Tube Riders, The (18 page)

On the way, he said: ‘There’s something I’d better tell you. Something you’re going to need to know about if we’re going to avoid those things in future.’

Owen nodded towards the clawboard. ‘It’s about that skateboard thing of yours, isn’t it?’

Paul nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s right. But it’s not a skateboard.’

‘Of course not, it doesn’t have any wheels.’ In the dark, Paul sensed Owen raising one eyebrow at him. His little brother said, ‘Hence the expression, “skateboard
thing
”…’

Chapter Twenty-One

Gathering

The huge portable television screen was set up on the back of a stationary truck parked on St. Cannerwells High Street. A large crowd had gathered around it, a line of police in front of them. Switch and Marta stood near the back, in the dark recesses of a cubbyhole stairway up to a tall town house.

The screen showed a press conference. A middle-aged man had just taken the stage. A voiceover announced, ‘The Foreign Secretary, Mr. Douglas Lewitt, will read the following statement, made earlier today by our Great Leader, Maxim Cale, Lord Governor of Mega Britain.’

Marta glanced at Switch. He was staring at the screen with undisguised hatred. ‘Fucking typical to send his minions,’ he spat. ‘Too scared to show his ugly ass face even on television.’

‘Shhh!’ she cautioned. ‘He does have some supporters, you know. And most of them are carrying guns.’

On the screen, Lewitt cleared his throat. ‘“Dear Patrons of Mega Britain,”’ he read. ‘“Many of you will be aware of the explosion that rocked our streets earlier today. This was due to an explosive device that detonated inside Westminster Underground station. An as yet unconfirmed number of civilians have died, as has, tragically, the honourable ambassador from the European Confederation, Mr. Alberto Sucro.”’

There were a few
ums
and
ahs
from the crowd. He paused to let the news sink in before continuing. ‘“Finding those responsible and bringing them to justice is currently the government’s highest priority. However, it pleases me to inform you that, due to the unrivaled ability of our own Department of Civil Affairs, the identities of those responsible are already known, and an operation has been set in motion to see these criminals brought into custody. As I speak, our best DCA agents are on their trail and we expect their apprehension within hours. In the meantime, I can only request that the general public be on their guard and stay inside where possible. There may be more insurgents acting with these terrorists, and we are yet to rule out further attacks.

“Sadness springs to our collective hearts as I say these words, and though it brings pain to me to say that death may be worthwhile, in this situation that might prove true. Mega Britain has long been troubled by insurgents and terrorist attacks from within our own borders, trying to undermine Mega Britain’s rise towards economic greatness. With the tragic death of one of their own, we can only hope to bring our cause to the hearts of the European Confederation’s wise leaders, and seek their moral and financial aid in repairing the cracks in our state caused by those who do not believe, those who do not share our vision…”’

‘That’s us, Switch,’ Marta whispered. ‘They’re trying to pin this mess on us.’

‘It’s a conspiracy,’ he replied. ‘They murdered the ambassador and staged his death to create sympathy in the EC. That fucking deformed bastard…’

Lewitt prattled on for a couple more minutes, his speech descending into general propaganda. Marta listened with disgust. As Lewitt finished off the Governor’s statement and left the stage with a barrage of questions leaping in his wake, Marta closed her eyes, remembering the carnage they’d found in her apartment.

They’d not encountered the Huntsman again, but it or another had got to her apartment before them. Two of her flatmates were dead, torn apart, their blood splashed over the carpet and across the bare walls of the squat. Another, Rob, a drifter who’d been staying with them the last few weeks, was still alive, but his eyes were wild with terror. A bloody chest injury had not been bad enough to kill him, so Marta had placed an anonymous emergency call from a payphone store a couple of streets away. Switch had made him comfortable while she grabbed a few clothes and belongings. She had whispered sorry as they left.

‘We have to go, Switch,’ Marta said, tugging on his arm. ‘The others should be waiting for us.’

He nodded, and they hurried off down the High Street. Behind them they heard people shutting down the television screen amidst a growing unease from the crowd, most of which had refused to disperse. Marta heard someone barking an order to leave the street. There were one or two shouts of defiance from the crowd, so she quickened her pace, aware that a full scale riot could break out at any moment.

The road bent away to the right, and soon the crowd was out of sight. Drunken shouts came frequently now, though, and she heard the sound of something made of glass shattering on the road, followed by a gunshot.

‘Here it goes,’ Switch muttered from in front of her.

St. Cannerwells Park came up on their right. Through the fence they could see a couple of trashcan fires, hear the sound of people laughing, making merry. For once Marta actually envied the drunks and tramps down there in the park. Their existence seemed so carefree.

Switch moved further ahead of her, jogging towards the station entrance, a dark building a hundred yards further on. She smiled a little at his self-assumed role as her protector. They had always been a unit, the Tube Riders, looking out for each other, but Switch seemed to have singled Marta out for preferential treatment.
Perhaps he likes me
, she thought, flashing a wry smile.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Marta jerked away, almost falling into the street. As she looked back she let out a small cry of surprise.

Simon stood behind her with Jess at his shoulder. Both looked grim.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

She rubbed her chest just below her neck, as though compelling her heart to slow. It was a few seconds before she could make words come out. ‘I’m so happy to see you both,’ she said at last. ‘Really, you have no idea. Did you have any trouble making it back here?’

Simon shook his head. ‘No, we saw nothing. Maybe there’s only one. You?’

Marta nodded grimly. ‘Yeah, we ran into one. Thank God Switch was with me.’ She briefly recounted what had happened.

‘That’s terrifying. Are you sure you’re all right?’

Marta nodded. ‘Still alive is good enough right now. We haven’t seen Paul yet.’

‘He’ll be fine.’

‘I hope so.’

They headed after Switch, who was standing in the shadows of the Underground station entrance. Marta glanced at Jess as they walked; under the streetlights the other girl’s face was difficult to read. Jess hadn’t said a word yet, and her eyes were eerily distant. Her parents’ violent deaths would be near impossible to deal with, but Marta felt uneasy seeing the way Jess’s eyes had steeled. This afternoon she had been as bright and carefree as London allowed. Now, though it scared Marta to admit it, she looked almost as dangerous as the thing that had attacked them in the office building.

‘No sign of Paul,’ Switch said by way of greeting. ‘But there’s no sign of any Huntsmen either. Looks like doubling back was a good call.’

‘What time is it?’ Simon asked.

‘Just after eleven,’ Switch said. ‘The first freight trains are running about now. We can give Paul a little time. We said midnight.’

‘We’re not leaving him!’ Marta almost shouted.

Simon put a hand on her shoulder. ‘After what you told us, he might be dead. We’ll have no way of knowing.’

Marta felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘We’re not …
leaving him
.’

‘If the Huntsmen come before he does, we won’t have a choice,’ Switch said. ‘We run or we die. Don’t worry about Paul. He might look like a fat, balding fag, but he can look after himself. He’ll catch up.’

‘Maybe there’s just one,’ Simon said. ‘Five of us against it…’

‘When it’s running straight at you I’ll let you say that again,’ Switch replied. ‘I picked up some shit on the street, but ... fuck, man, seeing that thing up close, I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Come on, let’s get inside. At least by the tracks we have an escape route.’

Down in the station, Marta and Simon sat down against the wall near the breakfall mats. Jess stood nearby, a few feet apart. Switch was restless, patrolling up and down the platform, knives occasionally appearing in his hands only to vanish again.

The minutes ticked past. The trains were becoming less and less frequent as services wound down for the night. In the minutes between trains the station had a peaceful warmth to it, an echoing, thought-provoking calm.

With her head resting on the wall, Marta realised they had no plan after this. Ride the freight trains away from here, get out of London. Was it even that simple? Were there no checkpoints, no guards?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet. She jumped up and turned towards the stairs as Switch jogged over from the platform edge, a serrated knife in each hand. Jess had turned too, lips curled back in a snarl of anger. Simon had been dozing and had yet to climb to his feet.

Two shadows appeared on the stairs, followed moments later by Paul and a much younger boy whom Marta assumed was Owen, Paul’s brother. They’d never met him before, though Paul had often talked of bringing him when he was older. Without his parents around, Paul was a father to Owen, and Paul had said no sane father would let a twelve-year-old kid hang off the side of a train. Now, though, Owen was carrying a clawboard Marta recognised as one of Paul’s old ones. It pained her to realise he’d get even less practice at it than Jess had, and she broke out into a hot sweat as she realised just how many holes there were in their plan.

‘Paul,’ she said with relief, and started to move towards him.

Paul put up a hand. ‘No time for greetings, guys. We’ve got company.’

‘What?’

They were waiting for us. Outside!’

‘
They?
’

‘In the park, waiting to trap us. They broke cover just as Owen and me reached the entrance. Quick, into the tunnels. It’s our only chance!’

Marta’s heart filled with dread. Above them came the sound of more running feet. It didn’t sound like the Huntsmen, though; the footfalls were too heavy.

Again she realised how stupid they’d been. The Huntsmen might be erratic tracking machines, but they were working for the Department of Civil Affairs. It should have been obvious that the DCA might watch St. Cannerwells in case they came back, but in their blind fear they hadn’t realised. Of course they’d not seen them before; the DCA wanted to catch them all together.

‘Not so fast,’ a man’s voice said from behind them. They turned to see a DCA agent descending from the other stairway, the one which led up to the blocked entrance. Back the way they’d come in, two other men jogged down the stairs. All three had guns.

‘He was there,’ Jess hissed. ‘When they killed the ambassador. He was one of them. Those bastards started this.’ She started to walk towards him, but Marta put a hand on her shoulder. ‘What?’ Jess growled.

‘That’s suicide.’

One of the agents held his gun in the air. ‘That’s all of them,’ Mr. Vincent. We appear to have collected an extra one too. Want us to kill them now?’

Vincent, the leader, held up a hand. ‘Wait! Are you sure the Huntsmen have been called off? The last thing we want is those fucking monsters spoiling the party.’

‘Four are captive, but one has gone AWOL,’ the man shouted back. ‘We’ve lost the frequency on the fifth.’

‘We’re that important that they sent
five
Huntsmen after us?’ Marta whispered to Paul. ‘Holy shit.’

The one called Vincent laughed. ‘Well, you kids are cleverer than I thought. How did you manage to kill one of them?’

No one answered. They had backed away towards the centre of the platform, where a large supporting pillar offered cover in the space where a confectionary stand and some vending machines had once stood. As Marta shouted, ‘Get to cover!’ they darted towards it, dodging out of sight just as a gun went off and a bullet cracked into the platform not far from them, causing tile shards to shower their feet.

Don’t shoot, damn it!’ Vincent shouted. ‘I want them alive!’

Beside Marta, Paul whispered, ‘Where’s Switch?’

Marta realised the little man wasn’t among them, and risked a glance out towards Vincent. There she saw him, standing alone on the platform, fifty feet from the DCA leader. Switch held a knife in one hand. The other had vanished, back into his jacket, she assumed. He advanced slowly like a true street fighter, swaying from side to side, ready to drop and roll at any moment.

‘Switch, for God’s sake, get back!’ Marta hissed, remembering his earlier words:
we have something to battle for
. He wanted to go down fighting, but against trained, armed, DCA men, Switch had little chance.

‘Well, I guess killing one won’t matter,’ Vincent said, cocking his gun. ‘I’d hoped we could use you, maybe, but it’s no skin off my–’

As fast as Marta had ever seen, Switch drew something from under his coat then dropped and rolled just as a bullet passed through the space he’d been standing in. As the gunshot died away a sharp hammering sound rang out across the empty station and into the tunnels. Vincent screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at his leg.

‘Wow, that was fucking cool,’ Owen said, just before Paul pulled him back out of sight.