Num8ers - By Rachel Ward Page 0,29

that. Guess we should avoid the motorways — all those cop cars and security cameras. Give us a bit longer before we ditch it and get the next one.”

I was impressed — he had thought about it. He kept glancing up into the rearview mirror. Every time he did it, the car swerved a bit.

“What you doing?”

“Just checking we’re not being followed.”

“We’d hear the sirens, wouldn’t we?”

“It’s not just jam sandwiches, Jem, there’s unmarked cars, too. There’s all sorts…”

“Where are we heading, anyway?” I hadn’t questioned this before, I’d just let Spider take charge — he seemed to know what he was doing.

“I don’t think it’s worth trying to get out of the country. They’ll be watching all the ports. We just need to keep moving ‘til we find somewhere we can lie low for a bit. I thought we’d head west — might end up at the seaside.”

It dawned on me: His BEST DAY EVER. “Weston-something-or-other?”

He smiled. “Yeah. We could aim for there, anyway.”

“Where the hell is it?” I admit it, my knowledge of geography is nil.

“Out west. Head for Bristol and keep going. I might buy a map book when we stop for gas. Not that I can read a map, but how difficult can it be?”

“You got some money, then?”

“Oh, yeah, I got plenty of money.” He put his hand up to his jacket. “We got the cash, the wheels, we’re on our way!” And he let out a ridiculous whooping noise, then laughed like a maniac.

And just for a moment, I forgot the bomb, and the police, and the fact that I was in a stolen car with a guy whose pockets were full of dodgy money. It seemed like, after waiting for fifteen years, my life had finally begun. I was in a real-life adventure, and I was enjoying the ride.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The road out of London was like something out of a science fiction film. We went up on a kind of ramp, drove through blocks of space-age office buildings fifty feet up in the air. It was all concrete and glass and sky. We were part of a stream of cars spewing out of the city. As I watched the taillights stretching out ahead, I thought about how each of those cars contained someone with their own story. People on their way back from work, glad to be heading away from the bomb and the mayhem, back to their two-point-four kids in the suburbs. None of their stories could be anything like ours, could they? Two kids on the run from the police in a stolen car. I was living out a dream: Spider and I were movie stars; it was exciting, dangerous, too cool to be true.

Spider pulled out to overtake a van. Out of nowhere there was a blaring horn, something was right on top of us in the outside lane.

“Shit!” Spider yanked the wheel and we veered back over. The car in the outside lane drew level with us, the driver making gestures and shouting as he eyeballed Spider.

“Up yours, mate!” Spider responded. The other bloke was going mad.

“Just leave it, Spider. Don’t look at him. For God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, or we’ll crash!” Spider was driving wildly, his steering completely random. Eventually, the other guy accelerated away, still going nuts, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Just calm down.”

“Yeah, I know, but he was a complete wanker. Winding me up, man.”

“I think we should get off this road, find somewhere quieter.”

“Yeah, we’ll take the next exit.” He was still agitated, but at least he had both hands on the wheel now.

Before long there was a sign showing an exit coming up. We moved over into the slip road, and the brakes squealed as Spider tried to slow down to take the bend as it curved ’round. A sign flashed up showing a traffic circle ahead, but we were going too fast to see what it said. We joined the flow, but then we didn’t know what to do. We hurtled ’round, looking at the exit signs: “Hounslow…Slough…Harrow…Christ, where do we go?” We did the full circuit, felt like we’d never get off, before plunging down one exit with car horns going off at us left, right, and center. We carried on, the traffic nose to tail.

“Did anyone follow us, Jem? Did anyone else go all the way ’round like us?”

“How would I know?”

“You need to look in the