The Enemy

He told himself that it was just a game. He’d always been good at hiding. Hide and seek had been one of his favourite things to play. It had been scary when he’d played with his dad. His dad was big and would make monster noises.

These grown-ups were just the same. They were like his dad. All he had to do was keep out of their way.

He went to the opening in the loft floor that he had climbed up through earlier, lay down on his belly and lowered his head until he could see the landing below properly.

It was all quiet.

He slid down the ladder and crept along the landing to the window at the end. It led out on to a small flat roof. The street looked empty. He opened the window and crawled out, keeping low, keeping small.

He had a pretty good view of the street from here. He looked to left and right. There was no movement at all. No wind in the trees, no birds flying, no animals moving about.

No grown-ups.

He climbed down off the roof.

It was then that he saw the bicycle. Leaning against a row of wheelie bins in the front garden. It looked undamaged. He knelt down and checked it out. The chain was still in one piece, but the tyres were nearly flat.

There was just enough air in them, though, to be able to ride it. It would get him as far as Waitrose at least.

He pushed it out of the garden and into the road. There was still nobody around. He climbed into the saddle and started to pedal. It was hard work. The bike seemed to be stuck in a high gear. It was moving, though. He pedalled harder, building up speed. The bike creaked and groaned and complained, but he kept at it, wobbling along like he was drunk.

He’d been confused last night, but finding the bike had given him fresh confidence. All he had to do was follow the road signs to Holloway and he’d be all right.

He turned left into the Seven Sisters Road and cycled on. The squashy tyres made the bike unsteady and difficult to steer, but he was still going much faster than he would be if he was walking.

For the first time in twenty-four hours he smiled. It was a su

Once again he imagined the look of amazement on the faces of his friends.

‘A bike, Sam? You found a bike!’

‘Well done – you’re the coolest.’

‘King of the streets!’

Then he heard footsteps behind him.

He looked back. There was a grown-up following him. A lone father. Loping along on stiff legs, panting with the effort. As Sam watched, another grown-up joined him, a mother this time, her hair tied up in a big untidy knot on top of her head.

Then another and another. They were coming out of the streets on either side. Sam had to keep glancing back and then looking ahead to make sure he didn’t hit something. There were cars abandoned all over the roads and you had to be careful or you would crash into one.

More and more grown-ups were pouring into the road, half ru

He had never cycled so hard in his life, his lungs were on fire, his heart trying to punch its way out through his ribcage. Before, he had thought that he was flying along, but now he seemed to be moving in slow motion.

Come on. Come on.

He realized there were tears streaming down his face. His happy dream of being welcomed home as a hero was in tatters. Nobody would ever know what he had gone through last night. Nobody would know about the battle at the stadium. The giant’s beard on fire. His escape across the pitch. Hiding in the water tank. It had all been for nothing.

Nothing…

No. Damn them. He wasn’t going to let them catch him. He was Sam the giant slayer. He was going to escape.

Then, as if in answer to an unspoken prayer, the road began to slope gently downwards and he picked up speed, still pedalling furiously. When he next looked back, the grown-ups had fallen behind. Yes. He was getting away.

See you, losers!

On he went. His legs like jelly. And each time he looked behind him the grown-ups were further away.

He whooped.

He screamed.

He was Sam the hero again.

By the time he hit the Holloway Road he was alone. He had lost sight of the shambling idiots. Ah, they were probably still following him, but they’d be ages getting here – he had plenty of time to get inside.

There it was. Waitrose. His home. The look-outs on the roof would have spotted him already. He waved, but couldn’t see anyone. Maybe they were already at the speaking tube sending orders to the kids below.

‘You’ll never believe it! It’s Sam, riding a wonky bike like a crazy kid!’

Maybe the doors would open up for him as he arrived.

He cycled up to the front of the shop and jumped off his bike. He couldn’t hear anyone inside.

‘Hey!’

He pulled the chain that rang a big bell above the shop floor. Pulling and pulling and pulling.

‘Open up!’ he yelled. ‘It’s me, Sam. I’m back!’

Nothing. What was taking them so long?

‘Oi! You lot. It’s me. Let me in…’

He stopped shouting and listened. He couldn’t hear anything. He pulled the chain again. Maybe it was broken? No. He was sure he could hear the bell ringing in the shop. So why was nobody coming?

He stepped back and went over to the window to try to see inside, but all the shutters and barricades were up. He banged on the glass. Shouted again.

He huffed. This wasn’t how he’d pictured it at all.

Something caught his eye and he turned to look back the way he had come. Bodies walking. His heart lifted for a brief moment. It must be a scav party returning. They’d get him in.

They were too big, though, too slow.

And there were too many of them.

Tears sprang back into his eyes.

Why had he lied to himself?

It was the grown-ups who had chased him down the Seven Sisters Road. They must have carried on, doggedly following his trail, and now they were shuffling nearer.

He ran back to the door and tugged at the bell pull, screaming at the top of his voice.

‘Let me in let me in let me in!’

The grown-ups heard him and broke into a lazy jog. They weren’t exactly hurrying, though. Why would they need to? They’d catch up with him in the end.

14

Callum could hear someone outside. Ringing the bell, banging on the windows, shouting. He stayed in his chair, unmoving. If he sat here long enough they would go away. For the first time in a year he was alone. Properly alone. He truly believed that if he was careful, if he stayed hidden and kept quiet, the grown-ups would ignore the shop, leave him be. Arran had left him some food and water, without telling the others. That was a cool thing to do. But what Arran couldn’t have known was that Callum already had loads of stuff stashed away. He had been hoarding since they first came here. In secret places. Above loose ceiling panels, in the wall spaces behind cabinets, in forgotten storage areas. It had been obvious to him from the start – if he didn’t look after himself he was going to wind up dead. Let the others share, let them ration everything, divide food into portions – when everything ran out they’d quickly start fighting over what was left.