Alexander Smith - Lockdown

I realized that Toby would never play soccer again, and the thought was like a punch to the gut. But I fought back the tears, tried to push the image of my dead friend from my mind as I cut through an overgrown garden and climbed over the worn fence into the dark, deserted field beyond.

I didn't learn the word irony until much later, but I guess it was ironic that I ended up walking across the slick grass to the jungle gym, which rose from the wispy layer of predawn mist like the rusted hull of some ghost ship. It was here that everything had started to go wrong.

It had only been two years since I stole my first cash, but it seemed like forever. I could barely even picture me before that day-a young boy who had never had a bad thought in his life, who wanted to grow up to be a magician, who couldn't care less about money.

I pictured that young boy now, saw him turning his back on his friends and walking off into the sunshine to follow a different path. And I hoped that somewhere, in a different dimension, there was a version of me who wasn't sitting alone on an uncomfortable metal bar in the cold waiting for the police to lock him away forever.

The rain had almost stopped. I climbed a little higher to the platform at the top of the jungle gym and leaned against the rail, looking out across the misty field, eerie in the bright moonlight. Every now and again the glow would be shrouded by a passing rain cloud, throwing the whole world into darkness. Each time it happened I was gripped by terror-the fear that a monstrous dark figure would rise from the fog and snatch me up, carry me away forever. But the moon always fought back, bathing the field and its sole inhabitant in its liquid silver.

My options were few and far between. I could sit here and wait for morning, when the school would be full of people all looking for me. I could head home-surely the news about Toby's death wouldn't have broken yet, and I could talk to my mom and dad about what happened. I could head to Brandon's house, hide out there until I thought of a better plan. I could run, head for the hills and never look back. Or I could just go to the police, tell them what had really gone on in that house. I mean, there were six giant men and a freak in a gas mask, somebody else must have seen them.

None of those options seemed particularly appealing, so I put them in order of how bad they were. Running seemed like the worst thing I could do, closely followed by waiting here and going to the police. That left Brandon and my own home. I thought about seeing my mom again and it filled me with a strange mix of sadness and joy. Maybe she could just give me a hug and all this would go away. Surely moms had the power to make anything go away.

But the thought of confessing to her was almost as unbearable as the thought of a lifetime inside Furnace. It would have to be Brandon's.

I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice the change in light until it was almost too late. Looking at my jeans I saw they were shimmering with a red and blue haze, not unlike a disco light. But this was no disco. I snatched my head up to see two police cars sitting a hundred meters away outside the school's main gate, casting a web of color across the dark grass.

Several armored men were climbing out of the vehicles, most equipped with rifles and flashlights and one holding what looked like a bolt cutter. They walked to the gates, the cop with the cutters using them to snap through the heavy chain before kicking them open. He pointed at the school building, and two of the police with flashlights started running toward it. Then he scanned the playing field, his eyes coming to rest on my jungle gym. He gestured my way.

I ducked behind the rail as two beams of light struck the metal frame, seeking me out. There wasn't much cover, but the police were too far away to see me. Not for long, though. As I watched, the two men started jogging across the grass in my direction. I shuffled backward across the platform until I reached the rear edge, ready to drop down to the ground.

But before I could, my eye caught a piece of graffiti that I swear had never been there before. Carved into the soft wood of the platform, in large, even letters, were three words that made my blood freeze.

Keep running, Alex.

I traced my fingers across the markings to make sure they were real, but the sensation of splinters in my skin let me know that this was no dream. The men, whoever they were, had known what I'd do before I did.

The sound of footsteps pounding the wet grass reminded me that the police were getting closer. I shoved myself off the rear of the frame, landing awkwardly on the soft ground and backing into the darkness. Turning, I sprinted toward the fence, forcing my tired legs to work. Scrambling out into the overgrown garden, I scanned the street to make sure it was empty, then turned left and started walking toward Brandon's house.

I hadn't spoken to Brandon much since Toby and I had started robbing houses instead of students. It was as if he could see that invisible tattoo too, and it was pretty clear from the way he acted now that he was scared of us, of what we'd become. But we'd been close friends once, and even when you've been to hell and back your friends stick by you.

I cut up Edwards Avenue, taking another left at the top of the hill and making my way toward Bessemer Road. The houses in this part of town were all huge, their four stories staring out across the tract housing below like they were laughing at them. I guess that's one of the reasons Brandon had backed out-even though his parents only owned an apartment up here, they weren't exactly poor. Not that I was stealing bread so that I could stay alive. I'm no Oliver Twist.

I spotted the building that Brandon's apartment was in and crossed the road, trying to stick to the blanket of shadows that kept most of the street in darkness. All the lights were off, which wasn't surprising given that it was long after midnight, but I knew which room was his. Sneaking in through the front gate, I picked up a couple of small stones from the graveled path and pulled back my arm to launch them at the second-floor window.

Before I could, something grabbed my wrist-a vise-like grip that felt like it could have torn the whole limb off. I yelped, as much from the shock as the pain, and spun around to see a horribly familiar face standing right behind me, his silver eyes glinting, the same tiny mole on his chin and his soulless smile beaming at me like the Cheshire Cat's. It was impossible-he hadn't been there seconds before, and nobody could move that quickly, that quietly.

"Didn't your mother tell you never to throw stones?" the man in the suit asked, his voice so powerful that it felt as if it was being transmitted right into the center of my brain. I couldn't respond, my whole body felt numb. The man tightened his grip on my arm, bending down until his face was almost touching mine. "Not long till sunrise, Alex," he said, the scent of his breath like sour milk. "And now you've got these guys to deal with."

He twisted my wrist, spinning me around and giving me a shove that propelled me back out of the gate. I tripped on my own feet, staggering backward off the curb and landing in a heap in the road. I glanced up just in time to see a police car slam on its brakes, squealing to a stop seconds before its front bumper made friends with my forehead. I looked back to Brandon's garden, but it was empty-the man in black had vanished just as quickly as he had appeared.

I heard the sound of the car doors opening and I leaped to my feet, backing away from the vehicle. A policeman in beetle-black body armor was making his way toward me, his expression one of concern. A policewoman held back, one hand on her radio, the other on the nasty-looking nightstick that hung from her belt.