people blanking her.
She lets go of my sleeve and starts pointing towards me so wildly that I have to step backwards. ‘Do you say she must be protected?’
Hart hesitates, bemused by the sight of someone half his size flailing so erratically. He finally stammers a ‘yes’.
She grabs my arm again and pulls so roughly that I stumble. ‘Then let’s get you out.’
I have to break into a run because she walks so quickly that it almost defies any idea of physics I have ever understood. Opie, Hart, Jela and Pietra follow as I am dragged along a corridor and
down a flight of crumbling stairs before being jerked into a small cupboard where there is barely room for the two of us, let alone anyone else. On the floor are our bags. I remember taking mine
off during the night and Jela said something about moving them to the hall. With everything that has been happening I had forgotten about them, but this woman is apparently a step ahead of me.
‘Through there,’ she says, finally letting me go and pointing at the wall.
It is dark and I can hardly see anything, banging my elbow on a wooden shelf as I try to turn.
‘There’s a shelf there,’ she adds, with no hint of trying to be funny.
The brightest things in the room are her eyes, which are glowing in a light that isn’t there. I fumble ahead, trying to find out what she is on about, and my hands clasp around a thick
metal handle.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘The incinerator.’
I snatch my hand back, wondering why I have let her take us away but she yanks it open, sending a burnt smell into the room. A memory appears of the first time I tried to cook. We were left with
blackened, crispy charcoal and little else.
‘I don’t want to go in there,’ I say, blinking the thought away.
The woman pushes me in the back, sending me towards the low door that is now open. ‘It doesn’t work. We used to burn things in there but there hasn’t been any gas for
years.’
Above us there is the sound of glass smashing as the Kingsmen begin their assault.
‘Go!’ she shouts.
‘Who are you?’
‘I clean here, now get away with you.’
She pushes me again and this time I don’t resist. For all the times I have complained about other people questioning what I need them to do, for once I put my trust in someone and do what
they say. I crawl into a room with a low ceiling, my knees awkward against the thin pipes that run along the floor. Within seconds the five of us are crouching with our bags in the cramped room as
the woman yells ‘hang on’ before slamming the door with a metallic clang. I try to ask what she is going to do – and what we should hang on to – but the floor suddenly drops
away.
I want to do something to stop the massacre happening above us, ask Opie if he is okay after what happened with his father, thank Hart for his words, tell Pietra and Jela I appreciate them being
with me. I want to say I love them all. Instead I can barely think, speak, breathe, as we hurtle down a diagonal tunnel so quickly that I am left gasping. The sides are made of a thin metal and I
clatter my head at least half-a-dozen times until landing uncomfortably on my backside. Before I can breathe in, a combination of Jela and Hart lands on me and I yelp in pain.
The five of us slowly untangle ourselves from each other and start to nurse the bumps and bruises. We are in some sort of tunnel and it is completely dark. I can’t see it but there is a
shallow stream underneath that doesn’t quite cover my thighs even though I am sitting. My lower half is sodden and I put my hands down to the side to support myself, straight into what feels
like a pile of salt. The grains slide over the top of my hands and mix with the dampness, creating a sludgy paste. I flick my hands in annoyance, eventually using the water to wash it away. Slowly
my eyes begin to adjust to a very faint light that makes everything seem a gentle brown.
Above us is the wide opening of a metal chute
She lets go of my sleeve and starts pointing towards me so wildly that I have to step backwards. ‘Do you say she must be protected?’
Hart hesitates, bemused by the sight of someone half his size flailing so erratically. He finally stammers a ‘yes’.
She grabs my arm again and pulls so roughly that I stumble. ‘Then let’s get you out.’
I have to break into a run because she walks so quickly that it almost defies any idea of physics I have ever understood. Opie, Hart, Jela and Pietra follow as I am dragged along a corridor and
down a flight of crumbling stairs before being jerked into a small cupboard where there is barely room for the two of us, let alone anyone else. On the floor are our bags. I remember taking mine
off during the night and Jela said something about moving them to the hall. With everything that has been happening I had forgotten about them, but this woman is apparently a step ahead of me.
‘Through there,’ she says, finally letting me go and pointing at the wall.
It is dark and I can hardly see anything, banging my elbow on a wooden shelf as I try to turn.
‘There’s a shelf there,’ she adds, with no hint of trying to be funny.
The brightest things in the room are her eyes, which are glowing in a light that isn’t there. I fumble ahead, trying to find out what she is on about, and my hands clasp around a thick
metal handle.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘The incinerator.’
I snatch my hand back, wondering why I have let her take us away but she yanks it open, sending a burnt smell into the room. A memory appears of the first time I tried to cook. We were left with
blackened, crispy charcoal and little else.
‘I don’t want to go in there,’ I say, blinking the thought away.
The woman pushes me in the back, sending me towards the low door that is now open. ‘It doesn’t work. We used to burn things in there but there hasn’t been any gas for
years.’
Above us there is the sound of glass smashing as the Kingsmen begin their assault.
‘Go!’ she shouts.
‘Who are you?’
‘I clean here, now get away with you.’
She pushes me again and this time I don’t resist. For all the times I have complained about other people questioning what I need them to do, for once I put my trust in someone and do what
they say. I crawl into a room with a low ceiling, my knees awkward against the thin pipes that run along the floor. Within seconds the five of us are crouching with our bags in the cramped room as
the woman yells ‘hang on’ before slamming the door with a metallic clang. I try to ask what she is going to do – and what we should hang on to – but the floor suddenly drops
away.
I want to do something to stop the massacre happening above us, ask Opie if he is okay after what happened with his father, thank Hart for his words, tell Pietra and Jela I appreciate them being
with me. I want to say I love them all. Instead I can barely think, speak, breathe, as we hurtle down a diagonal tunnel so quickly that I am left gasping. The sides are made of a thin metal and I
clatter my head at least half-a-dozen times until landing uncomfortably on my backside. Before I can breathe in, a combination of Jela and Hart lands on me and I yelp in pain.
The five of us slowly untangle ourselves from each other and start to nurse the bumps and bruises. We are in some sort of tunnel and it is completely dark. I can’t see it but there is a
shallow stream underneath that doesn’t quite cover my thighs even though I am sitting. My lower half is sodden and I put my hands down to the side to support myself, straight into what feels
like a pile of salt. The grains slide over the top of my hands and mix with the dampness, creating a sludgy paste. I flick my hands in annoyance, eventually using the water to wash it away. Slowly
my eyes begin to adjust to a very faint light that makes everything seem a gentle brown.
Above us is the wide opening of a metal chute
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