of his hand against Thomas’ temple.
Thomas Moran’s neck snapped around so fast that his eyeballs didn’t have time to follow. George recoiled in horror as he watched Thomas crash backwards into the changing-room wall with nothing but pure white in his eyeballs. Unconscious, the beefy Year Ten slid down the wall at a weird angle, ending up with his legs splayed out and his torso lying across the changing bench.
‘Jesus!’ George gasped. ‘What have you done?’
Greg didn’t answer because he’d stepped over Thomas’ legs and headed confidently past the rows of hooks and into the toilet block. It was a nasty space: mud and piss all over the floor, broken sinks and a smell you didn’t even want to think about.
It would have been difficult for Greg to pull Johno out of the cubicle. Luckily, Johno turned to see his pal Thomas slumped on the floor and charged forwards with both fists swinging. Greg ducked, then bobbed up and drove a punch hard into Johno’s nose.
Caught off guard, Johno stumbled back as Greg launched a devastating assault. His blows hit all the weak spots: a dig in the ribs, two knees in the kidneys and a final chop behind the neck that sent Johno sprawling.
Johno ended up on the rank floor, clutching hands over his bloody nose. Zhang staggered out of the cubicle, his shirt drenched and toilet water streaking down his face. Greg let him deliver a single kick in revenge for the bog-washing before pulling him back.
‘Johno’s had enough,’ Greg smiled. ‘You OK, Zhang?’
Zhang had taken a beating and his voice trembled. ‘That toilet was nasty.’
‘You’ve got bus fare,’ Greg said. ‘Go home, take a shower. You’ll only miss half of first lesson and we’ll cover for you.’
Over on the floor near the urinals, Johno was coughing and trying to find his feet.
Greg pointed Johno’s way and snarled, ‘You stay down until we’ve left.’
As Zhang headed out George came over from the changing area where he’d been nervously inspecting Thomas Moran.
‘I think he’s alive,’ George said.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Greg replied. ‘Little tap on the temple never killed anyone. He’ll have concussion and a nice headache to remember me by.’
‘We’d better get out of here,’ George said. ‘If someone sees this…’
‘Just gimme a sec,’ Greg said, grabbing a horrible grey sliver of soap stuck on the side of the only working sink and turning on the tap. ‘Can’t walk around with your blood all over my fists, can I Johno?’
Johno had a rugby player’s build and was nearly six feet tall, but he’d propped himself against the wall and was fighting back tears.
Greg dried his hands on his trousers as George followed him out into the corridor.
‘What if Johno grasses you?’ George asked anxiously.
‘Yeah right,’ Greg smiled. ‘They’re both twice my size. Who’s gonna believe that story?’
‘I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes,’ George gushed. ‘I owe you, man. I thought I was gonna get serious beats. I know you said you knew some kickboxing moves, but I never knew you were that good. Usually when people brag about being a black belt or some crap like that it’s all made up…’
‘My dad’s an instructor,’ Greg said. ‘I practise every day after school.’
‘Awesome,’ George said. ‘Nobody’s gonna give us any hassle once this story spreads around.’
Greg smiled coyly as they rounded the bottom of the staircase, heading back to their second-floor form room. He’d lied about his dad, a man who’d really died in Australia fifteen months earlier and had never kickboxed in his life.
Greg’s full name was Gregory Rathbone, but the other agents on CHERUB campus always called him Rat.
4. PUNISHMENT
The assault course on CHERUB campus was a two-kilometre circuit, complete with rat-infested tunnels, rope swings, climbing walls, jagged rocks and a fast-flowing stream. A normal twelve-year-old might complete the course in an hour, although the chances are they’d fail at least one obstacle because of some weakness – like being scared of heights, not having enough strength to swing over the hanging bars, or good enough balance to cross the narrow beams.
But the eight kids Zara Asker sent for punishment had all completed the course hundreds of times during their basic training. Andy Lagan and Lauren Adams both had personal-best assault course times below twenty minutes. They still found running the course exhausting, but they could handle it and it certainly didn’t satisfy Instructor Speaks’ definition of a punishment.
Miss Speaks was the kind of woman you didn’t want to get on