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All faces stared inwards at the empty cans on the grass.

“Nah. Preacher’s not daft,” said Dyson. “He’ll have some angle.”

“Angle? The bloke’s a nutter. The only angle he’s got is trying to make God get rid of the floods! How’s he gonna do that?”

Dyson said, “I still don’t reckon the trading’s that bad, or why would he take on new kids?”

And those around Dyson – the non-sharers, as Baz had started to think of them – seemed ready to take their cue from him.

“Yeah, him find another little Tesco or somet’ing,” said Jubo.

“Bound to,” said Enoch. “And the floods’ll have to go down in the end.”

The two of them glanced at Dyson for approval.

“Yes. Perhaps by next Sunday.” Taps seemed to be up to speed on the conversation for a change. But then he said, “I don’t know why everyone thinks that the number seven is lucky. Sunday’s the seventh day, isn’t it?”

Nobody could see the connection. They waited for Taps to explain, but he hung his great dark head and said nothing more.

“This is what I’m on about, though.” Amit plucked at little bits of grass near his feet. “When it comes down to it, all you’ll actually do is just sit here and hope that things are gonna get better. Well, they aren’t. They’re gonna get worse.”

“So what are 
you
 gonna to do about it? Or Robbie, or Gene? Or these newbies here?” Dyson was scowling now, arms folded, closed off to all argument.

“I don’t 
know.”
Amit looked equally angry and miserable. “I don’t know. But we ought to be seriously thinking about it. Trying to make some proper plan, instead of just... just... wishing.”

But nobody had any immediate suggestions. The silence that followed was eventually broken by Jubo. He leaned sideways and let out a long fart.

It cracked everyone up.

“Uh-oh...”

“
Uh
-oh...”

“Ha, ha! Good one, Jubes! That’s the answer! We’ll just use rocket power to blast our way out of here!”

“Yeah, jet-propelled. Fly to Australia, see if it’s any better down there.”

The mirth soon died away and the group settled into a gloomy truce. Baz slumped backwards and rested his head in the crook of one arm. He was suddenly too exhausted to even think. But then he half sat up again.

“Hey – what happens to Cookie on Sundays?” he said.

“We already told you,” Robbie murmured, his eyes closed. “We don’t have anything to do with Cookie. He doesn’t know about this, and it’s best it stays that way. He has to work on a Sunday in any case. The divers still have to eat.”

“Oh.”

Baz lay back and allowed himself to drift away, launching himself into an amazing flight all the way around the world to Australia. Rocket-powered. His own internal jet-pack. 
Frrrrrrt
. It was such a great idea. He could feel himself chuckling as he soared to freedom.

The sky was darker when he woke up, misty rain clouds hanging close around the tiny island. It was later than anyone had intended, and now the others were worried that Steiner and Hutchinson would already be on the prowl.

Last-minute advice was offered as the boys hurried across the playing fields.

“Don’t let on that you know what’s gonna happen,” said Robbie. “It makes it more fun for them if you act scared.”

Yeah, thought Baz. Act scared. I’ll try and remember to do that.

As they neared the main building, the boys split up, drifting away in twos and threes. Dyson, Jubo and Enoch wandered down towards the jetty. Taps had gone off by himself somewhere. Amit and Robbie said they were going to have a kick around the ruins, see if there was anything interesting to find.

“I got a biro last week,” said Robbie. “Works too.”

“I’ll just hang around with you guys for a bit.” Gene, surprisingly, stayed with Baz and Ray. “Keep an eye on you. Thing is, it’s always best to try and—Oh, look out. Here we go.”

Steiner and Hutchinson had appeared. They came out of the main entranceway and stood for a moment at the top of the steps, eyes squinting against the daylight.

“Oi! Where’ve you lot been?” Steiner turned and spotted them.

“What? Nowhere.” Gene came to a halt, edging slightly in front of Baz and Ray. The three of them stood on the cracked tarmac driveway and waited.

“We been looking everywhere for you. Wha’ f... wha’ friggin’ hell you been doing?” The two capos began to descend the steps. Neither looked very steady on their feet.

“Sunday, isn’t it?” said Gene. His voice was calm, innocent. “Do what we like, can’t we?”

“Hey – none of your lip, Genius. You can shove off.”

“All right. I’m going.” Gene moved a couple of paces to one side, giving the impression that he was doing as he was told. He didn’t go far, though, and remained as a half-presence, just out of the capos’ line of vision.

“Right then, you two.” Hutchinson’s face looked flushed and sweaty, his words dribbling out from between loose wet lips. “Gorra li’l job f’ you.”

“Us? What job? I thought we didn’t have to work Sundays.” Baz tried to keep his voice normal, cheerful even, but inside he could feel his stomach begin to quake.

“ ’S not work,” said Steiner. He’d reached the bottom of the steps now. “Jus’ need a coupla volunteers f’r a minute, thass all.” His eyes had gone a pinkish color, a look of dull cunning in them that would fool no one.

“Oh. Volunteers. OK, then.” Again Baz forced himself to sound as though he was willing to help, not about to argue. Ray had said nothing as yet.

“Gotta inspec’ the drains, see. Only a li’l job. Go on – jus’ round there.”

“What? Where?” Baz looked at Steiner, unclear as to where he was supposed to be going. Ray turned and moved away, as though he’d understood what was expected.

“Jus’ there. Roun’ the corner.”

Baz caught up with Ray, and the two of them hung close together, walking in front of the capos as they were directed round the side of the building. Glancing once over his shoulder, Baz saw that Gene was still watching from a distance.

“Whoa. Stop there. Stay where y’are.” Hutchinson slurred out his instruction.

There was a circular manhole cover set into the tarmac a couple of meters out from the side of the building. Black metal, with a diamond pattern. A word cast in plain bold letters across its center: 
NUNEATON
.

“I’ll get t’ levers.” Steiner put one hand flat to the concrete wall of the building. He wobbled, steadied himself, then stooped to retrieve a couple of short iron bars that were propped against the wall.

“OK.”

The capos took a lever apiece and inserted them into the manhole cover, a clink of metal upon metal as the bars locked into position.

“Ready? Two, three, lift. Hup... oof.”

The iron lid made a hollow ringing sound as it came away from its seating, and the capos both gasped with the effort of raising it, staggering as they lifted it across onto the tarmac. They dropped it with a heavy clunk.

“Foof! Chuffin’ hell! Mus’ be getting weaker or something. Weighs a friggin’ ton, that thing.” Steiner stood up straight and brushed a gingery forearm across his face. His freckles had turned almost purple.

“C’mon – don’t just stand there gawking. Get over here.”

Baz and Ray moved cautiously forward, and already the smell of sewage was in the air, a great waft of it coming up from the open drain.

“What for?” This time Baz couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“Show you,” said Steiner. “Look down the—Get 
closer
, for Chrissake! Can’t see anything from there. Look down the bloody hole!”

The two of them leaned over and looked. Baz was certain that at any moment one of the capos was going to give him a shove. He could see... orange. The inside of the drain was orange, the iron tube streaked and heavily scaled with rust. A vertical metal ladder descended into the gloom, and this too was a deep orange color... dripping wet... filthy... and – oh God – the smell...

Baz glanced across at Ray, and was shocked to see how white his face had gone – an awful ghostly color. God, he looked like he was about to throw up on the spot.

“See that handle down there?”

Baz held his breath and peered deeper into the fetid hole. Yes, there was some kind of mechanism, a winding handle... but he could also see the slurry of foul liquid from which the handle protruded. Christ. Was he supposed to stand in that? How deep was it?

“All you have to do is wind t’ sluice handle. Turn it to the right till it won’t go anymore.”

“Yeah? To the right. OK, then.” Baz nodded, but he made no move. “So... I just turn it to the right, yeah? How long does it take?” He couldn’t go down there. He knew it. His stomach was already starting to heave, and no way could he climb down that ladder.

“Not long,” said Steiner. “Maybe a minute. Couple minutes. But I wasn’t talking to you, was I?”

“What?”

“I said, I wasn’t talking to you, you friggin’ freak. Don’t worry, it’ll be your turn next. But right now it’s this 
other
 little maggot that’s going down there.”

And then in a sudden move Steiner had hold of Ray, grasping him by the upper arm and shaking him.

“Oh yeah! 
Ohhhh
 yeah! You thought you’d bloody got away with it, didn’t you? Thought you could come it with me, and after a couple days it’d all be forgotten, didn’t you? Well, I don’t forget, pal! I don’t forget that friggin’ easy. I told you there’d be payback, and this is it. You’re goin’ down the hole.”

Ray gasped, but made no further sound. He seemed almost to have fainted on his feet, limply allowing himself to be shaken back and forth, no resistance in him whatever.

Baz’s first instinct was to rush at Steiner, but some fragment of reasoning held him back. It was no good trying anything physical. He wasn’t big enough – and in any case Hutchinson was there as Steiner’s support. Insults were the only weapons he had.

“You friggin’ coward!” he shouted. “You dozy prat-faced gingah! Yah – look at you! So drunk you can hardly stand up! You ugly piece of cr—”

But then Hutchinson had him round the neck, and he was struggling to break free – still yelling for all he was worth, half choking at the same time.

“Dickhead! You useless... thick... tanked-up... bullying—”

“Get him down the hole!” roared Steiner. “That one! Chuck him down there instead! Go on, Hutch – do it!”

“I’m trying... I’m try— C’m ’ere... you friggin’...”

Baz was kicking and wriggling for his life now, but Hutchinson still held him by the neck.

“I can’t... gah... you little f— Gimme some bloody 
help
, Steiner!”

Baz caught a glimpse of Ray, falling to his knees as Steiner flung him aside, and then there were two pairs of hands grabbing him, dragging him, lifting him...

“Ahhh!” He was dangling over the open manhole.

“Want us to drop you? Want us to drop you straight down there? Yeah?”

“No! No! Don’t!”

“Stop friggin’ around then! Keep still!”

“OK... OK...” Baz ceased to struggle, got his feet to the edge of the manhole and regained his balance – the capos still gripping his arms.

“Right. You’re gonna climb down that bloody ladder, get in the tank and turn that bloody handle, yeah?” Steiner’s ugly face was close to his, and Baz could smell alcohol even through the foul fumes that came up from the drain.

“Yes! Yes – I’ll do it.”

“Do it then, you little turd. Now!”

The capos let go of Baz. He crouched at the side of the manhole, shuffled round and awkwardly lowered one leg over the edge, searching for the ladder. His arms were shaking, hardly able to bear his weight. He got a foothold on one of the rungs, took a step down... then another...

The rusted metal felt wet and slimy and rough all at the same time, agony to his blistered palms, and yet he needed to hold on so tightly. Mustn’t let go. Another step down – urgh, the stench – the unbearable filthy stench. He forced himself to go a bit further, and a bit further, and then the world was gone. He was all alone, descending step by step into an echoing tube of rust and scale and stinking waste.

“Keep going.”

Baz looked up at the confused shapes, silhouetted in the narrowing circle of light – looked up because he hardly dared look down. Time and again his stomach heaved, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to control the gagging at the back of his throat much longer. God, the smell was unbelievable. Ugh – his foot was wet...

He had to look down. Oh... Christ. The ladder disappeared into liquid sewage, and his foot was already submerged in it. Ugh... ugh. He quickly pulled it out again. God, this was horrible.

The drain had opened out, and surrounding the ladder was a circular tank, an underground chamber. Brick walls running with slime. Baz could see the winding mechanism, a kind of gate or paddle, with a handle on top. It was only a couple of meters away, but the mechanism protruded from the middle of the slurry. There was no way he could reach it and still remain on the ladder.

“Go on, you little toad. You have to get in there.” Steiner’s voice boomed down, echoing around the stinking cavern. “Wade across. It’s not deep. Go and turn that chuffin’ handle.”

Not deep? Baz thought he remembered somebody saying it came up to your armpits. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t.

“Oi! If you don’t hurry up and get in there, I’m gonna put this chuffin’ lid back on and leave you to it!”

The threat made Baz jump. Being shut down here in pitch darkness was the one thing that could make it worse. 
Help me. Someone help me...

Dad. Come and help me...
Please 
come
. Baz felt the tears rushing to his eyes, great gulps of emotion choking him. He lowered himself, sobbing, into the tank. 
It’s OK, Dad. I can do it. I can. I bloody well can. But help me
.

He was waist-deep when his feet touched bottom. Baz didn’t pause. In a blur of tears he forced himself to let go of the ladder, forced himself to wade straight towards the winding handle, crying openly now, not caring.

“Urrghhhhhh...” A continuous gurgling wail came out of him. 
I’m doing it, Dad. I’m getting there. I’m reaching out. I’m reaching out. I’m holding the handle. I’m turning it
. Round... round... round. “Urrghhhhh...”