Tube Riders, The by Chris Ward

fuck with us as much as they want.’
    ‘Where did you get that screwdriver from? We don’t even have one in the house!’
    ‘School.’
    ‘You stole it?’
    ‘They gave it to me.’ Owen matched his brother’s stare. ‘Yeah, that’s right. The teachers at my school gave me, and everyone else, a screwdriver. Said to use them to protect ourselves if necessary. Said they were sorry they couldn’t give us anything better, but that’s all they could get.’
    ‘Seriously? What the hell kind of school is that?’
    ‘They’re teaching us to survive. They said to twist it as you shove it in because it causes more internal damage and is harder to pull out. We practice in Lifeskills class on old armchairs.’
    Paul was flabbergasted. ‘Your school is allowed to teach that?’
    Owen shook his head. ‘Not all of the teachers know. Only one or two. But we trust them, because they look out for us. Like you do for me. Like you try to do.’
    Paul had a sudden moment of realization. Owen was right. It had been the looter or them, and they had won. He smiled, and the tension was broken. ‘You know, I was only two seconds away from sticking that guy myself.’
    ‘Oh, really . What with? That bicycle wheel?’
    ‘Yeah, I was going to ram it over his head. Then I was going to pickpocket your screwdriver and stick him with it.’
    Owen laughed, a comforting sound. ‘You’d never be able to get me like you do all those rich people.’
    Paul smiled, forced it to look convincing. Picking pockets was what he said he did down around Piccadilly, Westminster, and Charing Cross at night. That’s where he said their money came from. Owen didn’t need to know any different, didn’t need to know the truth.
    ‘Can we get dinner now?’ Owen asked.
    ‘Sure.’
    Paul put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, surprised at just how tall Owen was getting. Maybe it wasn’t so unusual for Owen to protect him anymore. He certainly had better survival skills than Paul had.
    As he led his brother away, he hoped that the fish n’ chips shop hadn’t been looted by a different mob. He was starving.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Five
    Dreggo
     
    Dan pulled the cap off the cola bottle and took a long swig, coughing right after. He retched, spitting bile on the ground. The cola was long gone, and Dan had filled the bottle with rum instead, using the soft drink bottle as cover to keep away any alcoholics or drunks more desperate than he was. Alcohol was difficult to procure, and hard liquor had a high price. Dan, who earned enough to stay alive by selling marijuana and black-market cigarettes in the dark recesses outside major train stations, had taken himself to a new level with the rum. In the aftermath of breaking his association with the Tube Riders, he had needed something to reaffirm himself.
    Now, with the black fuel burning inside of him, he was searching for a new association.
    He had wanted to be part of a gang. Gangs were everything in London, comradeship and protection. Allowed into the circle of the Tube Riders, Dan had felt whole again, the meandering of his life from one mistake to another forgotten for a while. The gang had given him purpose, and he had wanted to be one of them so much.
    Cast out, the only thing he could think of was to destroy them.
    Paul ... they were friends but Dan had never trusted him much. They hung around the same regrettable places at night, and while Dan knew what Paul did, he had seemed like a cool guy otherwise. Paul had said he knew some guys who hung out, asked Dan to come along. Said they were straight up, and Dan had taken a chance. Simon, he’d thought was cool. A bit feminine, but cool. And Marta ... with near-black hair that was a mixture of braid and dread framing that cute, pale little face, those bright, smart eyes that saw everything ... and with her body tight from all that tube riding, he had been pretty hopeful they would get it on. God knew he needed something to keep him warm at night,