“I saw your graffiti!” I blurt out, suddenly remembering.
“We didn’t do it. I think it must’ve been a group of teenagers we spoke to the other evening,” Neve replies.
“Even better. It’s really good to see that our message is getting out there and people are talking about it,” I say, and everyone nods in agreement.
“Oh, a letter was dropped earlier by someone who knows Alice,” says Dave.
“Really!” I exclaim. “What does it say?”
He passes me a crumpled up piece of paper but I don’t need to read it because he paraphrases it as he does.
“It says that some people she knows have started going to alehouses and brothels where members of our gang are staying. They talk openly and debate issues about the compound, and it’s also attracted people that aren’t sure yet.”
“Excellent,” says Lake. “What a good idea.”
“However, the note also said that they’d been in touch with Alana and her ex-boyfriend had told her that the project’s due to be terminated in the coming weeks.”
“So what does that mean? Will they let us go?” Lake asks anxiously.
“No, like all unwanted lab animals after the experiment’s finished, they’re going to euthanize us,” Dave says solemnly.
I inhale in a sharp breath and cover my mouth with my hands.
“Now we don’t know how much of this is true and how much is Chinese whispers or even propaganda,” Redd says. “It also doesn’t change what we’re doing, but it does put a bit of a time constraint on things, so we need to get a move on.”
“What’s your next move?” I ask Redd, trying to steady my voice and my thoughts.
“We’re going down into the sewer pipes tonight to see whether it’s a possible way to escape. You’re more than welcome to join us since your lead’s dried up.”
I quickly try and think up a good reason of why I’m unable to crawl around in sewage with them but I’m not able to think of one fast enough, and one look at Neve tells me that if she has to do it then so do I. “Yeah sure, sounds... necessary,” is the only positive thing that I can think to say.
“How are you getting access?” asks Lake, ever practical.
“There’s a loose manhole cover over by the irrigation tower,” Redd replies.
“Close to the compound boundary,” Lake adds.
“Which is good, because we don’t know what sort of noxious gases are down there,” Redd replies, but I think that he’s just paraphrasing Neve.
“Did you see how big it was?” I ask, feeling a little claustrophobic.
“We had a quick look last night but could only see the pipe down. It looked big enough to crawl through.”
I know he’s trying to reassure me but he hasn’t really succeeded because ‘big enough to crawl through’ doesn’t sound very big at all. I wonder what we’ll do if we do manage to get out on to the other side of the wall. I suppose we’d have to come back and tell everybody else, but then it’d be really obvious and the officials and governors would be bound to step in. We’d just have to hope that we’ve converted enough of the officials that they couldn’t stop us all.
It starts to rain outside and puddles form in the hollows on the cobbled street. I watch as these soon start merging together to form streams before leaving the window, not wanting to think about the compound any more, and sit down on the mottled mattress. Everyday just feels so precious to me now; every morning I awake with the knowledge that this might be my last day with Lake. Despite the heavy rain outside I know that I want to go back to his father’s house and sleep alone with him again tonight, even if it’s just so I can wake up next to one more time.
Like he’s able to read my mind, Dave asks, “Do you want me to go and get another pillow for you guys if you’re staying here tonight?”
“Erm−” I say, but Lake cuts me off.
“No, we’d better get back to find our father,” he says, grinning at Redd. “I ditched him with a mate of his who also happens to be an official. He didn’t come home today so I ought to go and make sure that he hasn’t got himself arrested again.”
I nod in agreement, but secretly I hope that like me he just wants us to spend the night together. We all arrange to meet tomorrow night to get food at the market before heading to the manhole. Walking down the hallway I pull my hood up and my sleeves down over my hands. Outside the streets are empty and all I can hear is the sound of rain falling steadily. We move quickly to avoid getting excessively wet but it’s futile and I’m soaked to the skin in minutes.
As we approach the house Lake suddenly grabs my hand and freezes mid-stride. The front door’s ajar and blows slightly in the wind. Lake’s senses have pricked up like a rabbit that senses danger.
“Maybe your dad’s come home and left it open,” I whisper.
“Then why hasn’t it been closed?” he asks in response.
“Maybe Mrs Ford’s out,” I point out, but Lake doesn’t reply.
I notice his hand slide under his jacket to his belt, where he keeps his knife, and withdraws it clenched in his fist. We move slowly towards the door as a unit, still holding hands. I look behind us, paranoid that someone will follow us in, but see nothing but the wet cobbles lit by an orange glow from the street lamps. Lake’s grip tightens around my fingers until it hurts and I turn around to tell him to ease up, but when I do I see that he’s pushed the front door open and slumped on the kitchen floor is Mrs Ford. Her head is surrounded by a pool of thick, dark, red fluid that forms a halo on the linoleum floor. It’s clear this was no accident and that whoever did it came up behind her and struck the kind old woman on the head, delivering a fatal blow.
“Close the door,” comes a gravelly voice from the living room and I realise that there’s someone sitting in the armchair that faces away from the kitchen so they can’t be seen.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
We turn to leave; I don’t recognise the voice but I certainly have no intention of finding out who it belongs to. However, as we step towards the door it’s blocked by two large men that seem to appear out of nowhere, although I suspect they were waiting around the side of the house. I also realise that the voice probably wasn’t talking to us when he said ‘close the door.’ The two men step towards us, pushing us further into the house, and as instructed they close the door behind them. The man sitting in the armchair rises to his feet and walks towards us. I scan his face for any signs of familiarity, but his jet-black hair and high cheekbones are completely unfamiliar. I’d half expected it to be Patryk or at least for him to be present, and I stare at the stranger without comprehension.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Lake challenges him.
“I work for the secret service and I’ve been charged with removing you both from the compound for disrupting the peace,” the man replies in a rough voice that makes me think that he’s a heavy smoker.
“Oh, so this is how people go missing, is it? And what exactly did she do?” Lake hisses back at him, jabbing his finger downwards to the lifeless figure of Mrs Ford on the floor.
Lake drops my hand but I can still sense his energy; he feels like a coiled snake backed into a corner that’s ready to strike. I scan the kitchen and see the cleaver that I used yesterday, resting on top of the chopping board.
“She hosted you. All members of the compound will shortly be made aware that this is the fate of those who shelter outlaws,” he shouts, leaning so close into Lake’s face that I can see his hair move.
It happens so quickly that I barely even notice. Just a sleight of hand and the man is instantly silent. He stands still for a long moment, wide-eyed with shock, and then clasps his hands tightly around his throat. Thick red liquid begins oozing from between his fingers and he staggers back towards the living room. I glance down to see the blade in Lake’s fist slick with a thin layer of blood on one edge.
Lake lunges with the blade at the closest of the two men, but the man moves and instead of meeting
its mark he buries the knife deep into the man’s shoulder blade. As the two struggle, I reach for the cleaver unnoticed and grip it as tightly as I can in my shaking hand. They collapse to the floor together and I’m thankful that Lake lands on top. Suddenly the second man lunges at Lake, pulling him backwards by a wire he has pulled tightly around his neck. Without thinking I leap forward and bury the cleaver into the man’s back with all my strength. I feel it go through the flesh and then strike bone; he lets out an agonised scream and straightens up, flexing his back away from me. I pull the cleaver free with some effort before bringing it down with both hands on the man’s head. Immediately the man goes limp and falls to the side. Lake, now free, pulls the knife out of the man he’s sitting on and stabs him once more, this time meeting his mark and piercing the man’s jugular vein. Blood sprays from the wound like a power washer, covering Lake and me.
I stand up but the room’s spinning, and when I try to walk towards the front door everything fades to black. When I awake only a moment or two later, the first thing that I see is the blood on the floor where I’m lying. I try to put my hands down to lift myself up but they slip and I land back in the blood again. A wave of nausea flows over me and I retch until I’m sick. I flinch when I feel hands on my shoulders even though I know that they belong to Lake. I just want to be alone right now; I want to be anywhere else but here. I want to be at home watching a late night film and eating popcorn with my mum, before everything went crazy, and now I’m a murderer. I took someone’s life; I was training to be a nurse!
He lifts me up into his arms and carries me to the sofa where he lies me down before walking around the house drawing the curtains. I want to close my eyes and make this all go away but I can’t because watching me from the armchair is the man from the secret service. His breathing is loud and erratic. It looks like Lake has cut his trachea but not his jugular vein, although the man is soaked with his own blood. I worry that he might have additional weapons like a gun. He watches me with black eyes, his chest heaving under the pressure of breathing.
“We can’t stay here,” Lake calls from the kitchen as he draws the blind. “Someone knows that they’re here because someone sent them. Not to mention that one of the neighbours might have heard.”
I don’t move or say anything, I can’t. I’m transfixed on the secret service man who’s started convulsing in the chair. His body shakes violently and his eyes are rolled back so all I can see are the whites. The scene around me is more gruesome than any horror film I ever watched with my mum, and the smell of iron hanging heavy in the air is something that a movie could never convey. Finally his body falls still and I feel relieved, not because I feel sorry for him but because I can’t bear to see anything suffer; it’s why I went into nursing in the first place.
“We’ll have to go back to the others tonight,” Lake says from the kitchen where I can hear him washing his hands, and for some reason the few remaining pots that are in the sink.
I guess he’s struggling with this as much as I am, and try to will myself to get up but I can’t move. From my medical training I know that I’m beginning to go into shock but knowing that doesn’t seem to do anything to help me fight it.
“We should go down the sewer tonight and try to get out; we’re out of time,” I hear him say aloud, but I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself.
I try to process what he’s saying. We’ve just killed three men ordered here by the governors to kill us because we’re making too many waves. This means that they know the men are here and will come looking for them if they don’t return. Even if we dispose of the bodies they’re going to know that something’s wrong when they don’t report that they’ve killed us. Once the governors realise what we’ve done they’ll decree that anyone found to be hiding us or any member of our gang will also be removed.
I can hardly breathe as the realisation dawns on me. He’s right, this is our last night. Tomorrow will be either freedom or death, and I don’t know which would come as a greater relief. I feel a tightness in my throat and try to swallow it away before it leads to the inevitable tears, but I’m not able to and they start to roll down my cheeks. Lake wraps his arms around me as we both fall into the sofa. My body shakes as I sob and I’m sure that I hear him weeping softly too.
After lying entwined in each other’s figures for over half an hour, he whispers gently into my ear. “I love you, Zia,” and I feel my heart race a little, bringing me back to life. “I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, have a family and grow old with you. But not in here.”
I nod and smile through shining eyes because I don’t trust myself to speak but he’s right. I’d rather be dead than a zombie.
“Okay, first we need showers and clean clothes,” Lake says.
“What, to crawl around a sewer in?” I joke, trying to force my lips into a smile.
“We might run into people on the way and it’ll look more than a little strange if we’re both covered in blood.”
“It’s dark and raining.”
“Good point. Sod it, lets GO,” he shouts, pumping himself up. “Weapons?”
I place my foot on the man’s back and pull my cleaver out of his head, no longer feeling weak or shaky. This is survival of the fittest and I’m going to survive. We are going to get out of here tonight!
“Yeah, you were pretty deadly with that, but it’s not very discreet,” Lake says, pulling open kitchen draws.
I return to the secret agent and decide to check whether he did have any other weapons on him by rifling through his pockets.
“He won’t have anything; they specialise in hand-to-hand combat. It’s supposed to be quieter and more skilled.”
“Yeah well he didn’t see that knife coming,” I joke morbidly, and Lake laughs.
“Here, take this,” he says, passing me a thin kitchen knife.
The knife is razor-sharp and I don’t know how I’m going to carry it without stabbing myself so I copy Lake and stick it into my belt before walking to the front door. Just when I’m about to leave I notice a black marker pen sticking out of the pen pot next to a pad of paper with a shopping list on. I take the marker pen and on the wall above where the two men lie dead on the floor I write in big letters, ‘A hand not worth playing’.
“Oh, so now we’re leaving calling cards, are we?” Lake asks, pushing me out of the door.
Chapter Thirty
It’s the first time in my life that I’m actually pleased it’s still raining. The rain feels cleansing as it soaks my hair and skin, washing away the blood. It’s also kept people inside their houses and drowns out the noise of our footsteps. We run, keeping in the shadows as much as we can and peering around every corner before turning around them. I’m relieved when Lankyan Palace comes into view and we haven’t seen a single person, but I haven’t thought about how we’re going to tell them to come and unlock the door. Lake picks up a couple of loose stones from the floor in his hands. He aims one at the window, and then a second; a moment later Dave’s face appears at the window and immediately notices us.
We wait at the side door, which is opened by Redd with a perplexed expression on his face which morphs into a frightened one when we get under the light and he sees the traces of blood in our hair and on our clothing.
“What’s happened?” he asks, grabbing Lake by the shoulders.
“Get upstairs quickly and I’ll explain,” Lake replies.
Over the next half an hour Lake recounts what happened. I’m met by amazed looks when he describes how I buried a cleaver into the assassin’s head with both hands raised like the angel of death; and looks of absolute astonishment when he recalls how I retrieved it.
“Whoa, Zia!” exclaims Neve. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Neither did I,” I reply truthfully.
“The things love makes you do, eh?” Dave teases, nudging Neve’s shoulder, but she scowls and turns her head away, determined to ignore him. “Bet you’d do tha
t for me, wouldn’t ya?”
“Dave, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire,” she spits and I stifle a laugh.
“So did you see Dad?” Redd asks Lake.
I completely forgot about him and instantly feel guilty that I never asked Lake. I find it hard to show concern when I actually feel nothing but contempt for the man. I don’t care what happened to him, not like Mrs Ford.
Lake shakes his head. “We didn’t see him.”
“Well there’s still hope then,” Redd replies solemnly.
“Okay, well gather up any tools or weapons that you want with you,” Lake commands in a strong and forceful voice. “Do we need anything to get the manhole cover up with?”
Dave reaches under the bed, producing a pry bar and raises it above his head to answer Lake’s question; Redd flashes the torch light that he’s holding.
“Right, let’s go,” Redd says in a serious voice.
We march down the stairs single filed and silent, the diametric opposite of how we went up them only a few hours earlier. Outside the rain is still falling in sheets, reducing visibility to only a few metres. I know this is to our advantage, but the way that rain impairs your sight and hearing makes me feel vulnerable. In front of me Redd and Dave change from a fast paced walk into a jog and I follow suit. My footsteps land noisily in the puddles on the old cobbled streets and I strain my eyes to look where I put my feet so that I don’t twist my ankle.
After a short run I see the irrigation tower looming out of the darkness. Redd slows his pace to a walk as we approach and scans from side-to-side before coming to a complete stop. He shines the torch on the dirt and begins to scratch at the ground with his boot, revealing a rusted metal hatch. There’s no handle or points of leverage but I can see deep scratches down one side which they probably did with the pry bar when they looked down it yesterday. My thoughts are confirmed when Dave replaces the end of the pry bar in the same groove and applies pressure, but he must have been expecting more resistance than the manhole puts up because the cover flies up at the same time as Dave falls down. The lid lands back upon the rim with a loud metallic clank and everyone looks round nervously, but there’s nobody to be seen.