‘Feel better for that?’ asks Libby.
Ignoring her snide comment, I concentrate on using another sense. There are no ambient sounds – no cars, no voices, no plane noises. Nothing.
‘You still got your phone?’ I ask Libby. ‘They took mine.’
She shakes her head. ‘They took mine too.’
‘So we’re locked down here with no phones and no means of escape?’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ Libby confirms.
No phone? I’m never without my phone. I even sleep with it under my pillow. Damn it! Why didn’t they just take one of my arms and have done with it?
‘Did you see or hear anything useful when they brought us in here?’ I ask. ‘Anything at all?’
Again Libby shakes her head. ‘I mean … I thought I heard … seagulls of all things. But I can’t be sure.’
Seagulls? Surely we hadn’t driven anywhere near long enough to have made it to the nearest coast? Thirty to forty minutes was, however, plenty of time to get us somewhere near the capital’s river. And the fact that I couldn’t hear any traffic or people noises must mean we’ve been brought to one of the many areas of the capital that are derelict and deserted, earmarked for renovation that’s been a long time coming. If we’re banged up in one of those districts, we’ll be skeletal remains before we’re ever found. My heart bounces, super-ball-style. I’ve been concentrating on anything and everything except the reality of our situation. That’s not working any more. Our predicament begins to well and truly sink in. This isn’t a prank. Or a dream. It’s as real as my last breath, as true as my next one.
‘This has to be the basement of a house.’ Libby says what I’m thinking.
I nod. ‘But whose house? Have you had the chance to check out down here yet? Maybe there’s a window or another door—’
‘Yeah, of course I did,’ she exclaims. ‘The moment they threw me down here, I sprang up with my hands still tied and sprinted around the room twice, whistling the national anthem. Give me a minute to catch my breath and then I’ll punch right through a wall and fly us out of here.’
Sarky trout. ‘For Shaka’s sake! A simple no would’ve done, Liberty.’
‘Don’t ask stupid-ass questions then.’
We scowl at each other. I have to bite my lip – literally – to stop myself taking her head off. Then it hits me. She’s as scared as I am. That’s why she’s being so vicious. But she’s always vicious. She must be scared all the time.
Let it go, Troy. You’ve got more pressing things to worry about.
Time to put some space between me and the poison mushroom – as Libby is affectionately known at school by all those who’ve been lucky enough to meet her. Finding a way out of this place is the top priority.
I don’t do well in confined spaces.
I head away from the stairs towards the darker recesses of this dank basement. Libby follows. More boxes. More debris. Where I can actually get to the walls, there’s just icy-cold, rough brickwork scratching at my fingers – and nothing else. At one point, something skitters past my foot. I only just manage not to squeal. I can imagine how that’d play with Libby. She’d never let me hear the end of it. We edge around as best we can, feeling our way where the light doesn’t quite reach and shadows like snatching fingers claw at us.
As I feel my way along walls that are shrouded in gloom, I ask, ‘Libby, did you notice anything about the scumbags who grabbed us?’
Behind me, Libby sighs. ‘I caught a glimpse of the driver when I was thrown over the shoulder of crapstick number one.’
She pushes past me to feel her way along the crates against the wall. Obviously I wasn’t moving fast enough. I scowl at the back of her head, but she’s oblivious. Naturally. When Libby looks at me, she sees a Cross and then she stops looking. She doesn’t see anything else; she doesn’t want to see anything else because, as far as Libby is concerned, there’s nothing more to see. Remembering how she used to be when we initially met during our first year at Heathcroft High makes me shake my head. The difference between Libby then and Libby now is startling and wider than the Grand Canyon.
I resume my search, examining each crate we pass. Some have lids; most don’t. Every single one is empty. As I feel along the walls, I’m checking for draughts that might indicate another door or painted-over window. Occasionally, I tap the walls, listening out for a hollow sound that could mean there’s a forgotten room beyond. The solid cold of the rough brick is a constant beneath my fingers.
‘Did you see the driver’s face?’ I ask.
In front of me, Libby nods. ‘He was skinny and wearing a black leather jacket and a fox mask covering his whole head. The one who carried me in here was taller and broader and wearing enough aftershave to choke a horse.’
At once I remember the aftershave. It was so strong it caught in the back of my throat. But that doesn’t move us any further forward.
‘How can someone drive along the city streets wearing a fox mask and not get pulled over or at least noticed?’ I frown.
Libby shrugs. ‘Maybe he put it back on once the van had stopped?’
Which I have to admit sounds more reasonable. Time to stop skirting round the issue.
‘Why are we here? D’you know?’ I ask. ‘What do they want with us?’
Libby turns to me, shaking her head. Even in this half-light, I can see her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She turns away, embarrassed.
‘None of them said anything?’ I ask.
‘A lot of cussing from the one who carried me down here. That’s it.’
A couple of minutes later, we’ve explored the entire basement. No windows. No doors. No cupboards. No hidden alcoves. The boxes and crates are all empty, and the bucket and two rolls of toilet paper in one corner of the room shout that we’re not about to be released any time soon.
We are in a world of trouble.
I regard Libby, refusing to believe that our situation is as hopeless as it appears. Tears are spiking her lower lashes now. Her lips are quivering. She’s that close to breaking down completely. Oh hell, no!
‘You’re not going to start blubbing, are you? That’ll make your cheeks wet, but how will it help our situation?’
Libby shakes her head, her expression dripping annoyance. OK, so that worked!
‘I would get stuck with you, of all people. You’re not exactly one of those guys, are you?’
I frown. ‘What guys?’
‘Those guys who can take a box, a paper clip and some chewing gum and build a tank to get us out of here.’ Libby looks me up and down, unimpressed.
Oh my God! She’s serious! I should be used to that expression when she looks at me by now, but I’m not. It pisses me off.
‘I’m all out of chewing gum,’ I inform her.
‘Improvise.’
‘I’ve got news for you, Libby. Guys like that don’t exist outside of action films.’
‘Well, what can you do?’ Libby throws down the challenge.
‘Plenty.’
‘Nothing useful though, eh?’
I study her. ‘I’ve just realized I’ve died and gone to hell.’