Jane Higgins - The Bridge

‘Sit down.’

‘No. I—’

He hit me – one sharp punch that pushed me back in the chair with my head on my knees, gasping.

‘You will sit when I tell you to sit. And stand when I tell you to stand. Is that clear?’

I nodded, still too winded to say shit. And scared.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘You will tell me everything you did tonight. Minute by minute.’

This was a minefield; I had no idea what would blow up in my face. He picked up the talisman round my neck and turned it to catch the light. I grabbed at it and he jerked it away from me, snapping the chain.

‘Hey!’ I dived after it but he stepped to one side and kneed me in the gut. I hit the floor. Someone knocked on the door while I lay there retching. I heard the agent open it and hold a murmured conversation, then his battle boots disappeared outside. The lock clicked. When I could move, I crept to the window and peered out. He was striding up the driveway with one of the soldiers who’d been guarding the gate. The other one stood at the gatehouse door.

I made myself breathe. Tried to think. My name. What didn’t they like about my name? I had to find Mace, and Frieda Kelleran, and ask them about my parents. But the immediate question was, should I wait for the agent to come back so I could get my talisman, or should I get out while I could? I knew the right answer. That didn’t make it any easier.

I crawled into the tiny back room of the gatehouse where Mace used to make me hot cocoa when I came to sit with him on winter afternoons. The guards fought off boredom by letting us sneak in and out – those of us prepared to pass the time of day with them. They’d made a trapdoor for us at the back of a cupboard, behind the cocoa and sugar and tea bags.

I hadn’t been through it in years and maybe it wasn’t still there. I took the shelf out and felt for the latch. The door opened easily. At the back of my mind, busy with getting out of there, came a thought that turned the sweat cold on my skin. The guards had played at those visits like a game, a prank for us to feel like we were fooling our teachers. But suppose you wanted to let someone slip into the grounds without going through the ID scan at the gate? Anyone could come and go at will through this little door. Anyone at all. Inside help, the man had said. From who?

I squeezed through, tumbled into the bushes outside and lay still, listening, wondering what to do next.

Choices. I had some, and none of them looked inviting.

I could find the ISIS agents, and say ‘Hey, give me back my talisman and I’ll show you a secret door in the gatehouse.’ And from what I’d seen already, how likely was it that they’d pat me on the back and induct me straight into their inner core? Yeah, very.

But running… escaping through this door was as close as I could think to standing on the rooftops, waving my arms and shouting ‘Guilty!’ of whatever it was they were accusing me of doing. I leaned inside and put back the shelf with the cocoa and sugar and tea bags best I could and closed the doors on both sides. Then I crept to the corner of the gatehouse and peered out. People were wandering about, still with a dazed how-can-this-be-happening look, but they were walking now, not running; the school was still burning, but not fiercely. The sun was rising red through the smoke.

I crouched there, searching the grounds for the ISIS agent, then I saw Sol. Someone had gathered the little kids together under a tree by the outer walls, away from the action. The school nurse was checking they were all right.

I watched them a while. Sol just stood there, pale-faced, and every now and then he’d do this little jitterbug, hopping up and down, and looking around. Just like you’d do if you were eight years old and your big sister had told you to stay put until she came back, and you were desperate for her to come and terrified that she might not.

I crept around the walls and crouched in the garden behind him. When the nurse was busy calming a hysterical kid, I whispered, ‘Hey, buddy.’

‘Nik!’

‘Shh. Where are the others?’

‘Looking for you!’

‘Did Dash get permission to take you home?’

‘Uh-huh. That’s why they’ve gone to look for you. We’re going to Ron David’s place. And we can go from there to home.’ He smiled a wan smile, pleased with himself for remembering.

‘Ron David? Who’s that?’

‘I don’t know. We’re gonna meet up and the people there’ll take us home. Dash said.’

It took a moment for the lights to go on. A rendezvous. Okay. We’d had drills for this, in case everything went haywire. The nearest rendezvous was the church at St John’s Square.

‘That’s a good plan,’ I said. ‘Have you seen Macey?’

‘No. Jono’s looking for him too.’

‘Jono? Why?’

He shrugged. But I could guess. Now that the immediate panic was over, the ISIS agents would be rounding up Southsiders, and maybe people who associated with Southsiders as well.

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘When the others come back—’

‘Aren’t you gonna wait?’

‘No. I’ve got something to do first. When they come back can you tell them I’ve gone ahead and will meet you at the rendezvous?’

‘Sure.’

I wanted to find Mace, and I wanted to go back to Lou and Bella to say goodbye. But Mace had vanished, and Lou and Bella had been taken away. In the end all I managed was getting out without being seen. It didn’t feel right, just to go like that. I knew Lou would understand. But it didn’t feel right.

There’s this blind skiddy in St John’s Square. He used to sit on the steps of the church, or on benches, or in doorways, rattling his cup, humming to himself, always being moved on, always coming back. We called him Lev, because he was forever quoting Leviticus at us: thou shalt and shalt not do all kinds of weird stuff. Verse after verse of what to eat, what to wear, who not to have sex with.

It must’ve been noon by the time I came to the square, and when I arrived Lev was the first person I saw. In fact, I fell over him. He was wrapped up in his big old coat, and propped beside the rubbish bins on the corner of Skinners Lane and the square, legs sticking out. Which is how I came to fall over him, because I was all eyes for the church across the square to see what the action was at the rendezvous point.

I’d taken a roundabout way there, partly to pull myself together and partly because I wanted to come at the place sideways in case ISIS was waiting – though I hoped they had more important things to worry about by now than a runaway school kid with a name they didn’t like.

That run through the streets made me wish I had eyes in the back of my head. The city was suddenly a ghost town. I ran through Sentian, in the shadow of Watch Hill. Its alleyways were deserted. A pall of smoke lay over the Hill, as though it had a storm cloud all its own. The bakers’ shelves on Bridge Street were empty and the tiny cafes were locked and dark; around the corner, the window of the antique jewelry shop was smashed and its alarm sirened into the morning. All the banks were battened down, but their security guards were nowhere. Twice I heard glass shattering a few streets over – whether looters or hostiles, I didn’t know. Either way, I didn’t want to meet them.

I could imagine them though – hostiles going house to house through riverside homes and shops. Maybe they’d got further into the city by now, and maybe the streets were empty because the casualty count was high: people shot or their throats cut, or bound up inside their homes ready to be trafficked over the river.

By the time I got to Skinners Lane and tripped over old Lev I was pretty freaked out and I was glad to see a familiar face. I picked myself up and crouched down to say sorry. The words dried up in my mouth.