Fragments (23 page)

But what if he feels differently? I hold my breath, waiting to see if he will walk away from me.

He doesn’t walk away. He breaks into the biggest, happiest grin and I swear my heart actually grows in my chest. With hope. Something I haven’t felt for a very long time.

We start to walk towards each other, slowly at first, and then faster, almost pushing past people.

And then I feel a strong grip on my arm from the side and someone says, ‘Hey!’

Irritated, I look to my right, ready to shake off the hand.

And I find myself face to face with the very last person in the world that I ever wanted to see again.

Skye.

I look quickly at Cal, trying to flash a desperate message from my eyes.

Don’t come over
, I beg him silently. He seems to understand. He stops and quickly gets sucked back into the crowd, which is getting denser by the minute.

With a sickening feeling in my stomach, I turn back to face Skye. She’s looking around, weirdly, as though thinking about running but when she faces me with a resigned expression, I see for the first time how terrible she looks. Her blond hair has been cut too short and her eyes have violet marks beneath them like delicate thumb prints. She has lost a ton of weight and her eyes have that dead look I’ve seen before.

‘What are you doing here?’ I hiss at her. This girl is pure poison. How many more people have ended up dead since I last saw her? And she was responsible for me being subjected to that brainwashing treatment a second time. Maybe things would have been different if that hadn’t happened. Maybe less people would have been hurt.

‘Same as you,
silly
,’ she says and does a weird, almost affectionate nudge of my arm. ‘Keeping track of things. It’s good to see you.’ Her eyes skitter from my face down my body and back up again.

‘Is it?’ I say icily. I haven’t got time for this crap right now. ‘Why?’

She considers me, like she’s genuinely working out the answer to this question.

‘I really thought we would be friends, you know,’ she says. ‘In Scotland. But you’re not very loyal are you, Kyla? That’s your trouble. That was always your trouble. They didn’t have lessons for that.’

‘Loyal?’
I don’t even know where to begin with this. Like loyalty had anything to do with me not wanting to be friends with someone like her. But I don’t get the chance to say anything before she leans in, putting her mouth close to my ear. It’s almost like she’s going to kiss me but instead she whispers, ‘I almost envy you.’ I flinch away, smelling sour breath covered up by mint gum. She squeezes her eyes closed for a second and then opens them again. They’re glistening now. ‘Goodbye, Kyla.’

‘What are you talking about?’

But she just smiles and hurries away through the crowd, pushing past people. I look around sharply, wondering what she is running from. I hunt for Cal with my eyes and catch a glimpse of him close to Nelson’s Column. The crowd moves like a wave and neither of us is where we were a moment ago. More and more people are coming into the square in time for the band to start and the day to officially begin. He mouths something I can’t catch and holds up his hand to say,
Wait there
.

I start moving closer to him, still rattled by Skye. But there is a large family in front of me, with several small children holding balloons and clinging on to their parents’ hands, looking terrified and thrilled all at once. This must be the biggest Freedom Day celebration for years. There must be thousands here already. I can’t believe they’re allowing so many in.

But none of that’s important. I need to see Cal. To touch him. To be allowed another chance.

I try not to get swept along by the crowd as a huge cheer goes up. Music blasts out from the big screen and people start to dance and clap.

Panic swells because I can’t see Cal at all and then suddenly he’s right there, looking down at me and smiling, smiling so much his eyes are filled with happy light.

We don’t speak but just sort of come together at the same time and he holds me tightly. Something sags inside and I know I’m not alone at all. I’m being given that second chance. We kiss for ages and people push past and jostle but we don’t care.

When we come up for air I realise he’s saying something. But it’s so noisy I laugh and put my hand to my ear, mouthing, ‘
What?’

He puts his lips to my ear and says loudly, ‘But you’re not . . . you’re not working for them, are you?’

I swallow, wondering how I can explain that I’m only going through the motions.

But that’s when I notice something odd.

There were police and unformed CATS crawling all over the place when I got here. Several stood on the lions at the front of the National Gallery with a couple on the base of Nelson’s Column, guns slung across their shoulders as they eyed the crowd for signs of any trouble. Others were dotted around the edges of Trafalgar Square. But they seem to have melted away. I can’t see a single member of the security forces.

Why are they keeping such a low profile? Especially when they’re expecting trouble to kick off this morning.

The cogs of my brain seem to turn far too slowly.

I ask myself:
Is it because something else is going to happen?

A way of getting rid of me and Cal at the same time . . . plus a whole lot of other innocent bystanders?

Goodbye, Kyla . . 
.

Those were Skye’s last words to me. Why was she here, really? To check up on me?

Cal’s speaking but I can’t seem to take in what he’s saying.

I look at my tracker watch. It’s eight minutes to eleven. Is eleven the time a bomb will go off?

It’s as I stare down at the bulky thing on my wrist that the sickening understanding seeps into my brain like poison. Some drunken lads with their arms around each other push into me then and the crowd sags and complains. Cal is cut off from me, swallowed up by shifting bodies.

‘Oh, God . . . No, no . . .’ I whimper and start to shove my way through the crowd, away from the centre, away from Cal, who shouts out behind me.

I know why the Tracker Watch is bulkier than normal.

There is something inside it.

I am awalking bomb.

C
HAPTER
24

breaking

I
try to undo the clasp with shaking fingers. But it has a plastic weld lock; heat from your skin activates the mechanism to lock it in place. I pull at it, starting to cry hot tears, but it tightly encircles my wrist in its death grip. I think about cutting off my own hand. But how?

I know from my training that a plaster bomb must be completely immersed in water to be deactivated. But what if the wrist band is waterproof?

It’s the only thing I can think of so I shove and push my way through people to get away. I want to shout, ‘BOMB!’ but a mass panic will make it much harder for me to get to the river.

‘Let me through!’ I scream. ‘I’ve got DRC!’

There’s a collective ‘Ooh’ sound and the crowd begins to part. No one wants to be near a girl with the current superbug, Drug Resistant Cholera, who’s threatening to puke. The floods have messed with the water and people have been getting sick.

It’s easier to get out of the square now but where can I go?

Please, Cal . . . please stay away. Don’t let them win . . 
.

I finally make it out onto the Strand, which is filled with people making their way up to Trafalgar Square.

I have to get to the river. But I can’t swim.

It wasn’t something they taught us in Scotland. Now I wish so much that they had. I’m terrified of jumping into the dirty Thames and drowning. But I’m more terrified of blowing to pieces. I expect police and CATS to close on me like a net but nothing happens. And I realise the bomb is both my protector and my potential death. They won’t come too close. They know the job will be done, one way or another.

Running down the side of Charing Cross Station I slam into a man holding a paper cup and hot, brown liquid explodes over both of us. He starts swearing at me but I keep running through the Tube station, where more and more people are spilling out.

I can feel the seconds left of my life ticking away inside me as I reach the Embankment, trying to wait for a break in the traffic thundering in front of me. Then I dive out, ignoring the screaming horns.

There are boats lined up all along the Embankment, moored together so closely that I have no chance of getting into the water.

Too many thoughts are crowding into my head at once. Will it hurt or will it be over too fast for me to feel anything? A sob rips from my mouth. How will it feel as water surges into my lungs?

I look down at the deadly thing on my wrist and give a moan of pure terror. Making another death-dash across the road I start to bound up the stairs to Waterloo Bridge.

People are moving in both directions across the bridge and I realise I have to get them away from me now.

‘There’s a bomb!’ I scream. ‘Get off the bridge!’

There’s a moment where nobody seems to do anything and then as one person understands what I’ve said, a chain reaction sets in motion. Within seconds screams punctuate the damp air and people start surging in both directions, confused, terrified, violent in their terror. A man punches another in the face and he drops to the ground, where people start to trample over him in their haste to get away. I push on, shoving against the tide.

It’s two minutes to eleven.

I run to the gap in the security fence, praying it hasn’t been mended yet.

Thank God. The wire gapes open, big enough for me to get through.

But first I start to smash the watch against the metal railings. The bomb must be exposed for the water to work. Pain sears through my wrist and arm as I slam it over and over again. The watch stays in one piece. With a tearing scream of frustration I smash it harder against the surface, over and over, until the breath-snatching pain almost makes me pass out and I know my wrist is broken. The watch is finally breaking. I do it one more time.

Through eyes nearly blinded by tears I see the way the front of the watch hangs crookedly to one side, revealing the pale, deadly square inside. Even now, despite it all, there’s a feeling of cold shock that they really did this to me. I pluck at it with fingers that jump and spasm with terror. Can’t get it out! It’s stuck inside!

I was so stupid to think they didn’t know about me and Cal. I bet they’ve watched me the whole time I was in London. And then I ended up finding him on a job. The one job where I ‘lose’ my tracker.

Twenty seconds.

Oh God . . . did they know that last job would lead me to Cal? Is that what they wanted from me all along? And I fooled them. But now I’m going to pay with my life.

Gulping with terror, I climb up onto the railing and push myself through the hole. The metal teeth tear my skin and catch in my hair, trapping me. I yelp and pull my head to the side, wrenching out a chunk of hair. Standing on the outer edge of the railing, I stare down at the mucky brown water sloshing and chopping below me. I can’t do it. My knees buckle hard and I stumble, grabbing the railing and crying out.

I can’t do it . . 
.

I don’t know how many seconds I’ve got left.

But even if I had a whole day, it would never be enough. I’d need a lifetime to make up for the things I’ve done. To go back to being the kind of girl Mum would have wanted me to be.

For a crazy second I picture the stag, standing proud in the mist and watching me.

It represented everything that was free once. And it was only when I let that go that I was able to become the hate machine they wanted me to be.

No more. I’d rather be dead.

I have to do it.

So I jump.

C
HAPTER
25

river

A
wall of icy dirt slams into me. The world goes quiet and everything becomes the colour of nightmares. Vague blurry shapes surge at me in the brown gloom. A shopping trolley. An animal. Blobs of plastic. My arms and legs thrash about as I sink and then start to rise up again. My head emerges. I gulp in air but I swallow water too, which fills me up with its foul, chemical murk.

A wave washes over my head. I’m sinking again. I thrash my feet and feel something slimy catch around my ankle, holding me under the water.

Panic rips through me as I kick and try to free my leg. I don’t know what it is but it has me in a death grip.

My lungs are on fire. I know I can’t hold this breath in any longer.

This is it …this is the moment I die.

I need to let go . . .

I close my eyes, holding on to each second I have before opening my lungs to the treacherous water.

And then something else is pulling at my ankle. In shock, I open my eyes and accidentally inhale. The icy water floods my nose and throat. Darkness starts to close in as pain clamps around my chest, squeezing it tight, tighter . . .

My body slams onto a rough, hard surface. Pain erupts between my shoulder blades, over and over again.

‘Kyla! Kyla! Come on!’

The voice comes from far away, like someone is shouting from the end of a long tunnel.

There’s another violent impact between my shoulder blades and then my stomach seems to leave my body. Sour liquid streams through my lips and onto the concrete beneath me.

I heave and retch and hear the voice, closer now, breathless sounding, say, ‘That’s it! Get it all out!’

When I’ve stopped heaving, I roll onto my back and stare up. My eyes take a moment to focus on the face floating above me and for the third time in a few days, I’m not sure I’m really seeing him.

‘Why d’you do that?’ says Cal, before having a violent coughing fit and spitting water onto the ground behind where he kneels next to me. ‘Why d’you jump in the bloody Thames?’

‘Bomb,’ I say weakly. It’s the biggest effort ever to squeeze that one word out of my mouth. I’m exhausted to my bones and think if I close my eyes, I’ll somehow just melt into the ground here and disappear.