Secrets Read online

  Bane shoved the bloodied lighter green fabric up, peering closely, and wiped gore away with the jacket. “I . . . I don’t think it’s serious.” His fractionally ‘too-dark’ skin—which bothered his prejudiced parents so much—had gone unusually pale.

  “Don’t faint on me, Bane.” I tried for light-hearted and only managed weak. “I’m . . . uh . . . feeling a trifle dizzy myself, truth be told.”

  “I’m not going to . . . What?” His hands were suddenly patting me down, checking for . . . other holes? “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

  “No.” My head really was swimming. I felt quite odd.

  He peered at me closely, his hand feeling my forehead with considerably more well-meaning than expertise. “I think it must be shock. I mean, you just got shot.” He gave a ragged, awe-struck laugh, drawing a feeble chuckle from me.

  Lack of expertise or not, he was clearly right.

  “I’m okay.” I tried to take deep breaths. “I’m okay . . .” I peered at my arm. A long raw channel ran across the upper part, where the bullet had torn flesh away, but it wasn’t really very big, even if it was bleeding quite messily.

  Bane shrugged off his own jacket, then dragged off his shirt in one quick movement without stopping to unbutton it. Slipping the jacket back on over his t-shirt, he ruthlessly ripped the shirt into three long strips.

  “Your mum’s going to kill you,” I mumbled.

  “She missed her chance to do that years ago.” Sarcasm didn’t quite hide the thread of pain in his voice. “I was thoughtless enough to come out of the womb looking like this.” He waved the cloth strips in a head to toe movement. “But, poor her, I was without any actual deformity that would make infanticide legal—and heaven forbid she should do anything illegal. So she’s stuck with me, isn’t she?”

  My heart ached for him. Thoughtless, Margo! Think before you open your mouth. But I didn’t have the energy to continue an all-too-familiar, all-too-painful conversation, and I’d nothing new to say. I just sat and let him doctor me, trying not to wince as the bandage tightened around my arm.

  “That was one weird train.” My head finally felt a bit more normal. “What were those? Secure transport wagons or something? They didn’t even have ladders.”

  Bane had an unfortunate passion for all things military—though his absolute abhorrence of the EuroGov made him a more likely candidate in a few years for the Resistance than the EuroArmy. Although, not if I had any say in it! Not that I wanted him to join the EuroArmy, of course. Unfortunately, he was beginning to hang out with older teens, members of the Young Resistance. Though if he’d actually been out with them, he’d kept quiet . . . which he might have done, knowing how I felt about it. A flicker of hurt and resentment tugged at my heart, but . . . well, it wasn’t like I wasn’t keeping things from him, too. Or rather, one thing. One deadly, vital thing.

  But he probably knew what sort of train it had been . . .

  His hands had gone still against my arm, the last knot still to be tied.

  “Bane?”

  “The train. They weren’t transport wagons.”

  “They must’ve been some kind of—”

  “Not military ones.”

  “It had soldiers on it, Bane.”

  Suddenly, he swore. Really swore. Bane was less clean-mouthed than I was, but he didn’t use that word lightly.

  “Bane? What’s wrong?” Coldness prickled up my spine, even as my heart accelerated.

  He tied off the bandage in a few quick, frantic movements, shoved my arms back into my jacket—pulling it onto me with little consideration for my bad arm—and dragged me to my feet. “Come on! We’ve got to get out of here. Right now!”

  “What’s wrong? They won’t care about two train-jumping teens, even if it was a military—”

  “It wasn’t military! It was the nuclear waste train from Coldwell, blast it! So, come on!”

  “The . . . Uh oh.” I allowed him to drag me to a run without protest. “You think they’re going to over-react?”

  “I think they’re probably going berserk right now, and you can bet an army helicopter will be here in . . . however many minutes it needs to get here. But not many. Not enough. So, come on! You really think they could tell we were teenagers? I think we’ve got hard proof they couldn’t!”

  If they had realized we were just poor-sighted teens trying to jump the wrong train, they’d most likely have fired only warning shots. My arm burned ominously. Bane was right, they had no idea we were teens. And even if they did, that train? They’d assume we were Young Resistance, for once taking part in some larger adult operation—how many nasty bombs could the Resistance make, with just a fraction of the load that train was carrying? Bane was right. The authorities would be freaking out, and I couldn’t blame them. No one wanted the Resistance to rob that train, not even me. Not even Bane.

  We ran. Bane made no allowance for my shorter stride, dragging me with him at a breakneck pace.

  “Where . . . are . . . we . . . going?” I gasped.

  “There’s a set of little-known caves near Rayle’s Pass. It’s the only place I can think of that will block thermal imaging that won’t get searched.”

  “Rayle’s Pass . . . is a . . . long way, Bane.”

  “Yeah, but if we get far enough away from the scene of the crime it’ll be harder for them to be sure we had anything to do with it.”

  He didn’t sound too hopeful, though. I mean, one male, one female; black hair, brown hair; brown jacket, green jacket? Check, check, check. I didn’t fancy our chances. But what else could we do?

  We ran.

  And ran.

  And . . .

  Bane skidded to a halt, listening. I heard it too. A faint, distant chattering sound. Like you heard on TV.

  “Is that a—”

  “Yes.” Bane grabbed my arm. “Come on!”

  We ran.

  The chattering got louder, but not too quickly.

  “Flying a . . . search pattern . . .” Even Bane was breathing hard now.

  My legs were turning to jelly and I was losing track of where we were. Please Lord, let us be nearly there. “How much . . . further, Bane?”

  “We’re getting there. We’re nearly to the Whitly Caves. We could duck in there . . . if the chopper comes too close. But we can’t stop there. They’re on every map—there’s even a parking area! They’ll get searched for sure.”

  “You really . . . think they’re . . . going to . . . ”

  “If they sent a chopper, then they’re going to send troops to search!”

  Alas, once again, he was surely right. That noisy bird was burning through the British Department’s defense budget as we spoke . . . ran . . . staggered. Well, I was staggering.

  Bane shot me an anguished look. “Margo, you’ve got to keep going.”

  “I’m alright. I’m alright . . . ” I forced myself to take stronger steps, forced myself on. Still, everything was becoming a blur. Run . . . run . . . run . . .

  I stumbled right into Bane as he came to a sudden halt. “What?” I focused tiredly and saw a steep-sided ravine crossing our path. Earth sides, not rock. Not sheer, but it would take time to get down and up the other side.

  “Wait . . . this will be quicker.” Bane pulled me along to where a branch had fallen right across the gap. “Hmm, a bit skinny. I’ll go first. If it’ll hold me, it’ll hold you.” Before I could object, he’d leapt onto it and made a run for it, arms flung wide for balance. He jumped off at the other side and looked back at me. “Come on, Margo! Take it at a run, it’s easier.”

  There had to be a little more ‘run’ left in me, surely? Angel Margaret, my guardian dear, help!

  The distant helicopter grew a little louder.

  I sprinted for the bough, trying to make my wobbly legs firm, spreading my arms—ouch—like a tightrope walker. Looking good . . . halfway . . .

  Snap-crack.

  A glimpse of Bane’s dismayed face . . . sky . . . earth slopes. . . . bus
hes . . . tumbling, bouncing off that earth slope . . . boulder flashing past my head . . . flowers . . . and yeowch!

  I lay for a moment, trying not to whimper, then pushed away from the big rock I’d landed against—bad arm first—and sat up dizzily. A thick bed of flowery bushes had—mostly—broken my fall. Delicate hanging flowers, some purple, some pink . . . fuchsias, weren’t they called? They grew all along the bottom of the ravine. Weren’t they a garden plant? What were they doing out here?

  A trail of flying clods of mud, grass, and small stones marked Bane’s descent into the ravine, almost as fast as mine but marginally more controlled. He fetched up at the bottom with one last thudding leap and fell to his knees beside me, squashing more fuchsias. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

  “No, I’m okay,” I managed, though my head still spun and my arm still seared. “Just my arm—”

  “Then we’ve got to move! The chopper’s getting closer.” He pulled me up, but my right ankle crumpled under me.

  “Aaah!”

  “Margo, what is it?”

  “I’ve sprained my ankle.” I stared up at the steep slope in dismay—determinedly tried to shift my weight onto my right . . . Ouch. “Ah, no! Bane, fetch me a stick or something. I can’t get up there without one!”

  That chopper really was getting closer.

  Bane glanced around frantically, then shook his head. “There’s no time! Come here.” And he unceremoniously tipped me over his shoulder and straightened with a grunt.

  “Bane! You can’t . . . Look, you’d better leave me. Get out of here! They won’t be that suspicious of one teenage girl, right?”

  “Dead wrong! They’re looking for one female, remember? Now shut up and just let me . . . ” He fell silent as he began to scramble slowly, painstakingly up the ravine side, chest heaving under my weight, and that of the sandwiches I was squashing.

  Even he must’ve been running out of energy, and it was clear he couldn’t go that fast carrying me, so he set me back on my feet when we reached the top. Pulling my arm securely over his shoulders and wrapping his other arm around my waist, he anchored me to his side, turning himself into one large walking stick. “How’s that? Can you walk?”

  I managed a painful step or two. “Walk, yes. Run, I doubt it.”

  “Walk will have to do. We’ve got to get to Whitly Caves before that chopper.”

  We walked. Well, he walked and I limped. The chopper crept closer and closer. Then from further down the mountain came the sound of a vehicle on one of the forestry tracks. A large vehicle.

  “Think that’s a forestry vic?”

  “Troop lorry.” Bane walked even faster. Almost drag-carrying me, in fact.

  “You sure?”

  “Well, you can glimpse vics on that track usually, down there through the trees, but I can’t spot this vic, can you? So it’s camo-colored.”

  Yes, the forestry vehicles that worked the lower slopes and Fellest proper were all painted bright orange so they didn’t accidentally fell trees onto one another.

  “I’m more worried about the chopper.” He was still hauling me along as fast as he could. “It’ll take the soldiers some time to reach this elevation, searching as they go. But if that chopper so much as glimpses us in its thermal imaging, it’ll be another matter.”

  Wouldn’t it just. I couldn’t help peering over my shoulder now and then. The chopper sounded so close. Normally I’d have been excited to see one for the first time in my life. But not right then.

  The rotor-noise surged again as the chopper cleared yet another ridge. How many ridges could possibly be left? Bane swore, ducked down, and before I knew it, had me over his shoulder again. He took off up the path like a deer with wolves on its heels. A heavily laden deer. Yes, if they had thermal imaging they might well be able to see us before we could see them. Not good.

  After a few hundred meters, dark rock walls loomed on each side, cavernously wide at first, but narrowing as Bane carried me a little further in. Finally! He set me carefully down on a handy boulder, worn smooth by many a resting tourist. The caves were empty, though. The season hadn’t started properly yet.

  “Now what?”

  “Now . . . ” Bane was leant over with his hands on his knees, panting. “Now, we wait . . . for that chopper . . . to clear off . . . and then . . . make a run . . . for Rayle’s Pass. Hide properly . . . ”

  “The troops might not come this far out, right?”

  “They’ll be calculating how far a grown man could run, uninjured, not carrying someone, and then adding a margin for error. They may search as far as Rayle’s Pass and they’ll certainly search here. Let’s hope the chopper clears off before they get—”

  An immense sound filled the cavern, reverberating from wall to wall. Wind blasted into the cave.

  “Down!” He dragged me over the back of the boulder, to the cave floor.

  Thrumming—clattering—hissing. The sound was hard to describe, but I knew what it was. Air rushed around, eddying from wall to wall, and dust whipped everywhere. I squeezed my eyes closed, kept my head down and fiercely resisted the almost unbearable urge to peep out. Because I was pretty jolly sure that a fortune in aviation technology was hovering in the clearing outside the caves, pointing its sensors straight inside. I would so have loved to see it, but not enough to risk being shot, or charged with being Young Resistance and shut in a secure borstal. Or, heaven forbid, even being certified as unReformable and subjected to early Dismantling. Though surely to goodness they wouldn’t do that for a first offense?

  Bane’s arm was around my shoulders, holding me down behind the nice thermal-imaging-proof boulder, and his chest pressed to my back so hard I could feel his heart pounding. If he had ever been out with the Young Resistance, he’d certainly never been caught. All the same, his record wasn’t quite as clear as mine.

  Oh, go away, go away noisy bird.

  Why was it checking out this cave so thoroughly? Please let them not have seen us go in. The cave was the only obvious hiding place from thermal imaging; surely that was enough to account for their interest?

  The sound was changing, growing again, then fading as the chopper rose into the air and gained height—or distance? Hard to know, but the sound faded back to a distant chatter.

  Bane let out a big breath. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He helped me back onto the boulder. “I think they may have seen us come in here. But we can’t do anything. Unless it clears off. And it’s not clearing off.” He listened for a few moments. “Nope. It’s maintaining altitude nearby. We can’t sneak past it. Oh, this is not good.”

  Were soldiers already heading in our direction? My stomach churned uncomfortably. What would they do with us? How serious would this be? It would all depend on whether we could convince them we’d made an honest mistake whilst engaging in the local, technically illicit, but commonplace teen ‘sport’ of train jumping—or if they insisted on believing we were Young Resistance aiding some larger, aborted attack on the nuclear waste train. Surely the total lack of evidence of the latter would be obvious?

  Bane sat beside me, slipped off the rucksack, opened it, and handed me a squished sandwich. “Tuck in.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously. We may as well make good use of the time. I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling pretty whacked.”

  Too true. Mechanically, I bit into the sandwich, chewed with difficulty, and somehow managed to swallow. My mouth was dry with fear.

  We got through half the sandwiches and the chopper was still waiting. We began to catch far-off noises, audible over the distant rotors. A twig snapping. A muffled oath. The soldiers were on their way up to us.

  Should we stay, or try to make a run for it? But my ankle . . . and Bane wouldn’t leave me.

  My ankle.

  I grabbed Bane’s wrist. “Quick! Let’s put the sandwiches out properly, like we’re having a little picnic, not a care in the world. Get the cloth out! Get the juice
and the apples.” I was shoving my hands into the backpack even as I spoke, emptying it. “There . . . I’ll spread these out. I need something to hide the blood . . . your jacket! Give it to me, then get down that hillside and ask those soldiers to come and help your poor friend who’s hurt her ankle.”

  Bane’s bewilderment gave way to grim understanding. “We’re going to be caught, so we may as well act innocent, instead of cowering like criminals. You’re right. Here . . . ” He shoved his jacket into my hands and bounded to the cave entrance.

  Hang on a minute. What if they shot on sight?

  “Wait! On second thought, I should go.” I’d be less threatening.

  Bane just flipped a hand over his shoulder at me, though he did take a good look around the clearing—fully visible from the wide-mouthed cave—before going all the way out. Once in the open, he walked confidently, though, no hint of furtiveness. Oh, why did he have to be so big and strong for his age? It’d been useful for getting out of that ravine, no mistake, but now . . . Someone could easily take him for fifteen, or even sixteen. If only he looked twelve. Or even obviously fourteen . . .

  Quickly, I dragged his brown jacket on over my green one. It was loose enough to fit over the dressing. Thank you, Lord. Blood seeped through the bandage, though. Hitting that rock must’ve made it bleed more. Well, it would take longer to soak onto a loose sleeve than a tight one. Please, God, let us be out of this before it comes through.

  I spread out the little picnic cloth over the boulder and arranged the sandwiches, drinks, and things, all the time listening like mad for the moment when the soldiers spotted Bane. The already-eaten sandwiches were a leaden, sick-inducing weight in my stomach.

  “Hey! S’cuse me? Can you help?” Bane’s voice suddenly came to my ears, deliberately childish. Followed by a sharp military bark of something I was pretty sure was, “Hands up!”

  “Oh, wow, is that a real gun?” Bane prattled right on. “Are you a soldier? You are! Wow! I’m glad you’re here. My friend’s hurt her ankle. Can you give us a ride?” Clever Bane, immediately slipping in that his friend was female. Relax, chaps, there isn’t another big brawny young lad lurking nearby.