The Detainee Page 22

  “Lena said we had enough for an army!” Arturo protested.

  So that was what this was about. Lena and Delilah have been reorganizing the garden, creating tiers to increase the growing space; obviously it had set these two thinking.

  “She didn’t mean it!” I told them.

  And then something happened that, fortunately, doesn’t happen very often, cuz when it does, it tends to mean Arturo gets his own way. The little guy burst into tears. “I want my friends!” he whined.

  Gordie turned on him, telling him to shut up or he’d whack him one, but I could tell his real anger was directed at me.

  “Why not?” he demanded.

  “I just told you! It’s too much of a risk!”

  There was a long pause. What with Gordie’s anger and Arturo’s tears, I was feeling pretty ganged up on. In the end, I had to agree to put it to the others, to discuss it over dinner that night. I mean, I knew what they’d say, but at least that way betrayal would be split four ways, rather than just the one.

  The only thing was, it didn’t quite work out that way. None of them rejected the idea immediately. In fact, they started discussing it in all seriousness: talking about numbers, practicalities, how many more the tunnels could feasibly support.

  “You’re not serious?” I said, interrupting a conversation between Lena and Delilah about how they could maybe reorganize the garden further.

  “Why not?” Lena asked.

  “Jesus!” I cried, again finding myself floundering around for words that seemed wholly unnecessary. “Cuz of everything we’ve said in the past!”

  She just shrugged, as if that wasn’t important now.

  “I don’t believe this! What the hell’s got into you people?”

  “We’d have the same troubles again,” Jimmy warned. “They’ll all be on drugs.”

  “Damn right,” I said. “What are you going to do—rehabilitate the whole Camp?”

  “We wouldn’t bring anyone who was on drugs,” Gordie interrupted.

  I paused for a moment. I mean, I could see everyone had the best intentions, I really could, but we had more than enough problems already.

  “What about De Grew?” I asked, directing my question at Lena. “The Wastelords?”

  “They wouldn’t notice,” Gordie said dismissively. “We’re all the same to them.”

  Lena paused for a moment, obviously thinking it through. “Few kids on the outer . . . might not be a problem.”

  “Hey, now, wait a moment.”

  I’d deliberately withheld a lot of what I’d seen on my last trip up top, but the way this conversation was going, I thought it was time to enlighten a few people. I told them about the gang down at the jetty, how the Villagers were more scared than I’d ever seen them, the way the Island was crawling with Wastelords. I told them everything. And you know something? It didn’t make a blind bit of difference.

  “They’d still want to come,” Gordie said. “Anything’s better than being in the Camp.”

  For a while we all sat in uneasy silence, the impasse obvious to everyone, then Arturo kind of whined that he wanted his friends. Not to anyone in particular, but Delilah, as she does all the time now, used it as an excuse to drag him over and give him a cuddle. It was cute. It really was. I mean, sitting there, looking around me, it was like an extended family, and I tell you, I wasn’t going to do anything to risk it.

  “Sorry. It’s out of the question,” I told them.

  The silence continued, heavy and ominous. I turned and looked from one face to another, aware that no one would meet my gaze. I couldn’t understand it. I knew I was right, they knew I was right, but I could feel the tide starting to run up against me.

  “I guess if we just took a couple. See how it went,” Jimmy ventured.

  “Jimmy!” I shouted. I’d assumed he was on my side. “You wanna lose all this? Your workshop, your computer, everything?”

  There was another pause, this time a decidedly more uncomfortable one, I guess I’d been a bit more forceful than I intended.

  Delilah was sitting there, playing with Arturo’s hair. She hadn’t said a lot and I hoped it meant that she, at least, agreed with me—but I was wrong again.

  “Clancy, we can’t go on like this,” she said.

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  “Cuz it’s impossible and it’s selfish.”

  Once more, silence descended, only this time I was beginning to understand. Delilah had said the one thing I thought none of us would ever be brave enough to say. All of us might have thought it at one time or another, that we were just hoarding ourselves away down here and damn those left suffering up top, but I never imagined anyone would come out with it. Least of all her. But she’s been totally different since the kids joined us, like a lot of the walls she’s built up in her life have come crumbling down.

  “Maybe we should vote on it,” Lena suggested.

  I took in a whole chestful of tunnel air, then gave out with a very long sigh. “Nah . . . No need.”

  Don’t get me wrong, a dumb old big guy I may be, but I knew what I was saying. I wasn’t just agreeing to allow some more kids into the tunnels. I was signing up to a whole new philosophy—one that verged on suicide. Up until then all we’d cared about was us. Preserving our wrinkled old hides. And maybe that’s the whole point. If Gordie and Arturo hadn’t come along, that’s all we would’ve ever done. And at some point in the future, one by one, we would’ve died down here. Until, chances are, only Lena would’ve remained. Patrolling these tunnels with just three skeletons for company. Or maybe those who survived the longest would drag the dead down to be buried in the same place as the tall kid. Four graves for her to pay occasional homage to, knowing that, when her turn came, she’d just have to rot wherever death took her.

  In the end, that thought alone was enough to persuade me. Her on her own down here, Jimmy’s generator broken, the lights gone, shuffling around in the darkness till one day she would stop shuffling, stop breathing, and there’d be nothing left but silence and black.

  But whatever our individual reasons for going along with this, we all know we’re taking one helluva risk. Letting the kids go out? Back to the Camp? I mean, we have come to trust them, but that’s down here, in the tunnels. Once they’re back with their friends and got access to drugs and everything, who knows?

  But the most worrying thing of all is—at least as far as I’m concerned—by allowing them to leave, we’re relinquishing our control of this situation. Down here our world is clearly defined and we can keep a pretty tight lid on it, but as soon as those kids go out, anything can happen. And just at this moment, it feels like there’s any number of ways this can go wrong, and not too many it can go right.

  The morning Gordie and Arturo left, they promised us over and over they’d be back as soon as they could. I mean, those kids ain’t stupid, they knew how nervous we were about this. All four of us accompanied them to the entrance, reminding them again to speak only to those they were absolutely sure of, not to let even a whisper get out to anyone else.

  It was like the parting of a family; the kids off on their first vacation, the parents left worrying behind. Delilah kept hugging and kissing Arturo. Gordie sneered at them, gave the little guy a push in the back, and when Delilah said he was just jealous and tried to kiss him, shot off so fast you would’ve sworn his ass was on fire.

  Sometimes that kid reminds me so much of me at his age it’s uncanny. I’d rather have taken a bat across the face than have some woman plant one on me. It was an affront, an invasion of my masculine cool. Kind of funny when you think that later in life there are times when you’d do anything for the touch of a pair of warm lips.

  As soon as we closed the door behind them, all of us, bar Lena, jostled to get a look out through the gaps. Two kids heading off in the direction of the Camp, picking their way over the rubble, Arturo already looking so small you wouldn’t send him anywhere, ’cept perhaps off to bed. I watched for a few moments,
scanning the distance for any sign of Wastelords, then, pretending not to notice the tears in Delilah’s eyes, turned and headed off down the tunnel. We were gambling everything and we knew it. If those kids let us down, if they were seduced away somehow, it’d be the end of us all.

  For the rest of the day we tried to carry on as normal, but it wasn’t easy. I kept thinking about the night I caught Gordie up at the entrance; that expression on his face. What if a fog got up? Would it mean anything to him? Would he be able to resist it? Or would the moonlight get caught in his eyes once more and he’d go and search out his makeup and machete?

  I went down to see Jimmy in his workshop, hoping for a little distracting conversation, but he was still immersed in his siege of the “secret” disks.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  He sighed and paused for a moment, like replying to me had been queued somewhere in his head—around about priority one hundred and forty-seven.

  “As far as I can figure out,” he said absently, “there’s some kind of three-dimensional password: numerical, light, and maybe impulse.”

  I grunted. He’d lost me already. “Sounds complicated.”

  He nodded, which was the last acknowledgment I had from him until I got fed up and left. As much as I was trying to resist it, I knew there was only one place I’d be remotely comfortable under these circumstances, and soon I was making my way back up to the entrance.

  When I got there, I found Lena had beaten me to it.

  “You too, huh?” I said.

  “I’m so scared, Clancy.”

  “Hey. They’ll be all right.”

  I sat down behind her so she could lean back against me and I could get my arms around her, but I didn’t bother taking a look out. I trusted her senses far more than my own.

  “I love you, Clancy,” she said, and I gave her a real hug, so grateful for those words even if I was concerned at her motive for saying them, that perhaps she was worrying our time together might not last much longer.

  “Whatever happens, that’ll never change,” I told her.

  I leaned forward, twisting around the side of her to kiss her on the cheek, but in that moment, this terrible sequence of quick-fire expressions played across her face. First confusion, then panic, till there was so much fear there it damn near repulsed me.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She started panting, gasping for breath.

  “Lena!”

  “Someone’s out there!”

  “Who?”

  “Oh shit! No!”

  I scrambled over on my hands and knees to take a look. She was frightening the life out of me. It was as if what she was thinking was so bad just the thought alone might kill her.

  “Can you see anyone?” she asked.

  I swiveled my head from side to side, crouching right down in the corner so I could take in as much as possible. “No.”

  “You sure?” she said, still panicked.

  “There’s no one,” I told her. “No one at all.”

  She sniffed the air repeatedly, her breathing slowly subsiding, then gave a long sigh, so relieved that whatever she thought she’d caught a hint of wasn’t there.

  I took one final look, then resumed my place behind her, not daring to ask what had frightened her so. In fact, not daring to speak at all in case my voice gave me away, in case it let her know that for the first time ever I’d lied to her about what I’d seen, that by trusting me to be her eyes, she’d been deceived.

  See, over in the distance there was a big gang of guys, some wearing those telltale red overalls, searching their way through the ruins. Not that it was this that worried me so much—though it was reason enough. It was the fact that, among them was someone else. Someone who, even from this distance, you could tell they were all deferring to. I gave Lena a comforting squeeze, begging my body to stay relaxed, not to betray my tension. If he was over here looking, we really were in trouble. I mean, distant though it might’ve been, I was left in no doubt that I’d just caught my first glimpse of the evil Island legend De Grew.

  Not long after that, and with some persuasion from me, Lena went down to reheat some of the stew I cooked up the night before, and I told her I’d follow in a few minutes. The moment her footsteps faded away I leapt back to the entrance to see if anyone was still out there, but they’d gone.

  Not that it made me feel any better. I mean, Jesus, you have no idea how disturbing that was. What the hell was going on? In my heart I was sure I could trust those kids, but seeing De Grew over here, obviously searching the city, was deeply worrying. Maybe he tortured it out of them? Maybe they’d been betrayed by other kids?

  I stayed there for another hour or more, waiting to see if De Grew reappeared, till around about eight, with the light almost gone, Lena returned.

  “Clancy! I thought you were hungry.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Are you coming?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Not in a minute. Now!”

  In the end she had to literally drag me away. I was convinced something had happened to Gordie and Arturo, that De Grew and his Wastelords had gotten to them and would soon be coming for us. Not that I said anything. Not to her or anyone else.

  That night I barely slept a wink. I kept hearing these sounds. Distant thumps and groans I was sure I’d never heard in the tunnels before. Even the wind was panicked, rushing everywhere, searching for places where our defenses might be breached. The only time I did nod off, just for a few minutes, I had this dream I used to get over in the Village, about Mr. Meltoni’s funeral.

  I guess that was one of the saddest days of my life. Cancer got him in the end. A peaceful death if not a painless one. I mean, it had to be something like that, I wouldn’t have allowed anything else. People came from all over, all types, all callings, to say their final good-byes. Every yard of the way from his home to the church was lined two or three deep. Some throwing flowers, some openly weeping, and others just looking like they were too shocked to know what to do.

  I don’t know why such men create so many ripples on this Earth. I mean, he did a lot of bad things—I did some of them for him—but when he died, it was as if we all lost the faith that had held us together. We were children again, not knowing what to do, how to make our way.

  ’Course, it didn’t take long for the fighting to begin. Men not fit to brush his hat trying to step into his shoes. Killing for no reason other than to build a reputation, bragging themselves big: the king is dead, long live the king. Even though no one was in the mood for any kind of coronation.

  But the thing about my dream is, in it, Mr. Meltoni don’t die. Well, not really. One day I go to visit his mausoleum, to pay my respects, talk with him for a while, and while I’m there this limo draws up. For a moment nothing happens. I start to get a little nervous, the windows are heavily tinted and I can’t see who’s inside. Maybe someone’s come to settle an old score? Or one of the new pretenders don’t want any reminders of the old regime? Slowly the back window slides down and I see a familiar face. It’s him! Mr. Meltoni! You have no idea how much better it makes me feel. As if the whole thing was just a joke, that there’s no such thing as death at all. He leans toward me, as if he wants to take my hand. Only at the last moment do I see his antique revolver. His smile gets even broader as he pulls the trigger. I take it in the chest, bang, to the heart, and as I go down I hear him say, “That’s it, Big Guy, go to sleep now. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  And the funny thing was, when I used to have the dream over in the Village, I thought it was going to be all right. Almost as if he was the doctor come to administer my medicine. But now, with Lena by my side, when I saw that solid silver barrel coming for me, I shouted for him not to do it. I even tried to run, to get my old legs going, but for some reason, despite all my exercising, they just couldn’t move fast enough. And you want to know something? That even in my dream I could barely believe. It didn’t
make the blindest bit of difference. Mr. Meltoni just went ahead and shot me in the back.

  With sleep so elusive I was up and back at the entrance a little after eight. There was still no sign of anyone; no kids, nor Wastelords. In fact, I didn’t see a living soul until Delilah came wandering up a couple of hours later.

  “Lena said I’d find you up here,” she said, breathing a little heavy from the climb. She bent down and took a look out, the pale light of the morning turning her face a touch purple.

  “Crazy world, huh?” she said. “Not so long ago I would’ve done anything to be rid of them, now I’m praying for their return.”

  “They’ll be okay,” I said, not entirely convincingly.

  “I hope so.”

  We both stayed there, taking turns to peer out, conversation becoming progressively more sparing as our anxiety grew. I didn’t say anything, but I was starting to get a really bad feeling about this. What could be taking so long? All they had to do was grab a couple of kids and come back.

  “Uh-oh. Company,” Delilah said, squinting into the distance.

  I knelt down next to her just in time to see a couple of Wastelords making their way toward the square.

  “Was that who I think it was?” she asked.

  I nodded my head. “Yeah. They’re everywhere.”

  She shook her head, like she couldn’t imagine how we could’ve allowed Gordie and Arturo to go out there, and again tears filled her eyes.

  “They’ll be okay,” I repeated. “They’re good kids.”

  In the end, when she started complaining about her old bones aching, wanting to go to the toilet, I encouraged her to go back down. She just wasn’t helping. As she faded into the darkness of the tunnel I could hear her stifling her sobs; the farther she went, the less successful she became, and, to be honest, I could’ve damn near joined in with her. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined how precious those kids would become to us. I mean, we’re worried about ourselves, ’course we are—life in the tunnels and all that—but really, just at that moment, nothing mattered more than the safe return of Gordie and Arturo.