Robin Jarvis-Jax 02 Freax And Rejex (43 page)

Christina’s eyes widened and she stared around in the gloom. It was so dark in there it was difficult to make out anything other than the overhanging minchet. Those horrors could be anywhere. The chaotic jungle of branches and twigs that surrounded her could easily conceal spindly legs and any one of those leaf bundles might be a tensed body, waiting to pounce.

Not daring to make a sound, she pulled the shopping basket towards her and started to inch backwards. There was a faint, dry rustle and a tiny movement in the corner of her eye. Christina halted and turned her head. There it was!

A small distance away, suspended in a hammock of gnarled, twisting vines, and concealed beneath old leaves and dead grass, was a Doggy-Long-Legs. The black, bulging eyes were fixed on her. A withered leaf turned over and came twirling down, followed by the tip of a thin, curved claw.

Christina tried to edge away, but the back of her dress became caught on that woody spike, pinning her like a butterfly. She couldn’t move.

A second, third and fourth leg stepped out of the leaves. Then the savage, hairy face emerged, the mouth already open.

The little girl tugged and heaved, but she only pushed the spike further
into her dress and it hooked on to the collar. She was completely stuck. Frantic, she reached behind her head to tear the fabric free, but it was no use.

The Doggy-Long-Legs pulled its body clear and the four back legs came arching after.

Christina went limp and looked into those baleful eyes that were already feasting on her. The creature advanced stealthily. The sharp fangs ground together and it made a gloating, clicking sound in its throat.

Then a change passed over the girl’s face. She stuck out her chin and she bared her own teeth.

“You will not,” she growled. “You will not!”

The Doggy-Long-Legs kept on coming.

“Stay back!” she commanded.

The beast was very close now. She could smell its foul breath. Rearing up on its hind legs, it paddled the air with the four front limbs and saliva dripped from its hungry jaws.

“Stop!” she shouted.

It was as if she had hit out with a sledgehammer. A violent jolt shook the Doggy-Long-Legs and it staggered back in dismay. The black eyes burned with fear and it stared at the child in panic and terror.

“Go away,” Christina said.

The creature covered its face with its forelegs and backed off.

“Go!” the girl demanded. “Now!”

The Doggy-Long-Legs scuttled about. It sprang into the low branches, climbing as far, and as fast, from the seven-year-old as its eight legs could take it.

Christina closed her eyes. The quality that had driven the predator away left her features and she indulged in a small, secret smile before resuming the tussle with the woody spike.

Outside the thicket, at the outer edge, Charm was humming tunelessly to herself. She hadn’t realised she had wandered so far from the others. She was trying to think what to do for the girls in her cabin. What treat or
entertainment could she contrive to take their minds off all this? Maybe a talent contest? She and Lee could be judges. Perhaps they could even put on a little show for the others? Rehearsing for something like that would be a welcome distraction. It might even be a lot of fun. She gave herself an imaginary pat on the back and resumed humming.

Standing on tiptoe, she pulled a fruit from the stem and placed it with the rest, in the shopping basket they all carried. She grimaced as she always did when touching that sweaty flesh and wiped her fingers on her skinny, and now very shabby, Armani jeans.

“No wipe,” a guttural voice said suddenly.

Charm jumped and spun around. Bezuel was there. The thin lips parted in a foul leer, displaying the gold grill bridging those yellow teeth.

“You frighted the life outta me!” she gasped, dipping into the obligatory curtsy. “I were miles away.”

“No miles,” the Punchinello corrected, ogling up at her. “But far from others, yes.”

The girl looked over the top of his beanie and realised they were quite alone. It was a situation she had been careful to avoid till now. She was instantly wary.

“Best be getting back then,” she said. “Don’t want ’em finkin’ I run off or got lost.”

She began retracing her steps, but the Punchinello caught hold of her hand.

“No go yet,” he gurgled. “Stay.”

“I gotta put these ’ere minchets in the truck,” she explained, trying to ease herself free.

The guard’s strong grip held firm.

“Stay,” he repeated, breathing heavily.

Charm was anxious to get away, but she didn’t dare show how scared she was. “Just for a minute then.”

Bezuel lifted her hand and caressed it. “You no need wipe,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” she answered with a forced light laugh. “That stuff’s
’orrible sticky and attracts all the flies.”

“No need wipe,” the Punchinello said again. Then, before she could stop him, the squat creature put her fingers in his wide mouth and started sucking them.

Charm almost gagged and tried to pull away. The Punchinello refused to release her. She felt his cold, fat tongue squeeze and probe between her fingers and his lips moved over and under her knuckles like twin slugs. Behind those mirror shades his beady eyes rolled back in his head.

Eventually he grinned and loosened his grasp. The girl tore her hand out and thrust it under her arm.

“I’m goin’ back!” she said, anger mixed with revulsion and alarm.

“No go!” the guard commanded, blocking her way. “Bezuel want speak. Bezuel like. You pretty.”

“Fanks, but I…”

The Punchinello lifted the sunglasses and the intent in those eyes was unmistakable. Charm began to back away.

“You like Bezuel new threads?” he asked. “Is good, yes? Bezuel see on tellyscreen. Bezuel learn much from tellyscreen. He know skanks crawl over bling bling like maggots on minchet. You hoes like shiny gold and ice, yes? Bezuel let you touch gold – you let Bezuel touch you.”

“Not wiv a bargepole, mate and you can stick your bling! I ain’t interested.”

The ringed fingers lunged at her. Charm yelled and ran. The guard caught her pink Bvlgari belt and snatched her back, pushing her against the thicket.

Charm cried out, but the Punchinello pulled the gun and thrust it against her stomach.

“You no make noise,” Bezuel growled. “You no scream. If other abrants come to help, me shoot them in head, then me shoot you. You want feel lead, or gold? Bezuel want your booty, Bezuel get – before you go.”

“Go?” she said. “Where’m I goin’?”

The guard sniggered at her. “You near birthday. You too old for stay in camp. No good. You must go.”

The words hit her like a slap in the face. “My birthday?” she murmured. “Is it July already? Oh, my God. Where… where they sending me?”

Bezuel shrugged. “Me no care. Me want taste, before you go.”

Charm trembled and twisted her face away as the guard lifted her T-shirt with the gun barrel and the pale tongue came lolling out of his mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut and Bezuel reached for the dropped shopping basket. It took one of the gathered fruits, to smear over her exposed skin.

Suddenly a dark blur sprang from the prickly branches behind her. It pounced on the minchet in the guard’s hand and sank its teeth in deeply.

Bezuel screeched in shock and pain. He waved the arm about, trying to shake the Doggy-Long-Legs off. But it wrapped its spindly limbs around the fist, chewing and gnawing greedily.

As Bezuel shrieked and whirled about, Charm ran. Not looking back, she pelted through the trees, heading for the road and the others.

The Beetle was just moving off when she rejoined them. Yikker was swigging from a bottle of Merlot the driver had handed over and Alasdair was picking himself up from the ground. The imprint of a shoe was stamped on one shoulder. The other children were standing around him. Charm’s girls helped him to his feet and he mumbled a thank you whilst glaring at the cassocked Punchinello.

Three gunshots rang out. Yikker lowered the bottle and stared at Charm questioningly.

“Spider fing,” she explained, trying not to let the horror of what she had escaped sound in her voice.

Yikker’s hooked nose sniffed the air and when Bezuel emerged through the trees, nursing a bleeding hand, he hooted with mocking laughter.

Bezuel snatched the Merlot and guzzled it down. Although the mirror shades were once again over those eyes, Charm could feel the Punchinello’s lecherous stare boring into her.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon dodging the guard’s advances, making certain they were never alone together. Foremost in her thoughts though was the bombshell he had dropped. She desperately wished Maggie and Lee were here. What was she going to do? She didn’t want to be moved from the camp. Her girls sensed something was the matter, but she didn’t want to upset them and pretended it was merely a headache, but inside she was absolutely devastated and horribly afraid.

Somehow she got through the shift and the long march back. After the evening soup, she quietly invited Maggie, Lee and Spencer outside. The graves and Marcus’s headstone had become a favoured spot to sit and talk. The other kids usually respected your privacy if you went there to discuss serious or personal stuff, or needed time on your own. Charm led her friends there and sat down.

“Now,” Lee began. “You gonna tell us what’s eating you tonight?”

Charm had made up her mind not to tell them what Bezuel had tried to do. She feared Lee would attempt some form of retaliation and wind up getting himself shot. She’d cope with Bezuel in her own way. She’d managed so far. She’d just have to be extra vigilant from now on. At least she wouldn’t have to put up with the creature’s disgusting attentions for much longer.

“It’s me birthday soon,” she told them.

“Aw, babes,” Maggie said. “I’d stick a candle in your soup if I had one – and if the soup was thick enough.”

Lee’s face fell. “Hell, no!” he said. “When?”

Charm fanned her eyes. “On the seventh. I dunno what today is, but that Bez said it were near.”

Lee scowled. He hadn’t been keeping track of the date either and his watch didn’t display it. He looked at Spencer. The other boy shook his head apologetically. Lee turned around and stared at the camp. Some girls were playing a clapping game in the middle of the lawn, others were washing clothes in buckets, one or two more were sitting on their own. Would any of them know?

At that moment, a shrill scream sounded in one of the cabins and Christina came running out, followed by Alasdair. The Scot caught up with her and gave her a hug. Jody’s ranting voice was still calling after them. She was getting worse.

“Dinnae be upset,” Alasdair said soothingly. “Jody’s no well. You ken that? She doesnae mean it. She wouldnae be nasty to you for the world.”

Christina wiped her eyes. “I miss her,” she said.

“Aye, me too.”

“Will she get better? Will my old Jody come back?”

“I cannae say. But we’ll keep our fingers crossed, yeah?”

“You can only cross them on one hand!”

“Ah, but I can cross my toes too! You didnae know that, did ye?”

The girl laughed.

“Hey, Alasdair!” Lee called, waving him over.

The Scottish lad looked across in surprise. That clique didn’t go out of their way to speak to him these days. He didn’t blame them. He had behaved like a titanic jerk and some things were impossible to forgive.

Holding Christina’s hand, he wandered over.

“What you guys doin’?” he asked uncertainly.

“You know what the date is?”

It was the last question Alasdair expected. It took him a few moments to think about it.

“Sit down, man,” Lee invited.

Alasdair and Christina sat. Christina glanced at Maggie shyly. Since the attack on her with the ripped pages, she had kept out of her way. The seven-year-old teased a daisy from the ground and concentrated on trying to fashion it into a ring for her finger.

“Is it no July?” Alasdair asked after some minutes’ pondering.

The others groaned. Alasdair thought again.

“How many days since the last delivery of leftovers?” he asked. “No this present lot, the one before.”

Maggie counted back. They were on their fourth day of this batch; the
previous one had been a very long eight days prior to that.

“That’s it then,” he said. “That were when I gave up keepin’ score. That were the day after midsummer, the last time the guards had one of their boozy blowouts. Remember, they lit another fire and sang dirty songs round it, then shot at empty bottles late into the night. So that makes today July the third. Why do ye want to know?”

“It’s Charm’s birthday on the seventh,” Spencer told him.

“I’m real sorry,” he said.

“I don’t get it,” Maggie butted in. “What is so wrong about having a birthday?”

“I’ll be sixteen!” Charm answered.

Only then did Maggie realise. “They… they’re going to ship you out of here?” she stammered. “Oh, no! They can’t!”

Alasdair held up his useless hand. “They do whatever they want,” he said bitterly. “Dinnae kid yourself otherwise.”

“Didn’t Jangler say something about an adult camp?” Spencer asked. “You’ll be sent there. Might not be so bad as here.”

“Aye an’ it might be a ton load worse. If oor lot can kill wee kids and torture lasses till they crack, what do ye reckon they’ll be doin’ to them folk?”

“Coat it with sugar why don’t you?” Lee muttered.

“He’s only sayin’ what I’ve already been finking,” Charm said. “I ain’t fick.”

The stress and pain began to show on her face. Turning away, she gazed at the trees in the distance – beyond the wire. Perched on top of a high fence post, a blackbird was singing. It was a pure, liquid sound, filled with hope, freedom and praise for the late sunshine. Charm’s eyes began to swim.

“Sixteen,” she murmured. “Me sixteenf. That were gonna be like so crucial to The Plan. The day before, Uncle Frank were gonna sort a studio session an’ I’d have some real tasteful glamour shots done. They’d be published in the red tops on me birthday. That were gonna be the start
of it proper. It were all gonna kick off huge after that. The Charm brand were gonna get mega. By the time I were twenty I was gonna have me own fashion range an’ perfume… so many fings…”