The Last Free Cat (16 page)

We did a quick recon. There didn't appear to be anyone around. At first we thought it was because the place was disused then it suddenly occurred to me, for the first time, that it was Sunday. Since we'd started our journey all the hours and days had run into one.

As we set off up the yard, with no view of what lay at the end of it, it became clear that the huge building next to us was some kind of factory. Farther up the yard were monstrous sheets of rusting metal, stacked in neat and meaningless piles next to an equally rusty railway line. We walked silently through this bleak and alien place, as if in a dream, wondering where it would ever end. But the piles only led to more piles, until I wondered if we would ever escape this cold, dead, heavy metal hell. Finally, however, there was another fence, not such a tall one, with no razor wire.

On the other side of that were cars.

Cars, as far as the eye could see.

We hadn't reached the road, however. The cars, like the sheets of metal, were arranged in military lines, empty of drivers and completely motionless. With the aid of some pallets, Kris climbed over the fence, and I handed him Feela, then made my own way over. Again, there was no sign of life in the yard, nothing but the idle machines workers had wasted their time making. The fact there wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind only added to the sense of unreality.

“What are they all doing here?” I asked.

“Rusting,” said Kris.

“But there's thousands!” I said.

“This whole plant must have gone bust in the last crash,” said Kris.

“Why don't they just give the cars away?” I asked.

“What?” said Kris. “And drive down prices? You'll be suggesting they give away cats next.”

We fell back into silence. It didn't pay to get carried away in conversation when a helicopter could appear at any second. I'd seen enough
Crimewatch
episodes to know how fast they could arrive, how far they could see, and how accurately they could shoot. It was strange to remember how reassuring that had once seemed.

Half hypnotized by the vast army of cars, it almost came as a surprise to see an end to it. But finally we glimpsed a fence ahead. As we drew closer to this our hearts sank. It was just the same as the fence we'd first burrowed under, but without a helpful patch of earth below—just rock-hard concrete.

Soon it became apparent there was only one way out of the car graveyard: a fortified gate a hundred meters to our left. Overlooking this gate was a gatehouse, and inside this gatehouse was a security guard.

“Maybe we could overpower him,” suggested Kris.

“No way,” I said.

“Why not?” said Kris. “There's two of us.”

“He could be armed,” I replied.

“Security guards can't carry guns,” said Kris.

“No,” I replied. “But they carry everything else.”

Kris weighed up the options. “Got any better ideas?” he asked.

“Create a diversion,” I suggested.

“How are we going to do that?” asked Kris. A few days ago he would have said this scornfully. Now it was just a question.

“How far can you chuck a stone?” I asked.

Kris was straight on to my wavelength. Not far away the concrete surface was cracked, and with a little effort he was able to pry out a decent-sized rock.

“If he comes out,” said Kris, “get ready to run like hell.”

Kris drew back his arm and flung the rock for all he was worth. It landed with a satisfying thud on the cars beyond the gatehouse. Sure enough, the guard was out like a darting fish. His eyes were locked on to the area where the rock landed, but to our intense frustration he moved no farther than the gate.

Kris yanked up another rock.

“No!” I hissed. “He'll see where it came from!”

The security guard was still scanning the far side of the yard. He lifted a phone to his lips.

“Shit,” murmured Kris.

“Listen,” I whispered. “What if we split up … then you attract his attention—he's bound to chase you. Then I'll get in the gatehouse and open the gate.”

“You'll have to take Feela,” said Kris.

“Of course,” I replied.

A flash of doubt crossed Kris's face.

“You'll skin him, no worries,” I said.

Kris's mouth smiled, if not his eyes. “Course,” he said. “You ready?”

“Ready,” I replied.

Kris slipped off between the cars while I made my way closer to the gate, keeping as low and silent as a huntress. The security guard was still on the phone, to whom was anybody's guess. But his head shot up at a yell of “Hey!” and the sight of Kris standing on the roof of a car, doing a little shimmy for good measure.

I could have done without the amateur dramatics. There was no point in winding the guard up as well as attracting his attention. But that was Kris and, most importantly, his performance worked. The security guard marched purposefully towards him, leaving the gatehouse unguarded. I raced towards it for all I was worth, threw open the door and found myself face to face with a picture of the comper we'd had the fight with on the front page of the
Daily People,
under a headline saying “FIND THE MONSTERS THAT DID THIS.”

I ripped the paper from the desk and to my relief found the gate controls beneath it. I stabbed the open button, the gate began to rise, and I fled back outside. It was only now, to my horror, that I saw the security guard bearing down on me full-tilt.

I ducked beneath the gate and ran, but Feela's box weighed me down and unbalanced me. The guard was gaining by the second, his heavy footfalls hammering the pavement behind me. I chanced a desperate look behind to see, to my fantastic relief, the guard crashing forward to the ground, rugby-tackled with immaculate skill by Kris. Such was the force with which he crashed to earth, the guard was too shocked and winded to rise again, and Kris and I made our hectic escape around the silent and deserted streets of the industrial park until the car graveyard was well out of sight and we could pause to recover.

Even in this desperate state, panting for breath, Kris felt the need to explain to me the excellence of his technique and the importance of getting your man around the knees. But my ears were attuned to something other than the sound of Kris's prattle.

“Can you hear …
drums
?” I asked.

Kris listened. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.”

The day was so unreal by now, the unexpected seemed almost normal. We set off again, walking briskly, casting anxious glances both behind and ahead. The noise of the drums seemed to rise up and fall back again, eventually becoming completely drowned by the noise of traffic. We were approaching a main road, maybe
the
main road into Bluehaven.

Our first sight of this road was not encouraging. The first vehicle to pass was a Comprot armed response unit. We ducked back behind a hedge, thankful the van had been going far too fast to notice us. To our dismay, however, the armed response unit was quickly followed by a Comprot mobile video unit, a Comprot special tactics unit, three mobile detention units and at least eight more Comprot vans, each loaded to the brim with fully tooled-up compers.

“Talk about overkill,” whispered Kris.

“That can't be all for us,” I whispered back.

Just as I said this there was a breath of wind, and the sound of drums once more rose up. But this time, there was more. Voices. Many voices. And as we crouched in fear of our lives, these voices grew and grew until we could make out the actual words they were chanting.

The words they were chanting were our names.

“It's a lynch mob!” I hissed.

Kris said nothing, but we both knew our chances were close to zero with the whole town mobilized against us. If the worst came to the worst, could we expect the compers to protect us from a crowd fired up by all the news stories? And what would they do to Feela?

For a second it crossed my mind to just open the basket and let Feela go. At least then she'd have a fighting chance—or a better chance than us, at any rate.

“We've got to go back,” said Kris.

“Kris, we can't go back!” I hissed.

“We're gonna get seen,” said Kris.

“If we move they're even more likely to see us,” I replied.

The drums were now thundering with a murderous intensity, echoing the rhythm of the savage chants. Soon it was too late to do anything other than sit tight and pray no one took a detour around the corner of our side road. Through the thin defense of the hedge we saw two lines of grim-faced compers, on foot this time, coming up the pavement either side of the road.

The noise of the mob was now deafening. Suddenly they came into view, fists pumping and faces ablaze. The front line held a banner as wide as the road, and on this banner were the words FREE CATS LEAGUE.

My eyes met Kris's, both of us realizing the astonishing truth that this fearsome crowd was not out to kill us, but to defend us.

Suddenly our hopes rose again. Big crowds meant chaos. We could lose ourselves in a big crowd.

Yes! That was it!

“Kris!” I urged. “Let's get in with them!”

“That's mad,” replied Kris.

“No it isn't!” I whispered. “They'll never see us in the middle of that lot!”

Kris considered.

“Jade, it's a big risk,” he said.

“Maybe Amelie's there,” I suggested.

Kris's expression changed. Suddenly, it seemed, he could see the sense in my suggestion. I felt relieved that I'd won him over but at the same time the old pangs of jealousy came back, stronger than ever.

“Look,” said Kris, grabbing my arm. “Here's our chance.”

Out on the road a confrontation was taking place. A gang of compers had surrounded a protester and were insisting she took her mask off. Other protesters were getting involved in the row, the march had broken into random groups, and the lines of compers had broken as well. With no time for hesitation, we leapt from our hiding place and within a few moments had buried ourselves in the heart of the crowd.

The confrontation ended, the march came back together again and moved off. The compers hadn't spotted us, but it wasn't long before the people around us had. We urged them quickly to hush and not give the game away. One quick-thinking individual offered to change jackets with Kris, while another lowered their flag to hide Feela's basket. As the drumming and chanting rose up again the sense of strength in being part of that crowd was amazing. Now
we
were the wood ants, except we had the power to think and do right. But the enemy was right alongside us and could strike at any moment. It soon became clear to me why the drums and chants were necessary. The alternative was panic.

There was no chance of looking for Amelie or Raff. We could see neither the front of the march nor the back and, in any case, moving through the crowd in either direction would only draw attention to us. As it was, the compers were paying no attention to us whatsoever, and if we were lucky it would stay that way all the way into Bluehaven.

We progressed maybe a few hundred meters, then, just as we were celebrating seeing the sign saying WELCOME TO BLUEHAVEN, the march took a left turn into a smaller side road. No one was entirely sure what was going on, except that this wasn't the intended route. There was some discussion as to whether Comprot had agreed to the route in the first place, or whether the march, like most marches these days, was totally illegal—except it didn't look that way, not with the compers accompanying us.

I could sense the anxiety growing among the people around me. We were being funneled down a road with walls on both sides, hemming us in, leaving no escape route if anything kicked off. As if in response to this, or maybe because of the echoing walls, the chants and the drums welled up all the louder. Gradually, however, the march was slowing, and eventually we came to a dead stop.

It was only now we became aware of the commotion coming from the front of the march—angry cries, something which sounded like firecrackers and, in the midst of it all, a long, loud scream. Suddenly a girl appeared, not much older than me, fighting her way back through the crowd, imploring everyone to link arms and stand firm.

Now the adrenaline really started to pump. “What's going on?” I asked.

“They've charged the front with horses,” she gasped, as she made her way breathlessly back through the crowd.

We did as we were told and linked arms, all except for my one arm which held firm to Feela's basket. I could only imagine the panic that would be gripping her at this moment. She had hated Bonfire Night with a vengeance, and this was fifty times worse than that.

What I could not imagine was that was going on at the front of the march. All I knew was that people must have been acting with extreme bravery, because the horses hadn't broken through. If they did, it would cause a stampede, which could crush us all. For all I'd learned about Comprot and all those in power behind them, I still couldn't believe they would allow dozens, maybe hundreds, to die like this. Obviously I still had a lot to learn.

Suddenly there was a surge of people losing balance and falling backwards through the crowd. The surge was contained but it was enough to set some people off in a panic. One woman was yelling that she had kids with her, and the kids were crying hysterically. In response some guy offered them a leg-up over the wall, and as a result of this all discipline started to break down. People were giving legs-up all along the wall, breaking links and retreating, even pushing their way forward, armed with sticks and stones. Now the chaos was putting us into danger. If we didn't get crushed, it was odds-on we'd get arrested. After a quick and urgent discussion, we made the decision to take our chances on the other side of that wall.

Chapter Twenty-Six

It was as if we had moved into another dimension. On the other side of the wall was a cemetery, with neatly tended graves interspersed with attractive trees. There was no sign of Comprot, but the area was quickly filling up with small groups carrying flags and placards, most heading in what they must have guessed was the direction of the town center. We began to follow them, doing our best to stay close to the crowd. As we did so a small group of men appeared on the path ahead, heading towards us. Without warning, just as they reached the people at the front of the crowd—a teenage couple—one of the men punched the lad full in the face and laid him out cold. As his girlfriend yelled out in shock and anger, the men started laying into other demonstrators, who were at least forewarned, and fought back. It now became clear, however, that the men weren't alone. Figures started appearing all over the graveyard, some armed with sticks, a few with metal poles. Moments later the graveyard was a battlefield.