version of a school playground. She wondered where they’d all come from. Perhaps a boarding school? Or maybe they were children from a hundred different places, drawn to each other for the safety of numbers.
Not children any more, though. Just wild animals.
Jacob. Her heart thumped in her chest. You can’t leave him in there.
The doorway was clear now, the last of the children drawn through inside and following the noise of the chase on the far side of the hall.
The boys knew where to head to, she told herself, they had the gun. Furthermore, she was going to achieve nothing cowering here. If they made it out, and then didn’t find her beside the parked bikes, they might be stupid enough to come back in for her.
Go. Now!
She got to her feet and scooted quickly in the darkness across the floor to the open bay door. Resting against the cool breeze-block wall, she heard several more shots in the distance and the playground voices rising to a crescendo.
She quickly popped her head around the door, examined the loading bay. It appeared to be empty. She hesitated a moment, listening to the distant noises, trying to read them, trying to understand if those shrill voices were screaming in frustration at their lost quarry, or were the excited celebration of a kill.
Unable to decide whether to flee or go back and find Jacob, she lingered on another moment, until she thought she heard the soft patter of feet nearby inside. No choice; she slipped through the doorway and threaded through packing crates and cardboard boxes out towards the main sliding door of the loading bay. The muted peach glow of the after-sunset sky streamed in from outside, across the concrete floor.
Once again she hesitated a moment in the shadows as she scanned the empty acre of car-park outside. There was no one to be seen. She sprinted across the weed-tufted tarmac towards the steps of the pedestrian bridge over the railway, stepping as lightly as she could, but the metal steps rang far too loudly in the still night for comfort. She sprinted across the overpass to the far side.
At the top of the steps leading down to the playground she could see the trailer and their bicycles still parked below. And there she remained, looking back across the car-park at the open delivery bay, hoping, pleading silently to see - any second now - the dark shapes of Jacob and Nathan pegging it towards her as if the devil himself were in hot pursuit.
The last vanilla light of day was gone and the sky was now a deep evening blue, stars scattered across it. No moon yet. She could only just make out the rear entrance.
‘They’ll be out any second now,’ she told herself. ‘Any second now.’
Chapter 40
10 years AC
Excel Centre - Docklands, London
The children scattered at the sound of approaching boots and jangling belt buckles. Nathan saw torches bobbing up the concourse and voices calling out to each other.
Then they were standing over him. Half a dozen young lads wearing neon orange vests that made them look like a highways maintenance crew; except, that is, for the guns they were each brandishing.
‘Go on, piss off, you wankers!!’ shouted one of them, firing a few rounds indiscriminately into the stampeding mass of children. He watched them go, tumbling over the plastic palm tree and disappearing down avenues between the corporate stands before finally shining a flashlight down at Nathan.
‘You all right, bro?’
Nathan looked up. A young black man, he looked older than him; at a guess mid-twenties. Long thick dreadlocks cascaded from beneath a red Nike bandanna and a chunky gold chain glistening around his neck.
Nathan managed a hasty nod. He glanced back down at Jacob’s body on the floor. ‘My friend’s . . . they . . . I think he’s hurt badly.’
The black guy stooped down to the floor and flicked his flashlight across the prone form. ‘He with you?’ he asked.
Nathan nodded silently, his mouth hung open, still in shock at the last minute reprieve.
‘Lemmesee,’ the young man said. His hand flicked a blood-soaked lock of Jacob’s hair out of the way and reached around under his jawline as if he was attempting to throttle him. He fumbled for a moment, adjusted his grip around the neck several times, narrowing his eyes in concentration as he felt for a pulse.
‘Ain’t dead, bro,’ he said after a while. He turned round. ‘Jay-zee, get him on to the cart.’
A tall