Public Enemy Number Two by Anthony Horowitz

fog.
    “What the . . . ?” White began.
    Then one of the showers exploded, the head shooting across the room like a bullet. Steam and water bellowed out in a jet.
    The plane was right overhead now. The whole building was vibrating. There was a gunshot. Even at that close range I hardly heard it. Then a second shower blew itself apart, unable to bear the pressure. Blondie screamed, his face disappearing in a blast of white heat.
    I’d wrapped the towel around my face and I was on my knees, crawling underneath the swirling clouds. I couldn’t see anything. I could hardly hear anything. The pipes were slamming against the wall in a frenzy. Three more showers exploded. Burning water cascaded onto my back.
    “Johnny!” I called out. My voice was muffled by the towel. Then there was a splat of fist against flesh and a figure flew through the mist, crashed into a cubicle, and slumped beside me. It was White. He was out cold—about the only thing in the building that was cold. He no longer had the gun.
    Then somebody else lurched out of the steam on all fours. This time it was Powers. Miraculously, he didn’t seem to have been burned.
    “Good work, kid,” he said. There was a glimmer in his eyes and he was smiling. I couldn’t think of anything to say. He was actually enjoying all this.
    It was over as quickly as it had begun.
    The plane flew past. The pipes buckled, broke, then fell silent as the pressure went down. Water, suddenly cold, splashed down on the concrete floor. Somewhere in all the steam, McNeil groaned. White and Blondie lay still, their bodies vague outlines in the haze. Powers and I crawled back to the door and stood up. Somehow I found the presence of mind to pick up the mop and bucket. I gave Powers the mop. Together we walked back across the yard. The guards didn’t try to stop us.
    That night, back in the cell, Powers asked me why I’d saved him.
    “I told you.” I shrugged, trying to make nothing of it. “I admire you. I wasn’t going to let those creeps put a bullet in you.”
    Powers stood up, holding out a hand. I shook it. “Ya’re all right, kid,” he said. “Ya’re okay.”
    That was as close as he could get to saying thank you. But I was satisfied as I went to sleep. I’d become his friend, just the way Snape wanted. Surely it could only be a matter of time before I was out of Strangeday Hall.
    It was only a matter of time—although things didn’t happen quite the way I’d expected. But then, when did they ever?

OUT!
    The day after the attack in the shower room, Powers got a letter. We received letters twice a week, but only after the prison warden had censored them. If he didn’t like a sentence, he simply took a pair of scissors and cut it out. I got one letter from Tim that more or less fell apart in my hands. It began Dear Nick, and ended Your big brother, Tim. The rest was just holes apart from the single word “peacock,” which I found screwed up at the bottom of the envelope. Well, at least that told me he was still looking for the lost Ming vase. Unless, of course, by some miracle he’d already found it.
    The letter Powers got had come through uncut. He read it three times, concentrating on every word. Then he paced up and down the cell for an hour. By now I knew enough not to ask any questions. If Powers wanted me to know something, he would tell me. At last he turned around and walked over to the table. “I’m getting outta here,” he said.
    “Out, Johnny?” I didn’t know what to say. “How come?”
    “Read this.” He pushed the letter into my hands. I read it.
     
     
    Johnny,
    Bad news, I’m afraid. Grandpa’s in emergency care, dear. They’re talking of another operation. Kingston Hospital is ready now, but Grandpa’s last operation wasn’t very successful. Everyone is really upset.
    Caroline and Oliver got married in Edinburgh yesterday. He’s an optician, and marvelous with eyes. We’ll all miss them.
    No other important news.
    Take