Cracks (5 page)

I run into Mum’s bedroom. It looks normal but when I throw open the wardrobes, they’re empty. Are they all leaving home? Is that it? Weren’t they even going to tell me? My eyes
sting. Well, stuff the lot of them. I’d rather live here on my own.

But then I hear something. A woman’s crying somewhere in the house. There’s something else . . . a police car siren outside. And it’s getting closer. The sounds stop, abruptly,
and all I can hear is my own heartbeat. Where have they gone? I try to picture family friends or someone I can ask. But it’s like trying to watch a broken television. Panic’s rising
inside me and I’m drowning. I try to clutch at any memory. Last year, last week? But I can’t remember anything that happened before the last couple of days. Not Christmas or birthdays
or anything.

Nothing before I saw that crack in the ceiling of the boys’ bogs.

I look down at my hands, needing reassurance that I’m at least real. The strange pin-pricks of light are there again. I shove my hands hard into my pockets, shaking all over.

‘Not real, not real, not real,’ I whisper. I have to get out of this house right now. School. I’ll go to school, just like normal. Schools don’t disappear even when you
want them to.

I run out of the house and head down the hill.

‘It’s all right, see?’ I murmur to myself. ‘I’m fine. Just fine.’

But the cracks aren’t done with me yet.

I
’m halfway down the hill when there’s a rumbling under my feet and the road starts to judder and shake. The ground creaks and groans
and then the hillside splits open like it’s being pulled apart by giant hands. Brown earth churns up and I fall back onto my bum, whimpering a bit as a huge crack races like fire down the
hill. It spreads across the outside of the brewery and the tall chimneys fold over slowly and crumple before the whole building collapses into a giant hole in the ground. The roaring and tearing
fill my head like the scream of something being murdered but then there’s silence. No birds, no cars. Silence, apart from my heavy breathing and that pounding heartbeat again that feels like
it’s outside me and all around.

The school goes next, folding with an enormous roar. The old red bricks release a massive cloud of dust. I don’t mind admitting that I’m crying now, thinking about all the people who
must be inside by now like Amil and Miss Lovett and even Peters and Jennings who might be pains in the arse but never deserved to die, not crushed beneath a pile of bricks. I start running faster
towards the school. I might be skinny but I’m strong and fast from training. Maybe I can dig some people out with my hands before the emergency services get here . . .

. . . and then I stop. Surely there should be fire engines on their way to the two disasters? People screaming from the wreckage? Even if every last person was killed inside, there are shops and
houses round the school. Why aren’t there people rushing out to help or even just to rubberneck? The headache comes back suddenly. There’s a dull knocking inside my skull that makes me
groan and put my fingers to my forehead. Did something hit me in the earthquake? I can’t feel any bumps. The birthmark on my hand though . . . it’s even clearer than usual. Darker and
brighter all at once.

Maybe this is all some kind of massive joke and in a minute someone with a camera is going to jump out and then put me on YouTube. A hysterical barking laugh comes out of me and I force my mouth
closed, because I sound nuts.

I walk down the road a bit further and jump at the sight of a black and white cat on a wall, licking its paws and staring right at me. It’s the one I saw before. I rub under its chin and
it vibrates all over like it’s motorised.

‘What now, puss?’ I’m shaking hard and my teeth are chattering. I want to hold the cat close and curl into a ball until someone makes things normal again. I won’t
complain any more, I promise. Des and Pigface can boot me all over the place and I won’t moan. I just want this weirdness to stop. I walk around in a circle for a moment, thinking. Where to
go? Where to go?

I catch sight of an ugly grey building in the distance. It’s the only thing on the horizon now the school and factory have gone. My feet start taking me towards it.

I don’t know why I’m heading to Riley Hall. It’s the place that scares me most. But I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like I’m going to find an answer there;
an answer to a question I don’t even know yet.

I walk past silent houses and shops and cafés where lights are on and music plays but no one is home. The cat follows, jumping from one gate post to the next and then padding along behind
me with its little white-socked paws. I stop and rub its warm head, grateful for its heartbeat and warm, furry life.

The main gate to Riley Hall is wide open. I thought I’d lost the capacity to be shocked today but once I step through, the gate slams closed behind me and I nearly wet my
pants. The cat mewls at me from outside the gate.

‘Sorry, puss.’

Leaving it behind feels like the worst thing I’ve ever done. I have to bite on my hand to stop the violent shivers shuddering through me like electric shocks. I walk up to the main
building. The door’s open, of course. Inside, I think I can hear echoes – ghostly voices and clanging of metal doors, shouts, snatches of radio but then . . . silence.

It looks different from last time. There’s no open plan area now. Instead it’s made up of long corridors with closed doors, just like in my dreams. I walk slowly down the first
corridor and somewhere I can hear
beep, beep, beep
in the distance. I look up and jump because the boy I saw before is standing at the end of the corridor, his hood pulled low over his face.
He turns and walks quickly away from me.

‘Hey!’

But he ignores me and just hurries on, head bent. A noise behind makes me spin round. The wall is painted a dirty light green and pockmarked all over with graffiti and small holes but now a
crack’s formed that spreads and branches out all over. I stumble away from it as the wall groans and a huge hole appears in the middle. I can hear the wind whistling through the gap but I
feel like I’m stuck to the ground. A hand appears around the side of the hole and a face appears, grinning.

It’s Pigface. His eyes are devil red and his grinning mouth is bigger and wider than any human mouth should be. ‘I’ve come to get you,’ he says and his voice is so deep
it rumbles through my whole body.

I cry out and start running down the corridor. I can hear the bricks falling as he climbs through the hole and I’m running harder than I’ve ever run before. I get round the corner
and see the hoodie boy again.

‘Hey,’ I shout, ‘help me!’ But he carries on walking, head down and hands in pockets.

I run faster from Pigface’s pounding footsteps behind me.

‘I’m coming to get you, Cal!’ His voice has slowed down to a terrible drawl.

The boy opens a door near the end of the corridor and disappears through it. I run after him, praying it will open, and it does. I fumble with the lock on the inside of the door and can hear
Pigface’s fists thump against it in frustration.

The boy is facing a big window with his back to me.

‘Hey!’ I shout but he ignores me. His shoulders start heaving up and down like he’s laughing or crying. I can’t tell which. Light blazes into the room so the edges of him
are all fuzzy and undefined. Maybe he’s got a knife. Maybe he’ll turn round and plunge it straight into me. But I want to see his face. Talk to him. I can’t seem to get near
though; it’s almost like I’m walking on the spot. I start running as fast I as can, my feet slamming against the stone floor.

Sharp pains creep up my arms and legs. I can’t get my breath now and my lungs pull and strain for air. A voice whispers something right next to me.

‘Who’s there?’ I gasp, spinning round to look but there’s no one else in the room. It’s just me and the boy. A harsh
beep, beep, beep
starts up all around
until I think my eardrums are going to pop like balloons. Suddenly, the noise stops and everything goes silent. The boy turns round.

And I’m looking into my own face.

I
’m in deep water. I want to stay here but I can’t stop myself from soaring upwards towards the surface. There’s an explosion of
light and sound and I gasp as I break the skin. My mouth feels like an animal died in it and there’s a horrible sick smell around me.

I’m huddled in the corner of a room looking up at a face. The face belongs to a man who’s thin and pale, with glasses. He’s bald. He smiles and stretches out a hand but
something seems to shrivel inside me and I don’t want to touch him for some reason.

‘Welcome back, Callum. You’ve been away a long time,’ he says in a posh, deep voice.

I gawp and try to speak but all that comes out is a croaking sound. I try again.

‘What happened?’ My voice sounds rusty, like it hasn’t been used for ages and my throat hurts like mad.

The man gestures with his hand. ‘Let’s get you on your feet and then I can answer your questions.’

I’m wearing hospital-like clothes and I can feel my hair is hanging down around my collar. How long have I been here? I get unsteadily to my feet and look around.

Along with Baldy there’s another bloke, younger, with a beard, wearing blue hospital scrubs. I’m in a room that looks like it hasn’t been used for ages. There are piles of
boxes and a mop in an old bucket, just like the one I used at Riley Hall.

I have so many questions but I can’t get my mouth to work properly. A wave of nausea swirls inside me.

‘Steady,’ says the other man but I bend over and puke all over the shoes of Baldy, who yelps and jumps back.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

‘It’s fine,’ says Baldy, shaking the sick off his shoe with a grimace. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up, Callum.’

‘Cal,’ I say, even though it’s about the least important thing I could possibly say at this moment. ‘It’s Cal.’

I don’t know what will happen next. Dogs could start talking and it could rain pink frogs right now. It wouldn’t be stranger than what’s already happening.

‘Right,’ says the man. ‘Let’s get you back to your room and we can talk.’

My room? My
room
?

‘Where am I?’ I say at last.

‘Well, at the moment you’re in an old storeroom. Looks like you went on a walkabout. We had some trouble finding you this morning. But I’ll explain properly when we get you
back to your room, as I said.’

OK, now I get it. I went mad, just like I thought, and got myself locked in a loony bin. I bet Des loved it when they carted me away.

I dumbly follow them out of the storeroom and down a long, plain corridor with closed doors on both sides.

Smells are assaulting me from every angle. Disinfectant, food, and even aftershave from the man, are all so strong I want to gag. And everything is too bright. I squint up and see small lights
buried into the ceiling.

‘Where am I?’ I say again and my small voice makes me sound about five years old.

The men exchange glances and open a door at the end of the corridor.

Inside is a plain white room which feels familiar. I look around, so confused and dizzy I can’t speak. The ground tilts sideways and I feel the impact of the ground rushing to meet me just
as everything shrinks to a tiny pinhole.