Acid (11 page)

Two words flash up on my wraparound.
ACCESS DENIED
.

The knots in my stomach tighten. I try again.

ACCESS DENIED
.

What the hell? I take my komm out of my ear and give it a little shake, trying to convince myself that the network’s jammed up because of everyone being out at the ceremonies. But even after I’ve switched it off and on, I still can’t get through. I take it out of my ear again and look around for a PKP. There’s a bank of them about seven metres away.

‘Mia,’ Max murmurs, touching my elbow.

‘What?’

‘I think we’re being watched,’ he says quietly. ‘Don’t turn round.’ He glances to our left. ‘Over there. Two ACID agents.’

Surreptitiously, I follow his gaze, and a thread of ice worms its way down my spine. Because he’s right. There are two ACID agents.

They are watching us.

And across from them, to our right, I can see two more, and another pair standing by a mag terminal a little further away. They catch sight of us watching them and exchange looks with the other agents. Then all six of them start to walk towards us, casually converging on us like lions stalking their prey.

Mrs Holloway
, I think. She got suspicious and linked ACID, and they’ve realized who Max and I are and blocked my kommweb access so I can’t call anyone for help. Maybe they’ve even found out about Mel and Jon. For a few seconds, I can’t move or breathe. A dull roar starts up in my ears as I imagine them grabbing us and cuffing our arms behind our backs and saying,
Jenna Strong,
we’re
arresting you for the murder of Alex Fisher
right in front of Max.

‘Mia, we need to get out of here,’ Max says, jolting me back to my senses.

I look around and, behind us, see the National Departures terminal, a huge building with a curved glass roof shaped like an upturned watermelon slice. ‘In there,’ I say. We turn and begin walking very fast towards it, trying to get swallowed up in the crowds of people heading inside. When I glance behind us, the ACID agents are still following, but the sheer number of people in the way has forced them to fall back. As Max and I duck through the massive glass doors into the terminal, we’re almost running.

‘Did you call your friends?’ he asks, breathing hard, as we jog past the information booths and giant holoboards with train times and destinations scrolling across them; and, of course, the news screens.

‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘ACID’ve blocked my komm.’ I realize it’s still clenched in my fist and I drop it onto the ground, where it’s kicked away by the feet of the hurrying commuters around us. ‘Watch it!’ a man cries as I accidentally shoulder-barge him. I babble an apology but he’s already way behind us.

‘Where are we going?’ Max says. ‘Mia, they’re right
there
—’

I reach out and grab his hand, ducking down a passageway signposted
ALL TRAINS NORTH
. Our feet slap against the tiled floor, our breath tearing from us in
ragged
gasps. We burst out of the passageway onto a busy platform just in time to see a train pull up, holosigns announcing
NEWCASTLE – DIRECT SERVICE
. It looks ancient, like something out of the twenty-first century: boxy carriages covered with many layers of scuffed, peeling paint, and thick, grimy glass in the windows.

‘Come on,’ I say as the doors slide open, letting go of Max’s hand and ignoring the stares of the other passengers, who, after our dramatic entrance, are staring at us as if we’ve just arrived from another planet. We jostle our way onto the train and flash our cards at the kredzreader. Mine’s accepted, but when Max scans his the reader bleeps and
REJECTED
blinks up on the screen.

‘Oh, crap,’ he says, coughing, his chest still heaving from our mad flight through the terminal. ‘I don’t have enough kredz.’

In my head, I do a quick calculation. My train ticket just cost me two hundred kredz. I’ve got another two hundred and fifty in my account, but if I buy Max a ticket too, what will we buy food with? Where will we stay?

And hang on, if ACID are onto us, why does my card still work? Shouldn’t they have frozen it? Or are they allowing it to work so they can track me?
Shit
.

But we need to get out of London. That’s more important than anything.

‘Come on, will you,’ says a sandy-haired man wearing an oversized leather jacket and way too much aftershave, his podgy face creasing in annoyance. ‘This train’s about to leave.’

When I turn to look at him, he eyeballs me. Resisting the urge to tell him where to stick it, I flash my card at the kredzreader again to buy Max a ticket and we hurry into the carriage. ‘I need to sit down,’ Max croaks, coughing.

‘Not yet,’ I say. I lead him to the vestibule at the other end of the carriage so I have a clear view of the platform. If ACID turn up now, we’ll have to jump off the train and make a run for it. It’ll mean all that money I just spent on tickets being wasted, but I’d rather that than go back to Mileway.

I’d rather do
anything
than go back to Mileway.

Move
, I will the train.
MOVE
.

Then I see an ACID agent walk out of the tunnel we ran down. I draw back into the vestibule, sucking my breath in sharply.

Max stares at me.
How many?
he mouths.

I hold up a finger.

Is he getting on?
Max mouths.

I peer round the door with one eye. The agent’s still standing on the platform, close to the train. He’s taken his helmet off and is speaking to a woman who’s about to get on board. Then he turns, looks back up the tunnel.

I draw back, shake my head. Max’s shoulders slump forward.

Another minute passes, feeling like a year. Then the doors slide shut and the train jolts into motion.

Max and I sink into seats by the doors and I wonder how long it’ll be before reports appear on the kommweb
about
us, feeding directly into the komms of all the people on this train.
We’re not safe
, I think.
We’re not safe anywhere. Especially not together
.

So leave him. Go off on your own
, a little voice in my head says. It’s so persuasive that I feel an almost overwhelming sense of relief as I imagine how I’d do it: us arriving in Newcastle, me telling Max I’m going to use the toilet and, instead, walking out of the train terminal and leaving him behind.

I glance round at him. What am I thinking? He’s ill again. And his dad died for me.

Died
.

Max is my responsibility now, and I owe it to Alex Fisher to keep his son safe.

NAR

 

Black lightffiti on a wall next to magtrain track, Newcastle-London line

 

Transcripts of kommweb9 links between ACID Control and Agents 954 Betts and 487 Bryce

Date of link:
24.05.13

Time of link:
1100 hrs

This is ACID Control calling Agent 954 Betts. Can you confirm your location, please?

This is Agent Betts. We are still at Anderson Court.

What is your situation?

We have performed a thorough search of the apartment, but did not find any suspicious items. We’re waiting for DNA spot-check results on hair samples found in the apartment’s bathroom by Agent 563 Devlin to come through before we leave. What is the current situation with the suspects?

Richardson’s c-card was used to purchase two tickets on a train bound for Newcastle. One of the agents following them at the Zone X transport interchange has reported that he was able to board the train, although he has been told to stay out of sight to avoid creating panic. We have a team waiting at Newcastle who will arrest them on arrival.

Understood. I’ll . . . Wait, the DNA results are coming through.

Do they match the suspects?

Agent Betts, can you confirm results, please?

Agent Betts, do you read me?

I’m here, Control. I . . . holy shit. It’s Strong and Fisher.

Please repeat, Agent. I don’t follow you.

Richardson and Adams . . . they’re Jenna Strong and Max Fisher. Hang on, I’m linking you the results now.

Good God.

They were here. All this time. Under our noses.

I’ll alert Agent Bryce. Please return to base and file your report immediately.

Understood.

Date of link:
24.05.13

Time of link:
1103 hrs

This is ACID Control calling Agent 487 Bryce. Can you confirm that you are on board the Newcastle train, please?

This is Agent 487 Bryce. Yes, I am on board the train.

We have DNA results for Mia Richardson and Michael Adams. They are Jenna Strong and Max Fisher.

Sorry, Control, could you repeat that, please? It sounded as if you said Richardson and Adams were Jenna Strong and Max Fisher.

That is correct.

Jesus Christ. What do you want me to do? Should I apprehend them?

Not here. It’s too busy and there are too many other trains they could escape onto. We’re going to wait until we’re at one of the provincial stations where there’s no one around, and stop the train – it’ll be harder for them to get away. And in the very unlikely event of them giving us the slip then, both their c-cards are flagged, so the minute they try to use them anywhere, we’ll have their location.

Understood.

CHAPTER 15

THE LIGHTFFITI FLASHES
past so quickly that by the time my brain has registered what my eyes have just seen, it’s gone. So NAR has made it all the way out here too? Whoever they are, they must be good at evading ACID to have tags all over the place like that. I sit back in my seat, feeling a sudden, unexpected pang of nostalgia. Anderson Court was a dump, but now I’m leaving it behind, I realize how much my apartment had come to feel like home.

Where will we stay now? And how the
hell
will we stay hidden from ACID?

I glance at Max. We’ve been on this train for a couple of hours now. After it left the outskirts of London, we managed to find seats in a corner of one of the carriages, and he’s asleep with his hood still pulled up to hide his face, his head against the window beside him, his breathing slightly wheezy. I feel a sudden rush of empathy and protectiveness towards him, so strong it threatens to overwhelm me. He’s lost everything because of me, and now here I am, leading him into even more uncertainty and danger.
I’m sorry
, I tell him inside my head.
If I can ever make this up to you, I will, I promise
.

Beyond him, through the rain-speckled glass, the landscape whips past: fields edged by hedges and trees, the hills
behind
them almost lost in low cloud. Everything looks silver and green. The view reminds me of the holidays we had when I was a kid at the luxury countryside villas provided by ACID. I loved them. I could spend all day by myself, roaming around fields and through the woods nearby, and for a few blissful hours, the feeling I always had – that every little thing I did or said was being watched and analysed by my father – would leave me. In fact, we were supposed to be going on holiday the day after I—

I shut that thought out of my head. Instead, I consider the possibility of living rough in the countryside: camping out, lighting fires, catching rabbits and birds for food. ACID would never think to look for us out here.