Losing Lila (22 page)

‘What time is it?’ I asked, looking up at him from my kneeling position, shouting to be heard over the kicking of the engine.

‘It’s about six twenty. Why?’ he shouted. ‘Come on, we have to go.’ His hand was there, under my arm, pulling me up. I let him, leaning against him for support.

Six twenty? Just six twenty? What had happened to time? It seemed to be compressing and lengthening like the universe was playing yo-yo with the world. It had felt like eighty lifetimes that I’d been writhing on the ground before Alex came and hauled me out of the Seven-Eleven, and then another eighty lifetimes on the bike, but it had been less than ten minutes ago.

‘I need to get back. I can’t be late.’ Why didn’t he understand?

‘What are you talking about? Late for what?’ Alex was looking at me like I’d sustained a head injury. ‘You can’t go back. They know about you, Lila. The weapon, that thing they used to floor you – it means they must know about you – about what you are. We need to get out of here while we still can.’ He reached a hand out towards me. ‘Everything’s changed now.’

That’s when I realised Alex didn’t know. He didn’t know about Jack being awake or about him being a psy. He didn’t know about Richard Stirling threatening me either. How could he know? Key was here,
in person
, not floating around in the ether. The realisation hit me, sent me reeling, clutching a hand to my throat as I felt it constrict – if Alex didn’t know about Jack then there was no plan to rescue him. All of this had been pointless. I should have tried to break Jack out last night.

‘I know they know about me, Alex,’ I shouted. ‘But they have Jack. They’re moving him this morning to prisoner holding.’

He dropped his hand. ‘What are you talking about? How do they know about you?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t have time to explain. But they’re moving Jack this morning and I promised I’d go back for him – that I wouldn’t let them take him.’

Alex was trying to stay calm, but his voice was giving him away – he was losing it. ‘Lila, if they know about you, there’s no way you’re going back there. And we talked about this. We agreed that we’d let the Unit move him. I don’t see what the problem is.’ He placed both my hands on the rungs and his hands on my waist and tried to get me to climb the ladder. ‘We’ll come back for him and your mum. When Demos gets here. We’ll figure something out, I promise you.’

‘No!’ I twisted out from under his arms. ‘There is no later. You don’t understand. We can’t let them take him. We have to go back now.’

‘He’ll be OK,’ Alex said, frustration marking his words.

‘No. He won’t be OK,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘He’ll be dissected.’

Alex stopped short, frowning at me. He didn’t understand and I didn’t have time to explain.

‘I’m not waiting for Demos and the others. I’m not waiting until you come up with another plan,’ I said, breathless. ‘I’m going now. And I’ll go by myself if I have to.’

Alex’s eyes flashed with fury, his expression hardening. His look flattened me as easily as the weapon the Unit had just fired.

‘I’ll go with you.’

It wasn’t Alex offering. I looked up. Key was leaning over the deck of the boat.

‘No. No one’s going anywhere,’ Alex growled in answer.

‘Jack’s one of us now,’ I blurted. ‘He’s like me. We can’t let them take him.’ It was OK me wondering about what injuries Jack could sustain, but the Unit wouldn’t just wonder.

Alex was staring at me now open-mouthed. The anger had given way to confusion. ‘Jack’s one of you? What do you mean? He’s awake? Is he OK?’

I nodded, poised on the balls of my feet ready to run, my heart jittering wildly as the adrenaline flooded my system. I noticed Key had climbed down the ladder and was standing just behind Alex. Then Alex strode towards me, grabbed my elbow and yanked me towards the boat. ’You’re not going back, Lila. It’s too dangerous. I won’t let you.’

I didn’t think. I just reacted. To an outsider it must have looked like an invisible hand had snatched Alex into the air and thrown him against the side of the boat. His shoulder smacked into the metal railing and he fell to his knees. He cried out and I took a faltering step towards him, but he threw his head up, glaring at me, and it stopped me in my tracks. Then all emotion dropped away and his face turned to stone – to blank indifference. He stood calmly and backed a few steps away, still gripping his shoulder. I felt my ribcage compressing as if someone had dropped a brick on me from a great height.

‘Lila, come on, let’s go,’ Key mumbled. He glanced at Alex and gave a small apologetic shrug.

I paused, caught in a single moment which I knew could lead to two very different outcomes, torn between wanting to run to Alex and needing to save my brother. Knowing that if I stayed, I might lose Jack but if I went, I’d almost certainly lose Alex.

For a long moment we stared at each other, Alex’s eyes burning me with their fury, and I saw myself reflected, an insubstantial shape – who turned and ran.

Key unlocked the back door to a black, windowless van parked at the top of the jetty.

‘When did we get this?’ I asked.

‘Alex bought it yesterday – we were going to use it as our getaway car when the time came. Guess that time’s now.’

I took a deep breath. I was really messing things up. I was ruining whatever plan Alex had set up – and what if it was the wrong thing to do? Should I wait? What if going now meant we couldn’t rescue my mum? What if Alex was right and I got caught? But at least I had a chance now of rescuing Jack and that chance was something I couldn’t let go of. I had promised him. If the situation was reversed, I knew that Jack would do the same for me.

Key opened the door to the van. Inside there was a wooden bench running along one side. In the centre was a steel table set onto metal tracks inlaid into the floor. On top of the table was a coffin. Two metres of varnished oak with silver handlework.

‘What was the plan?’ I asked, turning to Key confused.

‘Private ambulance. Alex reckoned it was the only way of getting onto the base. He forged the paperwork, says I’m transporting a body.’

I stared at the coffin. How many of us could have squeezed into that?

‘We’ve got to get you hidden,’ Key said, climbing in.

‘Hidden?’ I asked. ‘Where am I going to hide?’

Key nodded at the inside of the van. There it was. The solid oak coffin. Grinning at me.

‘I’m not hiding in that thing!’ I caught the yell in my throat and dropped my voice to a hiss.

‘Well, our options are kinda limited right now.’

But
this
limited? There had to be another way. I scanned every bit of the van. It was bare. Other than the coffin.

‘This sucks.’

‘There are air holes drilled in the sides, you won’t suffocate.’ He hefted the lid off the coffin. Inside it was lined with crimson silk.

‘No way.’

‘Lila, come on, we’re late. It’s just a coffin. I’ve slept in worse places.’

I stared at him in the gloom of the van. ‘Fine,’ I snapped. I turned to look at the coffin.
Oh God.

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ I snapped, swinging one leg over the side. He steadied my elbow. I climbed in and lay down. The silk was synthetic. It felt cool and scratchy against the back of my legs and arms.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Jack owed me big time for this.

Key’s face hovered over me. ‘OK, stay cool. We’ll be there in ten minutes. Less,’ he added when he saw the look of horror on my face.

‘I’ll come round and let you out then.’ Key gave me one last semi-reassuring smile then slid the lid on.

I wasn’t prepared for the darkness. It was solid, like I’d been embalmed in tar. Immediately I started scrabbling at the lid and the squashy sides, gasping for air. Were my eyes open or shut? It was so dark I couldn’t tell. Then I felt the shudder of an engine underneath me as Key revved the engine and pulled us out of the parking lot. My breathing was so loud it was echoing of the wood ten centimetres above my lips as though it was trying to lift the lid of the coffin. I was starting to sweat. Beads of it prickled the back of my neck, soaking into the synthetic silk lining which in turn stuck to the backs of my legs. I hummed to myself and tried to imagine I was lying in bed with Alex.

It didn’t work. All it did was make me wonder if I’d ever get that close to him again – whether he’d ever even talk to me again. That anger – I’d never seen him like that before about anything. I wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not yet. But inside, I already knew that there was no way of coming back from this. I’d betrayed him. I’d hurt him. And worse, I’d run out on him yet again.

We slowed. I felt the swerve of the van. Was this the entrance to the base? We stopped. I could hear the muffled sound of voices. I prayed that they wouldn’t open the van and look in the coffin. The back of the van opened with a clang. I heard Key’s voice, louder now, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sweat started to trickle down my forehead. Dead people weren’t supposed to sweat. I prayed even harder that they wouldn’t open the coffin.

Key’s voice came nearer – clearer – still. Footsteps made the coffin shake. A bang above my face as a hand slapped the lid.
Solid oak
, Key was saying.

I took a huge gulp of warm air, crossed my hands over my chest and tried to look dead, though I was sure if they opened the coffin, my heart would literally bound out my chest and smack them in the face.

Footsteps. Slamming door. Blurry voices. Indistinct cries. Engine whine. Tyres on gravel. Picking up speed. I let out a breath.

A minute or two later we slowed, then sped up again and finally stopped. I heard the engine cut out. The doors at the back opened after another second and the van rocked. A dazzling glare of light hit me, a mountain of colours making my eyes water. Air. Fresh, sweet air. I sucked it into my lungs. It tasted rich and cool and succulent. I gulped it down and heaved myself out of the coffin. Key caught me under my arms and helped me stand.

‘I want to be . . . cremated . . .’ I panted. ‘Remember that. If anything goes wrong . . .’

‘Right, you ready?’ Key asked.

I nodded, took a few more deep breaths, and wiped the sweat of my face with the back of my arm.

We were parked in a bay, down a ramp, behind the hospital. Wide double doors faced us – closed and impenetrable.

‘Good luck,’ Key said. ‘I’ll be here waiting. Don’t be long.’ He shuffled and glanced over his shoulder.

I smiled at him. ‘Thanks for this, Key. I owe you.’

‘No worries,’ he said, winking at me.

I took one glance at the double doors and they clicked open. I peeked through into the neon glare of a green tiled corridor. It was, at this early hour, empty. I slipped through and let the door fall shut behind me then started walking, my limbs feeling springy and coltish as the adrenaline and fear began to invade my body. About halfway down the corridor was a locker room. I stepped quickly inside. Rows of lockers covered two walls. I swept my eyes along them, fifty or so doors flying open in my wake with an almighty crash. I glanced over my shoulder, cringing, but the corridor remained empty. I ran to the nearest locker, ransacking it, looking for something I could use.

A nurse’s uniform. Perfect. I ducked behind the door and stripped to my underwear in record time, shoving my running gear into the locker I’d stolen the nurse’s outfit from. The shoes I took were white clogs, a size too big, but they’d have to do. I stood in front of the mirror and fixed the little hat to my hair with fumbling hands. I didn’t look like a nurse, I looked like a stripper. How did nurses work these uniforms with dignity? I shrugged. It would have to do. I took one last thing from another locker – a doctor’s white coat. Jack was going to need a disguise too.

The corridor was still empty when I poked my head back round the door. I stepped out brazenly, arms swinging, rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the lino floor. I tried to tell myself to walk like a nurse. Purposefully, like I knew where I was going. Like I was on my way to resuscitate someone. I started running then slowed myself. That was too obvious. Maybe I should pretend I was on the way to empty a bedpan. I slowed my pace to a stroll, but that felt too slow.

I did know where I was going at least. That was a bonus. I’d mapped this whole place out on my search for a vending machine. About three strides before I got to the emergency stairwell I planned to use, a man stepped out of nowhere. He was dragging a mop and bucket behind him and almost collided with me. I stepped round him and caught the question on his face as I kept on past him and rounded the corner. Damn. I couldn’t use the stairs now. It was too risky. He was mopping the corridor right by them. I could hear the squelch and slop of water.

I kept walking, trying to remind myself that I could move water – I could flip a man on his backside with a glance. I was invincible. Kind of. And invisible would be better in this situation. But I’d work with what I had.

I passed the sign for the mortuary. Yellowing plastic sheeting hung in place of doors and I picked my pace up to a fast trot. It was quiet down here. Just me and the dead. And the janitor around the corner.

Once at the never-ending corridor’s end, I found the elevator. It was risky taking it. The doors opened right by the nurses’ station on the intensive care unit, as opposed to the stairwell which was at the far end. What if I walked into one of the nurses or Dr Roberts? That would be a diffcult one to explain. There was no other way from here, though. It was either the elevator or back the way I’d come past the suspicious janitor. I pressed the button and waited for the elevator to lumber down. It was empty thankfully. I stepped inside and pressed the button for the second floor and prayed that it wouldn’t stop at any of the floors in between.

No one heard my prayers. The elevator slowed and juddered to a halt on the first floor. I looked around for somewhere to hide. The doors started to open and I caught them in a moment of panic, holding them together like the pages of a book. Some fingers appeared in the gap, trying to force them open. I could feel them in my head, like they were pressing into dough, and I squeezed the doors tighter together until whoever it was pulled their hand back, cursing.