The Detainee Read online

  And you wanna know something else? Maybe the most amazing thing of all? After I’d been talking to them for a while I saw this light starting to come into their eyes. This expression that I haven’t seen for God knows how long. They were getting the look about them. Honestly. I know it when I see it and they were getting the look all right. But this was kids! Kids getting the look about me! I tell you, I couldn’t believe it. But yeah, as far as they were concerned, I was someone again. Someone to look up to. I guess what I’m trying to say is: I’m the big guy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It never really occurred to me how obsessed I’d become with those kids. How an urge to make their intrusion sit more comfortably with everyone had been completely preoccupying me, till that unlikely transformation looked like it might take place. The moment it did, my thoughts turned to other things. In particular to something that probably shouldn’t have been neglected for so long: what was going on up top?

  Yet again that familiar concern resumed its nagging, and when one night over dinner Lena mentioned that the only food she missed in the tunnels was fish, I saw my opportunity.

  I volunteered to go out the next morning and see if I could catch her some. I mean, I tried to keep it low-key, like that was the priority, but the others saw straight through me.

  “Clancy!” Lena and Delilah chorused, as if they didn’t have to put their fears into any more words than that.

  “Yeah, Big Guy,” Jimmy agreed. “Give me another week or so with this computer, I’ll come with you.”

  “Look, I’m just going fishing, that’s all. Just a regular guy going fishing. What’s wrong with that?”

  ’Course, none of them believed me, but I think they were all in need of the same reassurance I was, and for that reason, though they made a lot of warning noises, no one actually said I shouldn’t go.

  Early next morning, I reluctantly eased Lena’s warm grip away from me, shushed her sleepy words of caution, and made my way up to the entrance and out into the growing light of day.

  Even with the sun barely up, after a prolonged period in the tunnels, the light could still damn near fry the eyes out of your sockets. It took a good five minutes for them to stop hurting and the tears to stop streaming down my face. I stumbled away from the entrance as quickly as I could, grateful that my few working senses were informing me nothing was amiss, and made my way over to the old jetty.

  I’d already decided I wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. In fact, I was going to do exactly what I promised: sit down by the water, try to catch a fish or two, but at the same time keep an eye out for anything untoward going on.

  Fishing always has had a reputation for being a thankless pursuit, but I tell you, out there, it’d be easier to try hooking the stars out of the sky. Apparently it was a prime spot years ago—bass, fluke, blackfish, bluefish—but now the water’s become so polluted that even if you are lucky enough to catch something, it’s going to have a couple of heads or no eyes or something. I mean, when I was first on the Island, a length of fishing line was seen as standard equipment, but now, even with the amount of time we got on our hands, fishing’s seen as a terrible waste of it.

  As I approached the jetty, I noticed the trench I dug all those weeks ago was still there. Not the cable, of course, that was long gone. Over to the Mainland, proceeds to the coffers of the Wastelords. Not that I give a damn. I mean, I don’t know what they got for it, but what it inadvertently brought me was priceless and always will be.

  The winter storms had certainly taken their toll on the old jetty. As I walked out on its rotting and twisted planks I could feel it swaying away beneath my feet. Nevertheless, I found a comfortable spot leaning up against one of the more secure-looking support posts, and taking out a bagful of maggots I extracted from a dead pigeon in the garden, I baited my hook and dropped it into the dull gray ocean gently swelling beneath me.

  I mean, I already said, fishing ain’t my idea of recreation and never will be, but just at that moment the Island seemed so quiet and unchallenging that I was kind of melting into it. And of course, it was quite special to be outside again.

  Couple of hours later, with no fish nor activity to interrupt a peace I was getting a little bored by, I became a bit drowsy. After that, I guess I must’ve nodded off.

  Next thing I knew I was jolted awake by the crashing of an earthquake, by the whole world vibrating around me. Took me a while to realize where I was and that it wasn’t the world that was moving, but just the old jetty, vibrating to the pounding of heavy footsteps.

  I turned to see five big guys—in their twenties, mean-looking, wearing those city-council regulation red overalls Wastelords were so fond of—marching down on me. I tell you, my heart damn near burst out my ribs.

  “You!” one of them shouted. “What you doing?”

  “Fishing,” I mumbled, for some reason feeling obliged to get to my feet.

  “There ain’t no fish here,” he told me.

  “Can be. If you’re lucky.”

  He paused, looking me up and down. I don’t know, maybe it’s still there, no matter how old I’m getting. For sure there was something about me that made him uneasy.

  “D’you know Lena?” he suddenly asked.

  My stomach seemed to shrivel and freeze. Just for a fleeting moment our eyes met. I mean, I wouldn’t advise it, not if you want to stay healthy, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “No,” I answered.

  Still he glared. He wasn’t as tall as some of his companions, but heavier-built and thick-necked, of Oriental extraction by the look of him.

  “I don’t like you,” he told me.

  “I don’t like him either,” agreed this shaven-headed thug behind him.

  “I’m just fishing,” I told them, innocently.

  Five pairs of eyes continued to burn into me, wishing me all manner of ill, and I’ll tell you, if it wasn’t for those things up there I reckon I would’ve been beaten to a pulp and sold off as fish bait.

  “You don’t know her?” the Oriental one persisted, as if he didn’t believe a word I said.

  “Who?”

  “Lena.”

  “No. Who is she?”

  He took a couple of paces closer, so near, in fact, I could actually smell his fetid breath. “Don’t you fuck with us,” he said. “Right?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re as good as dead. And so is she.”

  I just lowered my gaze to my feet. Nothing I said here was going to improve the situation.

  There was another pause, I could feel them glaring still, wondering what to do about me, until the Oriental guy turned and began to saunter slowly back down the jetty and the others followed.

  I thought that was it, that they’d leave me in peace, but when they reached dry land they stopped, talking amongst themselves, looking back at me.

  I did my best to ignore them, going back to my fishing, resuming my seat, pretending all I cared about was urging some fish to slurp up the big fat maggot on the end of my hook, but it wasn’t easy. Not with what I had going through my head. They were still looking for Lena. Still scouring this small island inch by inch. Jesus, how long could it take? Gordie and Arturo had found us. Who was going to be next?

  I turned and stole a quick glance over, the five of them still lurking at the end of the jetty, still shooting the occasional glare. God help us if it’s these guys.

  As I was sitting there, trying to look all peaceful yet preoccupied, the now almost familiar Infinity Dragonfly made its way over from the Mainland. Jesus, what do they want? What do they know? I watched as it flew slowly around the Island, grateful for the interruption, for something else to look at. However, when it reached the Old City, it suddenly stopped, hovering in midair as if looking for something. A few moments later it moved on, but only to stop again, hanging there, slowly rotating through three hundred and sixty degrees.

  Infinity had been at the forefront of the propaganda that circulated before we got sent
out here. Doing specials about selfish old people with no money who were determined to drag hard-working families down. A lot of folk thought they were in collusion with the government, that there was something sinister about them. For sure they wielded an unhealthy amount of influence, and now, apparently, even more.

  Eventually, whoever was flying that thing decided they’d seen enough and headed back toward the Mainland, leaving me to my bobbing line and hostile spectators. For almost an hour it went on, both of us pretending we weren’t in a stand-off, till I realized they weren’t going to leave, that I had no choice but to pack up my things and make my way back along the jetty.

  Just for a moment, the Oriental-looking guy blocked my path. “You’re dead, and so is she,” he repeated.

  I just shrugged, even half-smiled, like I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about, or maybe was a little simple or something, then continued on my way.

  It was only then I realized why they’d hung around: they wanted to know which direction I was going to take. I had no choice but to head off toward the Village, to pretend I still lived there. I hadn’t gone more than twenty or thirty paces before I realized they were following. Shit. Now what was I going to do?

  I kept walking, trying to look as relaxed as possible, slowing a couple of times to look at something in the ocean, giving them every chance to walk by, but they didn’t take it. I mean, they weren’t making a big thing of it, you’d almost think it was coincidence we were on the same path, but I knew they were as aware of me as I was of them.

  When I reached the Village I turned down one of the rows and once again they followed. Now I really was in trouble. Where the hell was I going to go? I wandered slowly on, glancing behind me every now and then, checking they were still there. I saw this group of Villagers ahead of me and took the opportunity to stop and see what was going on. Problem was, no sooner had I stopped than they noticed the approaching Wastelords and immediately scattered.

  For a moment I was left awkwardly hanging there. I pretended I knew this couple that were heading off and tagged along behind them, immediately arousing their suspicions. The woman didn’t say anything, but you could see she didn’t like it, especially when she looked behind and saw the following Wastelords. She started walking quicker, her partner doing the same, but I stuck with them.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t see what I was going to do. The moment these two reached their lean-to and went inside, I was lost. Still, I kept with them, saying stuff they ignored, reacting and smiling every now and then as if they’d answered me.

  In the end, it was the Wastelords themselves who saved me. Or rather, their reputation. The sight of those five guys swaggering through the Village created considerable panic. When I turned down another row and the Villagers saw them following along behind me, they all staggered to their feet, running this way and that, eager to get away. Amongst all the confusion I was able to slip between two lean-tos, through to the next row, and scamper away.

  I mean, I don’t think they know anything. They were just out to scare me. The way they scare everyone. And to some degree, I gotta admit, they were successful. It was my first real close-up face-to-face confrontation with Wastelords, and I can see why they put the fear of God into people. Those guys practically ooze evil, as if they been majoring in it all their lives, as if they’ve never known anything else. Which, I guess, ain’t that far off the truth.

  It took me forever to get back to the tunnels. I had to keep scurrying and hiding, lying low for minutes at a time, checking my surroundings over and over before I made a further move. I mean, let’s face it, there would be nothing more unforgivable than leading those bastards to Lena.

  God knows how long I hung around near the entrance, too scared to make that final dash. It was only when I realized how late it was getting that I scuttled over and heaved the door open, stepping through to find Lena waiting for me.

  “Where you been?” she demanded.

  “Told you. Fishing,” I attempted to lie. “Didn’t catch a thing.”

  “Clancy, you been waiting over there for a couple of hours. I been imagining all sorts of stuff. Now, where you been?”

  I sighed to myself, knowing I didn’t have much choice but to tell her. “De Grew’s still looking for you,” I admitted. “I had a run-in with some of his boys.” She gave out with this little tortured groan, like a weight returned to her shoulders had pushed it out of her. “It was nothing. Just them trying to frighten up whoever they met. They don’t know anything.”

  She never replied, just fell silent, staying that way all down the tunnel, as if she was thinking of something she’d prefer not to. It wasn’t till we got to the main hall that she told me what.

  “Clancy . . . It’s only me they want. If I gave myself up, they’d never find all this. Nor you, or Jimmy and Delilah.”

  I tell you, if I thought those Wastelords put the fear of God into me, it was nothing compared with what those few quiet words did.

  “Lena!” I cried, my voice slightly trembling. “You’re not going anywhere! Not without me! And if you try, I tell you, I’ll just follow. No matter where it might be.”

  “Okay, Clancy. Okay,” she said, the soothing tone in her voice making me realize just how upset I must’ve sounded.

  “That is not an option.”

  “Okay!” she repeated.

  “No way.”

  I paused for a moment, shocked she’d even think such a thing, that there was such unpredictability in someone I knew so well. Then I grabbed hold of her, hugging her as tightly as I could, letting her know I would never ever let go.

  I think it was probably that brush with the Wastelords that convinced me I needed to try even harder, to be that much more forgiving with Gordie and Arturo. I mean, when you consider that those are the sort of guys who’ve been bossing them most of their lives, their only role models, for chrissake, is it any wonder they’ve turned out as they have?

  With every day I was continuing their education in the Mainland, of life as we knew it, as we thought it would always be. No longer just tales of the man “Big Guy,” but more and more of the boy Clancy. A couple of times I doubled them up talking about Ma and the minor acts of revenge she perpetrated on the old man. Like when she put a laxative in his favorite meal and he spent the evening, not watching the big game as he planned but on the john; or hid an iron under the blanket for when he got home all drunk and aggressive and he threw a punch at her and ended up breaking his fist. Other times their reaction’s been one of wonder at how different our young lives were from theirs. But apart from the odd mood when they don’t seem to want to know, when they repeatedly go into their giggling fits over nothing and I end up shrugging and walking out, it seems as if they can’t get enough. Almost as if I’m filling in blank spaces they’ve got somewhere inside them.

  ’Course, they got their stories too. Both of them have had short but brutal lives. Arturo was born out here, to a twelve-year-old mother who did her best to look after him but was careless with herself and ended up dying of pneumonia. After that he just hung on: to life, to the edge of the Camp, to anyone who didn’t wish him harm. Gordie, on the other hand, came out from the Mainland. Yet another set of parents whose changing circumstances made them decide that a child wasn’t worth jeopardizing Mainland status for. ’Course, he talks tough about it, says he can’t remember them and doesn’t want to, and for once I believe him. Out here it’s the ones who’ve got the most to remember who find it hardest to cope.

  I mean, it’s been painfully slow progress, sporadic at best. For a while they’d start to resemble children, you’d get up your hopes, then suddenly they’d revert back to being garbage urchins again. And yet, it almost seemed as if it was completed in one final night.

  Jimmy took them their meal, but didn’t return, and after a while I started to worry about him, that something had happened. I hurried on down there, wondering what the hell it could be, and walked in to find him telling the kids about when
he was their age and used to spend all his time on a computer.

  I tell you, he loves those damn things so much, and the more he talks about them, the brighter his eyes get, the more he becomes a kid himself. Arturo and Gordie were just sitting there, staring at him, as much in awe of his passion as what he was saying.

  “I never seen a computer,” Arturo told him.

  “I have,” Gordie said, in that slightly boastful way that always sets you wondering if he’s telling the truth or not.

  “I got one!” Jimmy told them. “Got one here. Made it up from bits. Maybe, once I get it working properly, I’ll show it to you.”

  I didn’t interrupt them, just found myself a place and sat down, enjoying the open-mouthed looks on Arturo and Gordie’s faces. They were feeding on his life the same way they had mine. Presently, Lena appeared, also wondering what was going on, promptly placing herself down next to me. Twenty minutes later, and much to everyone’s amazement, Delilah followed.

  She was the only one they didn’t know anything about, and after a while they asked her to tell them her story. At first she just shook her head, clamming up, refusing to say anything, but eventually, with us urging her on, she let go.

  In a room full of sad tales, I guess hers was the saddest; and though she didn’t linger over things, or talk about how much they hurt, you knew they must have.

  When she finished, this awful silence locked in on us, like it was going to stain us forever, but then, right out of the blue, Arturo said he wanted to play a game.

  Tell the truth, I couldn’t imagine anything less likely, but Delilah was all for it.