Текст книги "The Enemy"

Автор книги: Charlie Higson

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

48

The Kid scampered down the length of the carriage, almost on all fours, keeping low. Sam followed. The Kid had broken the window in the door at the end. The glass in the door of the next carriage was also broken. Sam looked at the gap between the carriages – he thought he might just be able to squeeze down there. He caught The Kid’s eye. The Kid glanced at Rhiannon and shook his head.

There was no way she’d fit.

Instead, The Kid laid his piece of cardboard over the jagged lower edges of both windows and wriggled through.

He turned in the opening and grinned back at the others, beckoning them to follow.

Sam helped Rhiannon along the carriage, leaving Jason and Claire crying behind them. Rhiannon was struggling to catch her breath and wheezing horribly. They made it to the window, though, and Rhiannon climbed up on to the cardboard.

It took forever to get her across. Bravely, she didn’t make a sound, though Sam could see that it was agony for her, what with her infected lungs and her wasted legs. But she struggled on, and, with the Kid pulling and Sam pushing, she at last got through both windows and into the next carriage.

Sam jumped up after her and wriggled through without any trouble. He was so intent on helping Rhiannon that he barely noticed his own aches and pains.

As soon as Sam put his feet down The Kid was off and moving.

This carriage, which Sam had caught glimpses of when Nick had let him go to the toilet, was used as a storeroom. All the pathetic bits and pieces that Nick and Rachel had collected from underground were in here. Chairs and tables with the tube logo on them, some tools, crates filled with bits of scrap metal and wood, coils of wire, piles of old newspapers and magazines.

The children hurried down the central aisle, half dragging Rhiannon, until they got to the doors at the far end where there was more broken glass strewn on the floor. The Kid scraped it aside with his trainers and once again laid the cardboard across the sharp edges of the window frames.

They repeated the same manoeuvre as before, but it was even harder this time. Rhiannon seemed weaker and more breathless. Sam remembered helping his mum to put his duvet back in its cover after it had been washed, how the duvet was big and floppy and wouldn’t go where you wanted it to. It was the same with Rhiannon, trying to somehow shove her up and through the narrow gap.

Sam was sweating and tired out when they finally got her through and she landed with a nasty thump on the other side. He quickly hopped up after her, though, and clambered across.

They settled Rhiannon on a seat and she rested. Sam looked around. This carriage was where Nick and Rachel kept spare food. Cans mostly, but some packets, filled with fruit, vegetables, meat, puddings, fruit juice and soup. There was even a separate stack of dog and cat food.

‘Where’d they get it all?’ asked Sam.

‘Some of the under-the-ground stations they got shops in them, gyms, clubs, all sorts, you poke about down here, baby, you’d be amazed at what you turn up. Mark my words.’

‘So much stuff,’ said Sam. ‘Surely they don’t need any more. Maybe you were both wrong. Maybe they weren’t going to eat us.’

‘They were looking through a telescope,’ said The Kid. ‘Looking ahead. And they has a plan. Fatten you up on the stuff they don’t want to eat, then eat you when you’re ripe and juicy.’

‘I feel sick,’ said Rhiannon.

‘Don’t sit there like a lazy lump feeling all sorry for yourself,’ said The Kid, and he pulled her to her feet. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

He hurried her along the carriage, Rhiannon grumbling every step of the way.

‘This next one’s not so pretty,’ said The Kid as they approached the window.

Sam could smell it before he got there. The sweetness of decay, mixed with a salty, meaty pong.

‘We’re nearly out,’ said The Kid. ‘Next carriage is the last. I’ve opened the doors at the end. We can get off the train, so we can.’

This time Sam honestly didn’t think they were going to make it. He was sure Rhiannon was going to get stuck halfway and they’d all be trapped down here. The poor girl was weeping and every movement made her gasp. But they at last managed it. She was through to the last carriage. Sam struggled after her. Slower this time, feeling the tiredness in his bones and muscles.

Flies buzzed around and the smell was stronger in here.

‘Hold your hooter,’ said The Kid, flicking on his lighter. ‘And try not to look.’

But of course that was the worst thing he could have said. Sam couldn’t help take glimpses to either side as they went along towards the carriage door.

He got brief flashes.

Something hanging from a hook on the handrail. A bucket catching drips of fat. A leg, salted and drying. A severed hand. A box with three small brown skulls in it. A pile of bones on the sawdust-covered floor.

He felt vomit rising in his throat and he fought to hold it back. Rhiannon wasn’t so lucky, she fell in a messy heap to the floor, puking and sobbing.

‘We have to go back for the others,’ she said. ‘Tell them what we’ve seen.’

‘No way, Holy Ghost,’ said The Kid. ‘We got to keep moving and save our own bacon else we’ll end up swinging from a hook like this lot.’

‘I can’t stand it,’ wept Rhiannon.

Sam knelt by her and gently put an arm around her.

‘It’s all right, Rhiannon,’ he said. ‘You’ll be all right. We’ll soon be out of here. Maybe we can get help and come back to rescue the others.’

‘Yes.’ Rhiannon sniffed and wiped her nose. ‘OK. Yes. I’ll be all right.’

Sam helped her up. In the centre of the carriage was a huge block of wood, a chopping block, scarred from much use, stained scarlet and black. A meat cleaver was embedded in it. Sam wrenched it free.

‘Leave it, shrimp,’ said The Kid. ‘I already thought of that. Too heavy. No use to you.’

‘I’ll use it if I have to,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll kill the both of them.’

‘Not with that, you won’t. It’s for a grown man, not a pipsqueak like you. You need a skinky like mine. I looked, there ain’t nothing else here of use to a desperado. That great chopper will only slow you down.’

Sam tried to lift it, but The Kid was right. He’d barely be able to swing it in a fight. He dropped it to the floor with a clatter.

And then he saw something else. Lying in a box of skewers.

His butterfly pin.

He snatched it up. He felt strong again.

‘I’ve got my own skinky now,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Please,’ said Rhiannon. ‘I need to rest. I can’t go on.’

‘In here?’ said The Kid. ‘You gotta be pulling my plonker. Up and at ’em, Tigerlil.’

The Kid took them to the door, opened it and dropped down to the tracks. Rhiannon sighed and grumbled but she followed him while Sam brought up the rear, his heart racing.

‘Why do we need to go back to the platform?’ he said.

‘We can’t go no further this way,’ said The Kid. ‘Tunnel’s blocked. All we got to do is go back under-the-neath of the train, to the join between the carriages. There’s space to get out there.’

‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve done it before.’

‘Then let’s do.’ The Kid gripped Rhiannon by the shoulders. ‘Do you feel up to some Olympic sneaking, my girl?’

Rhiannon swallowed. She was breathing heavily and could barely nod her head.

They scrambled along in the gulley underneath the train. The Kid didn’t dare use the lighter any more, so they had to feel their way, just as Sam had done when he’d first escaped from the grown-ups at Camden Town.

How long ago was that?

He had no idea.

It didn’t take them long to get to the gap and Sam peered out.

The nightlights still bathed the area with a yellow glow.

He looked along the platform to the right. It wasn’t far to the way out at the end. The length of one carriage. But they would be exposed all the way and would have to climb over the bed frame that was blocking the exit.

‘This is the hard part,’ whispered The Kid, poking his head out next to Sam’s. ‘Open ground. There’s no way round it.’

The boys ducked back under the train.

‘We got to dash across there like froggers,’ The Kid told Rhiannon. ‘If we make it unseen, we’re home free. We’ll slimper up topside and be gone. If they spot us, it’s a different story – morning glory. Curtains I reckon, and blinds and shutters as well, maybe, probably carpets too. What do you say, girl?’

‘Her name’s Rhiannon,’ said Sam. ‘I’m called Sam.’

‘Nice name. Nice girl. Pleased to meet you. I shoulda brought flowers or chocolates or a dead mouse.’

Rhiannon giggled and it lifted Sam’s spirits. There was always hope.

Rhiannon put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. ‘You go first,’ she said. ‘If I see you can make it, it’ll make me braver.’

‘You sure?’

‘Go on. Good luck.’

Sam looked out. As far as he could tell it was all clear. He squeezed through the narrow opening and shuffled on his belly on to the platform. A quick glance to left and right, then he sprinted to the end in a low crouch and gave the bed frame a quick once over. It was secured in place with a chain and padlock. He would need The Kid’s help.

His heart was hammering, the blood pulsed tight in his head, and he felt sick again. He looked back. The train was still. There was no movement in Nick and Rachel’s living-carriage. The doors were shut.

Rhiannon was slowly groping her way on to the platform; The Kid was obviously pushing her from below. Helping her up. Sam knew how hard that was. Once up she lay there on her stomach, catching her breath. The Kid whispered something quickly in her ear and Sam waved him over.

Somehow The Kid seemed to blend in with the surroundings and almost disappear, moving like a rat and sliding into the shadows next to Sam.

‘Nothing to it,’ he whispered, his teeth very white in the darkness. ‘Piece of Coca-Cola.’

Sam showed the padlock to The Kid who made short of work of it, wriggling his tool in the lock until it clicked open.

It was a nightmare trying to unthread the chain without making a sound, but between them they managed it and were able to slide the bed frame back just far enough to squeeze past.

‘Let’s get the babe, chicken legs.’ The Kid signalled to Rhiannon.

‘Don’t call me that,’ said Sam crossly. ‘I don’t have chicken legs.’

‘They sure are skinny.’

‘You’re not exactly fat.’

‘Not exactly, no –’

‘Shhh.’ Sam clamped a hand over The Kid’s mouth.

Rhiannon had got to her feet and started to come across. She was limping and fighting for oxygen. Moving painfully slowly.

‘Come on,’ said Sam. ‘Come on, you can make it.’

He could just see the expression on her face. Desperate, scared, yet determined. Nothing was going to stop her.

‘She’s gonna make it,’ said The Kid. ‘Come on, girl. Come on, my Rhiannon.’

Then Rhiannon staggered and fell to her knees. She couldn’t stop herself from grunting and Sam held his breath.

‘Get up, girl,’ said The Kid, but Rhiannon couldn’t.

‘Come on,’ said Sam and the two of them left their cover and went over to her. They hooked an arm under each shoulder and wrenched her up.

They hadn’t gone three steps when there was a movement. Something darted out of the shadows and skidded to an alarmed halt in front of them. It was Orion, Nick and Rachel’s ginger cat. It put its back up, fur on end, and gave a hideous squalling shriek.

Sam jumped back in shock and then swallowed hard as the door to Nick and Rachel’s carriage slid open with a harsh scrape of metal, and there was Nick with a face like fury.

‘Hey!’ he called out. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

49

‘Does that hurt?’

‘Yes!’

‘Does that?’

‘Yes – everything hurts!’

Maeve sat back in her chair and tried to give Maxie a reassuring smile.

‘Well, I don’t think your arm’s broken,’ she said. ‘It might be fractured, but I don’t think so. It’s very badly bruised.’

‘I don’t need you to tell me that.’

‘You’re a terrible patient, you know.’

‘I don’t want to be a patient. What about my ribs?’

‘They could well be broken. But there’s no bones sticking out or anything. You can’t do much for cracked ribs. You just have to be careful. And try not to laugh.’

‘That’ll be easy.’

Maxie stared up at the ornate ceiling of the ballroom. All wedding-cake plasterwork with gold leaf and fancy bits and pieces. Dusty chandeliers dangling down all over the place. Funny how quickly you got used to all this.

‘Maybe you should go up to the sick-bay with Blue,’ said Maeve. ‘Let Rose and her nurses look after you. They’re pretty sorted up there.’

‘No,’ said Maxie. ‘I’m not putting myself in their hands. I’ll be all right.’

She didn’t feel all right. Her side was one big bruise and she could barely move her arm.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about Freak.

They’d buried him in the palace gardens that morning, as soon as they’d got back from the fight. Standing in the rain, everyone silent and miserable. Maxie had wanted to say a few words, like Freak had done when they burned Arran’s body, but she had nothing to say.

‘I’ll get you some more painkillers,’ said Maeve.

‘Thanks.’

‘And try to think positive thoughts. You’ll get better much quicker.’

‘Positive thoughts…? Right.’

‘I know it’s hard.’

‘The idea was, Maeve, that when we got here everything was going to be all right. But it isn’t. Everything’s crap.’

‘Come on,’ said Maeve. ‘Don’t forget so soon what it was really like back at Waitrose. It was hell. There was one less of us nearly every week.’

‘At least before we knew where we were. We were friends. We stuck together. Now there are too many of us. We’re falling apart. Losing touch with each other. It’s too complicated.’

Before Maeve could say anything the doors opened and Ollie came in.

‘I’ve just been up to see Blue,’ he said. ‘He’s in the sick-bay with that girl we rescued near Green Park.’

‘I’d forgotten about her,’ said Maxie. ‘How is she?’

‘Pretty bad, I think.’

‘And Blue?’

‘He’s conscious at least, but being sick everywhere. Puked up this stuff that looked like egg yolk.’

‘Bile,’ said Maeve. ‘Often happens if you get concussed.’

‘Is anyone with him?’ asked Maxie.

‘Whitney was up there but Rose got rid of us. Says he needs to rest. How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine.’

Ollie sat down. ‘Only David wants to talk to you about what happened this morning.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say to him.’

‘We owe it to him to –’

‘We don’t owe him anything!’ Maxie exploded.

‘We do actually,’ said Ollie. ‘They’ve given us their food. They’ve let us stay here. David may be a bit of a dick but he’s smart and he’s organized. We don’t want to screw things up.’

‘I’m not going to spend the rest of my life fighting his fights for him,’ said Maxie. ‘What kind of a life is that?’

‘Right now it’s the only life we’ve got,’ said Ollie. ‘Wherever we go in London it’s going to be the same. We’re going to have to fight. That’s how the world is now. Better that we fight for something that’s worth it. Better that we stick with the strongest bunch around. With whoever looks like coming out on top.’

‘OK, so what if those tossers we fought today look like coming out on top? Would you join them?’

Ollie sighed and ran the fingers of both hands through his red hair.

He thought for a while, but said nothing.

50

Sam and The Kid had hold of Rhiannon’s hands and were dragging her through the station as fast as they dared. It was dark and they couldn’t risk using the lighter. None of them was sure of the way out; they only knew that they had to keep going up. That was easier said than done. The station was a maze of tunnels and hallways with more openings going off in all directions to other platforms and other tube lines. It would have been confusing enough with the lights on – Sam had never really got the hang of the underground system – but in the dark it was a nightmare.

After spotting them Nick had ducked back inside the carriage to get something and the children had bolted. It was only a matter of time before he caught up with them, though. He knew his way around and he was faster.

‘We need to hide,’ said The Kid.

‘Where?’ said Rhiannon.

‘Search me,’ said The Kid.

They heard pounding footsteps behind them and looked back to see a torch beam scouring the darkness, bouncing off the walls. The Kid whipped his lighter out and lit it one-handed. They saw an exit sign and followed it. They ran down a short tunnel, turned to the right and spotted some escalators. Two of them, going up, with a run of stairs between them.

‘That way,’ The Kid hissed and they darted up the middle. It was easier going on the stairs than the stationary escalators, which had taller steps.

When they got to the top Rhiannon was wheezing and panting, doubled over in pain. It was obvious they’d need to stop soon. But when The Kid flicked on the lighter they saw that they were faced with more stairs and an exit sign pointing to the right.

‘We’ve got to keep going,’ Sam said to Rhiannon, who couldn’t speak.

‘We must,’ said Sam, and he shook her.

Rhiannon gulped. Nodded. The boys took hold of her arms and dragged her along again.

Another tunnel. Another escalator. Dim light filtering down from above.

‘We must be nearly there,’ said Sam. ‘Once we’re outside it’ll be easier.’

‘I-won’t-make-it-up-there…’ said Rhiannon, every word hurting her.

Sam looked around. There would have been two escalators here, but one of them had evidently been under repair. It was boarded off. There was only the one way up and down. There was a pile of rubbish dumped at the foot of the escalator that was out of action. Bits of plywood and wire and sheets of cardboard.

The footsteps were getting nearer. The torch beam was shining along the tunnel they had just come through.

Sam nodded to the pile of rubbish, not daring to speak.

The three of them climbed behind some cardboard and ducked down, huddled together, trying to make themselves small. Rhiannon was still fighting for breath.

‘I can’t go on,’ she wheezed. ‘I feel like I’m going to explode. I’m so dizzy. Don’t make me go on. Please…’

‘Shhh,’ said The Kid, ‘be quiet now.’

Sam made sure he could see what was going on, peeking from behind a flap of cardboard. He watched Nick come charging down the tunnel, his torch in one hand, his sawnoff shotgun in the other. Behind him came Rachel, also carrying a torch. They both shone their beams quickly up the escalator.

Rachel swore. ‘Did they go up?’

‘Dunno. Couldn’t hear anything,’ said Nick.

‘Have they got away?’

‘They can’t have done,’ said Nick. ‘They was only just ahead of us.’

‘Did they go the other way then?’

‘Could have done. Could be anywhere.’

Rachel looked back up the escalator. Something was making her nervous.

‘Maybe we should let them go, lover?’

‘Let them go?’ said Nick. ‘After all the food we’ve wasted on them?’

‘I don’t want to go up top.’

‘Maybe they’re not up there,’ said Nick. ‘Maybe they never made it this far.’

‘You think maybe they’re still down in the tunnels?’ said Rachel.

‘Must be. I’ll go back down and look.’

‘I’ll carry on up to the ticket hall,’ said Rachel. ‘I’ll holler if I hear anything.’

‘All right,’ said Nick. ‘But go carefully.’

‘Ah, they’re only kids,’ said Rachel and she started up the escalator.

Nick ran off back the way he had come.

Rhiannon had been trying to hold her breath, to stop from making a sound, but it was too hard for her – she took a long rasping gasp of air which rattled in her throat and Rachel’s torch beam swivelled round.

She came back down the stairs.

‘Who’s that I can hear?’ she said softly. ‘Is that you, kids? Are you there? Don’t be scared, it’s only me. It’s Rachel. I know you must be terrified as anything, all alone up here in the dark. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you.’

As she spoke she reappeared at the bottom of the stairs and edged closer to the pile of rubbish, her voice soft and reassuring, like someone talking to a kitten or a frightened bird that had got into the house.

Now her torch beam fell on the three of them and she smiled, tilting her head on one side.

‘There you are, my lambs,’ she cooed. ‘Don’t be frightened, now. Just look at you. You shouldn’t be out, should you?’

Sam could feel Rhiannon next to him trembling, and he could hear her breath scraping at her lungs. He gripped his butterfly pin tight.

‘Come on. Come to Mummy. I’ll look after you. Haven’t we kept you warm and well fed? Hmm? Haven’t we kept you safe from harm, kept the bad ones away? Hmm? You don’t want to go out there into the big world, now, do you? Whatever would you do? All those crazies out there. You’re much safer with Rachel and Nick, now, aren’t you?’

She got herself into a position that blocked their escape, then straightened up and bellowed at the top of her voice.

‘Ni-ick! I found ’em! They’re up here, love!’

‘Get her!’ shouted Sam, and he charged at her, butting her in the stomach with his head. She grunted and staggered back, but she was strong and Sam was only small. It reminded him of play fights with his dad. When his dad had pretended to be beaten, to be hurt, when Sam knew all along he could have picked him up and tossed him across the room.

‘Now, now,’ said Rachel, holding her temper in. ‘That’s enough of that.’ She cuffed Sam to the floor and he went down hard. But now The Kid was up and out, beating Rachel with his fists. Even Rhiannon joined in. They had all seen the meat wagon. They knew what Rachel was capable of. Between the three of them they tripped her and sent her tumbling to the ground. Sam lunged at her with the pin, but only managed to scratch her neck.

‘Where did you get that?’ Rachel roared, finally letting her anger show as she struggled back on to her feet. ‘Give that back!’

‘It’s mine,’ said Sam. ‘You should never have taken it.’

‘Give it me!’ Rachel snapped and as she made a snatch for it, Sam stabbed it into the palm of her hand. She shrieked and jerked her hand back. Almost immediately she batted him to the ground again, using the torch that she was holding in her other hand, smashing the bulb. She tried to stamp on Sam but he rolled out of the way and jabbed the pin into her leg. Her shriek this time was terrible. Loud and piercing, it echoed off the tiles. Sam scrambled up, grabbed Rhiannon and The Kid and they started up the escalator.

It was agony for Rhiannon and halfway up Sam knew they were never going to make it to the top. He was just about to say something to The Kid when there came an almighty bang and a flash and Rhiannon screamed.

The three of them stumbled and fell over in shock. Sam was stunned, the noise and the light had completely disorientated him. It was a few seconds before he realized he was unhurt, but Rhiannon was crying. She was three steps below him. He sat up and put his hand out to her. Her top was wet. He could see it stained black in the dim light. She was bleeding. Some of the shot from the cartridge had hit her.

It was clear she wasn’t going to go any further.

‘Go on,’ she croaked. ‘You’ll never make it with me.’

‘No,’ said Sam, but then Nick’s voice rang out in the half-light.

‘Don’t move, none of you, I’ll aim the next shot straight at you.’

‘Keep down,’ said The Kid, ‘and run like mad. He can’t shoot and point his torch at the same time.’

‘We can’t leave Rhiannon,’ Sam wailed.

‘Just go!’ said Rhiannon.

Sam didn’t know what to do but The Kid decided for him – he pulled Sam up by his shirt and the two of them darted up the stairs.

Nick was running up after them, but when he got to Rhiannon she threw her arms around his knees and they went crashing down to the bottom. It was all the two boys needed to get away.

They were in the ticket hall at last, a pale light showing them the way out to street level. There were shouts and screams behind them. Sam tried not to imagine what was happening, but he silently thanked Rhiannon. He would owe her for the rest of his life.

They vaulted the ticket gates and headed for the stairs.

They ran up three steps at a time.

The daylight hit Sam like a blow. He was blinded. He staggered along, shielding his eyes from the glare. It was physically painful and he had an instant headache. He was vaguely aware of a church, and tall old buildings.

He felt The Kid grab him.

‘Move it, slowpoke,’ he said. Sam squinted at him – The Kid had produced a pair of sunglasses from somewhere, a big pink pair in the shape of love hearts. Sam resisted the urge to laugh. It was The Kid who should be laughing; at least he could see what he was doing. He dragged Sam down the wet pavement. Sam could just make out, through the narrowed slits of his eyelids, where he was. This was the City of London – where old and new London butted up against each other, modern skyscrapers shouldering up through Victorian buildings on a higgledy-piggledy medieval street layout.

‘We need to hurry, dog,’ said The Kid.

Sam stumbled on, feeling The Kid tug him across the road. They came on to a paved area in front of a massive building that looked like a Greek temple. Sam’s eyes were getting a little better. They weren’t hurting so much. He looked up at the statue of a man on a horse. Then something jerked him back, and he was thrown against a wooden bench.

It was Nick.

‘I’m going to slaughter you, little pigs,’ he snarled. His dreadlocks were flapping around his head like the rays of the sun in a child’s drawing. His face, though, was twisted into a picture of rage. There was no sign of Rachel.

He held his shotgun in one hand, but, before he could bring it round on Sam, The Kid threw himself at his arm, knocking it sideways and smashing the gun into the base of the statue. The gun exploded in Nick’s hand and he dropped it, the barrel bent out of shape.

Nick didn’t waste any time and pulled a knife out from inside his coat. He glanced at The Kid. He’d fallen heavily, the gun going off very close to his face. He looked stunned. Winded.

Nick turned his attention back to Sam, who was struggling to open his eyes properly, squinting in the bright light. He saw that Nick was having trouble, too, his eyes were red and tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away and blinked at Sam, raising his knife. It was old and well used, with a wide, curved blade, worn thin from constant sharpening. He took a swipe at Sam, who ducked. He felt the knife swish across the back of his head, ruffling his hair. Nick immediately brought the knife back again and as Sam dodged to the side he felt a sting in the side of his neck. He backed away, down some steps, towards the road. He splashed through a puddle. It had been raining. He realized that the sun wasn’t even out. Though the clouds were beginning to break up in the sky.

He was breathing fast. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for long. Nick was too big, too fit. Sam was just a kid.

‘Hold still, you little pig,’ Nick hissed. ‘I’ll make it quick and painless for you. If you muck me about, though, I’ll string you upside down and bleed you slowly, just you see that I do. You’ll feel every minute of it. I promise you that. Now, hold still.’

‘Go to hell,’ Sam shouted, his voice a hoarse croak.

‘I’m already there,’ said Nick, and he chuckled, so sure was he of success. ‘Didn’t you know I was Satan, his-self? Old Nick. That’s me. And you’re just one more sinner – or should I say “dinner”?’

Sam swore at him, using all the dirty words he’d ever heard, and some he’d made up. Nick just laughed louder.

Sam scrambled under a van and for a moment felt safe, until he realized he was trapped now.

Idiot.

He should have run.

The ground here was oily and he was soon black with filth. He saw Nick’s lower legs as he stalked around the van, banging on the sides and calling out in a high-pitched voice.

‘Here, piggy-piggy-piggy, come to Nick.’ Then he stopped and ducked down. Sam saw his grinning face appear below the edge of the van. He reached out a hand for Sam who just managed to slither back from it. But it was a bluff. Nick quickly dodged round the van and made another grab for him. As Sam tried to shift again his shirt caught on something and he was stuck. Then he felt Nick’s hand take hold of him and he was dragged out, kicking and yelling.

Sam looked for The Kid and saw him struggling groggily to his feet over by the statue. He then bent double and vomited. Nick tucked Sam under his arm, clamping him tight, and strode back over to The Kid. He aimed a kick at his backside and pitched him into the plinth.

The Kid wasn’t going to be any help.

Nick set Sam down and held him upright with one hand. He raised his other hand above his head. The sun came out from behind a cloud and shone on to the blade, the sharpened edge glinting like liquid fire.

‘I’m going to cut your little pig’s head off, piggy-winkle,’ Nick said with relish.

He paused. Licked his dry lips. He didn’t want to rush this.

This boy had caused him a lot of trouble. He wanted to see the fear and pain in his eyes before he finished it. He wanted the brat to know full well what was about to happen to him. Let him see the knife. Let him anticipate what it would feel like when he brought it slashing down. How it would slice clean through the soft flesh of his throat, through the sinews, the windpipe, even through his spine. Such a thin thing. Like a chicken neck.

The boy’s eyes were satisfyingly wide. There was a look of horror in them that pleased Nick. They were fixed on his knife, as they should be.

No. Wait a second. Something was wrong. The boy wasn’t looking at the knife at all. He was looking at something else. His eyes had flicked down and appeared to be looking at Nick’s hand.

Nick frowned and looked up.

A rash of spots was spreading across his skin, already one or two had swollen into fat blisters. His throat went tight. He could do nothing but stare, mesmerized.

He should never have come out into the sunlight.

Sam couldn’t tear his eyes away, either. It was like watching a piece of food in a microwave. Nick seemed to be cooking in front of him. Another crop of blisters and boils blossomed from the knuckles, as his fingers swelled up like bloated slugs, the nails turning black, and getting lost in cushions of pulpy flesh. One finger split open and pus oozed out of it.

Nick moaned. The knife was wobbling in his grip, his puffed-up hand no longer able to keep hold of it. He dropped it and it fell to the pavement with a clatter.

‘Look what you’ve done,’ he said in a strangled voice and Sam looked at his face. The skin there was erupting, too. Pearly boils with yellow heads were spreading from one ear across his cheek. His lips were growing fat, like sausages in a frying pan, the skin tightening then bursting, so that bright pink flesh bulged out of them.