‘I told them we’re striking at three,’ said Raj. ‘That’s still true, right?’
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
Raj fell to the back of the group, and Kate went with him. Ewan had just enough time to breathe half a sigh of relief before someone else picked up the conversation.
‘You want some advice?’ asked Jack. ‘From someone else with a dead mum?’
Ewan hadn’t even known Jack was listening. In most conversations, it was difficult to tell the difference between when he was concentrating and when he was daydreaming. In both cases, he looked away from people and flicked his fingers. As a child, it had led to adults talking about Jack as if he weren’t in the room. Apparently, non-autistic people thought his ears only ever worked in conjunction with his eyes.
Ewan’s mouth opened, but he reigned in his impulses and stopped himself before telling Jack to mind his own damned business. In all fairness, his thoughts were always worth a listen.
‘I was twelve when Mum died,’ said Jack. ‘I didn’t talk about it for a long time. Surprised I even told you when I did, to be honest.’
‘A cancer death’s different to being sprayed with bullets, Jack. You didn’t see the moment she turned into a corpse.’
‘I’m not competing with you, Ewan. If I were, I’d tell you how long and drawn out my mum’s pain was compared to yours. I’m talking about the aftermath. Maybe you don’t mention her because the memory of her death is too painful. But I’ve heard you mention everyone else who died that day, including little Alfie. So I’m going to guess your relationship with your mum was a little complicated.’
‘You mentioned advice, Jack?’
‘Yeah. Don’t let things rot.’
Ewan threw a glance at Jack, looking as confused as his face would let him, although he suspected Jack wouldn’t see his confusion in the dark.
‘When I was about fifteen,’ Jack continued, ‘I realised I couldn’t remember her voice. You know my memory, Ewan, it’s spectacular – every fact about dinosaurs I learned as a child I can still regurgitate now – but I can’t remember stuff when I spend years shutting it out.’
Ewan took a moment to see if he could remember his own mother’s voice. He was afraid Jack might be right.
‘I didn’t want to deal with the hurt,’ Jack continued. ‘But when I realised what I was forgetting, I changed. I decided the hurt was worthwhile. Bring on the pain, if it keeps her alive in my head.’
Ewan nodded, and gave an answer that didn’t reference his mother.
‘McCormick says something similar,’ he said. ‘One of his little catchphrases. The pain of missing someone is always worth it—’
‘For the joy of having known them,’ finished Jack. ‘And he’s right. I don’t know what kind of relationship you had with her, but keep it alive. Even if it means—’
‘Have to stop you, Jack. We’ve arrived.’
The hiding spot was still in the distance, but it was a convenient excuse to withdraw from the conversation. Their vantage point was a crater next to the hill’s peak, surrounded by trees. An elevated view with excellent cover. Ewan approached, knowing what sight would await them once they reached the brow of the hill.
And there it was. Oakenfold Special School.
Oakenfold, where the world had made just a little more sense. Where people either knew how to accommodate students with special needs, or at least gave a crap about trying.
Oakenfold, where the problems were not the person.
In order to cope with his own reaction, Ewan looked at his friends’ faces for theirs. But each of them echoed his own feelings: complete and utter confusion.
He had expected Oakenfold to look like a military compound, lit up with floodlights, with armed checkpoints and vehicle barriers and so on. What they found was just their old school, with no extra construction work and the lights turned out. It was like Grant’s employees had gone home for the night.
‘This place can’t possibly be unguarded,’ said Mark.
‘Maybe they want us to think it is,’ answered Gracie. It was a clever comment, coming from her.
‘There’ll be a least a minimal guard somewhere,’ Ewan said. ‘Maybe even inside. So let’s be stealthy. Go as long as you can without firing a shot.’
‘Do we even have to wait until three?’ asked Raj. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s getting any quieter, and we’re giving them three hours to spot us up here.’
‘We stick to the plan. In New London the watches start and end every six hours – three and nine in the morning, three and nine at night. They’ll do the same here too. Consistency and all that.’
‘Bit of a leap of faith, isn’t it? I didn’t think you liked those.’
‘We stick to the plan,’ Ewan repeated impatiently. ‘We wait till three, sneak in while the guard changes, and we grab all the information on AME we can get our hands on. After we learn what we’ll be up against in New London, we wipe out every physical trace of the technology from Oakenfold…’
He hesitated before finishing his sentence.
‘…Even if it means burning our school to the ground.’
*
Bloody hell, comms is boring. Especially when your partner’s silent.
When it came to missions, Alex preferred being on the comms end of the phone. He was less likely to die that way. And Mark had been right: the Oakenfold mission belonged to the students and them alone.
Still, a little action would have been appreciated. Or at least something happening, even if were just a conversation with Shannon.
It was the early hours of the morning and she was sitting upright in her chair, dutiful and focused. As if she had restructured her sleeping pattern specifically for that night. It made Alex feel ashamed of his own tiredness.
I wonder if McCormick’s still alive? He thought. If the operation were going to go wrong, it would have happened by now.
Alex shook his head, and tried to think optimistic thoughts. In all probability, Lorraine had already sealed him up with that soldering iron and cried herself to sleep.
He needed something to distract himself. With nothing to do, his mind would start to mull over all the worst possibilities. He had once heard someone say that’s how it worked for Kate, except it seemed more painful for her.
There was only one distraction available, and she didn’t seem in the mood for talking. Especially not about the subject Alex had in mind. But it was worth a try.
‘So Shannon…’
‘Hm?’
Already Alex was wondering whether it was a good idea. It struck him how little he and Shannon had in common. In fact, he knew so little about her that he didn’t even know whether they had anything in common. He wasn’t sociable in the getting-to-know-you sense – more in the take-the-mick sense – and Shannon hardly spoke to him unless the conversation was necessary.
Better ask, then.
‘I’ve been wondering for a while. Hope you don’t mind me asking, but… what was he like?’
Shannon looked piercingly into his eyes.
Ouch, no wonder the autistic lot find that painful.
‘Who?’
‘Your father. The great Nicholas Grant.’