The Enemy (38 page)

“Do we have a deal?”

“Guess so,” said Carl.

“Yeah,” said John. “You’ve got your bloody deal.”

Achil eus faltered and nearly fel . Maeve and Maxie ran to him and steadied him on either side. Maeve already had a bandage ready, and she began to wind it around Achil eus’s head. Achil eus tried to push her away, but he was too weak.

“I’m al right,” he slurred. And he once again looked at David and the palace kids.

“Remember what I done for you here today,” he shouted, and passed out.

A
re you satisfied? Freak dead, Achileus nearly kiled as wel.

Are you so damned keen to become emperor of bloody London that you don’t care one bit about our kids at al ?”

“Your kids?”

“Yes, our kids.”

Maxie and David were standing on the balcony above the parade ground at the front of the palace. A bright moon was shining through a break in the clouds. The streets and rooftops and trees, stil wet from the earlier rain, were streaked with silver.

“We’re al in this together now, Maxie,” said David, in that annoyingly unruffled and patronizing manner of his. “You mustn’t keep thinking about us and them. We’re al playing on the same team.”

“I’m not sure I want to be on your team, David.”

“Then what are you doing here, Maxie? Living under my roof? Eating my food?”

“I’m sorry? Your roof? Your food? I thought we were al playing on the same team.”

“We are. But if you prefer not to, then why don’t you just leave?”

Maxie looked out over London. From up here there was a view clear down across St. James’s Park to Admiralty Arch and Trafalgar Square beyond.

There was a whole world out there.

She wondered where Sophie and her archers might be now. It took guts to leave somewhere safe like this and go back out onto the streets.

Did Maxie have the guts to do it?

“What do you think you’l find out there?” said David. “Other wandering bands of kids, living like savages, scavenging for food. Is that what you want?

Because that’s what it’s like.”

“I know, David, I’m not stupid. I’ve seen more of al that than you have.”

“I don’t think so,” said David, a cold edge to his voice. “You don’t know half of what I saw on my way to the palace. I saw things you couldn’t even dream of. I’ve done my fair share of kil ing. It’s different here in the center, but I fought my way through a total nightmare to get to where I am now. And I don’t want to go back to al that. I want to build on what we’ve achieved.”

“Kil ing grown-ups is one thing,” said Maxie. “They’re diseased. They’re crazy. No longer human. We have to defend ourselves from them. But kil ing other kids. That’s wrong.”

“I agree,” said David. “But with some kids it’s the only language they understand.”

“Maybe you’re one of those kids, David.”

“As I say, if you don’t like it here, why don’t you leave?” The smug, superior tone had come back into David’s voice.

“Maybe I wil ,” said Maxie quietly. “And maybe I’l take my crew with me.”

“Maybe they won’t want to go,” said David, his voice flat and bland and irritating. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Maxie, but your kids like it here.”

“If I say we’re going, they’l come with me,” said Maxie.

“Are you so sure of that?”

“Stop trying to undermine me, David,” Maxie snapped. “I know my kids.”

“And what about Blue’s crew? The kids from Morrisons?”

“What about them?”

“Can you speak for them as wel ? Maybe you’d better go and see Blue, see what he thinks about al this.”

“He’s sick. Your nurse, Rose, won’t let anyone up to see him.”

“Nonsense. You can go and talk to him anytime you want. He’s wel enough now. You’re seeing plots and conspiracies everywhere. I’m not an evil person.”

Maxie shook her head slowly. She suddenly felt dog tired. The day had been very stressful.

“I know you’re not evil, David. But we’re al so young. We can’t always know the best thing to do.”

David put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. The action felt clumsy and calculated.

“You do what you think’s best, Maxie,” he said. “I’l respect your decision. Now, shal we go in? I think it’s going to start raining again.”

T
his would be so much easier if you’d come up to the sickbay clinic. I’ve got al my proper equipment up there.”

“No way, man, it’s too much like a hospital.”

Achil eus was slouched in one of the big chairs up on the dais in the Throne Room with his shirt off. Rose was inspecting his damaged ear. She’d given him some painkil ers and was trying to clean his wounds with disinfectant. Achil eus was wincing and flinching and complaining and general y making her job difficult.

It hurt like hel .

“Don’t you like hospitals?” Rose asked, dabbing at the wound.

“Nope,” said Achil eus. “Spent too much time in them when I was a kid.”

“You were il ?”

“Not me, my mom. She had MS. Multiple sclerosis. Bad news, man. That’s how I remember her, as a sick person. Hated hospitals ever since. The only good thing about Mom being il , she died before everything went bad. I never had to see her go crazy. Ow! What you doing there?”

“Sorry. It’s your ear.”

“What about it?”

“I’m going to have to try and stitch it,” said Rose.

“You done stitching before?”

“No, not real y.”

“You know what to do?”

“No, not real y.”

“What are the chances you’l make a good job of it?”

“No chance at al ,” said Rose. “But at least it won’t fal off. Urgh. It looks real y nasty. It’s going to be ugly no matter what I do.”

John’s blade had cut through the top of the ear, so that it was only attached by the bottom inch or so of skin.

“I shoulda kil ed Just John.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m not. I’ve got a enemy now.”

“You had an enemy before.”

“That’s true enough.”

There was a knock at the door, and they looked over to see two of David’s guards escorting a boy into the room. A stocky little lad with cropped black hair. He looked shy and nervous, but was masking it with a macho swagger.

“Sorry to bother you,” said one of the guards. “But this squatter kid’s been hanging around, we can’t get rid of him, says he wants to talk to you.”

“I’l come back in a minute if you want,” said Rose, putting down her equipment.

“No. You stay,” said Achil eus. “Get stitching.”

Achil eus turned his attention to the squatter. “What d’you want?”

“Can I shake your hand?” said the boy, with a broad Irish accent.

Achil eus gave a snort of laughter. “What you want to shake my hand for?”

“I think you’re cool.”

“Yeah?” Achil eus laughed again and held out his hand. “This ain’t a trick?”

“Nope.”

The little lad came up onto the dais and pumped Achil eus’s hand up and down.

“That was awesome out there,” he said, his eyes transfixed by Rose as she started to push a needle and thread through Achil eus’s ear.

“Shouldn’t you have gone on with the others?” said Achil eus. He was determined to show no pain in front of the boy, even though it was agony.

“Nah,” said the lad. “You were right, what you said. John’s a loser. I’m coming over to your side. Jeez, that must hurt. . . .”

“Meh.” Achil eus gave a dismissive shrug.

“Don’t move,” Rose warned.

“Just keep stitching,” said Achil eus.

“I think I’d faint,” said the boy.

“What’s your name?” Achil eus asked.

“Pat. Patrick. Don’t care what you cal me. I want you to teach me everything you know. How to fight like that. I’l help you. I’d be like your servant. I’l look after your weapons for you. Sharpen them. Carry them into battle. You know, like when you look after a knight, like a . . . What do you cal it? A caddy.”

“Paddy the caddy?” said Achil eus. “Al right. You got yourself a job, soldier.”

C
alum pressed play on his boogie box and ABBA came on. “The Winner Takes It Al.” His mom’s favorite song when she was feeling sad.

“Dancing Queen” when she was happy. “The Winner Takes It Al ” when she was sad.

She always said that you needed sad music when you were feeling down. “Last thing you want is someone trying to cheer you up. You want to know that someone else is as miserable as you are and knows how you’re feeling. Lets you know you’re not alone.”

Cal um wasn’t exactly feeling sad. Inside he felt quite calm and peaceful, real y. But he didn’t want to listen to happy music. He remembered how his mom would sit on the sofa and put her arms around him and not say anything. Just the two of them sitting there.

His mom was often sad. Sometimes she’d stay indoors for weeks on end with the curtains drawn. Not wanting to see anyone. Not even answering the phone. Cal um had to be the man of the house then. He had to look after her. So they’d sit and listen to ABBA together. He supposed that’s where he’d got his fear of going outside from. From his mom.

Her friend Marion had told him that his mom suffered from depression.

He wasn’t sure it real y helped giving names to things. His mom was just his mom. And he was just himself. Cal um.

The piano intro ran around and around, and then the blond one started to sing. He could never remember if it was Agnetha or Frida. His mom had the videos. Cal um could picture them clearly. Thinking about them now made him smile. He turned the volume on ful and sat back in his chair as they sang about the winner getting everything and the loser feeling smal .

He pictured that bit in the film
Mamma Mia
when the mother—what was her name? The actress? Something weird. She sang the song by the sea.

Greece looked nice.

Cal um had never been abroad. Not with his mom being how she was.

Meryl Streep. That was it. Definitely a weird name.

He picked up his Coke from the floor and popped the top. His last can. He’d been saving it for a special day. Wel , there would be no more special days after this.

The Coke was warm, but it didn’t matter. If it’d been winter he could have left the can outside, but otherwise there was no way of keeping things cold.

He took a sip. The sugar hit him instantly. He gave a satisfied smack of his lips and went “Aaaaaaah,” just like they did in the commercials.

Next he unwrapped his chocolate bar. Cadbury’s Dairy Milk. It was a little white and hard, but that was al right. He took a bite. Oh, that taste. He closed his eyes to better appreciate it. This was heaven.

ABBA sang about the gods. Not caring. Everything being ruled by chance, a throw of the dice.

There came another crash from outside. The crack of something big breaking. A window maybe?

He hadn’t gone away—the father in the cross-of-Saint-George vest. He and his little gang had stayed. And they’d been busy out there. Steadily smashing their way in. They were very nearly through. If not tonight, then tomorrow. He’d always known it, real y, in the back of his mind, that sooner or later the grown-ups would come for him. He just hadn’t thought it would be this soon.

The fat father and his cronies were different. They were clever. Cal um had hurled things down on them, bombed them, but he’d missed the ringleaders every time. He’d taken out a couple of the normal grown-ups. The stupid ones. That was al . And the others—they wouldn’t give up. They were working away at the defenses.