Toxic Treacle (3 page)

Absent Friends

Monkey couldn't wait to get to class so that he could impress Angel with his battle injury. Mov Felton, the I.D.H.C. teacher, had tried to get large with him. She'd accused him of being late and then disrupting the instruction by bragging about his injured hand. Monkey had just laughed at her. He was one of the oldest in the class and just killing time. Apart from Tragic, who would be leaving at the end of the week anyway, the only pre-breeders left in his division were Jordan Grainger, Mark Watts, Leon McRae - tags: Danger, Fuse and Kraze - and Monkey himself.

Kraze had been the leader of the Mooners since Daz had gone to The Farm. It had been a toss up between him and Monkey but Monkey had let Kraze have the role. Kraze knew that Monkey had relinquished his claim to leadership and, in a strange way, that gave Monkey the upper hand. Kraze might be the front man, but Monkey was the power behind the hood. What Monkey said, went - regardless of Kraze's opinion. If Monkey decided to pay attention and work hard, then the rest of the hood paid attention. If, like this morning, Monkey decided to disrupt I.D.H.C., the rest of the pre- breeders followed suit. They talked, they joked, they tossed the key to the plasma-screen around between them and, generally, ignored Mov Felton. She flapped, she ordered, she threatened. But Monkey knew there was a limit to how many times and how many students could be sent out. They were in a win-win situation and, like it or not, Mov Felton had to put up with them.

In fact, Monkey's beef was not with Mov Felton, it was with her subject: Identity, Diversity, History and Citizenship! What was the point of it? Hadn't he had enough of that at T.R.E.A.C.L.E.? Today, they'd been watching pre-revolution footage of some war crimes trial. An old man was sitting with his arms folded, refusing to answer questions, claiming that he didn't recognise the Court.

Monkey draped himself over his chair with his back to the screen and called out, ‘I refuse to recognise this instruction!' Everyone laughed and he enjoyed being the centre of attention, especially where Angel was concerned.

It had not been a personal protest against the instructor, it had been a gesture of disrespect for the tedium of the subject. Now, if Mov Felton had shown them vids like the ones Tragic had acquired a few weeks ago, then I.D.H.C. might not have been such a brain-drain.

Tragic had told Monkey to go round to his house one evening. ‘Just you, not the rest of the hood, OK?' he'd insisted. He'd shown Monkey vids, old ones from before the war, of football matches. Matches, the like of which Monkey had never seen. They were proper matches with goals and winners and tournaments and trophies. There were even some international games; one country playing against another. Imagine it - going across the ocean to other lands and cultures just to play football. Monkey had been enthralled.

‘Where d'ya get them?' he'd asked Tragic.

‘Jane got them for me. She found them.'

Monkey eyed him, unconvinced. Tragic never could lie.

‘OK - if you say so.'

Monkey hadn't pushed it. He'd sat back and watched in awe at the skill of those old guys. He knew, of course that
competition was the enemy
of co-operation
but, to watch those old footballers working together and scoring goals and winning trophies, it certainly didn't look like competition had spoiled their co-operation - that was real teamwork. And the thrill they'd shown when they'd driven the ball into the net, it was inspirational: like nothing he'd ever seen before.

That's when he and Tragic had started going out to kick a ball around - and score goals - even though it was only against a door or between jumpers. Several times a week, they'd split from the hood, watch the old vids and then go out and play football. It had become their ‘thing'. And, that morning, the boring vid of the old geezer with his arms crossed had only served to remind Monkey of Tragic's absence and the fact that, in five days, when Tragic graduated, it would be a permanent situation. It wasn't something he wanted to dwell on.

‘Hey, who wants to see some gore?' he pushed back his chair noisily and sauntered across the classroom to the table where Angel was sitting with a group of pre-nurturers. Ignoring Mov Felton's pleas to sit down, pay attention and think of others who wanted to learn, he pulled the bandage away from his palm to reveal the top of the gash on his hand.

‘Neat, eh?' he said, smiling at Angel.

Moni Morrison leant across, looked at his hand, then flashed him a smile. ‘Quite the wounded soldier, aren't you, Monkey?' Moni, the daughter of a T.R.E.A.C.L.E. trainer, and an enthusiastic assistant at meetings herself, had always had a soft spot for Monkey: a soft spot that was far from reciprocated.

‘What's it to you?' Monkey retorted coldly. If Monkey dreamt about being chosen for breeding by Angel, he had nightmares that Moni might get to him first. He was eager to dispel any possible feelings that she might be harbouring in that field.

‘You do know that conflict never resolved anything, don't you?' Moni went on. ‘It's so pre-war. Civilised societies communicate with empathy.'

Monkey raised his eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Guess it must be in my genes.' And he walked from the room, throwing Mov Felton the excuse that he needed to relieve himself.

Later that afternoon, Angel walked home from school with him and expressed no surprise when he retrieved his blade from between the walls.

She pointed to his bandaged hand. ‘It must hurt,' she said, keeping a circumspect distance from him as they talked. Any behaviour that smacked of flirting was strictly forbidden outside the Breeding Centres.

‘Neh! You should've seen the other geez,' Monkey laughed.

‘You could've got caught,' she went on, anxiously. ‘Didn't you think of that?'

‘We're too clever.' He ducked and dodged, avoiding punches like one of the pre-war boxers Tragic had showed him on vid. ‘We're like neenjas.'

Angel smiled. ‘So, what happened to Tragic, then? If you two are so clever, why didn't he turn up today? Was he arrested?'

‘Neh!' Monkey laughed, as though it was the most ridiculous suggestion in the world. ‘He had a meeting about his graduation,' he lied. ‘I'm just going to see him now.'

Angel looked at him but said nothing. Monkey averted his eyes guiltily and they walked on in silence until they came to the disused bridge.

‘See you tomorrow,' Angel said, giving a slight wave and heading home.

Monkey gave her a nod before turning southwards towards The Village boundary and Tragic's house. He felt uncomfortable about lying to Angel. He liked her; liked her a lot. Tragic was forever telling him that it didn't always work out that they'd be able to breed with the nurturer of their choice, but Monkey hoped, more than anything else in his life (except maybe becoming a pro-footballer) that no one else would choose him for breeding before Angel turned sixteen - especially Moni Morrison. He felt his face flush with rage, before putting the thought out of his head and breaking into a jog.

When he arrived at the small lodge that Tragic shared with Jane, far from allaying Monkey's fears about his friend's absence, what he found only served to deepen them. The one thing he could always say about Tragic's home was that it was just that: a home. Jane's artistic temperament had created a welcoming atmosphere. It was hard to explain it but, whenever he went to Tragic's, there was a warmth about the place. It was cosy and friendly - much more so than any of his other mates' houses. Friendlier than his own home, if he was being honest.

As he banged on the door now, though, it wasn't at all welcoming. The shutters were down and there were no lights on inside. He called through the mail-slat but no one answered. There was no sound or movement at all.

Perplexed, he ventured round to the back of the house. The windows at the back were also shuttered and the doors locked. His attention was drawn to the cables from the wind turbine by the side of the sustenance patch; they were draped over the fence and attached to the generator of the other gatehouse next door. That was weird. Why would Tragic's nurturer give away their electricity? Didn't she know it was illegal? All surplus supplies had to be given to The Assembly.

Monkey hoisted himself up on the roof of the bike-house and peered through a damaged slat on the shutters over Tragic's bedroom window.

‘Tragic!' Monkey called, banging on the shutter. ‘Tradge! Are you in there?'

As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness inside the house, he could make out several items strewn across the bed and floor: clothes, shoes, backpacks and papers. Tragic, apart from being tragically attached to his nurturer, was also tragically tidy. But today, not only was Tradge missing from school, he was missing from home, too. In other circumstances, it would be natural to assume that the house had been jacked, but Monkey had been all round and there was no sign of entry. Had he been arrested, as Angel suggested? Or maybe he'd done a runner - but to where? There was nowhere to run - Security was everywhere. And, more worryingly, if he had been arrested because of last night, wouldn't they be round looking for Monkey before long?

He slid down from the roof of the lean-to and the door swung open to reveal that it was empty: the bikes had gone. Security didn't take people on their bikes - Monkey knew that much. Perhaps Tragic had graduated early? Maybe he hadn't wanted the whole graduation party thing and had just slipped off to the Breeders' Zone without any fuss? But, then, why would he leave his room in such a mess? Why hadn't he taken his things with him? If he'd graduated, surely Professor Reed would've known and wouldn't have been giving Monkey the third degree as to his whereabouts? And why was Jane giving her power to the post-nurturer next door?

Something was seriously not right about this. Monkey spoke into his ring-cam. ‘Angel.' The girl's face flashed on to the screen and his stomach tightened with a frisson of excitement. ‘Can I trust you?'

Searching for Tragic

‘Your dinner's ready,' Vivian said wearily as Monkey pulled on his jacket. He ignored her and headed for the door. She raised her voice to try and sound authoritative.

‘Mickey, you haven't eaten and you need to take your vitamins.'

She held out her hand with two tablets in the palm.

‘I told you - I ain't taking no more vitamins. What is it with the vitamins anyway? When I was a bub, you said if we ate a healthy diet we'd get all the nutrients we needed - right? So why, the minute we get to twelve, does The Assembly start pumping us full of vitamins? Maybe, instead of sending all the pres to T.R.E.A.C.L.E., they should send all the nurturers to nutrition class, eh?'

‘Just take them - please.'

He took the tablets and put them in his pocket. ‘I'll take them later.'

Vivian sighed. ‘Thank you. But you can't go out, you have homework to do.'

‘And?'

She sighed again. ‘Just because you're about to graduate, it doesn't mean you can give up on your education. You're out roaming the streets every night. When are you going to knuckle down and start acting like the adult you're going to be in a few weeks?'

Monkey eyed her with contempt. ‘What - one of those
adults
you're so fond of downing at every opportunity?'

‘Here we go again,' his sister, Penny, groaned.

Instantly, Vivian turned to her daughter and her voice softened. ‘It's all right, darling.'

‘Oh yeah - she's your
darling
! I'm just some fegging piece of crap you can't wait to pack off to the good-riddance heap...' Vivian slammed her hand down on the table. ‘I am sick of you and your foul mouth!' she railed.

His grand-mov, Sarah, piped up, ‘We wouldn't have stood for it in our day. Mind you, we weren't trying to be everything to everyone...'

‘Thank you - I really don't need this right now!' Vivian snapped at the older woman. Vivian turned her back on Grand-mov and tried to position herself between her son and the door. ‘You are not going out tonight. I forbid it.'

‘Forbid it?' Monkey gave an ironic chuckle. ‘Really?'

‘Yes, really! Now, go to your room and do your homework.'

‘Go boil yourself in crap,' Monkey said, calmly pushing her to one side and leaving the house.

It was a ritual they went through most nights and Vivian never won. It was amazing to Monkey that she hadn't given up by now. There'd be anguish again tonight when he got in, but what was new? After all, what could she do? Ground him? Fat chance of that! He'd just go out anyway. Corporal punishment was illegal and, if she even tried to lift a finger to him, she knew he had twice her strength. So, if he retaliated, she'd come off worse - and then have to explain herself to the authorities; probably even lose her job. She was in a no-win situation, whichever way you looked at it.

‘How dare you!' Vivian yelled down the path after him. ‘Come back this minute!'

Monkey ignored her. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, covered his nose with the chequered scarf of the Mooners and tossed the vitamin tablets to the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the house and felt for the security of the blade in his pocket. OK - he was ready.

His walk through Moonstone Park was uneventful with the exception of a group of pre-nurturers, whispering and giggling as their skirts swished by, rushing home from T.R.E.A.C.L.E. before curfew. Monkey recognised a couple of them from a younger division at school but he averted his eyes, pulled his hood lower and tucked his injured hand up his sleeve to conceal any distinguishing feature that might identify him later.

As he approached the disused loco bridge, a lone figure was leaning against the wall, one leg bent, raised foot pressed into the bridge, head bowed. The garb was the same as Monkey's: hood pulled low, nose and mouth covered, hands pushed deep into the pockets.

‘Woz happenin'?' Monkey asked.

Angel pulled down the scarf and smiled. ‘I've been waiting ages. I was starting to think you weren't coming.'

Monkey stepped back and looked her up and down, approvingly. Although The Assembly had never outlawed trousers for nurturers and pre-nurturers, wearing them was generally frowned upon. Except for the female security officers, of course. Nurturers were not allowed in the security forces; only those females who had either chosen not to breed, or had been unable to. Trousers were deemed to be the garb of providers: harsh, straight and to the point - not at all feminine. Monkey grinned. Seeing Angel standing there in batties and trainers rather than the normal skirts and court shoes of pre-nurturers looked weird. But, to an outsider or, more importantly, to the security cameras, she looked every inch one of the pre-breeders of the brotherhood.

‘You look kinda fridge in that.'

‘My brother will kill me if he finds out I've borrowed his stuff,' she said.

‘Where is he?'

‘At home. Sally wanted him to stay in tonight.' Angel's brother, Alex, was three years younger than her and a fledgling Mooner but, at twelve, he was still under the influence of his nurturer.

‘What about you? What did you tell her?' Monkey asked.

‘That I'd got extra gym club tonight.' They both knew that such a clandestine meeting between a pre-breeder and a pre-nurturer would guarantee them both a spell of re-education; Monkey on The Farm and Angel in The Sanctuary.

‘What about curfew? How d'ya get round that?'

‘Told her I'll be going round to Shanay's afterwards. It's only two doors along, so I'd easily get back without being seen.'

‘Any chance she'll check up?'

Angel shook her head. ‘She's not that friendly with Shanay's nurturer. But why would she, anyway?' She cocked her head on one side, coquettishly. ‘I'm a good girl - remember?'

Monkey felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his abdomen and looked away. ‘Come on, then. We'd better make sure your rep stays intact.' He indicated for her to cover her face again. ‘Now, if anyone speaks to us, you keep quiet and let me do the talking - OK?' Angel nodded. ‘Keep your hood as low as possible and your hands in your pockets.' He pulled at the hips of her loose trousers. ‘These need to be lower.'

‘Hey!' Angel reprimanded him as the top of her lacy knickers was revealed.

Monkey blushed and swallowed hard. ‘Next time, borrow your brother's boxers too, all right? Those are a bit of a giveaway,' he blustered.

‘Next time?' she queried, hitching up her brother's trousers. ‘I thought this was a one-off to go and see Tragic.'

‘Yeah, yeah - course!' Monkey said quickly and began strutting up and down under the loco bridge. ‘You'll have to walk differently too if you want to get away with this. So, cop the bowl.'

With each step, he pushed his opposite shoulder forward, giving a rolling motion to his gait that was designed to instil intimidation into anyone in his path. Angel tried to imitate him, bouncing along the footpath with more of a skip than a swagger.

‘That'll do,' Monkey said unconvincingly. ‘Let's go.'

It was already past curfew when they arrived at Tragic's house and it was just the same as when Monkey had been there earlier in the day, not a sign of life anywhere. Monkey led Angel round to the sustenance patch at the back.

‘I thought you said we were coming to see Tragic?' Angel queried. ‘What's going on?'

‘That's what I want to know,' he said, studying the rear of the lodge for a possible means of entry. ‘OK.' He pointed to where the shutters were damaged on the window of Tragic's bedroom. It was just above the lean-to bike house and several of the metal slats were jutting outwards slightly.

Monkey climbed up onto the bike house roof, took the knife from his pocket and, reaching through the rent in the metal, inserted it into the side of the window frame. He moved it carefully backwards and forwards until he felt the resistance of the catch, then gave a sharp flick of the knife and pushed the window inwards away from him. ‘OK, that's the window open, now let's work on the shutter. Come on,' he whispered, beckoning Angel to climb up and follow him. ‘We need to push both sides together...'

She shook her head. ‘No way! You said you wanted me to come with you to talk to Tragic. You didn't mention the fact that he wasn't here and we'd have to break into his house. Have you any idea what will happen if we're caught?'

‘Of course! Now, just come with me and I'll explain it all later.'

‘No!' Angel stood her ground. ‘Actually, Mickey, I don't think you do know what'll happen to me. It's fine for you - you'll go off to The Farm for a while, then straight back to the Breeders' Zone and carry on with your life as normal. Me? I'll be sent to The Sanctuary, banned from uni, probably have to live in an artisan zone away from my family and friends. My children will be artisans too and they could even penalise Sal and confiscate her practice. Being caught breaking curfew's one thing, but breaking and entering? Have you gone insane?'

Monkey hovered uncomfortably. He hadn't envisaged any protest when he'd asked her to come. He was beginning to wish he'd just done it on his own now. He'd thought it would be exciting when he'd suggested it, a way of getting to know her better; building a bond so that she'd remember him and choose him as her breeder when the time came. But now, it didn't seem like such a good idea.

‘What's going on?' a voice said from the other side of the bike house. Monkey turned quickly.

‘It's OK, Mov Bailey,' Monkey reassured Tragic's neighbour. He'd met her once some time ago when they'd kicked their ball into her sustenance patch. She really should have moved out to The Pastures but Jane kept an eye on her. Monkey doubted if she'd remember him, but he wasn't going to risk it. ‘It's me, Marlon Griffiths, Trevor's friend, remember?' he lied, looking down from his elevated position.

‘No one's home. They've gone,' she said solemnly. ‘Young Trevor graduated a week early and Jane left last night, she did.'

Monkey's eyes flashed down at Angel. He frowned slightly, and moved his eyes towards the wall of the house, warning her to move round the corner and not give away the fact that she was there.

‘Yes, I know,' the lies flowed easily, ‘but I lent Trevor some of my things and he forgot to give them back before he graduated. I've just come to collect them.'

‘Gone off to the rurals, she has,' Mov Bailey continued in a forlorn voice. ‘Gave me her electrics - till the Assembly finds out...' She looked up, terrified. ‘You're not from The Assembly are you? You've not come to lock me away?'

‘No, no, don't worry about that. It's me, Marlon, Trevor's friend. Just come to collect some things I lent him.'

‘Gone to stay with an aunt, Jane said, out in the rurals. But she's never mentioned any aunts before. Just up and left she did, her and her sister. Piled everything into a couple of bags and off they went on their bikes. In the middle of the night! I was watching out of my window. Worried for them I was, what with the hoods and all, roaming the streets after curfew. Should've gone in the daylight if you ask me. You won't tell about the electrics will you?'

‘Of course not - as long as you don't tell anyone I've been round to pick up my stuff,' he bargained.

Angel stepped out from the corner of the house, looked up at Monkey and folded her arms as though disapproving of the whole business.

‘I can let you in, you know,' Mov Bailey said. ‘Jane put me on the iris recognition so I can keep an eye on the place.' She chuckled. ‘Keep an
eye
on it! I've just seen the funny side.' She was still laughing to herself as she opened the small gate between the two properties and shuffled round. ‘You only had to ask, you know.'

Angel dodged back into the shadows quickly and Monkey slid down the roof as the elderly nurturer reached up on tiptoe, placed her eye against the small scanner on the wall and turned the handle on the door. Monkey did his best to stifle a smile of relief. ‘Mind you shut it firm when you've done,' she said, shuffling back towards her own house. ‘It don't close proper sometimes.' Then added, ‘I don't use all her electrics. Only when I'm cold, like now. Mine's one of the early turbines. They're not very efficient, you know. Jane used to let me use hers sometimes when she was at work. It's not stealing, she used to say, more like sharing.'

Once the elderly neighbour had gone back into her own home, Monkey propped open the door, then sought out Angel and led her towards the house, grinning. ‘It's not breaking and entering if we've been let in officially!'

‘You're despicable!' Angel said as they entered the dark kitchen. ‘I don't want any part of this.'

Now that they were in the relative safety of the house, Monkey relaxed a little.

‘Look, I'm sorry - OK? I'm really worried about Tradge and I needed someone I trusted to come with me. I should've come clean with you from the start but I didn't think you'd come.'

‘Too right I wouldn't have come!' Angel retorted. ‘Anyway, now you know that he's graduated early, we can get going.'

She turned towards the door to leave but Monkey caught her hand and pulled her to face him.

‘You don't get it, do you? Tragic hasn't graduated early. The school would've known if he had. And Jane hasn't got any aunts either - or a sister. Tragic used to moan about the fact that he never got any presents for his birthdays except from his nurturer because she didn't have any other family - either in town
or
in the rurals. And anyway, who do you know who lives in the rurals these days? Unless they're geriatric or been sent to The Farm.'

Angel looked confused. ‘So what're you saying?'

‘I don't know what's going on or why they've left but I'm not giving up until I find out where he is and that he's all right.' He looked her in the eye as he spoke. ‘But, if you want...' He stopped mid-sentence.