The Enemy

There was a shout from above and a flaming torch arced out into the night, turning end over end and landing in a shower of sparks near the dancing circle.

The grown-ups were thrown into a mad panic and Arran started to run, charging into them, barging through the mass of bodies to get to the centre, smashing skulls to left and right as he went.

Achilleus came behind, jabbing with his spear. Making sure none of the grown-ups closed the gap.

Josh was shouting at the grown-ups.

‘Come on, you ugly munters, come and get it!’

The boy in the patchwork coat was on the ground, clutching a piece of sharp wood. Arran grabbed him by the arm.

‘Move it,’ he shouted, dragging him to his feet. He flung him to Achilleus’ team who formed a protective ring around him. The circle of grown-ups had broken apart and formed into a loose milling mob. Arran realized that the way back to the shop was blocked. But then he saw a crazed flurry of activity and the grown-ups bolted to one side like a disturbed shoal of fish.

It was Freak. He’d gone berserk. Yelling and screaming, lashing out with his spear with no regard for his own safety.

‘Leg it!’ Arran shouted to Achilleus. ‘Get him inside!’

Achilleus’ team made it back to the shop and pushed the patchwork kid through the barricade to where Maxie’s group was waiting.

‘Take him into the shop,’ Achilleus said. ‘Watch him.’

Arran was looking for Freak. He had lost sight of him in the chaos.

There he was.

He’d fallen; a grown-up was on him, his hands at his throat.

‘Achilleus! With me!’

Arran was ru

There came a smart crack and the grown-up toppled over, felled by one of Ollie’s slingshots. Then Arran and Achilleus and the others were there, weapons a blur, and Freak was on his feet.

He pointed down the road, too tired to speak. Arran looked where he was pointing. He could just make out a fresh mob of grown-ups charging towards them from the crossroads.

Arran stood his ground, ready for anything. All his doubts were forgotten. He was focused on trying to stay alive and protect his friends. Achilleus’ fighters were with him, spears bristling as the grown-ups came on like a wave surging on to a beach. But at the last moment the grown-ups parted and ran past the little knot of kids. They had no appetite for a fight. Arran quickly saw why. They weren’t attacking, they were retreating.

Blue and a squad from Morrisons were thundering down the Holloway Road after them, throwing rocks and yelling.

Blue spotted Arran and ran over.

‘What’s going on?’ he said.

‘You tell me.’

‘There was some idiot,’ said Blue, panting, resting his hands on his knees. ‘He was trying to get in. We chased him away, then found this lot. Never seen so many grownups together before.’

As they were talking the fleeing grown-ups slowed, stopped and turned. Other grown-ups emerged from the darkness on all sides. The way back to Morrisons was cut off.

‘You better get in the shop with us,’ said Arran, and without another word the two groups ran back over to the barricades.

Arran was last in. Screaming at Bernie and Ben to close the doors, he squeezed through the gap, an enraged group of fathers hot on his tail.

Maxie was waiting with her own team armed with their pikes. They poked them into the faces of the lumbering grown-ups, who squealed and shied away. The gates trundled shut and the kids could hear the grown-ups throwing themselves against the metal in rage.

Arran tried to say something but an explosion from outside drowned him out. A burst of leaping flames filled the street. Callum must have launched a bomb from the roof. Bernie and Ben had made the bombs out of fireworks that they’d dismantled and bundled tightly together.

The initial boom was followed by a cacophony of bangs and screeches, whines and whistles, as coloured bolts and burning embers shot in every direction.

It lasted no more than thirty seconds but when it was over Holloway Road was quiet. Bernie and Ben secured the door, shunting the bars across, rattling the chains into place, snapping the padlock fast. Their hands were shaking but they worked carefully and methodically, trying not to panic, making sure that everything was properly done. Arran and Achilleus stayed to make sure it was OK, then took the emos back into the shop where they helped wind down the shutter.

At last they walked over to where Maxie and three of her team had the patchwork boy pi

Arran stood over him, breathing heavily, exhausted. He hoped it had all been worthwhile.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

The boy smiled. He had a shock of stiff, matted hair, a wide mouth set in a thin, clever face with a nose that was slightly too large for it.

‘I’m glad I found you.’

‘Who are you, I said.’

‘What difference does it make what my name is?’

Achilleus kicked him. ‘Who are you?’ he grunted.

‘Let me up and I’ll tell you.’

‘Why should I?’ Arran demanded.

‘You went to all that trouble rescuing me, don’t you want to know what I’ve got to say?’

‘What have you got to say?’

‘Let me up and I’ll tell you.’

‘No. Tell me now. We can’t trust anyone. We’ve already lost two kids today.’

‘And what am I going to do? Eh?’ said the boy.

‘I don’t know,’ said Arran. ‘It’s been a day full of surprises. I don’t want to be surprised again.’

‘I think you’ll find what I’m going to tell you surprising.’

‘Try me.’

Arran nodded to Maxie’s team and they backed off slightly. The boy sat up, smiling, and scratched his hair.

‘I know a place that’s safe,’ he said. ‘You don’t have to live like this.’

‘Safe?’ said Arran. ‘How safe?’

‘Food. Water. Clean beds. Medicine. No grown-ups. Does that sound safe enough for you?’

‘Where is this place?’

The boy gri

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

9

‘I’ve travelled all the way across London to find you.’

‘Bollocks. How did you know we were even here?’

‘I didn’t. That’s the whole point. My job was to find other people, kids like you.’

‘What do you mean, your job?’

‘I was sent.’

‘Yeah?’ said Ollie. ‘By who? God?’

‘Why don’t you let me tell you? Eh?’

They were back on the roof, crowded into the little courtyard. Blue and his fighters were in a huddle to one side. Once they were sure it was safe, two of them had gone back to Morrisons to fetch a girl called Whitney who seemed to be second in command to Blue just as Maxie was to Arran. Whitney was big for her age and sat there hard-faced, waiting to be impressed. Her hair was knotted into tight braids and she wore an immaculate white tracksuit that must have been the devil to keep clean. Blue’s fighters seemed to be wary of her and quite respectful. It was easy to see why: Whitney had the look of a girl who had never taken any nonsense from anyone.

Achilleus and his fighters were sitting opposite the Morrisons crew, each side trying to outdo the other in toughness.

Arran sat in a big plastic-covered armchair set back from the fire, his face in shadow. He was happy for Ollie to take charge. Ollie was the best speaker and pretty sharp. He’d see through any lies.

Everyone who had taken part in the battle was shattered; so nobody questioned Arran. If he wanted to let someone else do the talking that was cool. Truth was, though, he was feeling awful. The whole side of his head was hot and his ear was blocked and throbbing. He ground his teeth together, let his eyelids fall shut, and tried to concentrate.