Stonebird (12 page)

When I was five I used to want those sneakers with red flashing lights on the soles.

I thought they would make me run faster because they look Amazing, with a capital
A
. I know they don't actually make you run faster. I know that now. But, even so, I still wish I had them. Anything, anything to help me get away.

“It's him!”

“Grab him!”

A door slams, and there are footsteps behind me, pounding, chasing, hunting. Across the hall and out the door I go, up the stairs over the bank, and into the big playground.

The gate is so far away.

I don't stop for a second—just charge on.

It's dark now, and I can see my breath puffing in the air. Every breath stings my lungs. My ears are burning. I try to rub the sweat from my eyes, but it makes them water more. Ahead of me, an orange glow from the streetlights flows over the gate, painting it golden.

I can get there. I know I can get there.

I leap over the gate and run up School Street, toward my lane. Toward home.

No—

Not home. I wasn't even thinking about it, but now I know it's true.

The church. I need to get to the church.

I glance over my shoulder. They're closing in, faces set in anger. They look like gargoyles themselves, or demons.

Come on, Liam . . . run!

But as I turn back my foot catches, the toe of my shoe scrapes on the road, and the pavement rises up to smack my face.

Black. All I can see is black. Black-and-gray flecks. I can't see a thing, can't hear anything apart from my own heart. Apart from the blood in my ears.

No. That's not right.

Because if I can hear that, then I should be able to hear their footsteps.

Unless they've stopped.

Unless they've . . .

“Hello, Liam.”

It's Matt's voice. I blink and rub my eyes, trying to clear them, but it doesn't work.

Someone grabs my shirt and hauls me up. I try to find my footing, but I can't get a proper grip on the floor. My legs feel stringy and weak. They buckle beneath me, but hands on my collar hold me up.

“We've been waiting for you for a long time,” says Matt, flecks of spit hitting my face. “We wanted to have words, didn't we, boys? We wanted to have a
little chat.
”

“I didn't mean it,” I say. My voice sounds as if it's coming from someone else. “It was just a story. It didn't mean anything.”

Laughter rings in the cold and the dark.

“Did you hear that?” says Matt. “‘Just a story,' he says. This is just a story too.”

I'm falling before the pain hits.

I crash onto the road and hear someone groan—was it me?—and then there's just burning, the burn in my stomach where he punched me.

“Nowhere to run now, little Liam,” says Joe. He sounds close. He's probably standing right over me. “Nowhere for you to escape. No—” He stops suddenly.

I look up out of instinct, but still all I can see is darkness.

There are no hands holding me now. I shuffle back. Their voices have gone so quiet they're just frightened whispers. Shivers race up and down my neck.

A retching scream rips through the air, and at first I think it's one of them, but it can't be, because it's high, high in the sky. Cold air blasts me from above, and I can hear the
thump thump thump
of heavy wings.

The next scream definitely
is
one of them.

The others soon join in. Screams and shouts and wails.

Someone cries, “Run!” and the footsteps pound louder than ever as they tear away from me. I rub my eyes, desperate to see. I need to see this moment, need to see Stonebird, because it
is
him, I know it.

When my sight finally returns I just sit there in the road, blinking. There's blood on my knees where I fell. My hands are throbbing and scratched. I lie back for a second. I'll get up in a minute, but it hurts . . . everything hurts so much.

That's when I see it.

There's something in the road. No, not something. Some
one
.
Matt!

His body's so still. Just a dark lump in the middle of the road, and all of a sudden I've forgotten how to breathe. I glance around, up and down the road, but we're all alone.

What if I've killed him?

Pain rips up the side of my body as I rush over to him. I crouch down and look at his face. There's a swollen red lump on his forehead, oozing blood. Quickly I put my fingers up to his neck, like I've always seen on TV.

Please don't be dead . . .

His pulse beats gently against my fingers.

He's alive.

He's alive!

But what am I going to do? Did the others see what happened? No, it was their scream tearing at the air, their footsteps pounding away into the night. They must have left before this happened. My heart's thumping in my
chest and the air's stinging my throat and a thick fog fills my head and I can't think, can't think . . .

They're going to kill me.

Mom.

Gary.

The police.

I'm going to be arrested. I'm going to go to jail.

I could run. I could run like Matt's friends did, leave him here, get away. No one's seen me. No one knows. I could run home and explain it all away and—

A smear of Matt's blood on my hand clears my head. Rivers of red are trickling down the side of his face. And that's when I know I can't run. I can't. Cheesy and Joe left him, but I won't.

He must have his phone on him. I dig inside his coat pocket, and there it is. Three missed calls flash up from his dad, but it's not him I need to call. Not yet.

Okay. Come on, Liam. Breathe.

I've never called 911 before, but I know what to do. I jab the buttons on the phone. My chest feels heavy, and the cold air stings my throat. The phone rings twice, and then a woman's voice answers.

“Emergency—what service do you require?”

Matt's eyelids flicker. The blood's dripping off his cheek and onto the road. The words are on my lips but they don't come out.

“Hello?”

“Um, ambulance, please.”

“I'm connecting you now. Please stay on the line.”

“Come quickly, he's—there's a lot of blood.”

“Okay, I need you to stay calm and tell me where you are.”

“We're in the road. He's lying in the road.”

“I need an address.”

“Swanbury. School Street in Swanbury.”

“Stay calm. Is anyone else with you?”

“No, it's just me and Matt.”

“What's your name?”

“Liam.”

“Listen to me, Liam. Where's the blood coming from?”

“His head. It's all down his face and on the road. You need to come quick.”

“Help is being arranged as we speak. Just stay calm and keep an eye out for the ambulance. It'll be with you soon.”

“Okay,” I say. “Okay.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah. Shall I put him in the recovery position?”

“Don't move him. Just stay calm and wait for the ambulance to arrive.”

“But we're in the middle of the road,” I say.

“Stay where you are, Liam. If any cars come, signal them to stop.”

“Okay.”

Come on. Please come on.

I scan the road both ways, desperate to see the flashing lights. My throat's dry. I can see my breath clouding in the orange glow of the street lamps.

“Are you still there?” says the woman.

“Yeah. Please hurry up.”

“An ambulance will be with you very shortly. Is Matt still breathing?”

“Yes, I think so. Oh, hang on . . .”

His chest isn't moving.

I reach down and hold a hand under his nose, but no air comes out.

“No!” I say, panic crashing through me. “No, he's not.”

The voice in my ear turns into a buzz. I can't hear the words. Matt's stopped breathing and he's going to die and it's all my fault . . .

I sit back and rub the sweat from my forehead, and that's when I see the lights.

Blue flashes in the distance, brighter than everything else around me.

“I can see the ambulance,” I say, but my voice is dry and cracked.

“It's going to be okay,” says the operator.

“Thank you.” My eyes are suddenly burning. “Thank you.”

One paramedic puts a yellow jacket over me and moves me out of the road while the other kneels over Matt.

I try and hear what he's saying, but my mind's too foggy to make out the words.

It's going to be okay
, I tell myself.

He's going to be all right.

They slide a stretcher under Matt's back and secure him with straps.

That's when my hand vibrates, and I almost drop Matt's phone in shock. It's his dad calling. I hesitate for a second, wanting to ignore it. But I can't. There's no ignoring this. I take a deep breath and answer.

“Where are you?” says the voice on the other end of the line. “I thought you'd be—”

“It's not Matt, it's Liam,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “There's—there's been an accident. We're on School Street.”

“What? What happened? Did you call an ambulance?”

“Yeah, they're here now.”

Matt groans, and his eyes flicker open for a second, then drift closed.

“I think he's okay,” I say.

“I'm on my way.”

Soon bright headlights appear from the end of the road. The car pulls to a stop, and Matt's dad leaps out and rushes over.

“What happened?” he says. He crouches down and strokes Matt's face. “My God, what happened?”

I try to speak, but my throat clenches and the words don't come out. But Gary doesn't ask me again. He just peers at Matt and whispers,
My son
, over and over.
My son, my son . . .

Then Matt moves. His eyes blink open, and he takes a shuddering breath.

“Dad,” he says, in this thick slurred voice.

“Who did this to you?” says Gary. “What happened?”

Matt's bleary eyes move from his dad to me, still crouching beside him.
This is it,
I think. I'm going to jail. Matt's mouth moves, trying to form words, and my stomach shrinks and I'm ready to run and—

“Car,” says Matt.

WHAT?

“What?” says his dad.

“A car,” says Matt. “Came out of nowhere. Knocked me into the wall, and—drove off. Disappeared around the bend.”

I'm looking into Matt's eyes. They're locked onto mine, not moving, not even blinking, and I can see he knows he's lying.

“Are you sure?” says Gary. He frowns, looks at me. “Liam, did you see it too?”

“I—I don't know,” I say. “I just found him like this.”

I know it's not the truth, but it's not really a lie either.

“I'm so glad you were here,” Gary says as the paramedics shut the ambulance doors.

I try not to meet his eyes. “Me too.”

“I'll talk to the paramedics,” he says. “They'll probably have to phone the police. They'll want to see Matt, I'm sure. They might want to talk to you too.” He looks at his watch, then adds, “Are you okay getting home? You've got a key?”

“I'm fine,” I say. “It's only up the road.”

I hand him Matt's phone and walk away quickly. I'm shivering now. I didn't realize how cold it was. I shove my hands in my pockets to try to warm them up.
The police!
What am I going to do?

The moon's low and white, and I can see my breath clouding in its light.

A sudden movement makes me stop.

A dark shape flying across the hugeness of the sky, in the direction of the church.

I shouldn't go. I know I shouldn't go. What I
should
do is go home. But I can't bring myself to go back yet. I need to see Stonebird with my own eyes. I need to know for sure that it happened.

My head throbs as I stumble toward the church.

Every time I blink I see Matt's unconscious blood-smeared face.

What have I done?

The road is quiet. Light from the houses and the street lamps and the moon makes the lane look gray-blue; makes it look like another world.

You're such an idiot, Liam . . .

Telling stupid stories!

Outside the church, the graveyard is thick with shadows.

I try not to think about what's under my feet as I wind my way between the headstones. I don't normally get scared of the dark, but it's hard not to here.

By the old wooden door I stop and listen. I'm scared to go in because if it's true, if it was Stonebird that did it, then what does that make me?

After what feels like a million hours, I have to open the door.

Inside, the church is quiet and still. Starlight lightly touches the pews and the pillars, but it's so dark I have to feel my way to the entrance of the crypt. Images flash in my mind and I try to shut them out but I can't. They just stick there. Blood and broken bones and huge terrified eyes.

My neck tingles. There's a crash behind me. I glance back, but there's nothing there.

I turn around again, and that's when I scream.

“No,” I say. “No . . . no . . .”

Desperately, frantically I scramble back.

Because he's suddenly there.

He's not moving, but he's there, right in front of me.

As big as a tree, rearing up, bright eyes flickering. I need to run.

But I've just seen something else and my legs are limp and all I can do is stand there.

Stonebird's massive clawed hands. They're red.

Matt's blood.

It can't be anything else.

“No,” I say again, but it comes out quiet, just a whimper that vanishes in the dark.

Stonebird's still not moving, but how did he get there how did he get there
how did he get there?

There was no noise, no nothing, and I was right here the whole time.

“I didn't mean for you to hurt him. I just wanted you to look after me.”

Even if Matt is a bully, he still doesn't deserve what he got tonight. Quickly I get to my feet and I race back down the aisle, not daring to take my eyes off the stone monster, because that's what he is, he's a monster. He's got a kid's blood on his hands.

And it's all my fault.