John Hawks - The Dark River

“When do we start?”

THE MOMENT THE decision was made, Gabriel felt as if he were surrounded by a new group of best friends. When he admitted that he was hungry, Sebastian hurried off to the bar and returned with a chocolate bar and several bags of salt-and-vinegar crisps. Gabriel ate the food quickly and felt a surge of energy. He decided to stay away from alcohol, although Roland offered to buy him a pint of beer.

Jugger appeared to regain his confidence now that his crew had a runner. He circled the bar a second time, and Gabriel heard his swaggering voice rise above the general noise. Within a few minutes, half the crowd believed that Gabriel was a well-known Free Runner from the States who had flown over to London because of his friendship with Jugger’s crew.

Gabriel ate another chocolate bar, and then went to the men’s room to splash some water on his face. When he came out, Jugger was waiting for him. He pushed open a door and led Gabriel to an outside courtyard that was used by the pub during the summer.

“It’s just us now,” Jugger said. All his bluster had disappeared and he acted shy and unsure of himself-the fat boy who had been teased in school. “Tell me straight, Gabriel. Have you ever done this before?”

“No.”

“A thing like this is not for the ordinary citizen. It’s a right fast way to get killed. If you want, we can sneak out the back.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Gabriel said. “I can do it…”

The door burst open. Sebastian and three other Free Runners appeared in the courtyard. “Here he is!” someone shouted. “Hurry up! Time to go!”

As they left the pub Jugger was absorbed by the crowd, but Ice fell in beside Gabriel. Gripping his arm tightly, she spoke in a low voice: “Watch your feet, but don’t look farther down.”

“Okay.”

“If you’re climbing up a wall, don’t try to hug it. Push your body out a bit. It helps your center of gravity.”

“Anything else?”

“If you get frightened, don’t go any farther. Just stop and we’ll get you off the roof. When people are scared, they fall.”

No one was on the street except for the Free Runners, and some of them began showing off-jumping onto the edge of concrete traffic barriers and doing backflips through the air. Lit up by security lights, Smithfield Market looked like a massive temple of stone and brick dumped into the center of London. There were plastic sheets hanging over the steel doors that covered the loading docks, and the night wind made them sway.

Mash led them around the market and explained the route for the straight run. Once they made it up onto the roof, they would run the entire length of the building and use a metal awning to cross the street to an abandoned slaughterhouse. Somehow they would get down to the street and run up Snow Hill to St. Sepulchre-without-Newgate. The first runner to reach the fenced-in churchyard was the winner.

As the crowd strolled back up the street, Ice pointed out the other men who had volunteered for the race. Cutter was a well-known crew leader from Manchester. He wore expensive-looking shoes and a red tracksuit made out of a satiny fabric that shimmered beneath the lights. Ganji was one of the London runners-a Persian emigrant in his early twenties with a slender, athletic build. Malloy was the fourth runner, short and muscular with a broken nose. According to Ice, he worked as a part-time bartender in dance clubs around London.

They reached the north end of the market and stood across the street near a butcher’s shop that specialized in organ meats. Gabriel’s hunger had vanished and he felt highly aware of his new surroundings. He heard laughter and people talking, smelled a faint garlic odor that came from the Thai restaurant down the street. The cobblestones were wet and looked like pieces of shiny black obsidian.

“No fear,” Ice whispered like an incantation. “No fear…No fear…”

The market building rose up in front of the Free Runners like a massive wall. Gabriel realized that he would have to climb up the wrought-iron gate to the clear Plexiglas awning that was about thirty feet above the cobblestones. The awning was held in place by steel poles that came out of the wall at a forty-five-degree angle. He would have to shimmy up one of the poles to reach the roof.

Suddenly, it was quiet and everyone was watching the four runners. Jugger stepped in front of Gabriel and handed him a pair of fingerless climbing gloves. “Put these on,” he said. “The steel gets damn cold at night.”

“I want the money when I’m done.”

“No worries, mate. I promise.” Jugger slapped Gabriel on the shoulder. “You’re a scrappy one. You are indeed.”

Cutter’s red tracksuit appeared to glow under the security lights. He wandered over to Gabriel and nodded. “You’re from the States?”

“That’s right.”

“You know what a ‘splat’ is?”

Jugger looked flustered. “Come on now. We’re just about to start.”

“Just helping out,” Cutter said. “Bit of education for our American cousin. A ‘splat’ is when you don’t know what you’re doing and you fall off a roof.”

Gabriel stood still and peered into Cutter’s eyes. “There’s always a chance you’ll fall. The question is-do you think about it? Or are you able to keep it out of your mind?”

Cutter’s cheek twitched near the corner of his mouth, but he controlled his fear and spit on the ground.

“All bets in,” a voice said. “All bets in.” And then the crowd parted and Mash stood before them.

“This is happening because Manchester threw down a challenge to the London crews. May the best runner win and all that crap. But what we do is more than one race. Most of you know that. Walls and fences won’t stop us. The Vast Machine can’t track us. We make our own map of this city.”

Mash raised his right hand and counted. “One, two…”

Cutter darted across the street and the rest of them followed. The wrought-iron gates were designed to resemble flowers and vines. Using these gaps as footholds, Gabriel began to climb.

When they reached the top of the gate, the slender Ganji slipped between the awning and the wall. Cutter followed, then Gabriel and Malloy. Their shoes made a thumping sound on the clear plastic, and the awning trembled. Gabriel grabbed one of the poles that jutted out from the top of the wall. The steel pole was as narrow as a rope and difficult to hold.

Hand over hand, his body hanging from the pole, he pulled himself up. When he reached the end of the pole, Gabriel found a three-foot space between the holding bracket and the top of the white stone facade that ran around the edge of the roof. How am I supposed to get up? he thought. Can’t be done .

Gabriel glanced left and watched the three other men trying to manage the dangerous transition to the roof. Malloy had the strongest arms and shoulders. He swung himself around so that he was on the top of the pole, his eyes looking downward. Still holding on tightly, he tried to shift his weight to the lower part of his body. When his feet were in the right position, he let go of the pole, grabbed for the top of the facade, and fell. Malloy hit the Plexiglas awning and began to roll off, but he grabbed the edge and stopped. Still alive.

Gabriel forgot about the others and concentrated on his own movements. Imitating Malloy’s strategy, he swung himself around so that his feet were on the top edge of the slanted pole, his hands just a few inches higher. He hunched up like a man squeezed into a box, put the full weight of his body on his feet, and then threw himself upward. Gabriel grabbed the white stone facade; it was like a little wall around the border of the roof. Using all his arm strength, he pulled himself up and over the top.