The Detainee Page 12

  Jimmy stopped and turned to gape at me, a look of complete mystification on his face, but I marched past him and away. I mean, it’s like I told you; sometimes I let him get away with it, sometimes I don’t.

  For the last few days we’ve all been lying low, licking our wounds, living our memories. Delilah looks awful, like a badly bruised piece of fruit, but in fact has little in the way of serious injuries. The organi-bandages on her arm and hip are working so well you can practically see her healing. Mind you, I think it’s having the will that’s really cured her. Seeing Jimmy come back, knowing they’re still all right, made all the difference.

  ’Course, it was a bit awkward at first: everyone suddenly finding themselves living with someone they didn’t really know. A lot of hanging around went on, looking uncomfortable, not knowing what to do next. Jimmy mentioned going back to the Village as soon as Delilah was fully recovered, but I could tell he didn’t really want to, and Lena wouldn’t hear of it.

  With her help, the two of them have set up in an alcove a little farther down the tunnel. They put up a makeshift wall of blue plastic draped over a stack of barrels to grant them some privacy, stuffed sacks with anything soft they could find to make a double bed, added crates for a table, and used the ubiquitous plastic packing for something to sit on. Lena even brought them a few of the flowers from the garden. Okay, so you wouldn’t exactly describe it as a palace, but compared with what we’ve known—with a lean-to—it’s a damn close thing. When Delilah was first installed in there, she was that grateful she didn’t know whether to cry or sing, and ended up doing both.

  As for Jimmy, well, you ain’t going to believe this, but the moment he realized Delilah didn’t need him anymore, his attention turned to the junk he brought back. Sorting it through, seeing what he had, making up an inventory. He just can’t help himself. We’ve already had one morning when Lena and me were lying in bed, enjoying one last cuddle, and were blasted to the vertical by the sound of him smashing something apart, cannibalizing it for the part he needed. I tell you, moments like those, I start wondering if maybe I might end up regretting inviting him to live down here.

  To be fair, he did bring back some pretty amazing stuff. Not just the circuit boards and monitors, but a box of disks he’s hoping might have something interesting on them, and—maybe in an attempt to placate Delilah—an old microwave and an almost brand-new irradia-fry. ’Course, none of it works, but he seems pretty confident he’ll be able to get it going somehow.

  The only problem is, I need him for other things. There’s a lot of work involved in keeping the tunnels going. Not just day-to-day stuff, but actual structural work. Lena’s done a certain amount of shoring up since she’s been down here, but more’s needed. Jimmy just doesn’t see it as a priority, not compared with the miracles he reckons he’s about to perform, and it’s already causing a degree of friction. Delilah, who’s not that happy at finding her new life consists of being surrounded by even more junk than her old, told him that as soon as she’s strong enough, she’s going to drag the whole lot up top and throw it out.

  In the end, after several more frank and heated exchanges, and Jimmy whining on about “brains being made to do the work of brawn,” I had to introduce a work rotation to make sure he did his fair share.

  The thing I don’t understand, the thing that I keep asking him about but he just ignores, is what’s the use of all this electrical stuff when there’s no power for it? He got so pleased with himself one afternoon cuz he reckoned he’d fixed this radio. But how the hell could we tell? Anyone could’ve pointed at anything and said they’d repaired it. I could’ve mended the whole damn lot and got it doing twice what it was before. With no juice, it’s a waste of time, surely?

  Thank the Lord irritations were soothed when the two of us were out one morning inspecting tunnels and came across a workshop of one of the old maintenance crews. There were still tools hanging up there; building materials, conduits, sheet metal, electrical cable.

  To see the look on Jimmy’s face you would’ve thought we’d stumbled on Aladdin’s cave. He went from one shelf to another, holding up his candle, giggling away like some demented miser counting his money.

  With everyone’s full blessing he immediately moved all his stuff down there. Since then, whenever he goes missing, we know exactly where to find him.

  I did wander down a couple of times. Just to see what he was up to. I got no idea if he knows what he’s doing or not, but he’s certainly got a real enthusiasm for tinkering around. It’s almost an act of worship. A study in a meticulous nature. He’ll spend the whole day taking something apart, piece by piece, analyzing it, deciding how it works, then, as if giving it his blessing, carefully putting it all back together again. And after thinking it through, I decided I really don’t mind. Screw the rotation. If Jimmy’s got some idea that I don’t truly understand that might benefit us in some way, then I’m more than happy to occasionally take over his chores.

  A couple of times I had to warn him about the amount of noise he’s making, tell him that he’s hammering so loud he might be able to be heard up top, but the truth is, it’s a real pleasure to see someone looking and acting so positive and passionate for a change, and I’m all in favor of it.

  I don’t know how long it was before the subject of going out again was raised. I do know that, for some time, everyone avoided it in such a way that you’d swear “up top” didn’t exist anymore. Until one evening over dinner Jimmy started harping on about this favorite wrench of his that he couldn’t do without and reckoned might still be in the ashes of their lean-to.

  I knew what he was after; he wanted me to suggest we both go over, but since our excursion down into the Camp, the idea of going out filled me with apprehension, and I wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe cuz I had this fear that, by doing what we did—sneaking down there and stealing from them—we might’ve made things a whole lot worse.

  In the end, that was exactly the reason why I decided to go. ’Cuz I wanted to reassure myself I was wrong, that nothing more sinister than usual was going on over there.

  Delilah was up on her feet full-time by that point. A little frail and uncertain in a way I didn’t associate with her, but strong enough for giving Jimmy a good haranguing now and then, and also for the occasional song.

  Like I said, that voice of hers is something else at any time—in the Village, out on the landfills—but down here, with the acoustics, to hear it echoing along the tunnel is like the Song of the Earth. Or maybe her singing’s gotten better? Maybe she’s expressing her gratitude in the only way she can for being hauled out of the shit once more.

  ’Course, she wasn’t happy about the idea of Jimmy and me going out. I think Delilah’s got it into her head that if we stay down here long enough, everything up there’s going to disappear. No more Village. No more satellites. No kids, no foggy nights, no mountains of garbage or suffocating stench. And for us to go up there and open the door again is to risk letting it all back in.

  Lena was even less happy about it. She went all quiet when I first told her, as if it was something she’d been expecting but still hadn’t found a way of dealing with. On the actual morning that Jimmy and I stood there ready to go, you could see her thoughts churning away inside so much it was as if she was slowly imploding. I put my arm around her, told her not to worry, that we’d be fine, though the truth was, her unease was only serving to enhance mine. The moment I swung that heavy brick door back, the moment Jimmy and me stepped outside, I knew we had good reason. There was just something in the air, a sense of disturbance I’ve never known on the Island before. At first I tried to tell myself it was just cuz I’d been so long underground, that in the same way I had to learn to relax down there, now I was having to tense myself again up here, but I knew it wasn’t true.

  As we made our way across the square, portents were sticking out of me like fired arrows. As usual, the sky was filled with seagulls, but even they seemed distracted. Normally they spend mo
st of their time over toward the pier and sorting area, whirling around like some great snow twister, but they were darting all over the place, screeching at the tops of their voices as if in a continuous state of panic.

  Jimmy didn’t say anything, but I knew he had to be feeling it too. A couple of times he almost shuffled to a halt, seemingly on the point of turning around and scuttling back to the tunnels.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied, though it was obvious he wasn’t. “Just feels a bit strange to be out again, that’s all.”

  I nodded and without another word we forced ourselves on. I was pretty sure he was having as much difficulty as me convincing himself his fears were irrational. Mind you, if that was the case, then both of our fragile self-deceptions were about to be blown away.

  As we emerged from the ruins of the Old City we saw this huge bow of black smoke arcing across the Island like a satanic rainbow. At first we assumed it was a blowout that had gotten out of control. It’s not that unusual. There are fires all over certain times of year. But as we got closer, we realized it was the Village.

  Jimmy turned to me, his face fading of color. “What the hell’s going on?”

  I didn’t reply, just broke into this clumsy jog, and he did his best to keep up; over one mound of garbage, down the other side, then onto another. The nearer we got, the more we began to appreciate the sheer scale of it. I mean, we’re not talking about a row or two here, not a small area, more like as far as your eye could see.

  I tried to go faster, stretching ahead of Jimmy, ignoring his cries to wait up, desperate to know what had happened.

  After all the terrible things I seen out here, I didn’t think there was anything left that could shock me, but I was wrong, and I wish to God I hadn’t been. More than half the Village was burned down. Everyone and everything covered in ash, as if the Island had erupted. Bodies lay all over; blackened, beaten, hacked to death. Those who’d been killed with a single blow, those who’d been tortured so long and so badly their own pain must’ve finally spared them. Some had tried to run away and were now sprawled out on the ground with ugly gashes to the backs of their heads. Others so old they’d attempted to crawl away on their hands and knees and been butchered in their arthritic flight. It was an abomination. An indelible stain on humanity and human life.

  Where those who survived had gone, I don’t know. I mean, there were a few people around, but presumably most of them were hiding somewhere. Maybe among the rocks? Or out on the Head? Whatever, the overriding sensation was that everything that had happened on the Island up till now, all the things we’ve been so sickened by, are as nothing. ’Cuz I got to tell you something: that wasn’t the work of kids. It was someone else, someone of far more evil intent, and it didn’t take a lot to work out who it had been and why they did it.

  It was the Wastelords. De Grew and his boys must’ve gone up there as a punishment for what we did. Our little excursion into the Camp, the stealing of a few medical supplies, had resulted in wholesale bloodletting, in these terrible scenes of genocide.

  I don’t know how long Jimmy and me wandered dazedly around, stunned by the horror, the sickening extent of what had been done, but if what we’d seen up till then hadn’t been bad enough, we still had one more shock to go.

  We reached this area where everything had been razed to the ground and cleared away, as if it had been turned into a meeting place where the Villagers had to gather (which made me realize that whatever had happened had taken place over several nights). Suspended across it, hanging from a couple of ropes strung between the remains of lean-tos, was a line of ten Villagers; stripped naked, mutilated, and murdered.

  They were just hanging there like bleeding leaves, each of their contorted bodies and faces reflecting different methods of torture.

  “Jesus!” Jimmy moaned.

  For several seconds we just stood there, appalled, not only by what we were looking at but also by the fact that, in all probability, we were the cause. Then slowly something else dawned on me.

  There was something odd about their wounds, about the way they’d been mutilated. I looked along them, one by one, trying to work it out, till finally I realized.

  “Oh no!” I moaned.

  I turned to Jimmy. He gave this kind of urging sound and I knew he’d seen it too. They hadn’t been randomly mutilated, they’d had letters carved into their flesh so crudely it took you a while to figure out that’s what they were. Together they formed the words:

  GIVE ME LENA

  The little guy grabbed my arm. “Let’s get out of here!” he cried.

  “I don’t get it.” I said. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “It don’t matter! Let’s go!”

  I didn’t need any further bidding. The two of us turned and started to run, blundering through smoldering ruins and butchered bodies, atrocity after atrocity that left you wondering if you were losing your mind.

  A chopper suddenly appeared overhead, spotted us, and swooped down. I could make out the familiar two-eyed symbol of Infinity International on its side, Mainland media, which gives you some idea how serious an incident it was. They started chasing after us, buzzing around, the whirl of their blades whipping up ash, pounding it into our bodies and faces. I mean, I guess they were filming, but they were getting so close it was as if they wanted to add to our distress.

  I heard Jimmy cry out behind me and turned to see him sprawled on the ground, tangled in the ribcage of a dismembered body. He was screaming, trying to drag himself free, but his bad leg, numbed by fear, kept collapsing over and over. I grabbed hold of him, dragged him up, ran on, that damn chopper still following.

  I ain’t going to lie to you: for probably the first time in my life, I completely lost it. It was such madness, such an assault on the senses, fear took hold and wouldn’t let go. I felt as if my bones were turning to liquid, like I was going to start peeing and just piss myself away. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of what one human being has the capability of doing to another, of behavior that laughed at our notions of civilization. I leapt over stuff without bearing to look what it might be, almost fell a couple of times, had to pick up Jimmy once more, but didn’t stop till we were away from the Village, till that chopper gave up and peeled off back toward the Mainland.

  Jimmy and me more or less collapsed where we were, squatting on the ground, puffing and panting out of fear and exertion.

  “What the hell’s going on, Big Guy?” he whined.

  I didn’t reply, just shook my head.

  “Why do they want Lena?”

  “Jimmy! I don’t know!” I shouted.

  We stayed there for a while, getting our breath back, trying to calm ourselves, then slowly moved on. Along the way, he started up again, putting into words what I was thinking.

  “She used to be one of them, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  He paused for a moment. “Did she go on raids?”

  I shrugged, not really wanting to tell him but feeling I had no choice.

  “Did she kill?” he persisted.

  “I don’t know, Jimmy,” I told him honestly. “Maybe.” For a while we walked in silence, then I turned and looked at him. His face was black, apart from a network of fine white lines where his wrinkles were, and I guessed mine was the same. “She’s got a past, I’ve got a past. I don’t care.”

  “But why do they want her?” he asked.

  I sighed, long and hard, feeling so dumb, so stupid, so much the lumbering Big Guy. I should know this. I know I should. There is a reason. I just can’t think what it is.

  “I don’t know,” I eventually confessed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I told Jimmy not to mention the “message” to Lena, it could keep for another time, but when we got back to the tunnels and related a slightly censored version of what we’d witnessed, she didn’t react quite the way I expected.

  She went all quiet on us, no longer even listening to what
we were saying, staring into the fire the way she sometimes does, as if she really can see after all. Or maybe she’s just feeling the warmth.

  When our story was finally exhausted, everyone fell into a kind of stunned and horrified silence. However, after a few moments Lena turned to me as if expecting more.

  “And what else?”

  “What do you mean?” I replied.

  “What else, Clancy?” she repeated, with a touch of impatience, and I knew I had no choice.

  I made it sound as matter-of-fact as I could, as if bodies got strung up and people’s names carved into them almost every day of the week, but it didn’t do a lot of good. Again she fell silent, only this time the rest of us could do nothing but wait in agony for what we feared she was about to say.

  “I should’ve known he’d look for me,” she eventually moaned.

  “Who?” I asked, though I had a fair idea.

  “De Grew.”

  Jimmy glanced at me, Delilah looked even more worried. I mean, just the mention of his name’s enough to make you feel uneasy.

  “Why does he want you?” Delilah asked.

  “Stealing from the warehouse.”

  Delilah frowned. “But . . . how does he know it was you?”

  “Yeah!” I agreed, seizing on the point. “It could’ve been anyone. And you were the only one of us who wasn’t seen that night.”

  Again she went silent, but not for long. “The keys,” she reminded us.

  I just gaped at her. Jesus, no wonder I never made it past the rank of big guy. Amidst everything else that’d been going on, I’d completely forgotten about her having the keys that night.

  “Where d’you get them?” I asked.

  “They’re duplicates. Someone in the Camp made them for me. A provision for what I always feared might be a difficult future.”

  “Anyone can make duplicates. How does he know it’s you?”

  “Oh . . . he does,” she replied with a level of certainty I didn’t care for at all.