The Disappeared (9 page)

Back in the dormitory I curl up under my stinky blanket. I’ve been here a whole day, but I’m no closer to knowing how I’m going to get out of here. I need to think. It doesn’t hurt to understand the Academy, I tell myself. It’s important to know your enemy. I have to survive here while I work out what to do. I’ve got to get out, but I can’t go back to the Willows. I’ll have to go to my mother. I’ll be careful. I’ll find the right moment and then I’ll break out and I’ll head to Mother’s flat.

Suddenly, P.C. Barnes’ words come back to me. If it’s true someone is out to get me, will I be safe if I leave the Academy? Will they track me down?

I shiver. How the hell did I end up making escape plans like some sort of criminal?

My thoughts are disturbed by the blonde girl jumping on her own bed and saying, ‘You’re not a good fighter.’

‘And you’re not terribly bright,’ I reply. I’ve had enough of today.

She blinks.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I thought we were taking it in turns to state the blatantly obvious.’

Her expression doesn’t change. She’s got no idea what I’ve just said.

‘You big-need to learn to fight,’ she says.

‘And you’re offering to teach me?’ I roll my eyes. She’s built like a bird and around five-foot nothing. Her pale hair makes her look young, although I suppose she must be the same age as me since we’re in the same class. Her arms are delicate and I can see that her legs are thin even through her trousers. I look at her little boots and realise that they seem oddly familiar. Last time I saw one of those boots, it was sending Deon sprawling. King Hell, how embarrassing; some scrap of an Academy girl is trying to look after me.

‘I saw what you did in the fight,’ I say.

She shrugs. ‘I can think-back my first fight.’

I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn’t. ‘Well, it’s nice that I’m bringing back tender memories for you, but I really don’t need your help,’ I say.

‘What’s “help”?’ she says.

‘What?’

‘What’s “help”?’

I’m annoyed. I’m annoyed that I had to have help from a girl in a fight and I’m annoyed that no one here understands basic English. ‘Oh, my life,’ I say. ‘King Hell on a sunny day. You’ve got a really, really basic vocabulary haven’t you?’

I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t understand what I’m saying, but she obviously picks up on the tone because she sticks her chin out and stands up to leave.

‘It’s doing something for someone,’ I say. I sound like Facilitator Johnson when he thought we were being dim. ‘Help is . . . aid?’

She shakes her head.

‘Assistance?’

And again.

‘Oh for efwurd’s sake, you won that fight for me!
You did a thing for me.
You were being nice.’

She tilts her head. ‘I didn’t do a thing for you. I don’t like Deon. I didn’t want him to win,’ she says.

‘Listen, in future, just remember, I don’t need your help.’

‘You do need
help
,’ she forms the final word carefully. ‘But I won’t
help
you.’ She walks away and calls back over her shoulder, ‘And I’m not nice.’

I try to stay awake, but I’m worn out and my whole body is aching from both my recent beatings. The last thing I remember is listening to the dormitory door slamming shut and wondering if they were locking us in for the night.

I end up sleeping through until a buzzer wakes me. All around me Specials clamber out of bed. I peer out from under the blanket to see how they manage getting dressed. Most of them seem to disappear to the bathroom and re-emerge fully clothed, but some of the boys don’t seem to care. I could really do without starting the day with a view of some boy’s hairy backside.

The blonde girl leans over my bed. ‘Get up time,’ she says.

‘What if I don’t want to get up?’ I say. ‘What if I just stay here? What can they do?’

‘Okay. You stay and find out the thing they do.’

I suppose I’m not getting any closer to getting out of this place by just lying here. So I get up. I feel grubby from rolling around on the floor yesterday and sleeping in my clothes. I need a hot shower.

The showers are strangely empty, which probably explains why the Specials have their own interesting smell. I open up one of the cubicles. The shower head is crusty with rust. The drainage hole is clogged with hair and there are splatters of black mould up the tiles. I try the next one, it’s no better. I turn on the squeaky tap and I’m blasted with icy-cold water. I shrink back against the door, hoping it will warm up, but it doesn’t. I have a quick splash and then give up. I’m in such a hurry to get my clothes on before anyone else comes in that I end up with my trousers sticking to my damp legs.

I follow the stream of Specials down to the dining room. Breakfast is the same horrible nozzle-sucking business. I don’t eat from the one with the sedative, or whatever it is, in it. The best part of the meal is a piece of bread which has been left in each pod on the drainage tray. After I’ve eaten I realise I probably should have saved the bread. If I’m going to break out of here I’ll need supplies. Food, water and something to carry them in. I’ve got to take my time and get properly organised.

The day goes by in a blur, and the next few days pass in much the same way. I can’t see how I’ll ever be able to escape. During the day the enforcers keep us locked in the grid and the rest of the time there are patrols of impeccables watching our every move. I spend a lot of time observing. I keep quiet and try to blend in.

In the grid we mostly study electronics, I’m surprised by how advanced some of their work is, but it all has a practical basis, so I suppose they’re preparing the students for work in an electronics factory. To my horror the other main lesson is Physical Education. Most afternoons we’re taken to the drum-shaped room and are expected to run and jump and generally throw ourselves about. Enforcer Tong keeps telling us how we need strong, healthy bodies to make our contribution to society, but I’ve never felt more weak and exhausted in my life.

Secretly, I keep expecting someone to appear and take me away from this place, but it doesn’t happen. No one wants to listen to me when I tell them I don’t belong here. Ilex is the only person who talks to me, but he spends a lot of time with Ali in the kids’ dormitory.

Mostly, I sit around thinking about food and watching the blonde girl. I notice at mealtimes that she doesn’t drink from the first nozzle either. I wonder if she’s getting food from somewhere else. Last night I woke up when she got up to go to the bathroom and she didn’t come back for a really long time. She’s definitely up to something. So tonight I’m keeping myself awake.

Just when my stomach cramps are fading and I’m starting to get warm and sleepy I hear the squeak of a bare foot on the tiled floor. I open my eyes. The girl is creeping down the dormitory. She swerves into the bathroom. I wait a moment and then I follow. The freezing bathroom is deserted and silent except for the echo of a dripping tap. The stalls are all empty. The girl has gone. In the corner there’s a tiny strip of light around the edge of a door that must lead on to the corridor. I try the handle. It’s locked. I can just about make out a keypad next to it. The girl must know the code. I remember the impeccable typing CLASSROOM into the grid door-pad, on the day I arrived. Maybe all the codes are ridiculously simple. I tap in CORRIDOR. But nothing happens. I try LANDING. There’s a high-pitched beep and the door clicks open. Incredible. I can’t believe Specials aren’t pouring in and out all night long. I slip out of the door, squinting at the brightness, even though the lights are on a night setting. There’s no sign of the girl. I decide that I may as well take advantage of my freedom and head for the kitchen.

I sneak down the stairs and round to the dining hall. I tiptoe between the shadowy rows of feeding pods. I keep expecting someone to emerge from one. I find the door that I’ve seen kitchen workers use and lift my hand to the punch-pad, but the door is wedged open with a chunk of wood. Someone else is already in the kitchen. I put my eye to the crack. It’s too dark to see. Slowly, I open the door till there’s enough room to creep in.

Inside, it’s vast. Everything in the Academy is on such a big scale. Sometimes I feel like a marble rolling around in a box. There are no windows. The only light comes from a lamp on top of the largest fridge I have ever seen. Knelt in front of it is the girl. The room is a mass of shadows; darkness pours out of the corners. I creep towards her. Down the centre of the room is an extremely long, seamless metal block which must serve as a preparation table. Opposite me, against the wall, are the same troughlike metal sinks we have in the dormitory bathroom. The fridge is at the far end of the room. I tread lightly up the length of the kitchen. The girl’s hair looks white in this light.

As I get closer I can hear a wet chewing. I wince. She’s cramming food into her mouth. My stomach contracts painfully. It’s been a long time since I had a decent meal. I stop a few metres behind her, feeling awkward; should I clear my throat? Say good evening?

Suddenly she springs up, turns around and raises her fists, all in one move.

I take a step backwards and half raise my own fists.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘It’s you.’ And she turns back to the fridge.

My arms droop like wilting flowers.

‘Did the impeccables see you?’ she asks.

‘What impeccables?’

‘There’s an impeccable patrol. Lots of nights.’

‘Oh. No, I didn’t see any impeccables.’

‘It’s bad you’re here,’ she says through a mouthful.

I draw in my breath to say something, but let it go again. There’s no point getting cross. ‘Why?’ I ask.

‘Specials can’t go in the kitchen,’ she says.

‘Well, we
can
because here we are. I suppose you mean we’re not allowed. What will happen if we get caught?’

‘We get cor?’ she repeats. ‘If they see us we’ll be put in the LER room.’

I don’t know what that means, but the way that she freezes with a slice of ham halfway to her mouth and looks off into the shadows suggests to me that I really don’t want to find out.

‘Can I have some ham?’ I say.

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

She carries on chewing.

I have to swallow because my mouth is watering so much. ‘Listen, I’m starving. I think I’ve got as much right to be pilfering food as you have.’ I move towards the fridge, but she catches hold of my arm.

‘Not ham,’ she says. ‘I take one of all things. If we take all lots then they’ll see.’

She’s got a point and I’m actually pretty impressed that she’s been smart enough to think of it. I help myself to a cold potato with one hand and a tomato with the other. My mouth folds around the potato. It’s delicious; the middle is so soft and salty that my jaw aches with the unexpected pleasure. I ought to be putting things in my pocket for later, but I’m just so hungry.

‘Who eats this stuff?’ I say. The fridge is jam-packed with all kinds of tasty food that they’d never serve to a Special.

‘The enforcers,’ she says.

‘Why don’t all the Specials come down here?’ I ask, cramming in a chunk of cheese.

‘Not big lots,’ she tells me, carefully repositioning the cheese dish to where it was. ‘Not all people can . . .’ She mimes punching in the code.

‘Not everyone knows the code?’ I say. I look at her hard. ‘If you don’t know the word “code” what happens in your head when you think about it?’

‘What?’ she says.

‘When you were telling me, did you have a word in your head for “code” or did you just think of . . .’ I copy her mime.

‘I have my words for it,’ she says, her face half hidden by a chunk of bread.

‘What are they?’ I ask.

She lifts her chin. ‘I say “the get-food number”. But now I say “code”.’ She shakes back her silvery hair. ‘I’m not stupid.’

I look down at the fridge door and realise that it’s got an electronic lock attached. Goodness knows how she got it open. She’s right. She’s not stupid.

When the girl isn’t watching I put a small apple in my pocket. She turns to look at me with suspicious eyes, so I say the first thing that comes into my head.

‘You’re not a Red.’

‘I know,’ she says.

‘Are you an Hon Red?’ I frown. ‘That’s like a half-Red, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not an Hon. It’s like Red, but no . . .’ She tugs a strand of hair.

She frowns at the fruit bowl and repositions a banana to cover the gap left by the apple I took. ‘I will be an Hon Red.’ Her eyes light up. ‘I’m going to be next Dom.’ She says it in a low voice as if she’s letting me in on a big secret.

I’ve gathered that the Dom girl is important. She and Rex are like the Specials’ king and queen.

‘That’ll be nice,’ I say. ‘If you like hanging around with a bunch of violent bullies.’

She sucks in her breath. ‘Dom is the best. I’m going to be the best.’

I consider asking her if her complete lack of both ginger hair and height might be an obstacle, but she’s all starry-eyed and I don’t want to annoy her, so I butter the tiny chunk of bread she’s allowed me. That’s when we hear voices coming from the dining hall. I freeze. The girl doesn’t freeze, she whips two containers back in the fridge, screws on the lid of the massive bottle of milk, replaces it in exactly the right position, closes the door and starts reconnecting the electronic lock.