream out of the greenhouse.

It's the best I can do
.

I will do more,
I promise all those girls
. If I have the chance I will avenge you all. Absolutely.

The orchids are smashed, the bees are gone. It's time to go too. ‘The bees are free now, Nan,' I whisper.

And I pray some of those bees will make it into the gardens beyond the biomes. I pray some will make it beyond the fence into the wilderness. I believe they will find a new queen, start a wild hive.

If a spider can survive, maybe a bee can now. Maybe all they needed was someone to set them free.

‘The bees are coming, Nan,' I whisper.

I run.

I race the length of the greenhouse and out of the other exit. I sprint back down to the stone wall, climb over, up the narrow lane, back to the old village high street. At the turn of the street, I can see the thicket by the railway. I jump a half-tumbled fence and dash across a field.

In less than six minutes I'm back. Lenny's holding on to Tarquin. Tarquin's holding on to Lenny. Harold is standing there, impatient.

‘We need to move,' he says. ‘It's not safe yet.'

‘OK,' says Tarquin, his voice deep, hoarse.

‘This way,' says Harold. We set out through trees towards the railway station. As we step over dead leaves rotted soft, I feel a gentle tug on my arm. I turn into the shadows and there's Lenny. He's got his book in one hand and my coat in the other. He looks at me. His eyes radiant. His face looks like it isn't big enough to contain all his smiling. I stop. I squat down. I give him such a hug. I could squash all the breath out of him.

‘No time for all that,' whispers Harold.

I want to ask about the internal manager, the adjutant, about Marcy even. How did it go? What was the look on their faces? But I don't. I can tell from Harold's smile it went well. I can tell it's not over yet, though. He's itching to get back, finish up all those details, call in those favours.

We pass behind the thicket, through a street of boarded up houses, onto a wide avenue that might once have been a dual carriageway. It's been a long time since any vehicles used it. Weeds grow thick in the broken patches of tarmac. There are no army trucks. We cross over and down behind a short row of terraced houses. There's nobody there to see us. Everyone's at work in the biomes.

I look over my shoulder. I won't breathe easily until we're on the train, past the perimeter fence and on our way. Then I'm going to breathe. Then I'm going to let out all the breath in the world.

No sooner have we turned into the siding by the rail track than we smell it – steaming, burning and soot.

‘No,' warns Harold. ‘This way.'

We pause, uncertain. ‘You've got to get on without them noticing,' he hisses, ‘or there'll be a squad of soldiers on the next one up.'

But how're we going to do that? I scan the station. Up and down the sides of every platform are guards. They're armed, and they don't look like they are going to miss seeing us.

We stop.

‘What're we going to do?' says Lenny.

We hide at one end of the station, behind large steel tanks that are jumbled at the end of the cutting. Harold examines the platform. ‘Where is he?' he mutters. Suddenly my heartbeat rockets.

What does he mean? The steam from the engine's spouting. The wagon beds are clanking. The train's about to bloody leave.

I hold Lenny's hand tight. He is looking at me with his big eyes. I know what he wants to say. I can hear him already.

‘Put the book away,' I say. Lenny lets go of me and stuffs the book down his front.

‘Let's wait a little longer,' Harold says. ‘It'll be fine.'

But it's not fine. And it gets worse. A squad of soldiers arrive on the platform, as if they're expecting us to be on the train.

‘Hang on,' Harold says. ‘I'm going to find out what's happening.'

We wait forever. The train starts to shunt forward. My legs tremble. The train stops again.

Harold comes back. ‘We need to get out of here,' he says. ‘Quick. Marcy has reported you missing from the house. There's curfew out everywhere. They're closing all the barricades. They're going to search this train before they'll let it leave.'

‘Oh no,' I groan.

‘I'm not going back in them cells. I'm not gonna be flogged an' stay there for ten years,' says Tarquin.

Lenny doesn't say anything. His eyes are wide with fright.

‘There's only one thing we can do,' says Harold. ‘Jump. Can you?'

‘Jump?' says Tarquin. ‘Are you mad?'

‘There's a bridge not far from here, where the train goes into a tunnel. You can jump from the bridge. Drop's not too far – perhaps four metres onto the wagon beds, as they go through.'

I shudder at the thought of dropping four metres onto moving wagon beds. We could break our necks. Lenny could roll completely off.

‘It's been done before,' says Harold. ‘We've had a couple of people try to escape that way.'

‘Did they make it?' I ask.

‘One did,' says Harold.

Not very good odds. I look at Tarquin. He looks at me. He looks at Harold. In the distance the train lets out a long hoot. There's some shouting and a round of gunfire.

‘OK,' says Tarquin.

‘I'll tell the driver. I'll tell him not to pick up speed until he's through the tunnel. Try to jump onto one of the first wagon beds. The tail ones wobble too much.'

My heart's pounding. I'm not good with heights. I don't do jumping.

I think of the rushing, of hitting the cold, hard bed. I don't know which is worse – breaking my legs, or rolling off onto the tracks and having the wheels go over me.

The gunfire's louder.

‘You need to decide,' says Harold. ‘They're firing warning shots to let anyone know they'll shoot if they find them escaping.'

‘Quickly. They'll be sending soldiers up to the bridge as we speak.'

To jump is crazy, but to stay here?

‘We'll jump,' I say. Lenny's got tight hold of my hand. I can't smile at him.

‘It's gonna be all right, ain't it?' he says.

Tarquin nods. ‘Yeah, it's gonna be all right.'

Harold draws Tarquin aside. I take Lenny.

‘Make it to the old bridge,' I hear Harold hiss. ‘Get going. I'll try to stall them.'

I can't hear Tarquin's reply.

‘Hold him and jump. Be OK. Do it quick. Here's a blanket, sheet of plastic and water. All I could carry.' Harold pushes a bundle of things at Tarquin.

I look at Tarquin and nod. ‘Lenny,' I say, ‘we're going to jump the train.'

‘OK,' he says.

And before I know it, we're running for the bridge, the train's blowing and the whole place is full of steam.

And we disappear into the smoke and steam and swirling air.

We stand on the stone parapet. I can just make out the trailers attached to the engine moving beneath us. We balance, poised, looking down. Tarquin scoops Lenny into his arms. I strain my eyes, looking through the steam, trying to focus on the right moment.

‘Roll when you hit the bed. Try to roll straight, that's what Harold said.' Tarquin nods at me.

The air suddenly rises. For a second I can see the coal trucks shunting below. The sound of metal on metal. The long squeal of track. The shudder of engine. I wipe my eyes. They're streaming too. I watch the great beds slide by.

‘Now.' I grab Tarquin's arm. We step off the parapet, Lenny in Tarquin's arms.

Suddenly there's empty space beneath me. Then I hit the trailer. Jarring pain. My legs crumple.
Roll, you fool. Roll.
I roll. Pain. Everything sharp with agony. My shoulder. My legs. I'm rolling. It's totally dark. I've let go of Tarquin. Suddenly I'm terrified he's rolled off the side. I struggle to sit up. My hands are grazed, they're all gritty.
Where's Tarquin? Where's Lenny?

I hear Lenny. He's OK.

‘
Tarquin?
'

We shoot out of the tunnel.

I blink. We find each other. I hug them. Hold them tight.

The pain in my hands forgotten.

There they are in the smoke and the steam and the swirling air.

They're OK.

The air clears. The steam is blown off across open countryside. I look down the line of the train. We're moving slowly, clunking down the track. Each wagon bed is covered with coal dust, coal slag. We're already as black as the beds. For a moment I glimpse up to where we jumped from.

People. Two people. They're pointing. They've got guns. I don't know if they can see us. I can't hear them. Only the engine and the wind and the rattle of wheels and the shrieking of metal. Then there're shots. They whistle through the air, dangerously near. They've seen us, all right. The train curves round the track. The bridge disappears out of sight. But I know what they're saying.

There you are.

We've seen you.

We know where you're going.

If you think we won't follow you and shoot you down
–

Think again.