a dozen yards at a time then dropped down to huddle amongst the grow troughs to check again on the whereabouts of the boys.
She wished she could have seen exactly how many were gathered at the front. She’d spotted only one cigarette glowing. That could mean anything; just one of them or all six of them over there. And if only one or two of them were on the gate, then the other four could be anywhere; patrolling the perimeter, or quite possibly hunkered down some place quiet and sheltered enjoying a discreet crap.
She made her way further along the low rows of rustling leaves until finally, with some relief, she was amongst the aisles of climbers. At last she could straighten her aching back.
Walking upright, but with careful deliberation, she made her way down the row. At the end of it she could see the Thames glittering like a tray of cheap diamonds. The far end was nearest the pool. If she waited there she’d be able to see Adam and the others coming.
She picked up her pace, walking swiftly between the narrow walls of swaying leaves. Their rippling movement was unsettling; stirred by the soft breeze rolling down the aisle, hissing and fluttering in unison, each time her peripheral vision screaming nervously that a shifting stalk was an arm reaching out to grab her.
She was too busy cursing the full moon’s brightness and the state of her own jangling nerves to pick out the dark prone form stretched across in front of her and before she could stop herself she was splayed on the ground.
‘Shit!’ she hissed under her breath.
It was a body. For a moment she feared it was one of the boys sleeping on the job; perhaps stoned, drunk, passed out. She scrabbled away from it, expecting the confused murmur of someone waking. But there was no movement.
She stopped and gingerly crawled back until she was kneeling over the body. By the moonlight she could see a glistening black slick beneath the head.
Blood.
A moment later, a dark form emerged through the foliage, gently easing aside the bamboo supports. ‘For fuck’s sake, could you make any more noise?’ whispered Walfield. She recognised the man’s Manchester accent and the dark handlebars of his moustache.
‘Did you kill the guard?’ she asked.
Walfield looked down at the body and nodded. ‘Stumbled on the bugger whacking off on the beans.’
That didn’t seem right to her. ‘You actually killed him whilst he was—’
He nodded, looking down at the body. ‘That’s Jay-D. Big piece of nasty shit he was. Don’t shed any tears for him, love. If you knew how many women he’s fucked up over the last couple of years . . . well.’ He shrugged. ‘It was shank the fucker or let him swing his rifle on me,’ he continued matter-of-factly. ‘Anyway, now we have a gun and a pouch full of clips.’
‘Where are the others?’
‘I dunno. We can wait for ’em here.’ He sighed. ‘Fuck knows why Brooksie decided the pool was the best place for us to rendezvous, it’s right out in the bleedin’ open.’
He gestured at her to hunker down and they waited, scanning the pale wall of the dome, almost luminous by the glare of the moon. Anyone running along the bottom of it towards the paddling pool would have stood out like shadow puppets on a cinema screen.
Five minutes passed before they finally heard the soft pad of approaching footsteps. She saw several dark shapes emerge from the gloom, coming up their aisle. They too nearly tripped over the body.
‘What the—’
‘Shhhh!’ hissed Walfield. ‘Lads - it’s Danny here!’
‘Shit. You do that?’ asked one of them.
‘Aye, nearly tripped over the little fucker having a wank.’
Either Bushey or Harry giggled.
Adam and the others joined them. ‘Sorry we’re late. There were four of them chilling out right outside the dome’s main entrance. Buggers just wouldn’t move on.’
Leona looked at the men. ‘We’re all here. So, let’s go.’
Adam turned towards her, picking out her silhouette. ‘We heard them talking about it. They’re definitely headed towards your settlement.’
Bushey snorted drily. ‘The stupid twats have no idea what it is, though.’
‘They think they’re going to some sort of bloody castle.’
‘I heard one of them say Alton Towers, for fuck’s sake.’
They were laughing, but it made sense. The jackets were children really, big children with guns, but children nonetheless. That’s how Maxwell was treating them - telling them what they wanted to hear, letting them believe what they wanted to believe.
‘They’re planning to leave