“Yes.”
“Oh, come on. If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.” Nothing. Carter fought to keep the frustration out of his voice. “John, I don’t know where you live, but I bet whoever set you up does.”
There was a rattling noise, and Carter looked around, trying to tell what it was. He looked back at John and realised the boy’s feet were drumming off the ground and he was shaking, his shoulders shuddering as if he couldn’t stop.
Oh, hell. Carter got up and draped his jacket round the boy’s shoulders. He pushed the table back and crouched down, putting his hand on John’s chin, tipping his face so they were looking at each other.
“John, things are really bad, okay?”
John’s eyes didn’t waver, even though his teeth were chattering.
“I need you to tell me what happened, and who was involved.” No response. “If you don’t, John, you’ll be taking the rap for it. You’ll get sent to the Zelotyr and they’ll…” He stopped. He couldn’t tell this kid what he faced. He had to. “They’ll…”
“K—kill me,” whispered John. “Like they say, on the street—they do it more than once.”
God help me, he knows. “Yes. Unless you tell me who set you up for this, John, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”
“I can’t. You’re right, he—he—knows where the kids are. If I tell you…”
“That’s right, John, he does…” Carter looked into the boy’s eyes—they were older than they should be—until John nodded.
“He won’t hurt them,” said John. “He knows if they’re gone, there’s nothing to hold me.”
Carter fought the urge to thump his fist on the desk and point out that the bastard, whoever it was, didn’t need more than one of them. He saw the boy was still shuddering, and held his tongue; threats weren’t going to work here. Especially since he suspected the boy knew the truth, but was too scared to admit it.
“John,” he said, picking his words carefully, “the word will be spreading that the Zelotyr are gone.” John watched him, his pupils huge, making his eyes seem like dark pools. "I’m expecting trouble once people realise the patrols are gone. Does that sound right?”
“I suppose.”
“Good. The thing is, when that trouble comes, there’s not enough police or army left to stop it.” He waited until the boy nodded his understanding. “People will get hurt and angry and they’ll turn on the people who can be blamed. Once they realise the Zelotyr were keeping them safe, they’ll blame you for changing things. And if they can’t find you…even if whoever you are working for doesn’t go for your family, someone else might.”
The grey eyes closed, stayed shut for what seemed like minutes, and Carter snaked his hand out until it covered the boy’s.
John’s eyes opened. “Ten Shannon Road,” he whispered.
Carter squeezed his hand. “Good lad. I’ll go and see myself, and then I’ll come back and we can talk some more.”
“If you get my family in front of me, I’ll tell you everything you need to know. The kids need me, I can’t be sent away…” John looked down at the desk. “You might want to check number six as well, that’s where Taz and his mum live.”
“Right.” Carter stood to go.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t mean it. Nor did Taz. Is he okay? He seemed really sick.”
Carter paused. In some ways, the other boy might be the luckier; he was still unconscious, and not aware of the mess. He nodded. “He’s still very shocked.”
“Please, can you help?”
Carter paused, looking at the boy. What had he survived: a year of a bloody war, hiding, foraging food by night? And he’d ended up here, doing someone else’s dirty work.
“I’ll do what I can, John,” he said, choosing his words with care. There was no point promising the earth, not if he couldn’t deliver it.
“You promise?”
The too-old eyes searched him, as if grasping at the hope in front of them. Carter took a deep breath. “Yes. I promise.” He turned away before the boy could ask anything more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Josey sat at the top of the stairs, in the spot where John stayed when he kept watch. A shaft of daylight crawled over her foot, warming it, and she bit her lip. Where was he? He’d never been so late back, and he knew she had no food. She glanced at the two empty water bottles—she’d had to give the kids something to fill their stomachs—and over at the dwindling supply in the corner. Tears pricked her, but she bit down on her knuckle, making sure no noise escaped and woke the kids.
She looked over at the closed bedroom doors. The lay-out was the same as in their old house, and all it took was a slight narrowing of her eyes to imagine she was back there, a year ago. There’d been no way to know 2014 was going to bring an invasion worse than any in the comics John and Taz used to buy. She shifted on the step and stared at what would have been her parents’ bedroom. What she wouldn’t give to push open the door and find them sitting there, cups of tea in hand. Or go to her room and get into a bed that wasn’t mouldy and manky, but clean, its covers just off the line and smelling of fresh air.
Some hope. Useless daydreams, nothing more, like the dreams of the family who’d lived in this house at the start of the war and who’d been in it the day the Zelo bomb had brought down the roof. Their kid had died in the house and they’d fled Belfast afterwards.
She got up and paced the landing, not able to sit any longer. Her CD player sat in the corner beside her bedroom door. She’d love to turn it on and dance to Jessie J. She’d done that with the kids to keep them from crying after Ma and Da died, until the batteries had given up. She wanted it to be the old days when John annoyed her and it was easy to hate him, not sit and pray he’d get home, and he hadn’t been caught, or….
She leaned her head against the door. He couldn’t be dead. He was too smart. He was quick, like a shadow in the streets. He’d be fine.
A soft noise made her start, and she strained, listening, but there was nothing except the kids’ soft snores, and a whistle of wind.
Another noise came, louder this time, from downstairs. She went to the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness. It had been ages since she and John had barricaded the door and told the kids it was going to be a grand adventure camping on the landing. Neither of the little ones had been fooled, not really. They knew aliens weren’t the only danger in Belfast, that hunger made people desperate.
There was a crash, making her jump. A splinter of light appeared where the front door was. She wanted to scream, to run, but stayed still, not daring to give away they were in the house. A second thud and the damage widened to a crack.
That got her moving. This was no looter, trying for an easy break-in. She ran to Sophie’s bedroom and kicked the door open. “Wake up! Hide in the wardrobe and don’t come out unless me or John tells you to.”
Sophie came awake immediately—she might be only eight, but she’d lived through the invasion, too—and darted into the wardrobe. Josey ran into the boys’ room. She picked Stuart up, struggling a little, her hands slippery from fear. She managed to pull him onto her hip and ran into the biggest bedroom, the one that had no roof at all left, not daring to look downstairs. As she shut the door, there was a splintering noise, followed by the sound of men’s voices.