The Hit

  One thing was for sure — Earle had hit a nerve.

  “Have you read his blog?” someone asked. “He was high the whole time. Off his face.”

  “No! He didn’t need drugs. Everything was hyper-real. Like, he spent an hour just looking at stuff.”

  “My idea of fun,” said Adam.

  “You don’t get it. You don’t need big experiences if you’re like that inside. Everything is a high. He may have only had one week, but none of us will ever experience anything like he did, no matter what we do.”

  “But the bucket list. That’s what it’s all about,” said Adam.

  His mate Jack licked his lips. “Do you really think all those women slept with him? There were a lot of A-list celebs there. I bet he doesn’t even know half of them.”

  “If you’ve only got a week to live? What sort of bitch would say no to you then?” said someone else.

  They laughed.

  The talk turned to what they would do if it were them. What would your bucket list be? Most of the lists started off with sex. Names were mentioned. After that, drugs, money, travel.

  “I wanna stand on the moon.”

  “Get someone pregnant.”

  “Get rich.”

  “What for? You’re going to die.”

  “So I can spend the money, you idiot!”

  “Leave something so people will remember me.”

  “Kill someone.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone bad. That way, at least you do something good.”

  Shag a princess. Write a book. Fall in love. Blow up the government. Die with a smile on my face.

  “Leave my family with enough money so none of them have to work ever again.”

  Everyone nodded. Of course you’d want to do that.

  “What about the riots?” said Adam. “The Zealots were there.”

  One of the boys shook his head. “Bunch of losers, cashing in.”

  “Ah, come on. They were attacking the banks. They took over the town hall,” said Adam. “‘Free cheese for everyone!’”

  The boys laughed uneasily. The Zealots were a laugh, but they were so deadly serious as well. No one knew what to make of them.

  “They didn’t hold on to the town hall,” someone said.

  “No, but they had to send the army in. The police were fighting among themselves,” said someone else.

  Jack nodded his head. “This is big,” he said. “When the police won’t do as they’re told, the government’s in real trouble.”

  An argument broke out between those who supported the status quo and those who believed the whole state needed to be overhauled and changed. Adam listened. All he wanted — all any of them wanted — was a life. The question was: Where could people like them get one? Not in a world like this, where other people held all the cards, that was for sure.

  Then the coach turned up, and he forgot about the Zealots and got going with the game.

  * * *

  The amazing thing, Lizzie thought, was how quickly life went from total adrenaline rush to utterly boring. Last night with Adam she had felt the future in the palm of her hand. Every window smashed, every door kicked in had seemed to be tearing down the prejudices and conventions that hemmed her in on all sides. She’d left Adam feeling as high as a kite, climbed into her dad’s car — and had to endure half an hour of misery straightaway.

  “Out with the lowlife … destroying property … vandalizing the town,” he’d ranted. “What are you going to do — give it all away and turn out like your precious boyfriend, with no future and no hope?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she told him. “We were all out there trying to make something happen. It’s about hope. Changing the future. Not hanging on to as much as you can for yourself.”

  “You have a future,” he told her. “I just wish you’d grow up and realize it.”

  At home she’d had her phone taken off her and was sent to bed like a child. She was too tired to argue. The next morning, the consequences were announced. There were never any punishments in her house, just consequences. She was not to see Adam again. She was grounded for two weeks. No pocket money. No Internet connection. No phone for a day. No this, no that.

  Grounded — at seventeen? What were they on? The sooner she left home the better.

  Later in the afternoon, she’d sneaked out to a neighbor’s house. They had a daughter named Sarina about her age. Lizzie wanted to use her computer to make a call to Adam.

  Sarina was not exactly sympathetic.

  “Why do you care?” said Lizzie, settling herself at the screen.

  “Of course I care. Your parents are friends of my parents. What if my mum and dad find out you’ve been using our equipment, when you’re supposed to be forbidden to go on the Internet?”

  “Oh, leave it, Sarina! No one will know, will they?”

  “I know.”

  Lizzie flicked through, trying to find the site she wanted.

  “Your parents have rights, too,” wittered Sarina. “You can’t blame them. Those riots caused millions of pounds worth of damage. You could go to jail …”

  “I told you, I never nicked anything and I never smashed anything. It’s not illegal just being there.”

  There it was. Fone4free.com. Lizzie clicked through and signed on.

  “Anyone with any sense would have left at once. Mum and I were going shopping in Manchester this week. Now it looks as though we’ll have to go to Leeds instead.” Sarina peered over her shoulder. “Lizzie, what’s that website? That’s illegal!”

  “Sarina! This is important. It’s my boyfriend. Are you seriously trying to get in the way of true love?” she asked, swinging round to face her.

  “They can trace that sort of thing. Now we’re going to get into trouble because of you!”

  Lizzie put her hands over the keyboard to stop Sarina getting to it. The little phone icon did a dance in the middle of the screen. Come on, Adam, pick up! she thought. She had to talk to him. Suddenly she was terrified that somehow, for no reason, he’d gone off her in the night.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Lizzie! You OK?”

  “Yeah. You?”

  “Yeah.”

  There was a pause while they both grinned at their end of the phone.

  “Hey, guess what, Ads? I can’t see you ever again. I’m banned.”

  “Really?”

  “You want to see me?”

  “What do you think? I’m just missing you. It’s like …”

  Behind her, Sarina was fidgeting. Lizzie tried her utmost to pretend she wasn’t there.

  “It’s like we had that night and now it’s all wrong, being apart,” Adam said.

  That was it. That was it exactly.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” she said. “My cousin Julie’s having a party. She’s loaded — it’ll be amazing! Mum wants me to go; she thinks I’ll meet a better class of boyfriend there. I can even have my phone back.” She laughed. “She’ll tell Julie you can’t come but Julie won’t care. She’s got this nicey-pie image but underneath it she’s so, so bad …”

  They agreed to meet up outside the cinema in Stockport. Lizzie would pick him up in her little Fiat. And …

  “And Ads?” she said. “That’ll be the night …” Then she put down the phone before he could say anything.

  Sarina, who had been sitting there soaking it all up, stared at her.

  “What did that mean, that’ll be the night?” she asked.

  “Mind your own business,” said Lizzie. But she couldn’t help smiling.

  Sarina smiled back. “Are you in love with him?” she asked.

  Lizzie ducked her head. She wanted it — but it was too soon.

  “You won’t be really, because you’re too young,” said Sarina. “You just think you are, I expect. But it’s still very sweet. Have you got your contraception sorted out?”

  “You know all about that, do you, Sar
ina?”

  “I already had sex. Two months ago. It was with a boy I met at a party. We did it in one of the spare bedrooms.”

  “Were you going out with him?”

  “No. I was just curious.”

  Lizzie laughed. She was an odd one, Sarina. But Lizzie was curious. “Did you like it?” she wanted to know.

  Sarina made a face. “I expect it gets better as you get older.”

  * * *

  Lizzie made her way back home. Tomorrow night. Her parents had already agreed to let her go to the party. Julie was rich, and rich was good, as far as they were concerned. They were hoping she’d meet up with some dull boy with loads of money. No chance. It was her and Adam, all the way. All the way.

  The thought sent a little thrill of excitement down through her stomach. When they’d first met up again, he’d seemed a bit of a pain — thought far too much of himself. But now she knew there was so much more to him than that. And then last night. The gig, the death of Jimmy Earle, the riots afterward, had blown her away. It had brought them together in a way she couldn’t even describe — it was so thrilling.

  Was it love?

  She wanted it to be. Last night she had been sure it was, but what would it be like next time they met, in the cold light of day?

  She climbed in through the bathroom window. Let it be love, she thought. She slipped past the sitting room, where her parents were watching rubbish on the TV. Let it be love. Let it be something. Let it be anything rather than this.

  ADAM GOT BACK HOME HAPPIER THAN HE COULD EVER remember. That’ll be the night, Lizzie had said. She could only have meant one thing. He felt like a kid on Christmas Eve.

  It was Saturday night and he could have gone out with his mates, but he gave it a miss. He wanted to be fresh for tomorrow, and anyway he didn’t have the money for two nights out in one week. His mum was still in bed when he got home, but his dad was up, fretting in front of the TV. Jess wasn’t answering his calls again.

  “So where is he now that’s so secret?” he wanted to know.

  “At work,” said Adam. “He never picks up at work, you know that.”

  It was infuriating. Adam was always allowed to do what he wanted, but Jess was guarded like the crown jewels. Adam never knew whether to be offended or delighted, but he was determined not to let his father’s mood puncture his own.

  “Hey, maybe he’s got a girl. He doesn’t have to report everything to you, you know.”

  His dad grunted — the nearest he ever got to admitting he might be wrong. He flicked through the Internet channels and found the news.

  There were more riots going on.

  “Again.” He shook his head. “Manchester will be in ashes by the time they finish with it.”

  But it wasn’t just Manchester. The Zealots and some of the other rebel groups had put out a call for people not to loot, but to protest. And people had heard them. Crowds were gathering in Leeds, London, Birmingham, Bristol, Newcastle — all the major cities. There was a crowd of over twenty thousand already in Albert Square — far more than the night before. All sorts of people had come to show support — students, workers, professionals. It was the biggest protest for decades.

  Jimmy Earle’s death had started something. Discontent had been growing for years; now it had found a spark. Unrest was flaring up all over the country.

  Once again, the Zealots had occupied the town hall and made it up to the roof; once again the police had turned up to try to get them out — but this time there were many more people getting in the way. There was no violence, no throwing bottles and bricks. The crowd just stood there, facing them down, standing between them and the Zealots. Someone had a huge banner up, spread halfway across the square: YOU SHALL NOT PASS.

  The police had made a commitment to the crowds, apparently: Don’t attack us and we won’t attack you. So far, both sides seemed to be honoring it.

  Adam was fascinated. Even his dad had to admit this was something new.

  “Maybe now the government will act to do something for the ordinary man,” he said.

  Adam got to bed late, after two. He went to sleep with a smile on his face. Tomorrow was the day. Big party. Rich people.

  Him and Lizzie.

  He had everything to live for.

  * * *

  He was planning on lying in late, but his dad came in at ten with a cup of tea and put it on the bedside cabinet by his head. He stood looking down at him until Adam couldn’t bear it anymore.

  “What?” he moaned.

  “Jess hasn’t come back.”

  “No, Dad!” Not this again. He curled back over. The whole house had to sit up every time Jess had a night out? It was crazy!

  “Didn’t you hear? Jess is missing. No call, no message, nothing. Get up, get up.”

  “What for?”

  “To help.” His dad turned and left the room. So annoying! Jess had found a girl, at last, and turned off his phone so he didn’t have to listen to their dad going on in his ear while he was on the job. So what? God’s sake!

  “You’re bonkers!” he yelled.

  “Come down. Your mother is up, too,” shouted his dad from the stairs. “Does that make you start to worry now? Up, up! This is an emergency.”

  Adam wanted to go to sleep again, but he was too cross. The old fool had woken his mum up as well. But it was a little odd, he had to admit. Jess always rang home — always always always. Adam dragged himself up and went downstairs to see what was going on. His mother was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him as he came in scowling, still feeling grumpy from being disturbed.

  “I think this time we have something to worry about,” she said.

  His father, of course, had been up all night waiting and worrying. At about six in the morning he’d started to make calls. Eventually, about an hour ago, he had hunted down Jess’s workplace, which was the one thing Jess had kept from him. It turned out that Jess had left four months before.

  “He’s been lying to us all this time,” said the old man.

  “Not lying, necessarily,” said Adam’s mum.

  “What else do you call it? He said he was working there.”

  “Maybe a white lie. Not wanting us to worry …”

  “He’s probably just changed jobs,” said Adam. “You know what you’re like, Dad, always worrying. Maybe he got demoted or something. Less money, you know? He wouldn’t want you to worry about it, would he?”

  “He’s not succeeded very well,” said his dad.

  Adam looked hopefully at his mum. But this time, she was scared, too.

  His dad tried to report Jess missing to the police, but they didn’t want to know. He’d have to be away for over a week before they’d do anything. His mum cooked breakfast for everyone to fill in a bit of time, then went to bed, hardly able to keep her eyes open anymore. It was a mystery, but Adam still found it hard to worry about it. Nothing ever happened to steady Jess, his boring older brother.

  He was wrong. The answer fell through the mail slot at midday.

  Adam found it on the mat — a plush white envelope with a black band around it. He knew what it was at once. He’d seen them on TV before. The Zealots sent them out to the relatives of fallen fighters.

  Jess? A fighter? It was beyond belief.

  The envelope was addressed to his mum and dad, but there was no stamp. It must have been delivered by hand. Adam opened the door and ran out into the street, but there was no one to be seen. Whoever had put it through the slot was already gone.

  He took it through to his dad in the sitting room.

  “What is it?” his father asked, looking up at him, small and frail in his chair.

  “The Zealots.”

  His father looked terrified. He tore the envelope open and scanned it. His face crumpled.

  “This is impossible. Not Jess.”

  He glanced up at Adam, then down at the implacable print that would never change its story. “No, no, no,” he murmured. “No, no, no, no.”


  Adam read over his shoulder. At the top was the Zealots’ logo — an angry rat with a pot of paint — but the slogan had changed. Before it had been: “Our time will come.” Now it read: “Our time is now.” Underneath, it announced that Jess Whitely had given his life in the fight for human rights and self-determination, at the Battle of Albert Square on Saturday night.

  “One of their pranks,” murmured Adam. How could this be true? He knew his own brother, didn’t he? But his heart was telling him he knew nothing at all.

  His father struggled suddenly to his feet and ran up the stairs. “Sharon, Sharon! They’re saying our boy is dead. Sharon!”

  Upstairs, Adam heard his mother exclaim sleepily. He sat down on his own at the kitchen table and waited to see what would happen next.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was spent in a state of shock. His mother kept leaking tears, which, more than anything, began to convince Adam that something terrible had really happened. They went over and over everything they knew, but none of them could believe that Jess really was a Zealot. He’d got caught up in the riots, he’d been kidnapped, he’d been arrested by mistake. Any minute now he’d ring them up and explain everything. But the day went on and no call came. Adam’s dad made more phone calls — the hospitals, the police, Jess’s work again. The police came around as soon as they heard about the letter and emptied Jess’s room, searching for evidence. They took all his stuff away, even the letter. They told them that they’d check dental records, DNA, anything else they could to try and match the remains they had collected in Manchester the day before.

  “Remains?” said his father. “My son will still have a face, won’t he?” The policeman shrugged and said it was just procedure, but Adam knew what he meant. Officially, it was never admitted, but he had seen it for himself: a Zealot self-igniting on the roof of the town hall. There had been more last night apparently, setting fire to themselves on the roofs of the houses in two or three cities around the country. Could one of them have been Jess, staggering across the roof and pitching down in flames to the crowds below?

  The day dragged on; the news sank in and became real to them. At about three in the afternoon his mother couldn’t bear it any longer and went back to bed. Adam kept his dad company in the front room, trying to watch TV. They sat there staring at the screen, going through the motions, trying to distract themselves from the exhaustion of grief. His dad made cup of tea after cup of tea, and finally broke down sobbing, sitting in front of the latest news bulletin. Clumsily, Adam sat on the arm of his chair, put his arm around him, and tried to comfort him.