Silence.
I’m on the floor, snot running out of my nose, my fingers still in my ears. I must have been unconscious less than a minute. The big guard/dancer woman’s black army boots are near my face.
‘Get up.’ Her voice is quiet, soft.
I wipe my nose on the back of my hand and shakily get to my feet.
The woman is wearing green canvas trousers and a heavy army-style camouflage jacket. Her face is so plain that she can only be called ugly. Her skin is pock-marked and lightly tanned. She has a wide mouth and fat lips. Her eyes are blue, with a few small silver glints. She has short, white eyelashes. Her blonde hair is short, spiky and thin, barely covering her scalp. She is, I guess, about forty years old.
‘I’m your new teacher and guardian,’ she says.
Before I can react she turns from me and nods to the guards, who lift me up by my arms and carry me out of the room. I fight as best I can but my feet don’t even touch the ground. Between my struggles and the thick arm and chest of a guard I catch a glimpse of Gran. Tears are in her eyes and her cardigan is off one shoulder as if someone pulled her or held her back. Now she is just standing alone, looking lost.
I’m carried off down the corridors and outside into a paved courtyard where a white van is parked, its rear doors open. I’m thrown inside. Before I can scramble to my feet a knee is in my back pinning me down and my wrists are being handcuffed behind me. Then I’m dragged further into the van and thick fingers, her fingers, put a collar round my neck. I spit and curse and receive a hard slap on the back of my skull. My head swims. The collar is chained closely to a ring in the van’s floor.
Still I struggle and kick and swear and scream.
But the noise hits me again.
This time I can’t protect my ears. I scream in panic and kick and fight my way into black silence.
When I come to the van is moving and I’m being bounced around on its rusting metal floor. The journey goes on and on. I can see the back of the big woman’s head. She is driving the van, but there don’t seem to be any guards or Hunters with us.
I shout that I need a pee. I think there may be a chance of escape with her alone.
She ignores me.
I shout at her again. ‘I need a pee.’ And I really do.
She half turns her head and shouts back, ‘Then shut up and have one. You’ll be cleaning the van tomorrow.’
Still she keeps driving. When it gets dark my guts are in turmoil from being inside as well as from the motion of the van. I fight not to throw up but don’t manage to hold it off for more than a few minutes.
Because of the collar and chain, my head is resting in my own vomit. She doesn’t stop until we arrive at our destination many hours later and by then I’m lying in a brew of my own sick and piss.
part three
the second weapon
the choker
You’ve got to give her credit: she’s an ugly witch from Hell, but she’s a worker. She’s been up all night and most of the day perfecting a new band of acid.
She puts it on. Tight.
‘You’ll get used to it.’
You can squeeze one finger between the band and your neck.
‘I’ll loosen it if you want.’
You blank her.
‘You only have to ask.’
You can’t even gob up, it’s so tight.
You’re in the kitchen again, sitting at the table. No morning exercises, no breakfast, but you won’t be able to eat with this thing on anyway. She can’t seriously mean to leave it like this. You can hardly swallow, hardly breathe.
The buzz from healing has gone, like it’s been used up. Your hand is swollen and has healed only slightly. It’s throbbing. You can feel your pulse in your arm and your neck.
‘You’re looking tired, Nathan.’
You are tired.
‘I’m going to clean your hand.’
She dips a cloth into a bowl of water and wrings it out. You pull your hand away but she takes it and strokes the cloth over your wrist. It’s cool. It feels good. Taking away some of the burning even for a second is good. She slides the cloth down the back of your hand and then gently turns your hand and cleans the palm. The dirt won’t come out but the water feels fresh. She’s very gentle.
‘Can you move your fingers?’
Your fingers can move a little but your thumb is numb and won’t move at all because of the swelling. You don’t move anything for her.
She rinses the cloth in the bowl of water, wrings it out and holds it up.
‘I’m going to clean your ear. There’s a lot of blood.’
She reaches over and wipes round it; again she does it slowly and gently.
You can’t hear with your left ear but it’s probably just dried blood blocking it up. Your left nostril is blocked too.