SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Some hope. Useless daydreams, nothing more, like the dreams of the family who’d lived in this house at the start of the war and who’d been in it the day the Zelo bomb had brought down the roof. Their kid had died in the house and they’d fled Belfast afterwards.

She got up and paced the landing, not able to sit any longer. Her CD player sat in the corner beside her bedroom door. She’d love to turn it on and dance to Jessie J. She’d done that with the kids to keep them from crying after Ma and Da died, until the batteries had given up. She wanted it to be the old days when John annoyed her and it was easy to hate him, not sit and pray he’d get home, and he hadn’t been caught, or….

She leaned her head against the door. He couldn’t be dead. He was too smart. He was quick, like a shadow in the streets. He’d be fine.

A soft noise made her start, and she strained, listening, but there was nothing except the kids’ soft snores, and a whistle of wind.

Another noise came, louder this time, from downstairs. She went to the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness. It had been ages since she and John had barricaded the door and told the kids it was going to be a grand adventure camping on the landing. Neither of the little ones had been fooled, not really. They knew aliens weren’t the only danger in Belfast, that hunger made people desperate.

There was a crash, making her jump. A splinter of light appeared where the front door was. She wanted to scream, to run, but stayed still, not daring to give away they were in the house. A second thud and the damage widened to a crack.

That got her moving. This was no looter, trying for an easy break-in. She ran to Sophie’s bedroom and kicked the door open. “Wake up! Hide in the wardrobe and don’t come out unless me or John tells you to.”

Sophie came awake immediately—she might be only eight, but she’d lived through the invasion, too—and darted into the wardrobe. Josey ran into the boys’ room. She picked Stuart up, struggling a little, her hands slippery from fear. She managed to pull him onto her hip and ran into the biggest bedroom, the one that had no roof at all left, not daring to look downstairs. As she shut the door, there was a splintering noise, followed by the sound of men’s voices.

“Wha…?” asked Stuart, still sleepy.

“Shhhh,” she said. “It’s hide and seek, okay, Stuart? You have to be quiet.”

He, too, was a veteran, and crawled under the big bed. She joined him, pulling boxes around them, ignoring their musty smell. Her ma had used the same sort of boxes to store shoes she’d never wear again. Josey choked back something—not quite a sob, more a strangling fear. There was no time to mourn Ma, not when she was busy trying to be her. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, more than one pair. Josey closed her eyes and prayed: be John. It wasn’t, of course it wasn’t. A plastic bottle was knocked over, dully bouncing on the landing floor, and she had to bite back a yelp. She wished she hadn’t separated Sophie, but the wardrobe was too small for all of them.

Wardrobe—who was she kidding? Whoever this was, they were going to find them. She groped around, trying to find anything to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. She kept her other hand on Stuart’s back. He squirmed and she didn’t blame him—the stench of mould from the carpet was thick, clogging her throat.

The door was kicked open and hard footsteps crossed to the wardrobe. The door opened, followed by a loud tut. Josey fought the urge to wriggle away, and pulled the terrified Stuart close. He was too warm, his skin sweaty. The footsteps came over to the bed and stopped. She could see boots, leather and shining. Top of the range. No one she knew had new clothes.

“Josey Dray, is that little Stuart you have there?” The voice was broad Belfast, harsh, not at all safe. “Come out before I drag you.”

She didn’t move. Another tut, and he got down on his knees. His face appeared at the edge of the bed, looking at her from a sideways position, and her breath caught: Gary McDowell. He was a good four years above her at school, but she knew about him. He’d taken one of the boys from her class, who’d called him Graham instead of Gary, and flushed his head down the toilet. He’d left the boy in the cubicle for an hour, telling him if he called for help he’d spend every day facing more of the same.

“There you are,” he said, and gave a mock wave. His mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed anger. “If you don’t come out, I’ll kick your arse from here to Derry.”

She had no option; he was between her and the exit.

“I don’t want to,” whispered Stuart.

“It’s all right,” she said. She backed out, pulling him with her, and stood. Her heart was hammering in her chest, making her a little dizzy, but she lifted Stuart onto her hip and faced Gary. She daren’t show fear; his sort loved people to be scared.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He came to the end of the bed, blocking her way past. “Where’s the wee girl?”

He was close enough to smell beer on his breath, and her fear deepened; drunk and looking for kicks was never a good combination. She stopped meeting his eyes—she couldn’t afford to anger him. She tightened her hold on Stuart, trying not to frighten him. “She’s in the next room. I’ll get her.”

He grabbed her arm. “Let’s do that.” He pushed her towards the door.

She stumbled, barely keeping her grip on Stuart, and hurried next door. To hell with pretending not to be scared. She opened the wardrobe where Sophie huddled, her eyes huge and staring.

“You need to come out,” said Josey.

Sophie hesitated, but at Josey’s nod came out, and they turned to face Gary. Another lad joined him, wiry and full of nervous fidgeting.

“Is that all of them?” he asked.

“Aye.” Gary smirked. “The Dray family, just where they should be.”

Josey shivered. She had nothing to offer to make him go away. He was watching her, his eyes sharp, and her legs started to shake. She’d heard what some of the lads on the streets were up to since the invasion, how girls had been brought into the gangs and made to do what the blokes wanted. It was why John didn’t like her going out to scavenge, even in the daytime. She backed away. “John will be back in a minute.”

“I don’t think so. John’s been detained.”

Detained ? Who by? Sophie pulled against her leg. Stuart froze, numb with terror, clinging to her top. She tried to stop her legs shaking—she couldn’t fall apart in front of the kids—and lifted her chin. “What do you want?”

“Put the kid down.” She tried, but had to uncurl Stuart’s hands first. Gary indicated the stairs with a jerk of his head. “You’re coming with me.” He nodded at the other man. “Deal with the kids.”

“That wasn’t what your da told us. He said to get the older girl.”

“Are you arguing with me?” Gary’s voice was low, threatening. He grabbed the other lad’s collar. “Because if you are, we can take it to the Big Man and see who he backs.”

“All right. Calm down, eh? You take the girl and leave the kids to me. No problem.”

Josey moved in front of the other children. Deal with them ? She shook her head. “No, please, they’re only kids…”

Gary grabbed her. “Let’s go,” he said.

She fought him, scratching at his jacket. Sophie yelled for her; Stuart was crying.

“Stop that, you little bitch.” Gary tightened his grip, digging his nails into her skin.

“You’re hurting me!” she yelled.

“I’ll hurt you some more if I have to.” He pushed her into the hall. “Downstairs. Go.”

Stuart screamed for her. She tried to turn back but was pushed down the stairs and through the splintered door into the street. Taz’s mum approached, leaning on her stick, escorted by a bloke so fat that rolls of stomach hung over his belt. Liz’s eyes were red, and there was a bruise starting along her cheekbone.