The Disappeared (2 page)

He’s trying to wind me up. ‘Shut up, Wilson, don’t give me all that anti-Leadership crap. Of course it matters where you work, it’s supposed to be “individuals working to their potential for the good of all” remember?’

He covers his ears. ‘Don’t start spouting The Leader’s speeches at me.’

‘I’m just saying: everyone’s got their place and that’s why it works.’

‘And I’m just saying I don’t see why kids from different schools can’t get . . . friendly.’

I shake my head at him. I don’t believe he’d really go near a Second Class Learning Community girl and definitely not one from an Academy. He’s just obsessed with the thought of girls full stop.

We take a right, then a left. As we approach the edge of the shopping sector the stores get shabbier and smaller. There’s a row of three digital poster screens; each one is cracked but you can still see The Leader delivering a speech. It’s one of his most famous ones.

‘
If we want to survive, we must work. If we want to prosper, we must work. If we want to keep our enemies at bay, we must work. We must work with our minds and with our hands to build a better nation. The power lies with
you.’

Wilson likes to joke, but even he has to admit that after the Long War, when this country was in a mess, it was The Leader who got us back on our feet. He’s the one that got kids doing the Potential Test and now, unlike the olden days, everyone is matched to the work they’re best suited to. And that’s how we’ve become a force to be reckoned with again.

Whenever I hear that work speech I make up my mind to do better in my next assessment. Everybody says that I’ll be chosen for one of the top Leadership positions when I’m twenty-one and leave school, but I want to make sure.

Sometimes I wonder what my dad did before he died. I like to imagine he had an important job in the Leadership. My mother hasn’t told me much about him. I think it makes her too sad. Yesterday, I finally got up the courage to try to hack into the National Register to see if there was anything about him on my official notes. But I couldn’t fully access my records. I suppose the point is that I really want to do something that would have made my dad proud.

Wilson is watching me. ‘You’ve gone all gooey eyed.’ He looks up at the digi posters. ‘You can’t wait to get into the Leadership, can you? You love all that “strive to serve” stuff that Facilitator Johnson goes on about.’

‘It’s going to be great,’ I say. ‘The way I see it, we’ve spent the last seventeen years recovering from the Long War and now the Leadership is really getting into its stride. It’s going to be our generation making the decisions that make this country great again. We’re going to be so important.’

‘Yeah.’ Wilson grins. ‘I suppose we will be, won’t we?’

It’s easy to find the factory workers’ accommodation block we’re looking for because it’s in the shadows of a huge factory which towers above the other buildings. The factory and the block are surrounded by high fences. In front of the main gate we find a scanner. When I walk through it the gate clicks open for me. We pass through two more gates like this. As we approach the factory I nod my head towards it. ‘And that’s where Academy girls end up,’ I say.

‘All right, snobby, stop going on about it.’

‘I’m not a snob. That’s just how society works. If you want to work in the Leadership then you can’t mix with Academy kids or factory workers.’

Wilson smirks at me and points at the package in my hand. ‘Facilitator Johnson knows someone in a factory accommodation block,’ he says.

‘That’s different.’

Wilson is quiet for a minute. His face is more serious now. ‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like though? If you went to an Academy and ended up in a factory?’

‘If your Potential Test suggested that you should be a factory worker then that’s the best place for you.’ I don’t know why he’s questioning the system. It works perfectly. Everyone has a role and everyone knows their place.

We’ve reached the accommodation block. Wilson looks up at it. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Come on, we want the fifth floor,’ I say.

We make our way up the metal staircase clinging to the side of the grey concrete block and quickly overtake an old man carrying a battered shopping bag.

‘Why isn’t he at the factory?’ I whisper.

We watch the man’s quivering hand reaching for the banister. ‘I don’t think he’s fit for work any more,’ Wilson says.

‘But he still gets to live here? That’s nice, isn’t it. See? Everyone is provided for.’

Wilson shrugs.

We don’t see anyone else on our way up the stairs. I guess they’re all at the factory.

‘You can see the Wilderness from here,’ Wilson says.

I lean on the rail and look out behind the block. A few hundred metres away is a familiar style of tall fence made of strips of metal and topped with barbed wire. You see them wherever the district borders the Wilderness. Beyond the fence is a wasteland littered with rubble that stretches, without a hint of greenery, as far as I can see.

‘
Do your duty, do your best, or you’ll be sent to the Wilderness
,’ Wilson whispers in a creepy voice.

‘Shut up.’ I haven’t heard that rhyme since I was a kid.

‘Remember what happened to Facilitator Amonetti?’

Facilitator Amonetti disappeared from the Learning Community at the same time as a rebellious boy called Fisher. The rumour was that Fisher had wound the facilitator up to breaking point and that she had strangled him and then been sent to the Wilderness as punishment. ‘There was never any proof of all that,’ I say.

The Wilderness is a huge area of desolate land that was created by bombing during the Long War. Being sent there is worse than going to prison. They say it’s roamed by packs of feral people who will tear you limb from limb. The rumours about the Wilderness are enough to keep anyone’s murderous rage under wraps.

I shudder; just looking at the place gives me the creeps. I turn back to the steps.

‘They should get a lift,’ Wilson says. ‘Imagine living on the twenty-fifth floor. I wouldn’t want to climb these every day.’

‘Factory workers are trained for physical work,’ I say.

‘I’d like to see how “physical” a factory lady could be.’ Wilson squeezes the air in the region where a very short and very wide lady’s breasts would be.

When we reach the fifth floor we stop in front of a set of fire doors that lead to a corridor. Through the misty glass I can see someone.

‘Hey Wilson, maybe this is your factory lady.’

We push open the door. I stop dead. Wilson bangs into me from behind.

It’s not a lady.

It’s a man with a gun.

‘Don’t make a noise or I’ll kick your heads in.’

The man is wearing a black jacket with the hood up. He gestures us forward with the gun. I don’t want to get hurt. I shuffle forward. Wilson follows, staying close to me. My heart is pounding and my mouth is dry. I flick my eyes left and right. The corridor is lined with doors leading to flats. I pray for one of the doors to open.

‘What are a couple of brainers like you two doing out on the streets?’ says a voice behind us.

I spin round. There’s another man, in a navy hooded coat. He must have been behind the fire doors.

‘I would’ve thought you were too precious to the Leadership to be out where you could get your throat slit,’ he says, walking towards us and making Wilson and me take a step back. Under his hood I can see his wide, flat nose and a fleck of spit on his fleshy lips. ‘What are you looking at?’ he snaps.

I drop my eyes to the ground, but he’s talking to Wilson.

‘I . . . I’m not . . .’ Wilson opens and closes his mouth.

We’ve moved so far back that now we’re sandwiched between the two of them. I don’t turn round but I can feel the massive presence of the man behind us.

‘Give me your money,’ says Navy Hood.

Wilson scrabbles about trying to pull his currency card out of his pocket. He drops it and has to bend down to pick it up. He hands it to the man.

‘Thank you,’ Navy Hood says to Wilson.

Wilson tries a shaky smile in return.

The man headbutts him.

‘
Uhhh!
’ cries Wilson and lifts his hand to his head. The man behind us brings down an elbow into Wilson’s neck. Wilson crumples over, his face smashing straight into Navy Hood’s thrusting knee.

‘No!’ I cry.

Both men turn to look at me.

‘You can’t . . .’ I begin, but my voice fails me.

Black Hood’s eyes are in shadow, but I see him bare his teeth and I wince away just as he punches me in the nose. It’s like an explosion in my face. I reel backwards and Navy Hood kicks me in the stomach. As I go down I see Wilson trying to get to his feet.

The men are kicking me; raining blows on my face, my stomach, my back. I hold my arms curled over my head. I can’t breathe. It feels like they’re splintering my spine with each kick. Why has no one come to help us?

‘Efwurding little brainer. Do you think you can tell us what to do?’ He kicks me in the stomach so hard it feels like his boot has punched through my flesh. ‘Think you’re better than us?’

I try to call out, but I can’t get air into my lungs. I’m going to die.

‘Hey!’ Wilson shouts.

The kicking stops.

I gasp for breath. I retch. Keeping my arms over my head, I open my eyes. The two men are running down the long corridor after Wilson. I’ve got to get up. I’ve got to help Wilson. I roll over on to my knees and lift my head. There’s a rushing sound in my ears. I try to use my hands but they’re numb from where the men kicked them and my arms are shaking so hard I can’t support myself. I lean against the wall while I push up with my legs, then half run, half hobble down the corridor.

I’m coughing and choking for breath and have to stop and suck in air to shout for help, but my voice is tiny in the dimly lit corridor. There’s no one in sight.

I bang on the nearest door. ‘Help!’ I scream, straining my vocal chords. There’s no answer. I bang on the next door. Nothing. ‘Help!’ I shout again. ‘Police!’ The doors stare back at me blankly like eyes that don’t see.

I’ve got to help Wilson – where is he?

‘Ahhhhhhh!’
I hear Wilson screaming somewhere outside. I try to run to the end of the corridor, but it’s like I’m moving in slow motion and the floor is made of sponge. I stagger through another set of fire doors out on to the outside balcony at the back of the block. I twist left then right; there’s no sign of Wilson or the men. They can’t have just vanished. I look from side to side again and up at the balcony above. There’s no one there either. The whole place is deserted. I look down over the railings on to the metal balcony below.

And there is Wilson’s body.

Wilson is totally still in a horrible, final sort of a way. One of his arms is twisted back at a sickening angle. The drop to the balcony below is deep. They must have thrown him over. His face is white against my red jacket.

Footsteps thunder below me. The men are coming.

‘I’ll kill you!’ one roars. I turn and run back through the doors and along the corridor. My legs feel disconnected from my body and there’s a stabbing pain in my stomach, but I move faster than I ever have before. At the other end of the corridor I run back down the steps that Wilson and I were climbing only moments ago. Before everything went crazy. I keep twisting back to see if the men are following, but there’s no sign of them. All I can hear is the sound of my own ragged breathing. Below me there’s the metallic ring of something hitting the rail of the stairs. I look down the centre of the stairwell and see Black Hood looking up at me.

I spin round and run back up the stairs. My legs are on fire. I feel like tendons are ripping with every step I take. Below, through the metal I can see the man getting closer. I stumble through double doors and down another corridor. This is hopeless. There’s nowhere for me to go. I can’t escape and, when they catch me, they’ll kill me like they killed Wilson. I kick the flat door nearest to me as I listen to Black Hood pounding up the stairs.

This is it.

Then the door in front of me opens.

I’m pulled into the room, where I fall to my knees. I press my head to the ground and let my mouth hang open in a silent scream while my body shakes. As my gasping slows I’m aware of the men outside shouting. I freeze, pressing my hand over my mouth.