Shift (14 page)

I opened the small book and turned the frail pages. There was so much I had to learn.

I closed it and slipped it in my pocket. “Thanks, Mr Abbott.”

He considered me for a moment, his eyes wrinkling at the edges. “Walk with me, Scott.”

We left the classroom and entered the corridor. It was bursting with kids getting to their next class. I realised that I should probably be one of them, but I had no idea what my next class was.

“How are you finding your first day?” Abbot asked.

“Good. I mean, I’m totally out of my depth, but really good.”

“But you’ll find your feet soon enough. If it makes you feel any better, I was only a couple of years younger than you when I first entered ARES. And I’ve done all right.” He patted my shoulder with his large hand. “You know, quite often when a Shifter’s ability emerges later in life, they go on to be quite powerful.”

“Yeah, you told me that when we first met. I still don’t quite believe it, sir.”

“When we first met?”

I got the feeling it was probably best not to mention how I remembered stuff they didn’t. “No I mean, when I first arrived, Commandant Morgan said something similar.” I coughed and looked at my shoes.

Abbott nodded, and I knew he didn’t believe me for a second. “Well it’s true. It won’t be easy for you though. So much to learn in such a short space of time. But hopefully we can ensure you’ve made the most of your ability before…”

“Before entropy kicks in?”

“Yes, and then you can decide whether to go back out into the world and live a normal life, or stay here with us at ARES, and prepare the next generation of Shifters.”

“Is it even possible to live a normal life after all of this? I mean, having experienced all of this and not being able to tell anyone.”

“Some people do struggle, it’s true. It can be hard to form relationships with people when you’ve been used to, well, having your own way. But the skills you learn here will prepare you for that. You’ll learn how to measure your consequences and think before you act. Not many normal people ever learn that. But don’t you worry, Scott. You’ll be fine. Especially with our help.

“Which reminds me, you’d better hurry, I fear I’ve kept you from Commandant Morgan’s class on Integration and I’m sure he won’t be too happy. Room 52,” he added seeing the panicked look on my face. “Mr Bailey here will show you I am sure.”

I turned to see Jake leaning up against a row of lockers behind us. He waved a little sheepishly.

“Jake, shouldn’t you be in class?” I asked.

“I thought you might need a hand finding the room.”

“Off you go now. If Commandant Morgan asks, tell him I sent the two of you on an errand.”

“Thanks, sir.”

He nodded and waved us off.

“Abbott’s cool hey?” Jake said, as we started running.

“Very cool,” I answered, feeling the weight of the little book in my pocket.

“They say he was the most powerful Shifter, like, ever.”

I remembered what Mr Abbott had said about being only a couple of years younger than me when he’d started training. Suddenly being the big kid in class didn’t worry me quite as much.

I’ll save you the montage scene but over the next couple of months I was trained. And better than that, I was getting good. Especially at the fighting; not even CP could beat me now. I’d even caught Cain off his guard once. Although I knew that had this been out in the real world, he would have beat me to a pulp, Shifter or not.

We’d had more mind-blowing lessons with Abbott about Shifters throughout the ages, including a couple of very famous names, although we were all sworn to secrecy. But let’s just say a couple of charming US presidents were mentioned.

We learned about the science behind Shifting from a tiny little woman called Professor Wheeler, including a recreation of the Double Slit experiment Aubrey had told me about when we first met, with lasers and everything. I still didn’t understand it, but Prof Wheeler reassured me that if anyone thought they understood quantum physics, they really didn’t.

Morgan’s Integration lessons were less inspiring. They were supposed to be preparing us for life after ARES; giving us the skills we needed to slip back into society if we “weren’t cut out to join one of the non-Shifting units”. But really they were like going to see the worst careers adviser ever. He ran aptitude tests on us all and not one of us seemed to have “the right stuff”. Whatever the right stuff was supposed to be. According to the test, Jake was destined to become a social worker. And I could look forward to a bright future as an accountant. CP had stormed out when she’d been told she make a great secretary.

When he wasn’t making us all feel like morons, he’d go on about all the important people he’d met, dropping ridiculous hints about how he’d helped them out by Shifting. None of us believed his stories. But given no one in the outside world was supposed to know about Shifting, there was no way we could bring him up on it. Instead, we played along and took to running a bet before each class on the amount of times he would say “My father”.

I was even getting used to being a commuter. Unlike the other kids who lived in a dorm at ARES, it had been decided that I could stay with my parents, because I was so much older than the rest of them.

So I would come home, tired, battered and bruised at the end of the day, with another fabricated story about what I’d learnt, and Mum would fuss over me. She’d cook me dinner and let me watch whatever I wanted to on TV. She’d never been the most maternal mother, but she seemed to be making up for it by looking after her “working son”. Even Dad started showing more interest. He’d gone so far as bragging about me being chosen for an elite programme.

“University degrees are worthless these days,” I’d overheard him saying to a colleague whose son had just got into Oxford. “Ever since every tinpot poly could call itself a university. No, my son has a proper chance now. A guaranteed job at the end of it. And we don’t have to pay a penny.”

Katie hadn’t changed. She still called me a loser and made fun of me having to work through the summer holiday. But I got the sense she missed me a little.

I didn’t even mind the early starts. I took a weird pleasure cramming myself onto the Tube and watching my fellow commuters. Lawyers, accountants, bankers, all plugged into their phones, creating bubbles to protect themselves from the insanity of travelling fifty feet underground. I wondered about their dreams. Had they grown up wanting to be businessmen? Or did they still secretly dream of being firemen or astronauts? They seemed so ordinary to me now. So dull. Deluding themselves that they were in control of their lives. If only they knew.

I was on my way home one Thursday. The sun lay low in the sky, but it was still bright and I had the music on my iPhone turned up loud. I was walking in time with my private soundtrack and I felt good.

A bleeping interrupted my music and I pulled out my phone. Hugo was calling.

“Hugo!”

“Scottster! The man of mystery himself. I have been trying to get hold of you for weeks!”

He was right. I’d been pretty slack at returning his texts and calls as I was so wrapped up in life at ARES.

“I’m sorry, man. Things have been pretty frantic.”

“Why weren’t you back at St Francis’s this week? Did you fail everything? Is that why you’re ashamed to show your face?”

My GCSEs. I’d almost been surprised when my results had arrived in the post a couple of weeks back, as I’d totally forgotten about them. It wasn’t like they really mattered to me any more. “No, I passed everything.”

“Then what the hell, Scott?”

“Well the programme I told you about, it’s all going really well and so this is it. No more school for me.”

“You lucky sod. How can I get on it?”

“Er, I think it’s fully subscribed now.”

“Oh, don’t give me that. You just don’t want me cramping your style, you dog you. Tell me, are there girls there? Are they hot?”

I thought about Aubrey. I’d only seen glimpses of her in the past few weeks, looking busy and important. I guess she’d been right. Fresh Meat and officers didn’t mix. “There are a few. But I’m too busy to think about that kind of stuff.”

“Oh, Scott, when will you learn? A man is never too busy for any of that kind of stuff. Look, there’s a backto-school party at Seb’s this weekend. You have to come. No, I won’t accept any of your lame excuses, I want to hear all about the programme.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

I slipped my phone back in my pocket and crossed the road.

As I reached the steps leading down to the Tube I saw a glint of copper light: a penny lying on the pavement. Now, I wouldn’t say I’m superstitious but I do like the old “See a penny pick it up” thing. There’s something nice about picking up a coin and slipping it into your pocket, as if you’ve bought yourself a day’s protection. But as I thought about slowing down to pick it up, I was struck by the idea that I was beyond such silly notions now. I didn’t need a penny to protect me. I had the power to protect myself. I walked on, an extra spring in my step.

I dodged the crowds, made it through the gates without breaking my stride and glided down the elevator. A pretty girl was coming up on the other side and we smiled at each other. She had blonde hair and a tiny button nose that reminded me of Aubrey. I was so busy watching the girl that I stumbled a bit as the escalator spat me out onto the tiled floor. A musician was playing an accordion so loudly that his wheezing chords penetrated my wall of music. I turned the volume up.

The Tube was waiting as I turned the corner on to the platform and I dived through the closing doors of the last carriage, just in time. I grinned, feeling like Indiana Jones. The Tube stopped almost as soon as it started, and sat in the dark tunnel. People started to look up at the speakers, so I turned my music off to hear what the driver was saying.

“I apologise for this folks, but there’s another Tube in front of us that doesn’t seem to know where the accelerator is. I’m sure those of you who use this line regularly are used to all of this. So just sit tight and we’ll be moving shortly. In the meantime, why not make friends with the person sat next to you?” The assembled commuters chuckled to themselves, careful not to be too amused. None of us would break the rule of no speaking. But it was nice that the driver had a sense of humour.

One man didn’t seem amused at all. He was sitting on one of the fold-down seats near the door, hugging a briefcase. He had a badly fitting toupee, which slid further down his forehead as sweat started dripping off him. He began rocking back and forth in his seat and muttering to himself. The girl next to him shuffled away, trying to get as far away as possible without actually giving up her seat. His muttering became louder.

“I’m in control here. I’m in control here.”

I guessed it was some self-help mantra he’d learned to deal with panic attacks. I was almost feeling sorry for the guy, and then he stood up. He was broad and had the look of a once-muscular man who’d let himself go.

“I’m in control here,” he shouted at the passengers. “Look at you. You’re like sheep. Baa Baa. Sheepy people.” Everyone became very interested in their shoes or the copy of Metro they’d been sitting on. No one wanted to look at the mad man.

His eyes bulged as he stared down the carriage and his face started to spasm. “You should all bow to me, I am your master. You miserable worms. Do you know what I have done, so that you can sit here, clutching your papers?”

“Shut up,” somebody from behind me said.

The man whipped his head around and stared right at me. He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. His eyes glazed and a thin trickle of blood started running out of his right nostril. He coughed and his mouth was red with blood. He looked at me, all the madness gone from his eyes, and mouthed one word. “Help.”

Then his head exploded.

It was like a flower appeared above his right eye, a bright red carnation made from flesh. He staggered on his feet slightly and caught hold of one of the yellow bars overhead, leaving behind a red handprint. Blood was pouring down his face and the people on the carriage started screaming and running away from him. I stepped forward, knowing I could do nothing for him. His eyes were cold and his limbs heavy in my arms. He was dead.

I let him fall to the ground and looked around at the panicking crowd. “Someone pull the emergency cord,” I shouted.

No one was listening to me, so I got to my feet and pushed a dumb-looking businessman away from the emergency alarm. I punched the glass, surprised at how easily it broke, and pressed the button.

I felt the explosion before I heard it. It threw me off my feet and sent me hurtling backwards. My arms and legs flailed, as if I was trying to swim in the air, or grab hold of something to stop myself from falling. There were bodies flying everywhere and I remember seeing the dumb businessman looking surprised as he smashed through the window. I had a sense of heat. Incredible heat. Flames engulfed me and I felt them tearing at my clothes and my skin. I hit a pole with a bone-shattering thud, the back of my skull crunching against the yellow paint. Everything went white and I felt a cold liquid dribbling down my cheeks.

I had an image of a single penny lying on a grey pavement. In my mind I reached out to the penny, my fingertips inches away from it.

The insides of my stomach flipped and I was falling backward. I hit the tiled floor of the platform. All the air was smashed out of my lungs and I heard a sharp ringing in my ears. Shattered glass rained down around me, biting at my skin. I managed to look up and saw a fireball in the tunnel up ahead and the crumpled remains of a Tube train. Anyone who had been on it would have been a goner.

I felt something sharp cutting into my hand. I unclenched my fist and saw a single penny lying in my palm. And then blackness.

Iwoke up blinking at strip lights overhead. Dull pain radiated through my body, mostly in my head. I saw people moving around in the corner of my eye. I tried to turn my head to follow but it wouldn’t move.