The Industry (19 page)

Kirra and Milo fled down the corridor, steering Simone in front of them, straight towards the firefight. Milo wiped at his nose with the back of his uninjured hand, spitting out a glob of blood as they hurried along.

‘Kirra,' he began, his voice thick, ‘that was —'

‘I know,' she said unsteadily.

They rounded a corner and entered the wide hall they'd taken refuge in during their first foiled escape attempt. Recruits were pouring into the room from various entrances, guns at the ready. The place was quickly becoming a battlefield. Kirra spotted Desmond and Anton crouched behind packing containers, firing at the incoming attackers. Mai and Fadil were close by, sheltering behind an overturned steel table. The room was littered with the bodies of recruits and Kirra felt rather than heard Simone gasp at the sight.

Kirra and Milo, Simone between them, sidled as close to Desmond as they could get without placing themselves
in the line of fire, then they too squatted behind pallets of what appeared to be supplies for the factory: boxes of food and ammunition crates.

‘Desmond!' Kirra yelled over the gunfire. He whirled around, spotted Milo by her side and nodded. He yelled to Mai and Fadil, who also noted Milo's presence with a good deal of relief on their faces. All they had to do now was find a safe way out.

They were outnumbered by recruits and Desmond motioned for Kirra to help. She drew her gun away from Simone and took aim, shooting several times before chance intervened and a recruit collapsed. Simultaneously sickened and glad, she watched him die and took aim for another man. Simone held her hands clamped to her ears, watching with wide, distraught eyes as lives were lost around her.

The shootout continued, and with each passing moment Kirra panicked a little more. The longer they were stuck here, the more impossible a safe escape seemed. She looked over to see Fadil, armed with a small machine gun, kill a string of recruits in one go. Now they were only faced with a few men, most of whom seemed to be running low on ammunition and took cover to reload. Desmond, Mai, Fadil and Anton took the opportunity to do the same.

And then Latham entered the hall.

Simone glanced up from her hiding place, her eyes falling on her father. ‘Papa!' she screamed, and jumped to her feet and darted across the room towards him, her arms outstretched.

Latham's head whipped around. He screamed at her to stay where she was, but she didn't listen.

Kirra watched the girl move, almost as though in slow motion. She wasn't exactly certain what happened next, only that it happened very quickly. Both sides, their weapons reloaded, opened fire once more, failing to register that Simone had entered the firing zone. She fell to the ground, blood cascading over her chest.

Horrified, Kirra glanced at Latham. He looked as though he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He could only stare at his unmoving daughter.

Desmond's hands, slippery with sweat, grabbed Kirra and hauled her towards the door, taking advantage of the sudden ceasefire. As they ran, the recruits recovered from the shock of what had just happened and resumed the fight with fervour, chasing them with bullets. Kirra burst into the corridor, with Milo by her side. Desmond and Anton were just behind them, and Mai and Fadil were bringing up the rear. One last glance back showed her that Latham had yet to move, still transfixed by the image of his daughter sprawled on the floor.

The recruits rushed past him, their bullets peppering the walls of the corridor as Kirra and her companions ran for the exit.

Desmond shoved open the door at the end of the corridor and fell into the street, pulling Milo with him. Kirra looked back to ensure the others were still close by. She saw Anton, just a few feet behind, and … Kirra felt her heart stop. Mai was standing still, gazing at Fadil, who was lying at her feet, clutching at his stomach. Blood flooded out from beneath his hand. Mai's face betrayed no emotion as Fadil reached out to her. Like lightning, she tucked her small hand within his just as his body
relaxed and his eyes rolled back in his head. His fingers slipped gracefully from hers, his life parting his body.

The recruits were almost upon them. Anton cursed loudly, ran to Mai and hoisted her into his arms. He raced out into the street, Mai curled against him, and slammed the factory door firmly behind them. Desmond had already started the van and was yelling for them to hurry.

Milo stood hunched by the open side door, waiting for Kirra. She climbed into the back row of seats and watched as he negotiated the step and the other seats to sit beside her. As he pulled on his seatbelt, she could see that his fingers were swollen and purple.

Anton pressed Mai into a seat and buckled her seatbelt. He fixed her with a very sad look before flinging himself into the passenger seat and pulling the door shut. Desmond hit the accelerator, the silver van screamed down the street and Kirra turned back to watch the factory fade into the distance.

Kirra wasn't sure how long they'd been driving before Mai recovered enough from her shock to begin crying quietly. The change was small, but Kirra, who had been watching for it, noticed.

‘Mai,' she whispered, leaning forward in her seat. Her guilt felt as though it was multiplying within her, expanding into a heavy lump in her stomach. It felt as if she'd been force-fed a bucket of gravel. She knew there was nothing she could do or say to ease Mai's grief, but she needed to tell her how sorry she was anyway. Kirra knew she had been reckless, knew Fadil was dead largely because of her.

‘Don't,' Mai said without facing her, another tear gliding down her cheek. ‘Don't say anything.'

Kirra recoiled uncomfortably and leaned into Milo, who was staring out the window. The only thing that eased her guilt was the fact of his presence, safe and sound, by her side.

‘We should have killed Latham,' he muttered. ‘We … we should have used the chance we had. It was so stupid not to kill him.'

Anton twisted round in his seat. ‘His kid was shot. Believe me, buddy, you'll get another chance.'

He made his way down to the back of the van with a first-aid kit, and wrapped Milo's broken fingers tightly with a springy white bandage. He handed Milo two strong painkillers, which Milo was reluctant to take at first, but accepted after a few moments.

Kirra gazed out of the window, observing the wild countryside, the morning sun, its glow warm on her face. She sensed Milo fall asleep beside her, his hand rigid and fragile in his lap. Even asleep he looked exhausted.

Kirra wanted to tell them all how thankful she was, but with Mai working so hard to keep her grief at bay, it seemed downright insensitive. What she really needed was to talk things over with Milo: discuss what had happened, assess the danger they were now in, and, of course, acknowledge, even celebrate, the fact that they were alive and together. Yes, everything would be alright once she talked to Milo, but until he woke, she was content to rest against him, feeling, for the first time in a long time, hopeful.

 

‘Are you sure there's nothing on him, Viera?' Desmond said, his voice strained.

Kirra, surprised to realise she'd fallen asleep, stretched slowly in her seat and listened to the hushed phone call.

‘Are you very sure?' Desmond said, rubbing his forehead. ‘Well, where the hell did he come from then? Aren't you supposed to know these things?'

Viera rambled on for a bit while Desmond stared silently ahead.

‘Why am I asking you?' he said. ‘Well, Marron said he'd heard the name before so I thought … I don't know what I thought! Look, I'll have to ring you back.'

He ended the call, dialled another number and waited several moments for an answer.

‘It's me,' he said. ‘I'll have her there tomorrow, but first I need to make a detour.'

He closed the phone gently, trying not to wake his passengers. Anton was slumped beside him, snoring softly. Mai sat with her eyes closed, her cheeks still stained with tears.

Kirra stared at Desmond, catching his eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘What is it?' she asked him.

He simply pressed his finger to his lips and drove on.

They'd arrived in Paris, and he was weaving slowly through the empty dawn streets. He brought the car to a very gentle stop in a street lined with shops and Kirra looked at Milo. He was still asleep, his mouth hanging open slightly. She smiled. The painkillers must have been strong.

Desmond was already out of the car. He slid open the side door and beckoned for Kirra to join him on the footpath. Anton, who had woken with a snort just after Desmond stopped the car, watched with avid interest. Kirra slipped out into the fresh air and Desmond shut the door behind her. He folded his arms.

‘Still have your passport handy?'

She reached into her pocket. ‘Yes.'

‘Good. I need to go to England and you need to come with me.'

Kirra raised an eyebrow. ‘What for?'

Desmond sighed. ‘I need you to trust me on this,' he said. ‘Can you do that?'

She stared at him. ‘Yes.'

He stared back. ‘Well … that's good.'

It seemed as though he had been expecting her to say something to the contrary.

He motioned for Anton to open the passenger door.

‘What?' Anton whispered, looking thrilled to be part of the conspiratorial exchange.

‘This is yours,' Desmond said, tossing him the phone he'd used to call Viera.

‘Why did you take it?'

‘I destroyed mine. Down the toilet.'

‘Why?'

‘I suspected bugging,' Desmond said simply. Anton nodded.

‘I want you to find somewhere to stay here,' Desmond continued, ‘and don't do anything until we get back.'

Anton looked as though he was about to launch into another series of questions, but then, seeing Desmond's cold expression, seemed to think better of it. He nodded and shut himself back in the van.

Desmond looked down the street. ‘We need a taxi,' he said, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder.

Kirra froze. ‘Milo isn't coming?'

Desmond shook his head. ‘It's just us,' he told her tightly.

‘But … why?' Kirra spluttered. She'd only just been reunited with Milo. How could she leave him again so soon?

‘You said you were going to trust me with this, Kirra,' Desmond reminded her.

She nodded.

‘Milo will be perfectly fine with Mai and Anton. We have to leave now; there's not a lot of time to explain.'

Kirra took a last longing look at Milo's sleeping form. She nodded resignedly, and less than a minute later Desmond shepherded her into a taxi and they were speeding away.

 

‘Southampton?' Kirra asked. ‘What's in Southampton?'

‘No questions.'

‘I hate it when you say that!' Kirra said grumpily.

Desmond smiled.

He had just purchased two return tickets to Southampton, England, at Charles De Gaulle airport. Kirra had been slightly startled when he had stepped up to the desk and started conversing in perfect French with a young woman in an ugly blue uniform. How many languages could he speak?

Now they were striding towards the ticket gate, late for a flight that had already been boarded. Kirra nervously ensured her very fake passport was still tucked safely in her pocket. She had thought for sure that airport security would descend from upon high to arrest her as her details were checked at Customs, but the fatigued man at the desk had merely gazed at her tiredly before smacking a stamp onto one of the pages. He'd handed the passport
back to her without another glance and nodded for the businesswoman behind her to step forward. As they hurried away, Desmond had given her a deeply affronted look. ‘You really didn't think it would work, did you?' he'd said.

On board the plane, Kirra curled up comfortably in her seat. There was plenty of room, with just about every second seat spare. Desmond still wouldn't answer her questions, seeming to have developed a serious bout of deafness.

When they arrived in Southampton, he led Kirra outside to the taxi rank. ‘I have an apartment booked so we'll head there first to change,' he said.

‘Then what?' Kirra asked hopefully, climbing into the cab and clipping her seatbelt in place.

‘I'll have to find you some clothes first,' he muttered to himself. ‘Excuse me!'

The driver glanced over his shoulder, his nose bulbous and red.

‘Could you take us to the nearest shopping centre, please?'

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the apartment Desmond had rented, and Kirra dumped the shopping bags on the table. Desmond had forced her to buy a new pair of jeans and a soft cream cardigan, both of which were overpriced and far too old for her.

‘You can't look like a homeless person,' he said.

‘I don't look like a homeless person!'

Desmond wrinkled his nose. ‘Yeah … you do. None of your clothes fit properly and … Well, do something with
your hair,' he said, before pushing her into the bedroom to change.

Kirra, who couldn't have loved her red jacket more if she tried, saw this as an insult to it and very nearly to Lena's memory. Nonetheless, Desmond had something planned and Kirra knew she'd probably draw more attention to herself if she didn't change her clothes. So she ripped off the labels and pulled on the jeans and then the cardigan — the cashmere tickling the skin of her forearms. She tied back her hair with a gold crab clip Desmond had plucked off a counter display and tossed in with the other items as they'd paid the cashier at the shop.

 

‘Just here, please.'

Desmond was already clambering out of the cab before Kirra had even noticed they had come to a stop. She unbuckled her seatbelt as Desmond pressed fifty pounds into the driver's hand.

‘If you would just wait here,' he said, ‘I'll double that on our return.'

They crossed the street — she saw a sign that told her it was called Ridge Way — and Desmond held open the gate to Number Twenty-three, an old house that had clearly been renovated and re-rendered to look startlingly new. There was no garden, only large charcoal slate pavers leading to the door, separated by small sections of white pebbles in which tiny cacti grew. The overall effect was stark and standoffish, and Kirra wondered if this was a dental clinic. It certainly looked like one.

Desmond rang the doorbell and a tinkling chime echoed faintly through the house before a woman swept
open the door and peered at them from a long, white hallway.

‘Good afternoon,' Desmond began, his voice lighter than usual. ‘My name is Patrick Gately and this is Katherine Hammond. You must be Carla.'

When Kirra said nothing Desmond nudged her shoe.

‘H-hello,' she stammered.

The woman, who was middle-aged and strikingly beautiful, looked Desmond up and down several times. She was black, her eyes as dark as the charcoal slates in her garden, and her lipstick was shimmering pale pink. Her raven hair was tied up in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and she was dressed in a sharp grey suit, accessorised only by a fine silver necklace.

‘Yes, I'm Carla,' she said, her voice very controlled, as though every syllable was measured perfectly before it passed her lips. ‘May I help you?'

‘We'd like to come in, if that's alright with you,' Desmond said, his tone polite yet firm. ‘Is your husband home? We'd really like to chat to you both.'

Carla didn't seem completely convinced by Desmond's charade and Kirra honestly couldn't blame her. If a scarred man and a unkempt teenager came to her own front door she'd probably debate the merit of letting them in too. It seemed, however, that Carla decided they were relatively harmless, because minutes later Kirra found herself perched on a pristine couch in the living room, a fine hand-painted china cup of milky tea cradled between her palms, and still very confused as to what exactly they were doing there. The living room itself was quaint and cosy, with a pretty bay window and warm
sage-coloured curtains. There was a framed watercolour of yachts moored in a bay hanging perfectly straight by the doorway, and a polished baby grand piano standing beside a filled-in fireplace. Carla's husband, a meek-looking man who introduced himself as Neil, came to sit reverently by his wife's side.

‘What can we do for you?' Carla asked.

Desmond placed his teacup gently on the granite coffee table.

‘Katherine and I were hoping you could fill us in,' he began, ‘on your son.'

‘Which one?' Neil said.

His voice was flimsy, almost apologetic, bolstered only by what seemed to be a substantial amount of pride at the mention of one of his sons. Desmond frowned but managed to conceal it before the couple noticed.

‘Well, your middle son,' he said, his tone implying that this should have been obvious. ‘Milo.'

Kirra's cup clanked down hard on its saucer, the tea slopping over the sides. Before she had time to properly recover, Desmond had steadied the cup, mopped up the small spillage with his napkin and was turning back to address the couple once more.

‘Do forgive us. Katherine gets the wobbles when the weather's too hot,' he told them as they stared at her, startled. He shot an extremely meaningful glance Kirra's way.

She ignored him. Carla and Neil were Milo's parents? She was sitting in Milo's house? She scanned the mantelpiece and the bookcase. There were plenty of photos, but none of him. Instead, there was one of a boy —
who resembled Milo a little — dressed in a well-fitted suit and leaning against a bar with a warm grin plastered on his face. There was one of a younger boy playing soccer; judging from his position, it looked as though he was about to score a goal. A photo on the bookcase showed the two boys together at a younger age, both dressed in blue, both standing proudly before a goal net.

Kirra closed her gaping mouth and returned her attention to Milo's parents, scrutinising them. Neil was tall, and Carla had obviously bequeathed her eyes to her middle son, but other than that Kirra would never have realised that these two people had produced Milo.

‘Oh,' Neil replied, noticeably less animated than before, ‘we thought you might be here about another scholarship for Eli. They've been pouring in since he finished school.'

Kirra glared angrily at her half-full teacup. She knew all about Milo's younger brother, Eli. He was spectacularly talented at soccer, something she felt Milo had always resented. She shuffled her feet on the carpet, feeling indignant on his behalf, and hoped that if some stranger ever visited her parents and asked about their missing daughter they would provide a vastly different reaction to that of the Franklyns. The mention of Milo didn't stir any real reaction in them at all. In fact, they seemed content to continue talking about Eli. Thankfully, Desmond seemed just as concerned by this odd behaviour as Kirra was.