Hidden by Emma Kavanagh Page B

Had seen the off-licence, buried in between rough-faced council houses, spiderweb fractures spread across the wide glass. Looking. Looking.
    Then he saw them.
    ‘I was the first.’
    ‘The first?’ asked Imogen.
    ‘To see them. The kids.’ The word scratched at his throat, clawing on its way out. ‘I saw them as we were coming up the hill. It was dark, really dark, and raining so heavily, and I saw these figures.’ Aden wasn’t looking at her now. Wasn’t looking at anything. ‘I didn’t know they were kids. I mean, I could barely see. And they were tall . . .’
    Aden had slammed on the brakes, so hard that it seemed inevitable there would be whiplash. Flung open the car door. And then he was running. Through puddles and rain. Could hear the squeal of brakes behind him, another ARV door slamming, Tony splashing, just behind them. Aden could barely see. Just rain, shadows. Figures up ahead, sounds of shouting, then like a shoal of fish they veered off, vanishing into the walls apparently. Aden running, looking, and then, out of nowhere, had loomed a pool of blackness, an alleyway that had not been there before. Aden had taken a sharp turn, plunging after the figures into the black conduit that fed through the rows of council houses, the smell of ammonia almost overwhelming. The walls reared up alongside him. No street lights, so that it was dark, pitch-black, it seemed. Rhys at his shoulder. Then hearing something, footsteps up ahead, and another sound – sounds like the figures’ breathing – and later, in his dreams it would become breathing, but surely he couldn’t have heard that, not with everything else.
    ‘Armed police,’ Aden bellowed. ‘Stop. Stand still!’
    Another set of footsteps, just behind them but gaining fast, and Aden threw a glance over his shoulder, adrenaline spiking. Tony, weapon out, squinting into the rain.
    ‘He fell.’
    ‘Who fell?’ asked Imogen.
    ‘The boy.’ Aden gave an almost smile. ‘I don’t say his name. I should. I know I should. Dylan Lowe. Dylan fell. I heard him. I didn’t know what it was I was hearing – you know, at the time. Just splashes. Shouting. I know now that it was him, Dylan, falling. His mates – I’m guessing they were his mates, the other kids or whatever – they left. We, I . . . I never saw them, not up close. Just figures, running. They left him there.’
    There were shrieks, cutting through the darkness; it had seemed like they were bouncing off the alley walls, rebounding, coming from everywhere at once. Aden had drawn his gun, tracking the sound, heart pounding so loud it seemed that his eardrums would not be able to stand it.
    Then a figure, large in front of him. Seemed to rise up out of nowhere. A jolt of electricity shot through Aden. ‘Armed police. Don’t move.’
    Aden couldn’t see; was trying, squinting through the rain. But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t see, not really. And he hated that, his adrenaline spurting, higher, higher.
    ‘Freeze! FREEZE,’ Tony had screamed.
    ‘He stopped running,’ Aden said, voice soft.
    ‘Dylan?’ Imogen was watching him, her green eyes fixed on him like there was nowhere else she’d rather be, and no one else that she’d rather listen to. Even though she must have heard this story a hundred times before.
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘He stopped?’
    ‘Yeah. I thought . . . I thought he was giving himself up. At least, I think that was what I thought. But then maybe I’m just telling myself that.’
    ‘Why would you do that?’
    ‘Because of . . . you know. To make it better. If . . . if he was giving himself up, if that was what I thought, then it was okay that I didn’t shoot.’
    The figure had stopped, so they stopped, Aden and Rhys and Tony. There was shouting. They were shouting. Because sometimes people freeze and they can do stupid things, even without intending to, so you yell at them and tell them exactly what to do, loudly. Anything to break through the