Thursday's Child, page 23
Arlo sped up his pace and got back to his own workstation in record time.
*
Sure enough, Beth did leave early. She gave Arlo a sour look on her way out but didn’t say anything to him or George. The pair of them waited a few minutes before they said anything; a wise move since Beth reappeared a couple of minutes later, claiming to have left her water bottle.
After she left for the second time, Arlo carefully downed tools and got up to join George at the foot of his ship. For a moment the pair of them just stood side by side staring up at it.
‘I don’t have champagne,’ George said. ‘You know, to crack on the side of it.’
‘Can’t imagine her royal highness being happy with the mess either.’
George sighed a little.
‘Go easy on her Arlo.’
‘I don’t think she understands the concept of going easy.’
‘She’s… she’s in a tricky position. I can’t…’
‘I know, I know. You can’t say any more than that. It’s all a big secret.’
They settled into silence for a moment. Arlo looked up at the hulking gray ship next to them. George had a tiny pot of white paint unopened next to his workstation.
‘What are you going to name it?’ Arlo asked.
‘Her.’
‘That’s a weird choice.’
‘No. The ship is a her. They’re all female.’
‘I know, I was joking.’ Arlo peered up at the towering grey fin. ‘So what’s her name then?’
‘The Rapscallion.’
Arlo laughed then stopped himself. He looked sheepishly round at George but was relieved to see his friend smiling too.
‘I know, it’s a silly name. But I like it. I’m not one for breaking rules but whenever I was a bit cheeky, my dad always called me a rapscallion. It fits, I think.’
George reached up and patted the metal hull. Arlo half-expected the sound to echo through the belly of the ship but no. It sounded more like patting a hand on solid concrete.
‘She’s ready to go isn’t she?’ Arlo said.
‘Mhm. Got food for…’ George blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. Three months? That’s if it was just me in there. With you and Beth that’d go down obviously.’
‘Me and Beth in there.’ Arlo repeated his friend almost absentmindedly, then realised what he’d said. ‘Wait, so what’s the plan then?’
‘Well, I was thinking we both get on a cherry-picker. I’ll stencil out the letters and you…’
‘No, I meant… I meant May 13th. The big day. Takeoff. What’s happening? What do you mean about the three of us being in there?’
George walked over to his workstation and picked up the bucket of paint. With his free hand, he slid open a drawer and fished around amongst the papers inside, pulling out a stack of folded stencils. The ‘R’ alone looked to be almost as tall as Arlo was.
‘Can you give me a hand getting all of these?’
‘George.’
‘I can’t tell you.’ George didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Now come on.’
‘George.’
‘Fine.’ George turned and checked the doorway that Beth had disappeared through. ‘You’re not going to like this though.’
‘Try me.’
‘Beth is convinced you won’t finish your ship. She wants to leave you here.’
Arlo scoffed.
‘George, do you really think I didn’t know that by now?’
‘I don’t think that’s fair on you so I would want you to come along in my ship too.’
It took a few seconds for Arlo to realise what George had just said.
‘Wait, you don’t think I’ll finish my ship either.’
‘No! I do, I do think you’ll finish.’ George put down the paint can to show how serious he was. ‘Honestly. I do. But just in case.’
‘There is “no just in case” here George. I’m not some charity kid. You and Beth have already given me too many handouts with all this equipment. I’m taking off on May 13th. In my own ship. Understood?’
George grinned at him.
‘What? What’s funny?’
‘No no, not funny. Just, it’s good to see you so focused.’
‘I’m not letting this opportunity go, George. If I do, I’m done.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Maybe not. But I have to believe that, don’t I? No safety net.’
‘No safety net.’
George held out a hand and Arlo low-fived it.
‘Speaking of safety nets,’ Arlo looked around the hangar. ‘Where’s that cherry picker?’
*
The Rapscallion was complete.
Arlo and George levered themselves back down to ground level, not looking up at their handiwork. They still didn’t look at it when they dismounted but kept walking all the way to the door of the hangar, as far away as they could get. It was only then that they turned round and looked up.
The Rapscallion.
Written in proud italics with a little painting of a sapling next to the ‘n’. Arlo was proud of it. He hadn’t done much but he was glad that he’d been able to help George with his ship in some small way.
‘So what are we calling yours?’ George turned to him.
‘Oh,’ Arlo said. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’
That was a lie. For weeks, Arlo had been wracking his brains trying to come up with a good name for his little Spitfire. He’d always just thought of it as the Thursday, but now that it was in an all-new body and had been reworked so much it wasn’t the same ship anymore.
‘Well get thinking. I’ll help you paint it on in a couple of weeks. How does that sound?’
‘Deal,’ Arlo sighed. ‘Gotta finish building her first though.’
*
Arlo came to his lesson prepared.
Prepared in the sense that he’d done all of his assigned reading. He was flying through the survival skills books, was wrapping his head around The Universe in a Nutshell with the help of Red, and was even starting to get to grips with the basics of sign language.
Hello
Hello. How are you?
I am well, thank you. How are you?
Impressed.
‘Okay, I didn’t understand that last one,’ Arlo said, hands still raised from his efforts signing.
‘I signed that I was impressed, Arlo.’
Arlo smiled and sipped his tea. It had been a couple of weeks since he and George had painted the name onto his friend’s ship. That supposed ‘focus’ that George said he’d seen in Arlo may have actually been true. Arlo finally felt like he’d found his rhythm at the airfield.
Things were still tense - very tense - under Beth. She kept a strict silence rule in the hangar whenever she was in. No rap music, no coffee breaks, no talking. If you were there, you were working. That was if she was there. When it was just George and Arlo, they’d gather around his ship and work on it.
George had given Arlo a crate of his supplies. Of course, Arlo had protested but George insisted. It was full of basic survival equipment, foil blankets, dehydrated meals, all the essentials that would make life in a small Spitfire’s cockpit manageable.
More importantly, though, it meant Arlo had another pair of hands to help him with his ship. Having Red around had been helpful of course, but the little AI couldn’t actually do anything. George on the other hand was reaching into the engine, adjusting, checking, screwing, welding, helping Arlo with every little step.
Progress, as a result, had massively accelerated. They were now a month out from launch day and theoretically Arlo’s ship could take off. It wasn’t fully insulated yet, the electrical monitoring systems weren’t fully wired up yet, and nothing had been calibrated yet so flying it in a straight line would be a big challenge.
But in theory, all of the essential pieces were in the ship.
And Arlo still had a full month to get the rest of it ready before launch day.
‘You are smiling, Arlo,’ Arthur surveyed him curiously over his own cup of tea. ‘Care to enlighten me?’
‘It’s been a good couple of weeks.’
‘I am glad. Have you found much time for reading?’
A light flashed briefly outside somewhere in the street. Arthur half glanced out of the window, before indicating to Arlo to go on.
‘You know what, I actually have.’
‘Where would you like to begin this week?’
‘Well,’ Arlo set his tea down. ‘Actually, it’s a bit off-topic if that’s okay.’
‘Go on.’
‘A couple of weeks ago, you said something that I’ve been thinking about a bit. You said you knew my Ma.’
‘Ah.’
‘I don’t want to sound rude, but she never talked about you at all. Neither did Pa really until you turned up at the shop looking for that teapot.’
‘Yes, well…’
Arlo was surprised. For the first time in his life, he saw that Arthur was lost for words. But it was more than that somehow. A shadow had passed across the old man’s face. His eyes ran from left to right across the table between them as if he was scanning some invisible book, hoping to find the answer to some ancient riddle.
‘Is everything okay?’ Arlo asked.
‘Hm? Yes. Yes, quite.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d asked… well, I don’t know. Are you okay?’
Arthur’s eyes stopped darting. A weight seemed to fall on them. His eyelids drooped. The wrinkles in his face seemed to sink deeper into his skin in the dim light of the cafe.
‘I suppose you ought to know.’
Arlo’s heart dropped. He’d asked the question innocuously. He wasn’t sure he’d come in here ready to be told some big secret.
‘Arlo, you must promise not to tell a soul. Not for your sake, but for my own.’
‘Okay.’
‘What I am about to tell you is highly classified.’
‘Classified?’ The penny dropped. Arlo opened his mouth, then closed it.
‘I first met your mother when she had just graduated from flight school. She was top of her class, fast-tracked straight through the airforce, aced every test under the sun.’ Arthur cleared his throat. ‘At the time, I was… well, I suppose I was out of my depth. I came from the world of academia and yet the airforce chose me to head up the programme. Developing single-pilot interstellar scouting vehicles. I am not sure how much your mother told you of what she did?’
‘She made the Thursday.’
‘We made the Thursday. Both your mother and I were the key team working on that particular iteration. And well…’
Arthur stopped speaking. In the silence of the library, Arlo heard that same dull ringing that had filled his ears, on the day his Ma had crashed.
Silence.
Arlo cleared his throat. He lifted his hands from the table, put them on his knees, and clenched them into fists. He focused on the feeling of his fingernails pressing into his palms. The ringing faded slightly. He looked back up.
There were tears in Arthur’s eyes, glinting at him.
‘It was my fault, Arlo,’ Arthur looked straight at him. Straight into him. ‘It was my fault.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Thursday, she had a fault. I knew it but I… I dismissed it. She wasn’t fit to fly, but your mother insisted. I could have stopped her.’
Ringing. More ringing.
Numb legs pushed Arlo up and away from the table. A chair fell over somewhere behind him.
‘Arlo, I am so sorry. And now your Pa.’
‘I’m gonna be sick.’
‘Arlo.’
Night air hit Arlo’s face. Somehow he was outside. The pavement rose and fell all around him, swaying up and down. His mind shrank away. Going into itself. Deeper.
‘Arlo, please sit. You look…’
A grumbling sound, something dark and looming. Two bright lights.
bbbeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!!!!
Arlo fell back. The car skidded to a halt just past him.
Arlo looked around. He and Arthur were on the pavement by the side of the road, the old man’s hand gripping his bicep in a vice. The pain of the grip cut through to Arlo’s mind and pulled him back to reality.
The car’s rear lights bathed the dark street in red. No one was moving. The only sound was Arthur’s panting breath in his ear.
Arlo tried to peer at the side mirror but couldn’t make anything out. All of a sudden, the engine revved and the car sped away. The grip on Arlo’s arm tightened and he found himself being hauled back inside and landing in a chair in the cafe.
‘Arlo, listen to me. Listen.’
There was a new note of urgency in Arthur’s voice. The tears were gone from his eyes; the tea from his hands. He stood over the table, hands planted squarely on either side of Arlo. His eyes bore into Arlo’s. Suddenly, Arlo could see the military man in him that had been hiding beneath the surface for such a long time.
‘Arlo, I need you to confirm for me. The Thursday was destroyed, yes?’
‘What?’
‘When it crashed, the Thursday was destroyed? There is nothing left of it?’
‘What are you talking about? Why?’
‘Arlo!’
The old man punched the table. Arlo jumped.
‘It was all broken up.’
‘What do you mean broken up?’
‘It was all twisted and smashed up and…’
Arthur’s face dropped.
‘Your father… oh your father and his antiques…’
‘Why? What does it matter?’
‘Why could he not just… wait.’
Arlo gulped.
‘Arlo, you said that it ‘was’ broken up.’
‘Um…’
‘Arlo, what have you done?’ Arthur shook his head incredulously. ‘You poor foolish boy, what have you done?’
‘Nothing, I haven’t done anything…’
‘Why could you not just wait? Just take your ticket and wait for your place on an Evac ship.’
‘You’re scaring me, what’s happening?’
Arthur had tears running down his face now. The military man shrank away and left him. He looked old. Older than he ever had before. When he spoke, it was in a very quiet voice.
‘Arlo, I need you to think very carefully. That light that flashed in the street earlier. Did you see where it came from?’
Arlo shook his head. His heart was hammering.
‘Was it a bright white light that just flashed once? Did it look like it came from inside of a car?’
‘I… I don’t know. What’s going on? Am I in trouble?’
‘They’re watching me. They know who I am. What I used to do. Now think Arlo. Really think. Have you ever seen that car somewhere before?’
Arlo didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Arthur could see clear as day in his face that Arlo had met D.S. Springer before.
Arthur softly shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘You poor foolish boy. What have you done? You foolish boy.’
Arlo shot to his feet. He swayed slightly.
Then bolted.
He reached the door so quickly he barged it open with his shoulder before he could stop himself. Spinning round in the doorway, he looked frantically back at the old man who’d held so many answers for him before. And all Arthur could do was shrug helplessly.
Then Arlo was gone, tearing away into the night.
*
The electric motor whined. The whine grew shriller and more strained until it became a ragged whistle. Even the tyres hummed nervously as the quad darted down the dark empty streets.
At every turn Arlo was expecting to see those red tail lights in front of him, disappearing into the distance. Every time he looked over his shoulder he expected to see glaring headlights rushing towards him. But the streets were lifeless.
A gap opened up between the houses and Arlo glimpsed the open ocean to his left. There on the horizon, silhouetted against the night sky was the hulking figure of the Kirkdale. There were lights on it, workers doing the last checks before its maiden voyage. But most of the ship was shrouded in the night. A shadow against a black sky.
Impossibly wide. Impossibly tall.
At one point it had been beautiful. Now all Arlo saw was darkness.
The quad kicked up under him. He threw his hands hard to the right to correct it. He’d caught the kerb. The quad swung the other way and he corrected again. By the time he’d straightened out, the Kirkdale was gone. Hidden by row after row of abandoned houses.
He turned the throttle harder, picking up speed as the road sloped down away from him. Before long the buildings were replaced by trees, then by bushes, then open farmland.
A gate stood open to his left. Arlo gripped the brakes and the quad scudded to an uneasy stop. Arlo stood up on the footwell and peered out over the darkened hills.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
There!
A pair of headlights were quickly weaving their way along a lane. Something dropped in Arlo’s stomach. Even from this distance, he knew. That was the road leading up to his house. He clutched his pocket instinctively. The welcome feel of the tennis ball met his fingertips.
‘Red.’
‘Arlo. Are you okay? What is happening?’
‘Red we can’t go home.’
‘How many cars do you see?’
‘One.’
‘Then you have time.’
‘For what?’
The AI didn’t answer him.
Arlo watched the tiny little slowly disappear around a bend. From up here it looked almost peaceful.
‘Time for what Red?’
‘Time to escape.’
Arlo wiped a hand across his face. He was crying. He hadn’t realised.
‘Okay.’
He breathed out.
‘Okay.’
Arlo sat back onto the quad and turned out onto the lane. He took a quick look across the fields in the direction of the sea once again. He could just about make out the dark strip of tarmac from up here.
No time.
Arlo twisted the throttle harder and shot off down the hill, listening to the shrill whine of the quad engine growing louder and louder in his ears.
*
Sure enough, Beth did leave early. She gave Arlo a sour look on her way out but didn’t say anything to him or George. The pair of them waited a few minutes before they said anything; a wise move since Beth reappeared a couple of minutes later, claiming to have left her water bottle.
After she left for the second time, Arlo carefully downed tools and got up to join George at the foot of his ship. For a moment the pair of them just stood side by side staring up at it.
‘I don’t have champagne,’ George said. ‘You know, to crack on the side of it.’
‘Can’t imagine her royal highness being happy with the mess either.’
George sighed a little.
‘Go easy on her Arlo.’
‘I don’t think she understands the concept of going easy.’
‘She’s… she’s in a tricky position. I can’t…’
‘I know, I know. You can’t say any more than that. It’s all a big secret.’
They settled into silence for a moment. Arlo looked up at the hulking gray ship next to them. George had a tiny pot of white paint unopened next to his workstation.
‘What are you going to name it?’ Arlo asked.
‘Her.’
‘That’s a weird choice.’
‘No. The ship is a her. They’re all female.’
‘I know, I was joking.’ Arlo peered up at the towering grey fin. ‘So what’s her name then?’
‘The Rapscallion.’
Arlo laughed then stopped himself. He looked sheepishly round at George but was relieved to see his friend smiling too.
‘I know, it’s a silly name. But I like it. I’m not one for breaking rules but whenever I was a bit cheeky, my dad always called me a rapscallion. It fits, I think.’
George reached up and patted the metal hull. Arlo half-expected the sound to echo through the belly of the ship but no. It sounded more like patting a hand on solid concrete.
‘She’s ready to go isn’t she?’ Arlo said.
‘Mhm. Got food for…’ George blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. Three months? That’s if it was just me in there. With you and Beth that’d go down obviously.’
‘Me and Beth in there.’ Arlo repeated his friend almost absentmindedly, then realised what he’d said. ‘Wait, so what’s the plan then?’
‘Well, I was thinking we both get on a cherry-picker. I’ll stencil out the letters and you…’
‘No, I meant… I meant May 13th. The big day. Takeoff. What’s happening? What do you mean about the three of us being in there?’
George walked over to his workstation and picked up the bucket of paint. With his free hand, he slid open a drawer and fished around amongst the papers inside, pulling out a stack of folded stencils. The ‘R’ alone looked to be almost as tall as Arlo was.
‘Can you give me a hand getting all of these?’
‘George.’
‘I can’t tell you.’ George didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Now come on.’
‘George.’
‘Fine.’ George turned and checked the doorway that Beth had disappeared through. ‘You’re not going to like this though.’
‘Try me.’
‘Beth is convinced you won’t finish your ship. She wants to leave you here.’
Arlo scoffed.
‘George, do you really think I didn’t know that by now?’
‘I don’t think that’s fair on you so I would want you to come along in my ship too.’
It took a few seconds for Arlo to realise what George had just said.
‘Wait, you don’t think I’ll finish my ship either.’
‘No! I do, I do think you’ll finish.’ George put down the paint can to show how serious he was. ‘Honestly. I do. But just in case.’
‘There is “no just in case” here George. I’m not some charity kid. You and Beth have already given me too many handouts with all this equipment. I’m taking off on May 13th. In my own ship. Understood?’
George grinned at him.
‘What? What’s funny?’
‘No no, not funny. Just, it’s good to see you so focused.’
‘I’m not letting this opportunity go, George. If I do, I’m done.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Maybe not. But I have to believe that, don’t I? No safety net.’
‘No safety net.’
George held out a hand and Arlo low-fived it.
‘Speaking of safety nets,’ Arlo looked around the hangar. ‘Where’s that cherry picker?’
*
The Rapscallion was complete.
Arlo and George levered themselves back down to ground level, not looking up at their handiwork. They still didn’t look at it when they dismounted but kept walking all the way to the door of the hangar, as far away as they could get. It was only then that they turned round and looked up.
The Rapscallion.
Written in proud italics with a little painting of a sapling next to the ‘n’. Arlo was proud of it. He hadn’t done much but he was glad that he’d been able to help George with his ship in some small way.
‘So what are we calling yours?’ George turned to him.
‘Oh,’ Arlo said. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’
That was a lie. For weeks, Arlo had been wracking his brains trying to come up with a good name for his little Spitfire. He’d always just thought of it as the Thursday, but now that it was in an all-new body and had been reworked so much it wasn’t the same ship anymore.
‘Well get thinking. I’ll help you paint it on in a couple of weeks. How does that sound?’
‘Deal,’ Arlo sighed. ‘Gotta finish building her first though.’
*
Arlo came to his lesson prepared.
Prepared in the sense that he’d done all of his assigned reading. He was flying through the survival skills books, was wrapping his head around The Universe in a Nutshell with the help of Red, and was even starting to get to grips with the basics of sign language.
Hello
Hello. How are you?
I am well, thank you. How are you?
Impressed.
‘Okay, I didn’t understand that last one,’ Arlo said, hands still raised from his efforts signing.
‘I signed that I was impressed, Arlo.’
Arlo smiled and sipped his tea. It had been a couple of weeks since he and George had painted the name onto his friend’s ship. That supposed ‘focus’ that George said he’d seen in Arlo may have actually been true. Arlo finally felt like he’d found his rhythm at the airfield.
Things were still tense - very tense - under Beth. She kept a strict silence rule in the hangar whenever she was in. No rap music, no coffee breaks, no talking. If you were there, you were working. That was if she was there. When it was just George and Arlo, they’d gather around his ship and work on it.
George had given Arlo a crate of his supplies. Of course, Arlo had protested but George insisted. It was full of basic survival equipment, foil blankets, dehydrated meals, all the essentials that would make life in a small Spitfire’s cockpit manageable.
More importantly, though, it meant Arlo had another pair of hands to help him with his ship. Having Red around had been helpful of course, but the little AI couldn’t actually do anything. George on the other hand was reaching into the engine, adjusting, checking, screwing, welding, helping Arlo with every little step.
Progress, as a result, had massively accelerated. They were now a month out from launch day and theoretically Arlo’s ship could take off. It wasn’t fully insulated yet, the electrical monitoring systems weren’t fully wired up yet, and nothing had been calibrated yet so flying it in a straight line would be a big challenge.
But in theory, all of the essential pieces were in the ship.
And Arlo still had a full month to get the rest of it ready before launch day.
‘You are smiling, Arlo,’ Arthur surveyed him curiously over his own cup of tea. ‘Care to enlighten me?’
‘It’s been a good couple of weeks.’
‘I am glad. Have you found much time for reading?’
A light flashed briefly outside somewhere in the street. Arthur half glanced out of the window, before indicating to Arlo to go on.
‘You know what, I actually have.’
‘Where would you like to begin this week?’
‘Well,’ Arlo set his tea down. ‘Actually, it’s a bit off-topic if that’s okay.’
‘Go on.’
‘A couple of weeks ago, you said something that I’ve been thinking about a bit. You said you knew my Ma.’
‘Ah.’
‘I don’t want to sound rude, but she never talked about you at all. Neither did Pa really until you turned up at the shop looking for that teapot.’
‘Yes, well…’
Arlo was surprised. For the first time in his life, he saw that Arthur was lost for words. But it was more than that somehow. A shadow had passed across the old man’s face. His eyes ran from left to right across the table between them as if he was scanning some invisible book, hoping to find the answer to some ancient riddle.
‘Is everything okay?’ Arlo asked.
‘Hm? Yes. Yes, quite.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise I’d asked… well, I don’t know. Are you okay?’
Arthur’s eyes stopped darting. A weight seemed to fall on them. His eyelids drooped. The wrinkles in his face seemed to sink deeper into his skin in the dim light of the cafe.
‘I suppose you ought to know.’
Arlo’s heart dropped. He’d asked the question innocuously. He wasn’t sure he’d come in here ready to be told some big secret.
‘Arlo, you must promise not to tell a soul. Not for your sake, but for my own.’
‘Okay.’
‘What I am about to tell you is highly classified.’
‘Classified?’ The penny dropped. Arlo opened his mouth, then closed it.
‘I first met your mother when she had just graduated from flight school. She was top of her class, fast-tracked straight through the airforce, aced every test under the sun.’ Arthur cleared his throat. ‘At the time, I was… well, I suppose I was out of my depth. I came from the world of academia and yet the airforce chose me to head up the programme. Developing single-pilot interstellar scouting vehicles. I am not sure how much your mother told you of what she did?’
‘She made the Thursday.’
‘We made the Thursday. Both your mother and I were the key team working on that particular iteration. And well…’
Arthur stopped speaking. In the silence of the library, Arlo heard that same dull ringing that had filled his ears, on the day his Ma had crashed.
Silence.
Arlo cleared his throat. He lifted his hands from the table, put them on his knees, and clenched them into fists. He focused on the feeling of his fingernails pressing into his palms. The ringing faded slightly. He looked back up.
There were tears in Arthur’s eyes, glinting at him.
‘It was my fault, Arlo,’ Arthur looked straight at him. Straight into him. ‘It was my fault.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The Thursday, she had a fault. I knew it but I… I dismissed it. She wasn’t fit to fly, but your mother insisted. I could have stopped her.’
Ringing. More ringing.
Numb legs pushed Arlo up and away from the table. A chair fell over somewhere behind him.
‘Arlo, I am so sorry. And now your Pa.’
‘I’m gonna be sick.’
‘Arlo.’
Night air hit Arlo’s face. Somehow he was outside. The pavement rose and fell all around him, swaying up and down. His mind shrank away. Going into itself. Deeper.
‘Arlo, please sit. You look…’
A grumbling sound, something dark and looming. Two bright lights.
bbbeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPP!!!!
Arlo fell back. The car skidded to a halt just past him.
Arlo looked around. He and Arthur were on the pavement by the side of the road, the old man’s hand gripping his bicep in a vice. The pain of the grip cut through to Arlo’s mind and pulled him back to reality.
The car’s rear lights bathed the dark street in red. No one was moving. The only sound was Arthur’s panting breath in his ear.
Arlo tried to peer at the side mirror but couldn’t make anything out. All of a sudden, the engine revved and the car sped away. The grip on Arlo’s arm tightened and he found himself being hauled back inside and landing in a chair in the cafe.
‘Arlo, listen to me. Listen.’
There was a new note of urgency in Arthur’s voice. The tears were gone from his eyes; the tea from his hands. He stood over the table, hands planted squarely on either side of Arlo. His eyes bore into Arlo’s. Suddenly, Arlo could see the military man in him that had been hiding beneath the surface for such a long time.
‘Arlo, I need you to confirm for me. The Thursday was destroyed, yes?’
‘What?’
‘When it crashed, the Thursday was destroyed? There is nothing left of it?’
‘What are you talking about? Why?’
‘Arlo!’
The old man punched the table. Arlo jumped.
‘It was all broken up.’
‘What do you mean broken up?’
‘It was all twisted and smashed up and…’
Arthur’s face dropped.
‘Your father… oh your father and his antiques…’
‘Why? What does it matter?’
‘Why could he not just… wait.’
Arlo gulped.
‘Arlo, you said that it ‘was’ broken up.’
‘Um…’
‘Arlo, what have you done?’ Arthur shook his head incredulously. ‘You poor foolish boy, what have you done?’
‘Nothing, I haven’t done anything…’
‘Why could you not just wait? Just take your ticket and wait for your place on an Evac ship.’
‘You’re scaring me, what’s happening?’
Arthur had tears running down his face now. The military man shrank away and left him. He looked old. Older than he ever had before. When he spoke, it was in a very quiet voice.
‘Arlo, I need you to think very carefully. That light that flashed in the street earlier. Did you see where it came from?’
Arlo shook his head. His heart was hammering.
‘Was it a bright white light that just flashed once? Did it look like it came from inside of a car?’
‘I… I don’t know. What’s going on? Am I in trouble?’
‘They’re watching me. They know who I am. What I used to do. Now think Arlo. Really think. Have you ever seen that car somewhere before?’
Arlo didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Arthur could see clear as day in his face that Arlo had met D.S. Springer before.
Arthur softly shook his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘You poor foolish boy. What have you done? You foolish boy.’
Arlo shot to his feet. He swayed slightly.
Then bolted.
He reached the door so quickly he barged it open with his shoulder before he could stop himself. Spinning round in the doorway, he looked frantically back at the old man who’d held so many answers for him before. And all Arthur could do was shrug helplessly.
Then Arlo was gone, tearing away into the night.
*
The electric motor whined. The whine grew shriller and more strained until it became a ragged whistle. Even the tyres hummed nervously as the quad darted down the dark empty streets.
At every turn Arlo was expecting to see those red tail lights in front of him, disappearing into the distance. Every time he looked over his shoulder he expected to see glaring headlights rushing towards him. But the streets were lifeless.
A gap opened up between the houses and Arlo glimpsed the open ocean to his left. There on the horizon, silhouetted against the night sky was the hulking figure of the Kirkdale. There were lights on it, workers doing the last checks before its maiden voyage. But most of the ship was shrouded in the night. A shadow against a black sky.
Impossibly wide. Impossibly tall.
At one point it had been beautiful. Now all Arlo saw was darkness.
The quad kicked up under him. He threw his hands hard to the right to correct it. He’d caught the kerb. The quad swung the other way and he corrected again. By the time he’d straightened out, the Kirkdale was gone. Hidden by row after row of abandoned houses.
He turned the throttle harder, picking up speed as the road sloped down away from him. Before long the buildings were replaced by trees, then by bushes, then open farmland.
A gate stood open to his left. Arlo gripped the brakes and the quad scudded to an uneasy stop. Arlo stood up on the footwell and peered out over the darkened hills.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
There!
A pair of headlights were quickly weaving their way along a lane. Something dropped in Arlo’s stomach. Even from this distance, he knew. That was the road leading up to his house. He clutched his pocket instinctively. The welcome feel of the tennis ball met his fingertips.
‘Red.’
‘Arlo. Are you okay? What is happening?’
‘Red we can’t go home.’
‘How many cars do you see?’
‘One.’
‘Then you have time.’
‘For what?’
The AI didn’t answer him.
Arlo watched the tiny little slowly disappear around a bend. From up here it looked almost peaceful.
‘Time for what Red?’
‘Time to escape.’
Arlo wiped a hand across his face. He was crying. He hadn’t realised.
‘Okay.’
He breathed out.
‘Okay.’
Arlo sat back onto the quad and turned out onto the lane. He took a quick look across the fields in the direction of the sea once again. He could just about make out the dark strip of tarmac from up here.
No time.
Arlo twisted the throttle harder and shot off down the hill, listening to the shrill whine of the quad engine growing louder and louder in his ears.
