And your komm!’ a male voice growls, blowing hot, foul-smelling breath into my face. ‘I’ve got a knife!’
CHAPTER 10
I JAB BACKWARDS with my elbow and heel, connecting with his groin. As he grunts and staggers back, I twist out of his grip, hook my arm round his neck and spin him forward and over my shoulder, swatting him onto the ground and pinning his neck with my foot.
He stares up at me, gasping.
Hoody Boy.
‘You know, your breath stinks,’ I say.
His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.
‘Why are you following me?’ I say.
He makes a wheezing sound. Realizing he can’t speak because of the pressure of my foot on his throat, I step on his chest instead.
‘I – just – needed – some – stuff,’ he chokes.
‘So you thought you’d pick on some poor defenceless girl?’
‘I’m – sorry—’
‘You will be. Where’s this knife, then? If you’ve actually got one.’
He shakes something out of his sleeve.
‘Give it to me,’ I say.
When he passes it to me, I laugh. It’s a knife, all right – a butter knife, the blade dull, the plastic handle yellowed and chipped. Almost an antique. ‘Wow, terrifying,’ I say, tossing it into the river.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ Hoody Boy says again. His teeth are chattering.
‘Who are you?’ I say.
‘I—’
‘No, actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care. All I’m bothered about is that you made my already crappy day even worse.’ This time, my anger’s hot and spiky. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are, trying to rob me? No one’s got anything around here, or hadn’t you noticed?’ I know he probably doesn’t give a shit, but I need to vent. ‘And as for trying to nick my c-card, how would I get to work or buy food? You can’t use other people’s cards anyway.’
Hoody Boy doesn’t reply. He just lies there, shaking. I take my foot off his chest, reach down and rip off his hood.
And step back, my eyes widening, one hand plastered against my mouth in shock.
CHAPTER 11
NO
, I TELL myself.
It can’t be
. How could that boy I saw this morning on the news screen, the one with the fashionable haircut and teeth so white it almost hurt to look at them, have turned into—
Into this?
But even though I only saw the picture for a few moments, and the boy lying at my feet has lost so much weight that the skin of his face is stretched across the bones like paper, his resemblance to the man who sacrificed his life to get me out of Mileway is unmistakable.
Hoody Boy is Max Fisher.
Oh God.
‘Max,’ I say softly. ‘Max.’
He looks up at me, his blue-green eyes clouded and unfocused. ‘How d’you know my name?’ he slurs.
I’m about to answer him when, behind us, I hear a call. ‘Mia! Is that you? Coo-ee!’
No. Please, no.
I leave Max lying on the ground and hurry up the path to Mrs Holloway before she can get too close.
‘Oh, Mia!’ she says. Her face is blotched and tear-streaked , her glasses crooked. ‘It’s my Sammie. One of the children took him out a little while ago and he slipped his lead!’
Sammie’s her dog, a skinny, shivery little thing that always bark-screams at you like he’s wishing he were bigger so he could rip your face off. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him,’ I say, desperately resisting the urge to glance behind me at Max.
‘Are you sure?’ Fresh tears well up in her eyes. ‘I’m so scared someone’s taken him!’
If only
, I think. I try to arrange my expression into something suitably sympathetic. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you go that way . . .’ I point down the river path in the opposite direction to Max. ‘. . . and I’ll go that way.’ I jerk my thumb behind me. ‘If two of us are looking, we’re more likely to find him.’
‘Oh no, I only came down here to wait for Dean. I’m not looking anywhere else until he’s home,’ she says. Dean’s her LifePartner, the only person in the building who makes her look intelligent by comparison. ‘And neither
CHAPTER 10
I JAB BACKWARDS with my elbow and heel, connecting with his groin. As he grunts and staggers back, I twist out of his grip, hook my arm round his neck and spin him forward and over my shoulder, swatting him onto the ground and pinning his neck with my foot.
He stares up at me, gasping.
Hoody Boy.
‘You know, your breath stinks,’ I say.
His mouth moves, but nothing comes out.
‘Why are you following me?’ I say.
He makes a wheezing sound. Realizing he can’t speak because of the pressure of my foot on his throat, I step on his chest instead.
‘I – just – needed – some – stuff,’ he chokes.
‘So you thought you’d pick on some poor defenceless girl?’
‘I’m – sorry—’
‘You will be. Where’s this knife, then? If you’ve actually got one.’
He shakes something out of his sleeve.
‘Give it to me,’ I say.
When he passes it to me, I laugh. It’s a knife, all right – a butter knife, the blade dull, the plastic handle yellowed and chipped. Almost an antique. ‘Wow, terrifying,’ I say, tossing it into the river.
‘I – I’m sorry,’ Hoody Boy says again. His teeth are chattering.
‘Who are you?’ I say.
‘I—’
‘No, actually, don’t tell me. I don’t care. All I’m bothered about is that you made my already crappy day even worse.’ This time, my anger’s hot and spiky. ‘Who the hell d’you think you are, trying to rob me? No one’s got anything around here, or hadn’t you noticed?’ I know he probably doesn’t give a shit, but I need to vent. ‘And as for trying to nick my c-card, how would I get to work or buy food? You can’t use other people’s cards anyway.’
Hoody Boy doesn’t reply. He just lies there, shaking. I take my foot off his chest, reach down and rip off his hood.
And step back, my eyes widening, one hand plastered against my mouth in shock.
CHAPTER 11
NO
, I TELL myself.
It can’t be
. How could that boy I saw this morning on the news screen, the one with the fashionable haircut and teeth so white it almost hurt to look at them, have turned into—
Into this?
But even though I only saw the picture for a few moments, and the boy lying at my feet has lost so much weight that the skin of his face is stretched across the bones like paper, his resemblance to the man who sacrificed his life to get me out of Mileway is unmistakable.
Hoody Boy is Max Fisher.
Oh God.
‘Max,’ I say softly. ‘Max.’
He looks up at me, his blue-green eyes clouded and unfocused. ‘How d’you know my name?’ he slurs.
I’m about to answer him when, behind us, I hear a call. ‘Mia! Is that you? Coo-ee!’
No. Please, no.
I leave Max lying on the ground and hurry up the path to Mrs Holloway before she can get too close.
‘Oh, Mia!’ she says. Her face is blotched and tear-streaked , her glasses crooked. ‘It’s my Sammie. One of the children took him out a little while ago and he slipped his lead!’
Sammie’s her dog, a skinny, shivery little thing that always bark-screams at you like he’s wishing he were bigger so he could rip your face off. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t seen him,’ I say, desperately resisting the urge to glance behind me at Max.
‘Are you sure?’ Fresh tears well up in her eyes. ‘I’m so scared someone’s taken him!’
If only
, I think. I try to arrange my expression into something suitably sympathetic. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you go that way . . .’ I point down the river path in the opposite direction to Max. ‘. . . and I’ll go that way.’ I jerk my thumb behind me. ‘If two of us are looking, we’re more likely to find him.’
‘Oh no, I only came down here to wait for Dean. I’m not looking anywhere else until he’s home,’ she says. Dean’s her LifePartner, the only person in the building who makes her look intelligent by comparison. ‘And neither
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