The boy whistled one more time, a short sharp note, and the rooks fell completely silent.
“My birds.” He walked towards Lucy-Anne, and she felt herself unable to move.
…and now she wanted to see what came next.
“I dreamed about your birds,” she said.
The boy shrugged as he walked.
“You don't seem surprised.”
“Why should I?”
She tried to think of a reason, but none came. “I'm looking for my brother,” she said instead, and the boy's face grew more stern.
“You'll die,” he whispered. “In the streets, in the ruins, you'll die. If the Choppers don't get you, there are other things that will. North of here…wild places.”
“And you expect me to-”
“I can help you,” the boy said.
“What? Help me look for Andrew?”
He nodded. He paused several feet from Lucy-Anne, looking her up and down with a frankness she found unsettling. There was something birdlike about the way his dark eyes shifted, his hands clawed at the air, and his hair almost looked barbed.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“My name's Rook,” the boy said, “and I've met you in my dreams.”
Chapter Fourteen
The six terrorists who attacked London yesterday have been killed in a shoot-out with a military unit in the West End. Communications into and out of London are down. The biological agent used by the terrorists has not yet been identified, but the whole of the London basin is affected, and travel to and from the city is strictly prohibited. Please help the emergency services and the military to contain this disaster by following these simple guidelines: Anyone trying to enter or approach London will be arrested. Any aircraft attempting to overfly London will be shot down. There follows a list of numbers for concerned relatives…
At seventeen, Jack should have taken Sparky aside at the first opportunity to ask him how it was, was she hot, and to give him all the details. But that would have been in normal times, and these times were far from normal. There was a quietness to Sparky the next morning, and while Jenna helped Ruben and Rosemary prepare the best breakfast they could from old tinned foods, Jack sat beside his friend on the sofa.
“Okay, mate?”
“Yeah.”
“Hope today's a bit better than yesterday.”
“Well…” Sparky began, then he smiled. “Yesterday was mixed.”
“What's up?”
Sparky sighed. He scratched at his arm where his brother's name was tattooed, then leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. “We've got no control over any of this, you know? We follow Rosemary from one mess to the next. We lose Lucy-Anne, and can't do anything to try and help or find her, and how bloody frustrating is that?”
“We all feel the same. But Rosemary's right, there's no way of even
“And last night, Jack. My
“You just told me,” Jack said.
Sparky looked at him with tears in his eyes. “Thanks.”
“You're welcome. Shithead.”
“Ha!” Sparky stood and stretched, leaned sideways so that he could see through the hallway and into the kitchen, then turned back to Jack. “Mate,” he whispered, “she was hot!”
Emily came down a few minutes later, and they all sat around the kitchen table and ate baked beans, hot dog sausages, and tinned peaches. For what it was, Jack enjoyed it immensely.
He tried not to catch Jenna's eyes, embarrassed, but he felt her glancing at him all through breakfast. When he finally stood to tidy up, he took an empty tin from her hand and she held on tight. He looked at her, and realised what a fool he'd been. She looked so anxious and tense, that when he smiled and winked she seemed to deflate.
“Thank you!” she said as she let go of the tin, but Jack knew the real thanks was for something else entirely. Yeah, he'd certainly been a fool. He'd known that Jenna had liked him, just not how much.
“Ruben will be leaving us soon,” Rosemary said. “He's not one for sneaking along dangerous streets and scrambling through tunnels.”
“I'd only get stuck,” he said, tapping his not inconsiderable stomach.
“Are you going home?” Emily asked, and a dark cloud touched Ruben's face.
“Yes, dear,” he said. “All the way home.”
“Thanks for taking a bullet out of my guts with your bare hands,” Jenna said, raising her bottle of water in a toast.
“Any time.”
“Bloody hope not!” Sparky said, and they all laughed.
As they left, Rosemary took a quick look around the house, her expression blank. “Doubt we'll use this place again,” she said.
“Why not?” asked Emily.
“Too dangerous, dear. I've stayed here three times myself, and Ruben a couple of times. Too much activity attracts attention.”
“So it'll just stay shut up?” Jack asked.
“Yes. Once we're out, I'll drop the key down a gutter grating.”
Sparky checked that the coast was clear before they trailed out into the street. It was still early, only seven thirty, and the air was cool and clear. Pigeons cooed softly from window sills and rooftops, a scruffy ginger cat strolled without care along the middle of the road, but apart from that all was quiet.
Rosemary pulled the door closed until it clicked. Jack didn't like thinking about the empty house, and how it could be like that forever. They had filled it with life for a night, and even some love, and now it stood alone and abandoned once again, one of many sad monuments to the foolishness of humanity. There were a hundred thousand buildings like this all over London. Houses were built to be lived in, not left empty, home only to the dust of memories.
They walked along the street, and when they came to a gutter Rosemary dropped the key through the grating. Jack heard a faint splash, and the house was lost to them. If anyone ever explored its insides again, they would have to smash down the door or break a window first.
He noticed Sparky and Jenna share a glance and wondered what they were thinking right then.
