The Fear

DogNut tries to get hold of him and manages to get a grip on his shirt. With his other hand he reaches out for Ed who is dangling down over the hole supported by Kyle. DogNut tries not to lose his grip on Leo. It’s impossible, though. Leo now has at least seven grown-ups hanging off him like leeches.

DogNut knows that if he lets go of Leo he will die. It’s up to DogNut to save him, but he’s in danger of being pulled back down himself so in the end he lets go of Leo and watches helplessly as he sinks for the last time beneath the sea of faces, which curl in on him, enveloping him.

Every night the scene is repeated, and every night the same thing happens. Leo falls and sinks out of sight into that horror.

And that night, like every other, DogNut woke gasping for air, still watching poor Leo disappear. He sat there, soaked in sweat, shaking, his head bobbing on his long neck, telling himself that it was all right. All right. Just a dream. Just a stupid dream. He wasn’t back there. It wasn’t real.

It was real, though. It was his fault Leo had died …

DogNut had yelled so loud his throat had bled. Ed had hauled him up and he’d flopped down on to the tiles. They’d checked his body. He was covered with saliva, but none of the sucking mouths had broken his skin. Ed had tried to reassure him, told him it wasn’t his fault.

It was, though. He had let go of Leo.

And his guilty brain wouldn’t let go of the memory.

No.

He had to put it out of his mind. Push it away like all the other bad memories. Tonight, of all nights, he needed his sleep, because in the morning he was leaving.

He’d been at the Tower of London a year. Building a new life with Jordan Hordern and Ed and Kyle and all the others who had made it here after the battle at Lambeth Bridge. Why did he never dream of that night? When half of London had gone up in flames.

Because it wasn’t his fault.

No.

Come on, DogNut. Don’t be a wuss. Don’t think about it. Suck it up. Be a man. Move on. Think of Brooke. Beautiful, stroppy Brooke. Yeah. He smiled. Always look on the bright side of life, as the old song went. The nightmare wasn’t the only regular dream he had, was it?

Some nights he dreamt of Brooke, the mouthy blonde girl he’d got split up with at Lambeth Bridge. It had been mad. Sickos, driven on by the fire, had attacked them. Half of his group had got away over the bridge, the rest of them, DogNut included, had ended up on a tourist boat floating down the Thames …

A year since he’d last seen Brooke. And in all that time he’d never been able to forget her. In his dreams she was impossibly good-looking, her hair clean and golden, her clothes immaculate, but she was just as rude and unwelcoming. Somehow that only made him want her more. So now he was doing something about it. He and a gang of kids from the Tower were going to go upriver and search for lost friends.

As he lay in the darkness now, though, in the bleak early hours of the morning, he wondered for the thousandth time if he wasn’t crazy. Why leave the safety of the Tower? Why leave his friends? He had it made here.

Ha. Good one.

He’d never be a general like Jordan Hordern. He’d never be respected like clever Ed who everyone loved. He was just daft deputy DogNut. Cooped up inside this gloomy castle. This couldn’t be it. For the rest of his life. There had to be something more. He was going to go out there. He was going to make something of himself. He was going to find Brooke, the prettiest girl in London, and return a hero.

Hold on to that, DogNut – that’s your future.

You’re go

You’re go

You’re go

2

It was morning and DogNut’s crew was down by the Thames packing a big rowing boat with food and water, weapons, sleeping bags and clothing. DogNut was wearing his leather American flying jacket from the Second World War. Like a couple of the others he was bringing along a steel breastplate, but that was stashed in the bottom of the boat along with everything else. It was too heavy and awkward to row in.

The day was bright and clear. Sunlight sparkled on the dirty water of the Thames, turning it from muddy grey into a shifting carpet of silver and gold. DogNut knew it was probably just tiredness and a trick of the dancing light, but he kept seeing shapes out of the corners of his eyes and try as he might he couldn’t quite chase away the last shadows of his dream and concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. He needed to be careful. Sure, it was a lovely day and all that, and the river might look like something out of a Disney film right now, but he knew it could be very dangerous. It was wide and deep and powerful and criss-crossed with unpredictable currents. He’d seen its dangers first hand. On the night they’d arrived here last year the boat they’d been on had hit a bridge and sank. Several kids had drowned, including Brooke’s friend Aleisha.

And only last month a boy had been playing near Traitor’s Gate, right next to the river, showing off to his mates, and had slipped off the wall. The Thames had looked as if it was hardly moving, but the poor guy had been snatched away in an instant and never seen again.

You had to respect the river. The kids had spent their time at the Tower organizing themselves, learning about their surroundings. Lately they’d been studying the river. Learning its ways and learning not to fear it.

DogNut had carefully chosen this time for their departure. Although the sea was miles away the Thames was still affected by the tides. When the tide rose in the North Sea, it forced a huge volume of water up the estuary where it fu

Their route was upriver, to the west, so they’d had to wait for the tide to turn so they could go with the flow and not against it. There was a twenty-minute lull at low tide when the river didn’t flow in either direction, but now it was starting to flow strongly backwards as the incoming tide pushed it inland. This would make rowing upstream much easier.

DogNut would have preferred to set off earlier, but it wasn’t until late morning that the tide was right. They’d found the boat at a rowing club in Rotherhithe to the east, and it was part of the small fleet of vessels the kids had collected and now kept at the Tower. It was an old-fashioned skiff, wide and deep, with space for six at the oars and one more at either end. The kids who were going on the expedition had been training hard on the water for the last two weeks, but they were hardly experts, so they were all a little nervous as they packed the boat and prepared to set off.

They were a mixed bunch. The youngest was a ten-year-old girl called Olivia who’d got separated from her older brother during the battle at Lambeth Bridge. She was desperate to find him, though, and had been miserable at the Tower this last year. She was a ski

Olivia wasn’t the only girl coming along. There was Jessica as well. Jessica was DogNut’s age. Like Olivia she’d lost contact with the group she was travelling with in the confusion of the battle and ended up at the Tower. She said she wanted to find her friends, but DogNut reckoned the main reason she was coming along was that she’d recently split up with her boyfriend and wanted to get away from him. She was moody and hard work at the best of times, but now she was miserable as hell and not great company. They were limited to eight people so DogNut was glad of three strong fighters: Marco, Felix and Al. Marco and Felix were two of DogNut’s old mates from the Imperial War Museum who were mainly coming along for the adventure and to help him. They were very close but couldn’t seem to stop arguing and putting each other down. Marco was nice to everyone, and pretty popular; Felix, on the other hand, was always getting into fights for speaking his mind. Al was a lumpy-faced kid with a fat nose and big teeth who wanted to find his sister, Maria. DogNut referred to the three of them as the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, though never to Al’s lumpy face. He had a mean temper and was a vicious fighter.