The Enemy by Charlie Higson Page A

colored bolts and burning embers shot in every direction.
    It lasted no more than thirty seconds, but when it was over, Hol oway Road was quiet. Bernie and Ben secured the door, shunting the bars across, rattling the chains into place, snapping the padlock shut. Their hands were shaking, but they worked careful y and methodical y, trying not to panic, making sure that everything was properly done. Arran and Achil eus stayed to make sure it was okay, then took the emos back into the shop, where they helped wind down the shutter.
    At last they walked over to where Maxie and three of her team had the patchwork boy pinned down on the floor, his satchel by his side.
    Arran stood over him, breathing heavily, exhausted. He hoped it had al been worthwhile.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    The boy smiled. He had a shock of stiff, matted hair, a wide mouth set in a thin, clever face with a nose that was slightly too large for it.
    “I’m glad I found you.”
    “Who are you, I said.”
    “What difference does it make what my name is?”
    Achil eus kicked him. “Who are you?” he grunted.
    “Let me up and I’l tel you.”
    “Why should I?” Arran demanded.
    “You went to al that trouble rescuing me, don’t you want to know what I’ve got to say?”
    “What have you got to say?”
    “Let me up and I’l tel you.”

    “No. Tel me now. We can’t trust anyone. We’ve already lost two kids today.”
    “And what am I going to do? Eh?” said the boy.
    “I don’t know,” said Arran. “It’s been a day ful of surprises. I don’t want to be surprised again.”
    “I think you’l find what I’m going to tel you surprising.” “Try me.” Arran nodded to Maxie’s team, and they backed off slightly. The boy sat up, smiling, and scratched his hair. “I know a place that’s safe,” he said. “You don’t have to live like this.”
    “Safe?” said Arran. “How safe?”
    “Food. Water. Clean beds. Medicine. No grown-ups. Does that sound safe enough for you?”
    “Where is this place?”
    The boy grinned, his face al teeth.
    “I thought you’d never ask.”

    I ’ve traveled al the way across London to find you.”
    “Bul . How did you know we were even here?”
    “I didn’t. That’s the whole point. My job was to find other people, kids like you.”
    “What do you mean, your job?”
    “I was sent.”
    “Yeah?” said Ol ie. “By who? God?”
    “Why don’t you let me tel you? Eh?”
    They were on the roof, crowded into the little courtyard. Blue and his fighters were in a huddle to one side. Once they were sure it was safe, two of them had gone back to Morrisons to fetch a girl cal ed Whitney, who seemed to be second in command to Blue, just as Maxie was to Arran. Whitney was big for her age and sat there hard-faced, waiting to be impressed. Her hair was knotted into tight braids, and she wore an immaculate white tracksuit that must have been the devil to keep clean. Blue’s fighters seemed to be wary of her and quite respectful. It was easy to see why: Whitney had the look of a girl who had never taken any nonsense from anyone.
    Achil eus and his fighters were sitting opposite the Morrisons crew, each side trying to outdo the other in toughness.
    Arran sat in a big plastic-covered armchair set back from the fire, his face in shadow. He was happy for Ol ie to take charge. Ol ie was the best speaker and pretty sharp. He’d see through any lies.
    Everyone who had taken part in the battle was shattered, so nobody questioned Arran. If he wanted to let someone else do the talking, that was cool.
    Truth was, though, he was feeling awful. The whole side of his head was hot, and his ear was blocked and throbbing. He ground his teeth together, let his eyelids fal shut, and tried to concentrate.
    It didn’t help.
    Whenever he closed his eyes he could see the grown-up back at the pool. Those eyes. That intel igent look . . . that sound. Had it been trying to speak?
    “Mwuh ...”
    And then it lunged at him,