The Disappearances Read online

  Evie shook her head, warily. People didn’t go hungry in the City, it was true, but that didn’t mean they were happy. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘But I’d rather be here and hungry than there with all the food in the world.’

  Kathy’s face creased in curiosity. ‘It was really that bad?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you sometimes think about going back?’

  Evie shook her head vehemently. She’d already told them about the labels, about the strict rules about who you could talk to, who you could be friends with, about the System, about K’s being left outside the City walls for the Evils to attack. But many of her new friends found it hard to believe; they had always known the City as the land of plenty, the land of the good, the lucky, and Evie could tell that sometimes they weren’t convinced that her tales were entirely truthful.

  ‘I never want to go back,’ she said, her voice catching slightly. ‘The City had food and water and homes for everyone. But it was also a place where everyone lied, where a System labelled people unfairly, where people were told they would have a future and instead were subjected to brain surgery that took their whole lives away. I never want to go back there.’

  ‘You’d really rather starve to death?’ Lucy asked, her eyebrows raised pointedly.

  ‘Lucy, no one is going to starve. It’s raining, isn’t it? Leave the girl alone,’ Sandra said, her voice sounding a little strained.

  Lucy tutted.

  ‘Acceptance, love, learning and hope,’ Sandra said gently. ‘That’s what this place is all about. Evie, please don’t listen to Lucy. She’s just having a bad day. Aren’t you, Lucy? Probably got to breakfast late. Thought she’d have a lie-in and now she’s regretting it. Right?’

  Lucy opened her mouth to protest, then laughed. ‘Okay, you got me,’ she said.

  ‘Now,’ Sandra said. ‘If I’m not mistaken, it’s almost lunch. Evie, let’s get you into this dress of yours, shall we? Let’s see just how lovely you’re going to look.’

  12

  ‘Hey, Wajid. How are things?’

  Wajid stared at Thomas insolently; looked over at the prison guard. ‘They’re shit,’ he said. ‘What’s it to you?’

  It was an adopted name, one he’d been given when he’d found salvation, when he’d stumbled across a group of lads in prison who’d listened to him, understood him, protected him. That was ten years ago now; he’d been to prison four times since. But this time he wasn’t getting out for good behaviour. This time he was going to rot in there and he didn’t need some stranger turning up to gloat.

  Thomas leant back in his chair. ‘What’s it to me, Wajid, is that I’m not happy about your treatment in here. And I’m not happy about the length of your sentence either.’

  ‘My sentence?’ Wajid leant towards Thomas, his eyes flashing. ‘What do you know about me and my sentence? Who the fuck are you anyway?’

  He held Thomas’s gaze for a few seconds, then sat back on his chair to survey him properly. It was the third time he’d visited, this strange man who looked like a nerd but wore expensive clothes. The third time he’d asked Wajid stupid questions, pointless questions, before getting up and going. Like Wajid was some kind of entertainment. Like he was some kind of joke. Never a surname, either – just ‘Thomas’, like he was a friend or something.

  Thomas didn’t blanch under Wajid’s scrutiny. ‘I’m someone who can help you,’ he said. ‘But if you don’t want my help, if you’re happy in here, then that’s fine. I’m evidently wasting my time.’

  Wajid slammed his fist down on the table. He was sick of this. Sick of playing games. ‘You tell me what you’re doing here,’ he said. ‘Tell me now. Who sent you? Who are you really working for?’

  The prison guard walked over. ‘Everything all right over here?’ he asked.

  Thomas nodded quickly. ‘It’s okay, officer. It’s okay.’

  The guard moved away slowly.

  Thomas looked at Wajid carefully. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’m part of a network. A network that can help you. Help you get out of here.’

  Wajid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t fuck with me.’

  Thomas laughed. ‘No, Wajid. No escapes. I’m talking about judges reviewing your sentence. I’m talking about compensation being awarded for a miscarriage of justice. I know you’re not a terrorist, Wajid. I know that you’re just sick of all the injustice in the world. Sick of the wrong people running the show. Sick of not having a proper voice.’

  Wajid didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

  ‘And why would you think that?’ he asked eventually.

  Thomas leant forward again. ‘Because I know you,’ he said under his breath, only just audible. ‘I know what you want because I want it too. And I think you’re the person to wake everyone up. You’ve got people, right? Disciples? People who believe in what you believe in? People who will do what it takes?’

  Wajid’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t saying nothing. This was most likely a trap, and he wasn’t falling for it. No way.

  ‘You don’t trust me yet and that’s fine. I wouldn’t expect you to. But just wait and see what I can do. I’ll get you out of here. And then I’ll give you what you need,’ Thomas said. ‘You choose the targets; I’ll make sure your people get where you want to go. You just need to line them up, point them in the right direction. Can you do that? Can you do that, Wajid?’

  ‘You think I’m stupid?’ Wajid said, sitting back, disdain on his face. ‘You’re talking a load of crap. Setting me up. I ain’t an idiot.’

  ‘Nor am I,’ Thomas said, moving his hands forward, slipping a pin to Wajid, a pin with the letter ‘I’ on it. Wajid frowned; he’d seen it before somewhere. The prison guard cleared his throat and immediately Wajid remembered. He had one too. ‘Tonight you’ll hear about a bomb attack. That’s my people. And tomorrow your lawyer will visit you with news of new evidence. You get me a message to tell me you’re on board, and that new evidence will be compelling enough to get you out of here, to exonerate you completely. You don’t, and you’re going to rot here. Understand?’

  The pin disappeared into Wajid’s sleeve in a deft sleight of hand. He stared at Thomas for a few seconds. ‘Those things happen, then maybe,’ he said, standing up. ‘They don’t, and you’d better watch yourself. I still got friends outside.’

  ‘That’s what I’m relying on.’ Thomas winked as he stood up. ‘Goodbye, Wajid. Until we meet again.’

  13

  Lucas looked down at Clara. It was the following morning and Clara had slept almost from the moment she’d arrived at Base Camp until now. She looked so vulnerable, lying there in the bed that Martha had made up for her. Back in the City, her parents would be frantic; there would be search parties looking for her. And she was all alone here, away from her friends and family, unable to contact them. But she was safe. Would be safe.

  She opened her eyes and he started slightly. ‘Here,’ he said stiffly, handing her a bowl of cereal. ‘Have some breakfast.’

  Clara took the bowl silently; he could tell that she was anxious, unsettled, unsure. He didn’t blame her.

  ‘This is Martha,’ he said, stepping aside so that Clara could see her. ‘She’s going to look after you here.’ His voice sounded formal; he could tell that it made her nervous but he couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

  Clara’s eyes widened. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I have to go and find someone. I …’ Lucas trailed off, not sure how much to tell Clara; the truth was, he barely knew what he was doing himself. He cleared his throat. ‘I need to make sure that the Informers leave the City, that they are brought to justice. You’ll be safe here.’

  Clara nodded slowly.

  Martha stepped forward, sat on the bed and took Clara’s hand. ‘We’ll have fun,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘You’re going to love Base Camp. And when things are ready, Lucas will come back for you and you’ll go back to the City and tell everyone the truth. Okay?’

  Clara nodded eagerly, looked up at Lucas for affir
m-ation. He nodded, wondering how Martha did it, how she managed to soothe, engage; how she made it look so easy.

  He could never talk to Evie, either. All those years, all those years of longing, and he’d never been able to say a single thing that didn’t sound forced, formal, cold. No wonder she’d hated him for all that time; he’d seen it in her eyes, seen the contempt so clearly. And he hadn’t even blamed her. He’d felt contempt for himself, too.

  Sometimes he wished he’d left it at that; sometimes he wished he hadn’t revealed himself to her, hadn’t seen her eyes change, hadn’t felt her lips on his, hadn’t allowed himself to imagine what life might be like.

  ‘Right,’ he said, forcing a little smile, wondering if he should make some gesture, a hand shake, a squeeze of the shoulder, then deciding against it.

  ‘Find me before you go,’ Martha said as he started to walk out of the room. ‘I need to tell you the directions. I’m not allowed to write them down. Come and get me and I’ll talk you through it.’

  Lucas didn’t hang around. There was no reason to. Instead, he showered, packed up some more food, listened carefully to Martha’s directions, then left, before the other men got back. Martha had done her best to bandage up his feet but then he couldn’t fit his shoes back on, so she’d reluctantly taken the bandages off again, leaving his blisters, still raw and red, to chafe against the leather of his brogues.

  Her directions were complicated – Lucas realised he would never have found Linus without them – but also faultless; almost exactly two hours after leaving Base Camp, Lucas came across the rocky hills that she’d told him to look out for. Then, he walked clockwise around them until he saw a hole, about ten foot wide, leading into the caves below. Apparently this was Linus’s home.

  Uncertainly, Lucas stepped inside the tunnel and started to walk. It smelt dank; the light was limited and several times he stumbled on rocks. After about 100 feet, he stopped as the tunnel swung round to the right. Then he called out.

  ‘Linus. It’s Lucas.’

  He waited.

  ‘Linus, it’s Lucas,’ he called again after a few minutes; still nothing.

  Lucas turned the corner and started to walk. Had the Informers got to Linus? Had they found him? No, impossible. But then where was he? Martha had told him that Linus never left the cave. Never. The floor was now slippery under foot, covered in slime and moisture. He held out his hands, using the walls of the cave as support and to guide him. The tunnel was almost dark; what little light there was made the rock luminescent but didn’t afford a glimpse of what lay a few feet ahead.

  After slipping several times, Lucas dropped down onto his hands and knees to crawl along the dank floor; every few minutes he told himself that he had gone into the wrong tunnel, that he should turn back, but he didn’t stop. It was the right tunnel. He had followed Martha’s instructions to the letter. Lucas did his best to shake off his fears as he pushed forwards. Rocks grazed his palms, dug into his knees, but he ignored the pain. He had to get to Linus. Had to …

  His hand stretched forward into nothing; his body, ready to rest its weight on the hand, tipped forwards. Desperately Lucas pulled himself back and somehow managed to stop himself falling. Then he looked down and his mouth fell open. In front of him, twenty feet down below, was what looked like the System Operating room back at the City. Large computers, their screens all illuminated, chairs, desks … And Linus sitting at one of them, a beard reaching down several inches from his chin. Linus’s hand shot up.

  ‘Lucas,’ he said, not looking up. ‘Just give me a minute will you? I’m in the middle of something.’

  Lucas stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Linus?’ he gasped.

  ‘One minute,’ Linus cut in, a note of irritation in his voice.

  Lucas frowned, then he counted to three in his head, a technique he had learnt many years ago and employed regularly, often several times a day in order to suppress reactions that would otherwise cause him problems. Thousands of injustices; thousands of sweeping comments made arrogantly by the Brother; thousands of insults directed towards his father, his brother; hundreds of meetings with Evie when what he wanted to do and was able to do were so very far apart. Counting to three had become a mantra, a little meditation that allowed the coolness to descend, the detachment, the armour.

  But here, now, counting to three achieved nothing. ‘In the middle of something?’ Lucas stared in disbelief then turned and lowered himself down, jumping the final fourteen feet down to where Linus was hunched over a computer screen. ‘In the middle of something?’ He walked over to Linus, inwardly seething, his exter-ior still cool, just as it always was. ‘I thought something had happened to you,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I called your name and you didn’t answer.’

  ‘Will you please,’ Linus said again, holding up his hand as a parent might do to a child, ‘just stop there. For twenty more seconds.’

  His eyes hadn’t even left the computer. Dumbfounded, Lucas did as Linus asked. And as he waited, he looked around again, his anger gradually being replaced by disbelief as he marvelled at the technology, the sheer size of the place.

  ‘There we are,’ Linus said suddenly, standing up. ‘So, Lucas, what can I do for you?’

  He was smiling distractedly as though Lucas had just popped by for a cup of tea, as though they had seen each other as recently as yesterday.

  It unsettled Lucas, almost made him forget why he was here. He had only met Linus briefly, but for years they had communicated covertly, and before that it had been Lucas’s father who had communicated with Linus. And yet, in spite of that, looking at him now Lucas realised he was a complete stranger.

  ‘I …’ It was no use. His eyes were on the move again. ‘What is this place?’ he asked. ‘How did you … I mean … what is this place?’

  ‘Good, isn’t it?’ Linus grinned. ‘I call it my headquarters.’

  ‘But there’s no one else here.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Linus’s eyes were shining. ‘I’m the boss and there’s no one to get in the way. Perfect, don’t you think?’ Lucas knew exactly what Linus meant – he dreamt himself, sometimes, of being alone, of not having to deal with people, their problems, their mistrust, their attempts to outmanoeuvre him. But he didn’t say anything. Linus didn’t seem to notice Lucas’s silence, or care. ‘Now, tell me why you’re here because I don’t have long,’ he said. ‘Lots to do. Okay?’

  Lucas nodded seriously. ‘There are people in the City,’ he said, crouching down so that his head was level with Linus’s. ‘Murderers. They’ve been working with the Brother, supporting him, offering food, protection, I don’t know what else. Some young people stumbled across them in the old Hospital and they … they killed them all. Except one. She’s at Base Camp with Martha. And …’

  ‘And?’

  Lucas took a deep breath. He hadn’t wanted to dwell on the other thing that Clara had told him; he’d told himself they were leaving purely for her protection. But there had been another reason, too, the thing that had made him realise immediately that they had to leave the City. ‘When the young people saw them. The Informers. They were talking about …’ He took a deep breath. ‘They said they needed to find Raffy. They said they needed him to switch the System back on.’

  He looked at Linus, waiting for his reaction. But Linus didn’t look remotely shocked, surprised or even angry. He just nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘They’re in the City, are they? And they’re interested in the System? Well that explains that …’ Linus said, frowning. Then he turned back to his computer and started to type. After a few minutes, Lucas moved closer. ‘So?’ he asked.

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So I need to find Raffy and Evie,’ Lucas said. ‘I need to make sure they’re safe and then I’m going to go back to the City and find these Informers and make them regret what they’ve done.’ His eyes were flashing with anger.

  Linus raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay, if you insist. But Raffy’s perfectly safe where he is. He might be
marginally safer here, I suppose. You could bring him here, if you want, if he promises not to make any noise. In the meantime, if I can take it from you that you yourself have no intention of restarting the System, then our business is complete.’

  Lucas’s eyes narrowed; Linus blanched slightly. ‘And thank you for letting me know,’ he said quickly, as though he thought Lucas’s anger was over his poor manners. ‘Very useful. Very useful indeed.’

  Lucas stood up. ‘Linus, did you not hear what I said? Young people have been murdered within the City walls. The Brother has to be involved because the Informers were let into the City by the gatekeeper. They’ve been bringing in food and supplies for years.’

  ‘From the other townships and settlements around the country. Yes, I know that,’ Linus said distractedly. ‘What I’m more interested in is where they came from. Where their base is. Because right now it doesn’t make any sense.’ He stared at his computer intently. ‘Nice to see you, Lucas. There’s a bathroom over there if you need it. This is where Raffy is.’

  He scribbled something on a scrap of paper, handed it to Lucas, then turned back to his computer. Lucas stared at the piece of paper. ‘That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?’

  Linus let out a sharp exhalation. ‘Is there anything else to say?’ he asked. ‘Lucas, I am not an army. I am one man. I could try and help you, but I doubt I’d be any more useful than, say, Angel. In fact I would be less useful than Angel. Ask him for help; he’s always going out on pointless expeditions that achieve nothing except keeping him from going mad. I, on the other hand, have things to do. Lots of them. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to get on with them.’

  Lucas watched, open-mouthed, as Linus turned back to his computer.

  ‘I don’t want your help,’ he said bitterly. ‘I want you to care.’

  ‘I do,’ Linus confirmed. ‘Absolutely. Oh, and you won’t get out the way you came in. Strictly one-way traffic. You’ll have to go down that corridor.’ He pointed in the opposite direction. ‘Bit of a tricky climb once you get to the opening, but you’ll be fine. Just make sure you turn right not left.’