Mind Secrets: A Science Fiction Telepathy Thriller (Perceivers Book 1) (23 page)

Michael leant back into the protection of the doorway. A chasm lay between him and the building across the grass. There was no way to get there other than walking out into the open. He thought about running or trying to skulk undetected. But he remembered his father’s words, that a teenager dressed like him would be unlikely to raise suspicion. So he walked with confidence, out of the doorway, onto the tarmac and around to the other side of the roundabout.

All the time, he kept his perception open for danger.

A path led around the back of the building to a small car park with painted markings showing spaces for six cars. Only one car was actually parked there: an estate car with Renault Laguna written on its back bumper and white bodywork which was clearly visible in the night.

Michael clicked the catch on the boot. As promised, it was unlocked. He opened it to its full height and revealed a space big enough for him to crawl inside.

He clambered in and curled his knees up before reaching to pull the hatch down. He suddenly thought – if Ransom’s plan went wrong, he wouldn’t be able to get out. There was no handle on the inside. Once the hatch was closed, it would remain closed until someone on the outside opened it again.

Michael swallowed his fear. He pulled the hatch and it slammed shut, locking him in the dark hole just big enough for his body. He hoped hadn’t traded one cell for another.

~

It could have been ten minutes, it could have been half an hour, that he waited huddled in the darkness. Lying on the thin mat that covered the metal chassis of the car, he got progressively colder. The mat had the faint smell of sour milk which, he imagined, had got spilt there on the way back from the supermarket one day and never properly washed out of the carpet.

A click sent a subtle vibration through the body of the car. It was a car door opening. The floor moved with a gentle bounce as the suspension adjusted to someone getting into the car. The door closed again with a clunk that sent more vibrations through the metal.

The engine started up – shaking the whole compartment – then settled to a steady rumble. Wheels propelled the machine from beneath. He felt each gear change, and each turn of direction as the car headed – he hoped – for freedom.

He reached out to perceive the driver. It wasn’t easy to sense whoever it was. Whether it was because he couldn’t see them or because they were further away, he wasn’t sure. All he sensed was a hint of their concentration and a little anxiety.

The car stopped. The engine died and the chassis stilled.

Michael’s own nervousness welled in his stomach. They hadn’t gone far enough to be out of the complex, he was sure.

The volume on the driver’s anxiety dialled up a notch. And there were other presences outside. Tired ones, trying to stay awake and alert, but still too distant from him to get a clear picture.

He heard voices. He listened hard, but couldn’t make out the words. Just the pitch of a man and a woman. Conversing calmly.

A click of a car door opening.

Nervous waiting.

The door slammed shut, the car rocked, he jumped.

Another door opened.
What was going on?

The voices neared. He heard the odd word. “Working late … yeah … not long … the boot.”

Michael tensed. The minds were close now. The nervous driver was the closest. A woman’s voice: “… can look if you like.”

A loud, terrifying click close to his ear. The boot – open a crack – opening wider.

Michael stared into the night, waiting for the trigger which would tell him to run.

The opening hatch revealed a tall woman standing at the back of the car. Michael recognised her instantly as the woman who’d handcuffed him, the same one who had slipped him the piece of paper. The nervousness was coming from her,
she
was the driver.

She shot a warning glance at him and the words ‘
stay there
’ reached his mind.

She looked away from Michael – towards someone else he couldn’t see – with a fake smile. “There really is nothing in here.”

Michael crunched himself up as small as he could.

“Yeah, yeah,” said a bored man’s voice. “Off you go.” He didn’t even look!

Slam.

The boot closed. Michael was shut back in his tiny cell again. Safe.

He let out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding and perceived the driver’s relief.

The engine shuddered to life again and they were driving.

Through – Michael imagined – the gate at the complex and away from the two bored soldiers with rifles who were too tired to properly check an outgoing vehicle.

After a while, the car settled down to a steady rumble with no gear changes and few turns. For what could have been half an hour. Until it slowed, came to a halt and the engine stilled.

The boot opened.

The woman stood before him. Nervousness still seeping from her. “Get out,” she whispered, beckoning him with her hand.

Michael unfurled himself and stepped out of the car. He shivered at the cold and stretched his stiff muscles.

They were alone. Parked on a strip of rough ground at the side of a quiet road.

The woman reached into the back pocket of her trousers and pulled out a brown, sealed envelope. “Here.”

Michael took the package. It was light and slim.

“Money,” said the woman. “Enough to get you away from here.”

“Where?”

“Not my department. I agreed to get you out. That’s all.” She slammed the boot shut and went back to the driver’s seat.

“Wait!” said Michael.

He headed after her, but she was already inside.

He put his body between her and the car door so she couldn’t close it. “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“You don’t need to know that,” she said.

But Michael perceived a flash of something. An image of a girl, about Jennifer’s age, in school uniform. “Your daughter? She’s a perceiver?”

“She was.” A sadness in her voice and her mind. “Please move, I need to go before I’m missed.”

Michael stepped back. She closed the driver’s door and started the engine. As she moved off, he realised he hadn’t thanked her. He ran after the car. “Thank you!” he said. But she was gone.

He watched the red of her tail lights until they disappeared around a corner at the end of the road. Then he was truly alone. He couldn’t perceive anybody. It was gloriously quiet. He savoured the feeling. It reminded him of what it had been like to be a norm. He felt a twinge of nostalgia.

But he wasn’t a norm anymore. And he couldn’t stay on that road forever.

To his right, glowed the lights of a town. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had to start somewhere. He started by walking towards the town.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

MICHAEL REACHED
the outskirts of the town as night turned to dawn. It was called Ruislip, according to the sign he passed on the outskirts. A place not far from London and, judging by the length of the car journey, not that far from the complex either. Cooper was most likely to start looking for him there. He had probably less than an hour before his escape was discovered and maybe another one or two hours before he needed to be out of Ruislip.

Up ahead, two people waiting at a bus shelter leant out towards the traffic and waved. A bus, with West Ruislip illuminated in red letters above the windscreen, blinked its left indicator and slowed to a stop beside them. Michael ran and got to the bus just as the second person flashed their travel card at the driver and moved inside to try to find a seat among the crowd.

“Single please,” Michael said, breathless, as he clambered on board.

“Where to?” said the driver, a gaunt man whose bus company tie was skewed sideways with the knot half under the flap of his collar.

Michael hadn’t thought where he was going. Anywhere and fast were his only criteria. “To the end of the line,” he said. He pulled the cash the woman had given him from his pocket.

The driver gave Michael a hard stare as he took the twenty pound note. He fiddled with getting the change which he slammed down on the tray in front of him.
Bloody teenagers
, he seemed to say, although he didn’t open his mouth.

Michael squeezed his way down the aisle of the bus, past several people standing in the way. Each with a resentment that he, a teenager, should be polluting their territory. There was one free seat about two thirds of the way down, next to a woman with bold make-up. As he closed in on it, she lifted the rucksack from her lap and put it on the empty seat. He stopped. She glared at him – resolute – with tight, dark red lips. He reached for the metal pole beside him and held onto it as the bus jerked forward.

He turned his back on the woman, but he still perceived her. That determination she had to stop him sitting down had turned to self-satisfaction. Michael concentrated on blocking her out, and the hatred from every commuter on that bus who didn’t want to share their journey with a teenager.

The end of the line was West Ruislip train station. Michael got off and stood beside a busy dual carriageway while the other passengers filed past him. Most walked up the street to a pedestrian crossing where they could get to the station opposite. Michael realised he’d stumbled on the right place for a quick getaway and followed them.

By the look of it, West Ruislip was little more than an outpost of the British rail network. The station was no bigger than a shop and contained a few ticket barriers, ticket desk and kiosk. It was far too small for the number of suited commuters flowing through its doors. Few stopped to buy tickets, they just pulled their season pass out of their pockets, waved it across a sensor by the barrier which opened with a double flap of doors and allowed the commuter through. Hardly any of them spoke to each other, which meant the hubbub of the station was a mix of shuffling feet and flapping ticket barriers.

A smell stirred Michael’s stomach. He sniffed the air. Bacon, sausage and fried onions. The kiosk he was standing next to – with its display of newspapers, chocolates and fridge containing sandwiches and fizzy drinks – was cooking breakfast baps. His stomach grumbled.

Michael fingered the cash in his pocket. He had enough to spend on breakfast. He bought a bap with sausage, onions and tomato sauce. The anticipation of food was so great, that by the time he took a bite, his mouth and stomach had prepared themselves with saliva and gastric juices. The taste didn’t disappoint, with the primal pleasure of cooked, fatty meat with the bite of onion and the tang of sauce. He had barely swallowed before he took another bite.

In front of the kiosk, still eating, with juice running down his hand, he looked up at the display board which hung from the ceiling and perused its choice of destinations.

He remembered what Ransom had said, to get as far away as he could. But he also remembered his friends and what they had sacrificed for him. Especially Jennifer. He wanted to see Jennifer again more than anything. So he searched for a train that would take him back into London.

He saw something that froze his stomach mid-digestion. In the upper corner of the station, staring down, was a CCTV camera. His eyes flashed around. He saw no others, but where there was one, there would be more. They were watching him; had probably been watching him from the moment he stepped off the street.

How stupid!

He’d walked straight into one of the most likely of places to have surveillance. If Cooper’s men came looking for him there – and surely they would – they would find him on the digital recording: a teenager in T-shirt and trouser fatigues standing in a sea of suited commuters, looking up at the camera like an idiot.

He checked the departure board again. There was a service heading for Princes Risborough in ten minutes. If he hurried, he could get on it.

There were several machines lined up along the right hand side, but he ignored them. Instead, he queued at the ticket booth where a ginger-haired man in his twenties (who knew how to tie his tie straight) took an extortionate amount of money for a one-way fare to Princes Risborough.

Queuing took longer than he hoped and left him with only two minutes to catch the train. He ran to the platform and hopped on board. As he caught his breath, he saw he was one of only half a dozen people in the carriage, representatives of a rare breed of traveller who commuted out of London for work. Michael took a seat close to the door and waited.

About thirty seconds later, a warning bleep rang out, the doors slid shut and the train eased itself out of the station.

It wasn’t like the bus. The other passengers were wrapped up in their own business and took no notice of Michael. It did nothing to ease his nerves. He was fully aware he couldn’t rely on the train to do his running away for him. He had to keep one step ahead of Cooper.

His eye was on a suited man at the end of the carriage where the aisle narrowed to make room for a toilet cubicle. The man sat by the window, sharing his attention between the polluted buildings outside and the phone on his knee. He’d taken off his suit jacket and thrown it across the seat next to him.

Michael stood and sauntered up the aisle towards the toilet. On the way – lightly, without drawing attention – he rested his hand on the man’s jacket. He swiped it off the seat as he passed and disappeared into the toilet.

He locked the door and breathed a sigh of relief. He heard no shouts or cries, no commotion from the carriage. The man probably hadn’t even noticed his jacket was missing.

Michael tried it on. He looked at his reflection in the scuffed mirror above the sink where someone had left a ball of soggy toilet paper. The jacket hung off his shoulders and the arms reached down to below his wrists, but it disguised his khaki T-shirt and that’s all he needed.

The train slowed as it approached a station. Michael unlocked the toilet door and emerged back into the narrow corridor. Behind him was the carriage he’d left and, in front, a rubber floor and two connecting doors. He went through into the adjoining carriage as the train stopped. The doors opened, he jumped out of the carriage and onto the platform. Part of him wanted to turn round to see that man’s face staring out of the window as the train departed, watching his jacket disappear from view.